#i was looking down from a window in a quaint little village and across the street was a group of ballerinas dancing that waltz where someon

[bradleysass]

Xmas Cards - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 653 - 25 Days of Jegumas

The streets of Godric’s Hollow glistened with frost, each breath forming a soft puff of mist in the air. James Potter adjusted his scarf, glancing down at his son, who was bundled up in a red coat that made him look like a tiny Gryffindor snowman.

“Alright, Harry,” James said, crouching to meet his son’s wide-eyed gaze. “We’ve got one mission: find the perfect Christmas card for your Papa Regulus. Think you’re up to it?”

Harry nodded earnestly, his messy black hair poking out from under his knitted hat. “Yes, Daddy! Papa needs the best card ever!”

James grinned and ruffled Harry’s hair. “That’s the spirit. Let’s make it happen.”

The father-son duo entered the quaint little stationery shop on the corner of the village square. The bell above the door jingled merrily as they stepped inside. The warm air was thick with the scent of parchment and pine, and festive music played softly in the background. Shelves were lined with colorful cards, glittering ribbons, and rows of shiny ornaments.

Harry immediately darted toward a display of Christmas cards, his small hands grabbing at the nearest ones. James followed, amused as his son began sorting through them with the intensity of a Quidditch Seeker.

“This one’s nice,” James said, holding up a tasteful card adorned with a snowy scene of a stag and a doe under a crescent moon. “What do you think?”

Harry scrunched up his face. “Too boring. Papa likes fun stuff!”

James chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s keep looking.”

After several minutes of browsing, Harry let out an excited squeal and held up a card. James turned to see what his son had found and burst into laughter. The card featured a cartoonishly grumpy owl wearing a Santa hat, with the words “HOOT HOOT HOLIDAY CHEER (OR WHATEVER)” emblazoned across the front in bold, glittery letters.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” James said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “Your Papa’s going to love it.”

Harry beamed. “It’s funny! Papa likes owls.”

“He does,” James agreed, taking the card and inspecting it. “Alright, let’s grab this one. Good work, kiddo.”

At the counter, Harry insisted on handing the card to the shopkeeper himself. The elderly witch behind the counter gave Harry a warm smile as she rang up their purchase.

“Getting a card for someone special?” she asked.

Harry nodded vigorously. “For my Papa! He’s the bestest ever!”

James’ heart swelled as he watched his son’s enthusiasm. “That he is,” James said, sliding a few Sickles across the counter. “And we’re going to make sure he knows it.”

With the card safely tucked away, James and Harry made their way back home, where the Christmas tree sparkled in the window. Regulus was sitting on the couch, a steaming mug of tea in hand and a contented look on his face as he read a book.

“We’re back!” James announced, ushering Harry inside.

Regulus looked up, his grey eyes lighting up at the sight of his family. “Find anything interesting?”

Harry bounded over to him, the card clutched in his hands. “Papa, we got you something!”

Regulus set his book aside and accepted the card, his lips quirking in amusement as he took in the grumpy owl on the front. “Well, this is… charming,” he said, his tone dry but his eyes warm. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry climbed onto the couch and hugged Regulus tightly. “You’re welcome, Papa! Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Regulus said, kissing the top of Harry’s head. He glanced over at James, who was leaning against the doorway with a smug grin. “Your sense of humor is rubbing off on him, you know.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” James replied, winking.

As the evening wore on, the card found its place on the mantel, front and center. It stood among other decorations, a silly yet heartfelt reminder of the love that filled their little family.

[writingchalamet]

Late Night Drives

Anon request - Ross concept : Just imagine having a long midnight drive with him. Looking at each other and wanting to say something but the both of you couldn't. The night drive continues, and you fall asleep on the car seat .He stares at you, and he softly touches your face and your hair .you get to your destination early in the morning. The both of you lay on each other under a picnic blanket while watching the sunset rise . Please do anything with that concept 🙏 Warnings: none this is fluffy as hell ☁️ wc: 1.2k (I know it's short for me, leave me alone) A/n: thank you to everyone who has put in requests, I’ll be working through them the next few days… I was listening to this playlist I made specifically to write this because I'm a nerd, but It's major comfort, autumn vibes, so give it a listen if you wanna feel all warm and cozy!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/49ZeHIMpJ4bqQKAHaatEBN?si=9476ed7e2807437b btw, it’s my birthday today 🥳 I’m big old 25!! 🥳✨

The soft hum of the radio playing, Ross’s hand gently caressing your thigh, the odd glare of passing headlights coming into your sleepy eyeline. You can hear Ross quietly singing along to the song that plays, your mind too tired to fixate on anything. You had been struggling to sleep the last few nights due to stress at work, Ross making the decision for the pair of you to take a late night, well technically early morning drive after another night of tossing and turning, to watch the sun rise.

You had been driving aimlessly for around an hour, the warm breeze of the air-con, and the blanket you had brought with you to snuggle up on coated around your top half. Lazily leaning your head to rest between the head rest and the window, the sky opened and soon enough raindrops were beating down on the windscreen, the steady drumming against the metal of the car making the scene that much more relaxing. You could feel your eyelids becoming heavier by the second, Ross's hand moving up to glide across your cheek, gently brushing stray hairs away from your face, you sigh, purely out of contentment. His fingers play with a strand of your hair for a moment, and you wonder how he can concentrate on both driving and giving you comfort t the same time, but you say nothing, the moment too perfect to be interrupted by words, meaningless ones at the most.

You have no idea when you fell asleep, what song was playing on the radio, what road you had turned down, but you had sunk further into the deep comforts of warmth, the sound of the rain, and the soft rocking of the car as it went over bumps in the road and managed to fall into a deep slumber. Ross's hand slipped back down from playing with your hair to fall into one of your hands which lay limp in your lap, gently rubbing circles and patterns absentmindedly as he focused on the road. He found his own comfort in the soft, steady breaths that fall from your mouth, lips parted as light snores exit. He can't help the smile that stretches his skin and the blush that makes him hot, even in your sleepy state, he swears he falls more deeply in love with you.

The country roads are winding, Ross has no destination in mind just letting the roads carry him, he doesn't think as he turns at junctions, just going wherever feels right. Looking at the clock on the radio he notices the sun would be rising in about an hour, enough time to find the perfect spot, he thought. He continued to drive, passing through several small villages, eventually driving up hill through a quaint little northern village, picturesque, even in darkness, he thought for a moment to wake you, knowing how much you love looking at tiny cottages with thatched roofs, and old Jacobean buildings, but he thought it best to let you sleep, you could see them when you were awake on your way back anyway. The rain had eased a little, only softly hitting the windscreen, not quite as thunderous as before. He continued up through the village, some cottages turning on their lights, the true early risers, people getting up for work, or maybe they were awake to watch the sunrise too he thought. Finally reaching the top, where lie a cliff top hanging over entire village, there weren't any cars parked, they would be alone for a moment, finding the perfect spot to park, backing into the space so the boot would face over the edge and across the village.

Ross gets out the car, moving to the back seats, putting them down laying flat, trying to be as quiet as he can, letting you sleep for a moment longer. Gathering the blankets and cushions he had brought along, positioning them meticulously in the boot, making a makeshift bed for the two of you. Checking his watch, he strides towards the passenger seat, carefully opening the door, taking in your sleeping figure once more, your eyebrows furrowing a little pout on your lips, head fully turned to the side, he chuckles to himself wondering what you were dreaming about. He can't help himself, leaning down, hand gently pressed against your warm cheek, he presses his lips against yours, softly at first, but almost out of instinct, even in your sleeping state, your body reacted to him, your lips pressing back against his. That's how your woke up, your nose engulfed in Ross's scent, his beard tickling your skin, and his smooth lips against yours, you can't help your hand automatically lifting to the back of his neck, caressing the loose hairs that had fallen from his bun. Ross smiles against your lips, realising he had woken you up, his fingers gliding along your cheek, lips brushing against yours "good morning beautiful" you reattach your lips once more before a yawn slips from your mouth, your back arching, hand leaving his neck to stretch as far as the car roof would allow. He chuckled pulling back. "Morning Rossy, where are we?"

"We're somewhere in the dales, I didn't actually see the name of the village, but it's beautiful you'll love it on the drive back down" you nod tiredly at him, unclipping your belt and joining him outside. "Jesus, it's freezing" You let out a breath, the air clouding in front of you, the cold air pinching your cheeks. "More of an excuse to cuddle then" Ross laughs at you, pulling you in close, you nuzzle into his chest, "Like I'd need an excuse" you mumble against the confinements of his soft chest. He shakes his head and pulls away taking your hand, tugging you round the side of the car. He settles down in the boot of the car, lifting up one of the blankets waiting for you to join him. "Oh you are too smooth Macdonald" you laugh sitting next to him, allowing him wrap you in the blanket, she laughs shaking his head, placing a kiss on your forehead. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, both wrapped up in blankets, sheltered from the light rain by the hood of the boot.

The scene was serene, the pair of you huddled together for warmth and comfort, occasionally sharing the odd kiss, as you awaited the sunrise together, and when it came, you had never felt more awake, no matter how exhausted you had felt the last few days, there was something about the way, Ross's arms held you close whispering sweet nothings into your ear making you giggle, while the sun peaked through the boarders of the horizon, shining light on the village bellow. Streams of light flooding through thick rain clouds, even if it was a dull moody day, for you nothing could be more perfect, watching the way sun rays shine light across farmers fields, bouncing off the rain covered grass. The both of you breathe in the fresh morning air, feeling completely and utterly serene. To any outsiders looking in, they would see the couple for what they are, in love, wrapped up in each other and the moment, no words needing to be spoken, just soft touches, subtle glances and the odd kiss, everything was perfect, just how it always would be.

[monsterfloofs]

(Not sure if these slimes will become the sentient goo being I mentioned in my rambles, but this was a cute short story and it brought me a lot of joy to write xD )

You had to admit, you had a soft spot for slimes. The bobbling rounded dewdrop creatures struck you as cute. As a young adventurer they had been daunting creatures, but as you traveled and became seasoned the less of a threat they became. However you recall even when first starting out, the jelly-like beings didn't make you feel as nervous as other more formidable creatures you knew you were going to come across along the road.

You could never really take them seriously, they wibbled and wobbled, shuffled, rolled and bounced around. Now as their attacks felt merely like burning bee stings, the antics were mostly viewed as endearing.

On the outskirts of a quaint village, right beside a sprinkling of trees that melded into a dense forest. You open up your satchel, flipping it upside down and shaking the bag until a blue jiggling mass falls out and bounces into the grass. You stoop to a crouch next to the small translucent creature, watching it ripple and undulate with the last vibrations from its fall. It's wobbling, slowing down until it rests benignly on the earth. Your hands resting on your knees.

"There you go lil buddy, back to where you belong. I still don't know how you managed to sneak into town to begin with, but I am glad you didn't end up getting trampled."

The little blue creature doesn't make any signs that it acknowledges your words, nor does it move to attack you. Simply laying by your feet, not showing any signs of stirring. You smile, thrusting a hand into your inner coat pocket and pulling out a cloth package. Slowly peeling back the fabric layers to expose a pastry you had been saving to eat later that evening. You pinch the sweet between your thumb and forefinger, careful not to touch the gooey thin film of the slime's surface, you place the treat on the top of its domed body.

"There you go. A snack for your trip."

You watch with curiosity as its skin around the pastry begins to soften, a little sucking popping sound as the treat is pulled into its nucleus and engulfed. You stand at the sound, your eyes lingering on the little creature a moment more before you turn your heels back towards the tiny town with soft yellow lights just beginning to flicker in dark windows.

The tiny slime sits, feeling your presence ebb away. A tiny gush of noise as it slurps at the pastry in its round body. It begins to ripple, then, with a determined bounce, it hops after you. Traveling a safe enough distance behind you that it remains unnoticed.

You find yourself running into this situation more and more. Once they started cropping up, they were everywhere.

"What am I, a slime whisperer?" You mumbled grumpily before raising your voice. "Hey– HEY, that's my boot!" You grapple with a peachy pink blob, pulling at your leather shoe until it dislodges with a mighty blorp! You fall backwards, grabbing a towel and trying to dab at the sticky liquids before it starts to seep into the leather and begin to digest the material.

"Comeon now, really?"

You blink as you feel another one of the blobbular beings snuggle up to you, and you freeze. Looking down at the mint green undulating mass. You hesitantly watch it, looking for signs of it trying to eat your coat before you carefully pat it with your hand. Giving the surface membrane a light smacking that makes the creature wobble like jelly on a tray. A happy sound between a chirp and a schlurp coming from it.

You realized as more started to follow you around and pester you, that the little dew drops had conscious control between how their skin acted between eating and resting. A thin clear membrane, stretching over the body of the creature was malleable enough to let foods in and stop foreign objects from getting inside them, or corroding away in water. Which was a good thing, or else you would have gained more burns than you would have liked from dealing with your new persistent entourage.

"I'm never going to be let into a respectable town again," You let yourself moan, putting on a spare pair of shoes, and then, remembering you recently wrestled a boot away from one of the blobs, you stand up and put them into a high crook of a tree, so they can dry without running the risk of being absorbed.

"Let's see," You turn around, pointing at the little creatures. "One, two. . . oh boy, where did Blue go?" The mint slime nudges at your heels from attention while the pink trundles up to the tree.

"Don't even think about it, you don't even have eyes and I know what you're looking at."

The pink one boggles at you, in response you crease your face into a comical frown and shake your head at them disapprovingly. Yes try as you might, they learned the pink one is a glutton compared to the other two, like a curious teething puppy. Well, if a puppy was a pink loaf made out of acidic goo, that is. The simile still stood strong in any case, if something appeared edible, the pink one had to try consuming it. If you weren't fast enough to catch it in the act, you had to sulkily watch whatever it had scarfed down slowly corrode away into nothingness.

"To think," You muttered in frustration, of all the monsters I could have babysit, it had to be things made out of acid. . . good grief. Yet, despite your grumblings you moved to pick up the mint slime, and it wibbled and sloshed back and forth. Pushing its form up and down like a happy sentient water puddle.

[sapphoschoices]

Penny for the Guy

Book: Desire & Decorum

Characters: Bridgette Lawrence-Foredale (D&D MC), Annabelle Parsons, Briar Daly, Edmund Marlcaster, Theresa Sutton, Harry Fordale

Relationship: D&D MC x Annabelle Parsons (minor) Briar Daly x Edmund Marlcaster, Theresa Sutton x Harry Fordale

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 840

Summary: Bridgette and her family share a bonfire night in her hometown

“Penny for the Guy!” Little John O’Malley called out across the Grovershire town square. He and Lydia were working together to push around the wheelbarrow carrying the rather crude looking Guy Fawkes effigy.

“That was us once upon a time.” Briar sighed wistfully beside Bridgette. “Simpler times."

Bridgette rolled her eyes with a smile and bumped her shoulder against Briar. “That was you. I found the whole thing silly.”

“You liar, you.” Scoffed Briar. “I distinctly remember you begging your mama to help you finish sewing our Guy when we were ten years old. Even after the late Mrs O’Malley had closed the shop.”

“Ah, but I never humiliated myself by strolling around town begging for pennies.”

“No, you just recited your favourite Shakespeare passages for the entire county to hear.” Briar retorted, just as Annabelle, Edmund, Harry and Theresa rounded the corner together.

“I'm sure that was the largest bonfire I've ever seen.” Viscountess Theresa squealed, gripping onto Harry's arm as the pair walked perfectly in step together.

“As fun as the festivities are, I do believe that little Bridgette may find that effigy rather disturbing.” Edmund shifted towards his wife, pointing at their young daughter across the village square, being watched by a Mrs Daly and jumping to peer through any window she could find, showing no signs of discomfort, much less fear.

“I wonder if our little one will be quite so curious.” Harry leant against his cane and looked lovingly at Theresa. Bridgette found it rather endearing just how much married life had clouded her younger brother's judgement, somehow managing to see the mischievous nosiness of their niece, as innocent curiosity.

“My daughter is not curious, she is nosy.” Briar corrected, shaking her head, and leaving to fetch the little girl.

“Oh yes, I do wonder where she got that from.” Bridgette rolled her eyes with fondness. “The fireworks won't be long now. Edmund, I would take Briar and your daughter to the far hill, the loud noises may disturb little Bridgette, but you should still get a good view.”

Briar returned then with her daughter in her arms. Bridgette was a small child, like her namesake, the Countess, had been. She also shared a similar wildness to the one the Countess had in her own youth.

“Where will you be going, Countess Bridgette?” Viscountess Theresa

“I have set up a surprise for my dearest.”

“Oh, I had no idea Mr Chambers was here!” She bounced on her feet excitedly, and shook Harry's arm. “Did you know, Harry?”

“Perhaps we too should join the crowd to see the fireworks?” Like an angel, Bridgette thought, Harry tactfully redirected his wife's question and took her to join the other happy people in the fields in preparation.

The Marlcasters also departed, heading for the hill Bridgette had recommended to them, on the far side of the village to avoid little Bridgette being spooked by the loud noises of the fireworks.

“What is your surprise which you have kept so secret, then?” Annabelle nudged Bridgette, finally left alone.

“You mean my surprise for my dear husband?” Bridgette joked, linking arms with Annabelle and leading her down the path towards a familiar place. “You will just have to wait and see, come along.”

It was only a short walk to the quaint little barn where the couple had spent a short evening together. It was a sweet memory the two shared during a time of horrible uncertainty.

“Oh, the barn. I fondly remember the time we spent here.” Annabelle admitted the moment that old barn entered her field of vision.

“Well, your surprise is not finished yet though. I have a treat waiting for you up in the hayloft.” Bridgette led Annabelle up the rickety ladder for the second time,

Annabelle gasped sweetly as she popped her head over the top of the hayloft. “Oh it's a beautiful little feast!”

Bridgette had laid a wide spread of various foods. There was toffee, fruits, biscuits and a pair of steaming mugs. “The toffee is from Yorkshire,” Bridgette enthusiastically explained. “And this is hot chocolate. I have never had it before, myself, though I'm sure you have. I wanted to give you some strawberries, too, but they are no longer in season.”

“It is perfect, my dear.” Annabelle pulled Bridgette to lean against her, pressing their heads together.

“Oh!” Bridgette jumped away from Annabelle. “We should even have a beautiful view of the fireworks, from here.” She jumped up, grabbing Annabelle's hand in the process, dragging her to her feet and towards a rotted gap in the barn's wooden walls.

Through the hole was a beautifully unobstructed view of the endless starry night sky. After a few minutes of waiting, and a few sneaky kisses, the pair of lovers were startled by the sudden banging noise of the first few fireworks.

After a brief moment of shock and giggles, the two settled back into each other's comfortable company, leaning against one another, watching the bright fireworks steadily littering the open sky long into the evening.

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @rosesnink

[hrefna-the-raven]

See you in Warsaw

Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

Grigori Rasputin x female reader

Words: 2578

Summary: you, dear reader, are a thaumaturge traveling through the world. As you stop in a smaller village to rest, you hear some shouting outside. Curious about the noise, you decide to take a look...

Notes: this is set before Wiktor arrives in the village where he first meets Rasputin

Reader: short female reader with curves, but no other specific descriptions are used

Part 1

As the sun began to descend in the evening sky, casting a warm golden hue over the quaint village, you found yourself yearning for a moment of tranquility. The allure of the steaming water waiting in the bathtub called out to you, promising a blissful escape from the exhaustion of the day.

Just as you were on the brink of submerging yourself in the comforting embrace of a well-deserved hot bath, sudden shouts shattered your peaceful plans. Startled, you hurried towards the window, swiftly drawing back the curtains and opening it to peer down into the dimly lit alleyway below. Little did you know that what you were about to witness in that very moment would forever alter not only the course of your evening, but quite possibly your entire life. Lying motionless on the snow-covered ground was a lone tall figure, writhing in pain. Two menacing figures, their faces shrouded in darkness, mercilessly kicked him, their nasty grunts and laughter echoing through the otherwise silent night.

Something deep within you suddenly urged you to help and before you knew it, without wasting a second thought, you climbed out of the window, lowering yourself down from the sill and landing on the pathway below. Adrenaline and excitement coursed through your veins as you took out the dagger that was hidden in your boot and pointed it at the two men, a mischievous grin spreading across your lips.

"Do you like to dance?", you joked before lunging at them.

You danced around the two men with ease, slicing through the many layers of clothes, enough to draw blood without inflicting serious harm. It was your first day in the village and the people barely accepted you given the nature of your kind, so you wouldn't want them to chase you away the following day for killing some of the local idiots. With each punch and kick, the thugs grew increasingly desperate, your years of training and fair share of fights giving you a clear advantage over two drunken farmers so, finally, their cowardice triumphed and they hastily retreated into the shadows.

You stowed away your blade in your boot and knelt beside the injured man, gently rolling him onto his back. His face, twisted with agony, was bathed in the gentle glow of a nearby streetlamp. His skin was pale stood in stark contrast to his long raven hair and the scruffy black beard, and his icy blue eyes seemed stare straight through you.

"Are you alright?", you asked, a hint of concern in your voice as you noticed the trickle of blood at the corners of his mouth.

Extending a hand to help him up, you watched as the man gratefully accepted, mustering a faint smile.

"I've been better but I've also been worse. Thank you for intervening."

Your eyes widened as the man towered before you, he was an almost intimidating figure with his size, dressed entirely in black linen and fur.

"I couldn't possibly let someone get beaten like that, I had to help", you smiled at the man and gestured for him to follow you, "I have a room at the tavern here. Please allow me to take you there and get a look at your wounds. I know a thing or two about mending wounds and I'd feel more at ease knowing you're not in harm's way."

The man chuckled at your offer but followed you nonetheless. Rasputin couldn't help the growing fascination for you bubbling within him. He knew those drunken fools would eventually have lost interest and had backed off again and he would have felt bad but no significant harm would have been done. After all, he had endured worse. Besides, this incident served as evidence that there was something peculiar about this village, just as he had suspected. And yet, out of the sky, a precious little being like you swooped down to defend and protect him. The way you moved with such beauty and grace, it reminded him of one of the God's angels, like you had been a divine force sent by the Heavens to protect a humble strannik down here on earth. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the tavern owner's harsh voice.

"I will not indulge in you bringing men up there to do God knows what! I have been generous enough to accept your kind here; you should be grateful for that!"

Rasputin's smile faltered and before he could intervene, he noticed your hand moving into your coat. He wondered whether you'd threaten the man but what happened then, mesmerised him, drawing him further into the enigma that was you.

"Don't you sense the burden of responsibility weighing on you? Too heavy to bear, dragging you down. Aren't you tired?", the tone of your voice oozing a strange allure as you delicately place a coin on the counter, nudging it towards the man, "you deserve a break. Allow me to offer you a drink, courtesy of this fine gentleman here."

With a mischievous smirk you turned to Rasputin and lead him up the stairs to your room. As soon as the door fell shut, his hand reached out to grasp yours.

"Rescued by a thaumaturge", he uttered firmly, his piercing ice-blue eyes staring at you with such intensity that it nearly froze you in your tracks.

"Is that a problem?", you asked, trying your earnest to sound nonchalant.

"Not in the slightest, my dear", the man chuckled, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "quite on the contrary, I find it intriguing."

"Intriguing huh?", you chuckled, gesturing for him to sit on the bed, "remove your coat and shirt, I'll fetch some supplies to clean and tend to any other injuries."

You felt his intense gaze on your back as you went to retrieve some cloth and different smaller bottles from your bag in the corner of the room. As you turned around, you almost gasped at the sight of Rasputin lifting up his shirt, your eyes widened as you took in his toned yet lean torso, dark purple bruises forming on the pale skin. He sank back onto the bed, deliberately slow while his eyes never left yours. There was something about him that rubbed you wrong in just the right way. It was evident that the circulating rumours about him hardly captured the true essence of the tall man before you. There was a darkness hidden behind those bright eyes, although it differed from what his enemies attempted to portray. You hummed, a faint smile playing along your lips as you wiped away the last traces of dried blood from his face. The smug remark that had started to form on Rasputin's lips upon witnessing your smile instantly vanished when your gentle fingers trailed over the bruises on his chest before gently rubbing ointment on. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as the aroma of various herbs and flowers permeated his nostrils. Some scents were familiar to him, while others remained foreign, prompting him to mentally note down to ask about them later.

"All done", you commented while packing away the small vials, "nothing to worry about but I would advise against angering the locals in the coming days."

The last part earned you a hearty laugh, quickly followed by a pained groan.

"You're welcome to rest here, but I had intended to indulge in a well-deserved bath before rushing to your aid, so if you don't mind...", your voice trailed off as you began to undress, not even bothering to look at him.

One by one, your clothes slid off your body while you kept your back turned to him, until only your undergarments remained. Grabbing a towel, you wrapped it tightly around yourself before discarding the last pieces of clothing and eased into the bathtub, submerging yourself slowly while using the towel to prevent your guest from seeing anything.

"Tease", you heard him mumble and giggled.

"A little patience, Grigori. We've only just met. But I understand, you're accustomed to a more...eager approach with women, aren't you?"

His eyebrow raised at the use of his first name. He hadn't introduced himself, but then again, he was dealing with a thaumaturge who likely had him figured out from the moment their hands touched and, in addition, his reputation always traveled ahead of him. But this ignited a spark deep within him, so small and playful, which unfortunately, unbeknownst to him in this very moment, would grow into an uncontrollable inferno.

"Well, I wouldn't dare assume you're like everyone else, my dear. You appear to be quite unique", the tone of his voice was soft yet unyielding as if he was trying to scratch at your facade, "defying the common mundane expectations...in the most delightful way, of course."

"That would be one thing we have in common", you turned your head towards him, "in addition to the petty little lies being spread."

You smiled and stood up, holding out your hand.

"Would you be so kind as to pass me a towel, please?"

Rasputin blinked at you, whatever thought was forming, whether clever or mischievous, ceased to exist within the moment his eyes landed on your bare body. A tirade of droplets cascading down your curves, hurriedly merging again with the water in the tub. The faint glow of the candles in the room cast a ethereal glow on you, shadows dancing seductively over your perfect curves. Oh the sight of it! It was as if God had touched and blessed his soul. Heaven's saving grace, for him alone and though he felt undeserving of such a gift, he silently vowed to protect and worship you until the end of his days. His breath hitched as you cleared your throat, your lips curled into a knowing grin, you had your own ways of reading others after all.

With trembling hands and unsteady steps he approached you, holding up the towel as if it was an offering to God, and, for the first time since you met him, he couldn't bring himself to meet your gaze, overcome by a sense of awe. A surge of emotions washed over you as soon as your fingertips brushed against the fabric of the towel. The calmness that shrouded his entire being was but a facade and just underneath raged a fire like no other. The ardent passion of man who was plagued by blood-soaked visions that were driving him all the way towards the Tsar's Court. There was a hint of devout belief lingering among his countless schemes and a newer almost fervent admiration for you. Rasputin knew that the moment he'd hand you that innocent little piece of fabric, you'd have him figured out but, just this once, he couldn't care less, because it felt like it was God's will and it fell into place perfectly.

As soon as you were dry and dressed once more, you lightly tapped his shoulder, signaling him to raise his gaze.

"That was an oddly chaste gesture, given your prior stares", you mused.

"Do you truly want me to comment on it or was the towel enough?", he asked, his sly grin returning.

Though only a few hours had passed, he had grown on you, the connection between the two of you felt so effortless and genuine, free from the constraints of societal norms and conventions. You almost began to entertain the notion that there might be some truth to his peculiar little theory of God's involvement. Despite any reservations you both harboured, you decided on sharing the bed, neither of you willing to endure the discomfort of the small wooden chair or the hard, dusty floor.

The night was filled with blissful sleep, devoid of all the usual nightmares. Grigori groaned as he stretched, a dull ache in his chest causing him to wince. A defeated sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head, only to be met with the cold emptiness of the other side of the bed. His eyes darted around the room, but there was no trace of you. The sunlight poured through the drapes, illuminating a small envelope and a sheet of paper resting on the table, as if bestowed upon him by some divine intervention. Rising from the bed, he approached the table and carefully lifted the sealed envelope. It felt weightier than expected, hinting at the presence of an object within. Disappointment washed over him as he noticed the absence of a name on the letter. The mystery surrounding your identity piqued his curiosity to the point of unbearable frustration. It pained him that you remained elusive, evading even the sharpness of his cautious mind. Was this part of God's plan? And why? The letter commanded his attention again, a small piece of paper adorned with only two sentences scribbled in dark blue ink.

Find the Szulkis and you shall find me

PS. I trust in your ability to discern the appropriate time and person to deliver this envelope

A glimmer of hope flickered within Grigori's heart, as his fingers slipped the letter and envelope into the pocket of his coat and an excited smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew deep within his soul that he would once again encounter his angel. It was a bond written in the fabric of fate, destined to reunite them before long.

Rasputin listened to Wiktor as he recounted the different observations he made of their fellow train passengers. His fingers nervously fidgeted with the envelope in the pocket of his coat, eyes directed towards the thaumaturge. However, his mind began to wander.

"Is there something on your mind?", Wiktor disrupted the strannik's thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"As a matter of fact there is, yes", Grigori spoke up, handing over the envelope, "would you be so kind as to describe what you perceive from the object inside?"

"Another test?", the thaumaturge chuckled.

Wiktor opened it and took the small object out, eyes widening as soon as his fingers touched the metallic surface. It was a delicate brooch, featuring silver branches entwined around a glistening ruby in the shape of a skull. His lips parted as he took in all the emotions clinging to the small object and his eyes shifted towards Rasputin.

"Who gave you this?", there was almost a hint of shock in the thaumaturge's voice.

"Someone who became very dear to me in a very short time."

Wiktor's lips twitched as he observed the blush creeping up the healer's cheeks.

"So what do you see?", Grigori asked, growing slightly impatient.

"Many things", the thaumaturge chuckled before handing the brooch back, "a sense of intrigue, excitement and a touch of adoration. Whoever this person is to you, she seems to eagerly await the possibility to meet you again, ending on one last thought, spoken with kindness: see you in Warsaw."

Rasputin's heart danced within his chest, throbbing with a bittersweet ache as he absorbed Wiktor's interpretation of the small brooch you had left him. Carefully tucking it away in his pocket, he caressed its cool metal surface with his thumb, a pang of envy washing over him. How he yearned to experience the emotions you had infused into this precious token. A loving smile tugged at his lips, closing his eyes while he let his own excitement seep into the brooch.

"I can't wait", he murmured, more to himself than to Wiktor.

Part 2

Enjoy and feel free to reblog :)

[bowieandqueen11]

Hair Tied / Jareth Headcanons

Request: Okay, I swear I have hair nearly as wild as Jareth's. Except it's very curly and fluffy and dark brown. How would Jareth help with a reader with unruly, curly hair?

YESS THIS IS SUCH A MOOD THANK YOU @hewwo-its-floof​

Okay, you can just TELL from this gif that this man absolutely takes care of his hair. Like, he is masterful at looking like he just effortlessly has these flowing locks of fluffy gold that you just want to touch the floofiness of all the time.

In your bathroom, you’re constantly scaring yourself silly because of him. In the middle of the night, you’ll be busy trying to place your flickering candle down on the edge of the marble countertop by the sink before the wax begins pricking and burning at your fingers. You’ll jump a mile, however, when some ginormous, looming shadow grows across the stone cobbled walls like a faint spectre, and some new bottle of hair product Jareth had concocted for himself the day before topples to the floor.

Which then, unfortunately, starts a tidal wave of bottles and glass vials that come thundering down towards your face. Pretty much every sleeping goblin comes clambering down from their bunk-bed sleeping quarters and running towards the sound of the thundering crash to find Jareth doubled over in laughter on the bathroom floor and you lying under a literal mountain of hair mousses on the tiles.

You get your revenge though, when your husband tries to pull you back up and you tug him back down onto your chest under the huge pile of bottles.

Because he’s your husband, and he loves you more than every star, sun, moon, planet - every weighted glittering jewel and every twinkling swirling pocket of starlight in the galaxy, he tries to help you out without you ever needing to ask.

He spends a lot of his days kissing the side of your cheek before jumping out of the window and turning into an owl to fly off and search through some coastal cities, flash new trendy cities and quaint rural village towns to find you the perfect brushes, oils, creams and products to start your own little hair collection products right next to his.

When the two of you bathe together after a long day of strolling leisurely through the Labyrinth and dancing the night away with the rest of the Goblins in the Ballroom’s masquerade, he coaxes you towards him in the bubbles. He holds his hand out, winking at you with that glint of humour and fervour in his eyes as he pulls you against his bare skin. You end up lying, back to chest and skin to skin against him with your hands resting on his thighs. His own works at your head, gently and expertly massaging conditioner into your hair, slender fingers scratching teasingly against your scalp.

Although he tries to leave it and let the conditioner soak in, he ends up giggling and leaving over you to press kisses against your forehead, moving down to your nose with a chuckle that the two of you end up falling under the suds.

Sometimes, if brushing through your hair becomes a bit painful, he’ll make you sit down in front of his vanity mirror. Standing with his legs on either side of you, leather holding you in place firmly against his hips, he hums the song you first danced to at your wedding as he runs his fingers through your locks. Sometimes, he’ll even sprinkle some little jars of glittering lotion onto his fingers - sweet smelling things that fill the cosy, arching room with the scent of rose, jasmine, lavender that fill your heart with a youthful glee - so that you literally sparkle with every bounce in the sunlight like the little jewel he always says you are.

Although, if you wake up with a particularly bad case of bedhead (like I do every day lmao), sometimes you get frustrated with him because he somehow always wakes up with those long, flowing locks billowing dramatically over his shoulders like some kind of model. 

Don’t worry though! After he’s spent enough time jumping over you, knees tucked over you as he bends down on the bed, bumping his nose against your own and pressing his fingers into your side in order to tease you, he makes sure to pull out the extra supplies of de-tangling spray he keeps in his bedside drawer to help make the unruliness a little easier to manage.

If the two of you spend the mornings under the golden honey of the rising, dusty sun, picking apples in the little rosy orchard he created for you for some sparkling cider, he’s a bit of a trickster. He always seems to magically have a thousand hair bands in his pockets, and although he vehemently denies it, it seems that a gust of wind seems to magically summon itself to come puffing and blowing through your hair.

It’s always a good excuse for him to tie up your hair though, running his fingers down your spine before expertly tying it in whatever style you want.

Before balls, he always has this huge, glowing, bashful, proud and adoring smile on his face as he links arms with you and leads you into the marble pillared lined doors. He’s spent the whole afternoon with you lying between his legs, as he twirled and braided little gems and diamonds into the curls of your hair, so you look even more ethereal than he thought you did before.

Omg he’s just melting in his sequined suit it’s so cute (even if he does start chasing after the goblins that start poking fun and making a kissey face at him) he loves you so so much I’m going to cry.

Sometimes you’ll wake up in the middle of the night, scarlet velvet pooled around your waist and only the final dancing embers of the fire casting shadows across the grey-stone walls. With the little sliver of moonlight that floods in through the billowing silk curtains, you’ll see the fond, delighted grin of your husband as he blinks to keep himself awake - his pointer finger lazily curling a strand of your hair.

It’s a part of who you are, and therefore he loves each strand with his whole heart, no matter what it looks like.

[kohakuarisaka]

Untamed (chapter 2 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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As it turned out, 'secluded cabin' was a pretty accurate statement.

Hawks had arranged for a very discreet hero taxi service to drive you the 5-hour trip from Musutafu to a quaint mountainous village that was so small and quiet, you almost doubted it was even on the map.

Past the snowy village, through the winding roads and towering trees, over a bridge, past a frozen lake, and then some miles off the main road, tucked away in a small clearing, was a beautiful cabin.

While the days were steadily growing warmer as spring rapidly approached, it still snowed at night. The snow had melted off the trees from the warmth of the midday sun; but, there was still a light blanket of white on the rooftop and across the surrounding grounds.

There were no poles lining the street, nothing that could bring electricity to the house; however, you could see what was likely a generator tucked away in the back. Someone had propped the cover off and cleaned out the snow.

At that sight, it became obvious that Hawks had beat you here. He already taken to clearing the snow out of the entry way as well, exposing a beautiful cobblestone pathway.

You exited the vehicle and retrieved your bags from the trunk. The very second you closed the hatch, the driver made a speedy exit, wheels skidding in the snow as they backed out before doing a sharp U-turn and barreling down the road.

Luckily, the entrance to the cabin opened before you could worry that you had just been abandoned in the middle of nowhere. Sure enough, Hawks stepped out, wild blonde locks brushed back, a little fluffier than usual due to the change in humidity.

Despite how cold it was, he was wearing a black tank top and loose, light grey sweat pants. He even stepped out onto the cold stone pathway with bare feet. Yet, with a light flush to his skin, he didn't look cold at all.

You had been making a face when he approached, and he offered an explanation, uttering, "I told 'em not to linger. It's suspicious."

Some large plumes departed his wingspan and grabbed at your luggage, one even pulling your shoulder bag off your back. They whipped away, bags in tow, and zipped past Hawks and through the doorway, disappearing into the cabin.

The winged hero didn't immediately usher you inside, as he usually did in these types of situations, but arched over you suddenly, arms bringing you into a tight embrace while his lips captured yours.

The sudden closeness forced your back to arch. Unconsciously, your hands fell onto his barely clothed shoulders, and you felt how warm he was. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was running a fever.

The kiss was brief, but uncharacteristically messy, not that you were complaining. It was a kiss of longing, like he had missed you dearly, as if it had been months and not a day and a half.

He pulled back, a distant, albeit blissful, look on his face. His eyelids sagged as if he was tired, but the gold of his iris was bright and his pupils were focused.

"I didn't get to clean yet, but - ugh - do you wanna see inside?" he asked, some slight nervousness to his tone.

"Yeah," you breathed.

Hawks stepped aside and you gently brushed past him and stepped inside. The wood floors creaked softly beneath your feet as you crossed the threshold. Immediately, you were hit with a wonderful scent, earthy, like tree bark, but sweet, like raw honey.

It was a decent sized cabin, spacious and not heavily furnished. The kitchen was on the small side, but seemingly to accommodate a larger living room.

As Hawks had warned, there was a thin layer of dust all across the wood floors. The furniture was covered by clear tarps, shielding them from the debris.

The dining area tucked away in the corner had a chabudai in place of a western style table. It was small and clearly only intended for two people. You had a feeling it was new, considering how spotless it looked compared to the rest of the cabin.

A huge, stone fireplace rested against the north wall, surrounded by large windows that gave a beautiful view of the outside. They were adorned with heavy curtains, pulled back to let the sunlight in.

Hawks was lingering, following close, staring down at you as you walked around and took in the sight of the place. When your eyes landed on him, and you caught his unblinking stare, you realized he was awaiting feedback.

It startled you a little, for Hawks wasn't the kind to fuss over these sorts of things; but, you had a decent enough understanding of what a rut was to know what was going through his head.

"Relax, birdbrain," you cooed, reaching up to tap gently at his cheek with a closed palm. That seemed to knock him out of his stupor, for he blinked and suddenly looked sheepish. He flickered his gold eyes away, as if to give you space.

"I love it," you praised, looking back into the living area. "Cozy, and smells nice."

You heard him exhale a relieved sigh through his nostrils.

"We should get to work. Where's the cleaning stuff?" you asked, peeling your jacket off.

"Oh. I'll-" he began.

"You'll let me help," you interrupted him gently.

When you turned back to face him, and saw the bewildered expression he was wearing, you wondered if maybe that wasn't the right thing to fit with his current state.

"Unless that's... bad?" you offered uncertainly, shoulders sagging.

Hawks laughed suddenly at the sunken expression on your face, as if the joyous sound came sputtering out against his will.

"No," he answered softly, leaning in suddenly for another kiss, as if he couldn't help it. You didn't get a chance to kiss back before he was retreating.

"Don't change," he sighed. "I want you as you, not as my..."

"-subservient housewife?" you offered, just a little teasing.

He chuckled softly, breathing out a harsh, "fuck, no."

Hawks maneuvered around you and headed for what you guessed was a supply closet. Inside, the cleaning gear was also neatly packaged in containers and safe from dust.

It made sense, how neatly arranged everything was. Hawks was a fairly neat person; but, it was also clear that he had this whole thing down, neatly tuned and properly sorted out. He had been coming here for years, after all.

This place was special to him. That much was clear.

The two of you started to dusting and sweeping, followed by a diligent mopping, with the two of you working in tandem.

Hawks was fairly quiet during the whole ordeal, seemingly focused sternly on the task at hand. It had been his nest for years. This was hardly anything new; but, it was now going to be yours, too.

He didn't tell you that he had been worried he would react negatively to your presence. He didn't always react rationally during this time. Seemingly average things would sometimes irritate him, and a part of the possessive onslaught included this abode.

Fortunately, that hadn't been the case. Cleaning the cabin with you was soothing. He wasn't unaware of the obvious implication: that you were preparing a nest together, your shared nest. He didn't say it aloud, but you had come to that realization, as well.

It had actually calmed him quite a bit. He had been on edge before you arrived, skin prickled with heat and sweating unreasonably considering the cold. Those weren't abnormal during his ruts; but, it felt intensified with that knowledge that you were going to be here.

Darkness swept across the forest as the hours dragged on. Luckily, you were just about finished by the time it got dark.

There was a neat stack of firewood arranged on a carrier near the fireplace, making you wonder if that was what he had worked on before your arrival. The logs looked freshly cut and heavy.

Crimson feathers delivered logs to the hearth. Hawks retrieved a set of matches from a cubby near the carrier and then kneeled before the hearth. He set one of the matches ablaze and carefully ignited the firewood arranged in the pit.

Warmth and light flooded the cabinet. Plumes gathered along the edges of the curtains and pulled them back, covering the windows. When they returned to his wingspan, he stepped back and monitored the fire briefly.

While cleaning, you had learned there was a cellar and partial second story, as well as an indoor bathroom. It seemed that the main use of the generator was to power the water heater and indoor plumbing.

The cellar was small, down a short flight of stairs, with concrete floors and walls, the perfect size for containing a month's worth of food and supplies, far more than was necessary for just a week.

The second story was a loft that oversaw the living room, giving a great view of the fireplace. There was no safety railing on the upstairs, likely for the very obvious fact that Hawks could fly. There was, at least, a staircase.

Upstairs, there was a large bed frame with a plush mattress, wrapped up tight to protect from dust, a large chest pressed up against the wall, and a desk without a chair.

After he removed the bed cover, you watched Hawks pull neatly folded blankets and pillow cases out the chest. It was fascinating to see someone, who normally slept wherever his body landed, so meticulously prepare the bedding: layers and layers of blankets, followed by dressing the pillows and laying them out.

It was especially perplexing because of the intense, concentrated look on his face. He had been so focused that he hadn't even realized that you had paused what you were doing to watch him.

Luckily, you caught yourself staring before he did, and shuffled back downstairs before he could notice.

A sudden howling had startled you, before a sharp wind rattled against the shutters. Something was thumping gently against the roof and when the wind picked up, you could almost hear the trees shuddering outside.

"It's snowing," Hawks observed, suddenly at your side.

You could see a glimpse of crimson in the corner of your eye, and realized he had a wing fanned out around you, not quite close enough to touch, but hovering. Maybe, he hadn't even realized he was doing that.

"Oh," you answered quietly.

Together, you prepared dinner, settling for a classic favorite of his: yakitori chicken and stir fry noodles.

Eating dinner together, and talking about nothing, made you realize, it had been the first time in a long time, if ever, that you hadn't discussed work: nothing about the agency, nothing about heroes or villains, nothing about police business or missions.

It was just senseless conversations that amounted to nothing.

The dining table was small and the floor was cold; but, your hands brushed constantly due to the lack of space. It made you realize that you had longed to have this type of moment with him, something so utterly domestic.

"I know it's not super late," Hawks began, on his way to the kitchen with the dirty plates. "But, I'm gonna wake you up early; so, let's get to bed, okay?"

His voice was soft, surprisingly drowsy, you realized, and he continued, "it's - well, there's something I wanna show you, and it looks best in the sunrise."

He had started the dishes before you could; so, you stepped in close, deciding to tease him a little.

"I bet you do look best in the sunrise," you uttered, leaning against the counter top near the sink, where he had busied his hands. He was looking away from you; but, you could see his lip twitch into a faint smile.

Hawks laughed, a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Not me," he replied softly. Yet, he found himself feeling enamored with the knowledge that that was where your mind had wandered first.

"Do you want me to wait for you?" you offered, standing upright and shifting away from the counter.

"Nah," he replied simply. "I'll join ya' in a bit."

You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth and pulled your hair back, before heading upstairs. Blankets and pillows were stacked high on top of the mattress, making the bedframe disappear beneath it.

It not only looked incredibly warm, but incredibly soft, and an inspection with your hand, smoothing over the surface, confirmed that. There were several pillows pressed against the headboard and even more at the foot of the bed.

If you hadn't seen him arrange it, you would have doubted it was even Hawks' bed. From the glimpses you had seen into his life, he was a minimalist.

His office at the agency was fairly large, but looked almost comical with the lack of furniture in it. He wasn't one to buy much of anything outside of perishables.

"Take those off."

You had heard that commanding tone many times before; but, in the peace and serenity of this cabin, it startled you. Your shoulders twitched a little and you turned to face him, having not heard Hawks approach.

His gold eyes were glaring at your body, shifting up to meet your gaze when you turned to face him.

You gawked back at him, dumbfounded by his boldness, and a little intrigued, if you were being honest. He had warned you about this, and you were about to comply when his dark expression suddenly softened.

"Oh fuck," Hawks blurted, embarrassment washing over his face. The intensity of the moment dissipated and you found yourself unable to hold back a faint smile at the way his face so rapidly changed from anger to shame.

"Shit - I - sorry - ugh," he stammered, some redness tinting the tops of his ears. His dominant hand came up and ruffled his hair. "That was messed up. Ah - what I mean is, can we sleep naked?"

It was clear he wasn't embarrassed about the request, but the way that he had asked. You couldn't hold back a soft chuckle at his frazzled state.

"Of course," you uttered, and began shedding your clothes.

He was staring at your nudity as if it wasn't something he had seen many times before, as if his hands and mouth hadn't explored every inch of skin, hadn't touched and claimed parts of you your own hands couldn't reach.

It made you feel powerful, beautiful.

"Did you brush your teeth?" you asked, knocking him out of his stupor.

He didn't respond, but made a face that gave you your answer. He turned away then, and hopped over the edge of the loft, floating down into the lower floor, and scurried off to the bathroom.

Promptly, you disappeared beneath the blankets, shivering from the cold, skin prickled with goosebumps. You were about to scold yourself for complying with him so eagerly, without demanding a compromise, mainly that you expected him to warm you up.

Luckily, it didn't take him long to join you, and you suddenly felt a very warm, and very naked, body slot into the space behind you, wiggling beneath the blankets. It was almost concerning how warm he was, like he had just flung himself into the hearth before running back over here.

You rolled onto your back to greet him and Hawks wasted no time slotting over you, tangling legs, arms falling on either side of your head. Wispy bangs fell over his forehead, longer strands catching on his eyebrows.

Your eyes peered over his shoulders, where you could see his wings were fanned out above him, plumes stretched wide, looming possessively. When your gaze shifted to his face, your breath hitched.

His stare was hypnotizing, as if he couldn't believe you were here, gold eyes practically glowing in the dimly lit loft.

It made you sad to think just your presence alone had pleased him so much, whereas nothing else had yet to occur. It made you think of all the years he had to endure this alone, the loneliness far more straining than the lack of a pliant body.

"Hey," he began, voice hoarse, distant.

His dominant hand shifted from the bed to cup your cheek, thumb gently prodding at your cheek bone. Just like the rest of his body, his hand was so warm.

"I know I said I wouldn't let you leave," he explained, fingers sliding carefully across your temple. "But, if you want to, at any time, I'll call the taxi and-"

You leaned up, taking his lips in a gentle kiss to silence him. He moaned into the kiss, clearly surprised by your interruption. His hand departed your face, lowering to caress the side of your neck.

When you pulled back, he chased, not letting you depart from him quite so quickly. The kiss carried on for a short while, Hawks only leaning back when he was satisfied.

"No," you disagreed in a soft hum, hands rising to push strands of his hair out of his face. "I'm not leaving. We're going through this together. Okay?"

He let out a sigh that fluttered across your cheeks. "Okay," he agreed, as if he couldn't believe it.

Hawks shifted until he was lying beside you, one arm loose around your waist. You turned a little to lay on your side and lean into him, cheek falling comfortably into the pillow beneath your head, and felt him nuzzle into your back, bringing you as close as he could without ruining your comfort.

One of his wings folded carefully over you while the other sprawled out across the bed. The light from the fire just barely reached the loft, an amber glow that flickered with the dancing flames.

The sounds of the gentle snowfall outside was a little louder upstairs. One of the nearby windows rattled softly, trembling weakly from the breeze that shook the shutters. The rafters above creaked occasionally in melodic hums.

Behind you, Hawks' chest undulated with his breathing, moving against the skin of your back. His wings shifted ever so slightly in harmony with the expansion and shrinking of his lungs. The longer plumes on the ends twitched occasionally.

"Keigo?" you whispered.

He didn't answer. Judging by the way his arm had slackened where it rested over your waist, you figured he had fallen asleep already.

The bedding was soft, and you had no doubt that he had washed them diligently; yet, mingled with the earthy tones of the cabin, they smelt like him. The hearth crackled distantly, the sound a faint echo through the cabin.

It didn't take long to slip away.

• • •

• • •

Sometime in the middle of the night, you were woken by a strange sound. In your groggy state, it sounded like a distant animal cooing into the night.

Once you properly came to, you realized the warmth against your back had retreated. The blanket had been partially ripped away in the process, leaving the skin of your back exposed to the cold air of the cabin.

What had sounded far away you now realized was coming from right behind you, pained little noises and harsh wheezing. You rolled over to take in the sight of Hawks, blindly reaching for him in a moment of panic.

Worry struck you when your skin touched his. He had already been warm to the touch before; but now, his skin felt scorching, sticky with sweat. Your hand had landed on his chest, where you could feel his muscles rapidly rising and falling with each staggering breath.

The noise that had woken you became obvious then; he was panting, sharp and labored breaths that whooshed in and out of him, occasionally accompanied with a quiet, pained sound.

He had shoved the blankets away and was laying on his back, wings tucked in uncomfortably tight beneath him. Through the faint glow of warm light from the fireplace, you could see his chest raising and falling rapidly, head tossed back, face contorted in pain. Some strands of blonde locks were clinging to the sweat soaked skin on his face.

"Keigo - Keigo," you called to him, hands rising to his shoulders so you could shake him.

It wasn't until he jerked suddenly, eyes opening and head whipping towards you, that you realized he had been sleeping. His labored breathing intensified, but only for a second, before he started to calm down.

His gold eyes were glossy for a second, staring at you blindly, before he started to wake properly. His lips were parted, sharp breaths still escaping him in harsh wisps.

"Are you okay?" you whispered harshly. "Are you sick? You look-..."

You could see a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Now, with him leaning up a little, you could see the flush of red tinting his skin, all down his chest and across his cheeks. His shoulder muscles were tight and his wings twitched helplessly beneath him.

"I'm f-fine," Hawks answered, voice low and hoarse. He swallowed roughly. "It's - it's a n-normal side effect."

"You're burning up," you hissed, hands touching his skin so carefully, like you would hurt him if you were too rough. "Are you sure you're okay?" you insisted.

"Just need-" he growled, cutting off as he tried to sit up.

His movement had repositioned your hands, causing them to drag from his shoulders to his chest, less you lose stability and collapse on top of him.

It was a familiar touch, a place you had touched him many times before; yet, he froze suddenly, gaze shifting down to your hands as if they were grounding him to this plane of existence.

Hawks' gold eyes fluttered shut and his pained expression softened. He flopped back on the bed, giving up his attempt to sit up as if he had suddenly lost all strength in his body.

Catching on, you uttered into the cold air, "is that what you need? Keigo, do you want me to-"

"Yes," he answered sharply, hissing through the cold, chilled air. He sounded relieved, thankful that you had offered before he had to ask.

"God, fuck - I - I need you, need to - to - be inside you-"

His babbling briefly ceased when you pushed the blankets off yourself and rolled on top of him, a gesture you had done many times before, now a nearly perfect art.

You watched, hypnotized as Hawks arched his back off the bed and flexed his wings until they were sprawled out on either side of him. The beautiful crimson plumes stretched out across the sheets, shuddering in faint waves that matched his heavy breathings.

In the shift, his cock became pinned against your inner thigh. If you didn't known any better, you would have thought he was prodding you with an iron rod pulled straight from the fires of a forge.

It was unbearably hot, hard as steel and painfully poking against your flesh. You could feel his heartbeat through his cock, throbbing against you as if pleading to be touched.

Arousal had never struck you this hard before, with enough force that it made your never regions throb and chest tighten. Blood rushed to your face so quickly, you briefly feared you would pass out.

Now, hovering, looking down at him, it was almost unbearable. It was clear that Hawks was in pain, and you felt a tinge of guilt at the realization that his state had aroused you.

But, the truth was, he looked stunning.

Maybe it was the red flush staining his skin, or the glisten of sweat, shiny with the reflection of the fire burning in the hearth. Maybe it was the way his gold eyes practically glowed through the darkness, staring up at you like a starving predator, glaring with dangerous intent.

Some sort of inhuman growl escaped him and Hawks grabbed at your meaty hips, roughly pulling you forward. It didn't take you long to figure out what he was doing; but, your attempts to aid were waisted, for he simply dragged you down to his liking, until the heat of your sex collided with his face ungracefully.

The first thing you registered was his mouth kissing sloppily at your sex. His tongue followed, lapping at your folds impatiently before breaching your heat. Hawks was always the kind to give sloppy oral; but, this was something else entirely.

He moaned shamelessly when his tongue registered your taste, hips rising off the bed as if attempting to chase a sensation that wasn't there.

Your hands fall onto the wall, and you tried to keep yourself up; but, he wasn't having it, growling and pulling you back down. It was difficult to not go dead weight when his tongue was lapping at your walls, mouth suctioned around your entrance like he was trying to suck juices from a ripe fruit.

One of your hands weaved through his hair, gently massaging his scalp in a praising gesture. It was difficult to get out sensible words. Instead, you moaned broken pieces of his name, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

You had no idea how much time had passed before he seemed satisfied and finally lifted you up enough to remove his mouth. The wet gasp that escaped him, suggesting he had been holding his breath, riddled you with shameful lust.

"You made a mess," Hawks observed deliriously.

He sounded immensely pleased with himself and even leaned in to take another taste, this time honing in on your pearl. You felt more than heard his pleased chuckle when you whined at the sudden touch.

This time, when he pulled away, he let you retreat. As you shimmied down his body, you caught him wiping your essence off his face with a careful finger before popping it in his mouth.

Hawks' skin was still flushed red, all the way up to his ears; but, now, he looked damn smug to top it all off. You couldn't see the look you were wearing, but you knew by the heat on your face that it was lewd.

The cold of the cabin had been lost to you, especially when you positioned your hips over his and felt the head of his cock nuzzle at your entrance, threatening to breach your core.

Hawks' head fell back into the sheets with a whine, eyes squeezing shut. Tantalized by the sight, you intended to tease him a little; however, he nudged his hips forward with a sudden jerk, effortlessly impaling you on his cock, and taking that opportunity away.

"Ohhh, fuck!" Hawks shouted before sucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth. He released it after letting out a low hiss.

You closed your own eyes for a moment, adjusting to the sudden intrusion of his impressive girth, and felt his hands slowly slide up your thighs into the dips of your hips, slotting over a spot he had practically engraved for himself ever since this began.

When your eyes opened, you looked down and took in the deliriously beautiful look on his face. His thumbs nudged your hip bones pleadingly and his eyes opened, peering up at you through dark lashes.

Forgoing any thoughts about teasing, you planted your hands on his chest and rolled your hips. The motion punched a whine out of him. The sound drawled out into a growl when you kept the rhythm, chasing your own pleasure.

"Yeah," he hummed encouragingly. "Come on. Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock. Just like - ahh - fuck..."

You hardly needed the encouragement; but, the dirty words spewing from his lips further ignited the heat in your belly, and you whined in response.

He could have easily pulled your hips down to intensify the moment. Instead, he lifted his hips off the bed to meet yours, effortlessly matching your movement and chasing the delicious warmth and wetness of your core, while letting his hands hold you gently.

"Baby, do you feel good?" Hawks uttered lowly, his pleading question gently breaking through the moment.

"Y-ye-s, Kei - go," you sobbed, stuttering out your response and groaning halfway through his name.

It was always good; but, something about this moment made it more intense than ever before. You could already feel the sensation rising, thighs trembling every time his cock slid back inside, hitting the perfect spot again and again.

"Yeah?" he hummed, sounding so breathless and fucked out, despite you having just barely begun. "You feel good, so fucking good," he praised between labored pants and low moans.

"You're so fucking good to me," Hawks babbled on, head falling back into the sheets, where he closed his eyes. You watched his adam's apple bob, noticed how tight his jaw was clenched.

A growl vibrated through his chest, followed by a breathless sympathy of curses, "oh fuck - oh fuck. Come on, fuck my cock - yeah - ahhh. Ya' hear that? Those sounds. God, you're so f-fucking perfect."

Your union was loud, skin slapping together and wet, fleshy sounds echoing between the two of you.

His dominant hand released your hip and slid around, thumb prodding between your folds and seeking out your pearl. You were already so sensitive, feeling him so deep, teetering on the edge. When his calloused skin touched that spot, you let out a cry.

"Come on this cock," Hawks groaned. "Sooo close - f-fuck. Come on. Come for me. Fucking come. Gonna fill you up. You want that? My seed. Yeah you fucking d-hnn-"

His babbling ceased when your orgasm took you, the sudden spasms and fluttering of your walls making all sensible thoughts drain from his mind.

His hand returned to your hip, fingers gripping your waist, and he started roughly dragging you up and down to meet his thrusts. You went limp, letting him bounce you on his cock to your liking. Your hands slipped off his chest and you fell onto him, forehead knocking gently against his cheek.

You could hear him huffing and grunting, the occasional growl seeping through, right into your ear as he fucked you through your orgasm, and continued on, chasing his end.

His cock throbbed, firmly enough that you felt it and the sensation startled you a little; but, that thought was lost when he let out an uncharacteristically loud shout, crying out in ecstasy.

Hawks had always been loud; but, this was something else entirely, and the moans and growls didn't stop, along with his undulating hips, for what felt like an eternity.

To top it all off, you could feel it, spurts of his seed, burning hot as it filled you. In the corner of your eye, you could make out his feathers, each and every one trembling beneath him.

Then, finally, he went still.

Hawks' panting filled the room, almost loud enough to drown out the crackling of the fireplace. Even after his panting died down, he let out quiet groans, his orgasm having not yet waned in full.

Eventually, he turned his head and pressed a wet kiss against your cheek. You turned your head to meet him, at first catching the corner of his mouth before he angled his head to kiss you properly.

You could practically feel the praises behind each kiss, thank you's and love pouring from his mouth to yours in a nonverbal gesture. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging your skin but also ensuring that you didn't move and he remained deep inside you.

When he finally released your lips, you busied your hands with his wild mane, gently pushing strands away from his face. He seemed to like the preening, letting his eyes flutter shut and head fall back.

You didn't have to ask if he was feeling better. His all-body, harsh red blush had mellowed out and he wasn't panting like a parched dog.

You hadn't realized you were still trembling until he uttered, "it's okay," in a soothing, worried voice.

His hands shifted to your thighs, where he carefully pushed them back and rolled you onto your side, keeping his cock nuzzled deep. His arms wound around your back, bringing you into an embrace while his wings stretched out behind him before sagging comfortably to the bed.

You realized, as he brought you in, that you were still shaking a little. The worry was evident in his eyes, like he had done something wrong.

"D-do you want me to pull out?" he offered in a weak voice.

"It's not that," you replied softly. "That was... intense."

When your eyes locked with his gold orbs, and he took in the sight of your expression, it seemed to steadily become clear to him, what you were feeling. His lips sought our your skin, senselessly kissing whatever he could reach, all over your cheeks, down your chin and along the expansion of your throat.

Hawks’ head fell onto the pillow and his wispy blonde hair tangled with yours. The unease began to fade away as he held you close, bringing the blanket back over your forms when his intense heat finally started to wane. So did the spell, and something concerning struck him.

"Please, tell me if it gets too intense," Hawks uttered, breath fluttering out against your temple. “I’ll-...”

He cut himself because he wasn’t quite what he would do, what he could do. Could he stop? In this moment of clear thoughts, he sure hoped so. But, part of him feared that wasn’t true, and the last thing he wanted was to lie to you about what he was capable of.

You had figured that he had yet to hit the apex of his rut. Yet, his warnings hadn't frightened you in the slightest, especially after what had just occurred. If anything, you were enticed by it. Maybe, in some strange way, it was affecting you to.

"I can handle you," you promised.

You felt more so than heard the uneasy breath that stuttered out his nostrils. Your words stirred something deep in his gut, overcoming the fear, burning arousal and adoration.

[d-nghy-ck]

Pearlescent

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, smut, romance, established relationship. Inspired by the From Home MV aesthetic. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex 

Summary: A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion. 

Header: by Jackie @/ hchan 

Word Count: 5k

“Pack your bags for a night away,” Donghyuck mischievously instructs through your phone’s speaker, only to revert to his usual playful, singsong tone. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes, baby.” The call ends before his distorted laughter has even finished. 

And sure enough, a few minutes of hasty packing and insatiable curiosity later, the horn of Donghyuck’s quaint little 1985 sedan honks from outside your apartment door. 

Crisp autumn air awakens your senses better than any cup of coffee, and when you hop into his passenger seat you’re met with the sight of one very pleased Donghyuck. Adventure dances in his eyes as he idly taps his foot on the gas to rev the engine, a lopsided grin playing at his lips. 

He leans across the center console to deliver a well-placed good morning peck, and without a moment to waste, he shifts the gear and whisks you away. With the windows rolled down, his hair flutters in the wind as he tells you of your plans for the day. 

“I got us a home away for the night, a place far from everyone else. I think you’ll really like it.” His thumb taps on the steering wheel, revealing what you think might be possible nervousness, and he glances between you and the road. “You deserve it.”

The pull of your lips into the shyest of smiles is all the confirmation he needs. 

You have no idea where you’re headed, but if there’s anything you’ve learned by dating Donghyuck, it’s that, yes, his plans are usually spontaneous and hectic, but they’re always exciting and worthwhile. Maybe at the beginning of your relationship you would have inquired, but with the way Donghyuck is smirking to himself as he absentmindedly fiddles with the radio knob, you know you can trust his intuition, oddly enough. 

Leading you through his daring thrills and unexpected plans makes him feel alive - you can see it in his boyish grin as he wordlessly glances over to you and intertwines your fingers with his as he drives. He chuckles at the innocent, curious look in your eyes and raises his eyebrows, almost taunting you to ask him where you’re headed. When you meet him with the same expression of expectancy and defiance, he can’t hold the silence any longer and a laugh bubbles out of him. 

“You’re cute, you know that?” He offers the road a glance before looking back. “I bet you’re dying to know where we’re headed.” 

His grin widens, imploring you to break down and beg for him to spare you his thoughts. Instead, your grin mirrors his, and you disarm him in a completely different way. 

“I trust you, Hyuck.”

His expression promptly softens and his fingers tighten in your grasp, bashfully looking back to the road, caught off guard by your unhindered sincerity. You always know how to best him in the most precious of ways, and he loves you for it. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Passing building after building, the space between each structure widens and fills with wilderness revealing serene stretches of land, a relieving contrast from the hustle and bustle left back home. You stop occasionally along the way to observe overlooks of the distant sea or visit coastal villages scattered with weather-torn cottages and quiet shop streets. Belatedly, you realized you’d stopped wondering where he was ultimately taking you, and instead found yourself enjoying every moment he pulled you close to point to buildings in the distance, trotted down hidden pathways to see what lies beyond, or held a streetfood to your lips for you to taste. 

At last he steers down a gravel drive that opens to the expanse of the ocean, rolling his car right along the beach to a standstill at the shore. Hyuck cuts the ignition and the rumble is replaced with the calm crash of waves as you take your first steps across the sand. You didn’t expect the coast, especially since this time of the year beckons chilled breezes, occasional gusts of wind carrying the fresh scent of impending storms. The shiver on your skin seeks the comfort of warmth, and lucky for you, Donghyuck radiates within his padded white bomber jacket as he stretches his legs on the sand. 

He breathes in deeply and spreads his arms wide, sighing contentedly. Not a single person is on the beach aside from you and yours. It only takes a moment’s pause before you rush to squeeze him as tight as you can, slipping your arms beneath his jacket to pull his waist to you. Though winded by your ambush, his chest rumbles with laughter as you mumble against him  your appreciation for bringing you here by surprise. 

“I wanted to bring you somewhere where I could take the time to focus on you, and only you.” He kisses your cheeks, savoring them one by one. “Gotta make sure you’re as loved as possible.” 

After tossing your shoes by the car, you spend the daylight hours skipping through the sand, exchanging teasing banter, and exploring the area hand-in-hand. It even turns out Hyuck put thought into this; you’re impressed when he pulls out your favorite treats to snack on from the backseat of his car. 

The passing of the sun overhead revolves much like the way you revolve around each other with the passing of time. To just stroll along the shore with him is a boundless dream. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Walking backwards by the tide, he pulls you in front of him, fingers just barely lacing together. Your clasped hands sway with each step, and the cute quirk of his lips and sparkling eyes urge you forward. As the tide crawls in, you hastily warn him that he’s about to step into the water. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he halts abruptly, causing you to bump into him. Instead of dodging the water, he fixes his gaze on you, mischief stirring in his mind. 

“Alright, come on.” He deadpans, dragging you to the incoming currents by a newfound hold on your wrist. “Let’s see who can outrun the waves.” 

Fear of how ice cold the water might be at this time of the year has you digging your toes into the sand in resistance. His eyes challenge you to approach the tide, begging you to play along with him. Unable to resist his antics, you entertain the idea just for another chance to see him lively and laughing. 

Following him to the water when the waves retract, you find how the sand beneath your bare feet chills deeper with each step. You prepare to run when the tide surges forward again, but Hyuck guards you with guarded arms. Just as the waves threaten to crash against your skin, he catches you in his embrace and refuses to budge one bit as the cold water rushes over.  Both of your squeals fill the air, but between the subsequent laughs and the trickle of the ocean, you can’t find it within yourself to mind. Though the water laps at your feet, he allows you to forget about the cold or how fast the sun passes overhead. And even as the waves retract, he holds you close, and he radiates just the right amount of warmth. 

Your view of his handsome features shifts as he turns you around to face the sunset. Pressing behind you, he lightly rubs a hand down your arm and along your waist to hug you securely to him, creating warmth with the friction. Brushing the hair off your neck, he kisses along bare skin, rising goosebumps in his lips’ wake. 

“See the sunset, they way it reflects off the water? The serenity and the natural beauty of it all?” He kisses up your neck to the rim of your ear and watches your profile as you exhale from his gentle touches. “It still all pales in comparison to you.” 

Shivers run through you from the combination of the drag of his lips on your skin, his whispered intentions at your ear, and his satisfied chuckles that follow. Cold water continues to rush over your skin below against the contrast of the steady warmth of his hold above. 

Spinning around in his arms, you catch the flirty glint in his eyes that plays with reflections of glimmering waves and pearlescent skies. Delicately, his fingers leave lingering touches on your skin; at the inside of your wrist, at the curve of your waist, at the nape of your neck he quietly explores. Kisses press into you on spots he knows you love, and he loves more. In return, you kiss him in the way you know he adores, and that’s anywhere and everywhere, so long as it’s your lips on his skin. 

It’s when you tremble against him that he pulls away just enough to speak against your lips. 

“You must be shivering from the water.” But he knows it’s from his affections, and he knows you love it when he teases you. Unable to deny lest your voice also trembles, you instead fall into his knowing eyes that gradually capture the light of the falling sun. 

He urges you out of the water, leading you by clasped hands ashore. Soon he’s laid out a comforter over the sand, a puffy duvet, the kind of makeshift extravagance you envision he proudly stuffed into his trunk earlier this morning. You crawl onto the duvet with him, curling up into his side as the sunset evolves before your eyes. 

There’s comfort in the solitude and far cast gazes while thoughts are of someone held near. The warmth from his soft jacket carries the clean scent of linen and hints of a scent so characteristically him - alluring and exhilarating. 

You can’t help but steal glances at him watching the view, peeking up from your snuggles on his shoulder to admire his emotive eyes, red-tipped nose, and even his brown hair curling at the collar of his jacket. Your fingers twist into the duvet at how badly you wish to curl your own fingers in his hair, to continue your loving kisses from earlier that he so graciously ended in favor of your comfort. 

And with that, your mind is lost to thoughts of him. On the surface level, his flirty confidence can come across so nonchalant, but at his core lives a caring side to him that’s present in the way he empowers you to embrace your inner strengths, the way he encourages you to take care of yourself. He wants you to be happy, and you want nothing but the same for him. It’s so positively nurturing that you couldn’t be more convinced that you’re meant for each other. 

Irresistibly, you’re as drawn to him as he is to you, and you’re sure you’ve fallen. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he catches your pensive gaze, and you find yourself holding your breath, silently begging for his touch, so thoroughly allured by his charm that you’re unable to think. He knows you, and he knows this, so he meets you there halfway. 

His fingertips under your chin urge you to him, his thumb softly tracing your bottom lip. The vibrant fire of the sunset burns in his eyes, yet in them swims something deeper as his fingers grip at the nape of your neck and pull you close for a searing kiss. 

The glide of his lips persists, slow and connected, as Hyuck melds his lips over yours in a way that bonds you to him. Your fingers find home in his hair, twirling and pulling at the tufts, earning a soft hum from him that’s lost on your lips as he leans into you. His palm moves to the small of your back, drawing you flush against him, falling into the duvet. 

The seclusion of being the only two people from horizon to horizon brings reckless abandonment as he confidently presses into you, his hands sliding up your thighs, his wet kisses trailing off your lips and down your neck. Nestling your nose in his hair, you catch the vanilla scent of his shampoo while your hands burry beneath his hoodie, drifting over soft warm skin. Your touch elicits a small giggle from him at the sensitivity before he bussies his mouth on your neck again, heightening your temptation to have him nearer. 

The physical attraction that pulls you together holds steadfast, though at the root of it all is a manifestation of the love and trust you hold for each other. He feels so content with you, so free to be authentically, vulnerably himself, that his actions and spoken thoughts release unfiltered. 

Hyuck kisses his way up your jaw and hovers right at the corner of your lips to speak with ragged breaths. “You know, I really love you.” He teases and sucks at your bottom lip, pulling gently. “I might want to be with you forever, if that’s alright by you.” 

You follow the pull of his teeth and answer with a proper kiss, attempting to convey at least a hint of how much he means to you. He chuckles at how it’s almost as if you didn’t hear him, just eagerly, mindlessly seeking his touch. 

A break for air gives you a moment to attempt to encapsulate your fondness for him, but it’s best simply put, for the magnitude of your feelings can’t possibly be conveyed with spoken language. “I love you, too. Just you as you are.” You love him for his care and passion, his playfulness, his spontaneity, and even his flaws. “Just you already - you’re perfect.” 

The genuine honesty rises a catch in his breath, the profound nature of your words pulling you both from your carnal desires. Feeling wholly understood and appreciated, you’re overwhelmed by the joy of falling completely in love. In this moment, there’s no worry other than letting each other know how much you adore and appreciate each other. Hyuck leans down for another kiss, and your minds and hearts and touch and lips are full of the other. 

The waves flow, reflecting the sun in its descent, and a light breeze sweeps by, encouraging you to sink even further into your embrace. It’s nature’s way of drawing you together. 

Noticing how your skin grows cold to the touch with the settling of the sun, he hugs you closely and murmurs a suggestion in your ear. “How about we warm you up?” Gesturing behind your huddled embrace to a hilltop that looks out over the coast, a quaint home is nestled amidst the sparse pines. Before you know it, Hyuck is on his knees, hair catching the wind in a flutter, offering a bashful grin and a hand to bring you along. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

With his heated palm resting against your thigh as he drives, the ride is not nearly long enough for you to catch up with your rapidly beating heart and lingering thoughts of his love and touch. Rolling up in front of a mid-century modern bungalow, Hyuck cuts the engine and grabs your and his bags from the back seat. 

Hyuck patiently sways, studying you as you endearingly gape up at the house from the gravel drive. You pull your gaze from the picturesque cottage in disbelief and meet his eyes. “Hyuck, this is beautiful.” 

Offering a proud grin, he reaches to clasp your fingers and run his thumb along your skin. You place a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek and he pulls back to soak in the contentedness of your eyes before enthusiastically nodding his head toward the front door. As he leads you up the walk, he pulls a cottage key out of his pocket with a wink, unlocks the door, and urges you in by a supportive hand at the small of your back. 

Together you stumble into your comfortable home for the night. Through large windows that reveal the views of the ocean below, sunbeams cast pinkish coral and golden hues along the walls and mid-century modern interior. The little bungalow is cozy and inviting, but as soon as the front door clicks shut and stillness follows, you can barely pay mind to anything aside from the thick tension and desire hanging in the air between the two of you. 

You send a tentative glance toward him, the light catching the honey browns of his hair, the sprinkle of moles across his warm skin, the deep brown of his eyes. Hyuck breaks the silence with a low murmur under his breath, how the cottage looks great, but even as he says it, he’s not looking at your home; he’s looking at you, and only you. Adoration melts within his gaze, and it shifts down to your lips as he absent-mindedly attempts to garner another comment, but it’s lost to you as you’re unable to think clearly beyond thoughts of his eyes, his lips, his presence, and how much he means to you. 

Dropping your bags, he carefully closes the space, pulling you close to reassuringly cup your cheeks in his soft palms. Anticipation charges the space between you as he brushes his thumbs over your cheekbones, resting his forehead to yours and allowing himself deep breaths to steady the rush rising within him. His palms hold warmth to your skin, and you can still catch a faint hint of the sea breeze beneath his natural musk carried over by the puffs of his breath, laced into his jacket that you grasp to pull him in for a heartfelt kiss. 

As if the short time apart was unbearable, he sighs into you, relieved by the release of tasting you again. His arms around you are strong and sure, desperate to love you as thoroughly as he can, in any immediate way possible. 

“Let’s take a look at the bedroom,” he breathes, huskily muffled against your lips as you swallow his words. You can barely breathe for the effort of pulling Hyuck close by your arms circling his neck. He pushes you into the bedroom with his hands clutched at your sides, desire clouding his senses as he stumbles to the bed. 

You cascade backward together and his lips chase after yours, the slip of his tongue allowing you his pure taste. Rolling over the covers, you’re a bond of tangled legs and low chuckles that swell into hidden moans caught in your throats. 

Tugging at your clothes, his hands twist in the fabric and can’t help but grab at the skin of your waist, your legs, any part of you that he desperately needs to love. As he pulls your clothes away, he graces each revealed plane of skin with a drag or suck of his lips. Your shaking hands do away with his layers and satisfyingly run beneath his shirt along his skin. Focused solely on kissing you wherever he can, he eagerly rushes to connect his lips to you as soon as you’ve freed him of fabric. 

His lips leave wet licks and sucks along your neck as his hands reverently massage your arms, your sides, and finally your chest. He settles his weight on you, his insistent hardness pressing against your thigh. You run your hands along the soft plushness of his ass and pull him to you, admiring the weight of muscle that lies beneath as you grab onto him and the way his breath hitches in a gasp in response. 

With not a single barrier between you but each other’s breath and the unspoken love that it carries, just velvety skin soothingly rubbing against each other, you feel so connected. Holding Hyuck in your arms is a comfort; it’s the nurture of fond kisses and hums. 

“I love you.” He presses his lips to you, to imprint his words into your skin. “I just love you, entirely.” 

Muffled moans bury into skin alongside bitten whines as the emotional overwhelm overtakes your senses. The steady build of passion arises a wave of mindlessness, wherein you’ve lost all semblance of reality and are entranced by him. Sensitive, you whimper and gasp at every small touch of his fingertips. You weave your hand into his hair while he continues to grind, and a press of your lips to his temple has him coming up to capture your lips again. 

He coats himself with you as he slides against your arousal, and the glide blooms a delicate floating thrill, spiking with the rhythmic brushing of the head of his cock against your clit. You wrap your legs around his small waist, digging your fingertips into his shoulders as you ride the feeling. He grunts as he hopelessly moves against you, squeezing his hands over your soft skin. He drags his lips down to mouth at your cleavage, breathing roughly with his eyes on you, heavy with need. 

You slide a hand below to stroke him, and he's already so sensitive that he releases pitched whines as he buries his head into your neck. His cock is velvety hot, soft skin covering hard heat. The weight of it in your hand has your heart thumping and a twisting tension growing deep within you. 

“Hyuck, please,” your pleads tempt him, “I need you.” At your words, he openly groans and his hips thrust against your hold without aim, urgently supporting himself on his forearms and positioning to take you fully. 

As he aligns himself, the focus of his gaze on you ensures you’re safe in his hold. In the stillness, the sound of the waves crashing on the distant shore and the last light rays shining through the window onto his golden skin play with the puffs of your moist, mingling breaths. He gradually presses in, eyebrows furrowed and his gaze intent. When you break the silence with a whimper at the fullness of him, he reactively twists his fingers in the bed sheets, pent up energy spinning. Fully seated, he pulses in you, already so sensitive that just the feeling of you surrounding him has his nerves alight. Every part of you is connected to the other as you hold him, bodies flush against each other. 

And then he shifts, just the slightest movement, and both of you are lost in the other. Even with shallow, smooth thrusts, the feeling is so intense that he only pulls back slightly before pushing back into your warmth, eliciting tingles along skin and drawing moans from lips. You’re twisting limbs and skin on skin, and his care has you willingly swept into his current, his tide pulling you under. 

The contact and drag of his body flows in waves as he pushes in and out with fluid thrusts. The soft silkiness of his tummy and velvet fuzz of his happy trail compound on the sensations, drawing friction within the fluidity. You can feel every part of him moving against you, every muscle, smooth to the touch but powerful and strong beneath his skin. 

His hands clasp with yours, fingers intertwining securely as he pushes them to the covers, mouthing against your skin, “I love you”, endlessly and heartfelt. You melt together, effortless and flowing, whole and light, and so filled with love. All you know is the want to cherish it, to protect his love in your arms. 

The last deep red hues of the sunset glow onto his skin and reflect a warm golden brown in his eyes, and as the rays fade, neither of you are bothered to cut on a light. The darkness brings something only sensory deprivation can provide; the loss of sight heightens his thick scent, his heated touch, his strong movements, his heady sound. 

Gripping your hand in his hair, you easily guide him in for a kiss. You can see in his eyes how he’s already at the desperate edge of snapping, pliant in your grasp. He attempts to slow down, wishing to savor the feeling of you, his hands gripping at your thighs to keep himself grounded. Eyes tightly shut, he collects his last bit of willpower before it slips away. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmurs with a broken voice, “You’re too good, it’s too good,” his eyes meeting yours to urge you to understand just how gone he is. 

Your whines beneath him only heighten his urgency; he’s spurred on by the idea of you loving him, completely out of your mind, body twisting in his grasp. The roll of his hips picks up with each movement, edging on frantic, desperate to please you. He leads with impatient, trembling hands and groans roughly in your ear, his last bit of willpower slipping from his grasp. 

His hands leave impressions of his love on your skin, and in return, your comfort enables him to naturally and vulnerably be himself; it’s as if he isn’t him anymore, simply a collection of memories and emotions, yearning for you. 

From his body to his heart, you feel every raw part of him, and he feels you, too; the rapid beating of your pulse, the shallow intake of uneven breaths, the shaking of your legs around him, but most of all the way your heart and soul call out for him. Your hair musses against the covers as your head tilts askew, tension wound tight, and he follows you willingly, pressing his lips to yours to breath into you a last “my love” as you crash over with a cry of his name. 

Hearing and feeling you come apart around him has his hips stuttering and his voice caught. Flowing in your waves of bliss, you’re faintly aware of his flexed muscles and how his cock pulses and twitches within you. You pull his hair off his forehead and tilt his face toward you to view him as best you can in the shadows of the light cast by the moon, a silver halo forming around him. His eyebrows are furrowed and he pants for breath, softly whining and shaking, one pump away from coming, and unable to reconcile with allowing the bliss to end. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” His voice trembles as he’s about to break, on the edge of a falling, one touch away from crashing. 

In the safety of your arms you pull him to you and relish in the twist of his expression as he crashes, riding the rush of pleasure. He dissolves into the wave of his come with lazy, uncoordinated thrusts as he melts into you. Aftershocks course through him as the tide pulls away. 

Breaths mix, skin slides, the softest of giggles embellishes the cloudy bliss. Waves crash, crickets sing, and you’re floating. 

The lull of sleep covers you gently as you cuddle into his arms, a light sheet draped over you, shrouded by the light of the moon. The last memory you keep is his thumb tracing up and down your arm and your sides, his lips that speak of love kissing your eyelids closed. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

In the stillness of the night, you awaken to him cradling you in his arms amidst the bed sheets. He’s already awake, admiring you with gentle eyes. He peppers the sweetest of kisses slowly, deliberately to your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips.  

“You’re awake?” His voice is thick and sleep-strewn, his eyes endearingly puffy. 

Rolling on top of him with your fingers dancing along his jawline, you hum in a drowsy response against his lips and tuck your head under his chin. Pressing your nose into the safe haven of his warm, smooth neck brings you comfort that just might let you drift off again. 

But Hyuck has other ideas. Wiggling you off him and crawling out of the sheets, he soundlessly pads around the bedroom to adorn his clothes, tossing yours on your snuggly form. Mindlessly, you rub your eyes and accidentally put your shirt on inside-out, though it’s when he opens your winter coat and holds it aloft to help you into it that realization hits and you nearly protest with a pout. 

Donghyuck’s spontaneity is thrilling at the best of times, but tonight, it is quite literally chilling. 

Though you are the only residents as far as the eye can see, you still tiptoe your way outside and quietly traverse the trail down the hill to the shore, afraid to break the stillness of the night. Dawn has yet to break and crickets chirp while nocturnal crabs scuttle in the shadows to the sound of waves crashing heavily with the moon’s pull. 

A gust of wind rolls past and Hyuck instinctively pulls you closely to him, protecting you from the cool autumn breeze. As always, welcome warmth emanates from his steady hold. 

He pulls away just enough to look down at you. His hair is a complete wreck, and his eyes are sleepy, and he still looks absolutely beautiful despite it all. His warm lips press a lingering kiss to the tip of your nose in an effort to warm it, and he nestles your hands into his own toasty coat pockets. 

As nature continues to revolve around you, just like your time together, you watch the reflection of the moon on the water slowly shift as an edge of light grows on the horizon of the shoreline. 

Admittedly, it's a bit difficult to think about anything else other than the man in your arms. Turning to nuzzle your nose into his neck and kissing your way up his jaw to his lips, you run a thumb over his cheek and watch as his lips beautifully dawn into a smile. 

You just love him, entirely. 

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

BTS scenario: Yoongi finds you after 1,871 days (1)

Summary: It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you. Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul. Warnings/Notes: The continuation to Yoongi’s part in this scenario drabble. Please read because it might not sense if you don’t lol. No warnings as of now. 

Word Count: 1,500+ words READ PART TWO HERE

It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you.

Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul.

Inside the car and behind the tinted windows, Yoongi stares up to your apartment. It’s small, but it comes with a balcony where clothes hang to dry. He recognizes a familiar red blouse, and a blue jumper.

What he doesn’t recognize are these: a small pair of shorts, a school uniform, and a plain shirt - all in a size of perfect for a child.

1,871 days is a long time but you split it like this: the time before Yongho and the time after Yongho.

It didn’t take long for you to leave the pack after that night with Yoongi. You knew then that if you drag your feet, you’ll never be able to leave. So, with your family’s promise and blessing, you packed your bags, your savings, and your heart and boarded the next plane out of the country.

You didn’t think Yoongi would look for you (but you hoped, desperately, sometimes even too much) but still, you took serious precautions. Running away with an alpha’s child is not a slight offense regardless of the reason.

With no family and no friends, you hunkered down in the outskirts of Taipei. You watched summer turn to fall, and then by winter, your arms are warmed by the small bundle of joy that is your son.

Yongho is a precious boy, with your nose and lips, and Yoongi’s feline eyes. He’s curious, energetic, and affectionate, and not a day goes by that you’re not thankful for his presence.

When he turned three, and with no new news of Yoongi coming from your family, you opted to return to your homeland to finish your post-graduate studies. You never planned on hiding Yongho from his father forever, but for years after you left, your family urged you not to reveal yourself.

The pack has splintered, stay hidden until everything settles. They are invoking the old law.

And so you did, however, now, circumstances have changed.

“Yongho, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Yoongi watches a few steps behind you as you kneel down to your child’s height. Even with your crouching form, he still couldn’t see his son’s features. He’s small for his age, he muses, just like he was in his youth.

Yoongi hears a sound of high-pitched approval from his child, before your lips curve into a familiar smile.

“Good,” you say, “Why don’t you change clothes and then you can join us in the kitchen?”

The little boy scampers away with a giggle and you silently turn to Yoongi, leading him to the kitchen.

Your apartment isn’t small, but it’s not large either. The kitchen is quaint with herbs growing on the small window by the sink. Yoongi smells the leftover scents of bacon, milk, and eggs from the air mixed with the tea you placed in front of him.

For a while, it’s silent and Yoongi takes care to observe you.

It’s been five years but somehow, the difference startles him. Though your features remained the same, there’s a certain hardness to it now, like a polished sword - a calm protective air.

“Mama! I’m ready!”

Your scent immediately spikes with warmth as you hear your son’s steps down the stairs. You turn in your chair, catching him so readily in your arms.

“I combed my hair too, see?” Yongho peers up to you with a smile, one of his front teeth missing. Smiling fondly, you touch his hair lightly. “I see that, my love, good job.”

Yongho grins before turning and glancing at the man with his eyes, sitting at the other end of your dining table. His smile wobbles at the seriousness in the man’s face but he perseveres. He’s a guest, mama said.

Seeing that Yoongi has caught your son’s attention, you clear your throat. You’ve never lied about your son’s father ever since he first asked about it when he was three, and so this conversation shouldn’t be hard.

“Yongho, this is Yoongi, your father.”

The secondary gender’s characteristics manifests early into puberty. However, with the advancement of science and technology, people have found a way to determine an individual’s secondary gender as early as they’re 6 months old.

You tried avoiding these tests for Yongho to give him a shot at a regular, unburdened childhood but it became unavoidable when you tried to enroll him to his first pre-school class.

It had taken all of your family’s dwindling connections to scrub the records clean but even that isn’t enough to keep the news from reaching the elders ears.

Your son, little Y/L/N Yongho, is the rarest of them all - a male omega.

And so you called Yoongi. It’s less of him finding you, and more of you allowing yourself to be found. With nothing left to possibly do, you reached out to the only one you think can help.

Things have settled quite quickly, your son is young, forgiving and eager. At the sight of his father, he quickly warmed up and you watched Yoongi struggle faintly at the overwhelming energy of your pup.

They spent the whole day in his room, watching movie after movie, and playing with every toy Yongho owns. He even showed his father his drawings, most of which were of the town you lived in Taiwan.

“So that’s where you went.” Yoongi observes, finger touching the crayon drawing of you and Yongho making pineapple cakes.

The sun has already set and Yongho’s knocked out in his room. The two of you are once again across each other, on the other sides of your mahogany kitchen table.

“Yes,” you respond calmly, “We stayed there for three years.”

Yoongi breathes, closes his eyes and tries not to think of you, heavily pregnant and alone. There’s time to discuss the past, but that’s not today. Still, he couldn’t help the bitterness seep into his voice, not after he’s known what he missed for five years.

A son, a beautiful son.

“Had I known you’re craving pineapple cakes, we would’ve sent for it.”

I looked for you, he wants to say, I nearly went mad, looking for you.

You let out a pained chuckle, “Funny. I actually couldn’t stand it when I was pregnant. Yongho loves them though.”

“Why am I here?” Yoongi cuts, his alpha rearing its head. That’s our blood she hid, it snarls, our seed, our son - she took him away!

Wordlessly, you took out a red envelope from under your seat. The familiar seal of the pack elders broken into two. You slide it towards Yoongi and watch as he reads it contents.

You watch as his eyes grow sharper and his jaw clench reading the request of the elders. He too, has changed, you observe. The wild energy you’ve associated with him is gone, perhaps veiled under the surface.

After all, an omega’s chosen alpha should be a man of discipline.

“They can’t do this,” Yoongi grits out. “It’s against the law to take a child from their family.”

You shake your head, nights poured over the texts of your youth heavy on your mind, “The pack only recognizes families of mated individuals.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker at your unmarked neck and his alpha curls into himself. Unmarked. Our son’s mother is unmarked, it whimpers. Before he could speak, you continue on.

“I’ve read the books, and sought advice from the Wong pack of Taipei, there are two ways to avoid this—“

Marriage, Yoongi thinks, and the box in his pocket suddenly weighs a ton. He’s carried it around for five years, hoping to find you. 

“—but since mating is out of question—“ a flash of the old you passes in your eyes, and Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but you don’t stop.

“— I’ve invoked the ancient law.” You pause, taking a deep breathe. “A month from now, I’ll be battling the primary alpha of the pack for the custody of our child.”

Yoongi gasps. The primary alpha… is Jeon Jungkook, one of their strongest and most devoted to the omega. He’ll tear you apart if she so asks.

Yoongi startles when you push your chair back, standing suddenly in front of him. Your eyes are brimming with unshed tears, but your back is straight, as you kneel down- your forehead to the ground, a few inches from his feet.

“Min Yoongi, alpha of the Min family, father of my son, my former betrothed — for all that we were and we cannot be, I beseech you.”

Yoongi’s alpha is snarling inside his head, confused, scared, angry at your thoughtless decision and his own thoughtlessness that lead you here. It’s a visceral reaction - an alpha doesn’t bow to another alpha, but here you are.  Everything for your son. 

“If I lose, take our son. He needs your name.”

END NOTES: Well, this got out of hand. There’s a lot unsaid between these two and a lot of time passed by between the them in the drabble and this one. Let me know what you think! I’m thinking of where to bring the other hyungline members’ plotlines still.  Hearts are great but comments and reblogs will reach a lot more readers. Let’s spread the love!  Should I continue Yoongi’s story? What do you think will happen? TAG LIST: @justmewondering-recs @cloudbuffalo @blushingatyou @aroseharder @neverthefirstchoice @xanny91 @sugaaddiction @flirtygerty​ @darkskin-buttercup​

[cuttoothed]

Day 8 of @jonmartinweek for the “AU” prompt.

This week has been such a delight to write for, and it’s the most productive and inspired I’ve been in a long time. I've really enjoyed all the great content coming out of this week. Thanks to the organizers for this wonderful event!

CW here for depiction of depression, though the term itself isn’t used. Depression symptoms are also shown to spontaneously improve over time, though it is stated that this is not a complete or permanent recovery.

*

There is a land with many gods. Gods of war and of peace; of harm and healing; of storms and snows. Gods of life and death; gods of hearth and home. The smallest village has its own small god; the cities have thousands, all clamoring for attention.

There is a valley with a kind and gentle god. He makes sure that the rains fall in spring, and in summer that the sun shines on the fields of growing crops. In winter he tempers the cold winds, gentles the frosts to spare the valley worst of the chill. The people love their god, and trust that he will always care for them.

Until one spring, the rains do not fall, and the clouds do not part to let the sunshine through. A freezing fog rolls in, blanketing the little village and the lands around it; the fields remain frozen, and those few plants that sprout from the frost-bitten earth rot in the clinging damp. The people despair, because their god has never let them down before. Have they done something wrong? Angered him somehow? They will have enough stores to survive one year without harvest, perhaps two; if their god’s kindness does not return by then, they will have to abandon the valley that has been their home for centuries.

The most senior leaders from the village go to speak with the god, in his shrine on the hillside. The god is distressed at their plight, but he tells them he cannot help; his soul is mourning, and he does not know why. He has tried to call on the sun, on the soft rains, but his heart is too sorrowful, and all that comes is fog.

The people of the valley try everything they can think of, to restore their god’s happiness. They bring him gifts, recite stories and songs; they throw a carnival in the foggy village square, with costumes and games and music. They offer to search for anything that will make him happy, if he will only tell them. But the god cannot tell them, and nothing brings him joy, and the fog remains.

*

One day, a scholar comes to the village. Jonathan Sims is from the city, from one of the temples of knowledge, where they have heard about this valley and its inconsolable god. He walks through the cold, mist-shrouded streets, and up to the hillside where the god’s shrine is.

The shrine is a cottage, small and quaint, with lights in its windows and smoke curling from its chimney; it isn’t like any shrine Jon has seen before. He hesitates before knocking on the door, unsure if this could truly be the home of a god. The person who opens the door looks like a man, with a kind face, and rough, home-spun clothing; he is quite unlike the gods of the city, who are sharp and polished and alien. But one look at his eyes tells Jon that this is the god: they are ageless and endless, swirling like silver-gray fog.

“I’m sorry,” says the god, “I’m not really in the mood for visitors at the moment.”

“Please,” Jon says, before he can shut the door. “I’ve brought jasmine tea—I heard you enjoy it?”

The god hesitates a moment, then says:

“All right, you can come in—but just for tea.”

The inside of the cottage is what Jon would have expected from its outside, cozy and cluttered, with a fire crackling in the hearth. The god fetches saucers and cups and brews a pot of the fragrant jasmine tea, and there are little cakes with dried fruit and honey, which the god tells him were a gift from the village.

“I’m not much of a baker myself,” he admits, pouring the tea. Then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon. What, uh, what should I call you?”

“I don’t have a name,” says the god. “The people around here just call me “the god”, and I’ve never thought to ask them for one.”

“You could always choose one for yourself.” The god gives him a curious look, as if that’s not something that had ever occurred to him.

“I suppose that I could,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Jon has never had tea with a god before. The god asks him about the city and his work for the Temple of Beholding, and Jon finds himself talking freely; this god is very easy to talk to. His face is open and kind, and he listens attentively as Jon talks about the city, its people and its gods, about the work of the Temple to gather knowledge, to understand their world.

“Why did the Temple send you to me?” the god asks at last.

“We heard of what happened in the valley—of the fog,” says Jon, and sees guilt flash across the god’s face, the silver-gray of his eyes darkening. “I came to see.”

“Not to try to cheer me, then?” the god asks. There’s a bitter note in his voice.

“No, not to cheer you. Just to speak. To understand.”

“I’m glad you aren’t wasting your time, then,” says the god. “My people have done all they can to lift my sorrow. And I have tried, every way I know how, to send this fog away, to clear the skies, but I cannot—”

He shakes his head in frustration, lines of worry and grief etched across his features. Jon has the sudden impulse to reach out and comfort him; but this is a god, and besides, they’ve scarcely even met.

“I’m sorry that you carry such a burden,” he says. The god looks at him, and his mist-colored eyes are grieved.

“My sorrow isn’t important, only that it causes me to fail my people.” He turns away, his expression pained. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles. It’s probably best that you leave.”

Jon wants to protest, but he thinks it’s probably not a good idea to refuse a god’s request. He sets down his teacup and puts on his coat, and at the door he pauses.

“May I come back tomorrow?” he asks. The god considers, and then nods.

“I would like that,” he says, with a faint hint of a smile.

It’s quite a lovely smile, Jon can’t help noticing.

*

In the village, Jon asks about the god. The god has always been there, he learns. The god has always cared for them, has always ensured their harvests are bountiful and their winters are mild. The people of the valley don’t understand why their god is so unhappy now, but they hope it doesn’t linger too long. They need him to be the joyful, attentive god he has always been; they depend upon it.

The next day, he walks back up to the cottage on the hillside; the door opens to his knock, and the god smiles in greeting. They drink tea by the fire, and Jon asks about the valley—about how it is, when the fog isn’t here. The god talks about the farms and the orchards, the beauty of this place in both summer and winter; he talks about the lives of the people, their joys and their trials, how they rely on him for their wellbeing.

“That sounds like a great responsibility,” says Jon.

“They need me to care for them,” the god says simply. “So that is what I do.”

They talk into the evening, and the god insists Jon stay for supper; a rich stew of root vegetables and herbs. The god smiles shyly when Jon compliments the meal.

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” he says.

It’s coming into night when Jon leaves, and the god gives him an oil lamp to light his way to the village. His fingers brush against Jon’s as he hands him the lamp, and there is a jolt of electric sensation; a reminder that he is still talking to a god.

“Walk safely,” says the god.

“May I come back tomorrow?” Jon asks, and the god smiles, his eyes shining silver-gray.

“I look forward to it.”

*

Jon comes back the next day, and the next day, and the next. Sometimes he and the god talk; sometimes, when the god’s sorrow is too deep for conversation, Jon makes tea and they sit together quietly. Some days they walk in the hills, where the fog coils around the god’s feet like a cat. Jon brings the god the books he’s carried with him from the city, and the god—eventually, shyly—reads Jon a poem that he’s written. Jon is no aficionado, but the soft sincerity of the god’s voice makes something warm curl in his chest.

Their fingers brush over tea cups and the spines of books, each touch sending that little electric thrill through Jon’s nerves, and a warmth that has nothing to do with divinity. He knows it’s foolish—utterly ridiculous—to harbor such feelings for a god. But the god is kind and caring and clever; he sometimes makes terrible jokes, and when they walk, he insists on stopping to greet every shaggy brown cow they see.

The god is also sad, a bone deep, aching sorrow whose roots are unfathomable. He tries to explain it to Jon: he has always felt such sorrow, from time to time, as if all the joys of life were far away, seen from behind glass. But it has never lasted for so long, and it has never before prevented him from fulfilling his duties; he has always been able to push it aside, to do what he must.

That, Jon thinks, is part of the problem; his god is too kind, too devoted, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people.

His god, and when did Jon start to think of him that way? Not in worship, but in growing affection?

*

More than anything, the god loves to hear of Jon’s travels. He has journeyed far and wide in service to the Temple, and the god listens raptly as he describes distant places he has been, sights he’s seen, people he’s met.

“I’ve never traveled anywhere,” the god admits. “It sounds quite wonderful.”

“It can be,” says Jon. “Though it’s best when you have somewhere to return to.”

*

One morning in midsummer, the fog curls denser than ever, and Jon can scarcely find his way to the cottage through the murk. He hurries as fast as he can, worried that something might be astray. He worries more when the god does not open the door to Jon’s knock; Jon wonders for a moment if he might not be home, but they had agreed to walk and visit the cows today. His god would not forget.

He hesitates, then lets himself in.

He finds the god curled by the fire, sitting on the floor with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. His face is drawn and tear streaked, and as Jon approaches another shuddering sob tears itself from his throat, fresh tears flowing from his silver-gray eyes.

“Oh—” Jon drops to his knees on the hearthstone, his hands flying up as if to touch the god’s face, but instead hovering helplessly above his shoulders; they have never touched, but for those accidental brushes. Does he have the right?

“Jon…” the god says, his voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Don’t say that,” says Jon, distraught. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” says the god, even as another sob shakes his shoulders. “I’m—there’s nothing wrong, not really. I’m just being...selfish. Absorbed in my own foolish melancholy when my people—“

“Forget your people!” Jon snaps, more sharply than he intends, and he sees his god flinch. “Just for a moment, think of yourself. I beg you.”

“My people—this place—they are me,” says the god. “If not for them, what would I even be?”

“You would be dear to me,” Jon says, hoarsely, and the god’s fog-colored eyes go wide, startled. The truth, then, and this time Jon does press a hand to his god’s soft cheek. The touch sends that familiar, tingling thrill through his palm, the feeling that Jon has learned to love.

“Oh,” the god whispers, and his hand comes up to cover Jon’s on his cheek. He leans into Jon’s touch, smiling even as the tears continue to flow.

*

There comes a day, in autumn, that dawns with sunshine and blue skies.

Jon wakes with his god curled beside him in the warm nest of their bed, and watches the light shining in through the window with wonder. It isn’t precisely a surprise: the fog has been lessening these past few weeks, the clouds growing less gray, but still he had not dared to hope that the sun might return—to the sky, and to his god’s heart.

After a time, the god wakes as well—slowly, as he always does—and his tousled head turns towards Jon. His eyes blink open, and their color is the clear blue of summer skies.

“G’morning,” he says sleepily, and Jon’s heart swells with love for him.

“Good morning,” he says. “The sun is out.”

*

The people of the valley rejoice with the return of the sun. This year’s harvest is lost, but they can begin to plan for next spring’s planting. The leaders of the village go to the shrine to give thanks to their god, but the strange scholar from the city answers the door and refuses to let them inside.

“He’s busy,” the scholar says, and shoos them away.

*

“You know that the fog may return, in time?” The god’s fingers twine gently with Jon’s. “I love you more than breath, but love cannot guard against such inborn sorrow. It comes when it wills, regardless of life’s joys.”

“Let it come,” says Jon. “I have loved you in the fog, and I will again. You own my heart, however heavy yours might be.”

He lifts his god’s hand and kisses his fingertips, feeling the buzz of bright sensation against his lips.

“My dear,” his god murmurs. “My heart.”

*

It isn’t long before Jon receives the letter that he knew would come; the fog has lifted and there’s no more to be learned, he is to return to the Temple at once.

He reads the letter once, then burns it.

*

“We should go somewhere,” Jon says, one evening. His god smiles, fingers stroking through Jon’s hair, leaving little trails of electric sensation behind.

“That’s a pleasant fancy,” he says. “I would love to travel with you, see those wonderful places you’ve told me about.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Jon urges. “Just for a time?”

“I-I couldn’t,” the god stutters. “My people—“

“Your people would carry on without you,” says Jon. “You have given everything that you are to this place and its people for so long; you’ve suffered through pain and sorrow in silence, until you could conceal it no more. You have thought of nothing for yourself, love, and so I must think of it for you.”

His god is staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears. Jon grasps both of his hands, feeling the little sparks of divinity dancing across his skin.

“Come away with me,” he pleads. “Be selfish, for a little while.”

“Jon…” His god breathes his name like a prayer, and Jon wonders at the fortune that brought him here. His god smiles, bright and glorious.

“Yes,” he says.

*

They lock up the cottage before they leave, an empty shrine, but only for a time. The spring sun is shining, and in the valley below they can see people working in the fields, planting for their next harvest. The god gives a worried sigh, and Jon takes his hand.

“Your people are well,” he says, gently. “And we won’t be too long away.”

“I know,” says his god, and squeezes his hand. Then he smiles, wry and mischievous. “I had a thought; since we’ll be out in the world, I should choose a name. I expect most people won’t take kindly to calling me god.”

“That may be wise,” Jon agrees, laughing. “Have you thought of the name you might want?”

“Well…” his god says. “I was fond of the protagonist in that novel of yours—The Life and Adventures of Martin Blackwood?”

“Martin Blackwood, eh?” Jon says, considering. His god—Martin now, perhaps—tilts his head quizzically, his blue eyes shining.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Jon smiles.

“I think it suits you.”

[certifiedskywalker]

What Could’ve Been - Sam Wilson

With the rift carved between Tony and Steve, sides were taken. You found yourself on Cap’s team of criminals, running away from confinement and towards trouble. Running led you all to Europe, specifically the English countryside, for a brief reprieve. During this break, you and Sam find yourselves at an ‘open house’, thinking about a future that isn’t yet in reach.

AN: I need to stop writing when I’m hungry…I always mention food…

Careful, you two. Steve’s warning rang through your head as you walked in step with Sam. You shook your head and scoffed, your breath forming a small cloud. Apparently, your sound of dismay was enough to get Sam’s attention.

“What?”

“Who does he think we are? Twelve year-olds? He said it like he can’t trust us. Us!”

“He really got under your skin this time, huh?” You glanced over at Sam as he spoke and saw the grin spread along his lips. The kind of grin that caused crinkles to form in the corners of his eyes. The kind of grin you saw all too rarely. 

“He didn’t get under yours?” You asked incredulously, throwing your hands up in slight defeat. “It’s like he thinks we’ll cause trouble and get caught.”

“Well, there was that time in Peru.”

You pointed a finger at Sam and shook your head. “That was different.”

“You went back for a sandwich! I mean, it was good, but not worth dying over.”

“I beg to differ,” you protested, “I went to bed full and satisfied that night. If I remember correctly, you were complaining about being hungry.”

“I don’t complain.” A laugh rippled up your throat at Sam’s sternness. “I don’t.”

“Sure,” you sighed after you caught your breath, “and Steve doesn’t like when we call him Captain either.”

“All I’m saying is that, out of all of us, you seem to cause the most chaos.”

“I cause chaos?! We literally went to j-”

As you spoke, Sam’s arm shot out in front of you. The touch stopped you mid-stride, but that was not what knocked the air from your lungs. It was the feeling of his hand on your waist, how his large palm brushed against your side. His forearm pressed against your abdomen, holding you still and in a warmth that pushed the English chill around you to the side. It was only when a car roared past you both that you found a foothold back in reality.

“There you go, proving my point,” Sam said, meeting your eyes. When he noted your slightly slack jaw and wide eyes, Sam’s demeanor shifted. He moved to stand in front of you, hands lightly gripping your arms. “Are you hurt?”

“I, no. I’m...sorry.”

A moment of quiet passed between you. Your gazes remained fixed on the others, trying to read past each other’s furrowed brows and confusion. After the white-noise of the quiet township faded back into focus, a small grin began to play on Sam’s lips. For a winding second, you wondered if he was going to kiss you; a strange, fleeting thought that left your mind as soon as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Your life flash before your eyes? You think of that sandwich?”

At his teasing questions, the haze that Sam’s touch casted lifted like the dark clouds that trailed Summer storms. Any intrusive thought fled along with the feeling and you were left with your senses returned. Gently, you pushed at Sam’s shoulders and forced him to step back. He did easily with his eyes still fixed on you. 

Despite the fact there were hardly any people in the little village, you hurried across the street, desperate to get out of sight. Sam followed after you, unrelenting in his teasing.

“Aw, c’mon. You did, didn’t you?”

Not wanting to show how much he was getting to you, you kept walking as you replied. “So, maybe I did. Better than dwelling on an empty stomach.”

“Well, maybe you could watch where you walk. A trip to the ER isn’t really keeping a low profile.” You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder at him as, while there remained a tilt in his mocking tone, there was something cold in his words. When your eyes landed on him, you saw that Sam was no longer grinning. 

“You worried about me?” You meant to play into his teasing, get him to smile again, but Sam remained unmoved. You opened your mouth to ask again, but Sam was ready to reply. 

“Just don’t want Cap to tell you ‘I told you so’. I’ll never hear the end of that.”

“Especially not if we’re cell neighbors,” you agreed, “again.”

At the mention of your past incarceration, Sam grew cold again. The Raft had been rough, more chilling than the loneliest nights in the quinjet. Even walking, you could see that Sam was revisiting his time there, just as you did in your darkest moments. His eyes were downcast on the sidewalk, until you took his arm.

His dark eyes lifted and met your gaze. For the first time since The Raft, you saw how truly tired Sam looked. You gave him a half smile, as it was all you could muster. Sam returned the expression as you moved to link your arm in his. Joined at the elbow, you began to lead him down the sidewalk, eyeing the facades of the shoppes as you went.

“Let’s find something to eat.”

“Another sandwich adventure?” Sam asked, a smile in his voice. Sure enough, when you glanced at him, you saw his lips were slightly more upturned.

“Maybe. What are you hungry for?”

“Nothing overwhelmingly English. No crumpets,” he shook his head, “things look like spongey hockey pucks.”

You stifled a laugh as you led him past what looked like a yarn shop. Threads of all colors mingled in spools and bundles in the windows. An older gentleman worked at the counter, glasses perched on the curve of his nose. He seemed to sense you and Sam as you strode past the store because, in a flash, he looked up.

Immediately, you fixed your gaze forward and tensed.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his voice low.

“Old guy, the shop we just walked by. I think we’re clear though.”

“You think? I need better than you think, Y/N/N.”

At the sound of Sam’s nickname for you, you relaxed in your stride. Taking advantage of the momentary ease, you glanced over your shoulder. You swore you saw someone poke their head outside of a doorway. Quickly, you turned your gaze forward again.

“Just keep moving.” Sam scoffed at your tone, but his arm tightened around yours.

“No shit, keep moving,” he said softly, only for your ears. “Move right back to the jet. We can loop back around, turn right up the road, and-”

“Excuse me!” You and Sam kept moving. “Excuse me! You two!”

You stopped in your tracks and, despite his extra step forwards, so did Sam. He grumbled something about running, but you knocked your shoulder against his to quiet him. Together, you turned around to find a plump, short woman with bright orange hair waving in your direction with one hand while the other held out a platter of biscuits.

You and Sam glanced at each other as she approached. He raised his brows at you, sending a silent message. Be ready for take off. You nodded, lifting your free hand to grip his arm in case he broke off in a sprint. Sam was faster than you, wings or no wings. He wouldn't leave you behind.

“Are you the Bridgers? The American couple that wanted to see the building?” The woman grinned at you and Sam, at your cocked heads and quirked brows. “I noticed you looking at the different shoppes. It’s a hidden gem, 784 Branbury, but it’s a good one!”

“Oh, I think that you-” Sam began, but you squeezed his bicep tight to stop him. He glanced at you, eyes squinted in question; but your gaze flickered between the smiling woman’s face and the plate of cookies she held out to you.

“Yes, we are the Bridgers. Everything here is so...quaint. We just got a little awe-struck and, well, lost.” You looked over at Sam who, still confused, eyed you warily.

“We did?”

“We did,” you confirmed, squeezing his arm again.

“You did,” the woman echoed. “Well, that’s quite alright. Here, follow me and you can help yourselves to these once we get inside. It’s really quite a nice place, all the furnishings and…”

The realtor rattled off on all the amenities of the building, but you were too busy dragging Sam in after her to truly hear what she was saying. He held back, legs locked in place and your arm slipped from his. The woman did not notice as you and Sam fell behind. Instead she wandered inside the building, still chattering away.

“What are you doing?” He asked, hands on his hips. You couldn’t help as you smiled at the sight.

“Causing chaos,” you replied as you reached for his arm once more. “And getting a cookie. Let’s go, Mr. Bridgers.”

Much to your surprise, Sam acquiesced. With ease, you led him inside the quaint storefront that, according to Ms. Verner, the cookie-holding realtor, had recently been remodeled in the cottage style. Exposed wood and wicker lined aspects of the decor, the darkest oak wonderfully offset by the white accents of the window sills and curtains. It all smelled faintly of varnish that was nearly masked by the scent of baked goods and treats that you and Sam immediately sought out. With her platter nearly cleared, and your stomachs sated, Ms. Verner busied herself by feeding her own curiosity.

“We don’t get many Americans about here. Why the interest in this property, if you don’t mind me asking such a thing?”

Searing panic rushed through your veins. You quickly peeled your eyes from the kitchenette that rested in a pristine, untouched state across from where you stood in the living room. Sam, with a half-eaten cookie in hand, glanced at you, read your wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Your ability to bullshit was misfiring. He needed to pick up the slack.

“Vacationing,” Sam replied tersely, “we come across the pond a lot. Hotels get….expensive, so this place might be cheaper in the long run, if we keep coming back to the UK. We haven’t...done the math yet.”

Ms. Verner nodded quickly in agreement. “Oh, yes! I see! Perhaps home owning will keep you ‘coming back’, as you said. I do believe that the monthly mor-”

Just as the redheaded realtor was about to dive off the edge into another tangent, a shrill beeping filled the space. Ms. Verner reached towards her pantsuit pocket and fumbled for her phone. You took advantage of the distraction to mouth a ‘thank you’ to Sam. In return, he gave you the softest smile you had ever seen. The sight sent a fluttering to your stomach.

“Hello there, Dorothy Verner speaking. I see, the property on 5th. One moment.” Ms. Verner pulled herself from her phone call and glanced apologetically between you and Sam. “Realtor duty calls, you know. Please, take a look upstairs. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Phone pressed to her ear, Ms. Verner stride out of the front door, leaving you both to the comfortable warmth of 784 Branbury. When the door shut with a secure click behind her, you glanced over at Sam. He met your gaze and gestured to the space around you with the hand that held his leftover cookie.

“We should go.”

“Why? We can't entertain the reality of the Bridgers?” You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a nod. “You seem to be enjoying the perks.”

Sam frowned before he tossed his half-eaten biscuit in the trash bin tucked by the sofa. The quiet stretched on, heavy between you. When he finally made a sound, it was a gentle rustling as he moved. It felt as if you were back in the cold confines of The Raft.

You half expected to see Sam pace as he did before. He would rub at his bearded chin, caught deep in thought as you had watched his shadow on the metal floor. It was all you could see of him: the only comfort you found in your cell was knowing he was in his own, knowing that he shared a wall with you despite it all. Though, now, it was as if he were a ghost.

“Sam, what is it?”

He lifted his eyes to yours and, in their darkness, you saw the depth of his sadness. “It’s not our life, our lives.”

“You’re right,” you admitted, “we’re strangers, not the Bridgers.”

Slowly, you took a few steps towards him. As you drew near, Sam’s eyes traced over your face. You gave him a soft smile in the hopes of raising his spirits. He seemed to respond, his lips quirking upwards ever so faintly. Encouraged by the sight, you held your hand out to him.

“But we can pretend for a little while. Pretend like we’re not wanted criminals, right?”

He raised a dark brow at you. “As long as we’re careful.”

“Yes, fine, Captain,” you agreed, rolling your eyes. “Now, let’s see the upstairs. Shall we?”

“We gotta do our due diligence,” Sam replied, playing along with your little make believe. He took your extended hand, completely enveloping your palm and fingers with his. You took an unsteady breath and you nodded. Before you could totally recover, spit out some witty retort, Sam was guiding you up to the second level of 784 Branbury.

Recently redone, the wooden stairs hardly creaked as you and Sam ascended. If they did, you were too lost in the feeling of Sam’s skin on yours to note it. However, it was impossible to miss the rumbling laugh that rose up from Sam’s chest.

“These guys owned the place? Uppity white people.”

“Uppity?” You paused on the stairs, halting Sam along with you. He gestured to the family portraits that lined the walls. A nauseatingly nuclear family clad in matching outfits lingered in the frames. Wide smiles were plastered on their faces.

“They're wearing v-neck sweaters! They probably did the pinky thing.” As he elaborated, Sam, with his free hand, mimicked the motions of sipping a cup of tea with his pinky extended out in the air. “The pinky thing.”

“So, they had manners? They were civilized?”

“Sure,” Sam sighed, his hand slipping from yours as he continued to climb up the stairs. “Had all the privilege too.” 

You watched him go and turn into the nearest open doorway before you glanced back to the family in the photos. In the abstract, you yearned for the happiness they presented, the peace: the domesticity. It was easy to imagine, to pretend, in their little house. You and Sam were the Bridgers, on holiday, planning out a future together.

“As if,” you whispered to yourself as you pushed that make-believe future from your mind. Quickly, you traced Sam’s trail and peeked into the first open doorway.

You expected to see him stood there, mocking the decor (the lace curtains in particular), but he was no longer there. With furrowed brows you took in the tacky wallpaper before returning to the hallway of portraits. You stepped into the next open door way only to find an empty bedroom. A large, king bed was perfectly made, untouched like the kitchenette. Life wonderfully frozen in time.

The lace curtains hung around the window, blowing in the gentle breeze that danced through the screen. Grey sheets were as soft as feathers as you trailed your fingertips along them. When was the last time you slept in a bed? When you were comfortable?

You couldn’t recall. The last time you had a stable place to sleep was on The Raft, where Sam’s shadow had been your only solace. Your stomach twisted at the memory, drove you to turn your back on the bed, the sweet promise of sleep.

“Sam?”

“In here!” You followed the call of Sam’s voice down the hall. It seemed to come from the farthest room on the right.

When you turned, poked your head through the open doorway, you saw Sam stood in the middle of the room. He didn’t turn to face you, but Sam’s gaze fell to the floor as you took in the space. Soft tones of blue paint coated the walls, but it was the faint scent of baby powder and shampoo that gave away the room. A nursery.

“I got two nephews at home,” Sam said as you stepped inside. “I helped my sister paint the nursery the first time. Teddy bear wallpaper on one wall. It didn’t last long. The boys crayoned right over them, gave some mustaches too.”

“Creative,” you mused, moving to stand at his side. Sam’s eyes lifted from the fuzzy rugged floor to meet your gaze. That sadness had returned. “You miss them.”

“I do, and my sister. Home.”

“You’ll see them again, once things...settle.”

“Settle? Things don’t settle for us,” he began, “they always go, go, go. Once we’re done here, done pretending, it’s back to running again. I’m tired, Y/N.”

“But we can’t just be tired, not even for a second.”

“Exactly,” Sam agreed, his dark eyes searching yours before he glanced around the blue nursery. “Can’t even pretend for very long, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

You reached out a careful hand and grabbed his shoulder. Sam glanced back to you as your thumb rubbed gently into the fabric of his shirt. You stared back at him, searching for the right words somewhere in his features. Instead, you found yourself lost in him.

“I want to pretend, with you,” Sam murmured. There was no playful, teasing grin or dower coldness in his face that lessened the blow of his words. It was all serious, Sam was serious, and it made your heart flutter in your chest.

“I do too,” you thought back to the pictures of the family in the hall, “but not what could’ve been, not in some different life.”

“You don’t want to be a Bridgers?” There was that teasing grin, though it was more mild than you were expecting. You let your hand fall from his shoulder, but his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist before it rested back at your side.

“No,” you replied, mirroring his smile.

“Just want to be us, then? What could be in our lives?” Sam’s dark eyes flickered down to your lips before returning to your gaze. “I’m cool with that.”

“You are? Well, that’s great to hear,” you teased. “Maybe you could-”

Sam’s lips pressed against yours before you could continue. You melted into his touch. He pulled you softly to him by your wrist, with his other hand reaching up to cup your face. The coarse hair of his goatee nipped at your skin, coaxing your smile into the kiss. Silently, you hoped that the true pair of Bridgers were still running late to their viewing of their prospective holiday house. That way, you and Sam could pretend for a little while longer.

[the-huntress]

Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

                                               10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor�� next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

[technicallymilkshakes]

Reciprocal ❂ || 1 of 2

A Manager!verse story Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut (in future chapter) Pairing: Jongin x Reader Word Count: 4.1k No warnings for this chapter, but note that the next one will contain mature content.

Next Chapter >>

Less than two hours outside of Seoul, the night air already seemed easier to breathe. The windows were open and a rain-scented breeze blew in to riffle the top of your hair. Brake lights reflected red on the slick roadside ahead of you before fracturing into ten thousand raindrops against the windshield. This was a Friday night kind of feeling. You felt reckless and emotional, free for the first time in months and brimming with life.

Jongin had told you that he would halfsy the drive. Instead, he was deep asleep in the passenger seat, head slumped sideways, shoes kicked off within minutes of entering the vehicle. Promotions had been particularly brutal this time around. Without the other members to help ease the burden, Kai had to be on at all times. He was charming and dorky and witty—he flourished under all the attention—but it came with a toll. You scheduled PT sessions in any brief moments of respite you could cram then in. He slept wherever and whenever he could and when he couldn't, he drank coffee.

Running point for this solo had been just as taxing for you. Time moved in recordings, photoshoots, and appearances. You'd fall asleep and wake up reviewing the itinerary. Promotions were occurring across a variety of platforms and you spent countless hours researching and breaking down offers, liaising with event managers and security, monitoring press reviews and social media. You were in so deep, you didn't even realize you weren't living until someone else pointed it out. Nine, Baekhyun's manager, encouraged both of you to take a vacation. Pronto. Their experience shepherding Baekhyun through multiple solo albums had been invaluable, so you weren't about to argue.

Besides, you hadn't been to the mountains since your first year of high school.

It had stopped raining by the time you pulled up to your destination. Jongin was already awake, blinking heavily at the sight that greeted him.

The mountain lodge was modern but inviting. The lights were on and they spilled pleasantly out into the night. You turned the car off and stepped out into chilled air enlivened with the sounds of leaves rustling, insects chirping, and nocturnal animals stirring.

Inside, golden wood warmed the open space. The retreat was divided into two levels—living/dining area and one bedroom on the first floor and the master bedroom with a balcony that would be rich with fresh vegetables in the summer on the second.

You looked out on the living room. The designer had impeccable taste. Plush seating with cushions and pillows in sumptuous fabrics curled around a fireplace. Your toes sank into lush, layered carpeting, which bracketed and defined the space. It was comfortable and intimate. You could easily imagine yourself sinking into a chair and nestling in for a nap, lulled into a trance by the fire.

The kitchen gleamed in the opposite corner, all straight lines and modern appliances. And the dining area next to it. Table and chairs had been regally arranged in front of wall-to-wall sliding glass doors that, for now, looked out onto darkness.

But there was one particular feature that had clinched the deal when you booked the place.

“There's a spa bath here,” you said, and suppressed a smile at the soft 'ooh' Jongin let out as he disappeared to investigate.

A quietness settled over you in his wake. There was no wifi here, no work to haunt your waking nor sleeping hours. The other managers were under strict orders not to contact you unless there was an emergency.

You felt oddly vulnerable, stripped of the last vestiges of responsibility holding you together. Listless and exhausted, you climbed upstairs and fell into bed without a thought for anything else.

**

You woke early the next morning, body too used to being tired. You stared at the ceiling for an indeterminable time, thoughts eddying around without any clear distinction, like static noise that only resolved itself into proper words when you concentrated.

You'd been managing Kai for almost five years now. Hard to believe. You loved this, the sense of belonging and the endless opportunities to learn, but the pace was grueling. Five years was a long time. You couldn't imagine how some of the older managers had kept up. You weren't sure how you had kept up. And, if you were being honest, you weren't sure anymore if you should.

But that was too much thinking for this early in the morning. You rolled over in bed and shut your eyes.

After the appropriate amount of indeterminable time had passed, you heaved yourself out of bed. Sleep wasn't coming back for you. Duvet wrapped around your shoulders, you slinked downstairs to find Jongin rummaging around in the cabinets. He spun around, flinching as a drawer clanged shut behind him, then relaxed.

“You too, huh?” he said with a lopsided grin.

You nodded.  It was no surprise to find him here. You were just two bodies too accustomed to being together.

You turned your gaze to the counters. “What are you doing?”

“I was trying to make some coffee.”

He looked wan and tired. One armed wrapped around his middle, the collar of his shirt sunk low enough to expose his collarbones... like he was holding himself together, trying to stay warm.

A sense of fierce protectiveness overcame you. You were both overworked. But at least in this small bubble, this moment in time and space, nothing could hurt him, including himself. No work excuses allowed.

“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” you said, and he gave a weak laugh before getting an armful of duvet shoved at him. “Go sit down, I'll bring it over.”

Jongin stood there a moment staring at you. Under-cabinet lighting slashed over his chest, the rest of him slipping into shadow before he disappeared completely as he pulled the duvet over your head.

You felt a light kick to your backside.

“Hey!” You wrestled with the duvet. “As soon as I get out of this thing...!”

But he was grinning at you when you finally pulled it off, and you felt your urge for vengeance abate far too quickly as your fatigue flared. You still punched him in the shoulder, though.

He pouted, rubbing his shoulder.

“Oh, don't give me those puppy dog eyes. You deserved it.”

“I can make coffee...”

“You can,” you agreed. “With adult supervision. Now get the kettle out.”

**

The sunrise was something pulled from a poet's imagination. The lodge perched along a low ridge and peered down into the valley. Jongin had pulled open the curtains to what only last night had looked out into darkness and now found the world at his door. Together, you watched as the sun spilled over the mountain peaks opposite, then glissaded down powdery slopes to the tree line. The trees across the valley, where the mountains were taller, were still snowcapped, and the first sun rays lit them up like jewelry before setting them aflame with light, their trunks like matchsticks to the fire. Shadows tucked themselves in to sleep at the feet of the brightest places.

Day woke and stretched its radiant fingers across the sky to tangle in the wingtips of greeting birds. And with the sun came some clarity. These last few months had tested your commitment and shaken the bedrock upon which you had built your future. But if everyday the birds could rise and welcome the the newborn morning so lovingly, you thought you could keep trying to find beauty in it, too.

Next to you, Jongin had fallen asleep wrapped in your duvet. You leaned over and tucked his toes in.

**

The village was quaint and small, situated on a scenic one-lane-each-way route that wound through the mountains. The cashier at the grocery store greeted you as you entered. You felt her eyes on your back as you moved through the store.

The cabin came stocked with various dry foods, but you needed to pick up the perishables. Most of the in-season vegetables and fruit had been grown in the area, with little signs detailing farms and their locations. Strawberries, kumquat, apples, wild parsley and chive, and even shepherd's purse laying in baskets, some of which had been foraged from the mountainside just this morning. There was a vibrant freshness to the produce here that you just couldn't find in the city.

You gathered everything you needed, taking no heed of diet restrictions or nutritional value, and went to ring up your purchases. The cashier gave you small smile and talked quietly of some of the hidden gems to visit around here, hands sweeping back and forth over the scanner as she spoke. She had a soft and lilting accent you found pleasant to listen to.

You hid your embarrassment. Was it that obvious you were from out of town? She probably knew from the moment you had stepped inside. Heck, you hadn't worried about fitting in for so long. Over the years, your accent had eroded away against standard Korean and harsh edges of the city. And the boys had been so welcoming. At least she was friendly, though. Soon enough, you were hauling your bags out to the car, but not before thanking the woman for her advice.

**

Jongin was still lying on the couch when you got back, barely awake. Two cold mugs of coffee lay abandoned on the table next to him, one still nearly full. He sat up when you walked in with the bags, frowning.

“You went shopping?”

You heard the missing “without me?” and gave him a calm look. “You were asleep and I needed something to eat for lunch.”

He gathered himself up with a frown, wrapping the duvet around himself just as you had this morning. It already felt like a day ago even though it couldn't be past 11 in the morning. He inspected the bags, pulling them open and poking through them. You watched with amusement between putting the contents of the already-poked-through-bags away.

“What are you, a dog?”

“You got pig bars?!” He pulled out the ice cream, the item cradled in his palms. He looked at you wide-eyed, some mixture of reverence and fright.

“Yes. No chicken either.”

He kept staring down at his hands and you chuckled awkwardly to fill the silence. He opened the ice bar and jumped up onto the counter.

As you put the groceries away and then began making soy bean soup with the shepherd's purse, Jongin remained quiet and watchful. You enjoyed living alone back in Seoul, but you found you didn't mind his company. His presence was comforting—a constant, quiet companion. Not a dog, then. Your lips quirked. A cat.

The kitchen filled with the beat of knife against cutting board, the melody of soft burbling from the pot on the stove. You found yourself slipping back into the rhythm of cooking, like a dancer remembering the steps to an old song.

“What song is that?”

You startled, knife slipping, nicking the knuckle of your middle finger. You hissed, dropping the knife to inspect the cut. “Shit. What?”

Jongin jumped down from the counter, grabbing your hand, apologies tripping themselves over his lips.

“It's fine, it's really shallow, don't worry about it.”

His grip tightened, and his head remained bent low over your hand, examining the cut. “Let me worry,” he said.

So you sat in muteness after washing the cut. He took your hands and dried them with a towel, soft pats and delicate swipes. His eyes would flick up to your face now and again, carefully observing your expression. Sometimes, you would catch him doing it. His lips would arc gently into a smile and you would look away, scalded by the softness of lips and eyes. You stared instead at his fingers. They moved as light as butterflies over you as he applied a bandage.

Jongin lifted himself away, a lightness to his shoulders.

The words cast themselves from your throat, thrown out like hooks, that old part of you reeling to keep his attention.

“Thank you.”

Something glittered behind that gaze. He looked you straight on with that smile like honey and said, “I was glad for the chance to take care of you.”

**

After lunch, you went straight up to your room, sank onto your bed, and stared blankly at the wall.

What was that? Your mind sped in a circuit, thoughts looping back on each other. Why'd he do that?

Surely your brain had short-circuited. He was like that with everyone, you reminded yourself, sweet and concerned. The type to ask a stranger how they're doing and stick around for an answer. But without the barrier of work, things felt different. It dredged up old feelings, back when you were half-way in love with him. It embarrassed you something fierce now, but in the beginning you used to make a playlist of all the songs you knew he listened to. You'd play it at night after work, lying in bed in the dark and wondering if right now, he wasn't doing the same. It made you long for him and feel closer to him all at once. You always paid Kim Jongin too much attention.

But at some point, you changed your focus. You threw yourself into the role of manager head first. Taking care of him was number one. You spent so much time around him in various states of undress over the years, helping with quick changes or applying therapeutic patches. You'd stood behind the cameras, watching other people fall in with him with a smile. You'd seen him at his worst, in pain, angry and sullen with the confinement of the world. It was the ultimate form of exposure therapy. Gone were the nights filled with music and yearning. You'd prepare for the next schedule before you sank exhausted into a deep and dreamless sleep. You thought you were immune.

You should've been immune.

So why did it feel so very much like you weren't?

**

You acted skittish around him at dinner, skirting over things and racing through the meal. You felt his cool gaze on you as you ate and felt yourself hunkering lower and lower over your plate like some threatened beast.

“Did you want to take a bath?”

“What?” you squeaked.

He looked up at you over his forkful of pasta, eyebrows raised.

“The bath in my room. It's like a spa. I thought you might want to relax while you're here. You're welcome to use it anytime.”

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly. “Um, maybe later. Thanks.”

Safe to say you did not take a bath in his room that night.

**

You woke first the second day. Sleep hadn't come easy, and you spent much of the night thinking of how to stop thinking, daydreaming of a long walk to purge all thoughts from your head. And so you dressed and headed downstairs on quiet socked feet. The owner of the lodge kept galoshes for the guests, and you pulled a pair out, slipping them over your shoes before walking out into the world.

Most of the snow that remained on this side of the mountain had melted, leaving behind stretches of mud that sucked at your shoes. Around you, the birds trilled. The forest was full of forest noises—pine needles brushing against the wind, woodpeckers drilling against bark. The website for the lodge mentioned that there were a number of trails maintained by a grounds crew throughout the property. A stream bordered the western edge of the property, and you thought you remembered something about a Buddhist shrine located near there.

You missed this, you realized about a half hour into the walk. Seoul had its share of scenic parks and river walks, but it felt like a held breath. Something temporary, a quick break before you returned to the rushing arteries of people making a living.

Life felt impossibly lethargic here in contrast. You realized, with one moment of panic, that you hadn't yet checked your phone this morning, before it dissipated slowly. You were on vacation, you reminded yourself. The others could hold down the fort while you were gone.

The path you were following rounded a corner into a scenic corner of the world. A small waterfall fed by snowmelt spilled over a mossy rock face into a pool surrounded by sweet grass. You stayed there for a while by the edge, mist falling over you in fine sprays. Small diamonds of water accumulated along the woolen fibers of your sleeves.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, the urge to move was back. The trail branched off here, and a lichen-covered stone marker sat in the intersection. You recognized it as one of the landmarks the woman from the grocery had mentioned. The hanja carved into it had grown worn and faded. 'Grove of the Elders' it read. You took the path to the left.

Soon, you found yourself in the Grove of the Elders. Erman's birch trees filled the clearing. The branches were still spindly, buds just forming on the tips. Papery bark peeled away from the trunk like old men's beards. White forsythia was in the early stage of blooming along the periphery. You understood why it had been named the way it had.

You made your way through the grove. The trees were well-established, some with trunks thick enough to wrap your arms around. You were making your way through the grove, marveling at the open blue sky above you, when you almost stepped on Jongin.

“Whoa.” He jumped up from where he had been reclined against the base of a tree, rubbing a hand along the backs of his thighs. “What are you doing here?”

It was disorienting to run into him here, out in the middle of the woods. You had forgotten about him, about everything if you were being honest. But confronted with the realness of him again, your worries returned.

“Me?” you asked. “I was on a walk. What are you doing laying here?”

“I was trying to read.” He flashed a heavily dog-eared paperback of Papillon. “Didn't really get that far,” he said with a wry grin.

“Oh, sorry. I'll let you get back to it.”

You made to leave when his hand stretched out and gripped your sleeve.

“That's not what I meant.” He seemed flustered at your misunderstanding and he released his grip on you. “You don't have to. I was actually thinking about stretching my legs. If you don't mind the company.”

“I don't,” you responded quietly, even though you weren't sure if that was the truth. You had come here to be alone with your thoughts after all, not spiral into a silent panic.

Jongin smiled at you and shoved his book in the back of his jeans as he fell into step.

**

It felt surreal to walk through the woods like this with him. It was like being on the set of a music video, except you were the subject. The perfect setting for a story.

“Is it okay if I tell you something?”

Jongin sent you a questioning look. Something about his eyes caught you. You realized that this was maybe the first time you were about to confide something in him. Secrets were dangerous things.  “Yeah, of course.”

“Sometimes I wonder how much of a person I am without you.” You laughed. “It's silly, I know. But I used to be so spontaneous. One time, I volunteered to pose nude for an adult art class just because, I dunno, it seemed like an experience. I liked collecting memories. My friends always used to ask me what I was up to.

“Now, they ask me what you're doing. Because it's the same thing now, I guess.”

You exhaled, then felt a hand wrap around your own.

Jongin looked at you, really looked at you. There was a particular intensity to this, a piercing quality that you had never been subjected to.

“You are more than me,” he said.

You were taken aback at his response.

His grip tightened. “I couldn't do this without you,” he continued. “I should've told you before—but I'm not like Jongdae, I forget. I think,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I thought you already knew, but it was stupid of me too assume when I wasn't... I didn't... You're the best manager I've had. I'm not saying that just to flatter you.”

The words tumbled out of him. You'd never seen him so discombobulated, and that threw you off kilter in turn. You hadn't expected anything from him, had let go of the words like balloons released from clumsy fingers, where an appropriate response might be “oh no.”

“You're knowledgeable and accountable. Do you know how much I rely on you? I was so nervous this comeback, I only made it through because of you.” He swept your hand up to his chest. You could feel his heart beating frantically against your knuckles, like it, too, was trying to tell you something. “I do better when you're around. I want to make you proud. So get that through your stubborn brain: I wouldn't be even half of what I am now if it wasn't for you.”

The tears came, unbidden. In a heartbeat, Jongin had pulled you in close, your head against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your back, while the other lay now at your sides, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

“I don't even know why I'm crying,” you laughed through your tears.

“You're always fighting for me. I just wish I could do more for you.” His fingers grazed over the bandage on your finger.

The laughter faded into full-throated sobs. Your heart squeezed with an uncomfortable fullness. You were overwhelmed. Lately, it had felt as if work was a crushing void, a thankless pit that sucked everything out of you. You felt isolated, living life without reciprocation or support. Jongin wouldn't know it, but he made you feel like a person again. He brought back the colors.

Dew drops dripped from branches around you, soft patters against soft spring grass. Jongin was warm and solid against you.

“I get scared that I can't do this forever.” The words were spoken softly. Jongin wasn't looking at you when you lifted your head, focused instead on something in the distance. “I don't know what I would I do without EXO.” He finally dropped his gaze to yours. You saw your own uncertainty reflected back. “Or you.”

You knew then that everything you'd been through lately, the uncertainty, didn't matter. You were both a little broken. So you pressed yourself against him harder, a pair of fractured hearts holding each other up. “You won't be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

Jongin sank into the embrace, his cheek pressed against your temple. You felt his chest build with a sigh, felt the exhale on the baby hairs of your nape. Dry lips grazed against you. His wordless thanks lingered upon your skin.

**

By some unspoken agreement, Jongin's hand remained in yours on the trek back to the lodge. You walked close enough to brush arms and skim each others thighs. A small part of you dreaded that you'd have to let go once you got back.

“The first time I realized I trusted you was when I told you I didn't know how to iron,” he confessed out of the blue.

You laughed. You remembered that day. Jongin had been adamant about wearing a bear-print shirt to the airport the following day, but it was so wrinkled. The collar pointed in two different directions and one sleeve was longer than the other unless someone held it down straight.

“I didn't know how to iron a shirt either,” you admitted.

Jongin grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “We had to look up a tutorial on Naver, remember?”

“Oh yeah, the one with the Kyungsoo look-a-like, right? I took screenshots and sent them to Cho-hee.” You told him how Kyungsoo's manager had coerced him into recreating the shoot. Jongin had gasped delightedly and you made a mental note to show him the pictures when you got back. “But hey, wait, you still don't know how to iron, what the heck! I just ironed something for you last week!"

“Ah I don't know, I don't know,” Jongin chanted, plugging an ear with his free hand. “What tutorial? I don't know anything.”

“Kim Jongin, you are shameless.”

Laughter rang through the trees. Here was the morning you would rise to greet every day.

___________________________

A/N: The second, and final, chapter should be up next weekend (June 19-20). Me, releasing more than one thing in a month? Who am I??

Thank you for reading!

A/N 2: Second part is now up.

[ ❂ Read more Manager!verse here ]

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Two

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of  Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make  an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his  court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the  Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled  with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne.  Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, teeny bit of angst, Spanish translated by using Google Translate :(

Words: 2431

Disclaimer(s): This gif does not belong to me and I’m so sorry if this Spanish is wrong.

Translation(s):  Su Alteza, espero que su estadía haya sido placentera - Your Highness, I hope your stay has been pleasant

Si, gracias. Tu hermano es un hombre muy amable, me impresiona tu español - Yes, thank you. Your brother is a kind man, your Spanish impresses me

A/N: Again, I’m so so sorry if this Spanish is wrong! Thank you so much for all the love on this fic already! Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Two - Flowers in Your Hair

For the first month and a half that the Spanish Princess had been at the grand chateau in the countryside outside Paris, she had brought so much warmth and light to it. Sirius used to close the heavy curtains just after the sun had set but Y/N preferred to keep them open for much longer, only closing them just before she retired to bed. All the servants seemed to be delighted, now the chateau was always full of light whether it was warm yellow sunlight or the silver shine of the moon. Sirius had never seen the moon shine quite so beautifully.

Y/N was kind to the servants and they seemed to glow from her affectionate attention, though she hardly bestowed any warmth on Sirius – she wasn’t rude or anything  - but he expected that. It was why he wanted to wait a little while before they were married, Sirius hoped that they would grow to care for each other.

Sirius found her in the glass sun house, her pretty eyes fixed on a thick tome about myths and legends. He was contented with watching her for a few moments, her eyes moved across the page and she had a small smile on her face, “Your Highness,” he cleared his throat and she raised her graceful head to smile wanly at him, “I thought we might visit the village on the morrow so you can meet the townspeople.”

Y/N nodded as she played with the tresses of her hair, “I would like that, I would be happy to meet them. As long as I’m back for my siesta, I like having it beneath the apple tree.”

Sirius frowned a little as the new word rolled off her tongue; he knew that he should have learnt some Spanish in anticipation of her arrival. “I’m sorry, siesta? I’m not sure what that is,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously and he saw the disappointment in her eyes.

“It’s a sleep in the day my dear brother,” a voice full of laughter called out. Sirius momentarily closed his eyes, fighting back a sigh as he turned to see his handsome younger brother at his side. Regulus really should have been properly announced, Sirius hated it when he just turned up like this, “and this must be the beautiful Princess Y/N,” he bowed and Y/N smiled at him graciously, “Su Alteza, espero que su estadía haya sido placentera,” he spoke in such perfect fluent Spanish that Sirius wanted to strangle him.

Y/N’s soft lips parted in surprise before she smiled and spoke back, “Si, gracias. Tu hermano es un hombre muy amable, me impresiona tu español “Yes,” Regulus grinned, reverting back to English and he clapped Sirius on the shoulder, “my dear brother is only fluent in French and English,” he laughed and Sirius felt his nostrils flare with anger but before he could remark, Y/N beat him to it.

She gave Regulus a sharp look, “I think that it’s rather impressive, I cannot speak any French,” she looked back over at Sirius and her face softened as she smiled at him.

Sirius beamed back at her, feeling his face flush with delight, Regulus held up his hands in mock defence before he backed away with a smirk on his face. Sirius smiled at Y/N as he walked towards her, “thank you, Your Highness.”

Y/N shrugged nonchalantly, “nobody – especially those in your family – can take your skills and accomplishments away from you, remember that,” she paused as she smiled prettily at him, “I think that in view of the circumstances you’d better call me Y/N,” she giggled before she glided out of the sun house, leaving behind the sweet smell of roses.

They left early the next morning and rode beneath the perfect blue sky, Sirius had decided to take her the scenic route, he was sure that she’d like it. Y/N looked exceptionally beautiful and ethereal in a dress of green silk and a garland of spring flowers in her hair. The pair of them mostly rode in silence as YN marvelled at the beautiful French countryside, her face aglow with pleasure and joy.

“France is so beautiful,” she hesitated, “from what I’ve seen of it anyway, I think that I prefer this landscape to the one in England,” she smiled at him from where she was riding on her chestnut horse.

Sirius smiled and nodded, he loved the French countryside too, it had a beauty that the English countryside couldn’t achieve, “I agree but England is beautiful in its way. I’ll show you,” Y/N smiled as her cheeks flushed with delight and she rode a little bit faster.

When they were on the outskirts of the quaint little village, Y/N dismounted and walked in on foot, leading her horse. Sirius grinned down at her before he exchanged a look with his small troupe of guards who inclined their heads at him. The Duke followed suit and walked alongside his future bride as they entered the village together. Y/N radiated warmth as the townspeople called her name; the women blew kisses while the men shouted bawdy remarks.

Sirius admired Y/N as she talked to the townspeople, any other woman would have been cold to people who were beneath her, but not Y/N. She hugged the ladies and kissed the men on the cheeks and Sirius couldn’t help but feel proud. There was a little girl who was hiding shyly behind her mother so Y/N beamed beautifully at the girl as she crouched down so she was at the child’s level.

“Hello sweetheart, what’s your name?”

“Amelia,” the girl whispered, still hiding her face.

“Amelia, it’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is Y/N.”

Amelia nodded, smiling unsurely before thrusting a bunch of daises at Y/N, “these are for you.”

Y/N gasped in delight as she took the flowers, “thank you! They’re beautiful,” she smiled as she plucked a flower before placing it amongst Amelia’s auburn curls, “there, now you have flowers in your hair.”

“Just like you!” Amelia beamed before hugging Y/N.

Y/N giggled as she hugged the little girl tight. Sirius smiled as he watched the interaction between them, she would have made an amazing Queen. Y/N seemed to charm almost everyone – some of the villagers remained stony faced – and she didn’t seem too unaffected by the villagers who didn’t seem to be impressed.

Sirius and Y/N left the village when the sun was high in the sky and the air was balmy and stifling. Sirius helped Y/N onto her horse and they rode out of town, waving goodbye to the villagers. Sirius smiled over at Y/N in pride as they rode side by side on the forest path, it had been a successful day and Y/N had done incredibly well.

“You have the knack for this kind of thing Y/N.”

The Princess smiled at him as the springtime wind blew through her hair, “for as long as I can remember I’ve always been taught to be just and fair. You can’t rule with fear, the common people will never love you if they fear you and it’s much better to be loved than feared,” she sighed wistfully and all Sirius could do was gape at her. How was she even real?

It was a pleasant ride, Y/N seemed to enjoy the sight of the dappled sunlight as it filtered through the thicket of trees and she smiled at the noise of a nearby stream. When they rode beneath the cherry blossom trees Y/N made a small sound of delight as she looked up at the pink petals.

“This is beautiful; we have nothing like this in Spain.”

“They’re cherry blossom trees; soon this whole path will be pink from the fallen petals.”

Y/N sighed happily as she glanced back up at the pretty tree, “that would be a marvel to see.”

Sirius suddenly had the burning need to see cherry blossom petals carelessly caught in her tresses. The young man flushed and willed the yearning to go away. His bride was beautiful for certain but he didn’t want to rush anything.

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

You smiled in bliss as you walked down the bright sweet smelling corridor of the beautiful French chateau, you glanced through the huge windows at the world outside and you grinned as you saw the rolling hills washed with dazzling sunlight. You could find beauty in everything when you were happy – and you were – you wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to be happy anywhere apart from Spain. You found it easy to be happy in France, Sirius was handsome and kind and his lands were beautiful. It was like a midsummers dream in the height of springtime.

However, you couldn’t help but almost resent Sirius though you knew that it wasn’t his fault. It felt like he had stolen your birth right away from you, even though he had no say in the matter and you had never wanted to be Queen. Perhaps you felt this way was because as soon as you got married to Sirius you wouldn’t be a Princess, for the first time in your life you wouldn’t be titled as a Princess. Maybe you resented him because there was a rumour that he had bastards all over England but that was none of your business, as long as he didn’t father any when you became his wife. You understood that men had needs that women were destroyed for.

Whatever the reason, you were trying to get over it because you didn’t want a marriage that was built on resentment. You wouldn’t have a marriage like your parents. It was warm and sweet smelling when you walked into your expansive chambers and saw Sofia standing by the steaming hot bath that was full of dried rose petals and dried herbs. Sofia smiled at you, her gorgeous blue eyes sparkling and you smiled back. Sofia was your very best friend, you were going to make sure that she married well but you also wanted her to marry for love.

You got undressed and thanked her as she helped you into the boiling hot bath, it felt like heaven and you sighed in contentment as her fingers gently combed through your hair as you lay back, closing your eyes.

“Did you have a pleasant time visiting the townspeople yesterday?” Sofia asked as she washed your hair.

You smiled and nodded, remembering how handsome Sirius had looked upon his white horse. He was a complete cliché, “I did, we left for the village so early that I didn’t want to wake you,” you apologised, “I wish you could have seen it Sofia, it was so beautiful and they were so nice,” you remembered the little girl, Amelia fondly.

“You were always so good at talking and connecting with the people as I recall, I always admired that about you.”

Sofia’s words were sweet but you sighed and fiddled with a rose petal, “my father taught me when I was a little girl.”

Sofia squeezed your shoulder, “I remember, you even managed to charm my Aunt and we all know what a battle-axe she is,” she giggled, making you smile, “but you can’t blame Sirius for the fact that you’re not the Queen, you never wanted it. You need to warm to him, he’s handsome and kind, and I’m certain that he’s got no bodies in his cellar. He’s only ever welcomed us; you’re lucky Y/N.

“I know,” you muttered, bringing your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them before you turned around to look at your dear friend, “I promise that I’ll find you a good man who you will love and in return he will love you.”

Sofia’s eyes teared up as her olive skin deepened with a flush, “thank you, Your Highness.”

You and Sofia both peeked round the doorframe of the study to see Remus looking at Sirius with a worried look on his face while Sirius dragged a hand through his tangled hair and pressed his fingers against his temples. Sirius had asked you if you would meet him in his study after dinner, he had some news for you and you hoped that it wasn’t anything bad. You and Sofia exchanged worried glances as you swallowed and knocked against the doorframe.

“Sirius?” you called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Sirius rubbed a hand down his face as he looked up and smiled weakly at you worry was etched into his handsome face, “Y/N,” he looked at Remus, biting his lip, “Remus can you and Lady Sofia give us a moment?” at Sirius’ request you looked at Sofia who nodded with a flush on her face.

“Of course,” Remus smiled kindly as he offered Sofia his arm and he escorted her down the corridor, you hoped that Remus would show her around the gardens. The Earl of Warwick was a nice man.

You turned to look at Sirius who looked like he was about to cry and your heart melted just a little bit as you went to him and sat opposite him, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “what happened? What’s wrong?”

Sirius smiled at you but you could see how tired he was, “King James wrote to me, there’s news of trouble brewing in the North of England, it could just be rumours,” he sighed, “or something a lot worse. James wants Remus, Peter and I to meet secretly and discuss it before he goes to his council. He trusts us more than anyone on that damned council; this will be so much easier when we’re all at court.”

“Okay,” you wondered why he was telling you this and you were struck with hope, he respected you enough to tell you his troubles and that was certainly a start.

“I want you to meet with us; we all agree that a Princess of the Castile, a daughter of a Warrior King and Queen would be very beneficial. We will make your voice heard, we’ll have to meet as soon as possible,” he smiled and you felt a floaty feeling in your chest.

He would talk to the King’s council on your behalf because you both knew that they wouldn’t listen to you. He wanted your input, he cared about what you had to say and in that moment, that was everything to you, “thank you Sirius, you don’t know how much that means to me,” you beamed and in that moment you knew that Sofia was right. You were lucky, despite your circumstances.

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

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @siriuslyjanhvi​ @pregnant-piggy​ @lindatreb​ @mabelle-cherie​ @hxrgreeves​ @britishspidey​ @mads-bri​ @classicrocketqueen​ @sxtansqueen​ @hufflepuffzutara​ @missmulti​ @bruxa0007

[wondernimbus]

ottery st. catchpole — cedric diggory

pairing: cedric diggory x female!reader

request #1: Hi! Do you mind writing a Cedric x reader fic where y/n loves and is the best baker? She hands him a treat and he finds himself slowly falling for for her (idk smth really cute please!) Thanks :))

request #2:  Can you write Cedric and the reader sharing their first kiss together? 🥺

a/n: decided to combine two requests since i thought they’d work well together! 

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place.

The first time Cedric had gone there at age eight, he'd thrown on an odd assortment of muggle clothes: a pink strawberry-patterned shirt, overly large bell-bottoms from his father's closet, and a pair of flip-flops. He learned quickly that that was not the kind of attire that would get him unnoticed by the Muggles—rather the opposite, actually, as he earned odd stares everywhere he went. But there were no "ordinary" Muggle clothes in his closet and nor did his father, so the next time he went to the village and came across a clothesline hanging unguarded outside of a Muggle house, he snatched himself two shirts and a pair of jeans and made sure to leave a thank you note under their door.

Free to wander the village without skeptical stares of Muggles following him everywhere, curious, eight-year-old Cedric made sure to explore every inch of it from the park to the chapel to the tavern.

But his most favorite, perhaps, was the bakery.

It was a quaint little place, tucked away in the corner away from the bustling main road. Its battered sign read "Old Corner Bakery", and underneath it there was a window display of the most delicious, succulent-looking pastries Cedric had ever seen in his life. It looked—though he would never let her hear him say it—even better than the ones his mother would make at home.

And so one day, Cedric, oblivious to the workings of the Muggle world and the fact that their currency was very much different from theirs, walked through the door, marched right up to the counter where his tiny head only barely peeked out from, and held up a single golden galleon. "One of those, please," he told the old lady behind the cashier, pointing at a mouth-watering custard tart on display.

The old lady reached out for the galleon, baffled. "What is this?"

"For a custard tart," replied Cedric, handing it to her.

"I've never seen anything like this," she said in wonder, holding the galleon up to the light. "Good grief, is this real gold?"

Cedric frowned, puzzled. "It''s a galleon."

The lady's face fell. Scowling, she handed it back to him. "So it's a toy," she sniffed. "I would tell you to scram, but I've seen you pass by here ogling at my pastries once or twice before. I'll give you one for free. What was it you wanted again?"

Cedric, although a little confused by how she wouldn't take his galleon, beamed in delight. If it was for free, he wasn't going to complain.

And so Cedric walked out of the bakery a few moments later with half a custard tart in his hands and the other half already snug in his stomach. He wondered to himself if all Muggles were like this; if he went to that shop near the town square, would he get more stuff for free?

He tried, and needless to say, failed.

The next day, Cedric came back to the bakery bearing two sickles. As happy as getting free food made him, something about exploiting an old woman's kindness didn't sit right with him. If she didn't want the galleon, maybe she would take a sickle instead.

But when he walked through the bakery doors, he found that the old woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in her place behind the cashier, there was a little girl about his age.

"Welcome to Old Corner Bakery!" she beamed, childish face shining brightly. "How may I help you?"

Cedric drew towards her, a pout on his face. "Where's the old lady?"

"The old lady?" she asked. "Oh, you mean grandma!"

He nodded.

"She's in the kitchen—baking, you know. I handle customers like you when she's too busy and I'm not doing homework," the little girl explained, grinning.

"Oh," said Cedric. "In that case, I want a cauldron cake!"

She tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed. "What's that?"

"A cauldron cake," he repeated. "Have you not got those here?"

Bottom lip jutting out in thought, the little girl scratched her head and hopped off of the stool she was apparently standing on to look over the cashier; as soon as she did, she disappeared behind the counter and into the kitchen. "Grandma!"

The familiar voice of the old lady replied, "Yes, dear?"

"Do we have cauldron cakes?"

"What?"

Cedric waited patiently by the counter, hands fiddling with the two sickles he held in his hands. "Cauldron cakes, grandma!" the little girl yelled louder.

"Never heard of 'em!" the old lady replied from the kitchen.

A moment later, the little girl was clambering back onto her stool behind the cashier. "I don't think we have those here," she told Cedric, and then, in a curious tone, "They sound delicious, though! What are they?"

A wide smile stretched across Cedric's round face—he looked as though he'd been waiting to be asked that for centuries. At a rapid pace, he began to gush, "They're chocolate cakes shaped like cauldrons and they've got melted chocolate in them and sometimes my mum uses this spell so that the chocolate doesn't run out and you can keep eating forever. She takes off the spell sometimes, though, because she says if I keep eating I'll get as fat as dad."

The little girl giggled, but then, with her eyes wide, asked, "Did you say spells? Like magic? The kind wizards and witches use?"

Cedric's eyes grew as wide as, if not even wider, than hers. He took a quick step back and cleared his throat, eyes darting around the bakery in panic. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that she was a Muggle—he'd almost revealed the secret of the wizarding world to her and defied his parents' warnings!

"Um," Cedric stammered, stuffing his two sickles back into his pocket. "Nevermind. Sorry!"

And just like that, he dashed out of the bakery, leaving the little girl staring after him, thoroughly intrigued.

—

Cedric did not go back to the village the next day under the irrational fear of accidentally revealing the wizarding world's biggest secret; that magic existed. Obviously, an eight-year-old wizard letting such a thing slip to yet another eight-year-old Muggle would little affect the wizarding world, but Cedric, childish and oblivious as he was, did not want to take any risks.

And so it took him a week before he mustered up the courage to go back into the village. He hadn't been planning to go into the bakery—he only hoped to catch a glimpse of the pastries by the window—but he found that the little girl was sitting outside on the front steps, munching on a piece of bread.

Mere seconds from legging it, the girl looked up and their eyes met. "Hey!" she called out, perking up. "I know you!"

Cedric froze from where he stood several feet away. He thought it'd be rude to bolt when she'd already noticed him, and so he walked forward tentatively, half-expecting her to start badgering him with questions about wizards and witches and magic. But she only patted the empty space next to her and beckoned him to sit down, that same cheery smile on her face that Cedric had seen a week ago.

He sat next to her on the stone steps, crossed arms propped on his knees as he turned his head to look at her. She was tearing the bread she held in her hands into two halves, the other half of which she handed to him.

"Thank you," said Cedric, taking it.

"You're welcome!" the little girl replied, face positively glowing with the warmth of a thousand suns. Taking a bite out of her now considerably smaller chunk of bread, she tilted her head and said, "I don't think I've ever seen you at school before."

He took a bite out of his own, eyes skittering away to look at the pavement. "My parents teach me school stuff at home," he told her. It wasn't a complete lie, although he guessed that the things that she learned in her Muggle school were a stark contrast to the magic he learned from his mum and dad.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" the little girl said, beaming. "Don't you get sad, though? Not having any kids your age to play with? Assuming you don't have siblings."

"I don't," replied Cedric through a mouthful of bread. It was some sort of strawberry crumpet. "I'm an only child. I suppose it does get lonely, sometimes, but that's why I go out here—to the Mugg—I mean, the village."

She nodded, mouth moving to form an o shape. "Neat. So you don't have homework?"

He shook his head. The girl's shoulders slumped and a frown quickly found its way onto her face. "I wish I didn't get homework," she said sullenly. "They give us a whole stack of it over the summer. I hate it."

Cedric bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't quite like the frown on her face; something about it made him feel unsettled, like something had gone wrong in the world. He nudged her shoulder with his. "It can't be that bad," he said, offering her a tiny smile. "There's.. there's worse things than homework. Like—I don't know—losing ekleksiti or whatever you call it.. or unintentionally fumbling with the Quaffle and messing up your team's goal.."

"You mean the football?"

"Yeah.." Whatever that was.

She giggled, turning to smile at him. "You're funny."

There was something about her tone of voice—along with the overall aura that she carried—that awfully reminded Cedric of summer days playing Quidditch outside with his family and warm wind in his face and lying in the grass seeing the clouds drifting above him.

It was that feeling that made it easy for Cedric to forget almost immediately about his illogical fear of exposing the magical world. It was what had him smiling back at her, round face just as bright and filled with the kind of mirthful innocence only children would have.

—

Cedric came back to the bakery the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Both the little girl—who he learned was named [Y/N]—and her kind, albeit slightly cranky old grandmother, grew fond of him. The latter would make sure to bake him his favorite custard tarts, and [Y/N] would sit with him by the front steps of the bakery, talking about every tiny thing their brains came up with.

"Have you got a favorite movie?" [Y/N] asked him one day.

"A favorite what?"

"A movie. Don't tell me you've never seen one!"

Cedric scratched the back of his neck, abashed. "I don't think so. Is that a Mu—I mean, what is it?"

Looking utterly astounded, [Y/N] began to ramble on about moving pictures and fairytales and stories.

"I've seen moving pictures—but you're telling me they don't talk to you?" quizzed Cedric dubiously.

Frowning, she nodded. "The pictures talk to each other. Sort of. Although it would be cool if they talked to us, don't you think?"

Still trying to wrap his head around the concept of images that don't talk to you but talk to other images whilst following a story of sorts, Cedric rubbed his forehead. "This is giving me a headache."

[Y/N] giggled, shoving the last of her custard tart into her mouth. "Let's go see one one day! A movie, I mean. It'll be fun!"

Prying his palm away from his face, Cedric nodded and couldn't help but grin right back at her. The excited gleam in her eyes shone with the promise of more than just one day seeing a movie; it glowed with the promise of a friendship that would last for a long, long time. That gleam of promise was reflected in Cedric's own gaze, and rest assured it would stay there in the rest of the years to come.

—

Three years seemed to pass by in a blur of endless chatter, ridiculous inside-jokes, and shared pastries out by the bakery's front steps. The pair grew and their friendship did so along with them. Cedric learned to grow cautious about what he had come to call his "magical secret", although he suspected that [Y/N] had started to grow skeptical along the way despite her never bringing it up.

When his letter from Hogwarts arrived, Cedric knew that he had to tell [Y/N]—that, or make up some excuse. Or perhaps invent something akin to the truth, but not quite.

And so it went like this: "My parents are sending me to school."

[Y/N]'s eyes widened. They were sitting in their usual spot out by the bakery's stone steps, identical biscuits in their hands. Out of nowhere, she smacked Cedric's shoulder; he turned to face her, clutching the spot where she'd hit him. "What was that for?" asked Cedric, eyes as wide as hers.

She smacked him again, bouncing with the excitement of a five-year-old child waking up on Christmas day. "That's great!" she squealed, stuffing her biscuit in her mouth and chewing frantically. "I can introduce you to all my friends and we'll get to see each other everyday and not just on the weekends!"

Cedric's heart sank. "Um.."

"And we can do homework together and I won't have to walk back home alone and—"

"[Y/N], I'm not going to your school."

She paused. Her face fell and drooped into a frown so disappointed that Cedric had to tear his gaze away. "What—where are you going, then?"

He scratched the back of his neck, lips pressed together in a weak grimace. "Somewhere far."

[Y/N]'s brows were furrowed. "Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere in Scotland, I think. I'll be back home for the summer, though."

Her shoulders had slumped, and so had Cedric's. The disappointment was evident in the sulky lines of her face and it was making Cedric feel all sorts of things he normally wouldn't feel around her; incredibly downcast being one of them. He'd known this day was coming one day or another, and so would the day he'd have to leave and not see her for several months—the day that loomed only a week from then.

"When are you leaving?" asked [Y/N], gaze fixed on the pavement, a pout on her tiny face.

"Next week," replied Cedric.

He couldn't bear it. He poked her side, which immediately led to her jumping up and frowning at him. (He'd discovered over time that it was a big tickle spot of hers.) Once he'd gathered her attention, he said in a quiet voice, "I've got a secret. Do you want to hear it?"

Still looking somewhat sullen, she nodded. [Y/N] would never pass up a chance to discover some big, mysterious secret, no matter her mood.

And just because he wanted to cheer her up, along with the fact that he knew he couldn't keep this from her—his best friend of three years who knew everything about him from his favorite pair of socks to his biggest fears—he leaned in, eyes wide, and whispered in a hushed tone, "I'm going to a school for wizards."

She drew back, brows pulled in together in the middle in pure incredulity as said, "You're joking."

"No," said Cedric, grinning. And then, in that same hushed voice, "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone, okay?"

Still looking utterly bewildered, [Y/N] nodded slowly, gaze locked with his.

"I can show you magic, if you like."

At this, her eyes grew wide and a moment later she was nodding excitedly. "Where? When? How?"

"Right now!" replied Cedric, relieved at the smile that split her face and replaced the disappointed frown from before. "Wait here, okay? I'll be back!" And then he sprang to his feet and dashed off.

Cedric was true to his word; he came back half an hour later bearing a mysterious purple package in his hands. [Y/N] was still sitting patiently where he'd left, and she looked up at him calling her name.

"What is that?" she asked, hands reaching out for the box, which Cedric handed to her. Turning it over in her hands, she saw the words "Chocolate Frog" written across the paper lid in shiny golden letters.

"Open it!" Cedric urged, sitting down next to her.

And so she did. Carefully opening the lid of the octagon-shaped box, she let out a loud shriek as a chocolate-colored pair of squirming frog legs poked out from behind it. Out of surprise, the package fell from her hands and onto the pavement, but Cedric's instincts were quick; he hurriedly hopped off the steps to grab the package, hands firmly clamped around it as he brought it back to her with a wide smile on his snickering face.

"Guess you don't scare easy, huh?" he grinned, teasing. "It can get away if you don't hold onto it as soon as you open the package. See, watch."

Heart still beating rapidly, she leaned over with wide eyes and a curious gaze, watching as Cedric carefully opened the lid. He caught something that, sure enough, looked like chocolate—but it was moving in his clasped fist.

"A chocolate frog," said [Y/N], eyes the size of golf-balls.

"Yep," said Cedric, bringing the still struggling treat to his lips and taking a huge chunk out of it. "Don't worry—it's not an actual frog. Just shaped to look like it."

Gobsmacked, [Y/N] stared as he handed her the bottom half of the chocolate frog, the legs of which was still squirming. "That's—woah," excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach at having witnessed actual magic (albeit in the form of the so-called chocolate frog), she brought it to her mouth, where it instantly stopped moving and dissolved into a creamy mess of delicious chocolate.

Eyes glinting with the same elation that was in hers, Cedric sat down next to her and pulled a card out of the box. He handed it to her.

[Y/N] stared down at the small card in the palm of her hands. "Woah," she said again, voice a stunned whisper. Imprinted on the card was a photo of an old man whose beard stretched all the way down to his waist. He was wearing sparkling magenta robes and looking straight at her, a gentle twinkle in his wizened, old eyes. An odd name was emblazoned under his picture—"Albus Dumbledore"—but then he reached up to adjust the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and [Y/N] let out another surprised gasp. "He moved!"

Cedric was grinning. "Magic, I told you!"

Exhilarated, [Y/N] looked back down at the card in her hands. The old man—Dumbledore—winked at her through his half-moon spectacles. "Is he—" she swallowed, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, "Is he a wizard?"

Cedric nodded, beaming. "And so am I."

For a few seconds, [Y/N] could do no more than open and close her mouth in pure shock. All of this was a lot to take in—but perhaps her being of the mere age eleven helped, because while the ordinary Muggle adult would have downright refused to believe it, an imaginative young girl like her who had yet to discover the world took the news kindly.

"I'd show you more magic," Cedric said bashfully, "But I don't really know how to yet. That's why I'm going to Hogwarts—the school I was talking about, you know—so I can learn how to use magic. Spells and potions and all of that stuff."

At this, [Y/N]'s lips once more drooped with the threat of yet another painful frown, but she picked it back up with a small smile. "Here," she swiveled around to face him on the steps, knees knocking with his. Holding her pinky finger up between them, she said, "You promise me you'll write, okay? And you have to tell me about all the stuff that you learn there and all the other wizards and witches you meet—there are witches, right?"

Cedric nodded, lips pressed together in a tiny smile as he laced his pinky finger through hers. "I promise. Expect there'll be owls knocking on your window every week or so."

Her eyes widened once more. "Owls?"

He grinned. "We use owls to send letters and stuff around."

"Oh. Neat."

They broke out into a fit of giggles. "Okay," said Cedric, pulling his pinky finger away. "But you have to promise me you'll keep it a secret."

[Y/N] nodded earnestly, a look of the utmost seriousness crossing over his face as she pressed her palm to her chest like she was swearing an oath. "I'll take it to the grave with me, Ced," she said, eyes sparkling. "Trust me."

—

And trust her he has done, for the past few years of his life. Cedric would leave on the first of September every year, but not before bidding her farewell and promising to write at least once a week. To make up for the time they've lost, he would spend almost every day of the summer and winter break with her. His parents understand; he has long since told them about the Muggle girl at the bakery who his heart has grown close to. And perhaps it is his parents who first notice when the friendship that he has with her begins to blossom into something else. Something more.

"Out to meet with your friend already?" asks his father upon catching Cedric already on his way out of the front door. It's his first day back home from his fifth year at Hogwarts, and he has barely even finished unpacking his bags.

Cedric grins. He is a young man of age sixteen now, no longer the tiny eight-year-old boy he once was when he first met [Y/N] all those years ago. And yet despite all that has changed—despite his broader stature and the fact that he now towers over his father—he is still the same compassionate boy he has always been; the one who has always had a love for pastries and a certain girl at the bakery, although he doesn't quite know it yet.

"She's waiting for me," says Cedric, oddly exhilarated. His heart beating with the anticipation of seeing her for the first time in several months, he waves a brief goodbye to his father and dashes down the hill leading to the Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

He goes down the same path he always has; past the small patch of trees at the foot of the hill, through the town square, and finally, in front of the bakery. The door is propped open as though it has been waiting for him to enter, and voices waft out onto the street from the inside.

A smile already having found its way onto his face, Cedric takes the front stone steps two at a time before stepping inside.

"Be careful, grandma—oh, no—no, let me do it."

"It's fine, I can—Cedric, dear boy, you're back!"

A tray of freshly-baked cookies are set aside on the counter before a familiar elderly Muggle woman rushes at him and envelops him in a hug, mitten-covered hands wrapping themselves around his middle—the farthest she can reach him at his tall height and her own short legs. Cedric meets [Y/N]'s gaze over her grandmother's shoulder; she is leaning on the counter, lips pressed together in a barely-suppressed smile as her eyes shine with the kind of light that reminds Cedric of everything good in the world.

It takes a while for [Y/N]'s grandmother to stop fussing over him. When she does, she disappears behind the kitchen with the promise of coming out with a fresh batch of his favorite custard tarts.

And then he and [Y/N] are left alone in the bakery, where Cedric wastes no time and hugs her as close to him as he can. He wants to tell her that he'd missed her—terribly so—but he knows that she knows, and so he just holds her to him and hopes that the words come across alright.

A moment later the two of them are outside of the bakery, sitting on the same stone steps they've perched themselves on so many times before.

"So let me get this straight: you intentionally didn't write about the fact that there was a mass murderer inside your school because you didn't want me to worry?"

"Well, the matter was taken care of—"

"And there were soul-sucking demendoids or whatever you call them roaming the castle and you didn't mention it to me in your letters because you—"

"I didn't want you to worry, yes."

[Y/N] stares at him, deadpan. "And I suppose if you suffer a horrible death you won't care to write to me either because you don't want me worrying."

"Well, if I were dead, I'd hardly be able to write to y—"

"Oh, you get my point!" says [Y/N], rolling her eyes, but she's laughing as she shoves him lightly on the shoulder. Sighing dramatically, she shakes her head. "You learn a few magic tricks and suddenly you cut me out of your life."

Cedric scoffs, but his annoyance is only about as convincing as [Y/N]'s, as he has a smile of his own on his face. "I leave a few details out of my letter and suddenly you want to end our friendship."

"I don't want to end it," protests [Y/N]. "I just don't want you keeping out the bad stuff from your letters just because you don't want me to worry. If anything, I want to hear more about the negatives than the positives so I'll know that I'm not the only one having a hard time."

Cedric raises his brows, the smile on his face drooping as he angles his head to look at her face from where she's leaning on his shoulder. "Why? Tough time at school?"

She shrugs, shifting a little. "Kind of. It's ridiculous, actually. My best friend—well, second-best, since you're first—thinks that her boyfriend," she makes a face, "likes me. She didn't talk to me at all during the last few months of school and I highly expect she'll still be an arse about it when we come back after summer. Rubbish, really." Cedric has fallen silent. When she looks up at him, she finds that there is a frown on his face, so immediately she reassures him by saying, "You don't have to worry, Ced. I've got other friends. Better friends—wizard friends. Or friend. Just the one."

Cedric raises his eyebrows at her. His mood has dampened a little; it shows in the disappearance of the crinkled smile lines around his eyes and the way his lips have tugged down.

"Oh, come on," says [Y/N], sitting up straight. "Don't look so bummed. I've told you it's not a big deal."

He looks away, and then, quietly, "I just don't like the idea of you having a hard time."

A grin slowly stretches across her face. A moment later, she starts laughing. "Always so caring, aren't you?" she teases, reaching out to poke his cheek.

Cedric rolls his eyes, clutching her hand and prying it away from his face. "Whatever," he mutters, making a face at her. She giggles and does one right back, and just like that, they're laughing again.

It's incredibly easy for the innocent, youthful part of Cedric to come to the surface during times like these, when he sits down in front of the bakery with his best friend at his side as they return to their naive, childish shelves and bond over everything and nothing with all sorts of pastries clutched in their chubby hands. Cedric finds that, no matter how much time has passed, [Y/N] still feels the same: warm and comforting and reminiscent of home.

—

Time passes as it has always done, and sooner than both Cedric and [Y/N] would have liked, the day of September comes looming above them a mere week away.

They are on one of the many hills surrounding the village of Ottery St. Catchpole—their favorite one, actually; the one that has a perfect view of the village if they sit at the very top, which is what they are doing. The night sky looms above them as they do as they have always done: talk. And whenever they lapse into silence, they bask in the comfort they have always found in one another.

At present, they are laying on their backs on the grass. Usually, they'd be pointing out random shapes they each notice in the clouds, but it is nighttime and only wisps of smoke from the village chimneys drift across the dark blue canvas. There are only a few stars visible through the pollution hanging in the air; "I could count them all on one hand," says [Y/N], arm stretched upwards as though reaching for the sky. "Bit sad, really. I remember when we were kids there were still a lot of them. Sort of."

Cedric, with his gaze similarly glued to the stretch of sky above them, lets out an exhale. "We can see the stars at Hogwarts," he tells her quietly like they're sharing a secret, which, in a way, they are. "We don't even have to go to the Astronomy Tower to see them—when we look up, they're right there. Right above us. It's.."

He trails off.

"Ethereal?" [Y/N] suggests, tone hushed.

Cedric nods. "I wish I could take you to see them, but. You know."

"I'm a—what was it you guys called us lame, non-magical folks again?" she rolls onto her side to face him, arm tucked underneath her head as her eyes narrowed playfully.

"A Muggle," Cedric says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "And that doesn't make you lame. It just makes you.."

"Non-magical," she snorts.

"Doesn't matter," mumbles Cedric, shifting to turn on his side as well. "You've got a different kind of magic." And his tone is teasing, but there's a hint of underlying emotion hidden beneath that he wonders if [Y/N] picks up on.

"And what's that?" [Y/N] asks, feigning a haughty look. "Is it my—let's see—supernatural charms? Or my mystical beauty?"

Cedric laughs. "Something like that."

Facing her, mere centimeters away, Cedric sees that moonshine is dancing across the skin of her face; he sees the very stars they were speaking of gleaming in her eyes, and all of a sudden the atmosphere changes and he can't quite breathe properly.

The look on his face doesn't go amiss. The playful smile on [Y/N]'s face falls and reveals underneath it something more—something that has Cedric's heart beating wildly in his throat and his lungs seizing up in his chest.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself as his gaze locks with hers and he finds himself drowning in the sea of constellations inside her irises. The stars at Hogwarts hold no competition to those which he sees in that moment in [Y/N]'s eyes. He wonders if they have always been there, waiting to be noticed, or if they have only just surfaced now.

And then Cedric finds himself leaning in and somewhere in the middle, she meets his lips with her own.

They pause for a moment, as though giving each other time to pull away if they want to, but neither of them do. And he really can't quite tell who moves first—him or [Y/N]—but they let each other's lips begin to whisper over one another's in gentle, slow carresses. They string up, unhurried and soft, one kiss flowing into the next with endless patience and want, and [Y/N]'s lips are inviting and alive and Cedric almost doesn't want to pull away, but he has to, eventually, and so he draws back, eyes blinking open.

He wonders, for a moment, despite the fact that she'd kissed back, if he had gone too far. If he had crossed the line that had always rested between them that made the difference between friendship and.. whatever this was.

But then familiar crinkles appear around [Y/N]'s eyes as she smiles at him. "I believe I've discovered my magic."

Cedric takes a brief moment to respond. Letting out a quiet exhale, he keeps his gaze fixed on hers as he furrows his eyebrows a little and asks with a tiny smile of his own, "What's that?"

She grins and jokes in a hushed, almost theatrical tone, "Seduction."

Cedric's face relaxes into a proper smile and he leans forward, pressing his mouth against [Y/N]'s for the second time. He feels the happy curve of her lips and feels his own curving up in response until they aren't really kissing anymore; just smiling against each other's mouths.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself again, not for the first time that day. Absolutely bloody magical.

—

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place, but perhaps the reason why Cedric thought so was not because of the buildings and the bustling streets themselves, but because of the little bakery owned by a Muggle grandma and a girl whose heart Cedric knew even better than his own.

When the first of September comes around and brings with it the inevitable need to say goodbye, a pair of friends bound together by the passing of time sit on the front steps of the Old Corner Bakery, joking and talking and making promises to write. [Y/N]'s grandmother has insisted on Cedric bringing along snacks in case he gets hungry during the train ride, hence the paper bag full of custard tarts he clutches in his hands.

"I think she loves you more than I do," says [Y/N], watching her grandmother disappear back into the bakery, weeping.

Cedric laughs. "Tell me something I don't know."

And then suddenly it is time to say their farewells, and Cedric is hugging her goodbye but it doesn't feel like enough, so he pulls away, places his hand on the back of her head, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He would press their lips together but he knows that will make it harder to say goodbye, so for now, he settles for this.

"You promise me you won't leave the bad stuff out of your letters, okay?"

"You can count on me."

So Cedric waves goodbye to her with the same gleam of promise from all those years ago sparkling in his eyes like stars that have yet to die out. He can't promise to stay, but he can promise that he will come back—and he will. He always will.

a/n: whether or not cedric comes back to ottery st. catchpole next year is entirely up to you (cough triwizard tournament cough)

[duskyskz]

Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

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

Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary. 

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard. 

“Croak!” 

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward. 

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries. 

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation. 

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later. 

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm. 

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?” 

 The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears. 

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard. 

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?” 

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries. 

Ah, well. 

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay. 

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking. 

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul. 

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak. 

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears. 

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway. 

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you. 

You love your town, you really do. 

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right. 

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place. 

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses. 

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination? 

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings. 

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too! 

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot. 

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus. 

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink. 

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion. 

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know  you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of  heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination. 

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth. 

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight. 

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side. 

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.” 

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.” 

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.” 

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock  lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate. 

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.” 

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.” 

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons. 

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life. 

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires. 

Ah, warlock things. 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth. 

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach. 

“Undress me, please.” 

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible. 

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn. 

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning. 

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps. 

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement. 

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement. 

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.” 

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions. 

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things. 

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base. 

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core. 

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely. 

“Tell me when I can move, alright?” 

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim. 

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole. 

“Let me clean you first, birdie.” 

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration. 

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent. 

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie