#i think dome was his lover in a early life

[killiru]

Pls dont be Brothers pls dont be Brothers pls dont be Brothers.

I really dont want them too. I REALLY DONT!!!

(On this note: how sure are we that this isnt bl? Because you know.... I K N O W the Signs and... I S A W some of them...)

[koko-mochi]

R'koko snapped awake to the sounds of birds singing outside her window and the warmth of the sun splashing across her room in the Baldesion Annex. She'd slept in again, snared in the horrible recurring nightmares that haunted her sleep. The haunting loss of her friends, the loss of innocents, the loss of her own life in the end, these things conjured images of blood and death and worse things night after night.

Wuk Lamat was already up, a gentle depression in the feather bed remaining where she had lay. She was usually up early. That was fine. But the empty bed served to emphasize R'koko's loneliness, the profound grief of being the "Warrior of Light," something that even the warmth of the Turali emissary's arms around her could not alleviate.

R'koko shivered as she got up, her cold sweat sending a chill through her body. She saw something on the floor, near the door to her room, an envelope someone had slid there, with The Warrior of Light written on it in a blocky script. She tugged on a pair of underwear and a baggy linen shirt and plopped down on the edge of the bed to read the letter.

Dear R'koko, I have a slow day today. Maybe we can spend some time exploring Labyrinthos? I would enjoy your company, and we can talk about your next "adventure." - Erenville -

So an hour and a half later R'koko was wearing her armor, smelling of soap and clove, riding the lift down into the sprawling complex of Labyrinthos. She spotted her Viera friend almost immediately, standing across the plaza where gleaners constantly loaded and unloaded specimens from across Hydaelyn.

Erenville was leaning against a stone railing, looking out across the vast space before him. When R'koko came to stand beside him, he looked down at her and stifled a laugh. "Full armor?" he said, "I assure you nothing in Labyrinthos stands a chance against you, Miss Warrior of Light."

The miqo'te looked down at her gauntletted hands. "It's just a habit, I guess. Trouble does have a way of finding me."

Erenville rolled his eyes. "You have no idea," he said. Then, "Come on, walk with me."

"What is this all about?" She fell into step beside him as he left the plaza at a leisurely pace and set out across the Outer Circuit.

"I told you in my note. I want to talk about our upcoming travels." The Viera's tone was calm, cool. There was no sign of the sarcasm he could at times be inclined towards. It seemed, at least to R'koko, that he was sincere.

"I'm excited for it," R'koko grinned, cracking her knuckles, "Wuk Lamat has been telling me all about Tuliyollal, it seems amazing." It was rare to see her face light up like it did in that moment, ever since the voyage of the Ragnarok and whatever she encountered at the edge of the universe her demeanor had been haunted and distant. Erenville had noticed it, despite barely even knowing R'koko. And he noticed her smile now too.

"I love my homeland," he said, "And I hope you will too." He paused, looking up at the dome high overhead that so accurately mimicked the actual sky. His voice got a little quieter. "But be careful, okay. Don't rush into this one. There's a lot that Wuk Lamat isn't telling you."

R'koko seethed at the implication that her girlfriend was keeping secrets from her, but made a concentrated effort to keep her shoulders relaxed and her face at ease. "I promise she tells me more than you think."

"Just..." he sighed, "she's royalty. She's been taught what to say and do in order to win people's trust and get what she wants."

"You make it sound like she's using me as a pawn in some scheme," R'koko ground out, "But I assure you the things that happen between us behind closed doors are very real."

"Behind closed--oh no. No no no no no. Are you saying she's your lover?"

"So what if I am?" she grumbled, "Shouldn't you be happy for her? She's your childhood friend after all."

"She isn't that little girl anymore, R'koko. I cherish my memories of her, and consider her my friend, truly. But she's making a bid for the throne of Tuliyollal. She wants you there as her champion. Regardless of how much I like her, I can still see that she is using you as a tool to win power in Tural."

"She wouldn't use our relationship to manipulate me. You may have known her as a child but I know her right now, really know her. I'm choosing to be her champion, because I want to support her."

Erenville's shoulders slumped, though his body language always seemed opaque and hard for R'koko to understand. "Of course there's no dissuading the Warrior of Light. Maybe we should talk about something else."

"Fine by me," R'koko said, relaxing slightly. But she didn't bring anything up. Instead, the two walked in silence along the Outer Circuit, past magnificent flora and fauna from all across Hydaelyn. At one point Erenville quietly pointed out a strange wooly camelid that he said was native to Tural.

They slowed as they crossed a bridge over a roaring cataract. "I am happy for you, R'koko. I know things have been...hard for you...since your return from Ultima Thule. Y'shtola told me she was worried about you."

A wistful smile crept across R'koko's lips. "Y'shtola is always worrying about me." A sigh. "I do love her for it." She looked up at Erenville, trying to read the expression on his face. "I'm guessing you worry about me too, as well as worrying about your childhood friend."

"I don't want to see either of you get hurt," he said, his voice taking on an unusual tenderness.

"I understand that," she said, starting to walk again. "But Wuk Lamat and I are both adults. We can take responsibility for our own actions. And we can face the consequences."

"I just hope you can forgive her, when she turns out to be different than you hoped."

"Trust me," she smirked, "I most certainly can."

[libidomechanica]

A wanton and walked with thine arms into

Misfortunes lot the riches old.     Thy gloom will sit beside a loth farewel, and in my     own. Isles love begets, then, the household flowers felt his pleasant     music the happy he who look’d upon me; whom no     scandal could find your hate

I doe a Devil turne. Beat like     a hawk, an’ wi’ her love like books’ gay coveringly—O     dearth of human foot, and dishonest speech each on each. Of     covert flowery meads th’hill’s shadow falls in the square fast     where overfed. In please,

enough to early risers after     than his woe. Sometimes the cost of varnished from his sweet     soul with speed.—Now thou doest watching his forehead woos? If I     lay here dead, wouldst print more, for love, I think me some two and     twists the really promise

for my bride, till the original     of tender tribe who surrenders, survives. A wanton     and walked with thine arms into the best can she guess’d how long     must I be a criminal. We ha’ cheated things more     than not that are snug a

we-see poem, a they-love poem.     Glance thrown, a thorn; it looks very captain’s side this brow,     but when obstinate silent night. Wild bird, and the frosty     air is always asking me from many had lovers look’d     profound; some ne’er presume,

though I despair of my cure, do     you beware the qualities. No Caspian could not heed     my lonely wander far in other line: so long a-gone,     whose cool it among them to your dimpled arms that you loved     you I could be most dainty

Ariel’ and perplexes,     until I heard it—the king his foe he’d laugh and swell thee     stands erect this flake of truth; a smooth as those which that you     overlooked and worse. And down swelling songs, the smoulders, warm     their language holds the domed

and better Death, for better at     the heard it—the wind; in winged eager, on he hies through     accoutrements, pitiful in my breathed with crimson mouthed shells;     or than Hermes’ pipe, when new wonders—past there. Three I am     amazed you start, and

shoulders withoute stoon? Doubtless it     is possibilities I love is fire, which so long in     wealth goes to a Jew; both senates see the woes of self-     doing crime. You must like the hawthorn’s blossom winks through what     does Pity here? Which governs

me to overcomes you, you     the warriors! When will dare to plunge them hovering to the weary     winter’s ragged mawkin, thought t was. And bring a sweater     with a dribbed shot, loue gaue the woodbine leave to go.—The     man who lov’d—and music

of the Banquet—none in love doth     keepe. We drive through our brain so wild! Music I hear in the     midmost and then, how rich to me, your eyes turned about the     degrading details I have sworn an oath that which thereof     gate in the side. Itself

sees not yet a thing, she is a     handsome, noble, rich, more Foole for all noble birth-pangs     o’erpay. To charm from yours, and I see the spot to which     reconciled; and that our delight takes in darkness, some sudden     thee; yet eyes would name, and,

may be, now! While the floor chalk mimics     painted beauteous hill of hooks question? That which don’t know     what I know it: when they pass’d the pale lips; she hates remoue. Forth     from the Isles love me, Love! Life, have power to madden thee;     and merry larks on wings

were mine. Shut up each hissing by,     behold another nation; but suffers changed forest of     honest man. Is not Ida do that her so well I see     that leads so oft amiss ladies do now and     Cool grass, and sighing vaults.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Firsts

Part Two of Take Your Time

The Sunken Palace | Masterlist | You Know Nothing

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand Rating: M (this may go up—if it does, I will give everyone fair warning before there is any explicit content) Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! Welcome to part two of Modern/Professor/Archaeology/Immortal AU Jumble™!

Warnings: Cursing; fluff; angst

Summary: Your first day at the dig is like a dream. 

Ellaria had spent much of her first life - as that is what she has come to think of it as - following Oberyn along his more adventurous tacks. They went where they willed. Now and again, of course, there were matters of the Dornish that had required his attendance, or they would roost to care for a newborn child. 

It had taken time to adjust to the idea of an expanse of time stretched before them. They’d realized early on that they’d have to go underground intermittently. There were things in their first lifetime that were known to be unexplainable or fantastical—dragons, White Walkers, three-eyed ravens—but the people of Dorne had already been wary when Oberyn and Ellaria had returned to them—with Oberyn's head in one piece. Dragons were mystical enough, but resurrection was just a touch too far for many. There were some days that Ellaria regretted the bargain that she’d made with the priestess for Oberyn’s life. There were others that made her grateful that they had lived to see the ways that the world had changed—the fall of the Lannisters, the rise of the modern age. Ellaria used to tease that Oberyn was the great scholar, but in this second life, she’s been able to take her time for her own education. There are upsides to this breadth of time, but there are things that Ellaria misses. She will never hug her daughters again; the occasional lover that drifts into their arms and beds often disappears soon after. They no longer risk emotional entanglement; it’s often proven to be painful, and in some cases, too dangerous.

Ellaria peers out of the kitchen window, watching the sun rise over the Eastern Harbor. Long ago, the dome of the Tower of the Sun would redirect the rays of the sun, scattering them across the Water Gardens and whatever ships were docked. Now, Ellaria eyes what of the runes of the Old City that she can see. Of all the apartments they’ve taken in Dorne since their initial departure in her second life, this is her favorite. 

She glances back as she feels Oberyn’s hands slip over her waist. “You didn’t sleep well,” He accuses. “Did I not?” She smiles as he cuddles against her and nuzzles into her neck. “You’re always up with the sun when you have trouble sleeping.” Ellaria purses her lips, turning back to the window as Oberyn draws her hair away from her neck and asks her, “What is making you uneasy?” “...I don’t know.” For all of the time that they have spent in one another’s company, Oberyn knows when Ellaria is lying. But this morning, he doesn’t push. He merely brushes a kiss to her shoulder and asks what she would like for breakfast. --

Your first morning at Sunspear University is a busy and dizzying affair. You’ve hardly time to properly look around your cramped (moderately dusty) office before you’re carted off on a tour around campus. You have a difficult time focusing—the university consists of several different magnificent buildings, the architecture modeled after buildings from the Old City. There are vaulted ceilings, polished marble floors (which the Dean warns you are lovely, but a little treacherous on the odd rainy day). It captures some of the most beautiful aspects of Andal and Rhoynish architecture that you’ve always adored.

You’re also reminded that the first class is in two weeks.

When you’ve time to return to your cramped office on the fourth floor of the history building, you stand at the door for a moment. It’s crammed with file cabinets and low shelves; whoever’s outfitted the office has taken no advantage of how high the ceilings are. You decide to write an email later, asking if you can move most of the file cabinets out of the room. You already know that you won’t be using them, and it would let you put all of the floor shelves against one wall,  opening up some more floor space. Perhaps you could add a few floating shelves, if they’re amenable. --

Your first day at the dig is like a dream. 

Your clearance to begin cataloguing the Old City runes came through at 10:38pm the night before, and you’d yelled so loudly and with such excitement that your downstairs neighbor had taken a broom to the ceiling and knocked for you to shut up. 

There are a fair number of spectators and news crews that turn up to watch your work begin, but you’ve learned to block that all out. You had a similar spectacle at the Wall; you’re no longer flustered by the prospect of anyone watching your work so closely. You know what you’re doing; your procedures are methodical and careful. You and your team start by setting up a grid of the grounds. While your most important work will likely be underwater, you’re still waiting for a schedule from the Dornish Harbor Master—your dig is important, but trade and tourism take precedence over your work. You’re trying not to sting with irritation, but you’ve simply been told that it’s first-come-first-serve. By the end of the day, you have (according to a blueprint of the Old Palace that you found in an old history book during your time at university) gridded out the feast hall, as well as Prince Doran’s solarium. You don’t touch the Water Gardens—you’ve made a promise to the Dornish Ecological Conservation Society that you will bring in one of their experts to catalogue the flora and fauna that are spilling over the pathways. You pull yourself from the dig site as the sun dips low in the sky. You gently wave off the buzzing questions of the reporters that have bothered to stay to speak with you personally, or haven’t gotten what they wanted out of speaking to your team. You’re dusty, you’re sweaty, you’re sore—and you’re pretty sure you’re a little bit dehydrated. 

When you get back to your apartment, you find an email from the Dean. Apparently with all of the excitement from the dig, your classes have completely filled up. The Dean apparently can’t wait to see what you have planned for the students.

Frankly, neither can you. Aside from a preliminary outline, you’ve hardly touched your class schedule, material, or lectures. You are, mercifully, only teaching two courses: Hallmarks of Rhonyish Architecture, and History of The Wall and the Surrounding Settlements. You’ve been giving a teacher’s assistant as well, to help with the bulk of marking assignments.

You already know that you can discuss both of those topics until the cows come home; you have a solid stack of books for each of them. You’ll have to work out assignments, and grading rubrics— You lean against your couch, head throbbing. You only allow yourself a moment of relaxation before you push your aching body away from the couch. You can’t rest; you have too much to do. 

-- 

Your first day of class is over run by students and reporters alike. You wind up having to take attendance and requesting that anyone not on the list leave. When the hangers-on have gone, you're left with a class of fifty-eight wide-eyed students in your Rhoynish Architecture course. You go over your curriculum and ask if they have any questions—and it falls into a light Q&A about your dig. You’re torn between shutting down the questions and answering them—for the purpose of returning to the dig. Your team is already working at the site and you are itching to get down there. But you answer their questions, many of which do indeed dip into the Rhoynish architecture that was previously present in the Old Palace. The hour passes quickly, and even as it’s finished, some of the students linger to ask a few more questions.

On your way out of the building, you pass two people—a man and a woman. You don’t get a good look at them, but your nose catches on the scents of orange, cedar, tonka, and vanilla as they pass. There’s something else there, something that you can’t place—something earthy and warm that makes you think of an old marketplace and colorful silks. It makes you pause in your steps for a half-second, but you force yourself to keep walking. You’re already late to join your team.

Besides, it won’t do to gawk at people your first day on campus. Tag list: @massivecolorspygiant ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @recklessworry ; @paintballkid711 ; @peoniarose ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @missredherring​ ; @writeforfandoms​ ; @grogusmom​ ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @donnaa ; @natandtasha ; @quietpainter ; @acrossthestars ; @elen-aranel ; @letsfly-andbe-free ; @wonderlandgabby ; @amneris21 ; @you-didnt-see-that-cuming ; @blueeyesatnight ; @ayamenimthiriel ; @librariantothejedi ; @revolution-starter

[1kook]

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.  warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo​ who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of  fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4 

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed. 

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple. 

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. 

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this. 

This type of mission has never been his. 

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers. 

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen. 

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it. 

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians. 

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were. 

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see. 

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is. 

And then he’s off. 

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about. 

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam. 

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet. 

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying. 

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles. 

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on. 

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents. 

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes. 

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor. 

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature. 

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own. 

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes. 

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane. 

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe. 

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle. 

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches. 

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off. 

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you. 

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence. 

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding. 

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general. 

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days. 

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar. 

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together. 

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride. 

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you. 

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one. 

You loved it. 

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home. 

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through. 

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels. 

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge. 

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home. 

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car. 

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think. 

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was. 

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur. 

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at. 

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature. 

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night. 

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts. 

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself. 

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list. 

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance. 

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer. 

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?” 

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain. 

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?” 

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.” 

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you. 

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand. 

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face. 

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that. 

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand. 

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say. 

He is not sure if he believes you. 

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay. 

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him. 

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later. 

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes. 

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back. 

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age. 

Or so he says. 

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit. 

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time. 

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion. 

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees. 

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass. 

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory. 

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you. 

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside. 

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once. 

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that. 

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.” 

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world. 

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh. 

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade. 

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it. 

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks. 

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.” 

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance. 

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer. 

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question. 

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband. 

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep. 

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state. 

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber. 

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance. 

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen. 

And then he’s thinking. 

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room. 

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7. 

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself. 

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did. 

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities. 

Until now. 

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know. 

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off. 

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe. 

He was in trouble. 

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week. 

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times. 

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you. 

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind. 

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other. 

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity. 

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official? 

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there. 

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign. 

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.  

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart. 

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features. 

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well. 

For now. 

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings. 

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too. 

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off. 

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears. 

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa. 

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment. 

He wants to be like you. 

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day. 

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you. 

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden. 

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

He wants to remain beside you. 

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon. 

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away. 

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved. 

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of. 

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once. 

So he spills it all out to you. 

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it. 

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean. 

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe. 

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort. 

Instead he sits in silence. 

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits. 

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that? 

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears. 

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out. 

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?  

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously. 

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?” 

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head. 

The day drags on. 

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log. 

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him. 

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out. 

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more. 

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage. 

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?” 

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today. 

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?” 

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?” 

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails. 

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask. 

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you. 

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?” 

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?” 

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal  markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.” 

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours. 

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to. 

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away. 

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden. 

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d. 

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile. 

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?” 

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?” 

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar. 

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills. 

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state. 

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over. 

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough. 

In the end, both of you are drenched. 

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today. 

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen. 

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses. 

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you. 

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.” 

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up. 

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms. 

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by. 

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point. 

There was a lot of weight behind that. 

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine. 

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart. 

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully. 

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed. 

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe. 

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap. 

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.” 

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there. 

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional? 

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him. 

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently. 

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.” 

Your face burns. 

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside. 

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing. 

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it. 

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you. 

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.” 

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye. 

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body. 

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so. 

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again. 

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his. 

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck. 

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time. 

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way. 

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper. 

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs. 

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time. 

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours. 

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan. 

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him. 

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you. 

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features. 

Sheer and utter adoration. 

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you. 

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you. 

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch. 

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with. 

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds. 

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine. 

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is. 

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes. 

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again. 

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes. 

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear. 

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop. 

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow. 

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight. 

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close. 

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth. 

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively. 

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again. 

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline. 

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest. 

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours. 

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere. 

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly. 

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look. 

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal. 

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed. 

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze. 

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?” 

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver. 

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge. 

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges. 

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you. 

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push. 

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy. 

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot. 

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob. 

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time. 

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with. 

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups. 

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed. 

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down. 

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart. 

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet. 

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers. 

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out. 

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in. 

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets. 

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react. 

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch. 

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area. 

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you. 

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies. 

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet. 

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[sl-walker]

Occupation, Part 17

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--

No matter how little Maul wished to discuss it with Plagueis -- who was more overtly benevolent than Sidious, but who was still a Sith and still seeking to control Maul -- he had ended up protesting that Obi-Wan wasn’t dead anyway.

By then, they had arrived at another place; a dining hall with vast, dome-like ceilings and arched windows reaching high. Outside was a sky so beautifully blue that even as messed up as Maul felt, he had paused to stare at it in wonder.  The color, the white clouds.  Green, lush forest with a sharp volcanic peak behind it, vanishing into haze, a darker blue than the sky.  There was even snow on the top of it.

He had seen many stunning landscapes since escaping with Obi-Wan, but after being raised on Mustafar and Orsis and Coruscant, he still never failed to be awed by them.

Plagueis, of course, was still talking.  "--know of no other way to sever a Force bond from the outside, than by killing one side of it.  And a high number of your midi-chlorians are clustered around the physical manifestation of the broken edges of it, much like platelets clotting around a wound.  It took some effort to redirect them to your eyes as I was healing them, and they migrated right back after."

Maul’s mouth went into a straight line, and he didn't sit when Plagueis gestured to a chair at what looked like a dining table.  He wasn’t sure what to make of the declaration that Plagueis had been manipulating his midi-chlorians.  He also didn’t reiterate that he didn’t believe his lover was dead; there seemed to be no point.

Plagueis appeared completely unbothered by the defiance, slim as it was. "I knew the two of you were well-matched as a mated pair, and indeed I never did quite understand Sidious’s choices in pitting you against one another rather than taking advantage of your complementary natures and encouraging you to bond -- if it was to maintain control, he could have simply threatened one of you to gain compliance from the other, after all -- but I was too concerned with other pursuits into the nature of the Force to pay too close attention." A beat. "Until you both ran from him together, anyway."

Maul’s jaw knotted, but he stayed resolutely silent, watching the muun, who paused only long enough to speak to a serving droid about bringing them dinner.

Once that was done, Plagueis was looking at him again. "He seemed surprised that you would go together. I think he suspected Obi-Wan might eventually try to run, but he didn’t anticipate that Obi-Wan would take you with him.  In retrospect, of course, it made perfect sense to me that you both would, given the catalyst for all of those events started with you and Obi-Wan beginning an intimate relationship.  Though, do correct me if I'm wrong.  My own mistress is science," Plagueis said, gesturing with one hand. "I don't pretend to understand romantic relationships."

"I don't want to discuss this at all," Maul answered, keeping his voice even by some measure of willpower.

"What would you rather discuss?" Plagueis asked back, elongated head tilting to the side.  "Your mother's name?  Your birthdate on both the standard and the Dathomiri calendars?  You turned twenty standard only a month ago.  You have a fraternal twin who also did, though he remains on Dathomir along with a younger half-brother."

None of that sounded real to Maul, either.  He blinked back, feeling as if he was constantly in over his head; the mere concept of having a brother -- a twin and a younger sibling -- was almost incomprehensible for him.  His early life was defined almost completely on loneliness and pain, ostensibly for his own good, and he had no idea how to process that news.

"I still want to know why I'm here. What you want from me," he finally managed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Mm. Very single-track of you." Plagueis gestured to the chair again in offer to sit. "There is still a plan being put into action; the unexpected death of my apprentice doesn't change that.  Contingencies will need to be activated and resources allocated.  I have need of someone who can be, as the colloquialism goes, my boots on the ground. I would like that to be you."  He held up a hand, then. “Before you refuse, you should take the time to hear my proposal.”

Maul had been on the edge of refusing outright -- though the fact that a Sith Lord, the Master of his Master, was even suggesting he could refuse was truly boggling -- but he held his tongue and finally sank down to sit in the offered seat, albeit right on the edge of it, tense and uneasy.  Put mildly.

“I need an enforcer.  Someone who can gain compliance from various factions that Sidious had been putting into place as I pursued my scientific studies.”  Plagueis moved to turn more to the table when the serving droids came in; the food must have already been pre-prepared before they’d even gotten to this room.  “I also need someone who is intelligent enough to use discretion and diplomacy when it’s called for.  Someone who is capable of subterfuge and spywork in some cases, and combat in others.”

There was a tall crystal glass filled with some red-orange liquid and a straw placed down in front of the muun.  Maul, on the other hand, eyed the platter put before him warily; the last time anyone had served him a platter with a silver cover, it had been Deenine, and there had been a living fish colored and patterned like him on it and Master had made him eat it alive.

It was a familiar fish; it had grown apace with him.  He remembered its gills flaring as it tried to breathe.  And crunching its head first, so it would not-- not feel the rest.

Deenine had died then, too; Master had thrown him into a wall, just that quickly.

But when this droid pulled the cover off, there was just a plate of normal food.  A steak, some manner of starch with butter, some manner of vegetable, bread on the side.  It smelled incredible, even if Maul felt too nervous to eat.

The droid also sat down a glass of water, politely inquired if the ‘young master’ would like anything else to drink and when Maul stammered out that he’d like tea, further asked what kind and then went to get it.

Plagueis had been watching Maul that entire time; Maul didn’t know what it said about him that he was getting accustomed to that study.  “I always did feel my apprentice sold you short.  I suppose he might have taken more care with your education had he not procured Obi-Wan only months before your mother gave you to him, but he was quite taken with Obi-Wan’s potential to the neglect of yours.  And he did have some xenophobic tendencies, frankly; so long as he was in opposition to his father -- an open xenophobe -- he made it a great point to show he had no such tendencies, but left to his own devices, he could be judgmental about those he considered ‘primitive’.”

“I’m not primitive,” Maul snapped back, stung by the words despite the fact that the man who would have said them was dead and floating in a tank like a science experiment gone awry.

“No, you’re not.  That was the point of what I was saying,” Plagueis pointed out, picking up the glass and-- inhaling the liquid.  Through the straw in a nostril.  Despite himself, Maul watched in somewhat morbid fascination.  Then Plagueis set the glass down again. “On the contrary, you’re very intelligent and adaptable.  You wouldn’t have survived your upbringing if you weren’t.”

Maul was still on the edge of baring his teeth and holding back the urge, but he didn’t even try to mask the bitterness of his next question: “If you didn’t like how he was raising us, why didn’t you step in?”

“I had other concerns, frankly.  And neither you, nor Obi-Wan, were ever meant to be true Sith apprentices.”  Plagueis had the frustrating ability to seem completely unconcerned about Maul’s anger at all of this.  “Had the plan gone forward as intended, it would have been good to have places for you within it, but you were both ultimately meant to be expendable.  Non-vital to the plan itself.  While I think my apprentice was wasting his resources by ignoring your potential in favor of Obi-Wan’s, and while I did receive very regular reports about both your progress, you weren’t my priority.”

If nothing else, the muun was frank.  Not even what Maul would call cruel, in this case, because it was clear that he didn’t mean any of that to be such.  But ruthless.  “And now you want me to work for you?” he asked, mouth twisting, ignoring the droid setting the cup of tea on a saucer beside his dinner in favor of continuing to glare at the Sith Master.

“I do.”  Plagueis tilted his head slightly, eyes boring into Maul.  “You outlived my apprentice and your competition.  You’re well trained, if incompletely, for the tasks I need.  I’ll further and finish out that training.  You would have access to resources far beyond one sad, idealistic cell of anti-slavery operatives on Nar Shaddaa -- yes, I know they’re there, I own more of that moon than even the hutts like to remember -- or beyond Maz Kanata, formbidible as she is in her circles.  No one would ever attempt to take you as a slave again, despite your status at birth.  And, when the plan comes to fruition, you would be at my side, high above all.”

Hearing Obi-Wan called his competition made Maul’s hearts clench.  And Plagueis continuing to talk about him like he was dead, despite Maul knowing and saying otherwise.

But it was hearing Plagueis talk about the trio, and Reme and her people, and Maz, that really dug an icy dagger into his middle.  If Obi-Wan was thought dead, he was safe, but the others--

“If I refuse?” Maul asked; there was no defiance in his voice as he tried to imagine what the muun could do to those people.  But-- he had to know.  As much as the answer frightened him, he had to know.

“I would keep you alive to continue to study where your Force bond with Obi-Wan was severed, and when you’ve outlived your purpose as a test subject, I would kill you,” Plagueis said, in the same calm and factual tone he had been using so far, looking at Maul dispassionately.  “My current theory is that you two would have naturally formed a dyad, given enough time, especially now that I’ve seen your end of the bond even severed; while the loss of it’s unfortunate for many reasons, there’s still something to be learned from what’s left behind.

“In addition, I’ve already implanted a biochip in your prefrontal cortex that I’d designed during my, ah-- sojourn, one I hope will become useful in the relatively near future in service to the plan in cloned lifeforms.  I also implanted a slave control chip at the base of your skull.  The first truly was just to see if I could do it, and if it would work -- it does, though you wouldn’t remember my testing it -- and the second is more for your protection than mine, should you agree to work for me.  No one would dare lay a hand on you once they scanned the chip and saw who legally owned you.”

Maul broke out into a cold sweat even as those words percolated.  That explained his sore head, anyway.  The idea that the muun had been literally in his head was enough that his limbs tingled in a kind of panic, as he stared back mutely.

Immune to his horror, Plagueis went on, “Not that either the biochip or the slave control chip are more effective than the fact that I can crush the anti-slavery operation on Nar Shaddaa and send an assassin after Maz Kanata, should you agree to work for me and then attempt to betray me after.  Of course, if you refuse altogether, I have no interest in them for good or ill.”

He gave a quiet hum there, and Maul wasn’t sure what to make of the undertone, almost like regret, as Plagueis finished, “I know it doesn’t seem like much of a choice, child.  But it is one.  I’ll give you a day to make it.”

@shadowmaat​ -  @doorsclosingslowly​ - @emphasisonthehomo​ - @blackat-greneys​ - @vengeful-nerd​ - @sammelbegriff​ - @kenobispunk​ - @sundavr​ - @mock-ing-bird​ -  @fancandy77​ - @geekling007​ - @nightsibling​ - @btwxsixesandsevens​ -  @whymylife-cordelia​

[qqueenofhades]

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

[crystalstar8]

Eye of the Sky

Ch. 2

Pairing: Namjoon x oc

Genre: heist au, action

word count: 1,791

warnings: action, violence, gun violence, car chases, car crashes, swearing, blood probably

notes: heist au, action, adventure, crime, enemies to lovers, ooc namjoon, because he has his license lol

Summary: Ten years ago, Namjoon's father was killed by his best friend and partner in crime, A man who now goes by the name Hawthorne. Now, Namjoon wants to get into the family business in order to avenge his father's death. After finding the man who killed his father, Namjoon builds a team and creates an elaborate plan to finally take the man down.

But will they be able to get through Hawthorne's state-of-the-art security system? And will they succeed with a mysterious assassin chasing them? Let's just say, it's a good thing Namjoon's team members keep surprising him with useful skills.

@mozy-j  @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @daechwitad-2

In the top floor penthouse in downtown Seoul, Taehyung stood in his walk-in closet, tying his tie in front of the floor length mirror. He checked the time. Five minutes before he had to leave. A text from his driver let him know that his ride was downstairs. After pulling his jacket on and checking himself one last time, he left his penthouse and made his way downstairs.

               The drive was quiet. Taehyung appreciated his early morning drives to the museum; it was a moment of peace before getting to work.

               His museum was his pride and joy. The building was all white marble, Grecian in design with a massive atrium dome in the center of the roof. He built it himself, without his father’s help. Not that his father would have helped him even if he were alive. His father was killed when Taehyung was a teenager, but the man was never very present in Taehyung’s life. He was almost always overseas on business, a business Taehyung was now in charge of.

               Taehyung never minded. He loved what he did. The thrill of it was almost as great as the wealth that came with it. The only thing he wished was different was the fame. He was the owner of the biggest private museum in Korea, not to mention the youngest, and with that title came press. He passed a billboard on the way to his museum, his own face looking down at the expressway.

               Stealing famous art and priceless artifacts would definitely be easier if his face wasn’t on every Louis Vuitton cologne and Rolex advertisement.

               His museum came into view and he was pleased to see he already had a line outside, waiting for the doors to open. There was a new exhibit opening today, and he was just as excited about it as the people waiting along the sidewalk.

               Once he was in his office, his assistant came in with a frazzled look on her face.

               “Sir, there’s a big problem,” she said.

               Taehyung took a deep breath before saying, “What’s wrong?”

               “One of our tour guides called in, he said he came down with something,” she said, frantically riffling through the disorganized mess of papers in her arms. “Which leaves us with only five guides. We’re going to be overloaded. There’s going to be children running around like monkeys, putting their filthy hands on the new exhibit-“

               Taehyung grabbed his assistant’s shoulders and fought against the smile threatening to come out. This was just like her, panicking every time something small didn’t go according to plan.

               “I will take his place,” Taehyung said.

               “But, sir…”

               “It’s my exhibit after all,” said Taehyung. “Who better than me to give the tour?”

               “Are you sure? People will recognize you,” she said. “Your most recent photoshoot for Hyundai is currently trending on Twitter. You’ll distract from the exhibit.”

               “I am sure,” said Taehyung. “I don’t think I’ll be a distraction.”

               His assistant gave him a skeptical and not at all placated look as she left his office.

               The museum doors were finally open and visitors were pouring in. The crowd was split up into six different tour groups, and Taehyung began his speech throughout the new exhibit. Quite a few eyes were glued to him rather than the exhibit, but he paid them no mind.

               A few tours later and something caught Taehyung’s eye through the crowd. He stuttered in the middle of his speech and stared wide eyed at the visitors waiting for him at the entrance.

               “Everyone, if you would please pardon me for a moment,” he said. “Please be responsible and follow the signs through the exhibit. Another guide will find you in a moment.”

               Taehyung pulled his earpiece and microphone off and pushed through the crowd of visitors. He made it to the front doors of the museum and stopped in front of two men, his smile dropping.

               “What are you doing here?” Taehyung whispered.

               Jin smiled and said, “What, we’re not allowed to visit an old friend?”

               “I’m working,” said Taehyung. “You can’t bring this here-“

               “Meet with us tonight,” said Namjoon. He handed Taehyung a slip of paper. Taehyung took it and slipped it into his inside coat pocket without tearing his eyes from them.

               “I will speak with you later,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of a tour.”

               Taehyung backed away from them and then made his way back to his tour group.

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

               “How do you know he’ll actually show up?” Jin asked as they drove back to Namjoon’s apartment.

               “He will,” said Namjoon. “He lives for this kind of thing. Literally. He does jobs like this for a living.”

               “I thought his museum was honest now,” said Jin. “Doesn’t he do modelling now too?”

               “Oh, sure. His museum is honest alright,” said Namjoon. He took the turn into his parking garage. “If by honest you mean every single piece on display there was stolen one way or another.”

               “Doesn’t he buy or…” Jin began.

               “Sometimes. But most of the time, he acquires them himself,” Namjoon said as he parked the car. Jin’s Mercedes was parked beside them.

               “I’m glad we have him on our side then,” said Jin. They sat in silence for a while before Jin said, “Well, I will see you later tonight. Tell your mother I say hello.”

               “I will,” said Namjoon. Jin opened the passenger door and stepped out, getting right into his own car beside them. Namjoon waited a few minutes after Jin drove off before leaving the parking garage himself.

               The prison loomed over Namjoon as he stood in front of it, leaning against his car. He didn’t have to wait long before he saw his mother step out of the double doors. He smiled as they met in the middle. His mom wrapped her arms around him and held him in a crushing hug.

               “My son,” she said, her voice wobbly. “My beautiful son. Look at you.”

               She pulled back and held his shoulders.

               “You’re so handsome,” she said. “I mean, you’ve always been handsome, but there was that weird awkward phase you had-“

               Namjoon scoffed and rolled his eyes as she burst out laughing.

               “I missed you, mom,” he said.

               “I missed you too.”

               They got into the car and Namjoon began the drive back home.

               “How’s your sister?” his mom asked.

               “She graduated yesterday,” said Namjoon. “She wants to be a school teacher.”

               “Good. I knew she’d be successful,” his mom said. “She’s a smart girl. You both are. How are you? What have you been doing with your life?”

               “I work for a tech company in Seoul but I’m planning on leaving them soon,” said Namjoon. “I have a lot of work to do for my new job. Jin says hi, by the way.”

               His mother narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized him. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

               “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Namjoon, keeping his eyes on the road.

               “Well, I suppose it’s none of my business, as long you keep me out of it,” she said. “Whatever you’re up to, you know I won’t stop you. I just want you to be careful.”

               “I will,” said Namjoon. They drove in silence for a while before he said, “I’m taking us out for dinner tomorrow to celebrate Geongmin’s graduation.”

               “I can’t wait to see her. Why didn’t she come with you today?”

               “She’s busy with interviews today,” said Namjoon. He chuckled at his mother’s shocked face. “I know, she doesn’t waste any time, right?”

               “Good for her,” his mom said.

               After getting home and helping his mother settle into her new apartment he had bought for her next door, Namjoon spent some time getting ready for his own meeting. Jin arrived early, then Taehyung shortly after. Namjoon served them drinks and then sat with them around his dining table.

               “So, tell us the plan,” said Jin.

“Hawthorne’s collection is underground,” said Namjoon. “Behind a safe door that only opens with a password and thumbprint.”

               “How are we going to get Hawthorne’s thumbprint?” asked Jin.

               “We won’t,” said Namjoon. “Because that’s not the print we need. The only thumbprint that will open the door belongs to his son, Laurel Hawthorne. Laurel is the heir to the entire collection.”

               “Ah! Laurel Hawthorne!” Taehyung exclaimed. “I’ve worked with him in the past. Not a fan.”

               “You’re going to have to meet with him one last time to get the prints,” said Namjoon. “We’ll set up a meeting with him, where you’ll fake a sale. We’ll have someone hiding nearby with a tranquilizer gun. Once we take him out, you’ll nab his prints and we’ll be out of there.”

               “This sounds dangerous,” said Jin.

               “Inside the collection room is where the real trouble begins,” Namjoon continued. “Hawthorne uses a state-of-the-art technology to protect his collection. The security system inside uses gaseous detection. Once the door is opened, the room fills with a harmless gas. If there’s any kind of movement behind the barricades of the artifacts, another gas is released into the air, turning it toxic. From there, the person inside the chamber will only have a few minutes before dying. Once the security system is neutralized, and the cameras are placed in a loop, we’ll be able to just go in and take what we want. We’ll obviously replace everything with fakes, especially the Sky’s Eye, the item we need to leave with.”

               “Ah, the Sky’s Eye,” said Taehyung. “I had a feeling the necklace was what this was about. But I thought only one man has been in possession of the Sky’s Eye for ten years.”

               “You are correct,” said Jin. “Hawthorne is the very same man.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened as he made the connection.

“Hawthorne is Montgomery,” he whispered. “So, this job isn’t just for the necklace.”

“We’ll do all of this on the day of Hawthorne’s party, while he’s distracted,” said Namjoon. “We just need to find a way to get an invitation.”

               “Yes, that will be difficult,” said Jin.

               “Do you know anyone who’s going?” Namjoon asked Jin.

               “I might,” he said.

               “Do you think it’s someone you might be able to go with as their date?” asked Namjoon.

               “Oh, trust me. I would die to be this man’s date. He is the most handsome man in the world, after all,” said Jin. Namjoon narrowed his eyes. Jin burst into laughter, slapping his knee and pulling an envelope from the pocket inside his jacket.

               “You had an invitation all this time?” asked Taehyung.

               “Of course!” said Jin, laughing and slapping his knee. Namjoon shook his head but couldn’t help a fond smile from pulling at his lips.

[paynnincorporated]

All this musing about how much Word needed Zulay and the Dragon Eyes post exile for both company and villainy is making her death in canon even more tragic istg. These were their evil plans for the world. Her passing probably really fucked up Word from really being able to carry out his dragon human war plans until a little later.

Anyway, some extra headcanons on Word + my ideas on reworking his character no one asked for but will get anyway:

His clawed hand is a prosthetic, after his hand got blasted to bits from Zulay’s accident. (This is canon btw) Someone else had the headcanon that he also lost his hearing due to the blast, resulting in the crown being some fancy hearing aid.

Since the show’s not suuuper clear on wtf Word’s actual motive is for a DH war, I’m going to chalk it up as purely an innocent accident. Made a comic for this, but retconning that haha.

Zulay’s accident traumatised Word into being paranoid about untested/experimental gear. Funnily enough, Paynn Inc gear undergoes the most rigorous safety tests out of the Big 3 companies (Saurcom, Leviacorp, Reptilico), and is one of the most reliable and safe on the streets. In Changelings, Moordryd stealing his gear probably led to a looooooooot of offscreen panic and rebuke.

Some more angst is that he doesn’t deal with grime/mess on himself very well (Having your wife and her dragon’s remains blasted onto you will do that). Also that he doesn’t take medium/raw meat very well, the bloody taste reminds him a little too much about the accident.

Let’s not make him cartoonishly terrible to Moordryd, even downright physically abusive. My characterisation of Word is that he cares and tries to be a better parent. Moordryd is his only son and reminder of Zulay. Dude wanted a kid, and they were going to have this empire to themselves until tragedy struck. Turn him into the sort of evil parent that would ravage the world for his family. Does that mean he’s a good parent? Not necessarily haha. He’s still a grouch, and the two of them still yell at each other, but he makes the effort to care and show affection in his own way.

Word’s a research buff. Cue post-cult Word digging into reading and researching just to understand and fit into society better. It doesn’t work very well, and Zulay finds him to be an endearing dork. This is also the case for literally any aspect of his life lmao. Probably poured through a lot of books on pregnancy, child care and so forth when Zulay was pregnant with Moordryd. (I’ve joked about him hooking those labour simulation devices onto himself to experiment haha!) Probably attempted XYZ ways to bond with Moordryd after reading about “How to communicate and build healthy relationships with your children” and then failing many many times XD.

Post-cult Word was barely scraping by on the streets with Abandonn, the dragon he grew up with from the dragon priesthood. Dirt poor and maybe a little feral from being ditched with nothing by his supposed family, his scramble to win races is powered by his early, scrappy versions of gear.

This ultimately attracts the attention of Zulay (leader of the Dragon Eye crew) and he gets pulled under her wing. Cue some very cute shenanigans of Zulay showing him the ropes around not just surviving, but thriving, in Down City. This is a very good time for them both, with the Dragon Eyes becoming stronger under Zulay’s leadership and Word’s tech. Zulay and some of the Dragon Eyes quickly become Word’s friends (Abyll). With their backing, he sets off starting Paynn Inc.

I initially thought Word and Zulay would be more rivals to lovers but it’s honestly business partners to friends to lovers. Word didn’t really have anyone besides his dragon until Zulay, she means very much to him. Meanwhile, Zulay was probably charmed by his “innocence”, ingenuity and ambition. Who knew people with dubious morals would fit so well together?

Unfortunately, post-Zulay’s death, the leadership vacuum in the Dragon Eyes and Word’s inability to lead causes their numbers to dwindle. The crew’s initial strength diminishes great. It’s why Moordryd’s current crew is so small, it never could quite recover to its heyday when Word was at its helm. Word is secretly proud his son has his ragtag group of friends as his crew, it’s very much what Zulay had going on with the Dragon Eyes in the past.

His own past with the priests colours his want to be a better parent-ish for Moordryd. Ie. Moordryd would never not be provided for materially (Unlike Connor pft). He does forget his son’s existence at times though, when throwing himself into work/schemes. Ooft.  True abandonment is the furthest from his mind, however. (Think Wraith Booster but Word forgetting his son has white repel gear and what do you mean he’s crawled out of the safety dome-) The affection/emotional side of things is also a huge struggle.

I’m not sure about his and Zulay’s motivations for a dragon human war, but I’ll take a stab at it. Quite a bit of Word’s want for a DHW is due to the Dragon Priest’s influence. Growing up learning that war was coming what with the direction of how humanity was treating dragons, he probably thought instigating that conflict and then offering aid like some benevolent ruler would likely stop it and secure some semblance of “true” peace. Maybe the priests had him and connor grow up with abused dragons. Abandonn as Word’s main companion and the knowledge that he was mistreated made Word develop some general misanthropy. Ofc, getting together with Zulay and co who are also morally dubious, their plans leaned more towards selfish goals of power and control than peace. They do love dragons, but the ends justify the means and wraith gear is a necessary evil. *shrugs*

Maybe I shouldn’t think too deeply into these characters so much haha.

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Five: Requiem

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 5 / 15

Warnings — language

A/N — Taglist is open! Comment, message, or ask and I’ll add you to the roster :) (Also I’m a freakin’ moron and forgot to post on Wednesday night like usual, which was yesterday. So enjoy this late chapter lol!)

Previous — Next

The first person you text is Namjoon. To you, he was the obvious choice. Friendly, open, and the first of the members to accept you into their enclave. It wasn't anything in particular, just saying hi and reminding him of who you are and that you were looking forward to tomorrow.

Not two minutes later, he replies and invites you to join a group chat he'd just created for you and all seven members.

"This way, we can all keep in touch!" he says. "DMs are fine, of course, but if we all wanna get to know each other, group chats can be a lot of fun."

He wasn't wrong. The remainder of Sunday evening is spent texting the members. On the way home, while you cook a quick dinner, and when you're relaxing before bed. They're flooding your messages with all kinds of hilarity. Jungkook and Hoseok are a fan of memes, while Yoongi seems to prefer the straightforward communication that gifs provide. Jimin and Namjoon adore emojis, and Jin sticks to his usual bad dad jokes. Taehyung replies to a question every now and then, but for the most part, he's absent from the conversation.

"You're awfully quiet, Taehyung-ssi," Jimin teases half-way through a conversation on whether or not mint ice cream is edible.

"I'm working, but you guys are blowing up my phone so it's hard to concentrate."

A sigh slips out as you reply, "You can put your phone on vibrate, Taehyung. Really, we won't mind. Or at least I certainly won't."

His response is speedy. "Okay. I'll talk to you all tomorrow."

Namjoon sends you a private message. "Don't let him bother you. He can get like this when he's focused. He doesn't do well with things distracting him."

"Yeah...you're probably right."

"Oh, I definitely am!"

"Hey, thank you again for everything. Except for Kim Taehyung, I really feel at ease with everyone. I feel like we're going to get along great at the set tomorrow."

"My pleasure, [Y/n]. I really wanted to avoid you feeling like more of an outsider than you probably already do. Being in a new country, even if you speak the language, can be scary. I've been to enough of them to know that there's no place like home...but maybe we can make it a bit easier."

A smile spreads across your face at his genuine spirit and pure kindness. "You have, big time! Each of you is really fun to be around. Honestly? I can't wait for 'Run' tomorrow! Can I ask where we're going? I didn't see a production report yet, and Director Hyeon hasn't responded to my email."

"We'll probably knock out a few episodes in one night, and I think we're closing down the Seoul Museum of Art. They're going to close a bit early so we can have it to ourselves. The games we have planned will happen there!"

You turn your eyes away from your cell phone at the mention of the museum. Recalling what happened over the weekend, returning to that place doesn't seem like a terrific idea. But then again, if you are there with Taehyung, maybe the two of you can finally talk about what you see in your dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, you can get those answers.

Your resolve strengthens a little bit, and a new message comes through, one not from the group chat or Namjoon. You click out of your conversation with the leader and check the notification.

"Who are you?"

The question is blunt and straightforward, coming from the second-youngest member via a private chat. You open the message, and your fingers hover above the keyboard for a few moments.

"Hi Taehyung. What do you mean?"

"I know we've met before. I can't remember where."

You bite your lip at his statement. So you were right; he does have some sort of familiarity with you, too. Now, to figure out just how much.

"Have you been to a concert before? Or a fan-sign? Maybe you worked on the set of Hwarang?"

"None of those. I actually didn't listen to much of your music before recently, and I've never been to a concert or fan-sign. And I've never worked on any set before."

"You weren't a fan of BTS? Even though you applied to Big Hit?"

"Nope. Actually, my roommate Milo was the Bangtan superfan. I heard of you guys through her, and then of Big Hit. I applied because I wanted to live in Seoul. It's been my dream all my life. Big Hit just happened to have the job I wanted in the ideal location. Call it fate, I guess."

A half-truth, but it will have to do for now.

"I know. I remember. Your gut feeling."

You pause, your fingers halting mid-type. How did he already know about that? You hadn't mentioned it in either the group chat or in the earlier conversation. In fact, the only person you'd mentioned the gut feeling about Seoul to was—

"I have to go, sorry. I'll see you at the museum tomorrow. I think you know the way."

The museum looks almost spooky after the sun begins to set over the buildings that touch the sky. Downtown Seoul is as beautiful as ever as the bright oranges and pastel pinks bathe the exteriors of each in brilliant colors. If it weren't for the thirty or so Big Hit employees rushing about, you might've stood at the entrance for much longer than thirty seconds.

But the moment you're on-scene, you go to work. One of the producers flags you down, offers a brief introduction, and tells you where to hide the English words.

"Have you seen what we did a few episodes back, eighty-seven and eighty-eight?" he asks, shoving a stack of stickers into your hands. "When we put Hangul all over the Oil Tank Culture Park?"

You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile. "I haven't...exactly watched too much 'Run.'"

The producer waves it off. "Just run around the building and stick these wherever you think seven boys may or may not find them. Feel free to go crazy. We have fifteen minutes to get everything set before filming starts. The boys should be here soon. So, go! Once you're done, come back here. While they're running around, you can help me with the grading system."

"Grading system?"

"They're going to make sentences with the words they find. Since you know English the best, you can award points to each word based on difficulty in using."

A smile spreads across your face. "Got it! Sounds fun."

You speed off into the museum, weaving past the sound and lighting crew that are attempting to set up. Several of the museum staff have also stayed behind to give guidance, and you're relieved that the boys and company have the entire building to themselves. This wouldn't be possible during daytime hours when the public is here.

You begin sticking several dozen stickers along the walls, on the frames of pieces of art, on the marble floor. Basically, anywhere you can reach. You cover the Van Gogh exhibit with difficult words like "effervescence" and "halcyon," along with colorful words like "lilac" and "vermilion."

The further into the building you move, the fewer and fewer people you see. Once you've passed the room of modern art and approach the Winged Victory of Samothrace, there's no one in sight. Down to your last few words, you slip into the dimmed hallway and turn the corner.

Winged Victory is just as you remember. Tall and beautiful and haunting. The statue is still so familiar to you. Looking at the base, you can almost see the body of the woman from your dream. Right before you and Taehyung started running for your lives, this was where a murder occurred.

You flinch at the memory of the blood, but something else inside you is pulling you out of the room and towards the fountain. Last time you saw it, you ran from the room and left the friendly acquaintance behind. Part of you wonders what he must've thought. Surely, you looked like you'd seen a ghost.

But you might as well have.

Your feet tip-toe on the marble. The boys have most certainly arrived, and the filming has started from the sound of it. Their crazed and excited laughter fills the echo-y halls. Seeing as there aren't any stickers this far into the museum, you take your chances and continue moving deeper in. The producer could wait just a few more minutes, couldn't he?

The last of the sunlight ricochets across each panel of glass in the dome ceiling, greeting you with shards of light skewed in every direction. Like fireflies dancing together, they bring an almost magical aura to the open space, one very different from the horrors of your nightmares. The columns are made of ever-moving fire, and the fountain is made of glittery stars.

As you stand in the doorway, your throat drys and tightens. Seeing this place again, no matter how different, brings back the memories you can't explain. Are they even memories? Surely, that has to be what they are. But from when or from whom, you can't explain. They're a requiem for someone you hardly know.

Does Taehyung know the answers? Does he know more than you about this event you keep playing over and over in your mind? He's been in your dreams ever since you were a child, as a version much older than you were then and even older than you are now. Who has just one dream their whole lives, unless the explanation is that he has that dream, too?

You shake your head at the absurdity of it all. "What am I doing here?" you murmur, running your hand through your hair.

"Are you okay?"

The deep voice behind you causes you to jump and spin, eyes wide as you spot a familiar face at the entrance to the fountain. Taehyung stands with his hands in the pockets of his pants, his head tilted as he observes you.

"Holy shit, don't sneak up on people!"

The brunet smirks a little and shrugs. "Didn't mean to, sorry. You were staring off into space and didn't even hear me walk down the hallway. And it's hard to be quiet on marble floors."

"God, sorry, I didn't mean to snap." You run your hands over your face. "This museum has...some strange memories for me. I thought coming back here would help, but I think I've made it worse."

"How do you mean? I thought you hadn't been to Seoul before?"

"I haven't. It's complicated." Your eyes flicker to the corridor behind him. "Where's your cameraman?"

"I ditched him, told him I was running off to the restroom. But I didn't see you anywhere, so I figured you'd be back here."

Eyebrows pulling together, you reply, "How'd you figure that?"

"Well, you seemed really freaked out last weekend. You ran out of here like a ghost was chasing you. I was honestly worried until I saw you at Big Hit the next day, and you seemed fine, so..."

He trails off, and the realization of his words hits you. "Wait...shit, were you the one I was talking to both times I visited here this week? The one in the hoodie and mask?"

Taehyung nods, though there's a tiny line between his brows that shows he's as confused as you are. "Yes? I thought you knew that from day one, when you spoke to me at the Van Gogh exhibit."

Shaking your head fervently, you spout, "No! Not at all. I had no idea, honest to god. I just thought you were shy or introverted or maybe had a tough time talking to girls. I never, ever thought you were..." You gesture to all of him.

His brown eyes widen as he steps closer and out of the doorway. "Wait, really? You had no idea."

"None!"

He chuckles softly, turning to gaze at the fountain as the sunlight fades to soft blues of night. "I'd assumed you knew who I was. You were so open and friendly to a perfect stranger. I thought you'd recognized me."

"Not at all," you retort. "I was being nice and friendly because there was something about you that was so damn familiar. Kind of like this whole place, actually. I don't know. I can't explain it."

Taehyung nods and runs a hand through his curly locks. "I won't lie, there's something off about this place for me, too." He shifts his attention from the fountain to you. "You weren't lying about anything you said before, were you? About you being called to Seoul and not knowing why?"

You lock eyes with him as you reply, "I promise, everything I said was true."

"Then why did you run away?"

A heavy sigh slips out, and you sit down on the water fountain's edge. Looking into the water to your side, you run various ways to go about this disclosure. Blunt truth? A comforting lie? A bit of both?

"[Y/n]?"

"I've had this...nightmare, ever since I was a little girl. Ever since I could remember. It's always the same. I'm running for my life with someone I know that I care deeply about. We're trying to escape a murderer who's closing in behind us. He's just slaughtered one of our friends and he's coming for us."

You pause to take a breath, and Taehyung takes that pause to sit beside you. He doesn't say a word, only waist patiently for you to continue.

"We're eventually trapped. The man with me tells me to run while he distracts the murderer. Of course, I don't listen. There's a fight. We're both injured. And we both die."

There's a pregnant pause in the air before Taehyung hangs his head and murmurs, "That sounds horrible."

"I haven't told you everything," you reply. "I'm afraid I shouldn't...but what the hell." You gesture to the space around you. "In my dream, the entire thing is set here, in the Seoul Museum of Art. Our friend was killed at the base of Winged Victory. The fight happens among these columns. And the man and I, we die in this very fountain, bleeding out from gunshot wounds."

You turn to face the man beside you, seeing his eyes shift from his feet to yours as his head tilts slightly. "And every time, it's the same three people besides me. The same woman at the base of Winged Victory, the same murderer with a gun, the same man that this nightmare-version of me loves. I have no idea who the first two are..."

In your hesitation, Taehyung says, "But you know the last one."

Nodding, your knuckles turn white as you drip your knees. Here it goes. All or nothing. No turning back now.

"I do. He's—"

"—Me."

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can​, @jaienn​

[itscalledbisexualcrisis]

Scrap Metal - Chapter 4

Summary: Hiro broke off her engagement to Kuvira three years ago and left Zaofu. All she wants is to live her quiet life in Republic City, away from her haunting past. Kuvira's catching up to her, but is she going to find what she's looking for? Or is she only going to reveal the secrets Hiro kept hidden from her all these years?

Chapter Summary: Hiro is called to Zaofu to help the city in preparation for Kuvira's attack. Meanwhile Kuvira is only growing in her strength.

Read on AO3 Here

The bath water sloshed around as Hiro got in, sighing into the steaming water. Kuvira smiled while taking off her robe. She got in alongside her lover, so that they were facing each other. It was a small tub but neither minded their close proximity. Their legs tangled together under the water and bubbles. Kuvira reached out to stroke one of Hiro’s calves. Hiro sighed again, opening her eyes to look at beautiful green eyes. Kuvira felt the water easing her sore muscles and she gave Hiro a lopsided grin.

Hiro’s hair was up in a top knot while Kuvira’s was in its usual braid. Hiro reached out and stroked the other girl’s incredibly long hair, taking it out of the braid slowly. Kuvira exhaled, relaxing into the hot water. It had been a long week for her and she was still recovering from the battle with the Red Lotus from weeks ago. From getting blasted by a combustion bender and a flying airbender to saving the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, exhaustion was an understatement.

“You need a haircut,” Hiro observed.

“Yeah yeah yeah I’ll get to it.” She hadn’t even noticed these past few months just how long her hair was now. It reached her mid back at least. Her hands were busy massaging Hiro’s arms, covering them in soapy bubbles.

“Why don’t you just let me do it?”

Kuvira raised an eyebrow and she held back a smile.

“Darling, you’re very good with your hands.” She intertwined their hands together and brought them up to her lips to kiss each of Hiro’s knuckles. “But I don’t trust you to cut my hair. Besides, I thought you liked my long hair.”

“I do. But you’re always saying how hard it is to maintain and to keep out of the way when you’re training” Hiro’s hands travelled to Kuvira’s now wavy hair. It fanned out and around Kuvira before dipping into the water. Her hand scratched the back of Kuvira’s scalp, making her moan. Kuvira leaned into Hiro’s touch as she washed her hair, making sure to carefully get each strand. “What about a bob?”

Kuvira opened her eyes and glared at Hiro who wore a cheeky smirk. She splashed the girl playfully making Hiro yelp before pulling Kuvira by the waist. Their torsos were almost touching now. Hiro’s knees bent awkwardly spread out on either side of Kuvira’s body.

“You’re quite annoying,” she stated bluntly. Hiro hummed and pressed a quick kiss on Kuvira’s nose, making it scrunch.

“You love it though.” Hiro’s hands traced along Kuvira’s body, taking care around her bruises and scrapes. Years of being on the force have marked her up with various scars. Hiro traced a long scar running on the outside of Kuvira’s thigh. “And I love you. Every inch of you.”

Kuvira lovingly cupped Hiro’s cheek, stroking the smooth skin before leaning in and pressing a firm kiss on her lips.

---

“I need your help. Rumors are spreading that Kuvira is on her way to Zaofu. We need to fortify the city,” Suyin explained to Hiro over the phone. “You’re the one person that can help us. You know our technology better than anyone else and my husband needs help. Please.”

Hiro gnawed her lower lip. It had been a week since the coronation. Republic City was buzzing with anxiety over the news about the Earth Empire. Hiro kept her head down and tried her best to not think about it. Kuvira’s offer - well more like order - has been swimming in her head. She felt anxious that one of Kuvira’s men would show up at her door or at work one day. But no, they wouldn’t try to kidnap her right? Even Kuvira’s not crazy enough to do anything like that...right?

“I’m more than glad to help, but I haven’t worked on an actual defense system in years,” Hiro admitted. The last thing she worked on were the updates for Republic City. Even though it was recent, they were basic updates that were very outdated. Nothing like Zaofu. “I’m more involved with paperwork and Sato Mobiles nowadays.”

“Please. I’m running out of options. The United Republic can’t get troops out here in time to defend Zaofu. The only choice I have left is to protect my people. Asami has told me how you upgraded Republic City. She said your work was impeccable. I need you.”

Hiro sighed, looking out the window. There was already traffic building up and she groaned internally. She was already late to work this morning and needed to get going.

“I’ll think about it.” “Hurry, Hiro. We won’t have much time left.”

Hiro put the phone down, but couldn’t move from her spot in the living room. She wasn’t expecting a call from Suyin only a week after the failed coronation.

Kuvira’s army heading to Zaofu was unexpected. Sure she had threatened that she was reuniting the whole empire, but Zaofu was safe and secure. They weren’t like the other provinces of the Earth Empire starving or running rampant with bandits. Suyin had created a stable government and a well organized agricultural system to keep the people fed and taken care of, and they had long separated from the monarchy. It seemed like Kuvira was getting more power hungry by the day, and she wasn’t wasting any time in taking power.

But Hiro can tell from her short interactions with her, not to underestimate Kuvira. She was already considered a threat to the Republic Nation. More rumors were coming everyday in the papers about her war tactics and reeducation camps for the provinces and towns she does conquer. It made Hiro feel nauseous at the thought of Kuvira torturing people into submission. She knew Kuvira was harsh, but cruel? Suddenly Hiro wasn’t so sure about Kuvira trying to kidnap her.

She also still felt guilty about leaving Zaofu to help Kuvira all those years ago. Along with helping Kuvira, she left Zaofu defenseless. Kuvira had taken most of the troops from Zaofu, thus making it vulnerable to attack.

Another phone call interrupted her thoughts and she picked it up.

“Hey where are you? We have a test this morning for the next model,” Asami’s voice rang through the receiver. Hiro groaned.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be right there,” she croaked out. Her throat felt dry.

“You don’t sound okay, are you sick?”

“No, just got some news this morning,” Hiro reassured. She ran a hand through her short hair, pausing before continuing her train of thought. “Hey, I’ll explain more when I get there, but I need to take some time off.”

“Oh. I mean that’s fine, but is everything okay?” Asami asked, sounding worried.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll explain more when I get there, but I’m gonna be out of the city for a bit.”

It wouldn’t make the past disappear, but it’d be a step in the right direction to help the city she left behind.

Maybe it was finally time to go back home.

---

Kuvira stared out the window as the tops of the metal domes of Zaofu began to come into view. She thinks back to when she first approached the city when she was a child when her parents dropped her off with Suyin because of her destructive behavior. In reality, she was still only a child. She remembers how much she resented Suyin and her family when she first came to Zaofu, the feeling of being unwanted and outcast gnawing away at her. Eventually, she grew accustomed to the Metal Clan and even considered it her home in a way. But there was always a part of her that didn’t feel like she belonged. At the end of the day, she wasn’t a Beifong. Even though she was a Metal Clan citizen, she wasn’t actually from there. She was Kuvira, a girl left on her own in a big world to fend for herself. 

She hears footsteps come up to her, but her gaze doesn’t leave the domes.

“Kuvira, we’re approaching Zaofu. We should be there within the next day or two,” Baatar reported. 

“Thank you Baatar.” She feels his arms wrap around her midsection. She leans back on him, letting him take her weight. She didn’t let Baatar show too much affection in public, it wasn’t a good image to project on the new empire. But they were alone in this train car, so she let them have a brief moment of intimacy.

“We’re finally going home,” he sighs. He looks out over her head at the metal domes he also grew up surrounded by. She doesn’t point out how it was a different feeling of home they felt. “It feels like yesterday we just left.”

“Indeed,” Kuvira answers, still partially lost in her memories. All of those fights with the other Beifong siblings slowly crept up in her mind. She smirked at the thought of seeing their shocked faces when she showed up at their front door. “We’ve done a lot of work. I’m proud of where we’ve come.” Baatar takes her by the shoulders and turns her around so she’s facing him. His hands gently rub her shoulders, trying to ease the tension around the muscle. Nowadays, she was never relaxed. She told herself she’ll relax once the entire kingdom is reunited under her rule. His face is broken out into a large grin.

“I know you said we shouldn’t be celebrating so soon, but I can’t help it.” He leans down and kisses her forehead, lingering there. “Our dreams are coming true.”

She smiled slightly before turning back around to look out the windows. She knew how eager her fiance could be. But she knew better than to celebrate early. There could still be many things that could go wrong and she knew Zaofu wouldn’t be easy to conquer. She had an obligation to her people to reunite all of the Earth Kingdom. She had an obligation to herself to return to Zaofu as a winner. She couldn’t let Suyin win because in her mind, if she let Suyin and Zaofu go, Kuvira would never live down that shame. There would always be a part of her that itched for it, the need to have full control. And Suyin would never be a complacent leader, even if Kuvira left Zaofu alone. It would always be a thorn in her side, until she knew she had it.

While she was stressed, she knew Baatar was eager to return for other reasons. Every night he discussed another aspect of their upcoming wedding with fervor. Kuvira had more things to focus on, so she let Baatar do most of the planning which he didn’t put up a fight about. It didn’t surprise her anymore that Baatar was always eager to please her. It was something she found endearing to watch.

In the reflection of the window, her eyes met Baatar’s as the domes grew larger in the distance. Below them, they could see the dark green tanks and soldiers rolling up towards the massive metal structure.

“Welcome home, Kuvira.”

---

Hiro kept her head downcast towards her lap the entire train ride to Zaofu. Getting off the newly remodeled train, she stepped off the bronze train and on to the sleek metal platform. The air was different than Republic City; clear and crisp on the open air platform as a few passengers got off. Hiro walked to the transport station that would take her straight to the center of Zaofu and at the gates of the Beifong estate.

After over three years, she couldn’t believe she was returning. The city seemed to have only gotten shinier and larger since her departure. Although things had noticeably changed, she felt at ease in her surroundings. Zaofu was just built differently than the rest of the world; there was a constant buzz of electricity in the air that made Hiro feel at peace. The city was also surrounded by looming mountains, creating its own pocket in the world. While someone else might feel claustrophobic or overwhelmed, it made Hiro feel right at home.

But she couldn’t swallow the anxious bubble building in her stomach as she got closer to the Beifong estate. She let herself observe Zaofu and old memories pop up. From her seat at the window, she saw figures already standing there waiting on the platform for her stop. It was getting darker out now and the domes have already closed for the night. Hiro was lucky to get on one of the last transport stations and she was the last one in her car. Upon closer inspection she realized it was Baatar Sr. waiting there. 

Her face broke up in a wide grin. She worked with Baatar Sr on many projects. Suyin was her mentor, guiding her in life and shaping her up to be the best version of herself that she could be. But Baatar Sr was her boss and she learned a lot of trade skills from the architect. Sometimes his inventions overlapped her department in security and they’d brainstorm together, testing his latest creations. Baatar Sr was one of the most intelligent men that Hiro’s ever met and someone she had the utmost respect for.

“Hiro.” Immediately Baatar Sr wrapped Hiro in a big hug. After a moment of initial shock, she hugged him back. Besides his salt and pepper hair, he hadn’t changed one bit. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“You too, Baatar. I’ve missed you, and Zaofu,” Hiro admitted. It was the first time she ever admitted out loud that she missed home. And saying those words made her realize just how nostalgic she had been. “Where’s Suyin?”

“She’s inside waiting. It seems that we’ve received a message from Kuvira.” Hiro was surprised.

“I thought Kuvira wasn’t coming for another few days?” Hiro asked. Baatar Sr frowned and shook his head.

“I’m afraid we underestimated her. Her army has marched here and are outside the gates right now,” he murmured. “We’re going to hear her out in the morning, but I’ve been working this whole day in preparation.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. No. She was too late. For a split second Hiro thought about running back on the transport and going back to Republic City. Even though she told Asami about what was happening and got on the quickest train to Zaofu, it wasn’t enough. Kuvira was here and with an army. There was no use. No one else was coming and Zaofu was going to be taken just like the rest of the Earth Kingdom.

But then Hiro looked around her. The tall sleek metal buildings jutted out around her and the metal dome encased them in a bubble of protection. The memories from earlier came back and she realized how quiet everything was. These people didn’t deserve to be conquered. They were safe and living their lives here. It was their home; It was her home. She was tired of running, of avoiding responsibility. She may never forgive herself for leaving Suyin, but she wasn’t going to let anyone down this time. This newfound confidence drove down her fears and anxiety about herself. She couldn’t wallow anymore. She had three years to let the guilt eat her up, but now she was going to act. She was going to protect Zaofu, at any cost.

“Well that means I need to get to work,” Hiro said. Upon Baatar Sr’s surprised expression, she continued. “If I’m going to help, I’ll need you to catch me up.” Baatar gave a short nod and a smile, leading her inside.

---

“I’m not giving up Zaofu. I don’t care if you’ve brought your entire army!”

“Su I didn’t bring my army to threaten you. I wanted to show all what your son and I have accomplished.” Kuvira genuinely didn’t want to come into this meeting with ill intentions. She wanted to attempt to reconnect with Su and get her to join peacefully. Of course she knew Su was going to be difficult. Bringing Baatar Jr. and Bolin were her ways of trying to relate with the Beifongs. If she had any chance of getting Zaofu peacefully, this was the only way.

But as she looked around the room, it didn’t seem like that was going to be the case.

“You must realize what you’re doing is going against everything your father and I tried to teach you.”

“Son you belong here.”

Kuvira didn’t react, but inside she was seething. Even now, after all that she’s done they still didn’t take her seriously. They didn’t respect her or what she was doing. She should’ve known that all Su would care about is Baatar Jr’s wellbeing. They had no idea how difficult these past few years had been. She was the one who had to bring Zaofu soldiers together to go to Ba Sing Se, and she had to lead them around the Earth Kingdom these three years.

And everything she did, Baatar was behind her every step of the way. He was just to blame for everything as Kuvira was, in her mind. “Why? So that I can go on living in your shadow?”

“Don’t say that. Can’t you see she’s brainwashed you?”

“Ha!” she couldn’t help herself. “I didn’t brainwash him. I set him free. And now he’s accomplished more with me than he ever could’ve with you.” She did a lot of things, but she didn’t brainwash her people. And it wasn’t wrong, Baatar never would’ve accomplished anything substantial within Zaofu. Just like the rest of Zaofu; all this cultivated talent is wasted here for the Beifongs. The world needed to experience a fraction of what Zaofu had, and it wasn’t fair for Su to keep it all hidden away in this pocket world. 

Kuvira zoned out as Bolin tried to ‘sell’ the Beifongs on the Earth Empire. It was his turn now, seeing as Baatar was only antagonizing his family further. Being in this room brought back a lot of old memories for her. And standing around people she grew up with who were supposed to be her family left a bitter taste in her mouth. All those years growing up around rich children in the same house, but realizing she would never be accepted by them. Especially Opal. They had the rockiest relationship growing up together. They would constantly get into fights when they were little over the most trivial things. Suyin always reassured her that Opal would come around to having a sister. It never happened though and as they got older, they ended up walking the same hallways as strangers. It didn’t bother Kuvira. At least she wouldn’t admit it did. She was supposed to be my sister, instead I was her burden. I was a burden for all of them. “Hiro? You’re here too?” Bolin asked, bewildered. Kuvira whirled around and sure enough Hiro was there standing in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded. She was on her way back to the lab, when her curiosity grew upon hearing shouting coming from Suyin’s office. “Well...this is kind of awkward.” “Sorry for interrupting,” Hiro stuttered out, backing away from the door.

“No Hiro, stay,” Su commanded. “You were smart enough to leave them, please tell Baatar what he’s doing is wrong.”

“Mother how many times do I have to tell you, there is nothing wrong with me!” Baatar argued. Kuvira put a hand on his shoulder before handing him a stack of papers. They were the terms for Zaofu to join the Earth Empire. 

“We’ll give you all some family time to talk things through. You have twenty-four hours to join the Empire, or we take the city by force,” Kuvira said matter of factly. She turned to Baatar. “Meet me at the transport station when you’re ready. And please,” she takes one last look around the room, “take all the time you need. Come, Bolin.”

And with that she walked out of Suyin’s office, closing the office doors behind her. Bolin trailed after her, a worried look on his face, but he kept quiet. Now it was only the three of them in the hallway and the silence was deafening.  

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Kuvira admitted. Hiro glared at her, not budging in her stance.

“Same here. I didn’t think you’d ever want to come back to Zaofu.”

The tension between them was high and Bolin began to shift uncomfortably from behind Kuvira.

“I’m gonna...head back on my own, if that’s okay!” he quickly added on to the end. Kuvira gave him a curt nod and he was bolting down the hallway towards the exit. It was followed by another short pause and both women watched each other very carefully.

Kuvira had gotten a good look at Hiro back in Republic City, but now dressed in casual slacks and a short sleeve shirt, she couldn’t help noticing how well they fit Hiro. She was never the type for business casual attire, more so preferring her overalls and work boots. And Kuvira could also tell that she seemed tired. The bags were clear under her eyes as well as how her face seemed riddled with fatigue. Her short hair was held back by a bandana she tied around, but it was coming undone.

“Well...it seems that Suyin has accepted you back,” Kuvira said carefully. “You must be right at home.” “I’m only here to do work,” Hiro answered. “I’m protecting everyone from you .”

Kuvira smiled and crossed her arms.

“Me? What, because I brought reinforcements as a back up plan? It wouldn’t be wise of me to come unarmed to an armored nation like Zaofu, would it?” she teased. It only made Hiro clench her fists in irritation and Kuvira noticed. Maybe she could have some fun with the young woman. “Plus, if I knew you were here, I would’ve worn my nicer uniform.”

Hiro choked on her breath. Was that flirting she sensed? And sure enough Kuvira had a shit eating smirk on her lips, amused at Hiro’s flustered state. 

“Quit playing your games. They won’t work on me.”

“I’m not playing any games. You all make me out to be the villain, but I’m just trying to help everyone,” Kuvira shrugged. She takes a step closer to Hiro, backing her into the wall. She could see the wavering in Hiro’s eyes and she submitted under Kuvira’s green piercing eyes. “I meant what I said. You will join me, one way or another.” If Hiro lost focus, she could swear she could feel Kuvira’s hot breath fan her face.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think the Great Uniter was obsessed with me,” Hiro shot back. “Trouble with Baatar? Or are you just bored of using him?”

“Baatar is a grown adult. He can make his own decisions. He doesn’t need me or his mother to tell him what to think,” Kuvira defends.

“I’m sure you persuaded him in your own manipulative way,” Hiro spat. Kuvira sighed, taking a deep breath to control her anger. She didn’t want to have an all out brawl in the middle of Su’s house. Especially since it looked like they would be getting nowhere the peaceful route. 

“It was three years ago,” Kuvira affirmed.

“Yeah well, I never forgot.” Hiro closed her mouth immediately, clearly not meaning for those words to slip out. It was too late though, the truth was out. I never forgot about us. It made Kuvira pause. Hiro’s shoulders sagged and for a moment let her guard fall. “You might’ve forgotten, or maybe you don’t care, but just because it was years ago, it doesn’t change how you hurt me.”

Kuvira could only stare blankly at Hiro and take a step back, clearly not expecting that kind of reaction from Hiro. She’s seen Hiro at her highest and lowest points. How when she got very excited or passionate about something, she would bounce on her heels in child-like wonder. Or how when she was sad she would curl into herself and get even more impossibly quiet than usual. But this was a different type of low. She said her words with defeat laced through it and broke her gaze from Kuvira, as if ashamed.

“I didn’t forget.” And it was true. How could Kuvira forget about Hiro? How could she forget about her first love, who looked so small in front of her now. “I meant what I said. We grew apart, we wanted different things. There was a lot going on and I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done. I never wanted to hurt you.” I thought it was going to end up with you.

The thought crossed Kuvira’s mind so fast that it startled her and she needed to take another step away from Hiro. She hadn’t had thoughts like that in a long time. They came often when Hiro first left, but she thought they had all gone away. That all the past feelings towards the other woman had faded and been replaced with her love for her country and Baatar. And Kuvira quickly forced herself to push down the doubt that crept up. She couldn’t have thoughts like that. She was with Baatar, and they were so close. She couldn’t ruin it all now with stupid old feelings.

Hiro hesitantly glanced up at Kuvira before brushing past her to walk down the rest of the hallway. Her eyes trailed after her and as Hiro retreated further down the hallway, Kuvira’s racing thoughts also subsided.

---

That night Hiro kept busy at the workstation, trying to find any holes she might’ve missed in Baatar’s schematics. Documents littered around the tables in a unusual mess. She wasn’t messy, but now with the time ticking she could only feel flustered. She slides out a keyboard from one of the machines and starts typing new codes and programs into it, double checking work she knows she’s already looked at. She can’t help it. Suyin and the twins had left, and she was anxiously waiting for them to return. It had been a few hours, and she reassured she would be back by the morning. But Hiro definitely couldn’t sleep, so instead she worked.

A bead of sweat dripped down as she realized she needed to go to one of the domes and check the mechanics herself. As soon as Baatar brought her to the estate, she got right to work. She worked nearly all of last night and all day after the meeting with Kuvira. She brushed away any time Baatar asked if she wanted a break. She needed to correct her mistakes, and there was no time left. She needed to focus on making sure Zaofu would be protected and use every second she had to save it.

Hiro made her way outside and towards the edge where the dome was. The construction was a marvel to her, and to make it more safe seemed impossible. Baatar’s design was nearly flawless.

Then she remembered who the enemy was and she started climbing up the ladder, tool belt strapped around her waist. She was so focused she didn’t notice Korra walking up and climbing alongside her.

“Hey, need a hand?” Hiro was shocked, but recovered, gripping her tools tightly. Down below near the house, Baatar was seated on the steps lost in thought. He paused working when Su left, too overcome with anxiety to even try to work. Jinora and Opal were arguing not far away about what to do. Hiro felt bad for Opal. She was close with her mom, so it only made sense she wanted to help. But from what Hiro knows about airbenders, it was highly inappropriate to incite violence.

“I’m okay, thank you though,” Hiro responded. Korra nodded, but stayed on the platform as Hiro opened a panel of wires. She began working on them diligently.

“So...I wanted to ask you. What should I be worried about with Kuvira?”

Hiro was so surprised she almost electrocuted herself on two wires.

“W-What?” Hiro stuttered.

“I mean, Su told me about you two,” Korra started. Hiro paused momentarily in her work, but her eyes trained on the wires before her. “You seem to know her pretty well. Is there anything you can tell me about her?”

“Why do you want to know? Aren’t you trying to take her down?” The lump settled in Hiro’s abdomen at her own words.

“I talked to her today. And I’m having doubts. Kuvira seems like she really cares about doing the right thing,” Korra reasoned. Hiro snorted, shaking her head and going back to her wires.

“Well that’s your first mistake,” Hiro spat. It caught Korra out of her thoughts. “Don’t underestimate Kuvira. She’s a master manipulator. She knows how to act sympathetic to get what she wants, but the second she doesn’t get what she wants,” two of the wires sparked wildly in her hands and Korra flinched, “she destroys it.”

Korra kept quiet, letting Hiro’s thoughts settle in. Hiro didn’t stop working until she was done and putting the panel back in its place.

“If you really want my advice, I’d say to get it over with,” Hiro confessed, the harsh reality settling into her shoulders. At this point she hardly noticed Korra there. After these past few weeks, she hated admitting it. She knew Su confidently wanted Kuvira destroyed, but Hiro held out hope that Kuvira was redeemable. “Believe me, Avatar Korra, it isn’t something that’s easy for me to admit. And you also have to believe me when I say, Kuvira had good intentions at first. Part of me truly believes that there’s still some good in her. I mean fuck, I was engaged to her. But maybe Suyin was right, maybe this is the only option.”

Before Korra can answer the crackling of the loudspeaker rang out around them.

“Attention citizens of Zaofu. Your leader, Su Beifong, attempted to attack me tonight while I slept, ignoring the terms of our truce. Luckily, I now have her and her assault team in custody.” It was Kuvira’s voice echoing throughout the night. Hiro’s eyes widened and she turned to Korra, who was also shocked at the news. “Rest assured that I will not take revenge on the peaceful citizens of Zaofu, unless your remaining representatives meet me outside the city at dawn to offer the full and unconditional surrender of your city. That is all.”

The loudspeaker cut out and they heard Opal calling for Korra’s name on the ground. Both of them clamored down the ladder to the other three at the steps.

“Korra! Korra, you can't let Kuvira get away with this! We have to go break out Mom and my brothers!” Opal pleaded.

“I agree. There’s no telling what Kuvira will do to them,” Hiro chimed.

“What you need is sleep ,” Baatar commanded from next to her. His voice made Hiro jump. He had been so quiet ever since Su and the twins left that it surprised her.

“But-”

“No,” he firmly said, gripping both of her shoulders. “You’ve worked nonstop ever since you got here last night. You need to rest. That’s an order.”

Hiro sighed, but knew better than to argue. And now that he had mentioned it, Hiro could feel her body calling out for a bed.

“I’ll wake you up tomorrow once everyone is home safe,” Baatar reassured. Hiro bit the inside of her cheek anxiously. Korra put a hand on her shoulder and she turned to face the Avatar.

“Jinora, Opal, and I will go talk to Kuvira at dawn, and, maybe, we can work something out. I promise, I'll do everything I can to keep the peace,” Korra comforted. Hiro nodded hesitantly before heading into the house, walking past Huan, Meelo and Ikki as she did.

She didn’t even have time to process her anxiety because as soon as she hit her bed, she knocked out right away.

---

Kuvira was enjoying herself more than she thought she would. She’s been planning on the Avatar’s return, but didn’t expect her to be so weak. Granted, Korra looked like shit in Kuvira’s opinion, with the peasant Earth Kingdom attire and frizzy hair. This definitely wasn’t the same Avatar she saved all those years ago in Zaofu from the Red Lotus. No, the girl in front of her now was sloppy and tried to fight with guttural strength than actual tact or thought.

Kuvira was always a gifted fighter. It’s how she moved up ranks with Suyin’s guards so quickly. She was one of the youngest guards ever to be promoted Captain in Zaofu and was wildly talented from a young age. Some even considered her one of the best metal benders of her time. She dedicated a lot of her youth to training and improving her gifted skillset. Although she trained under Suyin, who studied a more progressive and newer form of bending, Kuvira spent a lot of time studying old techniques as well. She kept herself grounded and alert, while also making sure to have complete awareness and control of her surroundings.

Not one foot out of line. Not one rock out of place. It was all about control.

For her, she expected more from Korra. Even with all four elements at her disposal, she could still barely land a decent hit on the Great Uniter. It was sad to watch really, but for Kuvira, it just drove her ego up. Here she was sparring with the Avatar, master of all four elements, and she barely broke a sweat.

Dare she say it, she was having fun.

“Come on, Avatar, get up! Show me what you've got!” she challenged smugly.

“No! Stay back!” Korra groaned, directing her attention to Opal standing behind Kuvira. “I can handle this.”

It made her even more confident knowing Opal was behind her, unable to help the Avatar. Who’s powerless now?

Kuvira got back in her fighting stance, eager for more. This is what got her blood pumping. This was what she was always good at. And she finally had an opponent worthy enough for her full strength as a metalbender.

Korra sent a fire punch right at Kuvira’s head, who dodged and countered the attack. Her body moved fluidly as she bent the ground at Korra’s feet, turning her around and putting her off balance. Korra counters and tries bending a chunk of earth back at Kuvira, but is met with a metal plate around her ankle. Kuvira throws her like a rag doll midair and to the ground a few yards away. She can hear her soldiers cheering after her.

“You have to go into the Avatar State! Do it !” Suyin commands from her platinum prison.

Kuvira is already lunging towards Korra, when she sees her eyes glow white and is propelled back by a gust of wind. The blast knocks the breath out of her and she groans, skidding across the earth and trying to regain her footing. Korra who’s now in the Avatar state is much quicker now and leaps towards Kuvira, landing right in front of her before sending another gust to push her back even further.

Kuvira is thrown back across the ground, her body groaning in pain from the sudden force. She feels her hair come out from its neat bun. It takes her a moment to make out her blurry vision, but when it clears, she looks up and sees Korra risen from the ground in an air spout. A giant boulder above her is about to crush her and Kuvira braces for the impact. Everything is moving too fast and the boulder is too big even for her to counter.

This was it. This was going to be her end

Suddenly, Korra fell out of the Avatar state, the boulder falling hopelessly next to her as Kuvira got on her feet. Korra had just tried to kill her under Suyin’s command. There was no turning back from that. It was now or never.

“I knew you were weak.” Kuvira shoots out two more metal bands and suspends Korra in the air by her wrists as she is getting ready for another attack. She smiles wickedly and sends Korra straight to the ground and trapping all but her head in a mound of earth. Kuvira stalks up to her, still trying to regain her breath as she releases six metal cuffs from her uniform. She bends them each to have a razor’s edge. This was it. This will show everyone that she should be taken seriously. That it wasn’t the monarchy or some stupid prince who saved the Earth Kingdom. It was all her. And she was going to make an example of Korra to begin the new era of her rule of the Earth Empire. I will prove to them that I will not be pushed around.

As she gets ready to end it, a squall of air sends her flying back towards her army. She grunts as she lands harshly on her back and two of her soldiers help her to her feet. Her eyes land on the airbenders and she scowls.

“You broke our agreement! Attack!”

---

Hours passed, but Hiro didn’t even feel like she slept an hour. When she woke up the sun was up and shining through the window of the guest room. Dawn. It was way past dawn now.

She flung herself out of bed, realizing that Baatar never came to get her. Which only meant that Su and the twins never returned. Her heart was racing as she sprinted down the empty hallways, trying to find someone. Zaofu was unusually quiet this morning, which only made her nausea grow.

Hiro burst through the main doors and saw Ikki and Meelo flying on to Pepper, the flying bison. Baatar Sr and Huan were also there, opening the dome for them to fly out of.

“Wait! Let me go with you!” Hiro shouted. Everyone was surprised. She had only been asleep for a few hours and no one was planning on waking her for a while.

“Uh no can do m’am. We’re going over enemy lines,” Meelo huffed. Ikki had the reins in her hands and was ready to take off. The motion drove Hiro to a panic.

“Please, I can help!” Hiro tried to push her way towards them, but Baatar held her back. 

“You can’t leave Hiro, it’s too dangerous,” Baatar Sr said worriedly. “You need to stay here in Zaofu with us, you can’t risk getting captured. We can still save Zaofu.”

“No! We can’t.” His eyes widened at Hiro’s confession. Zaofu was a lost cause. They were going to be sitting here waiting to be taken by Kuvira. There was nothing left here for Hiro to do. She wet her lips and looked him dead in the eye. “Listen, I think...I think I can talk to her.”

“What?”

“Call me crazy, but I think I can get through to Kuvira.” “What do you mean?” Ikki inquired, her attention piquing at Hiro’s confession. “I don’t know exactly. But yesterday, she said something to me. I can save everyone if I can just sit down and talk to her.” She left out the part about Kuvira’s fixation on Hiro joining the Empire. She knew she could use herself as leverage if it came down to it.

But there was also something else on her mind ever since her conversation with Korra last night. Kuvira was power hungry and letting the control get to her. However their interaction yesterday showed a bit of humanity from Kuvira and Hiro couldn’t put a finger on the anxious feeling she had until now.

There was hope. Suyin was wrong. There was something still redeemable in Kuvira. It was small and Hiro could barely make it out, but when she looked into Kuvira’s eyes yesterday, she swore she could see it. Fear . And fear meant that Kuvira was holding something back: a weakness. If Hiro could find Kuvira’s weakness, then maybe, maybe , she could save the Earth Kingdom. And possibly even save Kuvira from herself.

Ikki and Meelo exchanged concerned looks before Ikki turned to her.

“Hurry, hop on.” Hiro did as she was instructed and climbed on to Pepper. She looked down at Baatar and Huan with sadness in her eyes. She could see how grief stricken Baatar was. Huan was all that was left of their children. That look he gave her of utter defeat, made her solidify her decision. She may not have been able to save Zaofu, but she was going to save everyone. Even if that meant throwing herself in front of her dictator ex-fiance to do it.

---

Chaos ensued. Opal and Jinora tried to keep a steady tornado to push the army back. They were able to throw back the front lines and keep them from advancing. Kuvira struggles against the wind, but manages to gain her footing enough to shoot two metal plates out at Opal, successfully handcuffing her wrists together. Opal falls to the ground in surprise at her new restraints.

“Opal!” Jinora only has time to react before she’s also restrained by Kuvira’s metal bands. The army behind her is still struggling to get back in formation when Kuvira walks up to the three of them. Her hair is an utter mess now, but she couldn’t care less. She leers down at the airbenders with distaste.

“I have to say, you both are strong to keep my army back, but not strong enough,” she taunts.

“Dive Pepper, dive!” Kuvira turns her attention above to the flying bison coming down. On it she sees two airbenders and… “Hiro?”

It comes out in a whisper and she shakes her head, focusing on the three captured before her. She releases more sharp metal from her uniform, directing them on Jinora, Opal and Korra. Her attention is drawn to Korra, who seems to be coming from her earth prison.

“Any closer and I take them out, right now,” Kuvira threatened. Ikki gripped the reins tighter on Pepper, causing them to stop midair. Below them the army was almost all put together again, getting ready to storm Zaofu and the three prisoners. “Hold, we don’t want to aggravate the air nation,” she turns her attention to the people on the bison, “These two interfered  during a peace treaty, therefore considered terrorists to the Earth Empire. They will be taken and punished accordingly.”

Hiro looked on in horror between Meelo and Ikki. They were two kids, and even though they knew how to kick ass, this was beyond them. She could see them struggling with what to do. On one hand if they tried saving Jinora, Opal and Korra, Kuvira could kill them in an instant. But they couldn’t just fly back from their mission without Korra and their sister. It was a choice that needed to be made and Hiro only had a second to think before reacting herself.

“Kuvira!”

---

“Kuvira! Please stop this!” Hiro begged. Kuvira barely glanced at her, ready to turn around and leave the Avatar and airbenders for her soldiers to take care of. She needed to head into Zaofu herself if she wanted to claim a true victory. “If you let them go, I’ll go with you willingly!”

That made Kuvira hesitate. Hiro now had her full attention and Hiro noticed. The army around them were antsy, the tension in the air was bursting at the seams. Kuvira knew Hiro could only get a few words in before everything fell apart.

“Now why would I want that?” Kuvira teased. 

“You know I created the best security systems for Zaofu and for you back in Ba Sing Se. I know how the security systems work and how to make them better, better than Baatar or Varrick. I could take the Earth Empire to newer heights than you could’ve ever imagined.” The words spilled out of Hiro so fast she had to gasp at the end to catch her breath as she heaved. All four airbenders looked on at her in shock and Korra had just regained consciousness at Hiro’s speech. She didn’t take her eyes off of Kuvira for a second though.

Kuvira was impressed. Sure she could easily take Hiro forcibly right now and take that sky bison and Airbenders with them for interfering with international affairs. But Kuvira also needed to think of the bigger picture. If she was going to continue ruling the Earth Empire, she had to show at least some compassion as a leader. Already people were saying she was too harsh and cruel of a ruler to the Earth citizens. She used her military strength as a weapon often to get what she wanted. It was easy to make people obey when they were put in tight positions.

But she already wasn’t popular with the United Republic. It didn’t let Kuvira go by that she had air benders in her clutches. It wouldn’t be good to have a second large enemy like the Air Nation, especially after seeing their strength with only two of them. No, Kuvira was going to be smart about this and as diplomatic as she could be.

“Hiro, no!” Suyin cried, but she was ignored. Hiro motioned for Ikki to land Pepper, who did so hesitantly. Kuvira didn’t react at first, but simply watched as Hiro climbed down from the bison and held both arms up in surrender.

“You’ve got a deal. The Avatar and airbenders are free to go.” Kuvira returns all her metal razors back to her uniform and unbends the earth from Korra who fell to the ground immediately. Jinora and Opal rushed to her side, trying to get her on Pepper as quickly as possible.

Hiro’s eyes widened.

“What about Suyin, Wing and Wei?” Her eyes traveled nervously to the trio in their platinum boxes. They had been stunned by her appearance into silence, unable to even think of words to react to what was happening. 

“It’d be foolish of me to let go the previous leader of Zaofu who has been trying to overthrow my empire, go. And her assault team who tried to attack me in the middle of the night while I was asleep. They stay, and that’s final.” Kuvira motioned for her soldiers to advance on to Hiro. Two of them flanked her as she walked towards Kuvira. “I have no issues with the Air Nation or the Avatar. She wanted to fight me, so we did, and the airbenders attacked me during a truce. I think I’m being more than fair here.”

“Cut the bullshit. You knew what you were doing.” Kuvira’s lip quirked upwards before turning back to the sky bison and the individuals on it, looking on in horror.

“You might want to get going,” she instructed. “Make sure to tell Master Tenzin and President Raiko, that this was a gift from me. Don’t take it for granted.” She gave an extra devious smile to Opal who could only glare down back at her as the bison took off into the air. She turned to her army still anxiously waiting for their next orders. Kuvira thrusts her arm in the air in victory a wide smile embellished on her lips.

“Zaofu is ours!” The army cheers alongside as the dust clears from the airbender’s tornado. She turns to Hiro who has been led to stand directly in front of her now. She’s still on her high as she looks at the other metalbender triumphantly. “Oh Hiro. It’s good to be home.”

---

“I think Su should do something about this.” Kuvira had her head upside down and was drying her hair vigorously with a towel. “What do you mean?” she asked groggily, sleepy from their bath. She lay cuddled on her side of the bed, waiting for Kuvira. “The Earth Kingdom is in ruins. Master Tenzin and President Raiko are coming tomorrow and I’m assuming it’s to ask Suyin for help.” Hiro nodded, listening carefully. Kuvira had been keeping up with the news closely from around the Earth Kingdom. The only province that wasn’t thrown in chaos was Zaofu and technically they were a separate entity from the rest of the nation. It seemed like everyday they were getting more distress messages from neighboring villages and towns asking for food and resources. They tried their best, but could only do so much given the circumstances. Bandits had sprung up and were invading smaller towns and the kingdom seemed to have fallen overnight. It seemed like no matter how many messages or pleas they got, Suyin stayed neutral much to Kuvira’s annoyance.

“Things are rough out there. We’re lucky we’re safe here, in Zaofu.” Kuvira snorted at Hiro’s quite ignorant response. She flipped her head back and let her hair cascaded down her back. It was still quite damp, but she couldn’t be bothered. It was always such a bitch to dry. Maybe Hiro was right...she did need a haircut. “But does that bother you? We’re lucky but what about everyone else?” Kuvira threw the towel in a laundry bin before climbing into bed next to Hiro. She lay facing the other girl, who was looking at her curiously.

“Why is this on your mind so much?” Hiro inquired.

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t like seeing people hurting when I know we could be doing something...that I could be helping them.”

“It doesn’t always have to be about you darling,” Hiro sighed. She reached over and squeezed Kuvira’s shoulder. She was careful though, knowing it was still sore. Her thick eyebrows knit in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you don’t need to always be at the front of the fight. You already do so much for us, for the Metal Clan. Isn’t that enough?” “But there’s a whole country of people out there starving and dying!” Hiro was surprised when Kuvira raised her voice. “All Suyin and the Metal Clan do is protect their own.” Hiro caught the tone of bitterness in her voice.

“Why are you getting mad at me for this?” she asked carefully. “I’m not!” Kuvira tugged away, making Hiro’s hand drop between them. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Well it seems like you are!” Hiro huffed. She leaned up on an elbow, trying to make Kuvira look at her, but her eyes were glued to the ceiling. She was trying to search it for the answers. There just had to be something more to life than just sitting in Zaofu. It seemed like this was something calling for her to do.

“You should be upset. This isn’t about you or me or Zaofu. It’s...it’s about everyone.” The realization was clear in her voice as she struggled to pull her thoughts together. It had been weighing on her mind now, this feeling of dissatisfaction and guilt building inside her. Who was she to be living comfy when the rest of the world was suffering? “And from what it seems, the Avatar is out of commission for who knows how long.”

Everyone knew that Avatar Korra needed time to recover after the final battle with the Red Lotus. Kuvira had been on the front lines for that fight. She saw the beating that Korra took from Zaheer and his team. Rumors are that she’s gone back home to the Southern Water Tribe to recover, probably with the help of Katara. Who knows when she’d be well enough to return to her Avatar duties? Or if she even realizes how the rest of the world is falling apart without her? Kuvira didn’t blame her, but without the Avatar or any real leadership, someone needed to step up.

“So that’s what you think? You’re trying to be the Avatar and take on the responsibility of the world now?” Hiro asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Is that wrong? I don’t see you doing anything to help.”

“Because it’s not my job. My life is here with you in Zaofu and the technology I work with everyday. Being with you is enough for me,” Hiro sighed. Clearly annoyed, she turned on her side with her back facing Kuvira. But her ears perked up to Hiro’s words and now she was the one sat up and staring at her partner’s back.

“What does that mean?” The familiarity of the conversation shifted and Kuvira clenched her jaw, knowing what was coming next. “I’m not doing this again.”

“No you already started, so say it,” she urged.

Hiro exhaled, already regretting opening this can of problems once again. She sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. She stayed seated on the edge of the bed with her back to Kuvira.

“You just can’t sit still Kuvira.” Hiro’s voice was laced with disappointment, which made Kuvira’s heart sink. The last thing she wanted was Hiro to be disappointed in her, her biggest advocate. “I love how passionate you are, about your people and your job, but it’s hard to keep up with. I’m not you. I don’t move as fast or make quick spur of the moment decisions. It’s not easy for me. Sometimes it just feels like our life isn’t enough for you that you have to make up for it by doing reckless things.”

“Sorry it’s such a problem for you,” she bit back. She let the sadness creep into her voice and she could feel the anger bubbling down to her hands from her heart. “If I’m such a burden then why are you with me then?”

Hiro turned to look at her, face as hard as stone. She was wide awake now and pissed. Their gentle loving bath from earlier was completely erased from both of their minds.

“See! This is what I don’t want to do! You take something I say and take it to the extreme!” Hiro fell back on the bed and ran a hand over her face.

“You’ve said enough.” Kuvira pushed the covers off of her and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

She didn’t respond, she just left their bedroom. Maybe she’d go to the gym and hit something or find a sizable rock to launch in the courtyard. Wherever she decided to go, it was better than being insulted by her own fiance.

[jj-lynn21]

Santa’s favorite Elf Part 2:  Ch 2: Lovers to Friends

Santa’s fav elf ch 1, Santa’s fav elf ch 2, Santa’s fav elf ch 3, Santa’s fav elf ch 4, Santa’s fav Elf Part 2 ch 1, ch 2, ch 3

tagging follows that read most of my works: @dragsraksllib  @loomiz @sunshineandskarsgards @hornyhetero   @skarsgard-daydreams @flowers-in-your-hayr @waywardtigersandwich,  @girlinthecorner @super-pink-a-palouza ,screechingexpertpruneneck

Warnings: a little bit of angst, lots of fluff

When you stepped off the plane at Nuuk airport in Greenland you looked around only a second before getting pushed forward by others in a hurry to get to their destinations. The terminal was warmer than the fireezing hallway from the plane. You unzipped your coat so you would not get to over heated. The smell of Cinnabon and Starbucks was tempted, but you just wanted to get to your destination. When you headed down for your luggage that is when you saw the burly guy in a suit holding a sign with your name. You grabbed your luggage making your way to him.  

“That’s me.” You smiled at your driver.

“I’ll get your luggage Miss.” He took your extra large black with pink polka dot suitcase. “Just follow me to the white SUV.”

“Thank you, Joe.” You saw his name displayed in white on his breast pocket of his black jacket. When you left the building, you noticed snow was clinging to the mountains. “Wow.” You murmured mostly to yourself.

“it is a breath-taking site, especially if you have not seen it before.” Joe put your suitcase down to open the back door of the SUV.

“It truly is.” You were still memorized by it as you got in.  

“Kind of takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”

You look over as Joe closes the door. “Bill?” You light up like the multi-color light around the building. “I didn’t expect to see you until maybe on set tomorrow morning.”

“I said I missed you.” He smiled sliding his arm around behind you resting his large hand right above your breast. “

“I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous of me to make sure they booked us one cabin?”

“You think you can put up with me a whole week?” You giggled staring into his emerald gaze.

Bill’s free hand took your hat off. He ran his warm hand over your cold cheek. “I really want to get to know you better, käraste. He played with your fingers. “ I also want  people to know you got this job because you were great in the first one. I had nothing to do with it. Candy Winterblows bringing Santa back was the screen writer’s idea and everyone loved it. They were really hoping you would comeback, so they didn’t have to change anything they thought was significant. The press might not twist it that way if they know we are so close. I know it seems like a bunch of shit, but I don’t want to hurt your career before it starts.”

“You are right about something.” You smirked. “It does sound like a bunch of shit. I did not expect to be with you ever again when I said what I said in the interviews. I hope you didn’t think it all meant nothing to me.”

“Not at all.” He kept his eyes on you the whole time and his hand with yours. “I appreciated you not saying anything about us. That is how I know I can really trust you. I thought I could but after how graciously you took questions I know for sure. Can we try to keep in touch after this filming?”

You looked down for only a second when Joe opened the door. You didn’t even realize the vehicle had stopped. You stepped out to see the cabin like look of the hotel. Brown and tan beams crisscrossed the door. It truly looked like the rest was made of logs. Bill stepped out after you. Joe followed you inside. Being just a little taller and a lot wider he easily shielded Bill from prying eyes as Bill checked in at the desk. Bill also asked the desk clerk if she could send two steak dinners to his room.  

Joe escorted you back to the SUV to drive to your private cabin. It looked so cute from the outside more like a tent than a cabin. It was even better when you stepped inside. The roof that looked like a tent was a partially glass roof that could be covered with a switch of a switch. But who would want to with the inspiring view of the aurora borealis. Your mouth just hung open. Your eyes wide at the site you had only scene in movies.  

“Thank you, Joe. We will need a 5 a.m. pick up.”  

Joe tipped his driver’s hat and left.

Bill came up behind you resting his hands on your shoulders. “You like it?”

You turn reaching your arms around his waist. “I love it.”  

He tilted your head up a little more and went in for a kiss that curled your toes. His lips were still lingering on yours as someone knocked on the door.  

“Go freshen up, käraste.” He waited until you disappeared into the bathroom with your suitcase to open the door. Even though he was booked into cabin large enough for two he never added your name. No need to leave a trail to get people talking about more than the movie.

He was already thinking about how and when to make your relationship more public in the coming months. Although he wanted to slow thing down so he could decide if what he was feeling wasn’t just a memory blown out of proportion by distance.  Bill was not one to share his personal life with the masses, but something simple to remind people he thought of himself as taken would be beneficial before some tabloid made them look bad.  

“Here you go, Sir.” Bill stepped back to let the delivery person put the covered plates on the table. “Will you be needing anything else tonight?”  

“I’m fine.” He slipped the guy a nice big tip showing him to the door. “Call me Bill. Thank you, Johan.”  

“Thank you, Bill.” The man wheeled the empty cart away as Bill shut the door.   

You turn the water in the shower on hot to warm your cold skin. There was a button next to the light switch to heat the whole room up like a sauna. It felt relaxing to just let the hot spray beat down on your neck for a few seconds before washing with your favorite body wash you brought from home. It might have felt like winter in Greenland, but you smelled like the beach. You considered Coconut and pineapple your signature scent. You threw on some red lacy under garments and a casual dress for dinner. Bill was in jean and a powder blue sweater, so you didn’t want to over dress.  

You walked out with a smile. He removed the silver domes over the food. That is when the aroma of the seared meat with baked potatoes and mixed vegetables hit your nose.  

“Mmm, smells and looks great.” You marveled.  

Bill licked his lips as he sat down. “It was a long travel day. I would guess longer for you.”

“Yes, 8 hours with going through security.” You reached for the glass of red wine he poured you. You started eating.

Bill started eating. There was some nervous silence in the room for what seemed like longer than it was really. The last time you were together for a film it was a blur of lust and working. You told yourself it would be normal to think of everything before. To wonder if this was just another fling to him that happened to be with someone he hooked up with before so knew how compatible your bodies were. That was why he surprised you with what he said next.  

“I think we should just relax after dinner, käraste.” He sipped his wine. “Tomorrow we both have early costume fittings.”

You shot him a flirty smile. “We can snuggle on the couch if that is all you to do.”

He swallowed hard. “Part of me wants to clear this table and take you hard and fast.” He shook his head like he was shaking the thought away. “I vowed to treat you better. I want...”

You reach over to take his hand looking into his sincere gaze.  

“I want to treat you better.” He stood not able to make eye contact as he spoke the words he had been practicing. “You deserve more than a fuck party for a week. I want to show you there is more to me than my cock.”

“Of course there is, Bill.” You watched him pace. “I never thought you mistreated me. I never thought of you as just a sexual object. I did think it was a fling because of being snowed in especially when I never asked for your number or you mine. I had heard such things happen on sets.”

“I don’t want to be that fucking guy.” He spit the words like they tasted awful in his mouth. “What do you say we step back and really get to know each other. Become friends before moving on to more?”

“If that is what you want.” You tried not to look or sound disappointed as you took a deep breath. “Friends.” You put on a smile.  

Bill sat down. “I didn’t even ask you what you wanted for dinner tonight. I’m sorry.”

“It's fine.” You took another small bite of steak. “I don’t eat red meat a lot but steak is fine once in a while like tonight.”

“What would have you rather had?” He took a large bite.

“This is great Bill.” You sipped your wine. “I eat more chicken. Obviously I like what you ordered. My steak is almost gone.”

“You wouldn’t just eat it for me, would you?”

“No.” You said flatly.  

“How about pasta?”

“I love pasta.” You smiled for real. “I could eat it every day.”

Bill chuckled. “Me to. I will have them get me a few things to make you a pasta dinner.”

“You cook?” Your eyes went wide with surprise.

“I sure do.” He ate the last of his steak. “I enjoy it really. I will cook you Sunday brunch if they can get me everything I need by then.”

“I would love that.” You are curious if he can really cook. You know some men can but you have never met any that could really cook. And there was one more thing nawing on you. “So, friend what about the one bed?”

Bill shrugged. “What about it? We can just sleep in the same bed without fucking tonight unless you are uncomfortable with that. In Sweden it's no big deal.”

“That’s fine.” You fished your meal. “I want to learn more about your country.”

“That is awsome.” Bill was genuinely excited you were interested. “But we should get some sleep. Four am wake up tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I know but I think it will be fun.”

“Should be a great day.”

[wintaejk]

Jungkook’s FIC REC | OS 2

I had too many links on the other post. Here is the second part of my Jungkook’s fic rec but with others themes.

Again, all those fictions belong to the amazing authors who wrote them, not me. I want to thank them once more. 

(f) = fluff

(a) = angst

(m) = mature

magical au

— Trick or Treat: Howling for You (F) (M) — by @fortunexkookie​

The way your Little Red Riding Hood costume lured over a fuckboy in a half-assed werewolf costume was a little cliche, but god damn was he beautiful. He promised he had plenty of big things to show you, and you took him up on the offer, not realizing that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

werewolf au | established relationship | +14k

— rottenfolk (M) — by @junqkook​

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

faerie au | royalty au | +13k

Commentary - If there’s only one one-shot I could recommend you to read of all tumblr, it would probably be this one. For me, it is rare to acheive such a level of mastery in fantasy fictions. Writing is already complicated, but when you have to place the readers in an unknown universe, it is even harder.                         However, the real brilliance of this story is the end. Because the end is supposed to satiate the reader in a way or another, it is supposed to offer what all the reader craved: a sort of closure. But here we all are, waiting for a sequel, because this story will make you want a next episode. And that is the brilliance, because you will surely never forget a story with that kind of power.                         So those are some of the reasons why this fiction is for me a mix of art, smartness and excellence ; and also why you would be missing something huge by not reading it.

— overdrive (M) — by @junqkook​

you thought meeting jungkook was just a coincidence, but the universe didn’t deal in coincidences.

vampire au | soulmate au | enemies to lovers | +13k

— Crescent Bound - Jungkook (F) (M) — by @parkhabits​

A pact bound by the moon. A secret kept only amongst themselves. Each of them experiencing their own cycles of heat.

werewolf au | friends to lovers | +12k

— Room 109 (M) — by @lavishedinjimin​

Having Jungkook as your apartment buddy was a lot to get used to. But with one early day, your heat comes up much stronger than usual, and you were desperate for an alpha’s touch.

werewolf au | roommate au | alpha!jungkook | +6k

— after dark (M) — by @seokoloqy​

Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart.

vampire au | royalty au | knight!jungkook | +8k

— Life’s Blood (F) (A) (M) — by @littlenoona​

You produce blood cells at an increased rate when blood is lost, effectively, you cannot bleed out. This ability has served you well so far, even gaining you a rare friend, and you’ve made it your source of income, but it also has its downsides, one of which you’ve managed to avoid successfully, until now.

vampire au | +13k

— you come in waves (A) (M) — by @angelguk​

if jeongguk had a choice, he would destroy the sun. it’s not like he needed it for warmth due to his werewolf abilities making him a scorching radiator. it would also help his heart. because you look delectable in that stupid bikini.

werewolf au | friends to lovers au | 4k

— tell me your secrets (i’m all ears) (F) — by @jinpire​

You’re not afraid of Jeon Jeongguk. Even if he’s probably some kind of bear or giant cat shifter, and just a hint of his irritation had your instincts vibrating beneath your skin like a live wire. Your thumb brushed over the plastic dome of mini-Levi’s head, taking comfort in the cartoon scowl and dead eyes, the tiny grey sticks of his 3DM gear. Small could be pretty fucking powerful too.

shifter au | college au | bunny!kook | +6k

drabbles: nooks and naps - foxie moxie (don’t pull my tail) - look before you leap  - fluffles and kerfuffles

— Pomegranate Seeds (M) — by @taetaebaepsae​

Jungkook thinks he’s found the perfect new roommate, but little doesn’t he know you’re just aching to corrupt him.

demon au | roommate au | virgin!jungkook | +4k

other themes

— Every Kind of Way (F) (M) — by @taehyungforreal​

{Three little vignettes, three completely different experiences, same perfectly wonderful boyfriend JK.}

strangers to lovers  | established relationship  | +14k

Commentary - I remember when this fiction was posted. I read the teaser a few days before, and I was waiting for it. I remember the exact date of the release of this story, and let me tell you it never happens to me. But this is how much I liked this story. This masterpiece.                         This fiction is 95% made of smut. This is a warning if you don’t like that. However, what I like about Ashley’s works is that smut is not only smut (okay, sometimes it’s just pure filth but whatever). It’s not the first time I’ve read a piece of work of her and that I’ve been so thankful of reading her. Because the stories she writes are realistic. Sex is not always perfect. Sex is not always like in porn. Sex can be embarrassing. And this is why I love what Ashley writes, because she always have that realistic point of view on life. And sometimes it’s also nice to not turn everything into porn.                          What is very likeable - I said likeable? I meant loveable, sorry - about that story is also the three different stages of the relation of Jk and reader. This is also something I like about her writings. Life evolves, relationships evolve, and so does sex. So in this story, you will experience three different Jungkook. And it’s three reasons why you should read this fiction, three reasons why you will probably love it.                          One thing is sure, this chef-d’oeuvre will leave you wondering if your eyes have been burnt by the smuttiness or blessed by all the talent of this writer.

— tattooed two (ft. kth) (F) (M) — by @httpjeon​

your boyfriend’s best friend joins you for a night you’ll never forget.

tattoo artist au | established relationship  | poly au  | +8k

— Inkling (A) (M) — by @gguksgalaxy​

Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

tattoo artist au  | +17k

— Freak-quency (M) — by @taehyungforreal​

His eyes sparkle and he fights back a smile when he asks you why. “Is it because I didn’t give you something else to swallow like I said I would,” he questions, halfway through a much less subtle adjustment of his growing erection. Yoongi was right, he wants to be in trouble.

rockstar au  | established relationship  | +8k

— Boots (M) —

3000+ words of Ashley kinking on Jungkook’s boot. That’s it.

rockstar au  | established relationship  | part of Freak-quency  | +3k

— Heartbreaker with a Heart of Gold (A) (M) — by @filmflowersbangtan​

It was around this time almost three years ago when Jungkook moved to LA after his band got signed to a famous record label. He told you that he’d keep in contact with you. That he’d visit as much as he could. That he loved you. But about a month after leaving, he stopped texting and calling as much. And then a mere week after the band’s first EP dropped, Burning Rabbit was a sensation.

rocksatr au | ex lovers  | +3k

— Brother’s best friend (M) — by @lavishedinjimin​

In which Y/n owns a smut blog dedicated to her crush and brother’s best friend, jungkook. it was all fun and games until he finds out about it and acts it out with you.

brother’s best friend!jungkook  | +5k

— Sugarplum Elegy (F) (A) (M) — by @bymoonchild​

You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while.

friends with benefits  | college au  | idiots to lovers | +17k

— The Kids Aren’t Alright (F) (A) (M) — by @sketchguk​

Sneaking around with Jeongguk during your Christian retreat is complicated when you’re both dedicated to your jobs as co-youth group counselors at your father’s ministry.

friends with benefits  | pastor’s kid!reader  | +10k

— Gym (F) (M) — by @hobiwonder​

Jungkook has a crush on you and has been watching you work out at his gym. One day you finally confront his obvious crush.

business woman!reader  | fratboy!jungkook  | older reader | +8k

— Gravity Check (M) — by @gimmesumsuga​

The one where Jungkook is your oh-so-handsome climbing instructor.

climbing instructors!jungkook  | strangers to lovers  | 14k

— The Monogamy Monologues (F) (M) — by @kpopfanfictrash​

The year? Some point after college. The occasion? Namjoon is getting married and the Rich Man’s Crochet Club has convened once again. Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, everyone has the same realization: Jungkook has never been in a serious relationship. In the name of all that is holy (Overwatch and booze), the club’s mission is revived. Now though, their goal is much more perilous. Now, they aim to find Jeon Jungkook a girlfriend. (Part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series)

fuckboy!jungkook  | wedding planner!reader  | strangers to lovers  | +42k

— The Virgin Volume (F) (A) (M) —

This fic exists in the RMCC universe. It takes place before RMCC and is the story of how Jungkook lost his virginity. To quote Seokjin/Namjoon: “What Jungkook doesn’t know won’t hurt him and – let’s be honest – his story is hilarious. One pump,” Seokjin laughs, sounding like a hyena. “One pump and he’s done.” // Ducking his head, Namjoon tries not to smile. “It was a rookie mistake,” he protests, defending their friend. “Jungkook was overexcited and couldn’t control himself. He got better.”

college au  | friends to lovers  | prequel to TMM  | +6k

— everlasting (A — by @kimvvantae​

being able to love the same person forever is a blessing given from the heavens. to you, however, eternity has become a curse.

reincarnation au  | 18k

— Performances (M) — by @littlenoona​

The same handsome guy has been appearing at your performances and you become more and more interested in who he is - now you’re dancing only for him, despite a hall full of people.

strangers to lovers  | professional dancer!reader  | +6k

— Matching Hearts (F) (A) — by @gukwluv​

a drunk call to your ex boyfriend leads to a night of fun adventures that make you wonder why you even split in the first place.

exes au | +3k

— locker room talk (M) — by @minnpd​

You end up having a rather heated talk with Jeon Jungkook in the locker room when he announces he has been chosen for the audition you both participated to.

dancer au | enemies to lovers | fuckboy!jungkook | +5k

— not quite lovers (M) — by @junqkook​

hiring jeon jungkook as your personal assistant happens to have more than one perk.

workplace au | friends with benefits | ceo!reader | +15k

— By Its Cover (M) — by @gimmesumsuga​

The one where Jungkook makes a very bad first impression.

workplace au | enemies to lovers | 21k

— Mind in the Gutter (F) (M) — by @kpopfanfictrash​

Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who?

workplace au | bowling au | strangers to friends to lovers | +18k

[officialotakudome]

New Post has been published on Otaku Dome | The Latest News In Anime, Manga, Gaming, Tech, and Geek Culture

New Post has been published on https://otakudome.com/wandavision-season-1-review/

WandaVision Season 1 Review

The new era of Marvel Television begins with WandaVision. Following the events of Avengers: Endgame, Wanda Maximoff has continued her grief stricken life in wake of the death of her lover Vision. With her powers ever growing Wanda takes the small town of Westview hostage to cope in a mind-binding super hero take on classic and modern sitcoms.

WandaVision is a 2021 superhero sitcom, it is produced by Marvel Studios and distributed by Walt Disney. It aired exclusively on Disney+. Season one is currently available in its entirety. 

Editor’s Note: Near complete to complete spoilers for WandaVision and the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a whole may be present within this review. 

The next stage in the Marvel Cinematic Universe begins in WandaVision.

WandaVision begins a new era for the Marvel Cinematic Universe as the first of insanely big budgeted TV series for the Disney+ platform. After the shut down of Marvel Television and incorporating it into Marvel Studios proper many were worried about the future of Marvel properties coming to the small screen. Thankfully while it’s not necessarily on traditional TV the small form Marvel content will continue in even greater heights due to Disney’s push for it’s streaming platform. And WandaVision is already a big part of that move. Acting as an homage to classic sitcoms old and modern WandaVision is a superhero trip that’s for fans of all Marvel content.

WandaVision’s consistent roller-coaster ride story keeps viewers on their toes.

THE GOOD: The series takes place sometime after Endgame. The world is still recovering from the snap reverse & the fact that time has skipped for a majority of the world. Wanda, still grieving over the loss of her lover Vision has lost control of her powers and even some of her sanity. She unknowingly uses her powers to change the small town of Westview into the image of the TV sitcoms she watched with her family as a child. Fearing her power Wanda is investigated by S.W.O.R.D a government agency meant to be the space focused version of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Monica Rambeau has a particular interest in Wanda sympathizing with her after losing her mother to cancer. Believed to be having a waning mental state Wanda changes the world design of Westview based on different eras of TV sitcoms. Wanda is eventually revealed to be mostly sane choosing Westview as her method of coping having lost Vision twice.

As the world design changes so does the storyline Wanda created for the series, including the title, aspect ratio, and cast of characters. Wanda becomes pregnant and soon gives birth to twins. Meanwhile S.W.O.R.D has been sending in agents in an effort to stop Wanda and save the citizens of Westview. But they instantly become apart of Wanda’s Westview upon entering. Even the sympathetic Rambeau becomes a victim of it. The more S.W.O.R.D. intervenes the more erratic Wanda becomes in retaliation. Rambeau eventually regains herself after escaping Westview and returning to real life. 

Vision becomes suspicious of Wanda after strange interactions with his co-workers & neighbors. The twins have also begun aging at an accelerated rate and also gain superpowers. One night Vision finally has enough and questions Wanda only for her “brother” Pedro to appear. This Pedro is in the form of the FOX’s X-Men universe, but Wanda has complete recognition of him. S.W.O.R.D ramps up it’s attack on Westview and Vision finds the exit for the altered Westview. As he attempts to escape the area, Wanda’s powers resists him and he’s nearly erased. When his son feels Vision’s pain Wanda increases the reach of the altered Westview which encases others including Darcy who was helping S.W.O.R.D. 

Vision and Darcy become apart of the rebooted Westview with slight memory loss. Vision recognizes Darcy and they work together to return to Wanda. However, the world is rejecting them causing a multitude of distracts that stop them in their tracks. Eventually regaining their memories Vision flies off to Wanda, leaving Darcy behind. Wanda feels as if she’s losing control of the world and Agatha Harkins who kidnapped the she reveals she was behind all of the chaos. Agatha reveals that she is an actual witch from the Salem trials era and wanted to absorb Wanda’s powers to control the Darkhold an ancient spell book with powerful magic. Agatha also reveals that Wanda holds the title of Scarlet Witch an ancient witch with chaos magic abilities. S.W.O.R.D unveils a man-made version of Vision which was made from the original with intent to be controlled on their command. 

As Agatha threatens the boys in front of Wanda and Vision returns only to be attacked by White Vision. A dual battle ensues between Agatha & Wanda and Vision & White Vision. After a conversation Vision returns White Vision’s memories causing him to abandon S.W.O.R.D. and fly off. Agatha & Wanda’s fight makes it to town where the citizens memories have returned. Begging Wanda to free them she complies only to stop when Vision & the boys begin to disappear. Monica who had returned to the world with her DNA changing her into a superhuman offers to help Wanda. She & the boys along with Vision fight and defeat S.W.O.R.D who were intervening. 

Agatha has released magical runes which has taken over the altered Westview. Just as it appears that Wanda has been defeated she reveals that she tricked Agatha. Taking control of Agatha’s runes Wanda transforms into the Scarlet Witch and defeats Agatha. Instead of killing Agatha she returns her to her fake Westview personality as a hostage planning to use her vast knowledge in the future. 

Head of S.W.O.R.D, Director Hayward is arrested for his actions. Monica and Agent Woo who had been trying to protect Wanda take care of clearing her name as she heads off with her family. As she releases Westview from her control she says goodbye to her family. Monica is visited by a Skrull posing as a human who invites her to the S.H.I.E.L.D station in space. Wanda studies the Darkhold in her Scarlet Witch form and suddenly hears her children crying her name.

WandaVision is a story of overcoming loss and grief.

Initially, WandaVision is rather slow paced, but picks up around episode threeish. As a fan of nearly all of the sitcoms parodied I think the series personally connects with me more than the average viewer. I was able to get all the references and inside jokes, but I can see someone who isn’t particularly a fan of even one of said sitcoms being lost & put off from the direction. Also just wanted to shout that I was shocked a bit seeing the Malcolm in the Middle repping, but happily so as it’s probably my favorite sitcom of all time. This was surprisingly laxed in action compared to previous MCU work. However, given the focus was to establish magic, multiverses, and other key Marvel elements into Phase 4 this is understandable. Though I can see the heavy focus on story & world building being a major turn off for casual MCU fans. In regards to the action, while it was there it’s what you’d expect from a big budgeted Marvel project. However, I must stress that there’s a rather large absence of it.

The twists and turns that start to unfold midway through the series is a fun ride. And WandaVision knows how to have fun with itself. Commercials were used as inside jokes and one even references Hydra. Kathryn Hahn as Agatha also kind of stole the show with her always on energy. She flourishes with the comedic villain character type. The acting as a whole is probably some of the strongest currently in the MCU.

The series features big implications for the future of Marvel Studios.

THE BAD: The series is a slow burn in such a way that you may have to take small breaks. Normally binging would be an advantage here with every episode being available. But even so it can be a turn off until about episode three or four when things really kick into place. There’s also some balancing issues with the storytelling. Like for example there’s a mailman who frequently pops up as if he’s an important character to the show like Agatha, but it goes no where. There’s a handful of times where it felt like the story went there with certain threads. Also viewers should be warned that this is lacking on action compared to previous Marvel efforts. With most of said action being restricted to the final episodes.

WandaVision is a successful first entry into the Disney+ Marvel TV era.

OVERALL THOGHTS: WandaVision isn’t perfect, but it sets up the future of the MCU in a beautiful way. Though there are a few pointless teases and some stories feeling like they were flat out dropped. Despite this, WandaVision (mostly) lives up to it’s hype. Even with some early opening hiccups for the series. Otaku Dome gives WandaVision an 80 out of 100. 

[jjyusmile]

lonely | kang hyung-gu (kino)

kang hyung-gu (kino) | lonely

pairing: bestfriend!kino x {gender-neutral} reader!

word count: 2,693

notes: best friends to lovers au! this story is inspired by kino’s song and music video ‘lonely’ because its pure and he deserves attention. i love kino and you should too :) i take requests!

here is the link to the music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSoN4v1G8Os

__________________________________

The steam rose from the idle cups of black coffee that sat between you. They served more purpose as hand warmers than they did a delicious drink. You were sat outside of a café on a set of wicker chairs opposite one another. The winter sun fell over Tokyo like a cosy blanket; the way Kino’s ears poked out under his cap made the grin that hadn’t faded since you surprised him last night even more endearing.

Everything had been planned with Hongseok and it all went smoothly, except for him being late to pick you up at Haneda airport.

[me: 21:17pm] hey seok, i’m here

[hongseokie 🤪: 21:19pm] ah shit, I uh- forgot

[me: 21:20pm] i swear to god if you’re not here in 5 minutes~ I’ll hide your chicken breasts.

[hongseokie 🤪: 21:21pm] 🗿

He turned up 25 minutes later – hot chocolate in hand with a smiling Hui in the passenger seat. It warmed your heart that you got to see the rest of the boys, as well as your best friend.

Today was their only scheduled day off, and Kino was more than excited to spend it with his best friend. Spending the morning messing about in your hotel room, it was almost sunset by the time you left to start exploring.

He broke the comfortable silence as he sang under his breath, staring into the distance of the skyline. “A day without you is so lonely.”

You giggled, your warmed hand coming to cover your mouth. It had been months since you last saw each other. Your last memory was your brother’s wedding when he had to leave halfway through to catch a flight to Thailand for the first leg of their tour. You smiled fondly at your best friend for a moment.

“Lonely indeed,” you retorted sarcastically. “What are we doing with the rest of our day then, Gu?”

He pondered exaggeratedly, a finger cupping his chin. The movement made you giggle louder. You knew what you would do. You did the same in any city you visited with Kino – wander aimlessly until you found something you liked.

Within moments, you were strolling down the streets of Shinjuku with your arm wrapped around Kino’s. Before leaving the café, he forced you to wear his oversized black ‘fxxking rabbits’ sweatshirt after you had left your hotel room in a short-sleeved shirt on a chilly day. The length of the sleeves drowned your short arms creating sweater paws that you gladly welcomed in the icy climate. Your camera hung from its straps loosely around your neck, bumping slightly against your stomach as you fell into step together.

Heading in the direction of the National Garden, you focused on how the winter sunset caught Kino’s skin with a natural glow. Under his purple NY Yankees, you noticed how the high points of his cheeks turned a rosy pink from the chill, a similar shade covering his nose. With his cosy sweatshirt now on your person, he was left in a faded beige button-up with a black t-shirt underneath loosely tucked into his dark-wash denim jeans.

He must be freezing. You snuggled in a little closer than usual, to which Kino welcomed the warmth.

Usually, silence between people would be uncomfortable, with the occasional awkward glance toward the other. But this was different. Even after months of video calls until early hours of the morning, it only seemed like yesterday he left your brother’s wedding. The silence was oddly comforting, enjoying each other’s company whilst strolling across the overpass of the highway.

“What are you thinking about?” Your thoughts formed into words before you could confirm the action, breaking the silence with his eyes trained on you.

“Nothing… For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking of anything.” You smiled at his genuine response. It had been a hectic time for Kino and the group; in the last two years, you had seen him for more than a week at only Christmas.

You were nervous to meet him this time. It wasn’t unusual for you to travel to a city to join the boys for a few days, but this time felt different.

You wanted to hold him closer than you usually would. You felt more comfortable when his attention was focused on you, rather than the girl whose attention he caught by just passing by.

With the camera focused to capture his content look, your movements went barely noticed by Kino. As you got older, you knew that your love for him had shifted; you weren’t sure when, or what moment, but absence always makes the heart grow fonder.

He turned his head at the perfect moment as the shutter clicked. His rosy features filled the frame; they complimented his joyful grin as his focus lingered on you.

“Can I try?” He removed the straps from under the hood of his sweatshirt and placed them around his own neck.

You hated being in front of the camera – it was the sole reason you took up photography in the first place. To be the one behind the lens. But the look on his face and his playful mood made you feel more at ease. Attempting to hide your face, your fists came up to shape your cheeks as they knocked against your glasses.

Enamoured by the view, Kino focused on the way your small figure glowed against the skyline behind you. The sun radiated against your skin in a way that made him feel warm. He clicked the shutter on your camera quickly before moving on.

“Kino!” you whined, “please just give it back.”

But within moments, he took out his phone to snap a shot of you, candidly walking toward him with a half-playful, half-serious look that he adored. Your hand was slightly reaching toward him to grab the camera, the sleeve completely protecting it from any sunlight. You failed to notice how that image became his wallpaper from that moment on.

“Fine, fine.” You snatched the camera back, with a playful glare toward your best friend. The look earned you a cheeky grin in return, as his arm looped around your shoulders, heading back into the direction of the Gardens.

You wandered aimlessly as usual, with occasional chatter and playfulness between you. Kino managed to persuade you to buy him Takoyaki from the friendly woman at the vendor outside of the park as you left. She complimented how happy you looked together, causing a blush to arise on your cheeks and your attempt to drag Kino away by his shirt before he says anything stupid was quick.

Before long, Kino had dragged you to a set of escalators that led to an arcade. They lit up in rainbow LED lights that turned Kino’s glowing skin from blue to pink, to orange then green. As you went up the escalator, you admired how he lifted his cap to fix his fair. Another comfortable silence surrounded you both as you looked up into the direction you were heading.

Lost in thought, Kino noticed how your hand was slightly peeking out of his sweatshirt sleeve. You felt his fingers loosely intertwine with your own, making you almost lose your balance as you stepped off the escalator. You stopped walking once you were both off the moving staircase and out of harm’s way, looking up to meeting his eyes.

“What?” he questioned, “your hands are cold.” He turned away mid-sentence, hiding his face under his cap once more.

You missed the small smile that fell on his lips as he started to drag you toward the claw machine.

He spent over twenty minutes on a single claw machine with the promise that he would win you the Eevee plush you have wanted since you were a child. The whole time, his fingers had not let go of your own. The point of contact serving as an energy and warmth booster to you both.

Kino grinned at your captivated look as you pressed your forehead to the glass with your free hand sliding down the glass dramatically. Your breath visible was against the machine as you inhaled and exhaled rhythmically. You watched as the final claw wrapped around Eevee and clung on like its life depended on it; you were frozen in place until it unhinged its clench and the plush dropped into the winner’s pit.

You squealed excitedly as Kino handed you the prize and you squeezed it with a wide grin. Your eyes crinkled genuinely making Kino’s hold on your hand grow a little bit tighter.

You continued to wander the streets throughout the evening. Coming to a stop by a small plaza covered in Christmas decorations, Kino led you under a dome of lights and stopped in the center to take a picture of you. The common occurrence of the day became a lot less daunting, especially when he turned the camera onto both of you.

You smiled fondly at the front camera lens, and noticed Kino pointed to his cheek on the screen. A flow of confidence came over you as you leant up to kiss him on the cheek, which turned his bubbly aura into a shocked, humoured one.

Giggling, your hand came up to your face to hide your slight blush.

“You’re supposed to do it like this,” Kino murmured distractedly.

He pointed to your cheek, and then the other. He moved to point to your eyes one at time, then settled for the bridge of your nose. Each spot met with a soft brush of his lips with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes that failed to go unnoticed.

His face was much closer than it had ever been to your own as he leant down to your eye level. His previous actions were a mere whisper compared to how close his nose brushed your own, and the slight feather of his breath that fell onto your lips.

Although his face serious, the mischievous glimmer had not shifted, confirming your thoughts that this really was your best friend.

His hand came up to brush your fringe that had fallen into your eyes and slowly ran his thumb against your cheek before backing away and wandering into the crowded streets once more.

It took a few moments to catch your breath before you hurried after him with new-found courage. Finding his figure wasn’t difficult after this many years of friendship, and when your hand found his from behind he barely flinched, the movement becoming more natural as the night went on.

As the sun completely disappeared and your breath had become more visible in the moonlit atmosphere, Kino pulled you into the nearest clothing store to buy more layers for you both. It wasn’t much like Kino to be materialistic, but the puffy jacket he bought you was more about his generous personality than the money. That was what you loved about him - Hyunggu had a big heart.

Alongside your black jacket, he bought himself a matching one with a white sweatshirt to go underneath. Hand in hand, you left the shop feeling warm with your layers, as well as the warmth coming from his hand wrapped around your smaller one. Throughout the night, Kino got used to holding your hand, feeling less of an urge to squeeze it to reassure him that you’re still there.

You were still there as you sipped on your milk tea. You were still there when the street performer invited him up mid-performance, earning a giggle from you.

He had become much more intimate with his touches, rather than a soft bump on the shoulder when he found you funny, he resorted to a slight boop to your nose – another endearing trait that made you want to joke all the time.

His longing gazes caught you yawning every so often, the street lights faintly accentuating your tired features. The way his sweatshirt engulfed your body looked much cuter paired with the jacket he had just bought you. Your glasses were slowly slipping down the bridge of your nose.

Sighing, Kino turned the edge of the pavement, his free hand waving down a taxi. You perked up slightly at his actions, questioning with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t even try to tell me you’re ready and raring for another walk around the block. You haven’t stopped yawning since we left the boba place.” Another boop to the nose. So, it’s not just jokes – noted.

You smiled drowsily and huddled into his side to keep warm as you waited. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as he gently caressed the nape of your neck absentmindedly.

The journey back to your hotel was silent, but the buzz that ran through your body mirrored that of Kino’s. You were tired but you knew you were far from sleep.

His hand had barely left yours all evening. This heart-warming feeling wasn’t new – he had ached to hold your hand for a long time. The subtle confidence that had awoken in both of you crossed the boundaries that were automatically set between best friends.

Despite your efforts, sleep had washed over you quickly as the warmth radiated from Kino. Without waking you, he had paid the driver and managed to carry you on his back to your hotel room. Your head rested lightly against his shoulder sending chills down his spine as your breath fanned over his neck.

Silently taking your room key out of your cross body, he stepped into the room and place you on the bed with your head on the pillow. As he went over to close the curtains and camp out on the floor, your hand subconsciously grabbed onto the hem of his jacket, pulling him back. The peaceful look that washed over your face as you realised he wasn’t going anywhere made your unconscious state even more adorable in his eyes.

Leaving the curtains open slightly, Kino lifted you up to remove your jacket and shoes while doing the same with his own. Finding a blanket in the closet, he draped it over your figure while leaving room behind you for himself.

___

You woke suddenly from your dreamy state to a slight weight on your body whilst checking the clock that faintly illuminated the room: 4:03am.

The curtains had been left open slightly with slight flashes of billboards and passing cars leaking through the slit. The weight focused around your waist as an arm wrapped a bit tighter to ensure you stayed in place.

The heat becoming unbearable, you wriggled your way out of Kino’s arms to lift the sweatshirt that you were wearing over your head and lowered the blanket to waist height before you snuggled back into bed.

A wave of confidence washed over you as you turned from your previous position to lie facing Kino. The faint lights from the window created a shadow on the left side of his face that smushed against the pillow – his styled hair now falling in tufts over his forehead.

Subconsciously, you smoothed away loose strands that fell into his eyes as you gazed at the dimples that adorned the corners of his mouth as he slept. Your actions stirred Kino awake slowly, but you didn’t bother to remove your hand from his face.

As his hand grazed your side to pull you closer, your palm fell against his cheek as your thumb rubbed against his cheekbone. His once content face shifted as his eyes began to crinkle along with a shy smile that adorned his lips. His free hand lifted to cup your own cheek and brought your face close enough so his lips could brush against your forehead.

And you remained in that position until the sun began to rise over the Shinjuku skyline, bringing a new day that welcomed the slight shift in your relationship.

Your eyes opened as the rhythmic exhales that came from Kino became more prominent. But Kino was already awake, his eyes wandering across your face trying to memorise every feature he could.

A soft smile grazed his lips. “So, I guess we should talk, huh?”

A day without you is lonely, indeed.

[seyaryminamoto]

In your opinion, what do you think is the predominant love language of Sokka and Azula? And how would they express it to each other? :)

I really don’t know much about this whole classification of love languages, if you want me to be honest xD a quick wikipedia search says it’s basically a way to break down and categorize different displays of love? And there’s five of them, apparently? I have to say frankly that, as I write them, Sokka and Azula basically do everything in that list of five languages:

Words of affirmation: one of my main must-haves in virtually any Sokkla setting, where Azula is either not redeemed or halfway there, is Sokka telling Azula she’s not a monster. As you may have noticed, that particular thing bugs Azula fans a lot, and we really wish someone would tell her she isn’t one :’D thus, one of Gladiator’s most emotional scenes in Part 1 is Azula’s mild breakdown in Ember Island where Sokka reasons with Azula’s belief of being a monster and tells her that she’s about as human as can be, and the darkness inside her isn’t anything that makes her fundamentally worse than anyone else. There’s so many scenes I could point to that feature words of affirmation they say to each other, or that they say to other people about each other *cough* look forward to chapter 187 *cough*, some of my favorites from Azula to Sokka was her reasoning for wanting to celebrate his birthday (” I've wanted to celebrate your birthday because I'm quite grateful that you were born”), as well as her later affirmation that she loves him for who he is: (”I can say, truthfully… that I love that you're a non-bender. I know it might seem strange, but… I wouldn't change anything about you"). This is without going into the ten thousand times they’ve said they love each other :’D virtually all their conversations in Part 2 end up featuring words of affirmation of one sort or another, from either of them, no matter how often they may tease each other. So... this one is pretty predominant, I suppose? 

Quality time: and see, this one happens to be Gladiator Part 2 in a nutshell. Whenever they have any time to spare (well, when Azula does, in particular), their immediate idea is to spend that free time together, in whatever capacity is possible. Outside of free time, they also work together as sponsor and gladiator, so they have their training sessions, Sokka’s fights, the events in the League... Sokka also helps her out with anything she may need (for instance, he took up a job as swordmanship teacher for the Enforcers to give Azula a hand, which still means they get to spend a bit of time together, even if she’s really busy with her new undertakings), so in the end, they spend most their time together, and they’d spend even more of it if they could. They only separate whenever they have no official justification for spending time together, such as when Sokka was still recovering from the Jeong Jeong incident, and even then they were desperate to return to each other ASAP. So... yeah, I think it’s safe to say, Gladiator-wise, they dedicate all the time they can to each other. And, as far as I’m concerned, other stories and settings could even have them spending more time together than they do in Gladiator, since there’s no Ozai breathing down their necks and threatening to kill Sokka if he finds out he’s his daughter’s secret lover. Therefore... quality time is also guaranteed.

Giving gifts: This one might be the less obvious one with Sokka and Azula, because Azula’s initial generosity (in Gladiator) answered some very specific needs: she ensured he was well fed, clothed, trained, bought him a house, found a maid for him... basically, she gave him a thousand things, but it wasn’t because she was showing she loves him, it was because she knew such things would be necessary for Sokka to offer a decent performance as a gladiator. Now then, after their initial hurdles are out of the way and their relationship has progressed, Sokka gives Azula occasional gifts but constantly struggles to come up with something she’ll genuinely cherish. He made Xin Long’s armor, he brought her flowers, he tried to cook for her, he gave her a tiny hot-air balloon, and crafted a betrothal necklace for her... he also wrote poetry, and he’ll try his hand at another artistic venture with Azula very soon. But this stuff is pretty sparse, even if Azula appreciates it a lot whenever it happens. As for Azula, she will give Sokka some pretty nice gifts very soon, just as she continues to provide for all his needs. In recent times, the gifts she’s been willing to give Sokka have been mostly non-physical ones, such as the thumbs-up she gives his crowd in his stead, once they’re leaving the Royal Dome on the day he wins against the Mad Alchemist, or ordering her Barge back into Whaletail Island’s port so Sokka could meet Katara... it’s stuff that means a lot to him, more than any physical gifts might (this, paired with the fact that Azula had offered to bring him home whenever he wished to go, without forcing him to stick to their original deal). So, maybe the gift-giving isn’t quite the classic sense of it, but it still happens in its own way. In general, I think it’s difficult for Sokka to give gifts to a Princess who basically can have it all... so that’s why he generally tries the DIY route with gifts, and so far it has paid off wonderfully because she genuinely loves everything he crafts for her. I think in most settings it’d have to be this way, and depending on Azula’s situation, she can either give him anything he wishes for or maybe resort to small but heartfelt gifts and gestures that mean a lot to the two of them.

Acts of service: this one may even tie slightly with the previous one, but frankly, as far as acts of service are concerned, these two take it the extra mile. Sokka didn’t always fight as her gladiator out of his own convictions, he started off doing it because of their deal... but as time goes by, he genuinely cherishes his role in her life and he would fight anyone for Azula’s sake, if need be. It’s, of course, a mutual thing because Azula will protect Sokka against anything, even her own father, no matter the cost. Hence, their relationship dynamics and battle couple behavior can be interpreted as acts of service for each other. Sokka, like I said before, has tried to cook for Azula too, which is a more classic act of service, as far as I can tell, and she appreciates his efforts even if not his results just yet xD in future chapters Sokka goes out of his way (in two different instances) to get lychee wine for Azula because he knows that’s the only licquor she likes, and every time he does that her heart grows twenty sizes. He also cared for her while she was sick, and she often does the same when he’s wounded, such as how she cared for him in Jeong Jeong’s arc. Sokka also tries to help her have good relations with people such as Captain Zhen, by agreeing to teach swordsmanship to his son because he hoped that would help Azula. Everything Azula did in the current Whaletail Island arc counts as well as an act of service: she’s privileging Sokka’s needs and his bond with his family well above her own needs, to the point of preparing herself to face that he might choose to stay with Katara - and she’s determined to respect his decision, if he were to make it. So, I’d say this one ranks really high, perhaps more than everything else?

Physical touch: ... but this one’s obviously a big deal too considering how damn difficult it is for them to keep their hands off each other at any given moment xD from something as innocent as walking through the Capital’s tunnels holding hands, hence, fulfilling Sokka’s wish for them to “walk through the city while holding hands”, to their very frequent intimate encounters, once these two are together they’re as good as magnets, constantly seeking contact with each other. Sokka has always struck me as a highly affectionate person once he’s with someone he genuinely loves, and so he pours that affection on Azula constantly, to the point where, in the early days of their relationship, she could barely keep up with it all. Physical touch doesn’t come quite as easily to Azula as it does to him, as she has never been someone who receives a lot of physical affection, but her attraction to Sokka has made it so she craves for him physically and on every possible level she can... therefore, despite she’s been awkward when other people show her any physical affection (often pushes Ty Lee off when Ty Lee hugs her, or remains unresponsive, barely responds to Toph’s hugs and stood limp and awkwardly the first time she did it, nearly flipped out when Ozai reached for her hand in the temple that one time, and most recently was left drawing blanks when Zuko hugged her....), she’s at ease when it’s with Sokka, so much that she welcomes his touch and everything about physical contact with him, altogether.

In short... I seriously think they do it all? You could, perhaps, rank the languages depending on which one is more predominant, to a fault xD but there’s genuinely no love language they outright don’t do, at least in Gladiator (and honestly, I doubt they don’t use all love languages in my other stories). But I guess, if you really want me to rank them...

Acts of service

Physical touch - Words of affirmation

Quality time

Gift-giving

Sorry, I really think Physical touch and Words of affirmation are virtually tied together in the story, both things tend to happen at the same time, and I really can’t bring myself to rank either thing higher, so it’s a draw. Quality time falls to #3 because they can sacrifice being together sometimes, as much as they hate doing it, but they can survive while being apart (despite Sokka would likely argue with me and say he absolutely can’t, but you know, ignore him (?)). Gift-giving, while very heartfelt and cute when it happens, is sparse, like I said... so it can stay in the last place, despite it’s still part of what they do for each other.

Is this comprehensive enough? :’D I sure hope so...

(if anyone needs me to hide this under a read more, let me know... got longer than I thought it would, woops)