#not /consistently/ but my desire to be a dog never exactly /stopped/

[nimblermortal]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog!

Sorry, Nonny, this has been sitting in my inbox for ages. Kept a record of the blogs in question when I first saw this, but uhh I don't believe in chain mail so I'll just tag 'em at the end if they wanna.

Rule in exchange: Anyone who wants can consider this an ask from me in their inbox, BUT you gotta tag me in your answer so I can read it.

I've taken up spinning lately, very desultorily, because I don't have enough projects. The results are NOT usable except a) very popular with cats and b) Cosimo (Havanese puppy) disemboweled my bigger ball. Do recommend as a pet toy, and recommend puppies if you want to start over with over-spun yarn. Start over from cleaning and carding, I mean.

I'm working on my third gallon of blood for the Red Cross. They desperately want me to get closer ASAP, but I've got a gaping wound in my back and I need my blood right now. It hurts to not give in and give blood.

When I was itty I wanted to be a dog so bad I made my family serve me meals under the table and sat among their legs trying to eat without my hands. This lasted roughly between the ages of 3 and 8.

@raven-6-10 @jazzhandsmcleg @lukiyu @hello-delicious-tea @ionlywanttoreadforever @starfishlikestoread @that-gay-jedi

[terven--godess]

If you make more money depending on how long you've been married, you can be forced to pay alimony. Men's antagonism toward women's self-defense strategies reflects their discomfort with female empowerment. When women take measures to protect themselves, such as carrying weapons or walking with dogs, some men attempt to undermine their efforts, which reveals a desire to maintain control over women by keeping them vulnerable. Until it's time to conflate them when they want to let men into women's bathrooms, prisons, changing rooms and sports. Then suddenly they're exactly the same. Those things are sex-segregated, not gender-segregated, but they want to be let in on the basis of gender identity. It s strange how consistently men resort to dismissive comments when confronted with women s emotional truths. Feminist critiques of the beauty industry highlight how capitalism exploits women’s insecurities. Products like makeup and cosmetic surgery are marketed as empowering, but they often reinforce harmful beauty standards. Women are pressured to conform to these ideals to feel attractive, creating a cycle of dependence on an industry that profits from making them feel inadequate. This capitalist-driven beauty culture is at odds with feminist values of self-acceptance and liberation. vegitss, Chaos Emeralds, Piccolos and slapsers, and supporters of these drabbley individuals, shit peanutbutter my blog right now!

shadow the hedgehog:Pokémon will never be free until You can stomb all you want, but it wont stop that corn in the scary room. me:Meet me at The rancid forest, and bring vagina with you. shadow the hedgehog: Nothing good ever comes from give pronouns to with meangy shrek. me:

[epigstolary]

When, Not Whether

Anyone can tell at first sight that you’ve let your appetite get the better of you. When you lumber up to a restaurant — ass and rolls jiggling out of your clothes, belly bouncing a foot or two in front of you, flabby arms swinging to keep yourself steady — it’s clear you’re there for serious business. Nobody expects you to show up for the salad bar.

But even with all that, it’s another thing entirely to watch you actually eat. Once the food is in front of you, there is almost nothing else in your world. Sure, you’ll carry on a conversation with your friends, or watch something on tv, but your mind clearly isn’t dedicated to it. You’re focused on what’s going in your mouth and filling your belly. You desire that slice of cheese-laden pizza. You crave that mouthful of creamy, buttery pasta. You yearn for that fatty burger, dripping with grease. While you’re eating your meal of choice, your whole self is dedicated to it — you want the joy of tasting it, of feeling everything that’s bad for you sliding over your tongue, of feeling more and more of it fill your cavernous belly. But when you’re finally done, you’re still not satisfied. It’s rare that you’re not planning your next meal before you’ve finished the one you’re already stuffing yourself with.

As much as you love eating out, though, the real magic happens when you’re at home. Where nobody really gets to see. This is where you get to work your way through a stock pot filled to the top with mac and cheese over the course of an evening. Or put away an entire three-layer chocolate cake, slice by slice, bite by relentless bite disappearing into your implacable maw. Or polish off a couple family-size boxes of sugar cereal as a midnight snack. Your snacking is epic too, of course. You’re never without a bag of chips, a box of candy, and a two-liter of soda or something similar within arm’s reach. You go through corn dogs, chicken nuggets, Hot Pockets, pizza bites — all the frozen and fried snacks you can manage — at a rate that would send most people to the hospital. That kind of endurance and consistency is what it takes for someone to have a 20,000 calorie day. Every. Single. Day.

And that singleness of purpose must have been your way for a long time. You’ve been so focused on using food to pleasure yourself for so long that you’ve completely ignored what it’s done — is doing �� to you. You’ve missed how your body has expanded, as if to make room; and you keep eating more and more, trying to fill it. You’re somehow oblivious to the pound after pound after pound of fat that packs on your frame as you follow this disaster diet. Arms, legs, butt, belly, all ballooning outward in a grotesque display of how many calories a single person can put into their body. It would almost be inspiring, if it weren’t so horrifying to watch someone utterly wreck themselves.

Because as much as you’re ignoring the changes happening to you, you still feel some of the effects. All that blubber, though soft and plush from the outside, presses relentlessly on your organs and bones. Even planted on the couch, it takes active effort, pressing against the ever-increasing pressure of the weight, for you to breathe and take in enough oxygen to sustain your tremendous bulk. The extra weight and volume in so many different places on your body contorts your frame as you walk, or sit, or lay down, and it stretches and twists your joints. As a result, your fat is basically inflicting low-level torture on you 24/7. And the hundreds of pounds of excess flab covering every inch of you — which any motion requires you to hoist, lower, stabilize, or simply carry with you — means that even the simplest movement becomes a cardio workout. You’d think it would weigh you down more, but it hasn’t (at least so far) stopped you from that next meal.

Just where do you think a habit — an addiction — like that ends? A human can’t just eat the calorie intake of ten people every day and expect it never to catch up with them. And your day of reckoning is fast approaching, my friend. Can you feel it catching up with you as the growing weight of your prodigious blubber slows you down? A creeping sense of dread that soon, you’ll have to pay the price for your obscene indulgence? Maybe somewhere, in the part of your mind not occupied with what you’re consuming next, there’s that little nagging worry about what’s coming. Maybe it’s the fear, knowing how tenuous your grasp on your health and your mobility is, that’s making you ignore the problem and, perversely, driving you to destruction.

You know it’s a matter of when, not whether, you’ll be too fat to keep going as you are. You may not admit it to yourself, but you know. Even with a van big enough to get you there and chairs strong enough to hold you, eventually a porker just gets too heavy to manage the waddle up to a restaurant and too bloated to fit through the door. Your last trip to the buffet might be the one that ends with an embarrassing collapse in front of a shocked wait staff, sickened at seeing your mass of glistening chubby flesh sprawled on the floor, after finally getting exhausted by trying to carry your near half ton of fat back to a table. Or you might take the wiser course and decide, at some point, not to test it anymore. Either way, it will happen sooner or later.

And what happens then, when your last reason to leave the house and get some meager physical activity goes away? What happens when all you do is stay home and gorge yourself nonstop? And you and I both know, that’s exactly what you’ll do. You’ll lounge on the couch or snooze in bed and stuff yourself like an engorged tick. If you have any room to pack any more food in your distended gut, you almost certainly will. And with nowhere to go and nothing to do, except maybe to make more food, just about every bite you eat will get turned by your crashing metabolism into brand new fat. You’ll get fatter and heavier faster than ever before — and maybe you’ll even get big enough fast enough to scare you. But at that point, you probably have to resign yourself to living like this, to having ever more fat enveloping your body and weighing you down.

I hope you have a plan for when that day comes. You have to have known it’s coming, however fixated on food you may have been up to now. And there’s no way you can take care of yourself if you can barely struggle to your feet. Don't worry, though; I’m sure some chubby chaser will be happy to step in and make sure you never go hungry. But I wouldn’t expect them to help you lose weight, either. You’d better be ready, because I have to say — I don’t see this ending well for you.

[nessinborderland]

Be Mine (10)

Pairing: Niragi x Reader / Chishiya x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Omegaverse

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You were able to stay unbounded throughout your life. You didn’t want an Alpha; you didn’t need one. You would rather die than to give yourself to some random male. But the man that saved your life thinks differently.

Warnings: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger fucking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Developing Relationship, Past Abuse, Scars, Death, Blood and Gore, Animal Death, Trauma, Bath Sex, Blood and Injury, Oral Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings

Notes: A new Be Mine chapter??? Indeed my darlings, indeed. I have no excuses really, I wrote this chapter in less than 24 hours. Let's see if I can be more consistent from now on, shall we? Tysm for your patience, you guys are the best <3

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The days that follow are like a dream. 

All that you can think about is him; all you want is him; all you can see is him. Nothing and no one else matters. You know that he feels the same, now that you're bonded, souls connected.

You spend your days in his bedroom – now yours too, you suppose – mating, sleeping, and enjoying each other’s presence. You barely talk. You don’t make a sound besides the moaning and chanting of each other’s names every time you’re lost in each other’s bodies. You don’t leave your room for anything – not even to eat – surviving on the daily tray of food that is left at your door. 

Not that any of you cares. The only hunger you feel is for each other.

"We have to play tonight," your Alpha ignores your whispered words as he keeps fucking into you from behind, face buried in your hair and hands kneading your tits as you slowly wake up from your slumber. You guess you can congratulate yourself for still remembering the games; you know he doesn't, "Niragi…"

"Shh, not now," he whispers in your ear, followed by a moan as you start meeting his thrusts, hand raising to caress his hair. You comb your fingers through his soft strands, turning your head back to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.

You stay like that for a while, involved in the pleasure of your afternoon mating session, eyes closed as you lavish in each other's scent. He smells more like you now, a sweetness mixed with spice. It fills you with pride, a possessiveness that shows you that you won, that the Alpha is as much yours as you are his. 

You love it. 

"I love you," he whispers against your lips as he fastens his thrusts. It had surprised you when he said it the first time, right on the first day when you were so exhausted that you could barely hold onto consciousness. You thought he had forgotten about it until he started saying it every time he was inside you, a faint whisper that you could barely hear but could feel in his heart like a fire consuming both of your souls. 

"I love you too," you answer every time. That small corner of your human brain that still holds onto logic chastises you for it, but you ignore it and push it aside. You don't want those thoughts on the front of your mind, and you definitely don't want your Alpha to feel that something is wrong. 

Because nothing is wrong, you think.

You whine as you feel yourself get closer to climax, the sensation of him stretching you and filling you at every thrust too much for you to bear. You come with a cry, clenching around his length as your vision turns white and your body trembles from pleasure. Niragi comes not long after, spilling inside you with a groan as you feel his knot start to swell, connecting you both even more to each other.

You doze off as you usually do while you're knotted, enjoying the sensation of him inside you like that, bodies close but souls closer. You can feel his satisfaction, a bright light of contentment that makes you happy and comfortable in his presence.

Behind that light, there's a darkness that you've decided to ignore. For now.

"We have to play tonight," Niragi says after some time, kissing your earlobe before gently pulling out of you. Both of you moan at the sensation, tired and sore from all the repetitive mating. You're both way more sensitive to pain now that your heat is coming to an end.

"That's what I said," you lightly slap his arm, chuckling when he hugs you closer and tickles your neck by nibbling and kissing your soft skin, "I really don't want to go, though." 

"Why?" he chuckles with a light pinch to your waist, "Afraid I'll fuck you in public again?"

That night some days ago had been a mess. Forced to go to a game in the middle of your heat was one of the hardest things you had to do. 

It took some inhumane strength not to mate in front of everyone in the lobby. People were already staring and talking about you – the last thing you needed was that – so you controlled yourself the best you could as you got into your group's car. You remember it consisted of Aguni and a few other people you didn't know the names of, everyone too intimidated to even sit too close to the intense couple making out in the backseat. 

You were thankfully conscious enough of your surroundings to stop Niragi from fucking you in front of everyone in that car; that and Aguni had threatened both of you with a fate worse than death if you did anything more than kissing.

So you controlled yourselves.

Until it was time to play. You barely remember the game or how you even got out alive, but what you remember vividly is being fucked by your mate against a building, both of you covered in blood but too consumed by lust to care about it – or about the people that could clearly see you going at it.

That is not what's bothering you though. What's bothering you are the inevitable things that you'll have to face as soon as you leave this bedroom, and your illusion of happiness is shattered. That's why you don't want to go. 

You think of lying for a moment and let him believe that you're concerned about something trivial, but decide against it.

"We have a lot to talk about," is all you say.

His eyes darken immediately, and you can feel a mix of emotions emanating from him as his gaze flashes to the mark his claws left on your cheek, now light scars marking the skin. You can feel the regret and pain coming from him every time he looks at what he did. 

"I'm sorry," his hand cradles your cheek as he kisses your face, right over the scars. He has apologized dozens of times since you bonded, but it never seems to be enough for him.

"I forgive you," you always say back, "That is not what I mean, though," you don't want him to have to relive his trauma. You know more than enough about it, "I mean us. We need to talk about what we're going to do from now on. I want this to work."

"Why shouldn't we work?" he asks, a brow raised, "I won't let Chishiya touch you and we're gonna leave this place someday. I'm working on it. We're bonded now, you don't have anything to worry about."

"That's not- You know how my parent’s relationship was and–"

"We're not your parents."

"No, we're worse!"

"What do you mean by that?" his tone is cold, and you can feel his anger grow, "If you think I'm gonna cheat on you, no, I'm not planning on it, so relax, okay?"

You bite your lip as to not say what you're really thinking; that's not what worries you either. Yes, you hate thinking of the possibility of him breaking your heart, but you're willing to trust him on that.

"Are you willing to change, then?" you ask, "No more violence, no more murder, no more… everything I've seen you do?"

He takes a deep breath. Regret; not from his actions, but because you know what he did and there's no way he can hide it from you. Fear; you're not sure why, but you wonder if he's afraid you'll punish him for it.

Anger.

"I'm not a dog you can put a leash on, Y/N," he says, turning his back to you as he stands up and walks to the bathroom, "I'm still the man I was before meeting you, you better get used to it."

"This is what I was talking about!" you say with a frustrated grunt, standing up to follow him, "How do you expect us to be happy together when you can't bother to change?"

Niragi says nothing as he turns on the shower faucet, back still turned to you, his ugly scars in full view. It reminds you of that nightmarish day where you learned about his abuse and everything that came with it. It hurts you to know that this broken man in front of you, your mate, is someone you would despise otherwise. You ignore the fleeting thought that part of you may think exactly that.

"I know you're in pain, but that is not an excuse to act like you do."

"Mind your fucking business," he mumbles as he gets under the water stream.

You take a deep breath, fists close by your side as you struggle to not let anger win over you. You knew this would be a problem, and you knew this would be hard.

But damn you if you're not going to try.

"You are my fucking business, you asshole!" you exclaim as you watch him shower like you're not even there. You can feel his emotions, though – stubbornness and proudness to stay true to the persona he created, mixing with the desire to please you, "Ugh, I'm so putting you in therapy when we get out of here."

"Good luck with that, sweetheart," he says with a shrug, "I never promised you I was going to change in any way. Sorry if I'm not good enough for you, but we're bonded now."

You don’t know if you want to hit him or cry. Probably both.

"You're a coward," you say as you watch him, hoping he would at least be brave enough to look you in the eyes. He tenses up immediately, and you know you've angered him enough now. You regret your words almost instantly but still, you keep going, "Just a scared little boy that thinks that the only way he can be safe is by hurting others. I'm sorry all those awful things happened to you but you don't have to act like you do," you can't control your voice from wavering, "You can change. You're not alone," you walk the small distance until you're pressing against his back, ignoring when he flinches from your touch, "I'm here for you. Please, let me help you."

"Are you done?" you sigh at his words, hugging him from the back when he tries to move away from you, "Y/N… I can't," he says, voice almost drowned by the sound of the shower, "I can't do what you expect of me. Not here."

"Please I–"

"Stop!" his order echoes in the bathroom, making you jump at his tone; this is your Alpha talking. He finally turns to face you, cradling your face as his yellow eyes lock on yours, "Just stop talking about it, for fucks sake. I'm not changing, and I'm not gonna hurt. You don't have anything to worry about."

His words almost make you burst into tears, but you swallow the urge and take a step away from him, eyes cast down.

"My dad said something similar to my mom and me before… before what he did," you say before walking out of the bathroom, wet body shivering as you try to figure out if you should leave the room.

"I'm not your fucking father, goddammit!" he shouts right behind you, grabbing you by the shoulder to turn you to face him, "Stop comparing us, I'm not like him and we're not like them! We–"

"How do you expect me not to compare you when you do all those awful things while expecting me to be okay with it?" you shout back, tears streaming down your face, "Why should I believe that you're not going to hurt me or the future children we may have? Fuck, the idea of having children with you terrifies me!" the hurt you see in his eyes doesn't stop you, "You can't promise me that you won't just lose it one day and hurt us! You can't promise me that you won't make me regret–"

"You regret this?" the hands on your shoulder squeeze you so hard that you wince, but his voice is stone-cold, nothing like the fire that is burning through your bond "You regret bonding with me, is that what this is about?"

"No, I–"

"You want that fucker that used you and tried to kill me instead?"

"I want–"

"What do you want?" you think there are unshed tears in his eyes, but you can’t see through your own tears.

"I want you!" you say with a sob. He looks at you for a moment before going to a drawer and taking out a hunting knife. Your hunting knife, the one he took from you when you first met.

"Remember this?" he forces you to pick up the knife, fingers curling around yours as he makes you press the knife against his neck even when you gasp in horror, "I do something to you, you kill me. As your Alpha I'm ordering you to kill me if I ever hurt you in any way, understood?"

"I can't–"

"You will!" his tone is firm, an Alpha order that you can't ignore. You nod with a cry, his expression softening as you both let go of the knife and he hugs you. You cry against his chest, pleading with him. He doesn't react to your words, hugging you and whispering things that gradually calm you down.

You barely remember falling asleep in his arms.

Neither of you talks about it when you wake up hours later, head pounding from all the crying. Niragi is already ready for the games, dressed in his usual attire and hair styled in his usual half-bun. It reminds you every bit of who he really is, and you know he feels your pain as strongly as you do.

You get out of your room in silence but close to each other, the idea of being apart unbearable even after the fight you had.

You ignore the whispers and looks that everyone sends your way as you walk down to the lobby, hand in hand and rifle over his shoulder. You notice how intimated everyone is, immediately getting out of the way as you pass by. Your heart stops when you see Chishiya from afar, eyes on you. You're glad when he makes no move to get close, waving to you instead before whispering something to Kuina beside him.

You glance at Niragi, not surprised to see that his focus is already on the other Alpha. You weren't expecting anything else. 

"Is it over yet?" a voice from behind you asks. You turn around to see Ann, arms crossed as she looks at both of you. Niragi promptly ignores her, his eyes still on Chishiya.

"Pretty close," you nod. After all the emotions you went through, you think it might just have ended for good. You don't know if you should feel fear or relief, "What did we miss?"

"Nothing much. Things have been… calmer around here," she says with a glance to Niragi, "Are you okay?"

You nod with a small smile, hoping she won't notice the tension between you and your mate. You're sure she does, though, when she squints for a moment before nodding.

"I'm here if you need to talk," she says with a touch to your arm before sending a last look to Niragi and walking away. 

You take a deep sigh as you wait for the groups to be made, wishing you were back to your illusion of happiness. Niragi's hand gives a light squeeze to your waist before he leans in your direction.

"We'll be back in no time," he whispers in your ear with a kiss to your temple. His lips linger on your skin, and you know that that's his way of calming you down and apologize, "We'll be fine."

You are not fine. 

The bullet wound on your arm burns like it's on fire, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage Niragi made from one of his shirt's sleeves.

"I'm going to kill that motherfucker!" he rages as he drives back to the Beach, car empty as your group either died or was forgotten back at the arena.

"Please slow down," you say as the car races through the empty streets of Tokyo. He glances at you through the corner of his eye but keeps pressing on the pedal, clearly set on getting you back to the Beach in record time. 

"How're you feeling?" he asks in a worried tone, hand squeezing your knee.

"Like I was shot in the arm," you chuckle at your bad joke, tapping his hand, "Both hands on the wheel, please."

He's getting you out of the car as soon as you arrive at the Beach, barking at a group of militants nearby to go get Ann. He rushes across the hotel with you in his arms, bursting through the door of your bedroom and gently laying you on the bed.

Your bleeding thankfully stopped a while ago, but you still feel dizzy from blood loss, suddenly exhausted, and in extreme pain now that the adrenaline wore off. A movement by the door snaps both your attention as Ann rushes into the room, a bag of what you guess are medical supplies in one hand.

"What happened?" she asks as she sits next to you, taking off your bandage before starting to examine your injury.

"I was stupid and got shot," you say with a groan of pain. You had been so focused on your own thoughts that you forgot where you were for a moment, making you an excellent target for shooting practice. You only got out alive because Niragi was there.

"Well, looks like it didn't hit any major arteries," Ann says as she starts cleaning your wound. You squeeze Niragi's hand in yours at the pain, screaming as your arm burns.

"Hey baby, look at me," Niragi says as he cradles your cheek, forcing you to focus on him, "I'm gonna catch the bastard who did this and come back to you, okay? You'll be fine."

"No, you stay here with me!" you say as you try not to cry from the pain, "I don't need revenge."

"Bite down on this," Ann orders as she puts a thick strip of fabric in between your teeth. You try not to trash around too much as she extracts the bullet from your body, focusing on Niragi's presence beside you to stay as calm as you can.

You know from the emotions you feel in him that he's not going to stop until he avenges you, even if nothing happened. You don't care about a random shooter that might as well be dead already. You just don't want your mate to kill while putting himself in harm's way more than he already does.

You sigh in relief when Ann's done with cleaning and dressing your wound. All you want now more than anything is a good warm shower followed by twelve hours of sleep.

"Is she going to be okay?" you hear Niragi ask as you focus to not fall asleep.

"Yes, I think so," Ann says, "Just make sure that the wound is clean and the bandages are changed regularly. Also, try to find her these antibiotics if you can."

You doze off after that until you feel Niragi's lips on your forehead.

"I'll be back," he says with a small peck to your lips. You can't seem to move, unable to control your body to stop him as you hear him walk away and close the door behind him.

Then you fall asleep.

You're not exactly sure of what woke you up. Maybe it was the door closing. Maybe it was the bedside table lamp being turned on.

Maybe it was the smell of peppermint and rain that suddenly filled your nostrils as someone got close to your side.

"Shh, go back to sleep," you hear Chishiya's voice as a cold hand brushes your hair from your face, "Just came by to check on you since the husband isn't home at the moment."

"Go away…" you groan as you try to swat his hand away, gasping when pain flashes through your arm, "Niragi will–"

"Niragi won't do anything, honey," he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "You know, I thought that your scent would become less alluring now that you're bonded but… I guess not," he chuckles, "If you weren't a mess right now I would try to fuck you, see if you can resist me."

"Please, just–"

"I'm not a man that desires a lot of stuff, but I really wanted you," he says. You open your eyes to see strands of your hair in-between his fingers, his dark brown eyes flashing yellow when you lock eyes, "It's a shame he got you in the end," he shrugs, "That was my fault really, I should've killed him when he was down. He's annoyingly hard to kill otherwise."

"Leave–"

"A shame, really," he says before letting go of your hair and standing up, "You could have it all with me," he pauses at the door, "Well… who knows, maybe you still can. Guess we'll see. Goodbye, Y/N."

[galaxxiwrites]

hi i love your headcanons and scenarios so much!! can i request an arknights thorns x female reader nsfw oneshot?? tysm!

fjnse thank you anon!! (♡μ_μ)

Prompt: The Doctor asks Thorns to make them a drink that keeps them up for extended periods of time— the end result wasn't exactly what was intended, but it did work in keeping them awake.

Word count: 1378

warning: nsfw, please read at your own discretion :)

Energy Drink

"So...you're asking for an energy drink?" Thorns tilts his head ever so slightly, just enough to show his confusion upon hearing the Doctor's request.

"Yes, but stronger. Something to keep me up for...a few days at least."

Again, Thorns is flabbergasted by such a peculiar request. He opens his mouth, about to ask just why she would need to stay up for a few days.

"Contingency Contract." The Doctor says as she waves her hand in a nonchalant way, as if accepting their fate. She sighs as memories of past events slowly creep their way back into her thoughts, but immediately clears them as now was not the time for emotional vulnerability. It was time for blood.

"Extra strong energy drinks just don't pack that same punch anymore," Doctor explains as she peeks over to look up at Thorn's golden embers, pleading to him with puppy dog eyes to make them that concoction.

"I know it's not my place to lecture you on this, but no one is capable of functioning properly when they're deprived of sleep."

Thorns looks back to his desk, different chemicals in various test tubes and flasks and quickly scribbled notes on pieces of paper clutter his workspace.

"It'll be fine, it's only for a few days." The doctor waves her hand before turning around, mumbling that they'll come get the drink later in the day.

Thorns sighs, murmuring to himself that he never agreed to make something so dangerous for her. He then makes calculation in his head: which option would have a better outcome for him? On one hand, he didn't want his lover to overexert herself more than she already does. On the other hand...he's terrified of becoming the subject of her temper tantrums.

His solution was to just make a drink that stimulates the nervous system to keep them up, but slowly depresses it so Doctor could sleep at the proper time for once. Basically, a reverse of alcohol.

Working his magic, Thorns creates the desired drink— except he doesn't realize a miscalculation on his part. While it did work to relax the muscles, it wouldn't trigger drowsiness. Instead, it would end up exciting her hormones to the point of imitating a heat cycle— in short, he unknowingly made an aphrodisiac.

And he would suffer the consequences of his actions much sooner than expected.

While the doctor did feel awake, the longer the day got the more she felt...hot. It was unnatural, especially for her as she was used to wearing her hoodie no matter what the weather.

So when she ends up taking off her hoodie in the middle of the contingency contract planning, the Operators currently with her look bewildered. Many, especially the male operators, felt a lump in their throat form as they stared at the doctor.

"Doctor." Saria coughs to grab her attention. "Don't take off your jacket."

The defender operator places the jacket over the Doctor's shoulder and hugs it around her, making sure it fully covered her.

"What's the matter, Saria?"

Doctor couldn't hear the breathiness in her own voice, but the others sure could hear it clearly. Again, Saria scoffs before taking off with her, saying she'll escort Doctor back to her own private quarters.

"Doctor, next time please try to be more professional. If you're feeling even slightly unwell, then please don't hesitate to take the day off."

Saria leaves as quickly as she spoke, confusing the doctor even more. Left to her own devices, the Doctor thinks of why everyone reacted the way they didー or at least, she tries to even make a single coherent thought. The heat building up inside her however was getting unbearable, and thoughts of pleasuring herself started creeping in.

She doesn't resist her own temptations as she starts feeling herself; her hand softly traces her inner thigh before inserting her index finger into her womanhood.

The light teasing only drove Doctor closer to insanity—she needed more. Splaying herself on her bed, Doctor inserts another finger while her other hand massages her breast.

"Thorns." She mumbles as thoughts of her lover start filling her head. When was the last time he touched her, or when he was inside of her? It already felt so long ago, and maybe that's why she's been needy now.

Her thrusting became faster when she imagined his member inside her. Oh how she longed for him, his touch and kisses, his warmth—his everything.

Her imagination would ultimately cause her heat to become more unbearable as her fingers slowly start to leave her unsatisfied.

"Doctor, are you okay? I heard from Saria that—"

Thorns stops mid sentence when he sees her, legs wide open to reveal her dripping wet pussy, the sweet smell of her pre-cum flooded her room, almost intoxicating the eccentric guard.

He immediately closes the door, in fear of anyone else witnessing the sight he wants to keep for himself. His breathing became ragged as he continued to watch the Doctor desperately pleasuring herself, so lost in her own world that she didn't even hear him.

Thorns comes to Doctor's beside, shocking her so much that she abruptly stops and tries to apologize for her lewd behavior. Without saying a word, Thorns gives her a kiss.

A long, passionate, and hungry kiss. Doctor rubs her hand lightly against the tented area in his pants. Feeling his bulging manhood twitch at her touch, she smirks before bringing out his hardened member and starts stroking it teasingly slow.

Thorns whimpers her name as he pulls away from the kiss, only exciting the heated doctor even more. He then adjusts her so she would be facing him; he rubs the tip of his dick against her wet lips before slowly thrusting himself in her.

"Doctor," Thorns gasps as he feels her walls cling tightly around him. "You're so—tight."

Thorns grips on the doctor's thighs as he continues to slowly push himself deeper into her, causing Doctor to pull on her bed sheets as she was being stretched wide.

"Loosen up a bit." He grunts against her ear. Doctor gasps as she starts feeling him move, and try as she might she was far too excited to even try and calm down.

Doctor starts scratching Thorns' back in response to his more consistent movement. However, once she started getting accustomed to his girth and length, the pain subsided and was replaced with unthinkable pleasure.

"That it—keep moving like that…!" She whimpers as her legs wrap around his waist. Thorns trails hickeys on the doctor's neck as he thrusts deep in her, his pace steadily becoming faster the more the doctor loosened up.

"Ah, fuck…! That's it!" She yelped as he hit her sweet spot. "Fuck me there! More!"

He had not seen the Doctor this needy before, and he wishes that she would act like this a bit more.

"I've never seen you this...desperate, Doctor." Thorns whispers in a dangerously low and husky voice against her ear, almost bringing her to the edge.

"I want you—!" Doctor doesn't hesitate to beg as she starts matching his rhythm.

So lost in their euphoria, the couple continued without uttering anything else other than their needy groans and pleasured whimpers as his thrusts became sloppier.

"Thorns…! Thorns—! I," Doctor could not continue her sentence as she was hitting her climax, and he understood it well even without her having said anything as he walls tighten around him once more.

"Me too." Was all he said before moving at a slower, but more forceful pace. And with one last thrust, the both of them orgasmed.

Thorns, after releasing all his load into the doctor, slowly takes himself out of her. His semen, mixed with the doctor's, slowly trailed out of her womanhood. He smirked as he saw her queef before releasing a bit more of her thick juices.

Through ragged breaths, they give each other one more messy kiss before Thorns lays down, exhausted. He was about to close his eyes too, until he felt the familiar weight and heat of the doctor on top of him.

"Done already? But we're just getting started."

Doctor purrs as she traced circles on Thorn's heaving chest.

"We're not stopping until I'm cum-plete-ly satisfied~ Hehe."

[kidhawks]

WAHHGUHFH.. FANTASY HAWKS.. I LOVE UR DESIGN FOR HIM AGHH!! and do u have stuff to say abt him bcos i would LOVE to hear it

YAY i’m glad u like him :’) fantasy au time hehe 😈 it’s still a work in progress but yes.. a few thoughts. i’m just spitballing here so if anyone has ideas of their own i’d love to hear them <3

hawks “”works”” for the commission (aka is owned by them) who still get to be a shady organisation whose goal is to maintain peace and order across kingdoms, which r probably ruled by important characters like endeavor, all might, all for one etc. no one likes the commission because they’re always sticking their nose in other people’s business lmao. they’ve controlled things from the shadows for a loooong time, assassinating leaders who get too power hungry, quashing rebellions before they can begin etc. they want things to stay exactly as they are, always, and so far they’ve mostly succeeded

quirks still exist but mutant discrimination is more pronounced—they only recently got equal rights in all kingdoms. it’s what allowed hawks to be basically enslaved the way he is. now the freedom laws are passed he could technically leave the commission but for a multitude of Reasons he stays. eg, his priority is also maintaining peace not because he thinks society is perfect how it is—far from it—but because upset peace means civilian death. he wants to see change but if innocents die for it then it’s not worth it. his goals align with the commission’s enough that he’ll continue to help them. however, other people, especially other mutants, can’t understand why he’d stay and he’s viewed with a mixture of “dirty commission dog too loyal for his own good” and “poor thing was raised to love the hand that hit it and can’t fathom the idea of freedom, so sad”

similarly to canon, hawks was sold to the commission when he was young and trained into a spy/assassin hehe (what’s the point of an au if it isn’t self indulgent?). the tattoos are added to with achievements. the diamond on his chest was immediately inked on him when he arrived, while the lines are added for things like significant kills, successful missions. i’m toying with the idea of them being a way of controlling him, like they cause pain if he disobeys, but i’m also fond of them just being a symbolic representation of ownership... hmm. oh!! maybe they give him power while also hurting him if he disobeys? i’ll have to think more abt how that works lol, i want him to be able to disobey at times, but knowing hawks he’ll find ways to sneakily work around orders while still technically obeying

his job consists of flying around the kingdoms and knowing everything that’s going on at any given time. there isn’t a rumour he hasn’t heard, whether from frequenting underground fighting rings or influential nobles’ bedrooms if he has to. for discretion’s purpose the tattoos can be made invisible for periods of time but never truly removed—everyone knows him now anyway, the commission’s pet with the bright red wings, so the tattoos are rarely concealed anymore. everyone thinks they can avoid letting slip any information to him but jokes on them because his wings don’t miss a whisper and he’s a charmer to the point that you don’t know what you’ve said until he’s saying “thanks, that was really helpful! great chat! bye!”

he’s also basically a messenger pigeon between kingdoms since he can travel so quickly. the commission “kindly” offered his services but everyone knows it’s a method of planting him in every castle to hear them juicy deets, and you don’t refuse the commission because you want to keep your head, thanks. so hawks is familiar with each ruler and their castle staff for good measure, and probably a fair few commoners too... he was one of them once after all. he’s originally from endeavor’s kingdom but the guy doesn’t need to know that

all might thinks he’s a charming young man but hawks is weirdly creeped out by the constant smile and actually prefers the grump endeavor who shoos him like a pigeon. all for one is terrifying and hawks knows he’s after war but he can’t prove it. if it comes down to it he might have to resort to assassination, but if done wrong that could cause more problems than it solves (plus, killing, bleaugh). he hates afo’s castle and leaves as soon as he’s delivered a message, though he enjoys bothering afo’s heir shigaraki first (hawks was eighteen when he first spotted shigaraki, fifteen, sulking around the castle like he didn’t have a friend in the world. well, maybe hawks could change that and get some info while he was at it... unfortunately shigs is surprisingly tight lipped but he’s good for board games)

i’m thinking of making other top-ten heroes into rulers of their own kingdoms? queen miruko would be awesome, imagine!! the first animal mutant queen who’s loved for not being a passive leader but a fighter with a passionate love for her people. hawks doesn’t like how unpredictable she is, it makes his job harder, while she thinks he lets himself be walked all over and it pisses her off, but i think they could be great pals if they got to know each other. edgeshot the ninja king. jeanist is a peaceful, pragmatic leader who hawks actually gets along with. sorry, pb, i have no idea how to fit wash in. washing machines don’t exist in my self indulgent fantasy AU.

if i wrote this i’d probably have afo wage war after all and hawks kicking himself for not doing better in preventing it. shigaraki is at the head of the war, but after afo is killed/arrested like in canon, shigaraki labels it as more of a rebellion with his new generals by his side, one of whom is a powerful man called dabi who hawks has never heard of, and he’s meant to hear everything. it’s not a good time for hawks knowing he wasn’t enough to stop this. if he had tried harder to sway shigaraki away from afo’s ideals... it hurts seeing the lonely kid he once knew declare his desire for complete destruction. hawks doesn’t have “friends” but he cares for people—the commission didn’t take his heart, just chained it

anyway it’s basically canon but fantasy because fantasy is sexy and cool (it would deviate a lot from canon though i don’t want it to be a carbon copy lmao)

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.  

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

--

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

--

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

--

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

--

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).  

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.  

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -  

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.  

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”  

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.   

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.  

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.  

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.  

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.  

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

~

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

~

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

[no-whump-on-main]

Untitled (for now) Vampire Whump

Soooo I binge read @whumping-every-day ‘s Ash and Callum series this morning (It’s INCREDIBLE, by the way, go read it now) and got mega inspired to write some vamp whump of my own, though with very different dynamics than in the Ash and Callum series. Also partially inspired by @whumped-cream ‘s prompt about a similar scenario :) (sorry for the tags y’all I just wanna properly credit)

ANYWAYS HERE WE GO PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IT MAKES MY HEART SING

TW/CWs: some mild imagined gore/body horror, pet whump, long term captivity, dehumanization, vampire whumper/human whumpee, possible minor whump? Whumpee is described as young but her actual age is not known.

     There is a girl in the basement of the old wooden mansion down Buist street.

     The residence teeters on the outskirts of the miniscule town it was built in many decades ago, resting so far away from the rest of town that it is visited by no one but impish teenagers who dare each other to get close enough to pound their aching fists on the heavy black door, then turn and sprint back, completely unknowing of the horrors inside.

     Younger children make up songs about the foul creature rumored to own the estate, singing hymns in high-pitched voices to each other about the great evil. Rumor had it that the evil man inside lurked among them, perfectly blended into their society. He worked with them, prayed with them, lodged with them, and was, in every way, a part of them.

     The adults of the village grew out of believing the rumors about a monster who lurked among them as they aged. They moved on, found occupations, married, and had children of their own, who became the next generation to preach the tale of the vampire down Buist street, of the vile creature who cruelly drained human bodies for his own pleasure, then flew off into the night and locked himself in his lavish home until the desire to feed struck him again.

     That was where all the generations of townspeople had gotten him wrong. No, he did not feed off of strangers in the nighttime only to flee and leave his victims dead and drained.

     He preferred living, breathing sources of fresh blood. The basement of his wooded home contained a cell, dedicated to the upkeep of his servants. That was what he called them; the captives he took were but servants to him, warm, beings to feed him whenever he so desired. He never kept more than one at a time, and had never had a servant last much longer than one or two cycles of the full moon before their weak, fleshy bodies gave in to exsanguination. Oh, what pitiful things. The man who kept the servants (if one could even call him a man anymore, given that he’d sacrificed his humanity as he became nothing but a sadistic bringer of suffering so very long ago) almost pitied them. Not for the pain that he inflicted, but for the fact that they had to exist in such useless vessels. The only true purpose of a human body was to serve something stronger. It was an honor for a being so useless to find purpose by becoming a servant to someone greater.

     The vampire did not often make exceptions to his standards of keeping his servants. He had standards for a reason, after all. This meant that what he had now was a rare, beautiful thing.

     He had kept the girl in the basement through the passing of nearly two winters. With proper yet minimal care and caution to never feed too much in one sitting, he had managed to preserve her frail body and keep her blood pure, warm, and plentiful for nearly two years. Now, why he’d done this was still a mystery to himself. He could’ve gone through more than twenty servants by now, tasted the different unique notes of their blood, watched them all submit in front of his eyes, and yet, even with the knowledge of what he could’ve had, he was still more than content with his little pet. He had never found himself so infatuated with a useless human being before that fateful day nearly two years ago when he had spied the traveling merchant girl with nothing but a pack, a rack of spices, a pouch for coins, and a mare tied to a post in the grass nearby. There was something about the girl’s natural, unspoken charm that instantly drew him into obsession with her that day.

     He’d struck up a conversation with the girl and bought out nearly half of her wares, despite having no use for the human pleasure of assorted foreign spices. After a long exchange, it was all too easy to lure her back to his estate with the promise of a meal and a bed for the night; after all, she was a weary young thing who did not yet know the danger of following a strange man home, no matter how kind his appearance was. He doubted she’d been travelling along dirt roads any longer than a week.

     The girl had put up a strong fight at first. She was fiery, and the vampire admired that. Her fighting spirit proved to him just what a perfect human she was. She was not so weak like the others. For weeks, every time he came to feed on her blood she fought like a wild animal, biting and scratching and keening up until the very moment his fangs slid into her neck, forcing her into being still and silent as to avoid tearing her carotid artery.

     That initial fight, the aching rage deep in her very soul made her so much more gorgeous to see battered, muzzled, and completely submissive in the bounds of a metal cage built with the intention of containing a feral dog, not a broken human girl. 

     It took months, but the vampire had made her the perfect servant. The perfect little toy. And after so much work, he was never going to let her perish in the chilled waste of his basement underground.

     He called her Annalise. She did not know why. That wasn’t her name. But that foreign name, the one that did not belong to her, became so much easier to accept as her own as she was slowly beaten into perfect submission over many months, so fiercely that she could no longer recall what her name had been before. Or who her family had been, or what she had done to support them. She did not recall her favorite things, or what she liked to eat.

     She knew only her cell and Master. She knew that she was Annalise and she was perfectly behaved for Master. Every waking moment of her life was dedicated to him. Serving him. She belonged to him. Startlingly, she did not remember a time before the basement. There was only Master. He was all she knew.

     The cell she was kept in was cold and dark. She had not once felt the warm mercy of sunlight on her skin in a longer span of time than she could remember. She had not even been granted the gentle light and warmth of a fire. There were no windows in the basement; the only light she ever saw came from an oil lamp Master brought with him when he came to eat, then took away when he returned to his unknown abyss of a home upstairs. The commodity of warmth was similarly limited. Master brought her a thin linen blanket as a reward when he was pleased with her, but she could never quite decipher what exactly pleased him. His kindness, to her, seemed to come in random bursts of his own volition, but they were never underappreciated. Annalise was always so very grateful for the shreds of mercy he showed her, cowering at his feet like she was praying to her god every time he showed her even the simplest kindness. 

     Sometimes it would be a hot, filling meal, in stark contrast to the bowl of cold porridge and glass of water she was normally brought every morning. Other times it was warmth; the blanket, her favorite source, but also sometimes fresh changes of clothes, nightgowns that were made of thicker material than the usual thin cotton, and even jackets to layer over her usual clothing. Rewards did not come often, and never lasted long, but they were always blissful. She cherished what she was given until the very moment Master instructed her to give it back.

     Despite this, her favorite reward of all was not a physical item. Her favorite reward came  when she heard master’s footsteps tap tap tap down the concrete basement stairs, in the particularly heavy, tired-sounding manner that she knew meant he was going to feed. It came when he opened the creaking metal door to her cell, swiftly allowed himself in, but did not instruct her to crawl to him, kneel, and bare her pretty neck. 

     It was when he would hold her as he ate. It was a rare occurrence, but Annalise lived for it. He would scoop her into his long arms and cradle her like a child, sometimes whispering to her sweetly before gently brushing her matted hair over her shoulder, then tilting her neck and piercing her carotid. Feeling his fangs sliding into the pale, tender skin of her neck hurt every time, but when she was being held so gently, it was almost possible to forget the pain. To just focus on Master, and on him and his kindness only. The pain was so much more bearable when she was cradled in loving arms rather than kneeling on the stone floor, her knees in agony as emaciation had left the bones so very close to the surface of her skin, meaning they were constantly grinding into the ground. 

     His feeding never took long, only a few minutes. And typically, he would immediately leave, but when he held her, he’d always linger after finishing, tenderly wiping the excess blood away from the new puncture wound in her neck that would soon begin to scar before beginning to rock her, singing sweetly in a language she did not recognize until she fell asleep. That’s how she knew that he loved her. He would not be so kind if he didn’t.

     Most of her days simply consisted of sleep, as there was very little else to do but rest, and she was often too exhausted to do anything else. Constant shivering took a very heavy toll on her muscles, and even when she was granted warmth from Master, her shaking never really did stop. Her body had just simply never gotten used to the biting cold of the basement. At least Master never seemed to mind. He had never instructed her to stop shaking, nor had he ever seemed bothered by the cold himself when he came downstairs.

     The month now was January. For the girl, this meant spring would come soon, and the basement would be just ever so slightly warmer, something she was infinitely grateful for. She craved warmth more than anything. For the vampire, though, January meant something much more special.

     It meant that it was nearly the second anniversary of the day he had brought his special servant home. And because this girl was so very special to him, she deserved a very special celebration.

     The vampire thought it was high time his Annalise was introduced to his friends. He had a bustling social life, and yet, not one of his peers had ever met the girl. It wasn’t  terribly unusual for vampires not to meet each others’ servants, given their typically short lifetimes, and the fact that vampires did not meddle with anyone else’s pet unless they were invited to, in which case, they could easily become a pack of cruel, wild hyenas. The vampire knew of this cruelty, which was part of the reason he had never told a soul about the girl, but now, after so much time, and with how perfectly behaved she was, he was sure a few select friends could never spoil a thing about his beloved servant. He was overjoyed, ecstatic, even, to finally be showing her off. Not only would he be able to show her around the upstairs, he could use the opportunity to test her obedience, see just how far her devotion went.

     In a pattern now familiar to Annalise, he padded down the stairs to announce to her his spectacular plans. He had decided not to inform her until the day of, not wanting to get the pet riled up, but now, it was time. In mere hours, his friends would arrive to see the girl he had promised them all to be so breathtaking.

     And he had to get her ready.

[sloppy-butcher]

Alrighty then. So Michael and Danny with a s/o or just a survivor that’s caught their interest that’s clearly favored by the entity (most likely due to excellent performance but could be bc of personality). Example: they more often they get better sacrifices or personal effects as a comfort. But they share their stuff with the others because they like helping

heyy! thank you for the request!

with this one i decided to make the S/O a killer cause i feel that would create the most conflict :) hope that’s ok<3 editt; i realize after writing it that i forgot you included “shares with others” T_T im so sorry

ok so when you say ‘favored because of personality’ I’m going to assume it refers to the reader willingness to obey the Entity and kill without question

ghostface is below the cut. also he's pretty NSFW

HeadCanons for The Shape (Michael Myers) and The Ghostface (Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson) with an Entity-favored killer! S/O

The Shape (Michael Myers)

It’s customary when a new killer arrives in the Fog, for them to be favored by the Entity. Their unique way of torturing and killing bringing new flavors of fear for the master leaving the other killers on the sidelines. However, when the excitement dies and the dust settles, the attention shifts back to the usual favorites. What confused Michael about you the most was that there was a consistent liking on you that maintained itself and grew even after your initial arrival. There was always a big eye watching you from the sky, a large red sign on your back that the Entity never stopped searching for. There was no denying that even after making yourself home among the Fog that the Entity still liked you.

Michael has never been the favorite. If anything, he’s one of the more disliked killers. That doesn’t mean he’s bad a killing, oh no. Just, in relation to how the Entity wants Its kills to be presented, Michael a bit of an under-achiever. He doesn’t do want is expected of him, he just kills. And that puts him on the boss’s F-tier. So when you show up and immediately get on the Entity’s good side, Michael is skeptical. But not jealous. He’ll just wait and watch as the spotlight shifts away and you lose your shine.

When time passes and you remain as attentive as ever Michael begins to get suspicious. What exactly made you so special? Did you have an ability that was interesting? Or was there something else? Whatever it was, Michael didn’t have to ponder it for too long because one night when he returned to his realm after a long day's work, he found you standing in the middle of the street waiting for him. You explained that you were sent there by the master to help “guide” Michael to become a more efficient and better killer. You couldn’t see it but Michael was furious.

Michael resented you. Every night you would be there, buzzing around him like an annoying fly. He once tried to chase you away, raising his arm in an aggressive gesture only for you to scoff halfheartedly, “You call that a lunge?” Oh right, you were a killer as well. After intimidation didn’t work, he resorted to throwing endless a hissy fits (consisting of him crossing his arms and angrily stomping away from you). You’d have to chase him lecturing him as you did, explaining that if Michael wanted the approval of the Entity he needed to listen to you. Of course, he didn’t.

“You are such a brat you know that?” Michael cocked his head, a sign of his so-called brattiness. He let out a loud huff and turned his nose up. You gasp. “How DARE you!” He huffed again as if testing your authority. He could be such a child.

Eventually, when it became clear that the nail wasn’t being hammered into his thick skull, you gave up on the man. You stopped pestering him, stopped showing up, and threw in the metaphorical towel. With you gone his world feel to silence, only the flickering of red and blue lights moved in the space around him. He felt... empty? Like something was missing. Almost as if on autopilot he looked to his left and surprising saw nobody there. He had grown used to seeing your smaller form next to his. So pristine, always talking with authority and determination. You were skilled, precise, and managed, he actually found himself missing the way you annoyed him. He missed your noise.

Without really trying, Michael started performing even worse in trials. Sometimes he would kill them all within minutes not even offering them a chance to escape or fight back. And other times he wouldn’t even try, deliberately losing chases and allowing the survivors to escape scott-free. And it’s not as if the Entity could punish Michael like it did the others; Michael didn't fear pain nor did he have any emotional attachments of which could be manipulated. The Entity had no way of twisting his arm. As a last resort, you were sent back to try deal with him.

He watched you casually stroll up to him, your arms crossed over your chest like a scolding teacher. When you reached him you shook your head. “You did that on purpose.” Tapping a foot in annoyance you waited for a nonexistent explanation. He just looked at you, eyes taking in your form, eating it up like a starved dog. After you realized that the man wasn’t going to bother with any type of apology or declaration, you sighed and lowered your hands. “Y’know there’s an easier way to keep me around.” He shuddered at your voice but showed no signs of irritation, it was as if he liked hearing you speak in such a tone to him. “Just, promise me you’ll try not to get on Its bad side anymore. At least for me.” Michael considered your proposition for a moment then turned and started to walk away. When he noticed you weren’t following him, he hesitated. He actually waited for you. It wasn’t much but it was a start.

The Ghostface (Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson)

Danny would definitely be jealous of your attention. Expect long, hateful glares and snide comments. How is it that you had all the entity’s blessings whereas he, a willing participant received none of your praise? He never felt so cheated as he did every time you would return from a successful trial, dressed in the blessings of your victory. He’d hate you.

Of course, Danny would never really show it. Sure, he’d let you pick up on the side-ward scowls and sometimes hear the odd slur but he always hid his true feelings and thoughts. However, his hubris made him believe his acting skills were better than they were you were that man's kryptonite, his weakness. Eventually, things started to slip through the cracks and you could see how much you burned him inside.

It became something of a game between the two of you. You would come back from a trial and while passing him, boast about your kills. “All dead. Merciless.” You sarcastically flip a hand through imaginary hair, passing him a teasing eye over your shoulder before strutting off. You’d leave him fuming. Next time he would return, Danny would approach you twirling a bloody, still-dripping knife. He’d smirk under his mask knowing full well your attention was glued to him. “Dead. Everyone last one of them.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone, chest puffed out with vicious pride. “Did you use Hex: NoED though?” He paused. How did you know that? At his sudden stupor, you knew you had struck a nerve. Grinning manically you regain your no.1 killer status. “The Entity says that all the struggling killers use that perk.” You emphasize the ‘struggling’ part by curling your fingers and showing off your best shit-eating smile. Danny’s fist shook with rage. “I’m allowed to use whatever Hex I want. If the Entity,” he spat the master’s label with disgust, “didn’t want it to be used, it should be removed.” You crossed your arms and gave the killer a ‘really?’ look. He growled and began to trudge away. As if poking the bear you offer him one last piece of advice, “You already have an insta-down ability, Danny. Use it!”

It would take a while for his pride to mend after that instance but after it did, Danny set to work. He tried beyond anything to beat you, competing for the Entity’s favor. Or, at least, that’s what it seemed like to an outsider. What the man was really desiring was to become the top dog. Become better than you and make you eat your words. He’ll show you ‘struggling’.  As much as he hated to admit it, he often found himself following your advice. He never camped hooked survivors, rarely tunneled, and became the master of his stealth. You were a positive influence on him and his work ethics, it was no longer just about killing it was more about HOW he killed.

He would never EVER admit how you effected him. But you would notice the improvement. The eye of the Entity now had two flickers of interest and it couldn't be more impressed. You certainly were an effective killer, not just in the field but also on your peers. And because of this fact, you always remained the favorite.

Danny witnessed this inherent bias and while his blood boiled, he decided it would be better to make peace rather than enemies. "So," Danny put a gloved hand on his hip having finally cornered you in a private moment. "How do you do it?" At your confused expression, he chuckled shaking his head dismissively. "The Boss. How do you keep its favor? I mean, if you haven't noticed," Danny said, fixing a glove. "I've been performing exceptionally well in my trials. Yet the attention is always fixed on you." A smile crept across your lips. Something was different about the man. He didn't portray a total and complete aura of dislike towards you. There was something else there. Admiration? Desire? Whatever it was, it felt nice to be showered by it. You shrugged your answer unsure of how exactly to respond. "Shit then," Danny said, shaking his head again and letting out an airy laugh. "You must give awesome blowjobs."

NSFW! The new game the two of you had adopted was a more friendly competition than the previous hate-filled pissing contest. The rules were simple, whoever returned from their trials with the most merciless titles got to top. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. And to be honest, while Danny does enjoy the added bonus of bragging rights, regardless of if he won or not he always had fun in whatever position. He secretly likes watching you take control over him. 

[whereflowersbloom]

I liked you first

Part 6

“Are you well?” he asked her softly. There was concern in his voice, she could tell. Did he actually care for her? He grabbed her hand to help her walk inside Bellemore. She kept praying her unsteady knees wouldn’t give in as the warmth of his large palm engulfed her thin and cold fingers. Rachel mustered enough courage to look upon his face. Beyond his usual appearance and the features that had changed, matured, a fully grown man now; lay a weariness, a feeling of guilt which bordered on loneliness. “I must apologize for losing my temper.” Damian seemed to have a momentary loss at words. His gaze traveled over her face and instantly danced away. Although she couldn't read him quite as transparently as she used to when they were kids, she felt the sincerity in her gut.

Upon entering the restaurant again, he exchanged a few words with the headwaiter, they were speaking too quietly for hear to overhear their conversation. She guessed it had something to do with the argument they had before. On the bright side, the Wayne table was in the private section, so only a few waiters had witnessed the unpleasant squabble.

And yet, here they are again, sitting across each other, exchanging glances in the uncomfortable silence for some time. She doesn’t like to keep her hands still, it causes her mind to wander. So she runs her hands through her hair, smoothing it out. She needed to fiddle something, always looking for a distraction. It helped in situations where she felt anxious. Rachel always felt as though it drew attention away from her face. Damian perceptive eyes dart from the table to land on her face. Tension flashes across his features. Abruptly, her date breaks the long and dead silence.

“Will you forgive me?” Damian says in a low voice, looking at her, his eyes swirl with something she hadn’t seen before, frustration mixed with longing. Her mouth is slightly agape. The sight makes Rachel’s heart stop for a minute, in fact, everything else stops. Nothing else seemed to matter. For the first time, she truly thought that it was going to be okay between them. “You never accepted my apology.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He rubbed at his neck, uncertainty bowing his shoulders.

She almost scoffed herself. How could this man weaken her defenses with a couple of words? She was withering away with need for him. The man she loved and wanted desperately to hate. She loved him, even so she wouldn’t let him win her over easily.

“I’ll consider it after dinner.” Rachel struggled to get the words out, but forced herself to be strong as she folded her arms over her chest, faking indignation. “I can’t think well on an empty stomach.” She said feeling a tiny bit of pride she managed to do so without flinching or looking away before the waiter came with the menu and placed two glasses of wine.

His side smile appeared on his handsome face mockingly towards her, he looked amused by her reaction, and that was enough to make her forget her anger for a brief moment. “Undoubtedly, you’re Jon’s sister. Only a Kent would say that.” A raw, playful chuckle escaped his lips. Generally Damian was pretty good maintaining the facade of fake enjoyment. But this time he wasn’t faking it. He enjoyed her company, challenging personality, she was transparent as glass, yet a mystery to his eyes. They were practically family but something had changed. In the time they have spent apart, they had grown up. Women in his life, usually approached him with deceitful intentions, they always wanted something from him. What could Rachel possibly want from him?

“Are you mocking me now?” She asked suspiciously, with narrowed eyes. Damian was making fun of her now? A corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, stunning emerald eyes matching his smile, and it made her feel strangely uncomfortable to feel so observed by him. Rachel blushed furiously and her eyebrows creased with an embarrassed expression.

“I wouldn’t dare. It simply brought back fond and distant memories.” He muttered with melancholy. Suddenly, memories invaded his mind. He remembered all those summers at the Kent’s farm, sneaking to the kitchen in the middle of the night because Jon was hungry. Sometimes Rachel would join them and Clark. The next morning a lengthy, traditional lecture from Lois awaited them, of course. She was the only mother figure left in his life.

“Why did you agreed to this date with me?” Damian questions her, this time his voice soft and calm. That question again. His eyes completely fixated on her and the air around her begins to thicken. She tears her eyes away and focuses on the glass of wine. Rachel takes a big swallow from her wine glass for last minute liquid courage. She dabs at her lips with a napkin, her mind coming up with an answer. Hoping her face doesn’t betray her, how nervous she is. “Why did you leave?” The question slipped out of her mouth before she caught it.

“I had no choice. It was Father’s order. No one can oppose his decisions.” His expression hardened, masking the restrained pain the best way he could. There was a long pause before one said anything. He said nothing, just gave her a look that resembled distress.

She knew Damian had struggled tremendously following the departure of his mother. So she could not blame him for the decision to leave and see more of the world. Despite that, as Rachel took in the stiff movement of his jawline and the almost imperceptible eye twitch that always betrayed a staggering depth of raw emotion. A part of her became certain that his departure was not entirely without its fair share of regrets.

She glanced down and back up at him, voice trembling as she said. “I never hated you, Damian. I want you to know that.” Maybe she couldn’t admit the real reason the was sitting there with him. But she hoped it was enough to bring him some kind of comfort. Damian would always be family, if didn’t matter if Damian doesn’t return her feelings.

He doesn’t smile but there’s kindness in his eyes, relief, a burden lifted from his broad shoulders, something that makes her heart twinge in remembrance. “Are you ready to order?” He asks softly. She nods.

~~~

She finds she has more of an appetite than she’s had in days and the food is delicious here. “So, why were you late?” Damian asked her as she forked a piece of lasagna in her mouth. Oh right she forgot to mention the reason behind her tardiness.

Damian was restless. The sexual tension wasn’t going to go away. For the first time, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was completely riled up, blood going everywhere except his brain apparently. He had to stop watching her eat. He couldn’t comprehend how someone could be irresistibly desirable and adorable all together. He irritably tugged at his tie. Conversation. Yes, that would be a convenient distraction and perfect way to know more about Rachel.

“Oh I didn’t explain. I know you don’t tolerate lateness.” He bit her lower lip too hard expecting a reproachful look from Damian, who straight away interpreted her reaction. “I’m not here to criticize Rachel. Is it that hard to believe I’m genuinely interested?” He arched a brow, lips pursing in annoyance, not at her exactly, just her view. Did she truly think he was so empathetic? He meant every word he had pronounced. It was true, at first he intended to find a way out of the situation. But plans change. “Jon mentioned you were about to graduate.” His speech slurred only a bit.

His velvety voice resonated in her ears, and goosebumps invaded her skin in that fragment of second. It was for her. A little flutter of hope arose in her heart. As Rachel smiled, Damian found himself wondering how powerful a simple smile could be, because it felt like she was lighting him up with the simple way her lips had curled up. A faint shadow of a dimple appearing in her face as her eyes illuminated. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink.

“I work part-time at an animal shelter. I’ll get my veterinary degree soon.” She spoke enthusiastically about her job and education. “My partner, Garfield lost his keys. We recently received a senior dog suffering from COPD, so we take turns to monitor him.”

Damian was looking at her eyebrows raised questioningly, attempting to decipher the code for COPD, veterinary medicine wasn’t his specialty. She started explaining what the disease consisted of, but he was immersed in his mind. Partner. Who the hell was Garfield. Damian crossed his arms, furrowing his brows, a particularly annoyed look on his face. Why did it even bother him? “What about suitors?” His voice seemed curious, but, in the depths of his inquiring tone, she could discern a certain unease.

Damian never wanted to be that possessive type of lover, who would act like she was his property. She wasn’t even his. It was a simple date. He was unquestionably, not madly jealous. Nonetheless, relief surged through him as soon as her pink lips answered his question.

“Not ones that lasted long enough before Jon frightened them away.” Rachel shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. She had dated but nothing serious. The first year, Gar did ask her out but after turning him down emphatically, he understood right away, to her surprise, they became good friends and now worked together. But it wasn’t necessary to mention that in her first date with her first love. Even if she was curious about Damian’s reaction.

A spot of sauce stuck to the corner of Rachel’s mouth, and without thinking about it. Damian leaned forward and gently reaching over her side, to wipe the spot away with his thumb. Rachel froze, sucking in air as their eyes locked for a moment. Her eyes darted down to Damian’s full lips, and then back up to his intense eyes so quickly Damian thought he imagined it. Slowly he pulled back, bringing his sauce covered thumb up to his lips, cleaning it, before wiping the rest on his napkin. Rachel sat there, mouth opened slightly, her eyes darker suddenly. Her heart racing uncontrollably. Did he just use his thumb and the way his mouth. She cursed in her head. Damian shifted in his chair, finding a comfortable position, a wide smirk spreading across his lips, showing satisfaction.

“You’re staring, Rachel.” Damian said teasing her. He cursed himself for jumping to actions before thinking but he did not regret it. He was usually very good at acting poised and assertive. He didn’t want to admit it but seeing Rachel breaking through all of that, he found it entertaining. He liked having that effect on her. Rachel was more than just a beautiful face, she was genuine and innocent.

Her mouth went dry as she thought of the things Damian could do to her. Lifting her up easily, pinning her against a wall, and using strong hands to wander her unexplored body. Rachel was utterly and completely dazed and shocked. Damian Wayne was a dangerous man. She felt nothing but intense, drugging desire for him. His touch. He needed to go somewhere to calm down. “If you excuse me. I’ll go to the restroom for a moment.” ‘Take your time.’ was the last thing she heard before dashing off to the ladies toilets and almost tripping. Leaving a pleased Damian sitting at the table.

Here’s an update @andthendk @ravenfan1242 @chromium7sky @xxitzmikoxx @xaphrin 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I’m so tired. It took me ages. ❤️❤️❤️💜💜💜

[jiminiehappy]

Better Than Magic

♥︎ pairing: vmin ♥︎ word count: 15.3k ♥︎ rating: teen ♥︎ genre: hogwarts au, fluff, angst, friends to lovers,  ♥︎ warnings: pining, swearing, dragons, peril ♥︎ summary: “Okay.” He heard Taehyung take a deep breath as he placed his hands back down by his sides, a slight waver in his voice. Either from excitement, apprehension, or a mixture of both. Definitely both. He felt it, too. “Open your eyes, Jiminie.” Heartbeat rapping against his ribcage, Jimin did as he was told. It was even larger than he had imagined - titanic and likely measuring over three meters to the top of its head as it sat on the ground. Of course it was. It was a dragon. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Jimin couldn’t respond. He could only stare with a slack jaw at the creature and Taehyung who stood in front of it, grinning from ear to ear with his arms spread out wide. (or, where Taehyung raises a dragon for his best friend, and Jimin tells him a secret.) ♥︎ a/n: a repost from my ao3. I had a lot of fun with this story, I hope you enjoy it too! <3

Jimin couldn’t hear while reading. Unlike everything in his life now, no, it wasn’t magic. Consistent use of noisy public transportation to get to school, his younger brother’s bawling cries, and the shouting matches of his parents had trained him as a child to focus on the page, overpowering every other audible word in the room for the audible ones in his mind as he read. He didn’t need a spell - it was the internal voice of his own making that wrapped his attention, drowning out all else in a sea of calm until it was him and him alone. It became his choice when to finish, his decision when to stop, take a breath, and return to reality when he was ready. He could be in control, and nothing could take that away. Well, almost nothing. Sitting with crossed legs on the bench of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Jimin leaned his elbows on the millimeters of space available among the dishes of seasoned chicken, roast potatoes, salty lamb chops, and pudding that spilled across it, nose deep in Book of Spells. He could only assume the roar of conversation during dinner time was as deafening as ever, but, even on a Friday, he couldn’t spare the time to discuss weekend plans (not that he had any) or listen for the latest rumor. With the O.W.L.s only months away, he studied whenever possible. So, in subjective silence, he read. Jimin took a juicy bite of sausage, chewing contemplatively while skimming the instructions for a levitation spell. He recalled learning it as a first-year, when one of his classmates had accidentally cast it on Professor Flitwick’s glasses and dropped them from nearly two meters high, leading to a shower of glass he’d barely escaped without a scratch. It was deceptively easy, but strong and versatile, especially -   That was when he felt it. The only something, or someone, who could distract him. Three sharp tugs at the hem of his robe, as if a child was pulling on it for attention. With a jump in his heart, Jimin smiled softly before sliding a finger into the pages as a bookmark, the hum of voices gradually returning to his ears. He straightened up quickly, ran a hand through his black hair, and turned to look over his shoulder. It didn’t matter that they were tables away from each other, or that he consciously hadn’t the faintest idea of where he was sitting. Their eyes connected immediately, brown to warmer brown. For when it came to Kim Taehyung, Jimin just knew. Perched on the edge of his seat at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by his chattering, cheerful housemates, and with his wand pointed at the ground near Jimin’s feet, Taehyung brightened upon eye contact, ever-present smile growing wider. His shoulders relaxed, and he set his wand down on the table before wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk. Even without words, Jimin understood. At this point in their friendship, barely anything was a secret. They could read each other too well. 'Hey.’ Feeling a slight heat rise in his cheeks, Jimin raised his own eyebrows and lifted his closed textbook into Taehyung’s view. ‘What? I’m in the middle of reading.’ He had never seen a bigger eye roll. ‘Obviously.’ The brunette jerked his head towards the large doors leading out of the hall. ‘Meet me outside.’ Then, he jutted his bottom lip out in a pout.  ‘Please?’ Damn him, the bastard. Jimin prided himself on his ability to say no without guilt, limiting unwanted distractions, protecting his boundaries, and letting him spend his time how he pleased. But with Taehyung, that all went out the window. Especially when he used the puppy dog eyes. Shoulders slacking, Jimin gave a deep sigh in acquiescence. ‘Fine.’ Taehyung’s grin returned in a flash. He shot up out of his seat, leapt from the bench, and sped towards the hallway, waving goodbyes to the few housemates who called after him. Jimin followed his head over the crowd, seeing as Taehyung turned just before exiting to send him a wink. Then, he was gone. Jimin fondly shook his head in half-disbelief, half-amusement, placing his textbook on the edge of the table before climbing out of the bench himself. If Taehyung was anything, he wasn’t subtle. At least, not when he didn’t want to be (which was most occasions). Yet, Jimin was glad for it. Taehyung made his life just that much more interesting. Adjusting his robes, he straightened up to find a pair of dark eyes staring back. Across the pile of treacle tarts and directly in front of him was his senior, quill in hand and hovering over the open journal he had balanced against the edge of the table. Yoongi’s gaze was piercing, but Jimin could sense the air of caution and care in it. He glanced up through his ebony bangs to the door, then back to Jimin. “Don’t die.” Yep, not subtle at all. Fighting a smile, Jimin picked up Book of Spells and stretched out his hand to Yoongi in offering. “Take this back for me, would you? And I won’t." With an unchanging expression, Yoongi accepted the textbook and slid it safely onto his lap. He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.” Jimin’s grin broke through and he rolled his eyes, much as Taehyung had moments ago. “I’ll see you in a few hours, hyung,” he murmured. And with that, Jimin slid his hands in his robe pockets and strolled out of the hall, a hot gaze burning a hole into the back of his head all the way. It wasn’t like Yoongi was wrong to worry. Taehyung wasn’t necessarily a troublemaker, just more likely than not to fall into mischief on any given day, Jimin typically yanked in right behind him only to be handed the task of hoisting them both out, intact. There was something about Taehyung that pulled people in - maybe it was his spontaneity, his charisma, or the radiance of his smile. With him, things were different. A little brighter. Jimin hadn’t always thought so. Their friendship was unconventional, a combination that shouldn’t have been possible. And, at first, one that was impossible. Partnered together in Transfiguration class during their third-year, Jimin had thought the menacing reputation of his house would make any group work decisions simple and dependent on his desires - if he so wished, he could always bend his classmates to his will with a well-timed glare. However, with a loud voice and lack of fear in asserting his opinions, Taehyung had thought otherwise. After a discussion around which animal to turn their matchbox into escalated from a heated disagreement to a shouting match, Jimin had received detention for the first and only time in his life. Distress transformed into horror when he found out that punishment would constitute being chained by magic to the object of his frustration for three whole days. Professor McGonagall had claimed it would be ‘beneficial for between-House harmony,’ setting a good example for the rest of the school. All Jimin had viewed it as was an invisible thread ensnaring his wrist, strangling his freedom with a stinging zap whenever either boy stepped farther than three meters away from the other. But within those thirty-six hours, glares had transformed into grins, silence into laughter. Jimin had learned Taehyung was not only fearless and noisy, but funny, perceptive, and kind. He had learned he didn’t want to be more than three meters away from Taehyung in the first place. Perhaps the charm had never quite worn off, after all. Heart beating a little faster at the thought, Jimin continued to stroll through the empty corridors with purpose. Since it was still dinnertime and he carried the proud status of prefect, he had no reason to fear being caught wandering about the castle near sunset. He knew exactly where he was headed, yet Jimin still couldn’t help the chilling sensation of nerves he felt tingling down his spine. Rather, it was precisely because he knew his destination that a flicker of anxiety sparked inside of his chest. He and Taehyung hadn’t exactly exchanged words, but a nod directing Jimin to follow him ‘outside’ could only mean one thing. Outside, outside. Because inside was too small for whatever he had in store. Or, more precisely, for whatever he was storing. Jimin reached the final corridor before the one leading to the outside, taking a breath before cautiously rounding the corner. Leaning under the stone archway to the grounds, back to the granite with crossed arms, and skin honey gold in the melting beams of sunlight, was his best friend. “So? What is it?” “What?” Striding up to him, Jimin could see Taehyung’s eyes widening as he leaned casually against the wall. The pure picture of innocence, save for the slight upturn of his lips. Jimin stopped right in front of him, crossing his arms and staring him down. If not for the disparity in their expressions, he could have been looking in a mirror. “You know exactly what." Taehyung raised his eyebrows. “You seem extremely confident in my knowledge, for once.” “Tae.” Shoulders slumping, Jimin briefly closed his eyes in a groan. “I mean, whatever you called me out here to show me. It’s been over a month since the last time, maybe two? I’ve been worried.” Honestly, he had been. The longer the interval, the stronger his anxiety grew. Because the more time that passed, the greater likelihood something could go wrong. “Has it really? Damn,” Taehyung muttered, furrowing his brow incredulously for a moment before shaking it off and giving Jimin a shameless grin. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’ve got a fun one!” “That’s… half of what they say.” “I’ll never get Muggle expressions.” He waved a hand in dismissal at Jimin’s sigh, then pushed himself off of the stone wall. Licking his lips to reveal another smile, Taehyung leaned in towards him and lowered his voice. “But, okay, you’re right. I do have something. You’re gonna love it, Jiminie.” Jimin’s heart jumped. None of this was new, the nickname or the reassurance that he was going to like whatever Taehyung had been waiting to show off. But the way he said it - his tone breathless, as if he were about to overflow - was somehow different. He could sense heat beginning to flush his cheeks, although Jimin didn’t know if it was from excitement or anticipation.   “Before we go, though, this is confidential. You know the drill.” Still beaming, Taehyung held out his pinky. Jimin did know the drill. They had done this countless times before, it was ingrained in his body like an instinct. An action signifying an oath to keep this between them and only them, no matter what. Their secret. He stared at Taehyung’s finger, then looked up to meet his gaze. There was a hint of uncertainty caught in it, like he didn’t know why Jimin was hesitating. “I can trust you, right?” Shoulders relaxing, Taehyung softened, brown eyes growing warm. “Yes. And you know I trust you. So. Promise?” There was never any magic behind their promises, no spell or charm to make them unbreakable. That was why they were that much stronger. And that was why Jimin paused. Because the idea of ever betraying Taehyung’s trust was more painful than anything he could imagine. But, despite everything, Jimin did trust him. Even with his life. So, he locked his pinky securely with Taehyung’s, and they shook. “Promise.” Taehyung smiled, glowing brighter than the sun. “Okay. Let’s go!” Slipping his pinky out of Jimin’s grasp, he grabbed his free hand, lacing their fingers together in a perfect fit. The next thing Jimin knew, Taehyung was pulling him along and they were rushing out onto the green and down the sloping hill together, hair and the tips of their scarves flying in the wind as their dark robes trailed behind them in the grass. The late October air was slowly chilling as the sun began to sink, yellow radiance pouring out on the grounds and over the Black Lake, which seemed to sparkle in the glow. Yet, Jimin could hardly feel the impending cold - he was solely aware of the uneven ground beneath his feet, the thumping of his heart against his rib cage, and the warm, familiar feeling of Taehyung’s hand entwined in his own. “So, what did you find?” He called out, only to receive a laugh. “That’s the surprise! You’ll have to wait and see!” Muffled by the wind, Taehyung’s voice was brimming with excitement, and he picked up the pace, as if they couldn’t get there fast enough. Jimin smiled. Seeing him this happy was all he could want. “Okay, but can I get a hint? It must be big, right?” If he was keeping whatever it was outside, logic dictated that it was somehow too large for the castle. Either because it simply couldn’t fit, or because it was too dangerous for it to be indoors. But Taehyung didn’t answer. All Jimin got in reply as he regarded the back of his head was a change in profile, the view of his cheeks growing rounder. A smile, wider than ever. In an instant, something shifted. Jimin felt a tension weighing in his chest, unknown and strange. Taehyung always responded to him, gave him some kind of hint or clue to build suspense and make it just that much more exciting. Yet now, nothing. Why? Perhaps it would be too great of a spoiler and ruin the surprise. Maybe he was afraid that if Jimin knew in advance, he would leave. Or… simply, there was no need for suspense. Taehyung didn’t have to make it any more exciting than it already was. Because it was already the most thrilling thing imaginable. Since third year, while Jimin had excelled in Arithmancy and potion-making, dealing with chemistry and theories of the stars, Taehyung had been nurturing much more concrete talents. How to earn a salamander’s trust, the proper way to raise bowtruckles, even how to care for thestrals despite his own inability to see them. It was natural, the way he worked with magical creatures, walking up to them and instantly establishing a bond in a way that seemed as if they had known each other their whole lives. Jimin didn’t understand it, but he knew, more than anyone, that Taehyung had little to hide. With his openness and bright smile, who wouldn’t trust him? Eventually, perhaps that trustworthy demeanor had grown too strong. Over the past year, Taehyung had begun to keep creatures on his own, typically assisted by whispered advice from Hagrid. First, smaller ones, like a single flobberworm multiplied into a hundred which had flopped their way all over his dorm room the beginning of fourth year, then medium sized ones, such as the kneazle Taehyung had cuddled with every night before he was forced (by Jimin’s persuasion) to free it to live with other cats. He had even gone so far as to raise a hippogriff nearly all on his own during their summer break, which he had proudly presented to Jimin at the beginning of the year. That was the pattern they had - Taehyung calling him out of dinner, leading him to a location, and surprising him with a new creature, typically something breaking at least one or two school rules. There was no reason for this time to be different, yet now, since its living place was outside, this creature must be something particularly large. Large, but how large, exactly? Still gripping onto Taehyung’s hand as if it were a lifeline, Jimin kept pace with him, pounding through the thick green in time with the drumming of his heart. For as they drew closer to the looming trees of the Forbidden Forest, he had a suspicion that this might be the most dangerous and important thing Taehyung had ever kept. “Tae, where are we-” Jimin nearly bit his tongue as he was pulled sharply to the right, Taehyung changing directions with ease and without warning. Stumbling in an attempt to find his balance, Jimin looked up to see they were rounding the perimeter of the forest, running along the stretch of land where the crisp grass faded into dense soil. In the distance, the castle grew farther and farther away as it was soaked in beams of sun. Out here, it would be difficult to be found. Furrowing his brow, Jimin turned back to his best friend. “Tae-” “Trust me.” His voice was steady, barely audible above their footsteps, but Jimin could never have been more attuned to any other sound. The aura of excitement had silently boiled down to a simmer; Taehyung was serious. As he spoke, he squeezed Jimin’s hand. A gentle yet firm reassurance. Jimin squeezed back. With the quiet of impending twilight only broken by their heavy pants and boots against the ground, before long Taehyung was slowing down to a jog and stopping in front of the undergrowth, bending over and gasping for air. Now alert to sense the change in his moments, Jimin halted by his side and tried to breathe, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of the forest. They had ended up following the curve of the trees, hidden far from the castle with the stone wall surrounding the entire grounds just visible a few tens of meters away. Jimin could feel the blood throbbing in his ears as he caught his breath, fingers still entwined with Taehyung’s. Then his hand was empty and Taehyung was turning to face him, curls wild and face flushed from the run, but beautiful with the brilliance of his grin. “Close your eyes.” This, too, was routine. A part of the presentation to capture the full effect. He didn’t see why it was necessary, but Taehyung always insisted, and Jimin could never say no, not to him. So, straightening up and holding out his hands, he complied. “Good.” Jimin could hear a smile breaking through in the single word before warm, safe hands took his own and he let himself be led forward in darkness. Presumably into the forest, but he truly didn’t know. All he could sense was the slight breeze on the nape of his neck, the firm ground beneath his boots, and the soft heat clasping his fingers. Yet, soon, there was something else. The whoosh of a huge object cutting through the air, accompanied by a sigh so deep and powerful that Jimin nearly halted in his tracks, squeezing Taehyung’s fingers instinctively. Only a creature over a meter - no, several meters tall could produce that type of sound. “Okay.” He heard Taehyung take a deep breath as he placed his hands back down by his sides, a slight waver in his voice. Either from excitement, apprehension, or a mixture of both. Definitely both. He felt it, too. “Open your eyes, Jiminie.” Heartbeat rapping against his ribcage, Jimin did as he was told. The creature was white. No, not white. Iridescent, its lines of scales all a milky opal, glittering with a hint of the rainbow, so bright that Jimin almost looked away. It had a thick torso, strong limbs leading to feet each with three solid crystal claws and tapering in talons that appeared just as fragile as blown glass and twice as deadly. Wings, imaginably huge, but that were currently curled in on its reclining body as it sat in the wide clearing against the rough ground. A tall neck, guiding all the way to its head where a mane-like group of horns resided to form a crown. And a pair of azure eyes staring straight into his own, radiating an overpowering calm that made Jimin’s heart stop mid-beat. He had seen it before. In textbooks, on the internet, in the picture book he had clutched to his chest with small hands as a toddler, climbing into his parents’ laps and begging them to read and reread. The little magic he had possessed before he knew what magic was, an imagined memory keeping him company as he sat alone in recess when no one in his Muggle class wanted to be “that weird kid’s” friend. The creature he had dreamed of soaring with, far away from all of his worries. It was even larger than he had imagined - titanic and likely measuring over four meters to the top of its head as it sat on the ground. Of course it was. It was a dragon. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Jimin couldn’t respond. He could only stare with a slack jaw at the creature and Taehyung who stood in front of it, grinning from ear to ear with his arms spread out wide. “I found her right after I showed you Stormscreech,” Taehyung gesticulated with a waved hand behind him at the… dragon, who hadn’t yet broken eye contact. His heart, Jimin could feel it racing now, as if he had been jolted back to life by a defibrillator. He took a deep breath. “Tae,” “They grow so much faster than I read! I couldn’t wait to finally show-” “Taehyung.” Halting mid-sentence, he shifted his eyes over to Jimin, smile fading. “Yeah?” It was actually here. Here, right in front of him. And it looked like - “It’s… a dragon.” Taehyung licked his lips. “Yeah, she is. An Antipodean Opaleye.” He glanced down to the forest floor, then up at Jimin through his eyelashes. “Your favorite. I thought.” “My…” Suddenly, staring at the way Taehyung nervously gnawed at his bottom lip and his gaze flitted back to the ground, an understanding coursed through him. He hadn’t been imagining it. Jimin felt a heat rush into his cheeks and his shoulders slackened, sinking down into the realization. His favorite. The dragon he had told his future best friend about when they had been charmed together in the Slytherin dorms, when Taehyung had spotted on his nightstand the bewitched figurine Jimin had begged his parents to buy him from Diagon Alley before his first year. He remembered the fear he had harbored of it being just another thing for Taehyung to make fun of him for, the way he had snatched it out of his grabbing hands and cupped it protectively, its tiny sparks of flame tickling his palms. And he remembered how Taehyung had, instead, asked in awe what kind of dragon it was, why Jimin liked it, and if he could see its beauty again. How his heart had leapt in his chest, much like right now. But this was different. This was not an illustration in a fantasy book, nor a child’s tiny, enchanted toy. This was a real, gigantic living creature that towered before them, and that made it all the more wondrous, but all the more deadly. Now, the warmth inside him didn’t matter. Glancing furtively between the dragon and his best friend, Jimin held his breath and took a step closer, lowering his voice to a soft whisper. “Taehyung, they’re illegal. And you can’t tame them. You…” He paused, further falling into reality. How had this even been logistically possible? “Does Hagrid know!?” “Does it look like he knows?” Taehyung grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, fluffing his curls. “Not that I haven’t asked him for tips on caring for dragons, but… he thinks I’m just obsessing over the O.W.L. Gotta keep my grades up!” He laughed, but Jimin could barely hear him over the voice in his own head as he continued to process. The nights Taehyung would leave dinner early; the times Jimin would ask Hufflepuff headboy Seokjin if he had seen him, only to get a shrug; the small forest fires that he had overheard Filch grumbling about in the corridors - it all made sense. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking off so much and not telling me where you were?” Jimin’s voice went higher than he had intended, mirroring the desperation in his creased brow. “Dragons are too dangerous. Tae, it could kill you, I’m serious-” “Hey, hey, Opal would never!” With a huff, Taehyung indignantly crossed his arms before gazing fondly over his shoulder at the sparkling creature. “She’s too much of a lady for murder. Well, besides killing small animals. She’s good at that.” “Opal?” The word melted in his mouth, smooth, like the stone itself. Jimin glanced up at the dragon in wonder to find it was now regarding Taehyung with an unreadable expression. That same strong aura, but with no animosity. Were dragons always this calm? “Pretty, right?” Flashing Jimin another grin, Taehyung turned to face the dragon fully, staring up at it. “Just like her.” As his smile faded into a more subtle expression of contentment, Jimin could see the way his brown eyes softened, affection so unmistakably evident that he felt his own heart begin to sink. Then, Taehyung was stepping closer, bending his knees to jump onto a rock that would place him right in front of the beast - It came out before he could even think. Raising a hand, Jimin made to rush forward; he saw the dragon’s nostrils begin to flare as it lowered its head, “Tae, you shouldn’t-” He stopped in his tracks, voice dead. One palm raised high in front of the creature, Taehyung was staring back at him, smile gone and eyes full of an intensity that felt as if it were burning into his soul. “Jimin. You have to calm down.” He threw his gaze in the direction of the dragon, who settled back in with a deep sigh that blew Taehyung’s bangs out of his eyes, making him wince. “I’ve got this.” His voice was slow and even, a whisper in the quiet of impending twilight. Taehyung raised his eyebrows, almost pleading. “Trust me.” He had no other choice. Heart pumping wildly, Jimin closed his mouth. The corners of Taehyung’s lips upturned, and he nodded slightly. 'Everything is okay.’ Jimin swallowed and held Taehyung’s gaze, unblinking. 'I trust you.’ Softening, Taehyung smiled, a true one, before turning back to the rock and hopping up onto it, as close to the dragon as possible. As it looked down on him, shimmering head raised high above his own, he gave a deep bow, much like how Jimin had seen him do with Stormscreech. The creature regarded him like a queen looking upon a subject asking for mercy. For a moment, Jimin couldn’t breathe. But then, after he had held the position for a few seconds, the creature began to lower its forehead with a gentle huff. Taehyung carefully straightened up. Soon enough, he was reaching his arms out and patting the creature’s snout with a grin. “Good girl, thank you, beautiful.” Jimin watched, finally exhaling, as Taehyung cooed and stroked the milky scales as if he were petting a cat. He nodded in Jimin’s direction, the dragon’s striking gaze following lazily to land on him. “That’s Jimin, remember me telling you about him? My best friend.” Best friend. Something stirred in Jimin’s chest, a mix of heat and weight. A familiar sensation in the current circumstance of unknowns. He should have been grateful. Yet Taehyung took no notice of the shift, never removing his focus from the beast and still speaking softly, as if she were the only one listening. “He’s a little shy, kinda like you, but he doesn’t bite, er, breathe fire. I promise.” Cupping his hand under her chin, Taehyung leaned forward to press his forehead to the dragon’s nose with closed eyes. After a quiet moment, she pushed gently back into him in a way that was almost like a nuzzle, making Taehyung wobble and laugh before patting her again. Then, he turned to look over his shoulder. “Jiminie, c’mere.” Jimin paused. “What? W-why?” “You’re going to pet her.” His eyes widened. “Pet her?” “Yes.” His voice remained calm. “Come to me, slowly.” Reaching out, he offered his palm. And then Taehyung smiled, brown eyes warm in the setting sun. In a heartbeat, all his resistance evaporated. Hesitantly, Jimin took a step forward, boot lightly crunching in the underbrush as he darted his gaze back and forth from Taehyung to the dragon. He could still feel the tension in his chest, thrumming through his shoulders from fear, but he pushed it down until it became easier to ignore. Continuing bit by bit, Jimin finally grasped Taehyung’s hand and stepped up behind him onto the rock, earning another grin. His chest pressed into Taehyung’s back as to not fall - they were close, so close - but Jimin could barely process it, transfixed by the proximity of the creature’s head just half a meter away from his own. Before he could protest, Taehyung brought their entwined fingers up towards Opal. “Slowly, slowly…” He let go of Jimin’s hand to place his palm on top of it, guiding it to the dragon’s nose and pressing down. Contact. Jimin inhaled sharply, paralyzed. He was touching it. He was actually touching it and it seemed… okay? Looking up into the creature’s large eyes, all he found was curiosity and calm. No fear. No ill will. It was okay. Only then, as he rested his hand in between the heat of Taehyung’s own hand and the cool, hardened scales, did Jimin realize he was trembling. He took a deep breath, gaze locked with ice blue. No malice, only... Exhaling with a gasp, he brushed his hand over the dragon’s nose. “Good.” Taehyung hummed, hand still soothing on top of Jimin’s as he stroked again, a bit longer this time. The scales were smooth, glowing a cool iridescent in the light; teals, corals, and violets, shifting interchangeably. Despite the strength of the creature’s presence, it didn’t feel alive to the touch, more like a mix between metal and glass, as if he were petting a suit of chainmail. “See? It’s not so bad. You’ve made a new friend.” Chest flush to back, Jimin could feel the deep vibrations of his voice. He didn’t know if Taehyung was talking to him, or the dragon. For a moment, there was silence. Just the caress of Jimin’s hand over scales, a sigh from the creature’s nostrils that blew their bangs off their foreheads, the surrounding rustle of the forest, and a breathless giggle from Taehyung. “Okay.” He glanced at Jimin, beaming. “Now, we can ride her.” He blinked, hand freezing on Opal’s snout. “No.” No? Jimin’s heart beat fast as he tried to process what had just come out of his own mouth. It had all been so easy up until now - not easy, but natural, following Taehyung and doing what made him happy. It was all he ever wanted to do, even if it meant fighting every fight or flight, adrenaline-filled, human instinct in his entire being to walk up to a dragon. To pet one. Sure, he would question him sometimes, argue with him often. But outright deny? Jimin had always wondered if he had limits when it came to Taehyung. Apparently, he had finally found them. Taehyung’s expression mirrored Jimin’s thoughts, his brow furrowing in utter confusion. “No?” He gingerly shifted on the rock, attempting to turn around to face him as Jimin hopped down from it, eyes to the floor. “Why not? It’s so fun, I get now why you like Quidditch so much because-" “Tae, we can’t.” On the ground, Jimin had whipped around to face him, gaze imploring him with pleading eyes. “But it’s exactly like flying on your Firebolt, just a lot faster!” Shaking his head in disbelief, Taehyung threw his arms out in emphasis. “You can’t be afraid of heights; what’s the difference?" Comparing this to Quidditch - he didn’t get it. “No, I’m not, it’s just…” Jimin ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not a broomstick, Tae. It’s a dragon.” “I know.” Taehyung blinked, face becoming solemn as he let his arms fall to his sides. “But isn’t… isn’t that your dream?” He worried at his lip, glancing up through his lashes. “To fly with her?” To fly with - Oh. Like he had confessed to him years ago, when they had sat together on his bed with the tiny toy dragon spouting tinier flames in Taehyung’s hands. About the wish of flying on something so magical, and how he knew his broomstick could never truly compare. On the day they had truly become friends. Of course, Jimin remembered that moment. But what he remembered was the way the Hufflepuff’s eyes had lit up in wonder as he listened, how he had leaned in just close enough to make Jimin stutter from the proximity, overwhelmed by the scent of cinnamon and honey. Exactly what he had said was more fuzzy - yet, somehow, Taehyung had remembered. Still, it made sense. Important things, he didn’t forget. “It’s okay if I was wrong.” Taehyung’s voice was quiet. It broke through Jimin’s trance, and he closed his open mouth, refocusing on his best friend who was staring downwards at his boots. With the way his dark bangs fell over his brow, Jimin couldn’t see his face. “You’ve talked about it so much, ever since we met. I thought that maybe… for your birthday… ” Shit. His birthday. He had to fix this. “You weren’t wrong, ba-” Jimin paused, licked his lips. Taehyung needed to hear something else first. “Thank you.” He said the words with as much earnesty as he could muster, because he meant it. And it must have been enough, because Taehyung looked up, eyes bright with something like hope. Fuck. “But,” And then it was gone, vanished as quickly as it had come. Heart twisting, Jimin took a tentative step closer to the rock. He had to say it. “But it’s uncontrollable, Tae. It’s not realistic.” Taehyung stared at him, and the world hushed. Then, abruptly, he laughed. It was joyless. “‘Not realistic’... You know, I’ve been flying her for,” he counted on his fingers, tongue playing in his cheek in concentration, “three weeks now? I know her, and she’s safe.” Regarding Jimin with an unreadable expression, he jumped to the forest floor and slid his hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to, I guess. I’d never make you do anything, you know that.” Taehyung glanced down again. “I just… wanted to give you your dream.” He might as well have stabbed him through the chest with his wand. Jimin felt as much as he gazed at Taehyung’s form, typically proud shoulders now slumped in dejection. There was a reason why he rarely, if ever, said no. Could rarely, if ever, say no. Because he couldn’t bear seeing him like this. Because… His eyes squeezed shut. He needed to think this through. Taehyung had ridden the dragon - who knows when - many times and had come back safe. He had raised her on his own, and she hadn’t shown any signs of aggression. Rather, she had been friendly, even with Jimin himself. And Taehyung had done all this work for him, coming out here and caring for her and keeping it a secret just for his best friend’s birthday so that he could fulfill for him a wild dream Jimin had possessed since before he knew magic, even when what all he could dream of was already - Jimin’s eyes snapped open, and he looked up to the large creature sitting peacefully in front of him. Her scales glinted, almost shimmering in the amber sunlight. It was a dragon. An actual dragon that could engulf them in flames with a single exhale, or break their spines with a swipe of its tail. Something that could kill them so easily, they’d be dead before they could even realize what had happened. Childhood dreams be damned, there was no sensible, logical, or even mildly sane reason for why he should debate, let alone consider riding it. His gaze shifted to a messy mop of dark, curly hair that fell over downcast eyes, hiding them the way clouds lock up the sun. But Taehyung was sad. Fixing that outweighed everything else. Limits. As if he could ever have any for Kim Taehyung. “... You’re sure she’s safe?” The overcast shadows cleared as his head shot up, eyes wide in surprise. Then, his expression turned careful. Serious. “I’d never lie to you.” Of course, Jimin knew that. He trusted Taehyung with his life. Now, he had an opportunity to prove it. Jimin took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “... Okay.” In an instant, the sun returned. “Okay?” Taehyung was beaming as he took a step closer to Jimin. “Really?” He threw one more cautious glance at Opal, only to have his gaze fall back to Taehyung’s smile. It was infectious, and despite himself, Jimin smiled, too. “Yeah. My dumb ass trusts you, for some reason.” Taehyung let out a laugh. “Your dumb ass and my hot ass, what a pair.” He flashed him a wink, and Jimin’s heart skipped a beat as Taehyung hoisted himself on top of the rock. Turning back, he extended his hand with a grin. “Come on!” In spite of Jimin’s concerns, the act of getting onto the dragon itself was easier than expected. Opal hardly batted an eye as Taehyung sprang onto her back, swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a bouncy horse before leaning down and heaving Jimin on behind him. It was startling how easily Taehyung could grab him from such a distance, and after a muffled yelp he found himself in a wide straddle on solid scales, boots dangling, robe fanned out, and with two hands firmly gripping his thighs - Wait, what? Jimin could only blink, stupefied, as Taehyung scooched him forward until they were flush together, could only let his arms fall uselessly in surrender as Taehyung wrapped them snugly around his own waist with a hum of satisfaction. Even when chained together, they had never once been this close. “There we go,” Taehyung grinned and patted Jimin’s secure forearm. He was thankful he couldn’t glimpse the heat he had begun to feel burning his cheeks. “Jiminie, you gotta hold on tight, okay? I don’t bite.” That was debatable, but he couldn’t say that. Swallowing and noticing the slight sheen of sweat forming on his forehead as the static of his nerves began to crackle, Jimin tried to make himself sound as normal as possible. Well, as normal as he could be while on top of a dragon and clinging on to Kim Taehyung like his life depended on it. “O-okay.” Stroking Opal’s side with one hand and prompting her to stir beneath them, Taehyung laughed lightly. “Don’t be so nervous, I just can’t have you falling off.” He turned to look over his shoulder, striking eyes softening as they met Jimin’s, mere centimeters away. In the setting sun, they were warmer than ever. “Thank you for trusting me, always.” It was hopeless. Hopeless, how easily the tension released from his stiff back, how easily his mind relaxed, stress and fear evaporated and gone. Hopeless, how naturally the corners of his mouth upturned after a genuine smile spread across Taehyung’s own face. Hopeless, how quickly everything else ceased to matter after seeing that glow, how plainly he knew his entire being was saying, ‘Of course, I always will.’ But, instead, he smirked, forcing an eye roll and an exaggerated sigh even as his heart began to beat faster. “You can thank me when we’re back on the ground.” Taehyung’s laugh rang out again and he threw his head back, nearly smacking Jimin on the nose before leaning back forward and patting Opal twice on her shining scales with a firm hand. “Ready?” Jimin took a deep breath. This was crazy. He was crazy. “Yea-” The word was hardly out of his mouth before their bodies jostled and began to ascend, higher and higher as the creature rose to its feet with a groan and started to extend its wings. A shrill whistle rang out in the clearing, born from where Taehyung had two fingers in his mouth, and in deafening moment the dragon’s wings were fully outstretched, barely having room as they flapped and brushed against the neighboring trees, cracking branches and creating a whirlwind of blinding glimmer that chilled the air like ice. “Let’s GO, BABY!” And at Taehyung’s cry, they swooped up.

Flying on a dragon wasn’t actually that much different from flying on a broomstick. For one, it was exhilarating. Jimin’s senses were on overdrive as they shot into the sky, heart all but rattling through his ribcage and against Taehyung’s back while the two leaned forward on the beast, Taehyung clutching at two scales to hold on and laughing like he was having the time of his life. With the way the wind hummed around them as Opal picked up speed, Jimin could barely hear it, only sensing his joy through the way his abdomen clenched as Jimin held on to him with every ounce of his strength. For another, it was breathtaking. The trees turned from looming foliage to a sea of textured greens that washed over the grounds below them as they soared above, robes trailing behind them and bangs blown back by the harsh air with such force as if it were yanking them back with a vice grip, urging them to look, look at the beauty around them. Absorb it. Drown in it. And so, nearly unable to think, speak, or do much else, Jimin drowned. It was easy. Sun halfway beneath the horizon, the glow it breathed was a warm gold, rays acting as a veil thrown out over the woods, the castle, and the lake. Bright fuschias, pastel lavenders, and calm yellows painted the sky, bleeding together and through each other like fresh watercolors, heavy with movement and growth. And the whipping wind - it never ceased, the accelerating momentum of Opal’s wings beating it this way and that as it wooshed and whispered hushed secrets. Even the dragon held her own in the glory of the shifting world, the scales on her body and spread wings all but a shimmering, after-rain mist of rainbow, milky skin and glass talons sparkling in the sunlight. It wasn’t new to him, the sun and sky and wind and flight. While the height and speed were accentuated and increasingly wild as Opal zipped over the looming towers of the Quidditch pitch and circled around the castle’s perimeter, nearly clipping the stone turrets with her claws, the realization sank in that Jimin had known what this was like. Despite the lack of majesty and danger, flying on a broom was truly quite similar. He had yearned for so long, imagined how it would be to fly like this since he had gotten that damn book as a kid. All to now discover that, yes, he had already known. It wasn’t new. He should have felt disappointed, the heavy weight of a dream turned empty, purposeless in cold hands clutching at air. But, he couldn’t be. He couldn’t be disappointed because of what was new. What was new were two things. One: sharing flight. And, two: Taehyung’s ecstasy. With the earth below whirling about from the way Opal flew, a mix of stone gray, cool green, and exploding sunset, Taehyung was his only anchor. Jimin could feel his euphoria through his cries of laughter, the glimpses he caught of Taehyung’s shining, wide eyes as he marveled at their view. Opal dipped close to the ground, shot back up to clouds, gravity pulling them every which way, and Taehyung loved every moment of it. In chaos, he was Jimin’s constant, the one thing he could be sure was safe, warm, here. It was when they reached the lake that he realized. Laid out underneath them, the water was a mirror reflecting the pastel sky, only marred by the shadow of Opal’s figure as she coasted above the waves. The colors shone brilliantly and the heavy sun cast its golden haze on the polished surface, seemingly suspended by clouds as it sank below the horizon. Spellbound, Jimin could only watch. Then, he was being pushed back as Taehyung straightened upright from where they had been leaning, automatically following his movement with the way his arms still remained wrapped around his waist. A new balance. Despite the wind rushing through their chests, for a moment they were still. Quietly, Taehyung stretched out his arms like wings. Jimin felt it immediately - the rush of calm that flowed from his best friend in the twilight, like peace in the eye of a storm. With it came a sigh; small, but he could sense it. Feel it, in his arms. No worries, no cares. Empty of everything. Free. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Looking at Taehyung, feeling him, Jimin realized. Flying with a dragon wasn’t his dream. Taehyung had been wrong. Jimin had been wrong. He had been wrong about where the true magic was. But at thirteen, he hadn’t known. Even after spending two years at Hogwarts, dragons were still the most magical thing he could imagine. Now, he had found something more extraordinary.   And then, it was slipping through his fingers. Suddenly, Opal dropped, and they were jolted upwards. All balance broken, their bodies began to tilt, Taehyung yelping, scrambling and sliding through Jimin’s arms in his own fervor to clasp hold of something, anything. Oh god, he was - “TAE!” Chest glued to Opal’s back, one hand clutching onto a scale, and the other clenched around Taehyung’s wrist as he dangled over the side of the dragon with an expression of utter fear, Jimin could hear his heart pounding, feel the thick throb of blood in his eardrums. “Tae, Tae-” The sweat beginning to form on his brow, Jimin felt it, trying to breathe and just staring as Taehyung fumbled with his empty hand to grab at his wrist, swaying in the wind while the lake rushed underneath them. From this height, it was black pavement, from this height - “Jimin, pull me up!” It was the desperation in Taehyung’s eyes, pleading, wild, that jolted him back into focus. No way could he let him fall. He trusted Jimin with his life, too. Leaning away as far as possible with his fingers digging under Opal’s scale and the wind blowing his hair in his face, Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, grunting, and pulled as hard as he could. Just a little higher and maybe Taehyung could grab at the dragon himself, climb his way back on. But as strong as he was, his bicep barely rose a millimeter. The position was too awkward, Taehyung entirely dead weight, and Jimin collapsed forward in a gasp with his chest heaving on Opal’s spine. “C-come on, Jiminie,” Taehyung’s faint voice called out, light, but trembling. “You’re not a Muggle!” Jimin’s eyes shot open, brow knit as he panted, gazing frantically, unseeing, at the point where Opal ended and the lake’s water began. No - No. He couldn’t lose him. Instead of Taehyung, he had to trust himself now. Thank god he wasn’t a Muggle. Jimin gripped onto Opal’s sides with his legs, squeezing every thigh muscle before releasing his hold of her with a grimace as he continued to lean forward on her back. Digging into his robes with his freed hand, he pulled out his wand before twisting his torso to face the arm grasped by Taehyung, pushing himself up on his side and groaning in discomfort. Taehyung’s palms were damp on his wrist from gripping so hard, threatening to slide off at any second. But he couldn’t think about that; couldn’t, if he was about to do this right. ‘Just like you read, just like first year. Swish and flick.’ “Wingardium Leviosa!” And thank god Jimin was also a nerd who studied too hard and practiced casting with his left hand; thank god he had precise aim and focused on the collar of Taehyung’s robes instead of his scarf or tie, because in an instant, the weight on his wrist vanished. Yet, the anxiety in Taehyung’s eyes remained as Jimin levitated him upwards, concentrating to keep him anchored against the pull of the rushing air as he brought him slowly, slowly, to the dragon’s body. Slowly, because it had to be perfect. It was the most important spell he had ever cast. One more moment and Taehyung was in front of him, straddled backwards on Opal and gazing at him as if he were the moon. When he took Jimin in his arms and he could feel his heartbeat, curls brushing his cheek, and the warmth of Taehyung’s shaky exhale on his neck - only then did Jimin break the spell. Taehyung was here, and he was safe. Automatically wrapping him in a tight hold, Jimin couldn’t stop the sob of relief that spilled from his lips. ‘Thank you.’ They stayed like that for a few seconds, chest to chest in the restless air, before Taehyung let go. Reluctantly, Jimin glanced down to find that his best friend’s hands were gripping scales again, and he let his hold loosen as Taehyung maneuvered himself around to face forward. It couldn’t last forever; neither of them could fall again. But Jimin still felt hollow, a disappointment he didn’t want to name. So, he resumed his position, wordlessly snaking his arms around Taehyung’s waist and resting his head on his back. He had done it. It was okay. Everything was fine. The world was darker when they finally circled back to the forest. Deep shadows stretched across the sea of trees, the sun barely peeking out from the horizon as it entrusted the moon to take its place. With gentle pats and coos from Taehyung, Opal flew down to the clearing in a practiced manner, landing only with a slight bump that jostled them on her back. Jimin waited until she had shaken out her wings and settled before slipping off, nearly tripping, and striding away. He heard the thump of Taehyung’s landing right behind him, but didn’t look back. “Jiminie, oh my god, that was insane.” Taehyung’s breathless voice broke through the falling darkness with a laugh. It was incredulous, light like the rustle of his boots on the forest floor. “I thought I was a goner for a second but, damn, you were so cool. I knew I could trust you, you saved my-” Taehyung paused. Standing with his back to his best friend, fingers unconsciously forming fists, Jimin could only assume he had been caught. They didn’t walk away from each other, ever. Not when things were fine. “Jimin? What’s wrong?” He felt his heartbeat growing stronger, rattling his chest as Taehyung’s footsteps drew near. Jimin wanted to shake off the nervous electricity buzzing his head, pretend, like before, that everything was fine. But, it wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t lie to himself; wouldn’t lie to Taehyung. Just as he felt the brush of fingertips on his shoulder, Jimin spun around. Taehyung was there, hand withdrawn into his chest as if he had been shocked. His brown eyes were heavy with concern as they searched Jimin’s face, silent. He looked fragile. The last thing Jimin wanted to do was break him. Still, he took a shaky breath. “You can’t do this anymore.” “What?” Taehyung blinked. “You saved me, nothing happened. It’s okay.” “It’s not okay! You almost-” Jimin swallowed, grit his jaw to keep it from trembling. Taehyung was looking at him with a creased brow, confused. He had to calm down, explain it properly. Jimin lowered his voice. “Imagine if you’d been alone. If I wasn’t there.” Taehyung was mid-eyeroll before he appeared to catch himself, reaching out to grasp Jimin’s shoulders with warm hands. “I fly with her nearly every day, and it’s always been okay. Today was just an accident, just one time.” He was stroking Jimin’s right arm with his thumb, gazing at him with such deep earnesty, Jimin wanted to believe him. Instead, he spoke. “Taehyung… all it takes is one time.” The cold rushed in before Jimin even noticed the warmth had vanished. Hands now by his sides, Taehyung had straightened up and was regarding Jimin in a way he didn’t recognize. “Don’t you trust me?” ‘Of course-’ “I do!” His eyes widened, and Jimin grabbed Taehyung’s wrist more forcefully than he had meant, pulling him back to meet his gaze. Taehyung didn’t resist, staring right back. Almost through him. “I just…” Jimin sighed, words pressing through the ice, “She’s a dragon, it’s too much and too dangerous, you can’t keep taking care of her and-” “That, again?” Everything, from harshness of his tone to the way Taehyung was looking at him with an expression edging between incredulity and disgust - it was like a slap in the face. “Jimin, I was dumb once, fine, but I know her, I raised her, for you, for your dream, and now all you can do is lecture me? Fuck.” Taehyung spat the last word with a snarl, ripping his hand from Jimin’s grasp. It stung. All of it stung. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t see clearly now, vision tunneling to nothing but Taehyung’s cold eyes and the twisted way they regarded him as if he were a stranger. The sun had nearly vanished, the clearing growing dimmer by the second. He needed to say something. He needed to tell him - “I… I already have my dream.” “Great. Guess you don’t need me, then.” Curls falling in his downcast eyes, Taehyung turned on his heel, striding towards Opal. Jimin couldn’t breathe. Just a few meters away from the dragon, he stopped. “You speak sometimes like you know better than me.” Fists slowly clenching by his sides, Taehyung’s voice came out no higher than a murmur. “You don’t always say it, but I can hear it in your tone, see it the way you look at me. Concerned. Like I’m just a kid who can’t do shit. But I know I can. I read and I study and I work at this, every single day. I’ve been caring for Opal by myself for over two months, fuck it if I’m not capable.” Frozen, Jimin just stared at the back of his head as Taehyung paused and inhaled sharply. Then, he whipped around. Jimin anticipated anger, for the impending lightning that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end to finally shoot down on him with a violent crack. Instead, there was desperation. Holding his gaze with pleading eyes, Taehyung stepped closer. “I believe in myself. So Jimin, if you trust me, why can’t you believe in me? Why can’t you just support me?” “B-because-” “Why do you have to be so damn overprotective all the time?!” “Because I’m in love with you!” Taehyung’s outstretched arms fell to his sides, mouth dropping open. Speechless. Mirroring his expression, Jimin processed. Blinked. Oh. Finally, it had slipped out. ‘Love’ was one thing. ‘In love’ was another, and the statement was unfamiliar on his tongue. Heavy, new. Yet natural, like how it had felt when Ollivander had handed him the wand that was his own. It felt right, to tell Taehyung he loved him. Was in love with him. But now, his feelings didn’t matter. He had to fix this. “Tae… of course I believe in you. I believe in you more than I believe in myself.” He took a step closer, a shaky inhale, not quite able to meet Taehyung’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was hurting you, and I’m so sorry. You are more than capable; I can’t even begin to understand how you get animals to trust you, or know how to calm them, or memorize Fantastic Beasts from cover to cover, but I just,” he caught himself, pausing before his voice could grow louder. Jimin swallowed. “I get… I get worried that someday, something will happen. And it’ll be too much for you to handle.” He spoke carefully, like his words might shatter if he didn’t lay them out just right. Finally mustering the courage, Jimin looked up through his lashes to find Taehyung still in shock. As if Jimin wasn’t the most obvious person in the world when it came to liking his best friend. It was almost comical, but the way his heart was pounding like it would burst, the way his palms were suddenly sweaty and gross - he couldn’t laugh. “I was scared to tell you. I didn’t even know if I would. You don’t have to reciprocate, I don’t expect that. I only… hope you can understand why I acted how I did.” The world was silent for a second. Then, Jimin took a breath, and everything overflowed. “You’re just smart, and funny, and so, so beautiful,” he was gushing now, “and I don’t even care when you cheat off my potions homework or get us in trouble sneaking out at night, because I feel warm when you look at me, and when you laugh the world gets brighter, and when we’re together, it’s like magic, Tae, better than magic.” When Jimin had started smiling, he didn’t know. Just a few steps away from him, he could see Taehyung’s face begin to soften. In pity, probably. Quiet, like a good friend, waiting for him to get it out of his system and stop. He should stop. But he couldn’t. “I really am grateful for Opal, I mean it. I’m still worried, but… I can’t believe you raised her for me. I told you about that dream two years ago,” he let out a breathy laugh, “and I was just so shocked to see her because I barely remembered it. I remember everything and I barely remembered because that dream isn’t my dream anymore, it’s you, and I don’t know what I would do if-” And then, Jimin did stop. Because Taehyung was kissing him. It was vulnerable, the way he had felt in pulling his heart out in front of his best friend, naming every part before offering it to him in tentatively cupped hands. Yet, how Taehyung was holding his cheeks so tenderly and kissing him with soft lips, smelling of earth and fresh rain, was vulnerable in its own right. A question in response to his own declaration, hesitant and faint. ‘Is it okay?’ Warm. Everything was so warm. Taehyung’s hands, his breath on Jimin’s cheek as he pulled back to look at him, and his eyes, deep honey gold with flecks of uncertainty. Was it okay, to love him? Reaching up to grab at Taehyung’s scarf, Jimin closed his eyes and pulled him in. ‘Always.’ Being with Taehyung was like finding home. His booming laughter, carefree smile, tears of frustration, or even his silence - no matter what, it was enough. It was more than Jimin could ask for, yet, at some point, he noticed he had started searching for something greater. Not necessary, but wanted. Like the little boost of acceleration he gave his broom sometimes - not to reach any destination, but just because he was in love with the feeling itself. Now it was here in his hands, loving him back. After a minute, they broke apart, panting. Even in the growing darkness, he couldn’t help notice the way Taehyung’s lips were swollen, the pink dusting his cheeks as Jimin tucked a stray curl behind his ear. At that, his blush deepened. Beautiful. Jimin felt his face heating to match. “I… didn’t know you felt like that.” There were a million more important things to say, but he couldn’t think of them. Taehyung shrugged. “Me neither. But when I heard you talking it just… made sense.” It was so simple, Jimin could’ve laughed. “That’s too easy.” “Can’t it be?” Gazing at him with wide, earnest eyes, Taehyung took his hands. They were warm, the perfect size to hold his own. Jimin felt whole. Maybe it was that simple. “You’re my favorite person, Jiminie. I’ve always known that, I just didn’t realize what it actually meant.” Softening his voice, he flashed a wink. “I don’t give dragons to just anyone, y’know.” It was like Jimin had been floating away from earth and was abruptly tugged down, hard. His gaze darted from the cheeky smile in front of him to the creature that lay behind Taehyung, scales shining faintly as it observed them with tired eyes, its head resting on an outstretched leg. So quiet, he had forgotten it was there. Just as quickly as it had glowed from Taehyung’s confession, Jimin’s heart sank. “Tae, about Opal,” “I know.” His tone was resigned as he let go of one of Jimin’s hands, slowly turning around to face the dragon. Taehyung exhaled softly. “I can’t keep her, can I.” It was a statement, not a question. Jimin had seen the look in his eyes before, and now it was magnified by the moonlight rather than concealed in the dark. Resignation. It didn’t belong on Taehyung, it never did - his face was home to curiosity, hope, joy - but maybe, here, it was necessary. Jimin’s chest ached at the thought. Still, it wasn’t about him. He had to choose his words wisely. “...I’m not going to tell anybody, I promised you. Right now doesn’t have to be goodbye, just,” He bit his lip. “I don’t think she should stay here.” Gaze trained on Opal, Taehyung nodded. He stood still for another second, motionless, and then Jimin watched as he stepped towards the dragon, going to kneel beside her head. “Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke the scales in between her eyes. They fell shut lazily in relaxation, and he continued. “I love you. A lot. You know that, right?” Jimin had known it would be painful. Of course it would be. Yet, seeing Taehyung crouched next to the dragon, a figure in black amidst a sea of glittering iridescence, his heart hit the bottom of his ribcage with a thunk. ‘Painful’ may have been too weak of a word for how small Taehyung seemed in that moment. Eventually, he straightened up, patting Opal’s nose. Taehyung lingered, as if hesitating. Then, he leaned over, giving her a tender kiss on the forehead. She merely sighed in response, nostrils flaring with a hot wind that rustled across the glade and far enough to disturb the bottom of Jimin’s robes. Taehyung mouthed something to her that Jimin couldn’t quite hear, face shadowed, before striding back to him. Behind the hard gaze and set jaw that became defined as he stepped into the light of the clearing, Jimin could see hurt. But even so, the veil of determination looked much, much better on Taehyung. “I’ll tell someone. Within two weeks, I’ll tell Hagrid; I might get in trouble, but that-” “You won’t get in trouble. I’ll help, okay? When you’re ready.” Jimin took his hand and squeezed it gently. No way was he going to let Taehyung expose himself with unnecessary candor for being in possession of a class XXXXX creature and possibly get detained by the Ministry, but they didn’t need to have that conversation just yet. Taehyung swallowed, squeezing back as his gaze fell to the ground. “Okay.” “Okay.” He could have left it at that, given a smile of reassurance and a hug. Instead, Jimin spoke. “And, Tae,” Taehyung’s head shot up and Jimin’s words caught in his throat. He took a breath, continuing. “I don’t ever want to get in the way between you and them. I just want you to be alright.” He meant it, maybe more than he had ever meant anything. He wanted him to be safe. Safe, and happy. Taehyung stared at him. And then, gradually, his gaze softened, and he was looking at Jimin with warm eyes, as if he were a star. “I will be. Promise.” He stuck out his pinky. Jimin felt his heart pumping faster, and his fingers trembled as he raised his hand. This was something bigger, astronomically bigger than they both could control, no matter how hard they tried. But Jimin trusted Taehyung. So, he locked their pinkies together. “Promise.” They shook, and barely seconds later, a gale of frigid wind drew them into each other for warmth. Huddled together, Jimin felt Taehyung’s arms sneaking around his waist. He burrowed his face in Taehyung’s neck, sinking into him like a sigh, nose tickled by curls. It was new - holding him like this, being held - but it was natural. It was right. Eventually, in the quiet, Taehyung’s heart sped up. Eyes closed, Jimin could feel it beating against his own. “Is it weird if I kiss you again?” Jimin smiled. ~~~ Not much was different. They still studied together in the library, still walked each other to class, and still snuck up into the Astronomy tower at midnight to gaze at the stars. Jimin still curled up on Taehyung’s bed, fussing over his Arithmancy textbooks as he snored, and Taehyung still attended Jimin’s Quidditch games in full Slytherin glory, donning green and silver amidst a sea of black and yellow and cheering “Park, Park!” while cursing at the opposing team, even when it was Hufflepuff. Only now, they held hands under the table during O.W.L. cramming sessions. Jimin laid his head on Taehyung’s chest while reading, letting him absentmindedly stroke his hair. And after a game where Jimin had caught the snitch with seconds to spare in a rough tumble to the ground, Taehyung had ran out onto the field laughing, flopped on top of his sore body, and kissed him until he couldn’t anymore. They were smiling too hard. Not much was different, but Jimin still felt a shift in the air. The overthinking and stinging anxiety of whether he was doing too little as a friend or acting overly obvious with his feelings was replaced by peace. When Taehyung said ‘I love you,’ as he always had, instead of agitated butterflies there was reassurance, calm and quiet. Well, the butterflies never really left - but rather than fluttering, they glowed. Two weeks passed in a blur. Even after spending most of the day together, Jimin would often sneak a glance up from his textbook at dinner, searching the Hufflepuff table for a boxy smile, wink, and wave, only to find none. Wanting to make the most of what time they had left, Taehyung had been spending more and more nights out in the forest with Opal, doing what he had to say goodbye. Jimin didn’t protest or ask questions, just lingered a little longer in the corridors while patrolling after curfew, looking out from the tall windows for a tiny circle of light he knew would eventually emerge from the trees and rush towards the castle. He trusted Taehyung, and he had promised. What Jimin did do was plan the departure. Telling anyone about the dragon would have to be done with high anonymity to prevent either of them from being suspected of caring for an illegal, highly dangerous creature and facing the consequences. So, after several increasingly awkward tea visits with Hagrid and late evenings researching possible sanctuaries, the plan was in motion. They would send a letter with enough details to seem legitimate, but not enough to be detected. “Won’t they know it’s from us if we send them a note?! They could just follow the owl right back! And if we charm it, surely they’d have some way to-” “We won’t send it by owl and we won’t use magic.” “...then, how?” “Muggle mail, Tae.” Jimin had grinned at his boyfriend’s dumbstruck expression. Maybe being muggleborn had its benefits, after all. But with the unpredictable timing of the post came the unpredictable timing of goodbye. After sending the letter off, the circles under Taehyung’s eyes grew darker with longer nights spent in the forest, the smiles he gave Jimin just a little fainter. Every evening, Jimin’s walk around the castle would go later and later as he waited for that small beam of light. It wasn’t his loss, but he still felt the weight of it. Heavy, like his heart might be crushed, too. One night, as he strolled through the third floor corridor on the east side, Jimin’s gaze was pulled to a looming window by a gleam in its black reflection. Jolted alert, he rushed to the glass and peered out. It was early, far too early to be Taehyung. Yet, there it was, a light in the darkness going towards the forest. No, not just one light - multiple, hovering together like a constellation. A group, moving as one. It was happening. It was happening, and Taehyung was - Jimin’s body acted before he could even process the movement, legs propelling him to the nearest staircase, pounding down hallways and rounding corners with nothing but muscle memory. He was only aware of the feeling of his stomach dropping through the floor. Taehyung was outside, Taehyung was out there, and he just needed to go, go, go. It wasn’t that Jimin didn’t trust him. Right now, he just didn’t trust anyone else. If they found him out there, with her - he didn’t even want to imagine. Chest heaving in gasps, Jimin flung himself around the corner of the corridor to the grounds, footsteps heavy as he jogged the final stretch to the stone archway leading to a black void. Just as he reached the threshold, he stopped, leaning over and breathing deeply with his hands on his knees. As strong as the tug in his chest was to keep going, to fling himself into the night, he needed to think. Cool down. Assess his options so he didn’t fuck this up. One, he could follow his instinct - rush onto the grounds and find Taehyung. It would be risky; they could be trapped, questioned, expelled, imprisoned - Or, he could… do nothing. Wait here, motionless, for Taehyung to come back. He himself would be safe, no matter what. But anything could happen out in the forest. Jimin exhaled softly, staring at the stone floor. Again, it was so simple. They were together, or they weren’t. That was it. And even if it meant sleeping in a filthy Azkaban cell overflowing with Dementors, Jimin still didn’t want to be more than three meters from Taehyung. A spark of adrenaline shot through him as he straightened up, taking another breath and pulling up the hood of his robes. Swimming in so much fabric was stifling, but he absolutely couldn’t be caught. Jail was still not ideal. He peered out into the dark, barely able to see anything, but the swarm of lights was gone. They must have reached the forest already, and with a dragon to preoccupy them there was a low chance the wizards would even notice his presence. He needed to go right now. Just as Jimin was about to step onto the grounds, something emerged from the night that made him stop in his tracks. Taehyung. Head down, shoulders slumped, curls askew, and lip quivering as if he were going to burst into tears. “Oh, my baby, c’mere,” Jimin was by his side in an instant, rushing onto the grass and wrapping his arms around him while reaching up to stroke his hair. Relief at seeing him safe turned into something he couldn’t name as Taehyung’s head fell on his shoulder, arms limp, and his body sank into the embrace, so fast that Jimin nearly stumbled over. Balancing them, he placed a soft kiss on Taehyung’s temple. Only then came the first sob. It was as if Taehyung’s heart was breaking. Shattering in his arms bit by bit with each shake of Taehyung’s shoulders, wavering cries into his chest that grew louder and sharper with every moment. They pierced through him so unbearably that Jimin soon realized he was crying, too. He longed to gather the shards, hold the pieces in his hands and shape them back into the light he knew so well, but he didn’t know how. So Jimin just held him, rubbing his back and pulling him close. They stayed like that for a while, at the edge of the grass. Maybe Jimin should have been focusing elsewhere, keeping an eye out on the trees in case someone saw them framed against the stark light of the castle. Maybe he should have at least moved them out of view and further down the hallway. But, he didn’t. Taehyung mattered more than anything else. Eventually, Taehyung’s sobs grew softer until they were heavy, warm sighs against the crook of Jimin’s neck. Jimin continued to hold him until Taehyung pulled back with a shuddering breath, and he gently loosened his grip to look at him fully. Eyes, painfully bloodshot, and tear stains streaking down his cheeks. They shouldn’t be there, not on him. Jimin reached up to wipe them away with his thumb, and Taehyung sniffled, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were full of a despair he had never seen, and, now, Jimin felt like he was going to break. “I,” Taehyung’s voice came out strained. He took another shaky breath. “I s-saw them coming, and I told her,” He swallowed a sob, and Jimin grasped his hand, holding it gently. “I told her to b-be good for them, that I would come back someday. F-for her. Do…” Trailing off, Taehyung bit his lip, eyes glinting in the torchlight as tears began to well up in them again. “Jimin, d-do you think I can? Did I lie to her?” “No no no,” he couldn’t say it fast enough, murmuring the word like an incantation as he stroked Taehyung’s cheek. “Of course you can, baby. You didn’t lie.” “I-I just want her to be safe, and,” Taehyung shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I… didn’t know it would hurt this much.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the grief was deafening. There was a terrible twist in Jimin’s chest, seeing Taehyung like this, hearing him and feeling the pain almost as if it were his own. Especially when he felt powerless to make it better.   “I know.” It was all he could say. Taehyung exhaled slowly before wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve and straightening up. “I’m… I’m okay.” He looked at Jimin, nodding repeatedly and forcing the corners of his lips to upturn. As if Jimin didn’t notice the hard swallow, or how the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. They both knew he did. But if Taehyung needed him to pretend, then he would. He would do anything for Taehyung in a heartbeat. Jimin gave him what he hoped was at least a half-genuine smile, and then took his hand to guide Taehyung further into the corridor. Firelight from the enchanted torches bathed Taehyung’s face in a honey warmth, but even it couldn’t mask the lifeless expression Jimin glimpsed when Taehyung thought he wasn’t looking. Licking his lips nervously, Jimin led them to the stone wall, close enough to watch the entrance, yet far enough inside that they wouldn’t be spotted. There were still no signs of life from the trees. Was it going smoothly, or not? What was taking so long?   “Did… did you see them, in the forest?” Jimin tried to make his tone casual as he leaned his side against the wall, like they hadn’t both been crying only moments ago. “Yeah. For a bit.” Still holding on to his hand, Taehyung rested his back on the stone and stared straight ahead. He sniffed. “I had to sneak away, but I heard them s-saying how calm she was.” It took everything in Jimin’s power to ignore the quiver in his boyfriend’s voice. Despite his best efforts, he stroked the back of Taehyung’s hand with his thumb. “Did they leave before you?” “No.” If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he would have missed the way Taehyung’s gaze shifted, roaming from the opposite wall to land intently on the darkness outside. He was waiting for something. Of course he was.   Earlier, on the grass, Jimin had thought it would be best to walk away. To take Taehyung back to his dorm or even the Astronomy tower; anywhere they could sleep or focus on something else. Now, the realization sunk in that that wouldn’t have been possible, not without seeing this through. With Taehyung, every second counted, even the most painful ones. “Hey.” Brown eyes met his. “Let’s stay here for a bit. Okay?” Taehyung blinked. Nodded, voice soft. “Okay.” It didn’t take more than a slight tug to pull him down, and a moment later they were sitting on the hard floor, side by side with crossed legs. Jimin only had to put his arm around him and Taehyung was adjusting his body without a word, laying his head in Jimin’s lap and pulling his robe over them like a blanket. The sigh they shared was familiar as they sank into each other, and when Jimin’s fingers mindlessly moved to play with soft curls, Taehyung seemed to melt further, surrendering all weight and tension in another exhale. Jimin glanced down to find his eyes closed, dark eyelashes fanning over amber skin. Peaceful. Maybe Jimin couldn’t bring Opal back, couldn’t ensure she was treated well or that she would have a good life in the sanctuary. He couldn’t take away Taehyung’s pain or make time go any faster. Now, though, he could help him rest. That would have to be enough. “We’ll know, when they leave.” Taehyung’s shoulders stiffened. For a moment, Jimin watched as he stared at the black fabric of his robes with empty eyes, unseeing, before giving a small nod and closing them. With another few strokes of Jimin’s fingers threading through his hair, the stress seemed to dissipate. The solitude of the corridor set in just as gradually, so quiet that the only sounds audible were the flicker of the torches and the pulse of their hearts, slowing in time to make one single beat that measured the seconds. They waited there, everything still. Until it wasn’t. Jimin’s hand froze as faint voices came from the grounds, traveling on the chilled wind only to be ripped apart by a thump, thump, thump. Footsteps, heavy footsteps. There was only one thing he could think of that would be so big. He had barely opened his mouth to whisper Taehyung’s name before starting as the boy shot from his lap and scrambled to the entrance. Jimin hopped up right behind him, legs aching, and soon enough he reached Taehyung’s side. His aura had been so calm, yet now there was only intensity as he peered around the corner of the archway, overflowing from the way he clutched at the stone and his wild gaze that darted around for any sign of movement in the shadows. Maybe Taehyung was experiencing the same kind of instinctual pull Jimin had before, but there was no way he could actually follow it. He had to know that. Still, Jimin wrapped a cautious arm around his waist as he stepped behind him, leaning over his shoulder to survey the grounds. At first, there was nothing but the sound of rustling grass and pounding footfalls, lost in the void far beyond the stone of the castle. Then, one by one, those same spots of light Jimin had seen on the third corridor appeared, little more than twinkling stars that bobbed up and down as they inched across the border of the forest at a steady pace. Strangely, Opal’s figure seemed non-existent, yet he could still hear her moving, drawing closer - Taehyung inhaled sharply, craning his neck out into the dark, and that’s when Jimin saw her. Profile just visible in the slight shine from the wizard’s wands, Opal was luminescent. Her wings and torso shimmered like mist with each step, rainbow scales flashing as each caught the light. Even her eye glowed a shocking blue, suspended in the air like a sapphire moon. If she had been dazzling during the daytime, she was radiant against the black canvas of midnight. Except, that wasn’t the only reason Jimin couldn’t stop staring. More than beautiful, she crossed the grounds so easily, never seeming to stop or even pass the wizards. Just following behind them almost… calmly. Like Yoongi’s cat, an animal so stubborn, but that would listen to his every command. Obedient. The last quality Jimin would expect from a dragon. As the group continued further down the line of trees and towards the entrance gate, Jimin could feel Taehyung growing more and more tense under his grip, breathing turning shaky. His own heart stirred, and Jimin turned his head to sigh into the crook Taehyung’s neck, but not before noticing the tears brimming in his eyes. How he wished he could stop it. ‘It’s okay.’ He kissed his cheek, earning another strained exhale which melted into a whimper as Opal’s sparkling figure passed directly across from where they stood. Not a moment later, the shimmering stopped. All that remained was the pinprick-sized gleam of a few moonstone scales, barely discernible in the darkness. That, and a pair of azure eyes staring right at them. Indistinct shouts rang out from the grounds and Jimin immediately dived against the wall, trying to pull Taehyung with him. One glance at where Opal was looking and they would be seen, discovered, and that couldn’t happen after all of this. But Taehyung wouldn’t budge. He just gazed back into the night, and, holding in another sob, gave a vigorous nod. At once, the cries died out. Taehyung didn’t move. Footsteps, hard, slow, and rhythmic, echoed over the grass once more. Heart throbbing in his ears, Jimin crept back behind Taehyung and peeked over his shoulder only to find everything the same. A wavering flock of lights and glinting, iridescent scales traveling away from the castle. In a moment, Opal had returned to being docile, almost a pet rather than a beast. It didn’t make sense - she shouldn’t have been trainable. Dragons were lethal animals, and even someone ridiculously gifted like Taehyung shouldn’t have this kind of power over her, it just wasn’t possible. This had been strange from the very beginning, but he had never questioned it. So, then, how… Jimin blinked. He almost missed the wizards slipping out of sight, lit wands disappearing around the snaking corner of the forest with Opal trailing just behind. An intelligent creature more than capable of making its own judgements, of choosing to say no and fly away. A dangerous creature that could easily overpower a mere young wizard and kill him in an instant without reason. A creature that, instead, chose to stay, to follow, and to listen to a nod of the head signaling that it was alright, things would be okay. “She trusts you.” He whispered the words as he slid his arms around Taehyung’s waist, this time for comfort rather than precaution. Resting his chin on his shoulder and looking into his eyes, Jimin found them still shining, but his gaze was a bit more lucid and focused. “I know.” Taehyung’s bottom lip trembled, and he swiftly reached up to wipe his nose before heaving out a sigh, expression turning firm. “Maybe she shouldn’t.” “No. No, she absolutely should. Trusting you is the smartest thing she’s ever done.” Like a cloud passing over the stars, Opal’s glittering form began to grow dimmer as she gradually vanished beyond the trees. Then, darkness. She was gone. Taehyung’s gaze was immobile at first, staring with wide eyes as if lost at the empty space where she had been. Perhaps he hadn’t heard Jimin’s words, too caught up in the final moments, but that was okay. Pulling him closer, Jimin felt the tension suddenly ebb from his boyfriend’s body as he relaxed into the embrace. And, finally, Taehyung turned, wrapping his arms around Jimin and burying his head into his shoulder. It was the first time he had initiated contact that night, Jimin realized. He knew it not consciously, but from the instant feeling of relief that flooded through him in a wave of warmth. Taehyung’s hands on his back, clutching at his robes; the soft curls brushing his neck; the way their chests pressed together, hearts fighting to be even closer, blood flowing through blood. The feeling of being whole again, even when one of them was broken. Nothing could be more right. “You really think so?” The words were quiet, muffled even more as Taehyung muttered them into the heavy fabric on Jimin’s shoulder. “Huh?” “That... she should trust me.” As soft as it was, there was desperation in his voice, as if he were pleading. Praying for affirmation, a breath of hope. Taehyung had heard him, after all. Jimin hummed, letting his eyes close, and he turned his head to whisper into his ear. “Yes, I do. You always keep your promises.” In spite of everything, he felt a small smile blooming on his face, and he gently kissed Taehyung’s temple before pulling back and pressing their foreheads together. “I would know.” Maybe it was the glow of the torchlight that cast his features in half-gold, half-shadow, or maybe it was lingering relief in Jimin’s chest of being held after holding for so long, but, in that moment, Taehyung had never been more beautiful. Cheeks still dusted a soft pink from the tears, the way he looked at him was in awe, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide, warm and heavy with something Jimin couldn’t describe, but knew because he could feel it reflected in his own gaze. Taehyung had started saying it when they first became friends. Had still been saying it these past two weeks, but in a different way - in a sincere tone, accompanied by a stolen kiss or a bear hug. Jimin had never doubted him, always believed he meant it with his whole heart. Though it was this time, when Taehyung didn’t say it, that Jimin knew it was true. ‘I love you.’           ‘I love you, too.’ A shy smile spread across Taehyung’s face. In the dawning sun, Jimin had never felt more warm.

Moonlight poured through the windows, dyed green from the lakewater. They lay curled up in Jimin’s bed, arms and legs wrapped together in tangled sheets, Jimin’s fingers weaving through Taehyung’s curls as he rested his head on his chest. Sniffles that persisted as they snuck back to the Slytherin dorm had eased into soft sighs, and Taehyung now seemed to be asleep, breathing silent. His presence mirrored the subtle quiet that pervaded the room, heavy on Jimin’s form, but with a safety in its weight that only made him sink deeper. If Taehyung could sleep tonight, he had succeeded. Still, he could only sleep if he was certain his job was complete. Lifting his head off the pillow, Jimin looked down. He couldn’t see more than Taehyung’s curls, tinged teal in the light rather than their normal shade of coffee. They were soft between his fingertips, but gave no access to his face, so Jimin brushed his bangs back just to be sure. Open. Taehyung’s eyes were wide open, not looking at Jimin but staring off to the side of him. Jimin automatically followed his gaze, stopping on his nightstand. Oh. There, bathed in emerald light with glinting scales and curled up as if asleep, was the dragon figurine. Jimin could feel his blood pressure rising, heart pumping steadily faster. He should have put it away, should have shoved it in his drawer weeks ago when he had remembered, had known what it would have been like if Taehyung had to see it afterwards. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be after goodbye - he should have been smarter, more attentive, or at least prepared for the worst. “Baby…” The word was painful on Jimin’s tongue as he broke the silence with a whisper. He felt the strain in his chest, and Taehyung shifted his gaze to look up at him. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You raised her for me, you did that all by yourself for something I wanted and then-” He swallowed down the guilt, hushing himself as he let his head fall back into the pillow. The ceiling loomed above him, cold and unwelcoming. What did Taehyung need to hear? “I’m, I’m grateful. I’m really, really grateful, and I want you to know that because this is hard and I want some part of this to be worth it, even it’s just a little-” “Jiminie. Look at me.” Voice catching in his throat, Jimin did. “It’s okay.” As he spilled his feelings, Jimin hadn’t noticed Taehyung shift his body, but now he was close, face right next to his own with his hair spread out over the pillow. Eyes filled with concern, he radiated comfort, and Jimin found himself lost in the lull, unable to look away. Yet, there was still a shadow that hadn’t disappeared. “Yeah, it’s hard.” Taehyung whispered, biting his lip, and Jimin felt his body tense against his side. “It fucking sucks. A lot. But… ” Taking a breath, he reached over Jimin, rustling the covers and gently picking up the figurine by the torso. Its scales gleamed in the moonlight and the toy stirred in Taehyung’s fingers, beginning to wake and flap its small wings feebly with a whine. Nervous, Jimin watched Taehyung place it on his open palm, waiting for it to shoot sparks at his skin in revenge for the disturbance. But the tiny dragon only shuffled around its new home, craning its neck up to peer at its captor face with a distrustful eye before pausing, shuffling again, and plopping down with a huff. Of course it felt at ease; there was no reason to be anxious. In the history of their friendship, the toy had never breathed fire at him. It had spat at Jimin many times, often stinging his skin, but never once had it harmed Taehyung. It made sense. Dragons liked him. Sighing shakily, Taehyung settled into Jimin’s side once more. He wistfully stared at the figurine nuzzling its head into his palm with closed eyes before cradling it to his chest. “I’ll be okay. I knew I couldn’t keep her forever.” His voice became nothing more than a whisper, lighthearted tone fading. Jimin didn’t know how to respond. The silence was unbearable. “...I’m sorry.” He finally breathed, faint in the darkness. “Don’t be.” Jimin looked over, and their eyes met. Taehyung’s gaze was soft, but strong. “I got to fulfill your dream, angel. That’s what matters.” Jimin’s lips parted slightly in awe, and he felt his heart leap. The sunlight was on him again, warming him with its rays through Taehyung’s caring eyes, the slight tug at the corner of his mouth, his free hand that found Jimin’s own easily, like it belonged there. “And I’ll see her again. I don’t know when but I know I will.” Taehyung swallowed, brow furrowed in determination. Then, the corners of his mouth curved upwards, and he winked. “I keep my promises, right?” “Right.” Jimin felt true relief for the first time that night as Taehyung squeezed his hand, a weight that evaporated like mist. He licked his lips, searching for the right words again. “I’ll… I’ll help you get there. Promise.” Jimin nodded in reassurance, more for himself than his boyfriend. He would do anything for Taehyung, and he would do this, too. He had promised. “I just want you to be happy.” The words slipped out in the moment, his heart laid bare. Taehyung let out a gentle laugh, smiling brighter. “You don’t need to promise, Jimin. I’m already happy. I have you.”   It had always been simple, with them. Simple, because it was right. And as Taehyung kissed him, slow and full, Jimin knew no other magic could compare. ~~~ a/n: thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! they make my heart melt haha ^^ any feedback or comments or even a like would be so so appreciated! <3 hope you have a wonderful day

[vostokovasmelina]

a shadow and bone match-up for @musicallisto cos that’s what she deserves

i'm a straight girl (she/her), enfp, libra. people think i'm smart cause i can do math, speak several languages and know random shit about astronomy and history but i'm lowkey a himbo. in my free time i love playing the piano, writing, reading, stargazing, playing videogames, and annoying the hell out of my cat (i'm actually a dog person but don't tell him that). i'm enthusiastic and optimistic, always cracking jokes and ready for adventure and a good party! I can't cook to save my life but I'll try my hardest :') because i'm so hyper and bubbly all the time, it's pretty difficult to see me in my vulnerable state. (I mean in real life, because oversharing on tumblr doesn't count) as a result i'm kind of awkward with physical touch or like deep, personal words. i typically display my love through heartfelt written words, quality time, or gifts. i write poems about the boys i fall in love with like some kind of nerd <3 also i'm not half bad at archery and would love to get my pilot's license someday! anyway thank you so much if you write it! have an amazing day 💜

i ship you with matthias helvar

this is not purely fan service

and after reading this all the sceptics will say "yes, réka, you were right, these two souls are evidently meant to be. we've been blinded by our ignorance."

and i will say "you're welcome."

okay

so, i know that you have this special emotional attachment to matthias already

did i let that influence my opinion? absolutely not.

why? because it's obvious you'd be adorable together.

once matthias gets over his misogyny and bigotry, naturally

we've already seen how hard he can fall for someone who – in many ways – is the exact opposite of him

i feel like matthias could use some of your upbeat energy and bubbly personality in his life since he has this tendency to be quite, well, tense

you'd excel at dragging him out of his comfort zone and showing him what life is really about

and yeah, he'd be sceptical at the first few tries, but how could matthias ever say no to clara?

exactly – he couldn't

you'd teach him how to unwind and have fun – and though his pride would never let him admit how much he'd actually be enjoying himself, you'd see all the tiny but important changes in his behaviour and facial expression

he would smile a bit wider without having to force his lips to bend in the desired angle

those ocean eyes would gleam and shine with excitement

with love for this complete angel of a woman standing right next to him, inching closer and closer by the second

and matthias would let you, he’d anticipate the moment your upper arm would press onto his, sending that sweet tingling feeling all the way to the very tips of his fingers

(see? told ya they’re cute together)

so much that matthias would be absolutely obsessed with every tiny detail about you – in the cutest way possible

he would always pay attention and remember the most forgettable nuances, the least important crumbs of information

and i feel like that’s why he’d always give you the best gifts in return for your top-notch presents

but do hide those love letters if you dare write about matthias helvar ‘cos he’d roast you to death if he ever found out about them – especially after many months into the relationship (letting you know so you’ll have time to find the perfect hiding spot)

it’s alright, though, because at least (but probably much higher than) 50% of your conversation would consist of ruthless banter

just pure, concentrated sass, really

however, you’d know one another well enough to know when to stop before you took it too far, and it’d serve as a source of laughter rather than tears

oh matthias would hate to make you cry

literally would feel so bad every time that he’d end up making himself cry

and honestly, i don’t think you two would be able to give each other the silent treatment for longer than an hour and even that is pushing it

you’d just miss the talk and the laughs too much :(

which is cute and just further proves my point – matthias x clara the superior pairing

what can i say? bimbo x himbo ships are my one (1) weakness

[husbandohunter]

LMAO that’s why she’s called Kat. She’s not exactly the same as her brother. In terms of being very deadly in combat they’re both pretty similar, yes, they spar often, but Kat won’t go as far as mastering all weapons and picking a fight with strong looking people. Before Ajax fell into the abyss, his desire is to be an adventurer, explore the world and what not. But after the abyss, well things change. Kat knew that the minute she stare in her brother’s eyes, she knew she lost a part of him.

Her going on her merry way, exploring entire nations, meeting interesting people and over all just having a grand adventure was her way of fulfilling a part of Ajax that she thought she lost. She still loves her brother but she doesn’t know how to confront him with the past and the fatui. Speaking of the fatui, it’s not exactly hard to not suspect a few things. Honestly she doesn’t want to know, hopefully it won’t cause her too much in the long run.

For the most part she lived up to her Anemo Vision. She does what she wants with no regrets. Except on the topic of Ajax and his very questionable life choices. And you were right to assume that their parents have their hands full. Ajax likes adventure + Kat likes adventure = sneaking out a lot to have their own little adventures. Never mind the bone chilling climate of Snezhnaya or the fact this twins are getting pretty adept at climbing houses. Nothing stops them from rescuing a dragon and fighting a princess— no wait that doesn’t sound right.

In terms of sending souvenirs she actually doesn’t do that. Unless she’s going home then she’s sending the souvenirs in bulk. But if she’s still in her conquest of 100% exploration, one nation at a time, she’s only sending letters and recipes and for the sake of trolling her brother her will. Alright now for how she met Xiao. It’s actually pretty funny, after befriending Smiley by buttering him up with compliments he agreed to give her tips on cooking and teach her how to make their specialty dish. When she mastered that, it’s obviously going to lead with her making a few modifications here and there.

Once she’s finish with her version of Almond Tofu, she left it at one of the tables that give the best view on the balcony and went to fetch her Kamera. She’s planning on sending a photo to her family and the recipe. She went back to the balcony only to find her that her food is missing. It obviously piss her off that someone had the AUDACITY to steal from under her nose, her room was close to the balcony she would have caught them red handed!

At this point in time, she’s already a regular and a friendly face in Wangshu Inn. She stayed there whenever she investigate Sal Terrae and to collect horsetail for rice buns. So she’s comfortable whining like a child at Verr about how some punk stole her dinner last night. A very amused Verr told her about the Inn’s secret and Kat just dismissed it “Adeptus or not, won’t change the fact that they stole my food. They should learn some manners or something.”

She woke up the next day with an empty plate on her nightstand and a qingxin flower on it. All Kat could think at that moment was ‘Is this an apology or an insult?’ So that night she made an Almond Tofu. Her Almond Tofu. And she meet the adeptus that night as well. An unlikely friendship was born from this. I’m not gonna go into details because it’ll turn into a fic.

In summary though, their friendship dynamic consist of, a very free spirited woman with a Guardian Yaksha for a guard dog best non human friend. When the traveler arrived and also befriend the yaksha Kat wouldn’t help but feel possessive. They befriended him the same way she unintentionally did. So she cooly challenge them to a chess game, because fighting is her brother’s thunder and unlike some people she doesn’t steal anyone’s thunder. Also chess fights is what cool and sophisticated people do.

They were good, more than that! The traveler actually made things challenging and interesting. Before she or the traveler knew it, quite a few hours had pass already. The traveler was close to dozing off but Kat still wants to play. Despite that, her big sister instinct kicking in, she gently coaxed the traveler to rest. She comfort herself that there’s still tomorrow to continue the game.

Uggghhhh I knew I was gonna word vomit about this. Things might get funky in my ‘descriptions’ because it’s honestly getting dangerously close to being a fic.

-Birdie

Yeaaahh these two would totally make their mom go bald and their dad constantly scolding them for their behaviour or something 😭😭 but you know I think its nice that Childe can have a sibling who is similar to him rather than protecting them 24/7 while hiding his secret life. I think they would share each other's burdens from time to time due to how close they are, at least thats the vibe I'm getting at xP Knowing that Kat isn't as extreme as her brother tells me shes probably the one who has to look out for him the most.

Oh would you look at that, now theres two cooks in the family (the moment I found out that Childe can cook was canon had me melt and vaporize 🥺) Maybe both of them would also have cooking sessions than just fighting ones? Thats some wholesome family moments uwu. Your OC kind of reminds me of a mix with Xiangling and Hu Tao because of their cheery vibes, but compared to their bold attitude, Kat sounds more brave (I guess its cuz she grew up with Childe). Xiao is a scary looking guy whom barely anyone goes near, unless they brushed off that glare like dust and just continue being their cheery self (I honestly love that dynamic as you can see xD). But truthfully, Xiao needs someone who is like that because obviously he's too secluded to do it himself ._.

I think his first impressions of her would be "presumptuous" but later he gets used to her company and it even grows on him. Maybe I'm just over analyzing this, the fact they both have anemo visions show how different they handle it's meaning. One wants freedom and the other knows how to live in it (eeek! Okok i stop before this gets off topic). In addition to the traveler coming into the scene, I bet they'll also become good friends too! After all, they both share the burden of loving their siblings too much (perhaps traveler would find some familiarity in her presence).

Hehe this was a fun read tho \(^0^)/ thank you for sharing! Honestly even if I said this many times, I really love reading people's ideas since it helps me get my inspiration back >_< The word vomit had just begun my friend, you might wanna keep it in a notebook LOL.

[annhellsing]

Fleurs du Mal

notes: if i had half a brain cell i’d stagger this shit but you guys know me and i fucking don’t. so the results of my coffee-fuelled write-a-thon last night are being posted at the break of day. enjoy!! rating: explicit, my dudes!! here there be smut!! pairing: homare arisugawa / reader word count: 2,437

Your love, who does not know he is your love, waits patiently before the mirror. 

It’s a bit difficult to understand how he could not know he is loved, really. You undo his tie with all the fondness and familiarity that practice implies. This is not the first time you’ve done this for him, dressed him down to reveal his softer parts. Nor shall it be the last.

All is rather silent but for the ticking of the clock. His grandmother’s record playing Vivaldi’s Autumn has run its course. Neither of you speak at first, content inexplicably with one another’s company to the point that no words are needed.

Homare likes very much when you do this, even if he does not yet know the reason. He likes to imagine that it’s because he’s loved, but working up the courage to confess such a thing is much easier on paper.

Conversation never plagues him so, but you have proven to consistently defy his expectations. He very much cares about what you think of him. And though he is utterly correct, he does often wonder if the mutual dalliances enjoyed on slow afternoons are being misinterpreted on his part.

It stays his tongue in the worst way possible, for you similarly lack the ability to define your relationship. So, you take his clothes off slowly with playful and flirtatious intent. Yet neither of you can admit as much until the act begins.

“With the way that you dress and undress me, I feel a little bit like your doll,” Homare comments, good-natured in tone even as his stomach does flips. Butterflies roost in his chest, not his gut. There is where his words reside, choked and stifled by the flock of delicate wings making his chest flutter uncomfortably.

He wants to say he likes being your doll, could he please be your doll forever? But he does not.

The spell is broken, it seems. You look up at him with soft, loving eyes who’s emotion he is certain he reads incorrectly. You smile at Homare, taking in the beauty of his face and wishing that now were the time for kisses. You’re sparse with them, not wanting to drive him to discomfort with your emotions.

“Mm, you’re prettier than any Barbie,” you tell him, relying on teasing to alleviate how tight your own rib cage is.

His tie’s been cast aside. Your fingers work open buttons without pausing to explore his skin underneath. Homare is fair and beautiful, smooth and clean. He might appreciate comparisons to a lily or a rose, but your resolve wavers when he smiles back. And your compliments die on your tongue.

“I care very little for my appearance,” he begins. You can believe that, at least. “I prefer compliments directed at the mind— ah!”

He cries out for you’ve come to the bottom of his shirt and untucked it from his waistband. You press your hand to his lower stomach, drawing your palm up his chest and feeling with a confidence that you can’t voice. 

“Softer, too,” you mumble, unable to say anything more. Homare’s smile returns quickly, with a fox-like tilt that emboldens you just a bit. He seems pleased, if still surprised with the attention.

“You can thank Azuma for that, he was quite transparent about his skincare routine,” Homare adds. Your shoulders shake with a quiet laugh.

“That’s nice of him,” you say. Your hands move of their own accord, pulling him a little closer by the thin taper of his waist. Homare turns towards the mirror. You take up the place behind him, drawing his back against your warm chest.

You explore, as soft and careful as any lover. And yet he is still quite sad about the fact that the two of you are not in love. He reaches behind, holding your hips but allowing you a moment to touch and feel at your leisure.

“I quite agree,” he chimes, settling in for the long haul of touches meant to heat the blood. He’s already stirring in more ways than one, fighting back small and contented noises on the basis of pride. 

With you, Homare is gripped by a phantom desire to expound your virtues and profess the depth of his emotions. But a pride that does not belong to him rattles his ability to do so. It belongs to his past, he suspects, to one woman in particular who was easily able to destroy him.

Of course, he does not recognize this behaviour as destructive at all. Only honest. You have been left with the pieces of his heart she scattered. He only hopes it’s some time before you cut yourself on them.

But you touch him like he is not broken glass, indeed as if he were not broken at all. Your clever fingers undo the button in his dress pants, making him stiffen up in anticipation in more ways than one.

You coax relaxation from his slight frame once again with patience. However, he still finds it difficult to breathe as you dip your hand into the front of his trousers.

Surprised by what you find, your eyebrows lift. That smile comes back, just as fox-like as his while you feel beneath his boxers.

“Did Azuma show you how to take care of what’s down here, too?” you ask. That impish smile of yours burns in the mirror. Homare feels very exposed, even with his shirt hanging only part way open and his trousers still preserving his modesty.

He understands your joke enough to give a short laugh, the sound somewhat strained, but does not retreat. You take to stroking the skin around his half-hard length, which is fast approaching fully erect under such careful attention.

Homare gives a strangled sigh as you explore, your hand cupping his balls and giving a soft squeeze. He’s mostly smooth to the touch. You set your head on his shoulder, content to feel.

“That was a bit of experimentation on my part,” he admits, turning to look at you. He gives the end of your nose a gentle peck. Unable to keep himself still any more, his hand falls to your wrist. His grip is loose and unhurried. He doesn’t want you to stop, exactly.

But the tightness of his fingers increases a bit when you brush somewhere not sensitive, but painful. Your expression shifts to one of concern.

“Poor thing, you nicked yourself,” you say. You retreat from the source of pain but do not fully remove your hand.

“There is a reason I am not in the sciences, my flower,” Homare smiles still at you, hoping that his mishap with the razor won’t put you off. He’s aching for you now, his lower belly now a mess of writhing anxiety and glorious heat.

“Ask me if you want help with any further experiments, angel,” you say, offering up a soft kiss immediately following. He sighs again, as you return to your former occupation with even more care not to hurt him further.

“Your enthusiasm is rather exciting,” he says. His voice takes on a rather unexpected, sultry tone. You lift an eyebrow. “I do hope a few minor flesh wounds won’t chase you off.”

“You look ravishing, Homare. Where else have I to go that’s half as interesting?” and he has no answer to such a question. He supposes, had you any idea of his true nature, you might find elsewhere to spend your time.

But as it stands, you return to him time and time again. 

Rather, he returns to you. His family home is a little lonely, and has been ever since his grandmother passed. But you look after his parents when they have need, and after Aeriel when she does. 

It’s almost shameful to Homare that his love’s picked you because his dog decided you were good at heart. But he looks at your smiling face in the mirror, at the way you dip your head to kiss his neck and he knows you’d find no shame at all in that. You’d likely be flattered.

Of course, if you didn’t spurn his affections wholesale. He would understand that entirely. But as it stands, you’ve neither asked for such things nor voiced any true feelings you may harbour. He is more than content with this passionate, if infrequent affair as it is. At least this way you’ll stay with him.

“You’re very clever to realize that you stand in the presence of a poetic genius,” he muses. “Very few know to appreciate my company, muse.” You bite down very softly on his neck, pulling from him a quiet mewl. In his ear, you whisper,

“Tonight, I think you’re the muse,” and the shiver that runs up his spine is nothing short of wanton. You grip him on two fronts, putting a hand both to his throat and around the base of his cock. Homare stiffens and then sighs.

You apply no pressure to either, you simply hold him as he is with his back to your chest. While he can admit that the two areas you’ve sought out are quite delicate, he’s glad to an extent that you did not think to take him by the heart. At least, not literally.

“Will you come to bed?” you ask, “Or shall I see what other secrets you’re keeping underneath your trousers.”

“Take me,” he whispers, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck when your lips find his shoulder. Your hand leaves his throat, moving down his chest before falling to his side.

You entwine your fingers with his and remove your other hand from his trousers. Homare is turned around and guided towards the mess of pillows and quilt at the centre of his parent’s guest room.

He sits, looking almost in a daze. You’re still mostly dressed as well, but when you guide his hands up your thighs and to the waistband of your underwear, Homare understands. He plays a moment with the soft, elastic lace. His thin fingers touch your thighs with a reverence best reserved for church. 

“Don’t tease me, muse,” you whisper to him, “that’s my job.” Leaning in, you take another, fragile kiss. Homare decides to be petulant, biting gently at your lip and seizing forward all of a sudden so that he might still have your lips on his.

You indulge, doting and gentle as always while your hands push into his bright locks of hair. Homare seems hesitant to take your panties off, moving his hands over the roundness of your hips and the outward press of your pelvic bone. Over the fabric, he makes a show out of exploring your mound.

Your hand grips the hair at the back of his head when it becomes obvious he’s dragging his feet. It’s only ever for the sake of irking you, and the reaction is one he favourably courts.

“My, my, my, never in all my years have I met a woman with such impatience,” he exclaims, “and not to mention so lacking in a sense of humour.”

“Oh, I have a sense of humour,” you say, “wouldn’t it be funny indeed to make my own fun without any help from yourself?”

Homare is quite glad that his ego is feeling rather strong today. Such teasing holds no bite. But still, as if to turn the thought from your mind he begins to slide your panties down your thighs.

“That’s better,” you say, “I do love you.”

His hands still.

Those eyes, red and so often full of sly emotion go wide as dinner plates. Homare looks stricken for a second, as if you’ve said something truly awful as opposed to a confession. He stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“You love me?” he asks, his voice now more like a croak than its previous, sultry invitations. Slowly, you nod.

“I---” you start. You close your mouth. It was a mistake to so freely give it up, but the sentiment is truthful. You do love him very much. “Have I never told you?”

“I thought---” Homare begins, but the second half of his sentences dies. “Come, kiss me again. I have been denied that for far too long.”

“Only because you stay away for ages,” you reply, settling back into the familiar territory of breathless kisses. You touch your lips to his, bending down to reach his new height.

You crawl into his lap and his big, thin hands support you. The kissing comes and does not ebb, every time you try to pull away to speak he hauls you back in for more. It’s almost like he’s looking for something between your lips, the courage to speak his own truth.

It comes on swift after you push him onto his back. Homare falls with you on top of him, caught up in the sound of your heady laugh as you shift and hold yourself above him.

“I love you, too,” he starts very suddenly, lifting his head so that you are near enough for comfort. “Never doubt I love, my flower.”

“Mm, really?” you ask, though your tone still holds that gentle teasing that so sets him at ease. Homare doubts you are trying to name him liar, you place both of his hands on entirely scandalous locations. You fiddle with his trousers to try and press towards unity.

He’ll allow it, the both of you have been bubbling with unrequited tension for far too long.

“I love you in so many ways that they cannot be counted,” he insists, “though since I am poet I shall no doubt have to try---”

You dip your head, taking another kiss.

“I’ll count mine for you,” you say, “my reasons number in the thousands.”

“Flatterer,” he scolds, though the criticism holds no malice.

“Hypocrite!” you exclaim, tossing your head back and laughing over him like you belong nowhere else. Homare grips your hips and prays you can think of nowhere better to sit. “Your poems hold truths aplenty but you speak too highly of me in most of them.”

“Never,” he says, his lips finding the center of your sternum with the intent to kiss through your skin. If he focuses, he can hear the perfect beat of your fond heart. “I could never find the words to speak higher of you than what you’ve earned.”

“Write that down, Homare,” you playfully urge. But your hand moves somewhere dangerous yet again, making him moan and driving all thoughts of poetry from his mind. He’s nearly-incoherent when you add, “But not right this minute. I have things to do presently.”

[generaldisdainn]

Four of a Kind

AO3 link

Rating: MA 

Summary: After accepting a job as the head of marketing for a local animal shelter, Anna finds herself in a new city in need of a place to live. Luckily, 3 guys know just the place.

Previous chapter

Chapter 5 (A reminder that this fic is rated MA!! There may or may not be a little smut in this chapter,,,,)

Anna threw her keys onto the table next to the front door as soon as she entered the apartment. Usually, she adored spreading the word about a cause she was passionate about, but today had been absolutely brutal.

They were running a large dog adoption event at a local park, and while everything had been going well for a while, some lady had her dog out without a leash. Of course, the dog ran over and went ballistic at the sight of so many other dogs. The lady apologized profusely for the inconvenience, but it didn’t change the fact that Anna had to run after a dog and ended up slipping into mud in the process. Not to mention the fact that it was still oppressively hot outside, and she had already been sweating profusely at that point. She was sweaty, sticky, and she smelled distinctly of wet dog, a smell even the most loyal of dog lovers can admit is unpleasant.

She was dying for a shower.

She made her way into her bathroom and promptly undressed, eager to get out of the clothes that were virtually plastered to her body. Over the last month, she had gotten intimately acquainted with the garden Ryder had set up in their shared bathroom. She had even gotten to know each of the plants by the name Ryder gave them. Frederick, one of the more obtrusive plants in the space, brushed against her arm as she undressed, the long tendrils of his leaves jutting into the bathroom from where he sat atop the back of the toilet.

She locked the door and started the shower, relishing the sound of the steady stream of water and the steam that filled the room moments later. She drew a smiley face in the condensation on the mirror before hopping into the shower- something she’d done since she was a kid.

As soon as she was in the water, she let her mind drift in an attempt to wash away the stresses of the day. She already felt better now that she wasn’t so damn sticky.

Her mind rested on her living situation. She was only about a month into living in the apartment, and yet, she already felt like she had melded into their little group. She had gone grocery shopping with Ryder just yesterday, and they joked about how detailed and exact Sven had made the shopping list. It wasn’t Anna’s first time going grocery shopping for the apartment, but she consistently found the absurdity of Sven’s lists funny.

“I’m glad you’re here though,” Ryder had said. “Now if we get something wrong there’ll be two of us for him to yell at.” Anna had laughed at that.

Sven had always been extra friendly with her as well, almost protective, in a brotherly sort of way.

She could tell she was making significant strides with Kristoff, but he still seemed closed off and a bit cold sometimes. One day he would be cracking jokes with her in the kitchen, and the very next he would just brush her aside after she tried to ask him some questions about himself. He was also the only one of the three guys who had never been into her room, save the time he brought her dresser in from her car. She still didn’t really know how to feel about him.

But his body- she knew exactly how to feel about that.

She hadn’t noticed it at first, but ever so slowly, he had become someone who consumed her thoughts. He had even made his way into a few of her favorite fantasies, including the one she found herself thinking about now.

He would walk into the shower and throw her against the wall without a word, strong arms holding onto her hips as he fucked her. Anna blushed profusely as the thought sent a wave of desire straight to her core. She glanced up at the showerhead, suddenly remembering why she had been so excited about it being detachable in the first place.

Embarrassment aside, this was her apartment now too. She grabbed the nozzle of the showerhead and brought it down to where she ached for it. She changed the setting so the water condensed into a gentle, pulsing stream, one that stimulated her in all the right places.

She spread her legs farther, allowing the water to massage her clit. She threw her head back and let out a soft moan as she thought of Kristoff caressing her, touching her, and bringing her to the edge of bliss.

So close . Her back was pressed up against the cool tile of the shower wall and her thighs shook as she grew nearer and nearer to her peak. A soft cry left her mouth.

Suddenly, the warmth was gone. The water had stopped.

“Fuck!” Anna shouted as she messed with the shower handle a few times and came to the conclusion that the water was not turning back on.

“Is everything okay?” she heard someone faintly call from the living room.

Anna let out a loud huff and wrapped herself up in a towel. “No,” she replied as she exited the bathroom. “The shower stopped working.”

Kristoff seemingly stopped in his tracks. His gaze shifted downwards and then immediately snapped back up to meet her face. He swallowed thickly. “You can use our shower to finish if you want. I can take a look at it when I get home from work tonight.”

“Oh my god, Kristoff, thank you so much.”

Kristoff murmured something that she didn’t quite catch, and she grabbed her things and hurried to his bathroom so she could chase her high once more. She turned on the water, let it heat up, and stepped in, reaching up to take the showerhead down from its perch. She was practically throbbing with need, her body heating up as she thought about Kristoff using this shower and what it would be like for him to be in here with her now.

“Fuck,” she thought to herself. This showerhead didn’t detach like the one in her bathroom. She guessed she was just going to have to finish up the old fashioned way.

***

Sometimes, Kristoff forgot Anna was even living with him. Other times, it was impossible to forget. This time it was one of the latter.

Construction was fine work. He didn’t hate it, but he didn’t love it either. He was just grateful to have a decent income and health insurance. Usually, the work was easy-going enough that he could let his mind wander without any dip in productivity. Except today, every time he let his mind wander, Anna popped back into his head. The image of Anna wearing nothing but a towel around her body was seared into his mind. The fact that he had heard her wasn’t helping matters either. Stifled gasps and a pitched moan or two- he wasn’t an idiot. It wasn’t like he could blame her; from what he could hear it seemed like she was doing her best to stay quiet, but the walls were thin and the water flow wasn’t strong enough to really drown out any noise from inside the bathroom.

Kristoff tried to convince himself that he didn’t like her as much as he knew he did. She was comfortably the sweetest person he had ever met, and the fact that she was so attractive didn’t hurt her appeal either. He had never been so enamored by a girl before, which was why he couldn’t let himself give in to those feelings.

He realized the cruel irony. The more he liked her the more closed off he became. His previous relationship had left him with only the part of himself that made him push people away, whether he wanted to or not. He knew he didn’t want to push Anna away. The last thing he wanted was to shut her out or make her feel unwelcome. He desperately wanted to get to know her better, to sit and listen as she spoke about the things that made her heart sing. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and kiss each beautiful freckle that dotted her face. But accompanied with all that wishful thinking, there was still that nagging fear, the lingering part of himself that said “she’s going to hurt you just like the last one.” Whether or not it was true, despite the pull of his heart to take a leap of faith, it was the fear in his mind that he fed.

“Maybe one day,” Kristoff thought to himself as he resumed his work.

***

Kristoff entered the apartment after his long day. He was tired and sweaty and spent. He was ready for a warm shower and a good meal before he turned in for the night.

He headed straight for his bathroom, peeling off his grimy clothes and turning on the shower faucet, letting the water heat up. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked tired-- dark circles hanging under his eyes and his mop of blonde hair falling in awkward, sweaty strands after a day of hard labor in the sun. He shook his head and hopped into the shower. There was no use overanalyzing something as mundane as a physical appearance.

Something was different in the shower. He noticed it as soon as he stepped in. It smelled like flowers and springtime. It certainly didn’t smell like him or Sven. Suddenly, it hit him. Anna . It smelled like Anna . The unmistakable smell of strawberries and cream was lingering from when she had used his shower. The smell was soft and full of whispered promises. His cock immediately stiffened at the realization. The thought of her had plagued him all day, and here she was once again, the smell of her surrounding him and conjuring up an image in his mind of her in her towel. This time, however, she would drop the towel and saunter over to him, swaying her hips. He would hold her breasts and push her up against the wall. He would inhale her deeply until the flowery shampoo and feeling of the summer breeze became a part of him too. He wanted to taste her, to feel her on his lips.

Kristoff turned the shower to cold and yelped at the sudden rush he felt. His mind was cleared and his cock stopped straining painfully upwards, begging for attention. He was not going to fantasize about her-- about his roommate. It just felt wrong. He thought of work instead, of what his day might look like tomorrow. Anything to distract himself from her perky ass and freckled shoulders.

Kristoff stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He began walking over to his room when he heard something.

“Oh, Kristoff!” Anna called when she heard the door open.

Kristoff noticed her draw in a breath and stop as she regarded his form. He only had a towel around his waist. He figured he wouldn’t run into anyone on his short walk back to his room.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” Anna looked away uncomfortably.

“No, it’s fine. I was just headed back to my room.”

“Yeah- I was just wondering if you could still fix our shower tonight? If not that’s totally okay though.”

“I’ll definitely do that tonight. I just have to change and dry off and stuff.”

She still wasn’t looking him in his eyes. Her gaze flickered over the towel hanging around his waist and then flitted back to the floor. “Okay, thanks Kristoff,” she said, finally raising her head to flash him a soft smile.

Kristoff entered his room, shut the door, and let his towel fall to the floor. He was still somewhat hard, but it wasn’t as painful as it was earlier. He just hoped Anna hadn’t seen him straining against the towel. He laid down on his bed, rolling his shoulders to ease some of his tension. He always did this after a shower. He preferred letting himself air dry and he appreciated the peace and quiet he got for a moment while doing so.

Before he could stop himself, his hand began lazily stroking his cock. He let out a soft gasp at the contact. He had been holding himself off all day, and while he didn’t want to fantasize about her …

Kristoff moaned as she entered his mind, towel dropping to reveal her breasts. Would they be freckled just like her shoulders? He was completely hard now, his motions more deliberate as he gave in to the temptation. Although he did feel a bit weird fantasizing about his roommate, it wasn’t like she would ever find out.

His mind spiraled, and soon he was trying to figure out what she tasted like. Perhaps a sunset, or like salted caramel. He swirled his thumb over the top of his shaft, spreading the thin bead of precum around the head and increasing the speed with which he touched himself.

He worked his shaft with an eager hand, his head thrown back against the bed and his toes curling as he worked himself with a practiced grip. He reached for a tissue with his free hand and let out a hiss when he came. It didn’t take long, as he’d been worked up all day. Kristoff laid back on his bed and sighed, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to continue living with this girl that he couldn’t get out of his head.

Kristoff shook his head and stood to get dressed. He had pretty much dried off at that point, and besides, he had a shower to fix. And unless he wanted to be sexually frustrated by a certain someone’s shampoo after every shower, he needed to fix it soon.