#i kept every single euphemism

[cheesh]

i need someone to match my freak (my chappell roan minecraft parodies)

[lucysarah-c]

Euphemisms

Summary: Levi may not have attended school, but he knows a thing or two about pregnancy… and also periods. (Levi takes care of you during your period) Author's Note: I wrote this story a while ago for my main fic. Then, I wrote a different version for the final cut of the fic, so I decided to re-arrange this one so it could be a one-shot. Warning: Suggesting themes, mentions of pregnacy. The reader is a virgin. Word Count: 3.5k

The calendar that was peacefully and innocently lying on top of Erwin’s desk. ‘March…’ her mind read, ‘It’s March already, the 7th to be precise.’ Her mind tried to count days, desperately trying to find missing days that could make the counting lower. Biting her nails with worry, this was a new topic for her to be stressed about.

Levi had joined the military only a year ago, right? He hadn’t been promoted yet, but the gossip in the halls said it was imminent. Perhaps because in the few months he had been part of the Scouts, he had already killed more titans than anyone before. Maybe it was because he worked directly for Erwin, who kept ordering her to write letters to the military board requesting the special promotion of Captain for those who were impressive additions to the military but hadn’t gone through the regular training.

The yet-to-be Captain and she had locked eyes in the past, or… done more than just locking eyes. That was the issue now. Every single time Levi was dragged into Erwin’s office because he had replied with his colorful vocabulary to a higher-up or fought another cadet, she was there. One thing led to another, and during common chores or after training, they had gotten more “familiar” with each other.

Y/N wouldn’t even dare to complain. The thug that Erwin had decided to bring to the surface kicking and shouting was many things. Rushed wasn’t one of them. She had clarified to him that she had never had a boyfriend before, or anything to be more precise, and he had reassured her that she could set the tempo. They would do anything that she felt comfortable with.

“Lev- Ah-“ she whimpered as he kissed her neck enthusiastically and his fingers played thoughtful circles over her clit.

“You like that, hm?” Levi replied almost as joke, it was obvious that she did by the way she rocked her hips against his hand.

“I-?!”

“Shhh,” he hushed her, half as mockery, half because they were breaking curfew “Don’t worry, I won’t go too far… two fingers are all I need,”

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she tried to concentrate on work, pen marking the time as it repeatedly hit the paper she was supposed to be reading while her mind recalled the exact scenes that, she believed, had dragged her into this situation.

The little knowledge that had been shared with her was more lies and tales than realistic information. The sudden crucifixion of her actions a couple of months ago passed in her mind as a picture book, one after the other, as her less pure side made an emphasis on bringing back the mental sequence of him taking off his shirt while smirking and then going down to kiss her, or better say devour her, taking her breath as if he needed the oxygen from her lungs for himself. Perhaps, the rocking of his bare hips against hers, with his manhood in full display for her to see as it pressed against her lower stomach.

‘Maybe it takes longer to show… no no, maybe I’m not. But what if I am?’ ‘Who do I tell? Who do I ask? What do I do?’

“Oi, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you or not?” Levi asked, pissed off already after an entire day of him asking, “You alright?” and her answering with a face that seemed far from okay, saying “Yes.” He was resting his body on the railing of the watch post, with a hot cup of tea between his hands.

“Nothing,” her voice came out whispery and sad, and he sighed loudly and groaned in pain.

“Just say it. Don’t be like ‘nothing,’” he emphasized the last word with sarcasm and disdain and kept going, “with the most fucked up face. It’s obvious that something is going on. Don’t be a pain in the ass and say it. Cut the show.”

A part of her wanted to be mad at him for saying that she wasn’t making a show or a scene. “It’s nothing that concerns you,” her response came dubitable, which made Levi keep up the demanding attitude, as if this time he wasn’t taking that as an answer. “It doesn’t concern you… you as a man.”

There was a brief silence before he sighed loudly. “You’re on the rags, that’s it?” She raised an eyebrow at the euphemism that was a bit more “street-like” than what she was used to. “You’re on your period, you’re bleeding. That’s what I meant.”

Leaving aside that it wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last that despite both of them talking the same language as every human inside of the walls, Underground slang was so distant from what she was used to that sometimes that they got lost in translation. When she got what he meant, she blushed intensely, ashamed. “No, and God, you could be a bit more delicate about it.”

Possibly, she wasn’t used to bringing the topic around the other gender. She had been told (since it happened for the first time) the bearable minimum amount of information: “You’re a woman now, it will happen every month, men must not know.” Telling Levi was breaking one of the three rules set in stone for her. The second rule was also broken, so she felt like stepping on completely foreign land.

The permanent wrinkled frown in Levi’s complexion was slightly changed with the addition of a raised, thin eyebrow. “If you’re not, then what’s the problem?”

She joined in the frowning and avoided his glance with questionable security and a mortified appearance. “More like… the lack of it?”

“Why are you worried about it?” Levi’s straightforward nature was testing her limits of politeness.

“Well, you know!” she cussed at him. “That I may be expecting,” she whispered the last part, terrified that someone might even hear her, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. As if those words could travel through walls and arrive at someone.

This was the time for him to be shocked and surprised. His eyebrows raised, and his eyes opened. Suddenly, even without him wanting, a pang of hurt appeared in his face. Levi was quick to question, “Are you fuckin’ someone?”

Perhaps the details or the official title of what they were sharing hadn’t been discussed yet, but Levi somehow thought it was rather clear that they were exclusive. However, since she seemed genuinely worried, Levi considered that perhaps he was the only one taking this more seriously. The idea of him misreading the relationship was like a bucket of cold water mixed with the raging fire of jealousy. He took a sip of his tea, mostly to disguise the disappointment mingled with hurt.

Her coldness was lost, and she pressed her lips together while raising both eyebrows, irritated. “You!”

The former thug, not following her train of thought, admired her in confusion before saying, “How could I get you knotted up?”

Levi’s usual frowning expression changed slightly as he was certainly not getting the point of the conversation. “Are you fuckin’ someone else?”

Gasping in disbelief, “Are you already questioning my loyalty to you?” She felt dreadfully offended. She turned around and gave him her back. “My grandmother was right. Men back up so easily. They leave you as soon as they find out.”

He shook his head slightly while wrinkling the nose, as he tried to process everything. He was completely confused but at the same time he got a rush of relief at her words. “You… you think you could be knock up?”

“Couldn’t you be softer about it? You say it so harshly,” she complained about his sharp tongue. As a silent reply, the hand that wasn’t holding the cup left his trousers’ pocket and raised as he also cocked an eyebrow, completely misunderstanding what was wrong with his choice of words. “I don’t know, maybe a bun in the oven or with child.”

She was freaking out inside and out, and Levi dedicated his best disinterested look to her after her correction of words. “What am I going to do?” she questioned to no one in particular as she felt the fear kicking in.

Levi’s expression remained the same as he gave it a thought, and then said almost as if he was confused of his own actions too. “I … I haven’t put it in yet,”

She seemed to have completely ignored him. Once he had finally concluded there was actually no real problem he sighed and then said, “Then you’re not pregnant, chill. Calm down.” As soon as those words left his lips and she turned around with a dead gaze, his free hand raised again but this time as some sort of white flag. “Fine, fucking terrible choice of words.” Aware that not a single person in human history had calmed down after being told so.

“You don’t know that,” she murmured as a reply to his first statement.

“I think I kinda do.” The calmness in his tone and the disinterest in his face made her even more infuriated.

“People in my life, especially my family, had made it clear before. Messing around with a man could lead to pregnancy. We were both naked and your… your thing was touching me and close by. I don’t know! Maybe it worked somehow,” she desperately tried to express her fears until she heard him chuckle. It was starting to be tiring to dedicated him dead glances.

“Sorry,” he apologized, probably realizing that laughing in her face wasn’t helping. “I may not be the most educated moron around here, but that simply is not how it works. I didn’t put my dick in, not even close, so you’re safe.”

“Are you implying that you know more than everybody around me?”

“More about sex than you? Apparently, yes, I’m sure of that.” As he arrived at the end of his reply, he couldn’t stop a side smirk from appearing on his features, and then he took a sip from his tea. "If getting knotted up was that easy, girly, there would be more kids than fucking grass.”

Her stubbornness didn’t allow her to believe him. She walked around the watch post worrying, “What if I need to carry it on? Will I lose my job? Erwin will be so disappointed in me! I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to be a mother either.”

Levi rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know, there’s no fucking schools down there but I’m sure about this.” He commented, thinking to himself so stupidly prudish surface people were compared to the underground. “You’re not knock up. I’ve to put it in and shoot my load for that to happen”

When he noticed she wasn’t really paying attention, Levi took a cup and filled it up with tea. He placed it in her hands and grabbed her face. His rough, calloused hand applied pressure on her cheeks and raised it slowly, to look up at him even when they were more or less the same height. “Calm the fuck down. Why would I lie to you? If it was possible, don’t you think I would freak out? Drink the tea and relax for goodness’ sake. We are one week away from an expedition, and you’re stressed as a fucking cornered rat. Of course, your period is not coming down.”

“Alright,” she stuttered. “But what if I am? You’re not leaving me to deal with this alone, right?” She gave him her best doe eyes.

“Of course,” he replied, mostly to not argue with her but the thought that she was still considering it made him roll his eyes.

Stress is never an excellent ally. He was right in everything. They came back from the expedition; she relaxed for a few days, and it came right in. If there’s something worse than a period, it's a late one. Her hormones were messed up, and everything hurt twice as much.

"Trying" was a generous word for her attempts at pretending she wasn’t in so much pain that she wished she'd never left her bed. It was a mix of the constant discomfort from the unrelenting waves of pain and a boiling sensation in her lower belly. Not to mention the random rushes of intense pain in her butt that made her feel as if time froze until the sensation slowly passed. She felt moody, mostly because the uniform felt like it was pressing in all the wrong places. It was too tight, complicated, impractical, itchy, and either too cold or too warm. She wanted to put on a long shirt and lay in bed for a week.

Her fork moved the food from one side of the plate to the other. She was hungry, but not for breakfast. The usual meal felt like an insult to her state. ‘I want comfort food, not healthy stuff for training,’ she thought.

“Why the shitty face? Are you constipated?” Levi asked bluntly. Her initial thought was, ‘Yes, try going to the bathroom normally when you feel like dying.’

“I have a headache,” she replied miserably.

Levi hummed a positive reply, “Ah,” looking her from the other side of the table and simply stated, “Your blood finally came,”

She choked on the glass of water she was drinking, coughing loudly. When she finally recovered, her embarrassed expression made it clear how she felt. “Don’t say that! Or at least not like that. Haven’t you imagined that a headache is a social clue since you’re a man and I don’t want you to know?”

Levi, who once again didn’t understand her reactions, kept his uninterested facade and raised the teacup to his lips. “I don’t get your fucking embarrassment. Men know about it. It’s not a secret.”

“It’s girls’ stuff,” she tried desperately to keep the traditions she was told, while Levi was obstinate about going against them.

“It’s normal. Why are people here on the surface so fucking obsessed about hiding normal shit?” Levi, still getting used to another society, snarled.

The need to argue left her body as she writhed in pain from another cramp. She tried to hide it as best as she could, even though Levi already knew; she felt like expressing her pain was something he didn’t want to hear.

“If you feel that bad, go to bed and rest.” His voice was calm and monotone as always, but there were hints of compassion escaping his stoic expression.

“I can’t tell the superiors,” she used as an excuse.

Levi clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Who cares? What’s the point of you training while feeling like this? Go, rest, and I will tell Erwin.”

“Erwin shouldn’t know,” she cried out loud, as if that was the worst fate.

“Don’t be an idiot. Erwin has hair on his balls. He knows how it works.” Levi felt as if she was talking nonsense but when he saw her conflicted face, he added, “I will tell him you caught a cold, whatever, so rest. I’ll do your chores.”

“You sure?”

“Just go.”

She did exactly that. At first, she felt she shouldn’t because she could bare it, but as soon as she arrived at her shared bedroom, changed her clothes, and laid quietly on the bed, she knew she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She fell asleep; it was still early anyway, so it was more like resuming the rest of the night than an actual nap.

Later, a few hours before dinner, she was feeling quite bad but wasn’t tired enough to take another nap. Laying on her side, curled up as she read a book slowly because it was hard to read from that position, she heard a knock on the door. It was unusual because her friends would have just rushed in.

“Come in!” she said, slowly and lazily sitting up.

Levi's figure appeared, and she felt the urgent need to smooth out her hair, which was heavily tangled from lying in bed all day. “What are you doing here?” she questioned quickly, running her hands through her hair. “Men are not allowed in the female barracks.”

Levi left a tray with tea and some buns with jelly, probably leftover from breakfast, on her nightstand as he moved next to her between the two bunk beds. “Who is gonna keep me out?” he replied monotonously, as if they both knew nobody was going to pick a fight with him or get on his bad side by snitching to a higher-up.

Before she could thank him, he asked, “You have a hot water bottle?”

“Yeah, but it’s cold already,” she replied, still confused. He extended a hand as a silent gesture for her to give it to him.

Once she handed it to him, he declared, “I’ll come back later. Drink the tea before it gets cold. Bread with jelly was the closest thing to something your bratty sweet tooth would like.”

She accepted the warm cup he handed her with a tender smile. “Thank you so much, you shouldn’t have.”

“How are you feeling?” Levi asked, keeping his eyes on her while she tasted the tea. ‘Chamomile,’ she noted.

“Could be worse, I’ll survive,” she replied, still embarrassed that he was around. “Did you warn the higher-ups?”

Levi nodded. “Told them you had a headache. Erwin said to take it easy today and let him know how you feel tomorrow. He mentioned something about administrative activities or some bullshit like that if you’re still not feeling well enough for training.”

She accepted the white lie without question. While resting warmly in bed, she thought, ‘If it’s only him knowing, I could get used to this kind of pampering.’

The white lie was necessary because when Levi walked to Erwin, who was leading his squad’s early morning training, he stood in front of him and said, “Y/N isn’t training today, she’s bleeding.”

The blunt words made the blond, who was casually writing on a spreadsheet, snap quickly in shock and then chuckle slightly out of nervousness. “Oh, alright, I’ll write her down as indisposed.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking ashamed, too?” Levi rested his hands on his hips, looking deeply at his squad leader.

Erwin, probably smiling at the unexpected situation, said, “Well no, but usually people are a bit more discreet… especially the girls.” Levi clicked his tongue, annoyed, before Erwin added, “I highly doubt Y/N told you to tell me that.”

“She told me to say she had a headache.”

“Of course,” Erwin chuckled, knowing those were not her words. “Try to be softer next time, especially if you ever have girls under your command. They get really embarrassed, especially when they are young.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Got it. I’ll add it to my long list of stuff that you fuckers from the surface get scared about.”

He was ready to go back to training while Erwin let the swears slip by as if he was tired of calling Levi’s attention to those. Then the shorter man asked, “Do you have chamomile tea?”

Erwin raised his attention from the spreadsheet to look at Levi and simply replied, “No. I have black tea.”

He clicked his tongue, “it’s for the brat,” Levi clarified, as if that would make a difference.

“I imagined, but no. I can give you black tea if you want.” Erwin insisted, confused about the specificity.

Levi frowned. “That doesn’t work, moron. Caffeine makes cramps worse. Chamomile works better. Don’t you know that?”

The blond shook his head, not ashamed of admitting his lack of knowledge. “Usually, female cadets don’t talk to us about that.”

“About their bleeding? Don’t you have a little sister?” Levi questioned back, as if that was reason enough.

“Step-sister, and she was born after I joined the military. We never shared a household,” Erwin explained as he went back to his work, disinterested. “And we prefer to call it indisposed,” he added, instructing him again.

“Tch, got it. I’ll add it to the other list of stuff I should say instead,” Levi said, ending the conversation as he turned around and walked away.

Or so he thought, because Erwin spoke up again. His attention was still on his paperwork while he switched the weight from one leg to the other, making the little rocks of the training ground move and crack. “Euphemisms.”

The former thug looked back over his shoulder, frowning, and asked, “What?” from a slightly bigger distance now.

“Euphemisms,” Erwin repeated as if the question was because the cadet didn’t hear it. But as soon as the blond didn’t get an answer, he proceeded to explain, “A euphemism is a word or phrase used to avoid saying an unpleasant or offensive word.”

Erwin had no intention of displaying his education to the former thug, more of a plain explanation. The blond even raised his eyes and did a slight smile as a “white flag,” not trying to sound superior in his explanation.

Levi replied with his best deadpan expression, “You surface assholes know that but not about chamomile tea? You should check your priorities.”

This time, the black-haired cadet truly walked away, hearing his superior chuckle a bit. “Check with Hange. They may have the tea,” Erwin called after him.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee Wanna join my tag list? Here!

Ps: If you ask me... Erwin know they are fucking lol

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Don’t take my sunshine away.

Part 4

Warning ⚠️; Blood, murder, mental breakdown

Pairing; Bruce Wayne/Male Reader

Summary; Ra’s al Ghul is in Gotham, escaping Batman, Nightwing and Robin only to face you and you have to face the ugly truth when you realize someone stole Jason’s body.

~~~~~~~~~~~

To say you hated Ra’s al Ghul and his league would be a euphemism. Bruce was still marked by his time among them, his flesh still covered in scars and his sleep with nightmares. Not only that but Ra’s had more than once been a pain in your ass. He and his daughter, both were on your list of most hated people.

Thankfully, Bruce always knew how to reassure you and make you safe when they were around. After all, Thalia was his ex from before Bruce and you fell in love and she always was flirting with him. You trusted Bruce and knew he was faithful no matter his past, but Thalia easily got on your nerves by going after your husband.

And that week you could only remember your hate and disgust of them as Ra’s was spotted with his assassins. Dick came to help the second he heard the news. Every night, Bruce went out with the boys trying to find and catch him. The thought of Tim facing a master assassin filled you with dread and fear. What if you were to lose another son?

No.

Bruce would never let something like that happen again. He wouldn't let Tim get hurt. After losing Jason and almost you and Tim, Bruce had changed. He still was against killing but had become more reckless, marking the worst kind of criminal with his sigil. They would often die in jail.

It had deepened the rift between Bruce and Clark, leading to many disagreements and altercations between the two heroes. You had always stood by Bruce, telling him he was doing the right thing.

And now you could only wonder if it was the reason behind Ra’s presence in the city.

That morning when the boys came back from patrol, you could see on their faces that Ra’s had once more escaped their grasp. You welcomed them back with open arms and the first aid kit ready. Thankfully only Bruce needed some care, the boys were fine but upset and you understood them.

Once they were tucked into bed and you were alone with Bruce in yours, your husband broke down. You held him in your arms as he held you for dear life. You whispered sweet words in his ear, caressing his hair and kissing his face. You were careful around his injuries and bruises, not wanting to cause more pain. Once Bruce had calmed down, he stayed in your embrace as he explained himself.

Ra’s didn't target him that night, instead, he went after Tim and Dick. Bruce was still shaking up, body shaking as the adrenaline slowly disappeared and the reality hit him. You held your husband tighter.

- “But nothing happened to them, Bruce. They don't have a single scratch on them, you protected them from Ra’s. You are a good dad.” You told him, your voice barely a whisper as you dried his cheeks. “Do you hear me? You are a good dad and you kept our kids safe and I know you will always bring them back home.”

Bruce had smiled weakly, thanking you. You two cuddled more and you admired him under the morning light. So many scars and bruises and you knew each of them by heart. You could even name what or who caused them.

You stayed awake, watching over Bruce as he slept in your arms. His head rested on your chest as he listened to your heartbeat before falling asleep. You kept brushing his hair with your fingers, making sure no nightmare disturbed him.

Of course, nothing could stay calm forever.

The following night, you couldn't sleep at all. Bruce’s story kept replaying in your head and how everything could have gone wrong. You also wondered why Ra’s had targeted the kids. It wasn't in his nature to go for the weakest, so why did he?

You sat in the living room, facing the cheminee as you drank some tea while thinking about everything when you heard the floor cracking. You immediately knew it wasn't Alfred, the butler would have announced himself sooner and Bruce definitely was still out.

You froze in fear as you heard Ra’s voice filling the room.

- “Looks like Bruce left you alone, defenceless… at my mercy.”

- “I am anything but defenceless, Ra’s.” You spat back as you slowly got up before turning around to face the assassin.

Ra’s stood tall wrapped in greenish clothes. Your eyes immediately found his sword and you felt fear slowly crawl inside your heart. Bruce had taught you how to defend yourself and you knew how to use a gun, but against Ra’s? You stood no chance of getting out alive.

Your only comfort was that Bruce would avenge you and soon you would be reunited with Jason.

- “What do you want?” You asked, voice colder than ice. “Why did you try to hurt my kids?”

- “So many questions and yet none are the right ones.” Ra’s mocked Ashe approached you. You moved, keeping a safe distance from him, making the other man smile. “Bruce taught you well.”

- “Just like he taught our sons. You won't get away with killing me, Ra’s. If Bruce doesn't avenge me, I know my children will.”

It only made Ra’s chuckles as he shook his head. You two walked around the room, still facing each other. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, hoping it wouldn't be an agonizing death.

- “I see where Jason got it all, not from Bruce, but you. He really is his papa’s son.” Ra’s said almost mockingly.

His words enraged you. Not only was the fucker talking as if Jason was still alive, but also as if he knew your son. Never would Jason stay around people like Ra, if he was alive you knew he would come back to you and Bruce.

So how dare he speak of Jason? How dare he act as if your son was still alive?

- “Shut up! You speak as if you knew my son as if he was still alive. He is dead so keep his name out of your filthy mouth!” You snapped.

- “Are you sure about it?” Ra’s asked, smirking.

It was too much for you.

The disrespect, the mockery and the cruelty of his words made you see red. You didn't think twice and raced toward Ra’s. The man was too surprised by your reaction and you were able to land a punch.

You two fell on the ground, thrashing around and trying to dominate the other. You bit and scratched Ra’s when he had you pinned down. The snake got a few punches on you as well and you felt your mouth filling with blood.

You had managed to throw away his sword and it got stuck under the sofa. Ra’s hands grabbed your neck and you managed to hit him in the balls with your knees. No matter the pain, Ra’s didn't let go and you began running out of air. Lungs burning, you felt your sight get blurry as the assassin was about tonl break your neck. You closed your eyes, awaiting death.

To your biggest shame, you screamed when you heard a gunshot and warm blood splattered all over your face. You fell on the ground with Ra’s in a loud thud, gasping for air as you crawled away. Two strong hands grasped your shoulders and you tensed until you heard Alfred’s voice.

- “Master (Y/N), thank God you are fine. Here, let me help you.” The soft voice of Alfred was enough to calm your nerves as he cleaned your face from the blood. “Why didn't you call for me? Ah! You two are really made for each other, aren't you!”

- “Alfred? Alfred! W-what happened? Ra’s al Ghul, he…” you tried to speak, but your throat hurt like hell.

- “Dead. Thankfully I didn't touch you when I shot his head, but what a mess I made. It will take me hours before getting all that blood off the floor.”

You opened your eyes and looked around. You quickly found Ra’s body lying on the floor in a poodle of blood, half his head missing. Heart racing in your chest, you shivered at the thought of what would have happened if Alfred hadn't shown up.

- “Alfred, you need to…” You began, voice shaking as the butler helped you up before sitting you on the sofa.

- “Already done. Master Bruce and the children are coming back and I have already told the police about the break-in.”

You nodded feeling a weight lifting off your shoulders. You kept your eyes on Ra’s body as if he was going to come back to life. His words kept repeating in your head, filling you with doubt.

Before long Bruce and the boys were back and you melted in your husband’s arms as he held you tightly just like Tim. Dick covered Ra’s corpse, making sure you couldn't see it anymore. He stayed behind you, a silent support once the police arrived.

Gordon was at lost for words and you couldn't explain to him the full story. You stayed on the story of the break-in and that you didn't know him, and could not understand why that man tried to kill you. Thankfully Gordon didn't suspect anything and believed you. After all, Gotham was a hellhole so such things weren't out of the ordinary.

But once the police were gone with Ra’s body, you explained the whole story to your family. You kept quiet about how you had accepted your demise and emphasized how Ra’s said Jason was still alive even tho it was impossible.

Just like you, Bruce and Dick were outraged at the thought, denying the possibility. Only Tim believed it. There were so many weird things they saw and fought about, could it really be impossible for Ra’s to have brought Jason back to life?

The idea that that assassin had played Frankenstein with your son terrified you and you almost threw up on the spot. Bruce chastised Tim, but Dick got on his side.

What if…

What if…

The simple possibility was enough for you to need confirmation that Jason was still resting in peace. With the three of you against him, Bruce had no other choice but to agree to dig up Jason’s tomb. It was disgusting, horrible and needed.

You were all silent as you went to Jason’s last resting place carrying each a shovel. It didn't take you long before his coffin was in sight. You almost had a panic attack and it only thanks to Bruce and Tim if you didn't. They held you as Dick opened the coffin and froze before looking at you.

- “It's empty. Its.…” Dick said, voice shaking as you gasped for air. “Jason…”

- “Dick, stop it!” Bruce snapped and got up, walking toward the opened grave. “That unnecessary cruel and…”

You felt your heart drop as you saw Bruce froze and just knew. You got up on shaking legs and ran up to see. Bruce grabbed you, trying to stop you, but you said it. The coffin was dirty and, worse, completely empty. You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks.

- “Where is he? Where is my son?” You screamed, fingers digging in Bruce’s arms as your own body protested in pain. “Who took? Where is my baby?”

- “Easy my love, easy. We are going to find the truth, we are going to find Jason okay? Please calm down my love.” Bruce whispered in your neck as he held you tightly.

You collapsed in Bruce's arms, crying and clinging to him. The boys were talking but you understood nothing. Only your husband's sweet voice reached you even tho you couldn't calm down. The thought that someone had stolen Jason’s body horrified you and you wondered why. Why steal him? Why not let him rest in peace?

But Bruce’s promises were enough to comfort you and you knew your husband would do everything and anything to find back your son. Whoever did it was in for a beating, because such a crime wouldn't be left unpunished.

[itsagrimm]

Dollhouse

Simon Riley X you

CN angst, patriarchy and effects on those who can have children, family planning (this is not a euphemism you dogs)

700 words

The idea came to me in a dream. Little short note so i won't forget.

Cover als always made by me. it's from Abhörstation, Berlin.

You woke up with an ache in your heart.

As always when your boyfriend went on deployment he had to leave early.

As always you got up to make coffee and chat as he packed his bags.

Did you get the socks from the laundry? No idea where your aftershave is. Take the green shirt. It suits you.

Sharing one last cup over breakfast together had become your tradition just like getting up together before his trips. Then that last kiss came before he left through the door.

Stay safe Simon. I miss you already. Come back quickly. I love you too.

The click of the lock closing behind him with painful finality.

Nothing ever prepared you for that part of your relationship when you were alone. You browsed through forums and group chats among military spouses, feeling empty and cheated that no one prepared you for the solitude of it. Or are you the only one not cut out for the waiting? About how much time of your life you spent on standby, waiting for Simon to get back and do all those tiny things and big plans with you? Are you doing this correctly?

Maybe I am not cut out for this – you mused as you looked over the space you shared with Simon; his seat now empty. The book he read yesterday right next to pots of plants you bought together on the windowsill. Photos of you and him in frames over the couch he lounged on last night. Memories frozen in time. Memories in waiting. Like you, sitting here waiting for him to come back and pick up where he left.

You never doubted him. Whatever happened while he was away never left you unloved, forgotten, replaced. But love is not the only thing that you needed. Him catching you in a searing kiss when he returned, carrying you back to the bedroom and feeding your lonely skin until it was plump and satisfied from caresses was never the problem. Simon was never the problem.

It was you. No amount of perfect love and devotion, of passion and desire could make up for you being alone despite your relationship. Standing alone at parties and nursing that one white wine spritzer. Going to family events. Dealing with life on your own and talking to yourself every evening about the day that you had.

Simon is away. Yes, I worry but he will be back soon. I am sure it will be alright.

Sometimes the guilt ate at you. His job was dangerous. He could get hurt. He could die. And yet here you were thinking about how hard your life was. How his life was spent in visible excitement with his buddies sharing a beer after a mission, his captain giving him a pat on the back, people asking him if he was fine. And you were kept in a state of continuous invisible anticipation for him to return to you, hopefully in one piece.

Besides, how many out there would love to live the life you had? Being a perfect little wife one day and dolling up for Simon with that military check paying for that shared life. Keeping a perfect little doll home for him to return to and play civil life for a bit. Being a perfect little single mum to the Riley-kids he would father with you only to never be around for them because of his job.

The thought made you gasp out in worry for the unborn children you weren’t even sure you wanted. Children with dark brown eyes. Children that would leave your fingers trembling from the tiring task of loving and worrying about them. Children that made you wonder where they were and if they would return to you in one piece as if that was not a concerning thought. Was this normal? Or another thing you were failing at?

God, you feared yet wished for that family so much. Hoping for Simon to return right now and asking him how he felt about starting on having kids this exact moment. But your rabbit heart new better and you froze as you reached for your phone, opting to send him “safe travels” instead.

Maybe one day you would grow brave enough to tell him all that. And hopefully he would be brave enough to listen.

[softtdaisy]

GIRL CRUSH - XAVIER THORPE

DESCRIPTION I you have a crush on Xavier but sure he likes Wednesday, so you take the opportunity to taste him on someone else's lips

PAIRING I Xavier Thorpe × fem!reader

WORDS COUNT I 2,3k

A/N I in case it wasn't obvious already, I have a crush on this man and after listening to girl crush, I decided to try and write for him. I hope it's worth it 💛

You felt stupid. Stupid. The stupidest person in the world.

It already wasn’t easy living in Jericho. It was worse to not have any power when you were living so close to Nevermore. And the worst part was that most of your friends came from the school, meaning you had to deal with all their abilities. While your only ability was to make good coffee. Ugh.

But all of this wasn’t enough for you. Of course not. You had to fall for one of these outcasts, as they call them. You wanted to scream at that thought. How could you been so stupid to let your heart guide yourself there?

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t entirely your fault. Like, you couldn’t blame yourself for Xavier Thorpe being this nice, right? 

It all started when Xavier started coming at the coffee. He was the one taking command for all his friends. You noticed how he was always drawing some stuff on the recipe you gave him. Some were darker than the others. The situation was the same every single time: Xavier was too lost on his drawing and his mind that he only looked up when you came back with all the drinks. Then, he managed to grab them all and let the paper on the counter, forgetting about it immediately. 

But you didn’t.

You kept all his drawing. It was art and you would feel terrible throwing them away. You always put the one in your apron and, most of time, forgot to take them with you when you were leaving. 

After a few meetings, you started to talk and discovered some things about each other. He learnt where you were going at school and which majors you wanted to do after that, and you learnt how he was putting his hair behind his ear when he was getting nervous and how he had the most precious smile you ever seen. Among others important things, of course.

“Shit, [y/n] can you give me a pen and some papers please?” You were talking when Xavier’s phone starting rigging. You had no idea who was calling him and for what, but it seemed important enough for him to need to write it down. 

Of course, you looked in your apron to give him what he needed. And, of course, what you took out was all the drawing you kept with you. To say you were red would be a euphemism. Xavier looked at you with an amused expression before taking one of the already used paper to write the information he needed. You were this close to run away before he finished his called. “So…you kept them?” he asked you.

You looked innocently, like you didn’t understand what he was asking. When he started to laugh, you immediately looked down again. You felt stupid. But when Xavier slowly put his hand on your check and encouraged you to lift your face up, you didn’t feel anything anymore. “I’m glad you liked them.” He said softly. He then brought his face closer to yours, which almost made you faint, to whisper in your ear. “And they come with a little surprise.”

That was how you discovered Xavier’s power.

Not long after that day, you started to hang out with his friends. They were all…pretty amazing, you had to admit. You hated the fact they were all magic and everything and you were just… you. But they all made sure that you never felt inferior, or not that much at least. And they did a really great job for that. Being with them was entertaining and interesting and you got to spend more time with Xavier, so yeah, no complaining.

Except for one thing. You really thought there could be something with Xavier after that day at the coffee. Especially when he started to offer you his drawings directly and to imply that he was thinking about you when he was doing them. You could tell it was less dark than before.  And you thought it meant something.

But then you saw how he was around Wednesday. He looked at her like he would protect her against everything. You quickly noticed how he was always by her sides. When he wasn’t beside her, he was always making sure he could see her. 

You liked Wednesday. She was a great friend. You liked how she was never pretending to be someone else and was always honest with you like she was with the others. You really, really, appreciated her.

But you were still jealous.

And there you were. At a party surrounding by everyone. And watching Xavier talking to Wednesday like he always did. You were almost leaving when Enid stopped you. “We’re going to play some game, come here!” and it wasn’t an invitation. It was mostly to tell you where she was taking you since she grabbed your hand and made you follow her through the room. 

And they were all here, sitting on the floor in circling. You had a bad feeling about this. “Is this…some kind of truth or dare?” you asked. 

“Exactly!” Ajax answered. “Except we can know if you lied.” You sighed at that thought and sat at the only empty space free: right in front of Wednesday and Xavier. She kept looking at you and you offered her a gentle and sincere smile. You couldn’t not like that girl. You simply wished she wasn’t stealing your crush.

The game started and it was pretty entertaining watching magic people play that. But of course, as a human, your dare ended up being pretty…ordinary, you had to say. “Kiss the person you find the prettiest in the room.” Bianca dared you.

You knew why she did that. But you couldn’t do what she was excepting. You couldn’t risk revealing your feelings to Xavier and being rejected in front of everybody. And losing him.

So got up. And walked. To Wednesday. You grabbed her face and kissed her without overthinking it. You heard some gasps but only focused on her lips and the way it took her a few seconds before she put a hand on your neck. It didn’t last long but it did mark the night for sure.

“That was…unexcepted. But interesting.” She said, thinking about your kiss while looking at you. Like they were doing right now. Including, Xavier who seemed more confused than ever.

You couldn’t handle all these eyes on you and run away from the party for good this time. You could already feel the tears growing in your eyes from the stupidity on your action. You had to stop for a second, just to check where you were going. And it was enough for Xavier to catch you. “Hey, where are you going?” 

You could hear the amusement in his voice which made you pushed him away. “Leave me alone.” You mumbled, already walking back. But it wasn’t like Xavier was going to let you leave like that. Not after he saw how upset you were. So he took your hand slowly this time, but with enough strength to make you stop. 

“Talk to me. What happened there? Why did you…why?” he couldn’t contain the little laugh at the end because it still seemed unreal to him that you kissed Wednesday. Not that she wasn’t attractive or anything, he would be lying if he said anything like that. But he was 90% sure to know who you were going to kiss. And it wasn’t the girl with the black hair. 

“I don’t know, ok! I mean. I do. But…I don’t want to tell.” You tried to cross your arms on your chest but since Xavier was still holding you, you just brought him closer to you. You loved how he was caressing your wrist slowly, making you feel protected. You almost gave in. Until you remembered why you were in that state. “I’m sorry for kissing your girlfriend, ok?”

“My…what? No!” Xavier was confused and amused at the same time and damn you hated him for having such a beautiful smile. “Wednesday is not my girlfriend. She’s just my friend.” At the same time, he wondered what could have made you think that he was dating her. Was he that bad with girls that you imagined things like that?

You sighed. “Then why are you always with her? You’re always next to her like you’re scared for her, like you need to protect her like she’s your girl! You always have an eye on her and…I don’t know, I think like I don’t exist when she’s there.” You hated opening your heart like that, specially because you were sure you sounded pathetic. Xavier was going to laugh at you and said you were miserable and leave you alone, right?

Instead, Xavier put his other hand on your check like he loved to do and started to caress your skin with so much tenderness you almost melted. “I like her, she’s one of my closest friends here. So yeah, I want to protect her, and I always will. But if you had paid more attention, you would have known that I was always looking at you.” 

“No, you don’t.” you replied, frowning. You were looking at Xavier way too much to know that. You would have notice, right? Or were you too concentrate on your jealousy to see it?

“Yes, I do.” He laughed, pinching your wrist which made you groan before laughing too. And just when you thought everything was back to normal and you could get away with your stupid idea for that kiss, something seemed to light up in Xavier’s mind. 

“Wait…did you kissed Wednesday because you were jealous and thought that I was with her?”

You knew it was pointless, but you tried to run away, again. But again Xavier just pulled on your arm to bring you to him. This time, you ended up against his chest and as comfortable as it was, you had to look up to spill the truth. It was almost like the words didn’t want to stay in your mind. 

“It sounded better in my head, ok? But I thought that I couldn’t kiss you because it would have been too obvious that I like you too much so I decided to kiss her so I could taste your lips on hers and…” you didn’t get to finish that sentence. 

Because Xavier gave you exactly what you were looking for during your kiss with Wednesday: a taste of his lips. He was just like you imagined him to be, soft and dominating at the same time. Like he was controlling every little second of that kiss, from the way his lips were moving on yours to how his tongue made in his way into your mouth and his hand was holding your neck to keep you close. But he was soft too with the way his hand was still brushing your wrist or how you could feel a smile growing on his lips like he just realized what he was doing.

Once he was done, he gently put his forehead against yours and brought his hand from your neck to your check. “You could have asked; I would have given you a taste earlier.” He had this sweet, charming voice. And behind that flirty smile, you could tell he was sincere. You should have asked or be confident enough to kiss him. You wouldn’t have lost any time overthinking his interactions with Wednesday. You could have used that time being in his arms earlier.

You put a kiss on his nose which made him laugh softly. “I know for next time now.” 

“When is next time?” He asked, frowning. Because if your first was quite chaotic, but memorable, what you didn’t imagine was that Xavier was dying to kiss you for weeks now. He had tones of drawings reminding him of you in his room until you started talking to each other. He dreamt about you so many nights that he guessed some people from school you knew about it. And, well, Wednesday was the perfect annoying friend reminding him that he still hadn’t try to get you and that he might lose you if he never does. 

If it was up to him, he would be kissing you all the time. But he guessed now he had all the pleasure to make up for the lost time. 

“What about now?” You offered.

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, just flirting together and kissing each other a lot. You couldn’t resist Xavier’s perfect lips. When a moan escaped his lips the one time you hold his hair, you knew you had so many things to try with that boy. Just like you felt his hands exploring your body with fineness, like he wanted to remember your curve to draw them. 

In the end, you decided to go back to your place. You didn’t want to ruin the party more, even though Xavier kept telling you that you weren’t ruining anything. “Just tell Wednesday that she’s a good kisser and it’s not her fault I didn’t chose her.” You laughed, but still wanting to make sure you didn’t lose a friend in the process. And then you started to walk home, your head full of thoughts about a guy with long hair, a beautiful smile and magic hands.

“Oh, and by the way.” You turned around to look at Xavier. He was standing against a tree, his arms crossed against his chest. You wanted to run and hug him one last time, but you stayed there, appreciating the picture. With his messy hair and the genuine smile on his face. “I like you too much too.” This time you couldn’t resist and went to steal one last kiss from him.

Maybe you were stupid. But at least you were stupidly in love with the most wonderful guy you knew and that was worth it.

follow @softtdaisywords​ to know when new stories are released 🤍

[bloodyquillink-blog]

hi! your request says open and i was hoping if you can do kick x reader, where the reader is playing uno with him. while playing, they get a bit frustrated since kick beat them in 2 rounds and now they both have one uno card. kick takes this as his advantage and decides to flirt with the reader with, "computer techs have skilled fingers if you know what I mean" and the reader is stund and kick immediately says uno then the reader is irritated by him and his wins. it's ok if your busy but thank you !!

-🍓

A/N🪶: Thank you for your request! I legit could not find a single fic/drabble/one-shot with Kick so seeing a request for him was really exciting. I hope you enjoy this! Also, the concept is so perfect, 10/10, would daydream about this specific scenario again.

Warnings: Fluff, Uno-induced rage, Swearing, Flirting, Suggestiveness, gn!Reader, only “you” used for reader,

Word Count: 723

Gotcha, Kick x Reader short

The two of you sat on the ground, the thickness of your pants and heavy boots protecting your skin from its cool surface. There were two stacks of cards between you and Kick. One stack face down, the Uno logo facing upwards, that you would pick from when you needed more cards. The other face up, cards being stacked every turn and changing color or number. The stacks were about even at this point, thanks to you picking up so many to try to get back at Kick for his +2’s and +4’s and color-changing cards. He probably had cards he was hiding… you quickly threw that thought away. 

It’s Uno for God’s sake, no one cheats at Uno!

“Are you gonna put down a card? Or is it time to pick up another 10?” He asked. You’d been staring at your cards for a while now.

“It wasn’t 10! It was only 8!” You argued, defensive. You went back to looking at your cards, a pout sat on your lips. If you looked back at Kick, you would’ve seen the way he scanned your face. His hand slowly picked up a card from the deck that faced down and handed it to you so that only you could see what it was.

Motherfucker. 

Of course he’d pick up exactly what you need. He’d been the only one getting any of the good cards. You looked him in the eye, frown deepened, and snatched the card out of his hand. He just had that same stupid smile that he’s had for the last two rounds.

In a fit of irritation, you slam down the yellow +2. Before you can make some smart-ass remark, Kick calmly put down a green +2 on top. He looked back at you and your flabbergasted expression.

He starts chuckling.

“But- How long did you have that on you?!”

“I held onto it until I needed it.” He tapped his index finger against his temple. “Instinct, my friend. Save your life someday.” 

Your eyebrows almost touched with the rage on your face. You picked up 4 cards and put down a yellow 5 as you angrily muttered to yourself.

“Damn cards, damn Uno… Damn instinct, I have instinct, I use my instincts every day.” You kept grumbling as you both placed cards almost rhythmically until you both had one.

“How’d you even get that card?”

“The one I picked for you?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, you shuffled them and you would’ve gotten it anyway so…” You pouted again.

“You have to have magic hands or something.”

“Not magic, sweetheart, just skill.”

“Skill?” Your tone gave away your doubt.

Kick smiled at you, you could feel your face warm.

“Computer techs have very skilled hands and fingers.” He stared at you, unblinking. If your face was warm before, the euphemism made it burn. He continued.

“Gotta know how to move them quickly, to just the right spot. Can’t risk anything in the heat of the moment.” You couldn’t formulate a single sentence. Your neurons were shot. Kick slowly put his last card down.

“Uno. I win again.” You were still unmoving. Kick leaned forward so you were making eye contact again. “Can you handle another round?” He asked. “I can shuffle the cards this time.” 

You swallowed the drool that had built up in your mouth and put your last card down.

“I give up. I’m done.” You stood. 

“Done? Really? C’mon, I’ll go easy on you this round.”

“It’s Uno! How do you go easy on someone in Uno?!”

“Play another round and I’ll show you.” You looked at him, about to tell him to fuck off until you saw the look he wore. Kick still had that stupid smirk on his face as he stared back at you. He leaned back, legs crossed and arms holding him up. You stuttered, trying to find words. 

Before you could, Kick brought one of his hands up and crooked his index finger to his palm twice, telling you to come back without having to say anything. Your whole body warmed. You thought about leaving, the door cracked open just a bit behind you. You thought back to Kick’s jokes.

“Gotta know how to move them quickly…” 

You brought your attention back to Kick. Without taking your eyes off of him, you closed the door. 

[literaryfandomangel]

The Promise- Chapter Eleven

**Warning ** this chapter does have some descriptions that could be triggering to those with/recovering from an ED. I find it therapeutic to write about it as I recover from my own ED.

“Hold tight, sweetheart,” Dwayne lifted my hand, kissing the back of my hand. Then, the four men kickstarted their bikes. I yelped, holding on as tight as possible once the four men began driving. They were going a lot faster than the previous night. The cold wind hit my face, so I ducked it to rest between his shoulder blades. My left cheek felt like I had set it on hot sand, burning and tingling with the skin-to-skin contact. I felt my eyelids begin to close now that the adrenaline was wearing off. 

I had almost fallen asleep, holding looser, when the bikes abruptly stopped. I grunted and yawned, trying to force my eyes to open. My tiredness was seeping through my bones, making my eyelids feel like cement when I felt a hot hand on my cheek. It was rough, full of callouses, but yet so gentle. 

“Mia bella,” Marko reached out, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Open those beautiful eyes.” I did as he asked, finally forcing them to open. He grinned. “Such a good girl.”

“I’ll carry you down,” Paul said, even though my body had frozen at Marko’s last sentence. I breathed out, feeling as if the world was floating around me. Marko grinned, sharing a glance with David. 

Paul lifted me off the bike. I was carried away from the motorcycle, bridal style. When I noticed that he was going for the steep staircase, descending into their hideaway, I gripped Paul a little tighter. I prayed he wouldn’t let me fall because the stairs dropped fifty to a hundred feet. I whined when each step jostled my hip bone, causing radiating pain. “I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry,” Paul kept murmuring, not stopping the descent. 

Dwayne had gone first, disappearing into the side of the cliffs. Marko and David followed behind Paul and me. I didn’t want to see the descent, so I rested my chin on Paul’s shoulder, facing Marko and David. Marko kept making funny and strange faces at me to try to distract me. I let out watery chuckles, trying not to drown in the waves of mounting pain. I know Paul felt horrible that every step he took was causing me pain. 

“Set her down,” Dwayne stated when we finally entered their “cave.” Which I guess wasn’t a euphemism for their man hang-out and was an actual cave. Paul strode across the room, setting me down on a couch. “Let’s get this jacket off.”

I let Dwayne remove his jacket from my body. It revealed the mesh sweater I was wearing underneath. Paul took the jacket, setting it to the side before Dwayne’s hands were on the hemline of my shirt. I took in a deep breath, anxious at the fact that they would remove the covering that hid my body from view. 

“Look at me,” David’s stern voice cut through the loud thundering of my heart. I looked into his pale eyes, on the verge of a panic attack. “We need to look at your injuries, baby. Just relax.”

Almost immediately, I felt calmer than I had before. The longer I stared into those pale blue eyes, the more my anxiety waned until it was snubbed out like a candle wick. I felt boneless, keeping my eyes on David when Dwayne finally removed the outer layer of clothing. The guys exchanged surreptitious looks when they saw my skeletal form for the first time. 

They saw how my bones protruded from the skin. They could map out every single vein in my body due to how thin and stretched my skin was over the bones. Marko was suddenly urged to hit someone, and Paul wanted to force me to eat ice cream. Dwayne and David remained the calmest, mentally advising the other two to get a handle on their emotions. 

Dwayne pushed me forward, looking down at the bruises littering my back. Having calmed a bit, Paul traced my prominent vertebrae with gentle fingers. I shivered at the feeling of ghosting hands touching my bare skin. Dwayne prodded along the darkening bruises to ascertain if anything was broken. 

He could only see so much since the tank top obscured his vision. Dwayne held his breath when he pushed up the thin material to reveal the worst bruising. His calloused hands caressed my skin as Dwayne pushed the material upwards. I heard Dwayne hiss, cursing under his breath when he saw the vast marks littering my back. 

David stood from his position, kneeling in front of me, to look at the bruising. He was silent, but he exuded a cloud of rage. My skin pebbled with goosebumps as I reacted to his emotions. I watched as he took off, disappearing into the depths of their home, lost from sight. 

“I’m sorry,” I cried, eyes wide as I watched for his form to return. 

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” Paul stroked my hair as he spoke softly. “He’s not mad at you.” Paul interpreted why I was apologizing with shocking clarity. “He wants to go back and kill the fuckers that put their hands on you.”

“I’m alright,” I whispered, overwhelmed by their response. I wasn’t sure why they were so up in arms; it was only a few bruises. Justin had done worse, and he hadn’t cared about the injuries. The only one who fixed my injuries was myself because I didn’t want Mom to know what he was doing. 

“Your back will be sore for a while,” Dwayne finally spoke after inspecting the area. He had pressed, ensuring that no bones were broken. Once finished, Dwayne gently pulled my tank top back down to cover the expanse of my back. “I need to see your hip now, though.”

I flushed, realizing that meant removing my pants. My fingers began to shake at the thought, but I brought them down to the button of my pants. My fear filled their entire cave to the point they could taste the sharp, acrid scent. David returned from the cave depths, having smelled and felt the fear in the air. He shared a glance with the other three, who were trying to comfort me but speaking through their mindbond in utter panic. 

Marko decided to make the first move. He came from around the side of the couch, leather chaps creaking with every step. Marko knelt in front of me, reaching a hand to stroke at the soft skin of my cheek. 

“We would never hurt you, Mia Cara,” Marko murmured. As I looked into his green eyes, I saw the sincerity. Even though he was usually the mischievous one of the group, they were all serious at the moment. “None of us would touch you in a way you didn’t approve, sweetheart.”

“Baby, talk to us,” Paul’s voice was soft and tiny. I looked around me, feeling a weird warmth emulating from my soul at the proximity of all four men. I didn’t want to be strong anymore, but I barely knew these four. They could just be playing a trick, but something in my soul cried that they weren’t the type to play such a cruel trick like this. 

Chapter Twelve

[streets-in-paradise]

Unlikely Friendship-Child's Play (1988) and Stranger Things Crossover

Warnings: Crossover AU, many apects of the ending of Stranger Things season 4 were ignored for this. Eddie Munson moves to Chicago and gets adopted by meets the Barclays. Background Eddie x Reader (reader is named). Happy fic with an A Nightmare On Elm Street-like open ending.

Summary: Little Andy Barclay develops a peculiar fascination when he meets the boyfriend of his substitute babysitter, a neigbor from his building that keeps an eye on him whenever Maggie is unavailable. His mother is highly skeptical of him due to his strange attitude and threatening appearance, but Eddie's kindness of heart would end up surprising her.

Notes: The name I picked for the reader (Lily) i did because I wanted a flower name to match with Maggie and I really like that one. Also, the flower represents a few things in her characterization and plot function. Not intending to make it even more of a self insert or anything

Tags: @losersclubisms

The neighbors of the building were for most living immersed in their own problems and Karen didn’t expect anyone to care for hers. Being a prideful woman herself, she wouldn’t have seeked any support networks among them. There was not much on their part besides some volatile offerings during small talk that often sounded more like charity than friendly help born from true involvement. A kind young girl on the down floor was the only exception, she had been babysitting Andy from time to time since the first moment she had to leave him for a job interview. The deal was arranged as a spontaneous thing meant to last just for that occasion, but it kept repeating sporadically. The little boy responded well to her and his adorable sweetness won her over, so she felt more than happy to help. As their bond became more stable Karen insisted on offering her payment almost every single time, but she would end up accepting only a minimal fraction attempting to show she truly cared for her family untill she would understand it.  

A cordial, reciprocal solidarity based friendship began to develop between both women. They were both struggling in their different ways, Lily didn’t have a good relationship with her mother and she would often come to her asking for advice on countless topics. From work problems to romantical advice, anything that would be floating around in her mind she would share it with her. Karen was quite concerned about the guy she was seeing, from the tales she heard he seemed quite eccentric and describing him like that would be an euphemism. It wouldn’t take much time for some of her guesses to be confirmed, since she got to meet him quite quickly as the relationship advanced. 

If she would have come across him on the streets, his threatening looks would have probably scared her. The long haired young man dressed in black leather and jeans carrying tons of jewelry with strange symbols didn’t inspire her much trust. Even less the first words she heard him say overhearing the couple talking before they noticed her and her boy coming in close to them.

“ I’m going to keep taking you home, babe. I have reasons to be worried, there is a maniac on the loose! Well, another one besides me, of course. “ He joked, making the girl chuckle. “ How long do you think it’s going to take for local metal bands to catch up on that? Every impactufll psycho eventually gets their song."

“ Until police would catch him, I hope. “ 

Their conversation got inmediately interrupted by Andy's pure excitement.

" Hi Lily!!!" He happyly saluted, quickly catching attention before his mother could say anything. " Nice to see you!!"

Her expression was brightfull for the cute surprise.

" Andy!!! How are you, darling?"

He was all smiles before replying.

" Good, doing all kinds of stuff. "

The curious eyes of the kid were fixated on the man beside her, his attention focused in his unusual appearance.

In the meantime, Karen followed with more kind salutes.

" Good evening, dear. Excuse us for the intrussion. "

The young neighbor was happy to see her.

" You are never intruders, i have wanted to do the presentations from quite some time. "

" I handle it from here, sweetheart. " The man followed her. " A pleasure to meet you, from all I have heard I guess you must be Karen. I'm Eddie, and i have the honor of dating this lovely lass."

Andy chuckled, the self introduction somehow reminded him of a Robin Hood he saw in a puppet show.

He once more spoke in advance

" Hi, Eddie! I'm Andy!!!"

Eddie responded while offering him a handshake.

" Nice to meet you, Andy!!"

There was no glimpse of fear in the boy, only a strange fascination. He was paying attention to all the details in his jewelery, specially the rings.

" Woooow! What's that?"

The kid had clearly pointed one of the skull shaped ones.

" Well, it's how all of us look from the inside. When we die, that's what's left. "

The answer was too disturbing and it weirded the mother.

" That's enough, honey. We are going home. "

As the small family followed its route, Eddie still intended to apologise.

" Sorry, Mrs Barclay! i'm not a big fan of lying to kids, I will try to be less terrifying next time."

It was hard for her to understand what was that girl seeing in him. The first awkard interaction didn't do much for his reputation, but she would notice her so in love and the whole thing was a mistery to her.

However, her son was another story. The strange man must have caused a great first impact in him, because he wouldn't stop talking about him. Everytime his neighbor would be babysitting him, he would ask her about Eddie. When was he coming to see her?, What was he doing? and Could he come to play? where some of the most usual ones. At one given time it occured to him that they could call him and she had to invent some excuse to avoid indulging him. During their next cassual encounter in the building the metalhead was carrying his guitar and the kid wouldn't let him be. He even attempted to beg his mother if they could invite him for dinner so he could show him his music.

When he saw him for the fourth time Andy came to him for a hug and asked him if he would be his friend. Eddie looked at Karen, bright smile in his face caused by the shocking reaction of the child, indirectly asking for her approbation before giving any answers.

She couldn't refuse, not when her son seemed so happy. That didn't mean she wouldn't bombard Lily with questions about her boyfriend. She already knew they have in the record store where he worked, only job Karen imagined that would have allowed him to keep that style. Admitting she was understanding of why she would find him a bit rough arround the edges, her neighbor promised he would surprise her if she would give him time. His kind heart and sense of humor had her infatuated since the first date, she had no doubt more people would be able to see the good in him.

Watching an instant on any of the interactions he had with the boy was enough to make one suspect there had to be more about him than what meets the eye. Eddie had managed to connect with Andy in such an unique form. He seemed to understand him in ways no one else in his close circle did, they somehow related to each other. His impressive, highly developed imagínation was doing great as a developmental stimulation source for the little boy either while telling stories or playing games. Karen saw it happening by herself on his first short visits coming to pick up Lily after the babysitting. The positive impact on her child slowly began to change her mind about him.

The definitive step that seiled a start of true bonding between them happened spontaneously and with a very strange timing.

It was the morning of Andy's sixth birthday and facing her son's dissapointment with the gifts she could buy for him had crushed her. She brought him clothes and the only Good Guy brand set of toys she could afford. An accessory playset, while he wanted the doll meant to go with it. A good while after the present unboxing Andy got the first birthday call of the day. Their happy couple of neighbors wanted to give their salutes early and Karen pretended not to hear the sadness in her boy's voice while telling Eddie about his presents.

Minutes afterwards they were at their doorstep and the smiling metalhead was carrying a huge wrapped box. Karen couldn't believe her eyes and the disbelief was evident. To the ' no way' in her expression, Eddie's complicit mischievousness seemed to confirm her it was, Indeed, very possible. The pridefull smile of his girlfriend showed it was probably his idea. She knew which presents the mother was planning to get for the kid and probably just commented to her boyfriend about it before deciding what they were going to do.

" Good Morning, Karen! Where is the birthday boy? I have this thing my princess has been hidding for him in her appartment."

Andy rushed to the sound of his voice, but remained skeptical to the sight of the package.

" We tricked you, little buddy!!! Do you think your mom was going to leave the big one in plain sight?" Eddie cheerfully encouraged him to approach, pretending he was carrying the box for Karen. " This is all an elaborated scheme to surprise you. The little one Karen gave you is ours, we were hidding hers all along. "

It was enough to get the kid excited again.

" Really? Woooow!!!"

" We have no idea of what's inside, but it's kind of heavy." The man followed, exaggerating with his mannerisms the effort of carrying the box to later support it at the floor level." Why don't you take a look for me?"

The three adults remained expectant and when the kid ripped off the paper mother and son were one in the surprise.

" A Good Guy, I know it!!" Andy cheered towards her. " I knew you would get me one!!!"

Karen gave a side look to Eddie while he played the fool, comical fake innocence almost getting a chuckle from her.

It was unbelievable, the excuse was so perfectly crafted that she had no time to object before he presented the doll in her name.

" A Good Guy doll for the nicest kid in the neighborhood. " Eddie spoke because Karen couldn't. " It fits, ríght? Your mom is a genius."

Andy glanced at him for an instant and smiled, then rushed to hug her.

" Ohh, mom. Thanks!!"

" You are welcome, honey. " She lovefully replied. " but you should also thank Eddie and Lily for helping me hide it. Without them, the surprise wouldn't have been so great. Don't you think?"

The boy nodded affirmatively and kissed her cheek before following her suggestion.

" Happy Birthday, buddy!!!" Eddie cheered while receiving him. " Aren't you excited to play now?

" Thanks, Eddie! Will you play with me?"

The metalhead didn't hesitate in reassuring him.

" Sure I will, we are going to play such cool story games that Good Guy Show will want to hire me to write for them."

The boy's eyes were open wide and the excitement accompanied him when he gave the girl her time to be hugged.

" Thank you, Lily, for my friends. " He sweetly said to her and she understood the phrase implied two different things.

Convinced of the tale they told him, he was thanking her for hidding the doll with her. However, in his childish way he also tried to thank her for bring Eddie into his life.

" You are welcome, sunshine. " She inmediately responded. " I love them too. "

A silent instant of shared smiles completed the moment, then she tried to create a good excuse to get him occupied so her boyfriend and the mother would have their needed space to talk.

" Hey, Andy! The box says your new best friend needs batteries. I have a singing rabbit plushie at home, so I know how this things work. Wanna follow me so we can power up your buddy?"

He happyly obbeyed, leaving Karen free to interrogate Eddie.

" So, you finally learned how to lie to kids … You didn't have to do this. How the hell did it occur to you? Do you know how fucking expensive that thing is?"

He tried to ignore the fact that hearing her swear was kind of shocking.

" Hell i know, but I was sure Andy would want it. Good Guy Show is all he talks about and the ads are everywhere."

The answer frustrated her, he would say that as if she wasn't already aware of that.

" Why couldn't you just wait untill I would get one for him? "

" He would have never ask you directly, he knows you can't afford it."

The ríght guess in his thought process felt a bit too personal. It was one of those moments where Karen felt as if the man would be trying to prove he knew Andy better than her even when that wasn't his intention.

" And how exactly did you got it?"

It was an important question he trully didn't want to answer, even less to her accusatory tone.

" A magician never reveals his secrets, just enjoy the magic."

She was not in the mood for more of his jokes.

" Eddie, I'm being serious. You are an adult and I shouldn't mess with your spending, but i'm older than you and I can't just allow you to commit this act of financial irresponsibility without having a say. "

She was showing true concern for him, so he was at least going to give him some of his reasons. Seeking to make her understand so he wouldn't have to explain more Eddie opened up to her like never before.

" Listen, Karen. I come from a trailer park in a small town forgotten by God in some corner of Indiana. My uncle took me in on his own and it was just the two of us against the entire fucking town. I know how your son feels, he just wants a nice toy and a friend to play with. Believe it or not, I understand your powerlessness too because i saw it happening while growing up. If i can make it better for another struggling family, one that by the way I really care a lot about, I'll do it even if I have to go broke for it."

It was then when she got to discover he trully had a heart of gold, the breaking surprise her neighbor prophetized.

" I'm so thankfull, but please take care of yourself. " She tenderly nagged him while approaching for a hug. " I promise I will find a way to repay you. "

" You don't have to, but if you insist, just think of me if Ozzy adds concert dates near here on his next tour. "

It was a joke, he chuckled to let her know he was just messing with her.

Her son and his girlfriend returned to find her kindly fixing the loose locks of his messy hair.

Andy was happyly showing his unboxed doll.

" Mommy, mommy!!! Come to see this!!! "

The three adults silently shared their relief for the accomplishment.

Andy wasn’t completely unaware of the implicit secrecy around him despite not being sure of its reason. It made his smile acquire a shade of mischievousness, wondering if there was another surprise. 

“ You tricked me again! ” He complained to the young man, slightly frustrated. “ How you do it?” 

Before he could get to answer, Karen did it for him. 

“ I invited him to your party, that’s the last surprise.” She announced, matter that was never discussed before. “ Lily can bring Eddie after work to play and have cake if that’s fine for them.” 

Trying the doll was the only thing that could have possibly redirected the kid’s excitement after getting to hear that. Fascinated as he was with its startup phrase introducing itself as Chucky, he encouraged every single one of them to talk to it. 

Chucky and Eddie were all he would be talking about for the rest of the day. Although his mom couldn’t be present for the occasion because work forced her to miss it, he would still comment on it with Maggie over and over. Best friend and coworker of Karen, she was his main babysitter and the most trustable emergency contact. Usually, the neighbor girl would come whenever she was unavailable.

They had met, so she was aware of her, but on the many times Andy would mention Eddie he referred to him as his friend and never specified he was the backup sitter’s boyfriend. In fact, the way he would speak of him didn’t differentiate him much from a child. Karen told her about the kind hearted lad showing up at her doorstep with the doll her son wanted, but the differential descriptions made her think she and Andy were talking of two different persons.

Opening the door for a threatening looking grownass man followed by his contrastingly sweet appearing girlfriend was not what she had in mind. 

The visits were initially unaware of the change and, since they were hoping to find Karen, seeing someone else confused them too.

" Sorry, wrong place. "Maggie said as soon as she saw him, almost shutting the door if she wouldn't have recognized the girl beside him. " Is this guy coming with you? Look, Lily. Karen isn't home because Walter forced her to take other shift to cover up for someone else. I have been warned Andy is waiting for a friend to show up, but i will be fine on my own dealing with the two kids. "

The couple shared a few chuckles, unsure of how they were going to explain the hilarious misunderstanding.

" Well, if you think so i'll pick him up at nine. "The girl responded, acting on purpose as if she would be leaving a kid at the birthday party of his little friend. " Have fun, Eddie! Listen to Maggie and don't get yourself in trouble."

He followed the joke pretending child like excitement.

Maggie got the message, but was still quite shocked.

" So, this is Eddie … If you would hear the way that kid talks of you, you would get why I was waiting for a child."

" My teachers used to say i'm one in spirit as some flattering, euphemistical replace for inmature as fuck. " He mocked himself, trying to overcome the awkwardness. " I guess I should let you judge by yourself. "

She rolled her eyes and let both in.

" No swearing in front of the boy. If I hear one curse word coming from Andy, I'm going to know he got it from you. "

He smiled and did a gallant reverence before stepping in.

" Worry not, Margareth, for I will keep the manners of a knight."

Lily chuckled as he guided her inside to later kiss her knucles and do the same for Maggie.

" Calm down, Shakespeare. " She mocked him in return. " Don't piss me off and we are going to be fine. "

" I could never not behave accordingly in the presence of such lovely ladies. " He insisted, sticking to the character for a little bit. " Margareth and Lily, the most beautifull flowers on the little prince's garden. "

She amusedly ignored the compliment.

" Andy, you friend is here!!!!"

In a matter of instants the presence of Eddie revolutioned the home. The quiet playtime of the little boy was over, since the energy of the metalhead would incentivate him to go nuts. It literally finished turning the situation into something closer to a birthday party, music incluided. Aware that Andy was super curious about his guitar, he would have preferred to play something by himself. However, since Karen just started to like him and he guessed that would be too much for her, he límited himself to bringing a mixtape with the most palatable music for a general audiencie that he owned. When questioned about it, he simply said there was nothing on it heavier than Metallica mixed with some radio friendly hard rock.

Maggie stopped caring for his strange excuses once she saw Andy jumping all over the place to Led Zeppelin's ' Rock and Roll ' while holding his doll so he could pretend it was doing the same. He was acting like a happy kid on a birthday should despite that was happening in a very unconventional way. In fact, she wished she could have videotaped it for Karen to see. The hairstyle of the doll was completely ruined during Andy's attempts of making it replicate the movements of Eddie, who would also try to encourage everyone else to join them.

She got more material for her self deprecating and ironical dating jokes. When asked about it she could say that at least part of her night involved being dragged to move by a twenty somethings and out of context it would work.

The calm part of it was still full of games that were more intense than what she would have expected from Andy's usual playing behavior. He tried to show Eddie the way that the Good Guy Show lore pre imagined for him to play with Chucky, but the man kept challenging it.

" We are going to think outside the box here, Andy, … literally speaking. " He was kindly explaining his point. " The Playpal guys say Chucky has only six options depending on the accesories we can buy for him, but he can be anything we want if we dare to imagine it and we don't need any more sets for that. "

Sat on the floor ríght next to him and in front of the doll, the kid was observing it as if he had the most amazing realization.

" But we have the construction worker set, what else can we make him be?" He asked in a wondering tone. " What do you think ?"

" I don't know, but we can have fun figuring out. " Eddie followed him. " For example, with that flaming red hair and the hammer, I believe he could be a dwarven blacksmith who craftes magical weapons and beautifull jewelery. "

The idea seemed appealing to the kid simply because he made it sound way cooler.

" Mom sells jewelery, Chucky can make it for her. " Andy agreed. " Don't you, Chucky?"

Following the whole thing while trying to keep a conversation with Maggie, Lily was undone from tenderness feeling as if her heart would be about to explode holding all that love for Eddie. She couldn't help excusing herself and do an Intervention to help him out.

" We can make him look more dwarvish, we just have to make some little changes."

She attempted to transform Chucky into a fantasy dwarf using one of her boyfriend's bracelets as necklace for the doll and adding the touch of one of the pending chains from his pants circling the hip to represent a belt.

" I will add a few cool dwarvish braids in his hair and that's it." She pridefully informed. " He would be ready for forge work or battle. "

" He still needs a battle axe, but that one comes in the fireman playset. " Eddie joked, still admiring the work. " Be carefull with that, babe. Braiding hair is a marriage proposal gesture in his culture. "

Andy seemed quite surprised and she pretended to follow him for an instant.

" Well, I can play as Chucky's bride. Surely he will not mind."

" Over my dead body!!!" Eddie exaggerated on purpose, making the kid laugh. " I'm going to challenge him to a duel for your hand. "

" Andy should decide who I should marry, it's his birthday and you are his friends. What do you say, birthday boy?"

" I don't want them to fight. " He sweetly admitted. " Friends shouldn't fight."

Maggie couldn't help bursting into laughter many times while watching the madness escalate. Eddie convinced Andy of enacting the duel, but it ended up as playfull fighting between them while Lily finished braiding Chucky's hair.

Some of the fictional escenarios they were collectively coming up with were hard to follow, so the woman eventually got bored and sat on the couch to watch tv.

" Pardon me, Margareth, but we are in the middle of a quest to destroy a dark wizard and you are ruining the ambience!!" Eddie complained at some point. " Are you sure you don't want to be the wise witch guiding us? I'm offering you the coolest role."

He made her chuckle, she couldn't pretend to be upset anymore despite she would still make him a target of her sarcasm.

" That sounds great, but i think the dark wizard can wait untill after the cake. "

Once Andy blew the candles surrounded by happy cheering and had a piece of his cake he began to feel tired from all the exciting playing. Noticing it as well, Eddie explained him that they didn't have to complete the quest all in once. Relieved and happy, the boy finished the day with some of the standard playing with the construction set and his Good Guy back in the classical look. In the meantime, Eddie insisted in helping Maggie clean to compensate her for all the chaos of the night.

Bedtime was near when the little boy delivered one last weird occurence.

" Aunt Maggie, Chucky wants to watch the nine o clock news."

She shared complicit glances with Eddie as he pilled up the clean dishes that had to be saved, initially thinking Andy's plead was some joke to ignore the bedtime and keep playing with him.

"Sure, he does."

Lily tried not to chuckle, feeling almost sure of what the thing was about.

The news presenter mentioned the Lakeshore Strangler, Eddie's most recent fixation. He obviously wasn't talking about that with Andy, but he must have been aware of that because her boyfriend was talking about it with her the same day the kid meet him.

"Don't worry, sweetie. He can watch the repetition at twelve. " She tranquilized him in sweet whispers as Maggie approached. " You should go to rest."

His aunt turned off the tv and picked him up in order to carry him to the bedroom, while the substitute sitter carried Chucky a similar way. The kid obediently proceeded to go brush his teeth in the bathroom, when the sudden bombing of tv sound freaked them out. 

Eddie was sitting on the couch, staring at them innocently like a child that tries to deny doing mischief. 

“ I’m done with the chores … Can I watch the news, Aunt Maggie?” He pleaded by himself. “ It’s very important, I wouldn’t ask it otherwise. They are on the case I’m following.” 

“ Again with that? “ Lily wondered out loud. “ Charles Lee Ray is dead. It 's over, love.” 

“ His accomplice has escaped. “ He summarized for her. “ Police get the right Eddie this time and they let him escape. Can you believe it?” 

“ Why is it such a big deal for you?” Maggie seriously asked him. “ The hell are you talking about?” 

Following the conversation and remaining attentive to the screen was hard, especially because one of the women was in front of it. He didn’t want to explain his full reasoning, but she was cornering him so he had to say something.

“ I know it sounds creepy and I’m a total freak, just don't get upset with Andy. He must think that the Strangler is to me what the Good Guy show is to him, that’s why he said that. I never spoke about it with him, I swear. He must have overheard me and he just wanted to be nice. “ 

“ If you say so, I won’t deny it: you are a freak.” Maggie simply stated. “ … but you make that kid happy so I guess I have to get used to it.”

“ Eddie is not a weirdo obsessed with a killer just because his partner in crime has his same name, he has valid reasons to feel the way he does. “ His girlfriend interrupted, sweetly approaching to sit beside him. “ There was a series of ritualistic murders happening in his old town and the people wrongfully targeted him and his friends just because they looked suspicious to them. When things seem to work out, he moves here trying to leave everything behind and some guy starts doing a similar thing. He was terrified of being targeted by the police all over again, he would be trying to hide it from me through silly dark jokes.” 

He was very thankful of not having to explain the situation himself, unsure of how to present it in a way that wouldn’t ruin things. 

“ I elaborated an exhaustive list of reasons proving I could never be the Strangler just in case they would come to interrogate me, if there was going to be a second time I wanted to be ready.” 

“ Holy shit, that’s terrible!” Maggie exclaimed, feeling truly sorry for him. “ I can’t imagine how horrible it would be to be blamed for a crime I didn’t commit. Did they eventually catch the guy?” 

“ I like to believe I helped to serve justice somehow.” He vaguely explained. “ Charles Lee Ray was the most faithful reflection of everything people said I was, I felt relieved when they identified him as the Lakeshore Strangler and I followed his case intensely because I wanted to feel sure cops weren’t fucking up again. The dude who was shot in a toy store last night wasn’t an unlucky scapegoat and nobody will be coming after me again saying I’m a killer for the way I dress, the game i play or the music I listen to.” 

Maggie stopped obstructing the screen. 

“ I was kind of a bitch to you, sorry for that. You may be weird, but I can tell you are a great guy.” 

The recognition got a genuine smile from him. 

“ No problem, I’m used to it.” 

“ I tell him all the time that I feel lucky to have him, but he says I’m insane.” Lily continued, seeking to cuddle from her position beside him. “ He is wonderful, maybe I’m a bit guilty of trying to make the world love him as much as I do.” 

He gave her a soft peck on the lips and they smiled at each other before he proceeded to share bits of their story. 

“ I love this woman from the very first moment she smiled at me after having asked me for the dullest hair metal record that she wanted to buy mostly for the power ballad single. She was so lovely, I became a mess and I couldn’t care less for my artistic principles. For her I ended up listening to that damn Whitesnake record during the in-between dates time, closing my eyes to think of her to Is This Love because I knew she loved that one and I was becoming a lovesick fool.” 

Their tenderness was very surprising to the woman observing them. 

“ Girl, I’m going to end up asking you for dating advice.” Maggie mocked them, that time with plenty of good intentions. “ Should I start attending metal concerts?” 

“ We are on the same page, I follow Karen’s. “ She honestly replied. “ Well, except for that one time I didn’t and I kept dating him.” 

The women chuckled and kept chatting, but he missed most of it because he got lost in his own thoughts while the heat of his girlfriend’s body was relaxing him. Eddie’s imagination was starting to connect the dots in many strange coincidences surrounding him and the story he intended to follow. Lee Ray and Caputo were partners in crime named exactly the same as Andy’s partners in playing. From the many names the Good Guys could have, the one he got for the kid was a Chucky and Chucky was short for Charles. The serial killer was shot by police in a toy store, last hideout resource when his friend abandoned him.

“ Hey, handsome. It’s your mind on the moon again?” Lily teased him sweetly, noticing he got very distracted. “ What’s wrong?”

“ I’m gonna write the song, babe … and I know what I’m going to do.” He revealed, with determination. “ I’m going to write about the killer from the point of view of his friend, and it's going to be wrapped in a metaphor about childhood. Andy just inspired it to me, you know? We have a Chucky and I’m an Eddie … that ‘ My best friend Chucky ’ thing. It 's perfect! “ 

“ What do you mean?” She stopped him before the rambling could escalate because she wanted to follow him. “ Slow down and share it.” 

“ Chucky IS Chucky.” He replicated with excitement. “ Chucky is short for Charles, so doll Chucky is my metaphor for dude Chucky and Eddie is his best buddy. Committing crimes is like playtime for them, until the police arrive. Waking up from the fantasy of their murder spree is like growing up. Eddie becomes aware of the consequences and trying to escape those he leaves Chucky behind to die in the fucking toy store like a forgotten toy. “ 

It was a bit too much, but she was quite impressed anyway. 

“ It’s … twisted, but brilliant! And you are going back to writing! That’s good, I’m just so happy that Andy managed to inspire you somehow.” 

“ Are you planning to launch your musical career with a lawsuit from Playpals? Because that’s what you are going to get. “ Maggie warned him. “ Just try to keep yourself out of trouble, allright?” 

The casual demonstration of concern was well received by him. 

“ Yes, Aunt Maggie!” 

They intended to stay until Karen would return, but Maggie told them over and over that she was going to be alright on her own and they didn’t have to. They were going to be in the building anyways, so if she needed anything she could just call them and they would be there for her. 

Lily seemed uneasy, there was something else her boyfriend hadn't discussed with her and coming down from all the excitement surrounding them once they were back in her apartment made her aware of it. 

“ Where did you get the doll, Eddie?” She questioned him. “ I had no money for it, as far as I know you didn’t have it … So where did it come from?” 

The ask was very rational, but at that point he would have preferred to avoid it.

“ Why does it matter? Andy is happy and Karen will not have to lose all her savings for it.” 

“ It matters to me because I’m afraid you could have endangered our friends “ 

She meant she feared he could be messing himself and others into something illegal and she had a point. 

“ It was alley money for a clean doll, alright? I got rid of the last shit I had left and with what I got from those sales I bought him a brand new doll from the store.” He finally confessed. “ I paid in cash so there is no way to track it, just don’t tell Karen. “ 

There was no inmediate reaction, but when it came, her reply was way deeper than a moral objection.

“ Andy told me something very curious today when we were unpacking the doll from the box.  I kept calling it his best friend because that’s the slogan of the brand, but he corrected me. He said Chucky is not his best friend, you are.” 

She held his hand holding back tears. 

“ If something happens to you, it would crush that kid. I want you to take care of yourself and I’m not even doing it for us, but for him. He already lost his dad, he can’t lose you in the most shitty way possible.” 

Eddie hugged her and began to caress her hair in a calming way. 

“ Easy, princess. it’s going to be ok, nothing bad will come to them or to us.” 

For once in his life, that seemed to be true. With some ups and downs, but things were working out. He had a day job that didn’t suck while he could still keep working on his music, a wonderful girlfriend and one more friendship with a kid bringing out the best of him. Aware of Andy’s frustration for wanting to get little friends of his age, Eddie was slowly starting to teach him how to socialize in the way of the weird kids. He would constantly tell him about his younger friend from Hawkins who had three friends to play with since many years before meeting him. In some ways, he could be blamed for talking too pridefully about Dustin presenting him and his experience as the horizon for lonely freaky kids. To be fair, he would also comment with excitement to Dustin about the baby steps the little boy was making from time to time on their phone calls. 

His first visit was an important event for everyone involved.By that point Andy had heard so many amazing stories about him that he hero worshiped Dustin despite the teenager was initially unaware of it. 

" You are completely sold to that cute little brat, it is unbelievable. " Dustin concluded in whispers after observing an interaction between his friend and the kid for the first time. " I finally understand how Steve felt when I befriended you. "

Andy couldn't hear the talk because he was distant enough from them searching for some thing he desperatedly wanted to show them.

" We are lucky he isn't here. He would loose his shit over how tiny and cute that kid is, Msrs Barclay would never get rid of him."

They laughed because of how accurate that sounded to both.

" Karen could use one more free babysitter. " Eddie concluded. " C'mon, Dustin! I can't believe you are jealous of a six year old kid. "

" Well, he says you are his best friend and i thought WE were best friends. "

They were just messing with each other, but he still wanted to give him a good reminder of how important their friendship was.

" I owe you everything, you are practically my little brother. "

Eddie hugged him ríght away and Dustin chuckled through it.

" Don't try to make me tear up!"

Briefly afterwards Andy returned proudly holding a piece of paper.

" I made this for you. " He explained to Dustin while handing him the paper. " … and your friends. "

A drawing, classical little kid present. The teenager managed to distunguish at least four human figures in it surrounded by strange shit that was coming after them.

He smiled, unsure of what to say, so Andy provided a clarification.

" It's you fighting the monsters with them."

" Did you told him about the Upside Down? " He asked to Eddie, midly panicking. " How much does he know? "

" Chill, Karen and Maggie think is just nice tales I tell him. " Eddie defended himself. " Andy knows you are a hero."

Without any gestural warning the little boy rushed to hug Dustin.

" I want to fight monsters with my friends like you. "

The kid managed to awake his sentimental fiber.

" I wish you and the friends you will make will never have to, Andy. "

They all were awaiting for more introductions to be made. Since Eddie was introducing Dustin, Andy wanted them to meet the very first friend he managed to make in school. Lily was in charge of bringing him in, acting as trusting sitter and bridge between both families.

Eddie was particularly excited about it, from all comments he had heard the child was an old school freak in the making. He was a loner with an interest in fantasy and a labelled troublemaker.

The first impression didn't dissapoint.

" Nice shirt." The kid complimented him ríght away, pointing at the Iron Maiden cover art in the shirt Eddie was wearing." Great taste. "

" Aren't you a bit young to know what this is?"

The questioning didn't bother him in the slightlest.

" Is she your girlfriend? "

" Yeah, she is. " Eddie confirmed. " She is Andy's sitter and i heard she will become yours soon too because everyone else has given up. "

He smiled at her, then replied.

" … I like her. "

" Well, Lily is lovely so I can't blame you. " The metalhead added before introducing himself. " it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Eddie. "

The boy was laughing, a bone chilling cackle that threw everybody off.

" What should I do with your Good Guy, sweetie?" Lily asked him, trying to overcome the awkward moment. " I wouldn't want to mix both by mistake, Andy has a Chucky too. "

[transtalesofdoom]

Personal experiences with Gender Roles as an AFAB Transmasc

I know not everyone's big on describing yourself with your assigned gender, but for me, it is a pretty significant part of myself and my upbringing specifically. And that's kinda what this post is about.

Growing up as a nonbinary transmasc, there weren't a lot of opportunities for me to have strong feelings about my gender, whether that'd be dysphoria or euphoria.

Presenting masculine-ish as a girl is pretty easy. It's socially very acceptable. We even have a word for it. Tomboy. If there's a non-derogatory version for feminine-presenting boys, I'm not aware of it. I wasn't a full butch tomboy, I kept my hair long and happily wore dresses to special occasions. I also wasn't exposed to particularly strong gender roles. My godfather wore his hair long. My mom being a single mom meant she had to fill the dad role too. My grandparents were equal to each other, even if my grandma was the housewife and my grandpa was the breadwinner - roles that they mostly wrapped up by the time I came around. My gender expression was never about gender, really. It was about convenience. Pants are comfier and allow free movement. Make-up just takes up time in the morning. Flat sneakers are comfier than anything with heels. I wore quite an amount of pink, not by explicit choice, but because they were convenient hand-me-downs. Wearing a pink sweater was more convenient than having to go shopping. Once I got older, I cut my hair short. Also for convenience, of course. (Spoiler: That one wasn't for convenience.) So I didn't really have an opportunity for an "aha" moment when expressing masculinity for the first time. It was just always kinda happening. And it wasn't particularly special. It wasn't like presenting more feminine bothered me, either. No "aha" moments from that side.

I think it's a little more difficult for transmascs to experience and especially identify gender dysphoria. Because growing up female, you're taught over and over that what makes you female is awful, inconvenient, and shameful. Boobs are heavy, painfully sensitive, they get in the way, and give you back problems. Wearing a bra hurts. Not wearing a bra hurts. Bras are expensive, too, but don't you dare show them in public. They're only acceptable in public when they're on poster advertisement models, looking seductively for some reason. When it comes to boobs, no one actually likes having them, but a lot of people enjoy looking at them. There's thousands of jokes about dicks or dick related masturbation. Middle schoolers draw dicks everywhere. It's the height of comedy. You ever see a vulva drawn somewhere? Know a joke or even a euphemism for masturbation involving a vulva/vagina? No, that's taboo. Periods are awful. There are so, so many things I could say here about menstruation, social stigma, pain, and so on. I'm not going to. You've heard it all before, countless times. Of course you hate your period. No one likes their period. There's another whole section I could write about women's role in society as caregivers, about emotional labor, everyday sexism, but you've heard all that as well and the post is long enough already.

Of course you hate being a woman. Being a woman is miserable.

And within this atmosphere, within this external and internalized misogyny, within this misery, how do you differentiate? How do you tell apart dysphoria and the pain of womanhood you've been told is normal? A lot of terfs use this a talking point. They like to claim that trans men are just women who couldn't cope with the misery of the patriarchy. This post isn't about debunking that, but I'd like to briefly go on record and say that they're full of shit. Trans Men are Men. Trans Women are Women.

As someone who hasn't experienced a lot of gender dysphoria or euphoria, this does leave me with the occasional wave of doubt. Are these really trans feelings? Do I just hate being a woman, the way every woman does?

Then I remember that gender is an entirely fake concept and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

I'm very very slowly making my way through Secret Sleepover Society's Silent Hill 2 Remake playthrough video and it Bothers Me So Much that neither Jacob nor Julia were able to state plainly that there are allusions to sexual violence. Not because I expect people who are silly online to be 100% comfortable saying those words on a dime, but because the vagueness of their euphemisms, the fact that they both just kept repeating "sensitive content", and the idea that a single broad warning is enough to prepare viewers for anything, all combine to piss me off.

I do not expect people playing a horror game to give detailed spoilers about every single horror element. But there is a world of difference between "there's themes of sexual abuse" and "he's a big guy with a big sword".

maybe I'm the fucked up one for wanting specifics?? idk. I'm not hugely affected by depictions of sexual violence beyond "someone is being hurt and that upsets me viscerally", but I feel like if you're gonna be specific about bugs, vomit, and gore, you can be specific about how Pyramidhead is introduced in a scene that looks sort of like his dick's getting sucked.

[hardwareabstractionlayer]

DIY Chinese penis euphemisms ft. Jingsu

Let’s make some penises in Chinese.

Because there are relatively few characters in Chinese (around 20k in a modern dictionary) compared to the number of words in other languages (100k+ in English), most characters carry many meanings. This leads to ambiguities if writing were to be fully composed from single-character words, which is why most words in modern Chinese are compounded from two or more characters, and the meaning is synthesized from the individual meanings. Here are some penis-relevant suffixes, in no particular order:

-物 thing

-器 organ/instrument

-根 root

-茎 stalk

-棒 stick

-柱 pillar

-具 implement

-刃 blade (ouch)

You’ll notice that these are all, well, things. This is one typical pattern for making a Chinese compound word: the second character describes the physicality in some way while the first describes an attribute (characters are flexible and can be either prefix or suffix depending on context). Here are some penis-relevant prefixes:

巨- huge (the opposite would be 微 for tiny, but it’s hard to find micropenises in erotica)

硬- hard

阴- yin

阳- yang

性- sex

那- that

玉- jade

肉- meat

凶- violent

男- male

Now we can create our own penis euphemism by mashing any two together. Here are some real quotes from explicit Jingsu fanfic (translations are kept literal here, but I almost always translate every euphemism to cock because it’s the English term I hate the least):

阳具 = yang implement

萧景琰的阳具大得惊人，比一般的乾阳还要大上几分，他曾笑说这是皇家威严，被梅长苏白了一眼 [x]

Xiao Jingyan’s yang implement was frighteningly large, even significantly larger than the average Alpha’s. He once joked that this was the might of the imperial bloodline, getting an eye roll from Mei Changsu.

凶刃 = violent blade

只是等到下一个清醒的瞬间，萧景琰已经将他的双腿分开。将那粗硬滚烫的凶刃抵上濡湿的穴口。《踏雪寻梅》

But the next instant he came to, Xiao Jingyan had already parted his legs. Pressed that thick, hard, and searing violent blade against his wet opening.

性器 = sex organ

萧景琰的囊口已经完全开了，里头两根性器探了出来，打在林殊大腿外侧 《四时歌》

Xiao Jingyan’s sac had fully opened, two sex organs emerging from inside and hitting against the outside of Lin Shu’s thigh.

肉棒 = meat stick

他一定不知道自己被黑布蒙住双眼，仰着头费力吞吐男人肉棒的模样有多……诱惑 [x]

He must not know how...seductive he looks, black cloth covering both eyes, tilting his head to strenuously swallow a man’s meat stick.

那物 = that thing

萧景琰也不再磨蹭，随手抓过床边的消毒啫喱，在自己的那物上涂了几下便抵在了长苏紧闭的穴口 [x]

Xiao Jingyan didn’t waste any more time either, grabbing the disinfectant gel conveniently by the bedside, applying it a few times on that thing of his then pressing it against Changsu’s tight opening.

The anatomical term for the penis is 阴茎 = yin stalk, the word that is the closest equivalent of penis. But why is the penis both a yin stalk and yang implement? Glad you asked. Yang is associated with the male and yin with the female, but the very concept of yin-yang is that there’s yin in yang and yang in yin (think of the symbol itself). The penis is a yin part because the privates are the most yin on the body. So you can think of it as either the thing of a yang being, or the yin thing on a yang being—the wonderful duality of the male member.

As you might expect, not all of the possible combinations are actually in use. Like, 阴棒 = yin stick isn’t a thing. Why not? I don’t know, it just isn’t. If you used it in context, readers would understand you mean penis and probably puzzle a bit over why you didn’t use the more common names.

Some of the combinations also mean other things. 凶器 = violent instrument actually means murder weapon in ordinary use. Can it be a penis euphemism during rough sex? Yes, but most of the time it means the real weapon. 那根 = that root is tricky because 根 is a classifier word (a similar concept to measure words in English) for long stick-like objects in addition to its meaning of root, so 那根 is almost always used in conjunction with other words, like that phallic [thing], as opposed to a penis on its own, which would probably be confusing to read. But when the character preceding 根 is something else, like 男- male, then it’s not being used in the classifier context, and 男根 = male root is indeed a penis.

Now that we’ve gotten the explanations out of the way, I searched through the corpus of Chinese Jingsu fics on my computer (around 1000+ fics) to look for all possible combinations of the prefixes and suffixes listed above, tossing out the compound words that don’t mean penis in context, to see what the most popular penises are. Behold the Jingsu compound penis matrix:

Congratulations to our winner, sex organ, and the distant runner-up, that thing. In contrast, the anatomical yin stalk is not very popular, kind of like how penis is not used as frequently as other terms in English erotica.

Okay, so now you have the power to create all kinds of penises. But what’s the correct penis to use in a particular situation? Jingsu smut is, of course, mostly ancient erotica (unless it’s a modern AU), so the tendency is to go for the more literary and euphemistic, and the way to do that is to be less physically descriptive. That thing is definitely more suited for delicate company than meat stick (though some authors happily use meat stick in their ancient settings anyways), and jade/yin/yang penises are also more literary. 玉茎 = jade stalk is, in fact, the traditional Chinese medicine term for the penis and also a literary term, in use for well over a thousand years.

萧景琰取了红帛��梅长苏的玉茎捆扎起来，被白肤衬起来耀眼得很。《梅烬》

Xiao Jingyan tied up Mei Changsu’s jade stalk with red silk, looking quite eye-catching against white skin.

Some more penises

It would be way oversimplifying things to say we’re done now when there are many more methods to form words and penises in Chinese besides our simple algorithm. Let’s first discuss some concepts with English analogs:

A lot of ancient cultures associated chickens with the male member, and we have cock in English. In Chinese, children call penises 小鸡鸡 = little chicken, kind of the equivalent of weewee. You would definitely not use it in a sexy story.

In English you could say he pushed himself inside, and you could say that in Chinese too, with 自己 = self. A relatively euphemistic term.

There’s also little [person’s name], so 小长苏 = xiao-Changsu and 小景琰 = xiao-Jingyan exist. And yes, so does 小小殊 = xiao-xiao-Shu, Lin Shu’s penis. This might be my least favorite one. These are not generally euphemisms you’d see in more...well-regarded erotica.

Okay, now onto the more uniquely Chinese penises. We have some more euphemistic ones:

那话儿 = those words, actually meaning that which we can’t speak of, and penis. 话儿 on its own just means words and remarks in general, but once you add that in the beginning, it becomes a whole other thing (though it can still mean those words in non-erotic contexts). This is one of the euphemisms found in the infamous erotic Ming Dynasty novel 金瓶梅 (Jīn Píng Méi), The Plum in the Golden Vase, so it has a storied history, though it isn’t used much in Jingsu smut at all. 不文之物 = uncivilized thing is also along these lines (之 here is a literary possessive particle). You can also put all kinds of adjectives before 之物 for a more customized penis.

Speaking of adjectives, one thing about Chinese very different from English is that parts of speech are fluid, especially in Classical Chinese where many characters are basically any part of speech. 火热 is fire + hot, but it can be both an adjective, fiery hot, that you stick in front of a penis, or a noun, fiery heat, that acts as a penis itself. So 火热之物, fiery hot thing, is a penis, and here’s an example where just fiery heat is the penis:

他稍顿了顿，便继续往里推进，里面温暖紧致，肠道吸附在他的火热上，就好像他们天生就是一套的，此刻终于镶嵌完整了 《夜宿山寺》

He paused slightly, then continued pushing inward. The passage is warm and tight inside, clinging onto his fiery heat as if they were two pieces made for each other, finally tessellating together and becoming whole in this moment. 

We also have words with standard definitions that mean something else in erotica:

尘根 = dust root, which is actually a term in Buddhism that means one of the human senses rooting you to the mortal realm, often referred to as the realm of ephemeral dust (尘世). This is a creative allusion, because what else is a penis but a root that traps you in carnal desire and prevents you from reaching nirvana? Of course, whether it’s appropriate for use depends on whether you want to bring up mortality and the illusion of desire when your characters are getting it on. 孽根 = sinful root, or the more fun translation, root of evil, is also along these lines.

只是这么一想，萧景琰压根还没被触碰到的尘根就一颤一颤的立了起来，硬邦邦地将单薄的亵裤撑起一片帐篷 [x]

At this mere thought, Xiao Jingyan’s utterly untouched dust root trembled upwards, forming a stiff tent in his thin underclothes.

命根 = life root, meaning the source of vitality or reason for living, which is obviously the penis. This one does refer to penis in ordinary use as well, often humorously.

他的命根子给萧景琰含着，用力吮裹，几乎要把他的魂从身体里吸出来一样。[x]

His life root was held in Xiao Jingyan’s mouth and forcefully sucked, as if threatening to extract his soul from his body.

欲望 = desire. Very popular in erotica, not in the dictionary as a penis, and may confuse a first-time fic reader why an abstract concept is being shoved places.

萧景琰握住梅长苏纤长的双腿，让他缠在自己腰上，把快要忍爆了的欲望抵在那小小的入口，慢慢地推了进去 [x]

Xiao Jingyan gripped Mei Changsu’s slender legs, letting him wrap around his own waist, and pressed his desire, nearly exploding with need, against that tiny opening, slowly pushing in.

分身 = split body, or where the body parts (and what you do with it to another body). Its usual meaning is to find time to do something else, and this meaning is only for erotica.

At this point, I should say that some of these may have been invented for erotica to get around censorship. The coined words often evolve to become part of the vocabulary of the in-group over time, such that even when there’s no need to censor, people instinctively use the vocabulary to signal, whether subconsciously or consciously, that they’re in the know.

Of course, just because a euphemism is popular, or of proper ancient lineage, doesn’t mean it will be subjectively to your taste. Jade stalk burns my eyes despite being a classic literary term, which probably says more about my Chinese than anything else; someone who’s really internalized this term and isn’t still on the literal level of understanding probably doesn’t mind it at all. Honestly, my original intention was to giggle a bit at all the euphemisms, but now that I’ve stared at them for a while, they all seem...okay to me (except xiao-xiao-Shu, that one can die). Not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

A bonus last one very relevant to Jingsu, 龙根 = dragon root, just for His Majesty’s penis.

萧景琰的龙根还埋在自己体内，下体湿滑粘腻，一片狼藉，胸前的两点又被肆意玩弄，梅长苏真想就这么昏过去算了。[x]

Xiao Jingyan’s dragon root was still buried inside him, his lower body slick and wet, a completely sorry mess, and the two nubs on his chest were being wantonly toyed with again—Mei Changsu really wished he could just pass out on the spot and be done with it.

Here’s a penis alignment chart that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a summary of our findings:

What if I don’t want to make penises?

As you’ve seen so far, Chinese is very good for euphemisms, and you can write the dirtiest smut without mentioning any parts once.

My favorite Jingsu sex euphemism is easily 梅开二度, literally plum blossoms bloom for the second time, which is an idiom meaning reaching the pinnacle again. It’s frequently used to describe a footballer scoring the second goal in a single match, someone finding new love after a failed relationship, or yes, orgasming for the second time in one night. But in the Jingsu context, it can also be literally read as...Mei Changsu “opens” for the second time.

I would write another post on euphemisms for other body parts and sex in general (including the inexplicably many sex puns in NiF canon names), but this euphemism is clearly the pinnacle, and I will not reach it again.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Could I request... a drabble of Nancy's children cutting her off and not letting her meet her grandchildren? Or even just a summary of events? 👀

Dear Ask Amandla:

I have a problem with my two grown children that has been ongoing for a while, and I am at my wits' end. Years ago, I made some less-than-perfect decisions, supporting someone who was manipulative and overbearing towards a teenager in his care. I knew that some of what I witnessed was illegal, but allowed it to happen and said nothing.

The person in question was the same age as my younger daughter. I NEVER considered him in any way like her. There were extenuating circumstances! I followed my loyalty to someone who turned out not to deserve it. But when my children found out, years later, they were furious. Not just that I had allowed the mistreatment of someone to happen in my employer's household, but that I had never told them about it. Frankly, my work and home life have always been kept separate. I was an assistant to a powerful man and had little recourse myself.

I have never been charged with a crime, and provided the authorities with anything they asked for when the investigation was underway. But when my children told me I should apologize to the now-grown young man my employer mistreated, I will admit I balked. I certainly never hurt him myself, after all, and don't feel an apology would help either him or me.

He was never significantly harmed during my employment with the powerful man, and it's not like I could pay medical bills or do anything else.

My children were upset with me for refusing to apologize for my part in all this, but I don't think that, eight years after the events occurred, my apology is asked for or even wanted.

My son answers my calls only sporadically, and my daughter - the one who is the same age as the young man who was mistreated - has stopped talking to me entirely. She was six months pregnant when I last heard her voice. It's been so long she must have had the baby by now, but my calls go unanswered and she doesn't respond to letters, emails, or anything else I've tried.

I made a mistake, but it was years ago and I was working hard to provide for my children. After the hard work and love I've shown them, I am absolutely floored that they would cut me off over someone they don't know and who they've never even met. What can I do to have my children in my lives again?

Yours,

BAFFLED IN BERRAS

-

Dear Baffled in Berras,

Baffled, I would love to answer you, but I can sense that there is a LOT you aren't telling me between the lines of what you are. In fact, you probably tried to hide more than you revealed.

It sounds like your children drew a firm line in the sand about what they need to feel comfortable with you. You can choose not to respect that, but if you do, they also are free to choose distance or even total disconnection from you.

If you ask me, the root of their unhappiness is probably your way of remembering things perhaps a bit rosier than they truly were. For instance, you continually call an adult individual's abuse of a teenage boy 'mistreatment'.

It was more than mistreatment, Baffled, wasn't it? And despite your phrasing, you were not helpless to report it. You had plenty of recourse. You chose not to help.

Your children are asking you to take full responsibility for your actions and what those actions enabled, and even just by your letter I think it's clear that you never have.

You can take responsibility and seek reconciliation, or you can choose not to. But your children are adults, and they can and will make their own choices, too.

Right now, it seems like they have chosen to step away. You need to respect that, too.

You can start by cutting out all the euphemisms and metaphors and by calling every single part of it what it is and not what you want it to have been.

You aided and abetted abuse of a minor. That's a crime. It's understandable that your daughter would be horrified to learn that you accepted and enabled that abuse while parenting she and her brother.

Good luck.

Ask Amandla

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song iii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. 

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, lots of lasagne talk, flirting, kissing, fluff 🥰 words; 9,340

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

After you had time to calm down, of course you ended up telling Soojung about what happened on the date. You kept some things to yourself, mainly about how giddy you had felt throughout the whole thing, but you were sure she could see that for herself – she kept looking at you knowingly, and for once she kept the teasing down to a minimum. You ended up staying awake quite late, Soojung opening a bottle of wine. You were still excited from the date and the thought of what was to come next, but somewhere along the line, you and your best friend started getting into your feelings. (Was it really a Saturday night until you and Soojung ended it with slightly drunk sappy heart to hearts and hugs? Obviously not…) 

For the first time in a while you felt comfortable enough to open up about your love life (or lack of one) and felt it easy to talk about the past and to even bring up Donghae. He was a forbidden topic for the most part, no matter how much you were over him, but tonight had changed something. You didn’t know how to explain it, and no, it wasn’t because Seokjin was somehow the man of your dreams who had magically made things better with just one date. That was dumb and only happened in cliché Hallmark movies. 

No, it was because tonight had shown you that life goes on. No matter what rock bottom you hit, or how long it took you to get over it, no hurt was forever. You’d been single for a long time, and happy at that – after you’d gotten over the heartbreak of Donghae cheating on you – but tonight you’d had fun. You’d enjoyed yourself, enjoyed Seokjin’s company. You didn’t know what would come of your second date, or if there would be a third, but you were okay with that. You were just living in the moment, and right now you really liked that infuriating-not-so-infuriating bastard. 

You were taking a chance, just like he was, and it was actually pretty exciting…

.

.

You woke up late the next morning, something you didn’t reprimand yourself for because it was summer break after all, but also, you had a raging wine headache that had needed all the shut eye it could get. Your head was still throbbing slightly as you reached for your phone on the bedside table but seeing a text from Seokjin waiting for you made it miraculously disappear. 

Seokjin (10:28am) Hi Y/N, Thank you for such a great time last night. I can’t wait until Saturday. Would it be alright with you if I kept in touch throughout the week?  Seokjin

You giggled to yourself at his insane formalities. Why was that so adorable? But most importantly how could he be both cute and sexy at the same time? He was hellbent on making you lose your mind. You thought about teasing him, asking him when he’d grown comfortable enough to drop the Regards from yesterday, but despite how well last night had gone, and despite how much you loved joking around with him in person, over the phone seemed different. You were still a little nervous – giddy nervous, but nervous, nevertheless. Your conversation from last night with Soojung came back to you, reminding you that this was all too real. You were potentially catching feelings for this man, and it was new, and exciting, but equal parts terrifying now that you’d woken up with a hangover. 

Everything you typed out in reply seemed way too stiff, so growing frustrated, you settled on an emoji to cut through the formalities. 

You (10:49am) I had such a lovely time too, Seokjin. Of course it’s fine to keep in touch. I’m looking forward to Saturday night! 😊

What did he mean exactly about keeping in touch?, you wondered as you got out of bed, padding your way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of ice cold water. A good morning text? A how are you? You knew he was busy with work all week, so you weren’t expecting too much, but just knowing he wanted to stay in contact until next Saturday made you smile to yourself as you waited for his response. 

You didn’t have to wait long. 

Seokjin (10:55am) Great! I’m so excited to try your World famous Italian lasagne 😁

Cute. He’d followed your lead, ditching the last of the formalities and even signing off with an emoji instead. You instantly felt more at ease, but – 

Oh no. 

Why did he have to bring that up and remind you of your humiliating blunder? You knew what would be taking up all of your time for the few days – you needed to perfect this goddamn dish. 

Soojung on the other hand was unbothered by your predicament. Mind in the gutter as always. “Do you think that’s a euphemism for something else?” She asked straight away once you’d shown her your messages a few hours later. 

“Soojung!” You exclaimed, feeling yourself get a little hot in the face. You wish she’d stop bringing up sex, it was stressing you out. You told her as much. 

“You’re the one who’s invited him to your house for a second date.” 

You stared at her, greatly unimpressed. “You know why I invited him here.” 

You’d told her last night. You’d been hit with a surge of confidence when you’d suggested it was your turn to decide on something. In truth though, you didn’t know the first thing about restaurants, you hardly ever ate out, and when you did it was either fast food or at the food court in the department store Soojung worked at. You knew he wouldn’t have minded any choice you’d made, but that didn’t stop the slight apprehension you felt. 

It was normal, given your difference in lifestyles, and whilst that seemed to be no issue thankfully, that difference was still there. However really, that’s why you’d chosen to cook for him. Seokjin had shown you something close to him last night – the restaurant he owned with his brother, and now you were to show him something close to your heart. Something that was you. You loved cooking and baking in your spare time and you wanted to share that with him however small. Granted it was things you were confident with, but lasagne couldn’t be that hard, right? A true perfectionist, you’d master it quickly enough…

Soojung rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you could suggest McDonald’s and Dilf would be insanely happy.” She nudged you, squealing like a kid. “He’s just so into you!”

You wouldn’t bite. She was making you nervous again. “Stop calling him Dilf, he has a name.”

“Geez, sorry.” She held up her hands in apology. “Didn’t mean to offend your man.” 

You pushed her shoulder, silently telling her to quit it.

For the next few days it became your life’s goal to master the art of lasagne. Sunday night was spent googling recipes, trying to find the most authentic one. There seemed to be a lot of fuss on the right type of pasta. Flat edged would be fine, but the wavy edge was best. You made note of that. Next was the sauce. Two types. The tomato based one and then the white one – which you learned was called Bechamel. That seemed pretty easy to cook up, but the former seemed a little daunting. Every time you’d had pasta sauce in the past it had been premade, starting from scratch was giving you anxiety. Seokjin thought this was your expertise so you had to make it believable. What if you made it too salty? Too bland?

…Possibly you were thinking way too hard about this. Soojung thought the same. 

“Just buy it in a jar, Y/N, for Christ’s sake. You’re taking this way too seriously. You don’t need to learn fluent Italian to make your little white lie believable. It’s a goddamn lasagne.” 

She had a point. 

“He’d be happy with a sandwich. He’s coming over for you, not the shitty lasagne.” 

“Don’t call my non-existent lasagne shitty, you’re setting me up for failure.” You grumbled, looking at the ten tabs you had up on your laptop screen, all claiming to be the best most authentic recipe around.  

On Monday you went shopping for ingredients. You knew a small world foods store that was just outside of town, you’d been there a couple of times when you’d been baking with the children for class. With help from signposted aisles, you found what you were looking for in no time at all, so that night, you and Soojung both tucked into your first (sort of) homemade lasagne. Only the Bechamel sauces was harder to master than you’d first thought. 

“I think you added too much flour.” Soojung’s nose wrinkled as she spoke. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but the white stuff… I don’t know, maybe it’s supposed to taste like that?” 

Nope, she was definitely correct, too much flour, which was odd because you were pretty positive you’d followed the right measurements… 

Tuesday you had a day off from the sight, and even the word lasagne. You met for coffee with your mom but kept the date with Seokjin a secret. Not that she pressed about your love life anymore, she’d long given up on that topic. It was nice to catch up and you made plans for a trip soon. It was hard to find time to visit her when you were in work so you were always thankful for the summer and Christmas breaks. You were her only child, so it made your time together even more precious. She’d only remarried ten years ago, and while Jonathon had kids from his first marriage, they lived abroad. They were older than you and had families of their own. You weren’t particularly close for no other reason than the distance. You’d only met them a few times but they were lovely people. Your father had remarried while you were still in high school, having two more children (a son and daughter) with his wife. You were very close to them despite the age gap and saw them as regularly as you could. Your extended family had long been the norm and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Wednesday you were back on the lasagne. You purchased more pasta sauce and decided on the pre-made Bechamel sauce too, just to be safe. This time around everything went smoothly, Soojung had no complaints and neither did you, but you still invited Taehyung around on Thursday for a third go. He was way more enthusiastic than your best friend, singing your praises all night. 

“Y/N, that was amazing!” He exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to pat his belly. “Dilf dick – Uh, I mean, Seokjin, is going to love it.” 

“Guys, is that what you really call him when you’re alone together?” You whined. 

“Blame Soo,” Taehyung shrugged. “She’s rubbed off on me. But, I’m right,” he smirked. “He’s going to want to give you his DD once he tastes this, if you know what I mean.” 

Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, you looked on unimpressed. Maybe if you gave them no reaction they’d stop? 

“Oooo. I wonder what his dick even looks like. I bet it’s as handsome as his face.” Soojung squealed, sat beside her boyfriend. 

“SOOJUNG!” He cried, mouth open in disbelief. 

“Can we just stop talking about his… y’know…” You sighed, unable to say the word aloud. “Imagine if it was the other way around and he was wondering about what I looked like naked.” Soojung wouldn’t be impressed, that was for sure. 

“Fine, you’re right,” your best friend sighed. “I’m just way too excited because you finally like someone!!” She was getting loud now, she always did when she was excited. “And I want it to work out because you deserve it!” 

You chuckled. “Soo, calm down.” But you had to admit her words were sweet. You reached for her hand across the tiny table, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks. 

“What about Barman dick?” Taehyung asked randomly, totally oblivious that you and she were having a moment. “Huh? Soo? You want my Barman dick tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows again, a playfulness to his voice as he nudged her. 

She giggled but wasn’t having any of it. “It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, babe.” 

Highly offended he pulled away, pursing his lips. “Whatever.”

“Okay guys, let’s not have a domestic at the dining table.” You laughed. Which was a mistake because now Taehyung’s attention was back on you. 

“So, Y/N, when are you going to invite Mr. Dilf to my bar?”

You sniggered. “How about never?”

“Hey, you ladies are being very mean tonight. I complimented your lasagne.” Hm. That was true, you guessed. “What’s wrong with my bar? I think he’d love it. What does he drink? I see him as a dark rum type of guy.” 

You shrugged. “He was drinking red wine on our date last week.” It still made you feel funny to say the word date. You’d gone on a date. You were dating. A flurry of excitement found its way to your stomach, your excitement for Saturday growing. 

“Interesting,” Taehyung mused.

Soojung stood up, starting to collect your plates. “Okay, I’m washing, who’s drying?”

“Not me,” you sang. “I’ve cooked nearly every night this week.” 

Soojung eyes were wide when you met them, as if she was silently begging you. For what? “Just please promise me there won’t be any lasagne waiting for me after work tomorrow night? I’m going to turn into one at this rate.” 

Saturday arrived soon enough. You woke up the same time your phone went Bing and you knew exactly who it was. Seokjin had been texting you Good morning every day since Monday. He was no longer signing them off with his name, which was progress, and he was even adding more emojis, so you guessed you had rubbed off on him. 

Sometimes he’d drop a meme with the greeting. They were mostly to do with early mornings and workloads to which you’d tease him about because it was your summer vacation after all, you didn’t need to worry about work. But you always sent a Hope today runs smoothly his way too. You didn’t want to rub it in too much. 

Yesterday’s meme had been about dating, something about the guy trying to flirt but being garbage at it and asking if she liked cheese. You didn’t agree that was like Seokjin though – you were gradually learning that he was incredibly modest – but it had made you laugh. Only Seokjin could send you lame memes and you’d find it adorable… You were possibly whipped. 

Seokjin (8:01am)  Good morning. [Image sent] 

Today the meme was about lasagne, which made you question whether he was googling these every morning because no way had a lasagne meme popped up on his social media – if he used any at all. The realisation that he was searching for memes every day was even more endearing and your heart got a little gooey. You read the text on top of the image of lasagne. Dude, is that your new white shirt? Lemme just hop off this fork for a closer look. You genuinely laughed at that one, still wrapped up in your bed sheets. So incredibly lame, but equal levels funny. 

Seokjin (8:01am)  I will not be wearing white… I can’t wait to see you later. Just a reminder that I hope you omitted the garlic for tonight’s meal. I don’t want to embarrass myself by itching all night 😅😂

Immediately the smile dropped from your face and you shot forward, horror washing over you. Oh no. He was allergic to garlic. With the stress of perfecting the world’s best lasagne you’d totally forgotten. What were you going to do? Find a plain tomato sauce? Where the hell were you going to find one? Was that even a thing? You needed to leave now. Jumping out of bed you almost forgot to message Seokjin back. Looking at your phone again the image of the lasagne mocked you… 

.

.

Two hours later you were back at home, in need of a sit down after you’d rushed around town looking for a pasta sauce that didn’t contain garlic (very hard, by the way.) The stress had aged you about ten years. Soojung of course found it highly hilarious. 

“You’d have been in ER before 9pm,” she chortled, still in her pyjamas on the couch. She’d been still asleep when you’d dashed off, a woman on a lasagne mission. 

You ignored her. It wouldn’t have been that bad, right? He said himself he’d only be itching… Clawing off his own skin was probably better than his throat closing up… maybe… 

“How did you manage to forget?” She was still laughing. “AND you said you’d make a lasagne. Italian food always uses garlic. He must think you’re trying to kill him.” At this point you could hardly understand her, words blurring into one as she lost her shit. 

“We went over this. I wasn’t in my right mind when I said I’d cook lasagne.”

She stopped her laugher immediately.  “No way, you’re not blaming me again.” 

“Ugh.” You sighed, suddenly remembering something. “I was going to make my homemade garlic bread.” Now that was a speciality of yours. This night was going to be a disaster.

“Skip the garlic,” Soojung suggested. 

“So, just bread then.” 

She tried her best not to laugh again, not wanting to make it worse. “Yum.” 

It didn’t help. 

What did help though, was making her clean the entirety of the downstairs of the house. As the day went on you started to get more and more nervous, which was silly, but you couldn’t help it. You realised that your place was a shoe box in comparison to his, what the hell were you thinking when you’d invited him here?! It needed to be spotless, to distract him from the fact you would be eating dinner in the same place you would be cooking it… 

You knew there was no need to worry, it was just like last week when you’d grown self-conscious only to be fine once you’d set eyes on Seokjin. No doubt tonight would be just the same, he didn’t give a crap about stuff like that, so why would you even think he would? He’d probably be hurt if he knew… You just couldn’t help those little bubbles of insecurities from floating around inside your brain. You were a law unto yourself, and the garlic-less lasagne wasn’t helping. You’d had no time to prep for it. What if it tasted like cardboard? 

“Lasagne is lasagne,” Soojung reassured you, in the kitchen as you got all the ingredients together. “It’s not going to taste gross just because there’s no garlic in it. Put it this way, at least you can kiss without needing to pop a mint.” 

You whined, shaking your head, you couldn’t even dare thinking about kissing him right now. You’d spontaneously combust from anxiety. 

“Should we clean your room too?” She asked, picking up the jar of pasta sauce absentmindedly. You’d already read the label approximately fifteen times, double checking it was indeed garlic-less. 

“What? No,” you told her, voice all high-pitched. There would be no going upstairs besides from bathroom usage. “But hey,” you exclaimed, rounding on her with the spoon you were holding in your hand. “My room is always clean, bitch.”

She was the messy one.

.

.

Soojung left for Taehyung’s place at half 6, ready for Seokjin’s arrival at 7pm, a hug for good luck before you waved her off. You’d calmed greatly now, nothing like some table laying to ease some nerves. The lasagne was prepped and ready to oven cook, you had a fresh key lime pie in the fridge and you were dressed and presentable with ten minutes to spare. Wonderful. 

The doorbell rung not long after you’d made your way downstairs and you were quickly finding out that Seokjin was a very punctual man. Opening the door to reveal him stood at the porch your heart instantly warmed, skipping a beat when he gave you a dazzling smile and a soft Hey. You felt a little weak at the knees. Nope, you were not ready for tonight. 

In your tiny entryway he offered you a silver gift bag. “I didn’t know what to bring, so.” He said with a shrug as you pulled out a bottle of red wine. 

“Oh, thank you, Seokjin.” You hadn’t been expecting him to bring anything at all. It was a lovely surprise. 

“You probably have some waiting already. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “We’ll use this one.” You were going to use a bottle of white wine you had laying around, nothing special at all. Red wine seemed better, fancier, maybe it would go better with the lasagne?

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I was gonna get you flowers but I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

You laughed. What was he going on about? “Why would that freak me out?”

His smile was crooked as he chuckled quietly. “I don’t know. I’m new to this, I thought they would’ve been too forward.” 

You gave a small shrug, voice barely there when you replied. “I like flowers.”

He gazed at you, warm eyes softening as he stepped forward. “Next time.” He smiled. “Next time I’ll get you flowers.” 

You swallowed fairly loudly, averting your gaze as you outstretched your arms. “Let me take you coat.” Was it hot in here? You felt a little stuffy. 

He shrugged off the beige wool blend, revealing the tight fitting black shirt he had on underneath. It stretched over his shoulders, accentuating how broad they were, how hard his chest was and how much his waist curved inwards. The pants he was wearing didn’t help matters too. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, hair parted to the side, a piece curled above his left eye, softening the blow of his exposed forehead. You moved to hook his coat on the rack, realising you could’ve been gawping. Not that you could help it, the man was trying to kill you.

As you turned to face him again, he smiled. “You look really nice.” His voice was soft which just made it even more dangerous. “I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you in pants.” 

“Really?” You wondered. You were partial to a dress in the summer, so he was probably right. You’d chosen a pair of black skinny jeans and a patterned chiffon blouse. Nothing too fancy, but he looked at you with awe-filled eyes. Unless you were imagining it. You cleared your throat. “You look good too.”

He stepped back, arms outstretched as he looked down at himself. “Thanks. No white.” He chuckled. 

You forced yourself to laugh too, nerves creeping back just because of your stupid damn lasagne. “No white.” 

Moving forward again he took your hand. It was warm and soft, just as you remembered from last week. Who cared about the lasagne when you were this close to him? When he was looking down at you with those brown, twinkly eyes? Not you anymore. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Y/N.” 

Oh.

.

.

You invited him inside the living room first, pouring him a small (and his only because he the car) glass of wine as you chit chatted for a few minutes. Sat next to him was RJ, who you’d taken from your bedroom to join you both for the night. He wanted to say Hi, had been your opening line and Seokjin had found it hilarious, cracking up instantly. Although his “I missed you buddy, how have you been?” went rudely ignored. Maybe the alpaca was nervous… 

Ever the gentleman, he complimented you on the house, noting the décor with a fond eye. That surprised you, maybe he had played a part with the interior of his home. Well, you’d only seen the cosy family room – but it suited him very well. You knew there had been no need to be nervous when it came to inviting him into your home. There wasn’t a judging bone in Seokjin’s body. 

You talked about your weeks, yours had been fine, but of course you left out all the stress over the lasagne. Seokjin’s week on the other hand had been quite demanding, but that was nothing new he told you with an accepting shake of his hand. He was used to it by now, but he had to admit tonight’s date had made it easier this time around. He was full of the charm, not that you were complaining…

Misook was babysitting Arin tonight, he told you when you asked how she was. It was his weekend this week, he and Nana took it in turns – when she didn’t cancel, he added as an afterthought – but he seemed a lot more relaxed talking about his ex-wife this time around seeing as last weekend she hadn’t broken any promises. He was happy if his daughter was happy, and that made you smile. You remembered Arin’s sorrowful face that day her mom had cancelled on her, so you were glad they’d found time to spend time together. You also remembered how irritated Seokjin had sounded when he was opening up to you on the bench at the school fate… You wondered just how often Nana cancelled plans, and couldn’t imagine how frustrating that was for both Arin and Seokjin… You hoped this marked the start of things being easier for them now. 

Soon after that, you served him your starter (“garlic – wait, no I mean, no-garlic bread.”), and you chatted some more over that and while the lasagne baked. It was surprising how little you’d touched the sides on your first date, so tonight you covered even more bases. Family mainly. You told him about your half and step siblings, your parents’ remarriages of course coming up too. He seemed interested in that, wondering about your views on it and if it had affected you as you grew up. As a divorcee you understood the relevance to him and because he was so easy to talk to you found yourself opening up freely. 

His parents were still married and Seokjin was the youngest out of their two sons, so it was quite unheard of for the second born to take over a family company. In fact, it was the first of its kind for his, which made it even harder for him. His older brother had been the rightful heir to LG Electronics but his passion had always been in culinary arts. His parents had been kind enough to let him follow his dreams, and thankfully, for Seokjin, that meant he could follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been eager to prove himself but it had been hard in the beginning. His status as the youngest son meant that a lot of people set him up for failure, but with his family’s love and belief he’d managed to succeed and confirm himself as the rightful CEO. You didn’t doubt it. It seemed he’d worked hard to get where he was now. That was admirable. 

The influx of information was so interesting to you and it didn’t feel real. While you could imagine Seokjin taking charge, visualising him in that tailored houndstooth suit he’d worn when you’d first met him, it was strange to think the smiley and soft-spoken man sat in front of you was from a long line of power and wealth. He should be untouchable, yet here you were able to reach for his hand across the table. Able to feel his forefinger stroking delicate patterns into your palm as you opened up and got to know one another more and more… 

“So, if your family’s a big deal, what about things like arranged marriages? Are they still a thing?” You asked, maybe confusing fiction for fact. 

Seokjin laughed at your wording. “They used to be, not so much anymore. I met my ex-wife through a friend. They concentrate less on things like that these days.” He shrugged, adding as an afterthought, “As a divorced CEO I think I’m a great example of that.” 

That was true, you thought to yourself, wondering how the breakdown of his marriage had also played a part in the stress of his early years as CEO. 

“I know it all sounds pretty crazy, but I like to think my family is just like anyone else’s.” He continued, smiling bashfully when you met his gaze. “That I’m just like anyone else.” 

You wondered how many people had immediately judged him because of his status… You’d been one of them, right? Even if you hadn’t known any of the details, you’d written him off as some obnoxious, rich guy who flaunted his wealth… You felt guilty thinking back. He was the complete opposite.

You nodded in agreement before grinning. “I’d have liked to see what college Seokjin was like.” 

“A complete nerd, to tell you the truth.” 

He answered so seriously, you didn’t know how to react, and then he was laughing loudly, cracking up at himself. You couldn’t help but join in. That’s when your stove alarm went off, shrill and incessant, signalling the arrival of the dreaded lasagne…

It turned out he loved it though. 

“This is amazing,” Seokjin praised, mouth still half full as he chewed. You did have to admit it was good. It tasted just like the original, despite the lack of garlic. Seokjin quirked an eyebrow, smirking your way. “So, how lucky am I to be able to try this World famous Italian lasagne?” 

“Very lucky.” You kept your answer short. Hoping he’d just drop it. 

He didn’t. 

“How lucky?” He tried to pry from you. “How many people have tried it?” 

You gave him a small smile, hovering your fork over the plate. Technically he was the third, but you couldn’t tell him that, could you? “I can’t disclose that.” 

He emitted a short laugh. “What about the recipe? Care to share?” 

You brushed him off with a soft chuckle. “A chef never tells her secrets.”

“Not even me?” His bottom lip jutted out as he looked across at you. 

Your heart did a little dance. He was being unfair. “Don’t pout like that, it’s making me feel guilty.” 

Thankfully the lasagne topic fizzled out after a couple more minutes, your cold sweat having time to dissipate while you chatted and ate together comfortably. However a few minutes later you noticed Seokjin fidgeting slightly in his seat. You politely ignored it to begin with, unsure if you were just imagining it, but then he started itching the back of his neck. You put your fork down, a sick feeling washing over you. “Is anything wrong?” You asked, now watching him itch up his forearm. “Seokjin?”

He looked at you in mild confusion, eyebrows creasing together as he opened his mouth. “Are you sure there wasn’t any garlic in this?” 

You swallowed away the panic racing up your throat. “I’m sure.” You’d read the back of that jar and then read it some more. “I’m positive.” 

… Weren’t you? You watched him scoot his chair back, leaning down to start scratching the back of his calves. He made noises of discomfort as he did so. 

“Oh, no…” You were up before you could stop yourself, racing around him to start hunting in the recycling for the glass jar. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

You could hear Seokjin’s voice behind you, sounding alarmed, but you were too panicked to really take it in. You needed to be sure. This was just your second date, you couldn’t ruin things already. Turning him into one giant itchy red blob had not been your intention.  

“I was only teasing you.” Still, his words didn’t sink in. That was until you felt a hand on your elbow, tugging gently for your attention. 

You spun around, worried eyes wide – even wider when you found him so close. He was on his feet too, bent a little to level with you, pretty much within kissing distance. His voice was soft when he spoke, you found yourself distracted by his mouth. “Y/N, I was just messing around.”

You blinked, not truly understanding with all those annoying distractions zooming around your mind, but slowly you pieced his words together. Oh. Despite the relief you felt, now you just felt silly. Plus, he was still so close to you… 

You took a step back, the small of your back pressing up against the counter. You needed a clear head. “Don’t freak me out like that.” You told him, but you still sighed in relief, hand against your chest. “I thought I’d poisoned you.” 

He looked a little concerned, but you could tell by his eyes he found your reaction amusing. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“Make me laugh? You nearly gave me heart failure.” However, you gave him what he wanted, a laugh that sounded weak and shaky, but it was something – you did see the funny side. 

He joined you, shoulders relaxing now that he knew you were okay. He looked behind you, eyes on the trashcan, a bemused smile on his face. “What were you looking for anyway?”

“The jar.” You answered, as if it wasn’t obvious. You turned, deciding to fish it out anyway. Holding it up to him, you were adamant. “See, no garlic. Check.” 

He chuckled. “I already said I was joking.” He took one look at your desperate expression and gave in, taking the jar from your hand. “But if it makes you feel better…” You watched him as he read the label, silently soaking in his handsome features. He looked softer tonight, the curve of his jaw rounding as he smiled. It took you a moment to realise he was done. He handed the jar back to you, and you prayed to God he hadn’t caught you staring at him all gooey-eyed. “It’s fine.” He confirmed. “I’ll be itch free tonight.” 

You smiled and plopped the glass back inside the can. “I looked around town for hour trying to find lasagne sauce sans garlic.” 

He looked guilty. “I’m sorry for being awkward.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing, the hint of a smirk itching at the corners of his mouth. “But… Y/N, are you a fraud?” Huh? What did he mean? You didn’t need to wait long for an explanation. “I thought a certified chef would cook up a batch of her own tomato sauce.”

Oh. You’d gone and put your foot in it, hadn’t you? It was probably time to explain yourself… “I have a confession,” you began, sounding wary. Seokjin looked interested albeit it mildly confused. “I… may have told a little white lie.”

He shook his head, a puff of laughter leaving him. “You’ve lost me.” 

You took a deep breath, knowing you were going to have to spell it out for him. “I’ve never made lasagne before. Ever. In my entire life.” 

He looked confused as silence spread out between you. He sounded it too when he spoke again. “Then why did you say it was your speciality?”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands for one dramatic moment. “I panicked.” Peeking at him, you babbled on. “I know it sounds stupid but Soojung was curtain twitching and it was stressing me out and then you were asking me what I cooked and lasagne just popped into my head!”

Seokjin blinked, his mouth twitched and then he was laughing – loudly. 

“You find it funny?” You asked, relaxing a tad. 

“Very.” He laughed harder but seeing the look of bafflement on your face he tried is best to still it. 

“I’ve been practicing it like crazy,” you whined, happy you could finally tell him all about your lasagne struggles. “This is my fourth time eating it this week. Soojung nearly killed me.” You snorted at the memory. This started up Seokjin again. “And then I forgot you were allergic to garlic. Your text reminded me this morning and I had to rush out to the grocery store.” 

He was weak at the knees at that, and you were laughing just because he was. It was contagious. “Stop,” you wailed, attempting to get a hold of yourself. This week had actually been quite traumatic. “I’m glad you find it funny, I’ve been in constant stress ever since you drove off last week.” 

“I can’t help it.” He chuckled, although he did sound apologetic. “You’re just so adorable.” The air that settled around his effortless admission made your skin prickle. When he carried on, his tone was gentle. “You know I wouldn’t have minded if you changed the menu to something else, right?” 

You pouted ever so slightly. “But you were looking forward to it.” 

He gave a small shrug. “True, but… that was more so code for ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again.’ The food was just a bonus. I’d be happy with a Big Mac.” 

You felt your cheeks burn and you tried to shake yourself out of it. “So embarrassing,” you murmured. You didn’t know what for… The lasagne mess or the fact he could have this much of an effect of you? You were inclined to go with the latter. 

“What about the no-garlic bread?” Seokjin asked, changing the subject a little. Maybe he’d sensed your embarrassment and didn’t want to make it worse. He was sweet. “Did you make that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Well, I didn’t bake the bread. I just toasted it.” It was still a speciality of yours though. “It would’ve been much tastier with the garlic.” 

He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. This body wants to turn me into a miserable old man.” 

Pfft. Old? Miserable? He was anything but. 

“Sit,” he prompted you, smiling as he motioned with his head to the table. “Finish your World famous Italian lasagne before it grows cold.” 

As you moved he delicately cupped his hand around the curve your waist, giving it a soft squeeze before he got to his chair first. Your stomach flipped, head dizzy as you sat and tucked your chair in. Last Saturday popped into your head, the way you’d loosely held hands outside and how you were sure he’d been leaning in to kiss you – properly. 

You knew one thing. You really wanted to kiss him tonight. 

Trying to get a hold of yourself, you glanced at him, catching his eyes. He was already tucking in again, and he grinned bashfully, as if embarrassed. “This really is great. All that practice paid off.” A pause. “You should show me how you cooked it sometime.” 

Your face lit up in surprise. “You cook?” In the back of your mind you were aware that he’d probably been hinting for a third date, but you were so shocked by the possibly of Seokjin cooking you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. 

He chuckled quietly. “I mean, when I have time and can be bothered. I like cooking but it’s just easier to go to a restaurant or get it delivered.” He looked sheepish before adding, “Or Misook does it for me.” 

There was no shame when it came to that. Seokjin probably worked all hours of the day, no one could expect him to tie on an apron when he got home and start pulling out pots and pans. 

“Do you cook a lot?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Soojung and I take it in turns.” 

“So what is your speciality?” He smiled. 

This time around you were in your right mind and able to answer properly. “Veggie tacos.” 

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. Then he tried again. “Can you make them for me sometime?”

He was persistent, you’d give him that. You shrugged, trying your best to sound impassive but the little smirk gave it away. “Maybe if you say please…” 

He laughed, leaning forward, a hand clasping yours as he tilted his head. The piece of curled hair falling into his left eye. “Please?”

Your heart did another little dance inside your chest. 

.

. 

After dessert you both made your way back to the living room, settling on your couch with two pomegranate mocktails Taehyung had prepared for you yesterday. All you had to do was add the pomegranate juice and lemonade to the ice cubes and crushed lime segments and mint before serving, easy-peasy. Seokjin was highly impressed, but of course you couldn’t take the credit. It was all down to your best friend’s very helpful barman boyfriend. 

You were glad Seokjin wanted to stay as you didn’t want the night to be over yet. It had flown by so fast and you’d had so much fun. You already felt like you knew him better, even after only two dates. It was strange to you, how you could feel so relaxed in a stranger’s company, but then again, you guessed he wasn’t a stranger anymore… Plus, he was so easy to talk to, so interesting to get to know…. Everything between you two came easy. 

Like opening up to him, being a bit more vulnerable… 

“I’ve been slightly nervous all week,” you admitted, clutching your drink to you before chuckling softly. “– and not just about the lasagne faux pas…” 

“There was no need to be nervous. I thought we left all that behind on the first date,” Seokjin reassured, smiling warmly your way. 

You were sat together, turned to face one another. It was intimate and cosy. He had one leg lifted, the ankle resting on the knee of the other leg, and where his pants had ridden up, you could see an inch or so of his calf before it met the black cotton of his sock. For some reason, you found that very, very sexy. Maybe you had been single for far too long. 

“We did,” you agreed, hesitating slightly. “It’s just… I haven’t done anything like this in so long.” 

You didn’t even think you’d ever invited someone around for dinner before. You were still quite young when you found yourself in a relationship with Donghae so your dates before him had been very basic. Your dates with him hadn’t really classed as such just because you became official fairly quickly, and your dates after him, well, it was already known that they had been few and far between. 

“You already know we’re in the same boat,” he smiled before chuckling bashfully. “No, but really, when I asked you for dinner that day at the fate I was expecting you to turn me down.” 

“How come?”

He looked down at his drink, lifting a shoulder. “I thought you’d think that I was crossing a line… or maybe the spark I was feeling was all in my head and in reality you just found me really annoying.” 

That was cute. He’d been doubting himself. Human after all. Not that you’d ever thought he wasn’t. You still didn’t miss the opportunity to joke around though. “I mean, both can exist simultaneously.” He taking a sip of his mocktail when you replied so he ended up snorting into his glass, amused by your wit. 

A moment or so passed and Seokjin gazed at you, smiling softly. If he kept this up, you’d be a puddle on your parquet flooring. “So, tell me,” he hummed. “How did I luck out so good?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant. “How come an amazing person like you isn’t married or in a relationship?”

He must’ve seen the slight shock on your face and panicked instantly. “Is that a weird thing to ask? I feel like it is. I apologise.”

“No,” you insisted, sitting up a little straighter. He followed. “No, it’s not.” You wanted to open up to him. You really did. You just didn’t know where to start. Although, it was pretty simple. “I’ve been single for a while.” 

“How long?” Seokjin was instantly focused, attentive, noticing the change in your body language. 

“Three years. My last relationship didn’t end very well.” You paused, wondering if you should continue. But then… It had been a massive part of your life. No matter how much time had passed and no matter how okay you were now, it had still happened. And Seokjin, he had trusted you enough to open up about his divorce – even before you’d gone on your first date. You wanted to talk about it. You really did. 

“I found out my fiancé was cheating on me.”  

Seokjin’s eyes widened, unable to cloak his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. 

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “It was rough getting over it. Took me a while, but it is what it is. It’s in the past now.” 

“Did it put you off dating?” 

You were pleasantly surprised to find it was actually easy to talk to Seokjin about this. Your mouth was opening before you had to think about it. “I mean, at first. I was still very much in love with him, even after he broke my heart. But I got over him and I started dating again – briefly – It just didn’t feel right.” You stopped to smile. “It’s been over a year and I can’t say I missed it… but you…” Nerves growing, you pushed them away. “You’ve changed that. I’m having fun.” 

Seokjin’s face lit up and he chuckled. “I did hit second date status after all.” 

“You did…” 

“So,” he leaned closer, a small smirk on his face. “You could say, hitting your car that day wasn’t actually my fault because it was supposed to happen.” 

You snorted as you laughed, head falling against the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t go that far.” 

He made a sound. “But we wouldn’t have met otherwise.” 

“We would!” You exclaimed. “The parent-teacher meeting.” 

He blinked, feeling dumb. “Oh, yeah.” 

It wouldn’t have had the same effect, granted, but you would have become acquainted with one another regardless. “Would you have still liked me?” You asked without thinking, surprising yourself. 

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I was instantly attracted to you after all, it’s just…” Instantly attracted? Definitely a charmer... “There would’ve been no way for me to get to know you like I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re really adamant that you had to reverse into my car to make this work, huh.”

He shrugged casually. “It was the only way.” 

You laughed quietly, finishing the last of your drink. Time was getting on, it was pretty late, Seokjin had already finished his, you watched him sit up to lean forward and place the glass on your coffee table. His shirt tightened across his shoulder blades and you could see his back muscles as he stretched. Oh.  

Settling back into the same position, he looked over at you and grinned. His teeth were perfect. Did this man have zero flaws? Why were you so whipped? It was embarrassing. 

“I had fun tonight,” you told him, trying to keep a lid on whatever was going on with you right now. 

He seemed pleased with that, nodding his head. “I’m happy to hear that you think I’m a fun person.” 

You scoffed, body falling closer to his. Your shoulders brushed together. Seokjin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Hm. I don’t think I said that.” 

“Hey, don’t be so mean.” He murmured, one side of his mouth quirking up. 

Like you couldn’t stop yourself, your hand reached for the collar of shirt. He had the top two buttons loose and your pinkie finger brushed against his collarbone. Sparks flew, but you tried to ignore them. “I thought you liked it when I was mean.” You teased, voice low. 

Seokjin hummed, his eyes still twinkled like they always did but there was something else to them, a depth that made you feel funny. He sunk closer to you. So close you could study the thick curve of his eyelashes, notice that both his eyelids were different. He really did have beautiful eyes. You could stare at them forever. 

Preoccupied, you slowly realised that he was watching you too, studying your features in the golden glow of the floor lamp that hovered over the couch. His lips parted, you heard them rather than saw it, but then your attention was on them again. Just like it had been earlier on in the night. He was staring at yours too as he spoke. “I wanted to kiss you last week.” 

You heartbeat quickened but you tried to keep cool. “You did kiss me.” You laughed. 

He sighed. “On the cheek.”  

You lightly tugged his collar, fingertips now brushing the skin of his chest. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted to do?”

You could feel his own heartbeat against your forearm that was pressed into him. It was definitely running a little faster than it was supposed to – stronger. “Yes, but…” He glanced up to your eyes. “I was just being polite. I wanted to kiss your lips.”

It felt like you were holding your breath. Maybe you were, you just couldn’t think straight. Time seemed to stretch out, but you knew what you wanted. So you went after it. Giving him a small smile, you replied. “Maybe I wanted that too.” 

He swallowed, voice so low now it was barely a murmur. “Is that an invitation?” His eyes bounced to your lips again, then back to your eyes as he asked permission. “Can I kiss you?”

You ever so slightly dragged your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you nodded, breath catching in your throat as Seokjin leaned forward and closed the distance between you. The hand in between your bodies moved to delicately hold the wrist of your arm against his chest, holding you there as his other hand reached for your jaw, angling your face to press a kiss to your mouth. His eyes were already closed so you followed. 

He hummed at the contact, his lips soft and warm and you let yourself sink. His actions were light at first, faint as he kept constant pressure, as if he was familiarising himself with the sensation. You couldn’t even let yourself think about how this was the first kiss you’d shared with someone for a very long time. All that was going through your mind was how good it felt to be touched like this by him. 

He readjusted the hand on your face, tucking some hair behind your ear to cup your cheek. You liked that. You liked it when he touched you, and he eased from your mouth completely before coming back with a firmer pressure. It was your turn to make a sound; a tiny gasp as your lips began to move together ever so slowly. He liked that, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against the soft skin of your lips. You clutched at his shirt, gathering the crisp cotton in your fist, that would surely turn it creased, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was too preoccupied with reaching for the glass you’d forgotten was hugged to your body by your free hand. 

He unclasped it from your fingers and had no choice but to break away from your mouth to put it next to his on the coffee table. You whined, attempting to tug him back to you, and he chuckled, taking a hold of one of your hands. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, leaning forward to place the cocktail glass down. 

And he was. 

This time he used both of his hands to grasp your face and dive back in. He was more confident this time, moving in such a way his lips pried yours open. You reached for his shoulders, grasping them to hold him closer and this time you both made noises – sweet, quiet ones that worked beautiful together as your lips moulded with gradual urgency. 

When your hands found the nape of his neck, fingers through his hair, he had to drag the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entry. You met it with yours, tasting hints of pomegranate and lime with each wash of tongue. A hand of his slipped down to your side, stroking up and down the curve as if he couldn’t help but to touch you. He settled at your hip after a moment, the other splayed against the side of your neck, his thumb rolling small circles under your cheekbone. 

This was getting addictive. You could tell by the way you moaned softly against each warm, wet curl of his tongue. This was everything you’d imagined and more – because you had imagined it. Late and secretly at night when you were trying to drift off to sleep and thoughts of lasagne were banished… You were glad your first kiss was here, inside, on your couch, because this wasn’t something for the open, your knees wouldn’t have been able to hold you up. 

You could have kissed him forever, you mean, you definitely didn’t want it to stop but you pretty much had to. Breathing was a necessity, right? If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be able to ever kiss Seokjin again and that would be absolutely awful… 

You did it the right way though – gradually. Seokjin slowed it right down, only hints of his tongue left as he hummed indulgently, like he was savouring your taste before he had to inevitably pull away. It made your insides jump around like crazy, hearing him enjoying himself, and you tried your best to come to when he started easing the pressure of his lips, pressing small, chaste kisses to them instead as you ultimately (but slowly) broke apart. 

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, hands falling from his hair, aware you had become one with your cushions. You struggled to free yourself as he sat back and you watched him smile fondly at you. His breath was shaky – so was yours, and you were sure his hands trembled slightly as one reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His neck that was blotched with red, flushed, travelling to his cheeks. They were rosier than you’d ever seen them before. Your gut stirred. 

“I’ve been dreaming of that,” he told you, before making a face at himself. “Too cringey?” 

You giggled – it sounded foreign. “Just a bit.” But didn’t deter the fact you loved it. 

You warmed when you felt him squeeze your hip, realising his hand was still there and you reached for it, tangling your fingers with his. He pulled them to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly. His expression was thoughtful when he lowered your hands. “In all seriousness, thank you for giving me a chance, after well, you know, everything.”

You smiled, touched by his earnestness, but it was hard to keep a sane mind when his lips were as kiss bitten as they were – deep pink and glistening. You wanted to kiss his face off. 

“It’s no problem,” you quipped, as if you were doing him a favour. 

He chuckled tenderly, and luckily for you he was unable to stop himself from kissing you again. He reached forward, hooking a finger under your chin to press his mouth to yours softly. “I’d really love if we could keep on doing… this.” He murmured. 

“The dating or the kissing,” you grinned, stealing another kiss in the process. 

“Hm,” he contemplated. “Both preferably.” 

And then you were on one another again, eager once more. 

Although, you did manage to pull away briefly to tell him something, his mouth moving to the side of your face to kiss there instead as your hands dragged down his back. You were somehow able to get the words out – ones that made him laugh against your wet jaw. 

“I’m so glad you hit my car.” 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[cruelset]

CW TALKS OF VIOLENCE AND MURDER, STABBING.

can i also talk about the shameful desire mixing with immense anger that nines wields for twobe and how it’s demonstrated when he’s k*lling her copy in the soul box. usually especially in media, st*bbing is often a euphemism for, well. sex. penetration, to be more specific.

after the real twobe’s death, nines falls into this spiral. he’s angry. he’s sad. he’s losing all control of every emotion, all at once. all he knew was bloodlust, from then on. all he wanted was to kill a2 for taking 2b away from him. much of this can be illustrated in  Long Story  when his obsessive and possessive thoughts start to take over, because without 2b, 9s doesn’t feel like he has to hide his shameful and disturbed way of thinking. the mask is off. 

when he was in the circuit dimension with his memories being taken from him, he was more than upset. he was angry. every single memory with 2b were his, and he was possessive over them. this passage here from  Long Story  demonstrates something interesting i think about often:

The shadow persisted. It ate his memories of 2B: the look that she made when she was confused, the rare moments when she expressed anger, and the time she looked back at him. 

“Stop it!” 

He hurled himself onto the shadow. 

“Don’t invade my memories!” 

He held down the shadow and constricted him. He was beating down the enemy that had tried to take his precious treasures away. 

“Don’t mess with my memories.” 

In a flash, he found himself holding a sword. He stabbed the shadow over and over and over. He straddled the shadow, and continued to stab it. He realized that the shadow had 2B’s face. Even then, he kept stabbing it. Red liquid sprayed out. 

“This is…my memory!” 

This is my memory. This 2B is mine and mine only. 2B is mine…

“2B is mine”. as the shadow presented itself as 2B, he kept stabbing. all his memories and his thoughts took physical form, because deep down inside, he KNEW. he KNEW that it was 2b who took his memories away. the memories that 9s held dear, she took them from him violently. over and over and over again. all this built up anger and betrayal and heartbreak, mixed with desire and possession, he STRADDLED her and killed her, over and over and over again. he had been waiting for this. wanting this. but it was another opportunity that was stolen from him, by a2.

HE wanted to kill her. HE wanted her to suffer. HE wanted her there with him, just so HE could have her back in his life. yes he wanted to kill her. but he didn’t want to live in a reality that she wasn’t apart of. a slaying so intimate, in a cycle reenacted by the two over and over again.

it’s immediately after this, that he starts to think this:

I’ll kill anyone that hurts 2B. I’ll kill anyone that touches 2B. I’ll kill anyone that comes near 2B. I’ll kill anyone that looks at 2B. The only one allowed to look at 2B is me. The only one allowed to come near 2B is me. The only one allowed to touch 2B is me. The only one allowed to hurt 2B is me. The only…

when he finally got to the tower, confronted with copies of 2b it was admitted that nines harbored “perverse feelings” for her (this was back in the copy city, the machines all shared a network so they all knew of his confession). this was the way they knew they could break him, since 21O had not worked. 

he desired her in every sense of the word, going so far as believing he was the only one who could destroy her, even the cheap copies that the tower confronted him with.

See, it’s so easy to break them. I’m going to slash and crush the faces, arms, and legs that look just like yours, 2B. I won’t leave anything behind. So no one can look at you. 

One body. Two bodies. Three bodies… 

At this rate it’s going to end too quickly, 2B. 

Four bodies, five bodies, six bodies… How many left?

there’s one left, she’s not even struggling to move- but he takes it upon himself to finish the job he swore to do.

No, 2B. I told you I’d destroy all of you, didn’t I? 

He pierced the sword through the chest. Twice, and then a third time.

at this point, it’s overkill. he didn’t HAVE to do it. 9S is a scanner after all, not MADE for offensive battle, or battle overall. but this makes him feel good. makes him feel justified. 

because in his little fucked up mind, this was the only way to be able to feel close to her again, after she died. in their own little fucked up way, this was how they expressed their intimacy- and it grew into this perverse little monster that overtakes nines until his very end.

[jamaisjoons]

of oleanders & honeysuckle I ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when one of your coven sisters, malise, had first mentioned your soulmate, you’d been young and unbothered - preferring to chase the elusive seduction of power. now, you’re twenty-five, and having established yourself as a powerful witch of the sisters of elysia, you've grown tired of the cold embrace of power. looking to settle down, you move to carelia in search of the one destined for you. within days, you come across the charmingly handsome apothecary owner, and warlock, kim namjoon. something about him magnetises you. but is he the one the universe has fated for you? 〞strangers to lovers au. supernatural au. witch/warlock au. soulmates au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: witch!reader x warlock!namjoon

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ∝ fluff ∝ future smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 12k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of death, oc has a traumatic™ childhood, oc is also an orphan so mentions of parental death, brief mentions of religious persecution? (yn’s parent’s coven is destroyed by knights from a new religion), brief depictions of fighting/violence, there’s no smut in this part but namjoon is hot as fuck, namjoon in leather which needs a warning in itself, use of magic ofc, namjoon is I N S A N E and im simping for him

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was,,, supposed to be a oneshot but fneorifnge i’ve been so lazy and i haven’t been writing as much so in order to post something I’ve decided to split this into four parts! also sorry there’s no smut in this chapter but the next three parts all have smut yeehaw 🤩

⏤ beta read by the lovely @yeoldontknow, @nightshadevinter, @inthecrescentmoonight​ and @jjungkooksthighs​

⟴ Series Masterlist

It’s the dead of winter. Snow crunches under your soles; the muffled sounds of your footsteps intermingling with the odd cracking branch, and crinkling leaf-litter as you navigate through the Forest of Ingredeen. The sky above you is bleak: faint wisps of smoke-grey clouds obscuring the otherwise stark, white canvas; and the harsh light causes your eyes to squint in the slightest. The thick blanket of snow that surrounds you doesn’t help; the pristine-white coating only further reflecting the brightness. Despite the austereness of the sky, life continues thriving around you. Barren skeletons of deciduous trees are juxtaposed by evergreens of pine, fir, and yew – the latter of whose verdant branches still boast succulent needles of jade and viridian. Some of them, most notably the yew trees, still bear fruits: the scarlet berries adding a splash of colour to the contrary dreary scene.

Stillness befalls the entirety of the forest, and the eerie silence only amplifies the sounds of snow crunching under your feet. The air is equally stagnant, with not a single gust of a howling gale, nor a gentle wisp of a susurrus breeze, drifting through the atmosphere. Though, that's a small blessing you’re thankful for; because even with the absence of the wind, the frigid bite of the cold settles into your bones. As a matter of fact, you’re dressed in a thick-piled winter cloak - the black material lined with fur – as well as your woollen dress and leather boots. Yet, you still feel the brisk chill kiss your skin, the surface turning icy as it prickles with goosebumps.

Curling further into the warmth of your cloak, you pull the piled fabric further around your body and continue walking through the dense thicket of trees. The quiet is strange, and heavy, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the woodland was devoid of all life. Nonetheless, every now and then, the shrubs around you move: their foliage rustling as hares and squirrels scuttle about, and wintertime birds flit through the canopy: sweet chirps of birdsong and languid flaps of wings resonating through the air. Albeit, they come infrequently, with long, gaping silences between. But they still come, and that settles the inkling of unease that flutters through your stomach.

You’ve only just moved into the large province of Carelia; the nation nestled between the much smaller territories of Alphana and Eyres; the latter of which had once been your previous home. Of course, in spite of Carelia being a large country – abundant with diverse wildlife and vast expanses of wilderness – the population of inhabitants itself was fairly small. In fact, throughout the entire country, there were only five human settlements; a significant decrease from the almost overpopulated country of Eyres. Naturally, that wasn’t the only difference. No, here, in Carelia, magic was bountiful – the very essence of life so palpable that you could feel it thrum in the air. Not that any of that was surprising by all means. No. After all, nature was plentiful here, and as a result, it meant that the innate magic of life was equally as powerful.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your breath fogs in front of your face, causing your nose to scrunch at the sight. You had chosen to leave your previous coven, of your own volition. It had been a spur of the moment decision, after one of your past sisters, who’d specialised in oracles and premonitions, had suggested through thinly-veiled euphemisms that you’d find your destined soulmate here. When she’d first prophesied her vision, you’d been but a young wiccan, at the tender age of eighteen, a mere two years after your initiation into your coven, and you hadn’t cared too much. Back then, the idea of love, soulmates, and destiny had been far out of your mind. Rather, your entire being burned with the need to learn, to hone your magic and see just how far you could take it.

Your past coven had been a famous one, known by the entire world as the Sisters of Elysia. It had been an elusive coven, shrouded in mystery and repute, and one that was only open to the most powerful, or promising, female witches. In fact, it had been so exclusively prestigious, that it could only be joined by invitation from the High Priestess herself; a powerful seer with the ability to seek out the potential, innate magic of a witch or warlock. Though of course, the Sisters of Elysia had only been interested in an all-female coven, and even the most powerful warlocks had been turned away. Not that they’d even consider joining, though. No, they had their own coven for that – the Brotherhood of Requiem.

Being discovered by Mardella, the High Priestess, at the age of fifteen had been a blessing, and an honour; and having been told you’d had an incredible affinity for the Destructive Arts and Alchemical Restoration, two powerful schools of magic, had been even more of a privilege. As such, Mardella, and the rest of your sisters, had taken you under their wing, and taught you all about witchcraft for a year. And then, the very day you’d turned sixteen, you’d been formally initiated into the coven.

After that, you’d spent years upon years training your two schools of magic, honing them to the skill they are today. For the vast majority of your young adulthood, you’d chased the beguiling essence of magic – learning as much as you could about the two different archetypes – and soaking every ounce of the information into the very fibre of your skin. Power was a seductive thing, something far more enticing than the notion of love, and readily, you’d fallen into its clutches. Naturally, it was only made easier by being part of the Sister of Elysia.

You see, your previous coven had been a nomadic one – and its migratory nature had made learning all the more easier – especially since at the age of twenty-five now, you’ve traversed almost the entire world, and seen more things than an ordinary witch of your age would have. At first, the vagrancy of your previous home had been exciting. You’d loved travelling the globe, visiting different countries, and learning all types of cultures while simultaneously acuminating your magic. As a matter of fact, you had craved it – and wandering about the different kingdoms had whetted your own innate wanderlust; as well as the desire to learn as much as you could.

The Sister of Elysia had been your home, and you’d loved the family you’d created – after all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. Or so, you’d been told all your life. Nevertheless, despite all your attachment and adoration for your coven – you couldn’t help but find that something was missing. You see, your blood-related family had been torn from you at the young age of ten, the coven of your parents razed to the ground by Knights of the Seven Lights: a new religion that had swept through Eyres, and in the bloodbath that had followed, you’d lost everything.

Orphaned from childhood, you’d spent the next five years living in the abandoned church that your parents’ coven, Mages of Mirror Lake, had occupied when they’d still been alive. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Eyres had a warm temperate, and winters were non-existent. Hence, even though you were essentially homeless, you’d somehow survived. By all means, you’d had to forage for scraps of food, clothing, or any other basic necessities – sometimes even needing to find a neighbouring human settlement and stealing whatever you could get your hands upon – but you’d survived. Moreover, you’d even continued sharpening your skills in witchcraft, using the ruined library of the church in order to continue your schooling.

For five years, you’d lived like that. Using the school of Destructive Arts, you’d kept those who would harm you, typically members of the Knights of the Seven Lights, at bay. And using the school of Alchemical Restoration, you’d heal and look after yourself; as well as the odd human who was desperate enough for a treatment to an ailment that they would turn away from their new religion and back towards the Magic of Old. Eventually, though, you’d met Mardella, who’d sought you out and brought you back to the Sisters of Elysia. And that was where you’d found your home, happiness, and solace.

That was, until now.

In the recent years, your magic had grown listless, and you, yourself, had grown restless – until eventually, you found yourself at an impasse.

You no longer found joy in travelling, and considering you’ve travelled everywhere there was little more you could learn that way, and even less that you could discover. You’ve reached the peak of your power. You’ve spent an entire decade garnering your knowledge, immersing yourself in the seductive lure of the Black Arts, only to hit a culmination. And now, there was nowhere else you could go except down. Of course, you could always consider learning a new school of magic if you so wished to continue chasing power. Except, lately, that deep, insatiable need for it had started diminishing; the searing fire dwindling until it was nothing more than weak flames licking at your being.

You still loved to practice your witchcraft, of course you did. You’d never really lose your love for power or magic. But your hunger for it had ebbed, its cold seduction releasing you from its tantalising embrace – and the moment that had disappeared, you’d found yourself lost. For the longest time, power had been your only vice, the only thing you had sought after, and cared for. But with that thirst gone, you had no idea what to do; or where to go anymore. More than that, you'd found yourself craving for some sense of home, of belonging. You had that with your coven, of course you did. But it just wasn’t the same.

A while now, there was a small, distant part of you that craved what had been stolen from you from a young age. A family. Love. You craved a sense of belonging; the affection of a lover, and the comfort and safety that they afforded. Something that was out of your reach with the Sisters of Elysia. By all means, it wasn’t as if there were rules that forbid romance. No, of course not. It was more, with how elusive the coven was, and with the doctrine that knowledge was power, and power was prestige; it meant that while romance wasn’t frowned upon, it just wasn’t something that was frequently entertained. Especially since the Sisters of Elysia had no room for men. Though, of course, if you fell for one of the sisters, that was a wholly different matter.

Which had all been well and good when you were younger. But now, you’re older, and you no longer covet power. Rather, you yearn for a sense of security, of home, of stability.

And thus, lately, you’ve found yourself going back to Malise’s oracle; the seer having foreseen of your soulmate almost a decade ago. You see, everyone in the world has someone fated for them – the knots of destiny tied by the Moirai long before even your own grandparents were born. Naturally, not everyone who was bound together actually found each other; after all, the world is large, and the universe was rarely ever so kind. No, more often than not, soulmates could be born miles apart, or even countries apart – and as a result – very few people found love with their soulmates. That is, of course, if you’re a human with no ties to the Magic of Old.

For witches and wizards, it was different.

The natural essence of the universe – the energy that made up the Magic of Old – was what guided practitioners of the Black Arts, and it was that very power that had bound the two beings together. And as such, for witches and warlocks, it was easier to find soulmates. Easier. Magic was mysterious, and the universe very scarcely answered definitively. Oracles were particularly attuned to the cosmos, hence their ability to catch glimpses of the future. But that’s all they were, mere glimpses and vague inklings. It was very rare for a seer to be able to clearly see the future – which is why Mardella was so powerful: she was particularly harmonious with the world.

However, Mardella very rarely involved herself with matters of the heart. As the High Priestess of the Sisters of Elysia, she embodied the fundamental teachings of knowledge and power; and as such her prophecies were seldom about the frivolities of romance or soulmates. Malise, however, was another matter. Frequently, the seer would have visions about soulmates, and she could even control them to a degree – having them at will. The first vision she’d had of you and your destined lover, had been involuntary; the fortune triggered randomly. She’d tried to speak to you about it, even offering to look further into it. However, you’d quickly dismissed her. After all, back then, you hadn’t cared.

Now, though, was a completely different matter.

Thus, a week ago, you’d sheepishly slunk into her chambers, and quietly asked if she’d be able to find out more about your soulmate. Her response had been eager, and she’d conducted her divination swiftly. As usual, her vision had been vague – veiled in euphemisms and cloaked with mysticism – the universe purposely responding to her questions with ambiguous answers. All she could say was that it was a man, a warlock to be specific, and that he lived in Carelia. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The idea of moving and settling down in Carelia – a kingdom so rich in nature and magic – immediately had excitement flourishing through you. Your earlier listlessness quickly faded, and with a new sense of purpose, you’d formally, and abruptly, left the Sisters of Elysia before you made your way to Carelia.

Naturally, there’s not much you know about your soulmate – because, really, living in Carelia and being a warlock was barely any information to go off of. Nevertheless, as mentioned before, despite how large of a country it is, Carelia only had a small population of humans inhabiting it. More than that, despite the abundance of magic, there was only one coven that was still prolific in the nation: Coven of the Evening Star. Moreover, out of curiosity, and before you had moved, you’d brewed the Essence of Venus; a potion that took on the scent of your destined lover. Each fragrance is wholly unique, customised purely for the individual, and completely memorable. In fact, you doubt you could ever forget the scent.

Thick notes of a pungent scent made up the bulk of your soulmate’s fragrance. Despite the sharpness of it, it was fruity and warm; with subtle hints of rich honey and ripe citrus. The fragrance was sharp, deeply intoxicating, and incredibly comforting. The telltale scent of honeysuckles in full bloom. Undercurrents of morning dew and fresh soil cut the effluvious aroma, adding a depth of light freshness and earthen musk to it that had your stomach flourishing with warmth. The first time you smelled it, you'd completely melted into the scent - something about it calling to the very recesses of your being, and soothing your soul - and you'd wanted nothing more than to sink into it.

After that, you'd immediately found yourself daydreaming about the mysterious warlock it belonged to. Lost in your fantasies, you wondered what his name was, what he looked like, and what he was like. You wondered what kind of magic he practised, and what he liked to do in his spare time. Moreover, you wonder just why he smells the way he does - and whether the scent of honeysuckle was wholly natural to him or artificial. Momentarily, you wonder where the fresh soil and morning dew comes from too. Mainly because, none of the notes that make up your soulmate's scents are common, or ordinary. Though, that's something you're thankful for, because hopefully, just hopefully, it would make finding him all that bit easier.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don't notice the dense thicket of woodland start to thin: the space between the trees growing further and further apart; until, all of a sudden, you're thrown out of your thoughts by the sight that greets you. Out of the blue, you find yourself in a large clearing. The glade is spacious, fringed by shrubs and bushes that make up the understory of the forest. Above you, the once thick canopy has cleared up, allowing dense beams of stark-white light to flood the ground: the sky's radiance bathing over the forest floor and casting its harsh brilliance over the structure that makes its home in the middle of the meadow.

When had you reached home?

Your cottage is moderately sized, and homely, but nevertheless, a sight to behold. The roof is gabled: made up of thin, multi-shaded hues of black slate, and the walls are smooth: made up of clay and stone of varied shades of beige. Flowering vines scale the exterior of your home, from the climbing roses that frame the oakwood entrance to your home, to the branches of clematis and moonflower that intertwine together over the side walls. Trumpet vine hangs over the edge of the roof, the lush foliage draping over the large windows that peek into your home. A wooden fence encloses your land, with the only entrance a small gate that breaks up the stakes. Bushes fill the space between your home and the timber barrier, however, being the dead of winter, only a few still bloom: the large shrub of daphne in the corner by the chimney, little clusters of violas nestled between clumps of cyclamen, and the vines of winter clematis that creep over the walls.

Carelia is large, and there are few settlements littered around the wild expanse of the wilderness. Nevertheless, your home is still secluded from even the nearest community - your new coven. Most people would be daunted by the fact that you're living alone in the woods. However, you? Not so much. After all, with your proficiency in the Destructive Arts, it would be hard for someone to get the best of you. Not to mention, that you had lived by yourself in the woods from the ages of ten to fifteen. No, to you, living alone in the forest, is somewhat comforting, and nostalgic.

At the comforting sight of your home, the corners of your lips curl into a slight smile, and you begin walking down the thin, winding dirt path that leads through the gate and to your home. Getting to the entrance to your cottage, though, you abruptly stop; the smile on your face falling. A small wicker basket sits on the shallow concrete step at the foot of your door. Curiosity colouring your being, you place your own basket of firewood and food down, before cautiously pulling back the soft linen cloth that covers the contents. Seeing the items inside, however, your curiosity is swiftly replaced by surprise.

A pot of lilac makes the centrepiece, the four-petaled flowers blooming in soft shades of periwinkle and blush despite the mid-winter atmosphere. Next to the pot lies a bundle of dried lavender, wrapped in a piece of plain brown parchment and tied with silk black ribbons. A few of the desiccated petals litter the base of the wicker basket, and in spite of its dryness, the thick, piney-floral scent of the bulbs intermingle with the cloying - almost sacchariferous - scent of lilac into a delicate floral aroma. The last items in the basket are three muslin sachets that contain a mix of rosemary, sage and cloves - the bag tied shut with red thread.

Thanks to your background in Alchemical Restoration, you’re well versed in the craft of herbalism, and from your extensive knowledge, you know that all the items signify protection. Lavender for purification and healing of the soul, lilac to banish malicious spirits or malevolent intentions, and the sachets to ward off negative energy. Having only moved into your new home yesterday, you haven't had a chance to properly ward off your property, and as such, the protective charms that keep you safe are basic and easily penetrable. Thus, the gift of the flowers and herbs is incredibly sweet. If a little strange, considering you have yet to meet any of your new coven members, or even announce your arrival. Nevertheless, you don't sense any negativity radiating off of the basket. In fact, if anything, you can feel a soft aura of safety enclosing the items - the gifter having clearly cast a few more wards of protection around them.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly speaks, and not expecting it, you immediately startle. Instantly, a rush of adrenaline surges through you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge, and a swell of power to flood through your fingertips. Before you can even consider your actions, lightning begins crackling around your fingertips: small bolts of bright, purple-hued sparks arcing around the pads of your digits; your magic involuntarily manifesting itself in a bid to protect you.

Spinning on your heel, you thrust out your hand on instinct, causing a large bolt of lightning to appear out of thin air. The moment you turn around, however, your eyes blow wide and despair courses through you. The newcomers are dressed in two large cloaks, their coats effectively hiding their forms from you. However, from the design of the brooch that fastens their coverings - the emblem of an intricate silver star - you know that they’re members of your new coven; most likely coming to greet you. Nonetheless, the damage is already done - your magic having flooded out of you and into the air.

The lightning bolt surges towards the two and you watch as the female’s hands move in a flash, a spell immediately slipping from her lips as she erects a shield in front of her and her partner. It appears just in time - your own magic colliding directly into the middle of the barrier. To the witch’s credit, the shield manages to deflect your attack, and the force of the collision causes the lightning to bound into the stratosphere. A large flash of blue blazes through the sky, accompanied by the thunderous sound of lightning cracking, before your magic dissipates and ebbs back into the atmosphere; a terse silence once again shrouding the forest.

The moment it disperses, the aura of power around you fades away, and your shoulders immediately tense. Clambering to your feet, “Sweet Earth Mother, I am so sorry,” you quickly splutter. Adrenaline still coursing through you, your heart continues beating rapidly and your hands turn sweaty. Though, this time, rather than fear, it’s out of trepidation: a ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. This was not a good way to greet your new coven members.

The shorter of the two, the woman, pulls down her hood, and you’re met by mesmerising, cat-like eyes and a mischievous smile, “It’s okay. I kinda startled you on purpose,” comes her coy response. Nervousness replaced by confusion, your eyebrows furrow as you regard her in puzzlement. Beside her, the taller of the two lets out a little sigh and pulls down his own hood. The first thing you notice is that both of them have identical features: the same, sharp eyes; smooth, glass-like tanned skin, and small, pouty lips. Twins, no doubt.

“Yeah, and you almost had us killed. I told you not to startle her,” he chides, causing the woman’s cheeks to puff in a pout.

“Hey! I saved us, didn’t I? If it weren’t for my shield, we’d both be ash,” she backfires. The man simply scoffs and shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t scared her, we wouldn’t have needed the shield in the first place,” he retorts. The woman opens her mouth to retaliate, however, not having a comeback, she quickly closes it.

“Fair enough,” she concedes with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Purpose? Test?” you reiterate softly, breaking their little spat.

“Well, yes, of course. Your reputation precedes you, ____. I just had to see if the famed Witch of Ruin was truly as powerful as the rumours made you out to be,” the woman replies. Hearing her words, you let out an awkward chuckle.

Witch of Ruin.

Gods, you hadn’t heard that in a while.

You’d first gained the epithet during your years in Eyres, after you’d single handedly defeated a small group of the Knights of the Seven Lights, who’d come to ‘purge’ you of evil. After that one event, you’d gained infamy as the Witch of Ruin; rumours of a child born of chaos, lightning and fire, spreading through the country. As a result, more and more groups of the Knights would come looking for you, and one by one, they would fall at your hand. By all means, it had all stopped once you’d been rescued by Mardella. Nonetheless, being initiated into the Sisters of Elysia, of all covens, had only caused your fame to grow. After all, it was a coven that prized themselves on power.

Still, you haven’t heard that epithet in a while; having stayed your lust for power a while ago, and falling more into your love of Alchemical Restoration in the recent years. In fact, if you were being completely honest, you’d tried your hardest to put the nickname, Witch of Ruin, behind you. Mainly due to the fact that it had been born out of your need for survival. Not to mention, your anger, and what could only be considered ‘teenage angst’, over your circumstances from when you were an adolescent.

The man in front of you bows, the movement breaking you out of your reverie abruptly. “I’m sorry about my sister. I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Yoonji. We’re here to welcomeyou to the coven,” he apologises. Then, straightening out his back, he glares at his twin pointedly through the corner of his eyes, “Welcome. Not test,” he mutters. His words cause Yoonji to pout and stick her tongue out.

Eyes blowing out, you quickly shake your head while waving your hands dismissively. “No, no. It’s okay! Would you like to come in?” you ask as you gesture towards your home. This time, it’s Yoonji who shakes her head.

“Usually, we’d love to. But we don’t have long today. We need to get back to prepare for the coven meeting tomorrow,” she replies, her mischievous smile curling into an apologetic one. “We’re only here to drop off your initiation robes, as well as let you know that your formal induction into the coven will take place tomorrow, at evening’s twilight, in the Lunar Grove,” she continues.

Eyebrows knitting together, you cock your head to the side, “Lunar Grove?” you repeat, causing Yoongi to smile at you kindly.

“Someone will come collect you around dusk and bring you to the meeting spot,” he supplies, and you nod in understanding.

“Do we not have a building to convene in, or…?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.

A tinkling laugh slipping from her lips, Yoonji shakes her head. “The Coven of the Evening Star reveres nature first and foremost. We feel that buildings impair our ability to connect with both nature and the universe. So, while we aren’t a nomadic coven, we do not have an official church building to worship in either,” she explains. Mouth forming a little ‘o’, a ripple of sheepishness washes through you. You remember Malise telling you something about that, however, in your excitement to move and settle down, you hadn’t completely researched your new coven; a blight on your part.

Sensing your mortification, “Don’t worry about it too much. Our coven is very different from your old one, so I’m sure it’ll take you a while to get used to everything anyway. In the meantime, we’re here to help you with whatever you need,” Yoongi speaks, his voice low and comforting. A grateful smile curls onto your face as you thank him.

“Not to mention, everyone is excited to meet you. It’s all anyone can talk about lately. About how we’re not only going to meet a previous member of the Sisters of Elysia, but that she’s also joining our new coven. Not only that, but she’s also the fabled Witch of Ruin… I can assure you, that almost every member of the coven will travel to view your initiation tomorrow,” Yoonji chuckles lightly. The moment her words slip out her mouth, you let out an awkward laugh, and hearing the sound, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that daunting, don’t worry. And Yoonji is exaggerating, I doubt that many people will turn up,” he says while pointedly glaring at his sister through the corner of his eyes. Before she can say anything, however, he’s cutting her off, “We really must get going now, though. We still need to complete preparations for your initiation,” he continues before thrusting a neatly wrapped bundle of fabric towards you. “These are your Initiation Robes for the ceremony tomorrow. We look forward to having you join us,” he finishes.

Taking the bundled material from him, you smile at him once again, “I’m looking forward to joining,” comes your reply. With their business complete, the two of them turn on their heels and begin walking away. All of a sudden, however, a thought springs to mind, and you quickly call out to them. Immediately, they stop and turn back towards you, a look of interest on their face. With a wave of your hand, you gesture towards the wicker basket still laying on the porch of your door. “Did you send me this, by any chance?” you ask as you point towards your gift.

The twins glance at each other, a knowing glint flashing in their eyes as they silently communicate amongst one another. Simply watching them, you await their response. You don’t have to wait long, however, because a few short moments later, they’re both turning back to look at you; their heads moving eerily in sync - almost as if they’d planned it.

“It’s not from us, no. It’ll be from Namjoon,” Yoonji explains.

“Namjoon?” you dumbly repeat.

“Mhm. Kim Namjoon. He’s a warlock in our coven. He specialises in Herbalism, and he runs the apothecary that supplies us with the ingredients we need for our rituals, spells or potions. It’s probably a gift welcoming you to the neighbourhood,” she explains. For the umpteenth time today, confusion colours your face.

“Neighbourhood...? I didn’t think I had any neighbours,” comes your response. The land you own now, once belonged to the human settlement that borders the Forest of Ingredeen. When you’d purchased this area of land from the chief, he’d tried to explain that it was a secluded property and that a powerful coven lived in the Forest - and one that could take offense to a strange witch moving into their territory. Of course, once you’d explained that you were soon to join the coven yourself, you’d assuaged his fears and he’d easily bequeathed the land to you.

“Oh, theoretically, you don’t. But Namjoon’s home is the closest to you; he’s about a ten, maybe fifteen minute walk north-west from here. The rest of us live deeper in the forest,” Yoongi explains, his hand lifting as he points towards the general direction of Namjoon’s home. Eyebrows quirking, you turn your gaze back down to the gift as you look at it in interest.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” you mutter under your breath. Despite it being the middle of winter, the pot of lilacs are in full bloom: the velour petals still brightly coloured despite their pastel hue; the leaves still succulent, and a vivid shade of pine-green. Not to mention that the quality of the dried lavender is some of the best you’ve ever seen. Fully dessicated lavender usually tends to lose some of it’s scent, and with the deep, dusky-mauve shading, you know they’ve had all the moisture removed from them. Nevertheless, the camphorous scent of it is still strong; wafting into the atmosphere in soft waves.

“He’s incredibly skilled in what he does,” Yoongi responds, his voice laced with pride. Then, after a short pause, he continues, “He’s similar to you. He was raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem, but moved here and joined the coven, hmm… maybe two and a half years ago?”

Stilling at his words, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. If he was part of the Brotherhood of Requiem, he’d have to be incredibly skilled as a warlock; not to mention powerful. Mind casting back to Malise’s oracle, your heart flutters at the discovery. Could Namjoon be the one you’re destined for? Suddenly, you find yourself itching to go look for him. Though, of course, you wouldn’t know unless you smelled him. And it’d be a bit odd to walk up to a stranger and simply sniff him. Especially if it turned out he was not your soulmate. Still, his gift was sweet, and generous, and that in itself is enough of a reason for you to go meet him.

“If that’s all?” Yoonji asks, her words cutting you out of your thoughts. Startled by her voice, you snap your head back up and grace them both with a sheepish smile.

Scratching the back of your head, “Yes! Sorry to keep you,” you quickly respond. Neither of them say anything. Rather, they smile kindly before once again turning around and walking away. You watch their backs retreat, until their figures disappear into the dense woods that surround your home. Once they’re no longer in sight, you bend over and pick up both your gift, as well as your basket of firewood and food, before entering your home.

As soon as you’re inside the warm comfort of your cottage, you let out a soft sigh. Considering you’re about to leave soon, in order to go thank Namjoon for his gift, you leave on your heavy cloak. Instead, you pad further into your home - dragging in the snow on your boots with you - and into the kitchen. With a casual wave of your hand, the two baskets begin floating in the air before following your figure, and with another flick of your wrist, the firewood sails through the air and towards the fireplace; your food sorting itself out into the pantry and fridge.

Left with only the gift, you carefully place the basket onto the wooden counter of your kitchen island. Gently, you pick up the lilac pot, and the moment you touch the ceramic vase, your eyes widen. A soft thrum of magical essence flitters through your fingertips - travelling from your extremities and down your limbs, only to settle into your core. A sensation of comfort fills you, as well as a spark of energy, and immediately, you know that both spells of protection, and vitality, have been cast upon the pot. The former is obvious - the protection wards boosting the natural magical essence of the lilacs. The latter, however, probably explains just why the lilacs are still in bloom; their life force is most likely supported by the magic cast into it.

Thoughtlessly, your fingertips graze up the side of the vase, along a plump leaf, and towards a supple petal. Another spark of magic jolts through you, and as the calming sensation washes over you, a smile unknowingly curls on your face. It wasn’t often that witches and wizards could imbue feelings into an object; and even less often into a living organism. He really must be a powerful wizard. As you place the vase onto your windowsill, a small frown mars your lips. How are you going to pay him back?

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind. Swiftly, albeit carefully, you empty out his wicker basket and once it’s empty, you wave your hand; summoning small empty mason jars and your own blend of different tea leaves. The items soar towards you, and with another wave of your hand, they precisely land onto your kitchen counter. Eyes flicking over the different tea leaves, you promptly decide on three different blends - your most favourite ones. In the first one, you scoop in your special blend of cardamom, nutmeg and cinnamon: the laden scent of aromatic spices diffusing into the air and flooding your senses as you fill the jar. The second one, you fill with a blend of chamomile and jasmine; a soft aroma of a floral fragrance replacing the previous, headier one.

With the first two done, you turn your attention to the third, and final one. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes. Lavender and oolong. A fine homage to his own gift. Opening up the last container, you fill up the last mason jar: the delicate, fresh scent of the lavender intermingling with the sweet, elegant one of oolong. When you’re done, you quickly shut all three jars, wrapping the neck of the containers in a satin ribbon, before attaching a manila label to them. Summoning a pen from one of your drawers, you quickly scrawl on the names of the teas in blue ink.

Once your thank you present has been packed, you cover them with the cloth and grab the handle of the basket, before making your way back out. As you step into the cold once more, the gelid air kisses your skin, causing a soft shiver to run down your spine. Huddling further into your fur coat, you begin walking in the general direction of Namjoon’s home. You’ve no idea what it looks like, or how far it realistically is. Yoongi had mentioned a ten, perhaps fifteen minute walk, but considering you didn’t know the forest very well yet, you weren’t sure how long it would take. You hope it really is a ten to fifteen minute journey. And, of course, that you don’t get lost.

Thankfully, after faithfully sticking north-west, it’s not long before you happen upon what you believe to be Namjoon’s home. The glade of the property is similar to yours: the dense woodland clearing up into an open expanse. In the middle, and a little towards the left, sits a quaint little cottage; with a gambrel roof made of dark brown wood shake, and stone walls of greyed-white to match. Unlike your home, this one has large square windows around the entire property, allowing thick shafts of light to filter through. Yet, despite the panes of glass, you can’t see into the building: the thick cotton curtains blinding your view of the interior.

The area surrounding the cottage is wild, and almost overgrown - in a strange, coordinated way. An organised mess if you would. Small trees skirt the property, growing near the moss-clad, brick fence that separates the forest from Namjoon’s own land, while smaller brushes and shrubs litter the spaces between. One section is covered in flowering perennials, another with potted plants and herbs, and the last third with low growing blossoms. Eyes widening at the sight, you take in a deep breath, only to be filled with a renewed sense of vigour.

Breath hitching in the middle of your throat, you look at the property in surprise. The magic in the air is thick; so palpable that you feel the very cells of your being begin to vibrate with power. Not only is it potent, however, but also pure - the quality of life’s essence so refined that it’s almost suffocating. In fact, you have to physically keep your magic in check, lest it fritz and grow out of your control. Taking a deep breath, you purposely subdue your inner magical core - dulling it towards the vigor of the energy in the air.

Fingers clenching around the woven handle of the basket, you grip it tighter as you step onto the property, a faint ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. With the potency of magic in the air, you desperately hope you don’t trigger any protective wards surrounding the land. When you safely cross the boundary between the forest and Namjoon’s home, your shoulders tense and you immediately come to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, and a nervous edge tinges at the corners of your being as you wait for something to happen.

After a few moments of silence, you let out a relieved breath. The wards, if there are any, have accepted you. With that knowledge, you begin your descent down the brick path, from the outskirts of the property and towards the arched front door. Stopping by the dark wood entrance, you lift your hand and gently rap your knuckles on the surface, before stepping away as you wait for an answer. Long, drawn out moments pass, and when you get no response half a minute later, a frown descends upon your lips.

Is he not home?

Lifting your fist, you knock once again; and just like before, you don’t get an answer. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you shuffle to the side and towards a window. Then, stepping onto the tips of your toes, you attempt to peek into Namjoon’s home; looking for any signs of life. However, with the curtains drawn shut - only a sliver of an opening between the two, thick pieces of fabric - you barely have a sufficient view of the inside. Shoulders drooping, you let out a deep exhale and flick your gaze down to the wicker basket in your grasp. If he’s not home, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Disappointment settles into your bones, and for a moment, you consider abandoning your gift on his front porch - just like he’d left his. The thought only lasts a brief moment, however, because suddenly, you hear a small commotion from the back of his home. Startling at the muffled cluttering noise, you raise your eyebrow. Maybe he ishome. Intrigued by the noise, you follow after the sound. It leads you around the perimeter of his home, and getting towards the back, surprise colours your face as you see another building behind his cottage.

The emporium is fairly small, almost the size of a large shed, and made of a beautifully preserved walnut: the timber panelling still ripe with its rich colouring. Walking further towards the building, and to the front, you come to a halt at the entrance. Large panes of glass fill up the front wall, but in spite of the glass, your view of the interior is partially obscured: the dark-tinted, translucent surface preventing your complete view into the shop. Two large pots of firs sit on either side of the door, and just above the tips of the tree, hangs a banner made of dark linoleum. ‘The Blackthorne Codex’ it reads; the letters gleaming in burnished shades of bronze under the stark brightness of the sky.

Steadily, you approach the shop, and placing your hand on the brass handle, you push it open. The tinkle of a bell chimes through the air, and the moment you enter, you're assaulted by an onslaught of sensations. A balmy heat greets you immediately, the warm air rushing past your face and immediately heating up your numb skin. Following the heat is a sacchariferous fragrance: notes of a fruity tartness flooding your senses. Currents of a warm, woody scent coalesce with the stronger aroma; the piquant spiciness of what you know to be cloves weaving with that of dried black cherries into an amalgamation of intoxicating aromas. The incense is strong - almost overpowering - and wholly unique: perhaps a blend of his own concoction. It's so potent in fact, that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue: tinges of a pungent sweetness dyeing your tongue and causing you to salivate.

"Sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." The deep voice comes out of nowhere, the sound breaking the silence and causing you to jump.

Taking heed of the voice, however, you walk further into the shop, simultaneously letting go of the door handle and allowing it to shut behind you. Once you're into the heart of the shop, prickles of heat sting at your skin, the chilled surface quickly warming up - and from the magic charged in the air, you have no doubt it's thanks to some warming enchantment. Carefully placing your woven basket onto a table near you, you unclasp the heavy cloak around your shoulders before quickly shrugging it off and draping it over your arm. With the thick material off of your body, you let out a sigh of relief - your body quickly cooling down.

More comfortable with the temperature, and with the man - who you assume to be Namjoon - still keeping you waiting, you take a moment to look around the shop. Neatly stacked shelves of mahogany line the entire perimeter of the shop, the surfaces chipped and faded with age. Nonetheless, despite their worn appearance, they're not decrepit. Rather, they're antique - with a rustic feel to them. Glass containers of all sizes line the shelves: large jars of preserved tree barks and animal products occupy the top shelves, smaller sized flasks of various herbs, botanics and minerals fill the next few ledges; and little vials and ampoules of oils, extracts and essences litter the final racks. Each one is faithfully marked with a black label, the nature of their contents scrawled in gold ink.

Hand sketched drawings are strewn across the very tops of the walls, the drawings depicting a variety of beautifully illustrated, and incredibly detailed, plants and flowers. Looking closer at them, you can even spot labels, along with scrawled annotations, pointing out to different parts of the plants. They’re vivid, and colourful: the dazzling hues contrasting with the darker shades of the interior. Turning your gaze, you carefully peer at the counter that separates you from the back of the shop.

Similar to the rest of the store, it's made up of wood, with a white marble tabletop that offsets the walnut wood of everything else. One half of the wall behind is filled with a stack of drawers, each one labelled in black ink; the other half holding a door that undoubtedly leads to the back. A cash register sits in the left corner; the till glinting in polished shades of murky gold and varnished oak. On the opposite side, sits a small book rack stacked with aged tomes and grimoires. Next to it, are a few pestles and mortars, some made of marble while others are made of stone - each one with its own specific purpose.

As you’re admiring the interior, a man suddenly slips out from the back. He appears out of nowhere, causing you to jump. The moment you spot him, however, you freeze. He’s tall. Incredibly so. And his size is only emphasised by the corded, bulging muscles that fill his frame. He’s dressed in black leather trousers - the tight material clinging to his full thighs - and with each step he takes, you could swear the material threatens to tear. Moreover, the snugness of his trousers only emphasise the length of his legs: the toned limbs seemingly going on forever. His top is simple, a plain white t-shirt. Yet, despite the simplicity of it, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

Similar to his trousers, the cotton fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest, highlighting the smooth, yet prominent, outline of his pecs. From how taut the material is, the garment straining against his upper body, you can spot the faintest hint of his dark nipples - the sight of them causing your cheeks to tinge with specks of heat. A simple leather apron is tied around his hips; the hide straps emphasising his trim waist and slender hips. Gaze travelling further up his body, your eyes lock onto his, and this time, you gulp audibly.

He is, perhaps, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

And you’ve traversed the world.

Tanned skin - as smooth and delectable as dulce de leche - glows under the ivory light filtering through the window. It casts a halo of argentate around him - the silvery hue juxtaposing his delicious, honey-kissed skin in the most enchanting way. Dark locks of silk, as black as coal, fall in choppy waves around his face, the front tips kissing his eyelids, and the back ends grazing the nape of his neck. They frame his face, accentuating the elegant slant of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, and the angled definition of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, and heavy, with a deep-set crease at the inner corners that only highlight the sharpness of them.

Irises of obsidian peek from between his keen eyes, the inky depths freckled with specks of silver and jade that only add to his allure. Eyes glimmering, he radiates an air of power: waves of soft, yet dominant, energy seeping off of his being. If you didn’t know better, you would say his aura practically thrummed with the same lively essence of the very forest itself. Sucking in a sharp breath, the cloying scent of black cherries and cloves floods your senses as you lock eyes, and effortlessly, you sink into his dark gaze.

A look of surprise paints his features, and in a once over, his stare sweeps over you. In one, long glance, he takes you in in your entirety, from the very tips of your boots, to the top of your head, and then back onto your face. His features are carefully stoic as he observes you - his eyes giving nothing away. But then, all of a sudden, it changes. A strong, thick eyebrow rises, and sensual, voluptuous lips pull into an impish, lop-sided grin. It’s wolfish, practically predatory, and almost as if he could devour you whole with a single look.

In two, swift strides, he moves closer, and pressing both hands onto the edge of the marble counter, he grins at you. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze immediately flicks from his eyes and towards his sinewy arms. So enamoured by his handsomeness earlier on, you hadn’t noticed the identical tattoos that brand each of his biceps. Three bands make up each tattoo. The outer ones are simple - embellished with geometric patterns and alchemical runes - and made up of the blackest ink; the colour so rich, it soaks up the light into its ebon void. Framed by the two simplistic bands, however, is an inner one - this tattoo more intricate, and vibrant. Thick, unassuming vines of pine-green form the bulk of the design, with supple foliage of fern-green and moss engraved between.

“Hello. Welcome to The Blackthorne Codex. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man greets. His voice breaks you out of your trance, and instantly, your eyes lock back onto his. Then, features twisting into one of apology, “Sorry about the wait. I had a slight issue with some stock in the back. How can I help you?” he asks.

For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind completely blank, and your face effectively illustrating it’s emptiness. His voice is low, and baritone, with a mellifluous undertow that threatens to drag you under and drown you in its beguile. Of course, the enchanting lure of his magic does nothing to help. Neither of you say anything, Namjoon waiting for you to reply, and you waiting for your mind to process the Adonis-like man in front of you. Eventually, and once you realise he’s staring at you, your brain finally kicks itself into gear.

“Oh. Oh!” you quickly splutter out, your cheeks tinging with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t… expect you to be so young,” comes your reply.

Arching an eyebrow, “Young? I’m twenty-eight years old,” he replies, a playful inflexion to his voice as his smirk deepens. Finally getting a hold of yourself, you simply roll your eyes, a coy smile curling onto your own lips.

“Hmmm. Well, when I heard about the man who lived in the forest, and was dropping off welcome gifts at my house, I couldn’t help but assume he was an old man,” you counter. That has Namjoon pausing.

“Wait. You’re ____? The Witch of Ruin?” he asks, his strong eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he gazes at you in incredulity.

Taken aback by his surprise, you cock your head to the side, “Is that such a surprise?” you ask while lightly waving him off. Scoffing in response, he simply shrugs.

“I just expected you to be…” he begins, only to halt as he ponders his next words. After a short pause, “More menacing,” he finishes.

Once again, you roll your eyes, before waving your hand dismissively, “Well, I guess we both had incorrect assumptions about each other.”

“Touche,” Namjoon laughs. “So, what brings you to my humble apothecary? Need ingredients so soon, already?”

Placing your basket onto the counter, you slide your present over to him. “Hmmm, no. I come bearing a thank you gift,” you reply. Namjoon chuckles, and for a moment, you feel your abdomen stir with a fuzzy warmth. The sound of his laughter is enchanting: deep, rich, and thick like honey as it drips from his mouth like viscous ambrosia. His eyes flash with mirth, and he angles his head down to look at you through his sharp, hooded eyes.

“A thank you gift in response to my ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ one? Your parents must have raised you right,” he jokes. His tone is light, and airy, and you know he means well - realistically knowing nothing of your past. Yet, you still find yourself gracing him with a rueful smile. Though, there’s only a faintest hint of bitterness laced through it.

“They did. Up until their final moments,” you respond. At your words, Namjoon immediately halts, and visibly, you watch every single one of his muscles locking; the corner of his jaw simultaneously twitching.

Face immediately dropping, Namjoon glances at you for a moment - his eyes carefully guarded, and giving away none of his inner thoughts. Unconsciously, you bristle; in preparation for his pity, and the meaningless words that tend to fall out of people’s mouth when you speak of your traumatic childhood. They mean well. You know they do. But it’s been close to sixteen years. And you’re tired of the constant condolences and well wishes. Tired of the way they walk on glass around the issue of your parents. After all, you’ve long since come to terms with it.

To your utter surprise, however, Namjoon’s face immediately relaxes, and his - what you assume to be trademark at this point - wolfish grin once again creeps onto his pillowy lips. “Well, then I’m sure they’re happy you’ve retained your manners then. Or they’d probably rise from their graves and haunt you,” comes his breezy response. That’s it. No ‘I’m sorry’s’ or sympathetic looks, or that tone people take when they find out you’re an orphan. Just a lighthearted joke. Perhaps, to someone else, he may seem insensitive. Perhaps, someone else would be offended. But you? You appreciate it more than he could, or would, ever know.

“Hmmm. Considering my mother was a necromancer… you’re right. She’d definitely be the type to raise herself from the dead just to lecture me on societal etiquette,” you deadpan - your voice purposely flat as you retort. Eyes bugging wide, Namjoon splutters as he chokes on his own spit.

“A necromancer? Please tell me you’re joking,” he replies, a look of bewilderment colouring his visage. Features twisted almost comically, it’s all you can do to laugh.

“Of course, I’m joking! What do you take my mother for? She birthed the Witch of Ruin. There’s no way she’d be foolish enough to practice necromancy,” you laugh in response. Hearing your reply, Namjoon immediately relaxes, and seeing the relief on his face, you can’t help but laugh harder. Necromancy was a false school of witchcraft, one only perpetrated by humans who wished they could practice magic. However, they had one thing wrong. There was no magic that could raise the dead. None.

After all, magic came from nature, and the cosmos, and life itself. It’s why most, if not all, witches and warlocks worship some aspect of the natural universe. Some worship the sky, others the sea, a few the mountains, and many the earth and forests. But no self-respecting practitioner of the Magic of Old, would ever worship the dead. Or even consider bringing the dead back to life. Mostly because it was an impossible feat.

Once a living creature reaches the end of its life, the magic that sustains it fades away. Instead, it returns back to the universe, only to be rebirthed into a new form of life. Sometimes that’s in humans - the species having faint tethers to the universe - or what they’d call their ‘souls’. Sometimes, it’s in witches and warlocks - a child born particularly talented in an archetype of magic. More often than not, though, it’s into the very cosmos, as the sea, or the plants, or the stars. Or really, any component of life, or power, that makes up the universe.

“You have me there,” Namjoon concedes with a chuckle. Then, turning his attention to your gift, he gestures towards it. “So, what do we have here?”

Cheeks flushing with heat, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and begin to chew on it while Namjoon unravels the cloth from the wicker basket. When he spots the three, neatly wrapped jars, he flicks his gaze to you in surprise. Suddenly feeling far too self-conscious - was the gift too much? - you suppress an awkward smile. “I don’t know if you drink tea… but these are some of my own special blends,” you explain, your voice a few decibels above a whisper, and laced with your unsureness.

You watch as Namjoon picks up one of the jars, only to open the lid and take in a deep breath of the aromatic fragrance. “God… that smells good. Is that lavender… and oolong?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Floored by his deduction, “How did you even… you can barely even smell the oolong,” you point out. You’re not lying. The scent of lavender is always strong - and overpowering - and no matter what ratios you blend of the two ingredients, you can’t seem to find a way to bring out the oolong. At your obvious shock, Namjoon laughs.

“I spent my day tending plants, or selling them, ____. I know what most of them look, and smell, like. Even if it’s subtle,” he replies.

Intrigued by his words, you look at him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking… what school of witchcraft do you practice?”

Snapping the lid back onto the jar, he places it back into the basket. Then, eyes flashing mischievously, his lips curl into a teasing smirk. Gazing at you with his smouldering eyes, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Sisters of Elysia? I thought they were supposed to be incredibly knowledgeable. Or perhaps… they don’t hold a candle to the Brotherhood of Requiem,” he provokes. Jaw dropping in surprise, you instantly bristle.

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” you splutter in indignation. “The Brotherhood of Requiem is not better than the Sisters of Elysia,” you continue with a hiss.

“Hmmm… not if you can’t guess what my magic is,” he backfires easily. Huffing at his response, you roll your eyes. Though, there’s no real ire to it.

“Well it’s obvious you practice Herbalism. But with the potency of the magic surrounding you, that can’t be all you practice,” you reply smartly.

Laughing, “I guess you’re right. Botanic Arts. I also practice the Botanic Arts,” he explains. Ah. That would explain the aura of life that surrounds him.

Contrary to your Destructive Arts - a discipline that was focused on elements of chaos, such as lightning or fire, in order to bring about calamity; the Botanic Arts was a discipline focused around the elements of life, such as earth and nature, in order to bring about life. Nonetheless, even with their juxtaposing natures, they were both two incredibly powerful schools of witchcraft, and if used correctly, even the Botanic Arts could be wielded as a cataclysmic magic. A notion only emphasised by his incredibly imposing presence; as well as his sheer confidence.

“How about you?” he asks, his words breaking you out of your thoughts.

Lips twisting into a wry smirk, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem?” you mock, throwing back his own words at him.

With a snort, Namjoon looks at you pointedly. “Well, everything I know about you is from rumours. The witch of ruin, a child of chaos, birthed from lightning and fire. So… I’m assuming you’re proficient in the Destructive Arts. But… considering you just brought me tea leaves I doubt it’s just that,” he says, imitating your own sentiments. Tongue poking out, you swipe it across your lips as you feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“Alchemical Restoration. The teas have healing properties,” you reply as you try to suppress your grin.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon is unlike any other witch or warlock you’ve ever met. In your life, you’ve travelled the world, and you’ve met many of your kind; from all different walks of life. As such, you’re not new to a little flirtatious banter, nor were you unknown to the pleasures of sex, or a budding romance. Nonetheless, it was rare for it to go past that. The moment they found out who you were, who you truly were, they would immediately lose interest in you - either by their own jealousy, or intimidation, or insecurities that you were most likely better, and more powerful, than them.

However, here was a man, who knew who you were, and still continued showing an interest. Or well, at least what you hoped was interest. Though, with the way his eyes subtly roam over your figure every now and then, and with how he keeps his attention focused on you, and only you, you doubt you’re wrong. Namjoon is different. Because even knowing who you are, and knowing about your past, his demeanour hasn’t changed. He’s not the least bit intimidated, nor insecure, or resentful. If anything, you have a feeling you’ve only stoked his interest. And that has a fuzzy warmth blooming within the pits of your stomach.

“A remedial discipline? Didn’t take you for the type,” comes his immediate answer. Then, eyes flashing in mirth, “Though… I can’t say I’m mad. I don’t even want to thinkabout what your gift would be if you just practiced the Destructive Arts… perhaps you’d set my apothecary on fire for daring to intrude on your property?” he teases, and as the words slip out of his mouth, you can’t help but hear the flirtatious intonation.

Your conversation is ordinary, and full of pleasant niceties. Yet, buried between both your tones, is a touch of something deeper; something heavier. Perhaps it’s the playfulness of his entire demeanour, or the coquettish nature of your own replies. But no matter what it is, you can’t help but feel the spark between the two of you. You don’t know where it’s come from, or why. After all, you’re both strangers, and this is your first time meeting. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel drawn to him - a baser need, something more corporeal pulling you towards him. A flutter of excitement flits through you,

In response to his words, you childishly stick your tongue out. Then, “Yes, well, as much as I adore the Destructive Arts and the power trip that comes with it… I’ve just… somewhat grown tired of it,” you find yourself confessing - the words falling from your lips before you can even stop them. That has Namjoon’s devilish disposition dropping, his features twisting into one of inquisitiveness.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asks.

Once again, and before you even realise what you’re saying, you find yourself shrugging. “Honestly? I don’t know if I ever really even wanted to learn the Destructive Arts. But after my parent’s coven was destroyed, and once the Knights of the Seven Lights began hunting me… I had no other choice, you know? I learnt it because I had to. Because I needed to survive. It was born out of my need to prove something… that I could endure everything, and that I would still come out on top,” you confess. All of a sudden, you pause.

Eyelids widening in the slightest, you quickly halt your tongue as you realise what you’d just blurted out. It’s not often that you talk about your past. You’re over it. Or well, you’re more numb to it. But it wasn’t often that you brought it up - wanting to leave the past… well, in the past. Hell, the only reason the Sisters of Elysia had known, was because they’d saved you from that life. But you never spoke about it. At least, not of your own accord. And certainly not to a random stranger you’d just met. So really, you’re not sure why you’d suddenly, and completely out of the blue, truthfully spoken about your past. Especially in a casual meeting like this.

Nonetheless, something about him calls to you. You don’t know what it is, and you can’t accurately place it. But there’s something about him that you find reassuring. He’s a stranger, and realistically, you know nothing about him. Yet, still, you can’t help but trust him. There’s an air of power around him, yes. It pulses around him in an enticing fashion: a refined aura of magic that is both completely sensual, and commanding. However, woven between that presence, is a sense of solace. The kind that’s filled with a promise of safety, and home. The kind you’ve been desperately searching for all your life. It beckons to you, and effortlessly, you find yourself magnetised to him.

Momentarily, Malise’s words echo in the back of your mind. About how you’d find your soulmate here, and fleetingly, you wonder if it’s him. A part of you is desperate for him to be. For him to be the one you call your home. Yet, even with that yearning that tingles through you, you can’t bring yourself to put any real hope on it. He’s enchanting, and you’re completely enamoured by him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s your one. The universe has a twisted sense of humour, and seldom did it ever play to one’s hand. Soulmates aren’t perfect. And just because you’re fated for someone, doesn’t mean that you’d work out. Love wasn’t that simple. Thus, with the attraction that you do feel for him already, a weird, twisted part of you doesn’t wantto know. Just in case, he’s not the one destined for you.

A heavy air befalls the two of you; the tension intensifying until it’s so thick that you almost suffocate within its hold. Jittery under the sudden pressure, your hands turn clammy as you begin shuffling from foot to foot. You want to say something, to make a casual joke and immediately diffuse the stiffness in the atmosphere. Nonetheless, your throat is tight, and your mouth dry, and you simply can’t bring yourself to force the words out. Sensing your awkwardness, however, Namjoon quickly comes to your aid. The corners of his lips tugs, and the plush petals of his mouth pull into an easy smile as he points back towards your gift.

“Well, they seem really well-made, and I can already tell just how high quality these are. I’m looking forward to trying them,” comes his airy response. Then, after a brief pause, an impish smirk teases at his lips. “... And giving you my honest opinion,” he taunts. A sense of relief washing over you at the return of his playful demeanour, and with the tension quickly diffusing, you grace him with your own coy grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find them to your standards. It’s not like I could give you something subpar after your lavish present, after all,” you counter. Eyes lighting up suddenly, “Which, speaking of high quality, the lilacs and lavender… where did you get them?” you question. A deep, throaty chuckle emanates from the middle of Namjoon’s chest, and you watch his speckled onyx eyes glint in amusement.

“I didn’t get them anywhere. I grew them myself,” he responds. Taken aback by his answer, you blink at him owlishly. He’d… grown them himself? Well. You hadn’t been expecting that. Though, now that you think about it, it makes sense. Initially, you’d thought that perhaps he’d only enchanted the lilacs, in order to keep them blooming. However, with the sheer life imbued into them, you realise that for that level of magic, he’d probably have to grow them himself. Which, with his mastery in the Botanic Arts, paired with his expertise of Herbalism, would be a feat easier said than done.

With a fleeting glance, you flick your gaze around his shop, only to catch his eye once again. “Do you grow most of your stock?” you ask, astonishment evident in your voice. Once again, Namjoon chuckles, before nodding easily.

“A lot of it, yes. If not most. The things I can’t grow, I have to source from the human settlements. Though, it’s mostly animal products or minerals,” he begins, a look of thought crossing his face. “The minerals, because I don’t have time to go mine for that… Nor do I want to,” he laughs. “And I can’t bring myself to hunt for animal products myself because everytime I do, I end up not wanting to hurt them and letting them go. So I rely on humans a lot for those kinds of things. It’s why, unlike the rest of the coven who lives deeper into the forest, I live closer towards the edge… and also why I’m your only neighbour,” he continues his explanation.

Mouth forming an ‘o’, “That makes sense,” you reply.

“Why do you live so close to the edge? I’m sure High Priest Torin would have offered you a home in the coven’s territory?” Namjoon questions.

With a nonchalant shrug, “I just needed a change I guess. With the Sisters of Elysia being nomadic, we never had an actual home. And so we’d always live in temporary homes while sharing living spaces. Moving here, I knew I kinda just wanted some more privacy, you know?” comes your answer. Once again, there’s nothing but truth in it, and internally, you wonder just what kind of bewitchment he’s cast on you, for you to be so honest. Though, it’s probably just his natural charm.

“Plus, I’m focusing more on my Alchemical Restoration, and I want to be able to help as many people as I can. Both, our coven, and the humans in the country,” you continue. Then, letting out a sigh, “Except… I’m still new to the area and the Forest of Ingredeen is huge and I have no idea where the human settlements are,” you finish. Then, after a small pause for thought, “Other than the Sundale settlement, that is,” you ponder out loud.

“Oh. There are a total of five in the entire country, and they all border the Forest of Ingredeen since it’s the oldest and most ancient woodland,” Namjoon points out. Taking his hands off of the counter, he shuffles towards the book rack on the tabletop, and pulling out a large scroll from the corner, he unravels it flat onto the surface. A large map greets you; the parchment yellowed and the ink faded with time. Still, you can make out all the details of the cartograph. It’s of Carelia, you note, with the human settlements clearly illustrated, as well as the paths to them.

“These are the general routes that you can traverse. Though, not all of them are in use anymore. And newer ones have been created. There’s also no real roads to follow,” Namjoon explains, a small frown marring his lips. Then, flicking his gaze towards you, he looks at you through hooded eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can show you around? I doubt anyone knows these woods as well as me” he boasts.

Lips pulling into a flirtatious smile, you loll your head to the side before cocking your eyebrow. “Like a date?” comes your glib suggestion. Your voice is light, and airy, and your tone completely casual. And of course, you don’t expect him to actually agree. Still, to your complete disappointment, Namjoon shakes his head

“Not like a date,” comes his quick response, his voice causing ripples of devastation to tinge at your being. However, “A date,” he continues. Instantly, your disappointment is replaced with delight, and your heart simultaneously flutters.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you chew on the soft petal in a bid to suppress your grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

a/n: SCREAM god fneorngeoirgnoeig i dont know why that was so long when absolutely nothing happened but  i hope y’all liked it ahhh 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 i’m hoping to get the next part up next weekend but jfneronorign no promises rip ♡

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