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lazuli-bloom · 3 years ago

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Roses and Styx

Chapter 3 – Kids' Games To Pass The Time

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5,399

New day, new problems. Sure things aren't the worst they could be, but that new hire isn't making things all that easy at work.

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--=--=--

An annoying, rhythmic buzz cut through silence. Light seeped its way in, chasing away the shadows of sleep. You groaned and rolled. It was too early to face the new day.

Compounding your groggy state was the fact you didn't sleep for shit last night. The chilly October night sucked the warmth from your room, and you had only a few blankets to shield yourself from it. And the chill didn't stop your mind racing most of the night. When sleep came to you, it brought restless dreams.

The first wasn't terrible, just strange. A weird bug followed you home wanting to be friends. The other dream, however... A vile pit formed in your stomach.

Your thoughts drifted to the dream. You couldn't move. Arms, legs, head, nothing. You couldn't budge an inch no matter how hard you fought. Something wanted you to stay still. And it wasn't as if your surroundings gave you any clues either. Darkness blanketed the room. No details, just a barren inky void. The only thing you found with you was a set of pinprick lights.

A voice spoke. It whispered beautiful words coated in honey. Your guts twisted. A warm touch held your face, and the voice asked you a question. Your words caught in your throat. The entity glared at you with icy eyes, and the sweet words soured to a nasty venom.

You clutched your chest as the memory of searing heat replayed. It sank blazing claws into your waist and arm, blistering and cooking the flesh.

You drew in shaky breaths and wiped away the leftover tears. It was just a dream. It was just a bad dream. You're safe.

You took in one more breath before getting up to start your day.

Normally you would go straight to the bathroom, but you wanted to check something. You stepped out into the main living space and found it empty. A DVD case sat on the coffee table, but the TV screen was dark. The couch laid devoid of any unexpected house guests. No sign anyone else was ever there. Your heart sank as you realized the encounter you remembered was just another dream cooked up by your tired brain. A frown pulled at your lips and you sighed. No time to mope. You needed to get ready for work.

You opened the bathroom door and peered inside. Rigel napped on the top of the toilet's water tank, surrounded by shredded toilet paper. At least it was less of a mess than yesterday. You clean up the ribbons and tossed them in the garbage under the sink. After you topped off his food and water, you hopped in the shower.

The water in your apartment only ever got up to lukewarm on a good day. And that was not a good day. Frigged rain pelted you, giving you goosebumps. Not wanting to linger, you got out and dressed a few minutes later.

You combed your fingers through your hair as you looted the kitchen. Damn cat, why'd it have to throw up on your hairbrush? You grumbled to yourself and pulled out the off-brand cereal to fix breakfast.

"What 'cha doing, babes?" A voice from nowhere spoke in your ear.

Your knees buckle and you collapse, taking the bag of cereal with you. You gripped at your chest to still your heart, and rolled to sit with your back to the cabinets. A man in a rotting striped suit floated in your kitchen, clutching his rounder stomach as he cackled.

"Oh sweets, that's great! I wasn't even trying!"

As the shock fades, your features scrunched up. You got to your feet and tossed the bag on the counter. With crossed arms you pivot to glare at the ghost, still laughing his ass off.

"Giving me a heart attack first thing in the morning," you said with a huff, "I came out here and you were gone. I thought I had dreamed the whole thing, you jerk."

"So you're saying you missed me?" He batted his eyes at you, setting your cheeks on fire. You would not dignify that with a response. Instead, you turned back to the counter and fixed your breakfast.

"Where did you go then?" you asked and riffled through the silverware drawer for a spoon.

"I was checking on your neighbors. Did you know the guys a few doors down have a shit-ton of electronics?"

"Yeah, and old lady Smith has a garden in her closet."

"Really? Which one is she in? I didn't find that."

"She's on the third floor, but don't bug her too much. She's nice. Plus she bakes amazing cookies for me whenever I help her."

You scarfed your breakfast, and double checked you had everything done. Rigel was in the bathroom with his things. You had your wallet and phone. After you finished the last bite, you set the bowl in the sink along with the one from last night.

You rinsed out the bowl and hummed to yourself before you glanced over your shoulder to the ghost. He grinned at you with a tilt of his head. You gave him a small smile, only to frown.

"I have to head to work."

That simple sentence wiped the grin from his face. His shoulders sank, and the color of his hair shifted. A dull purple seeped in and overtook the green. That couldn't be a good sign. "You're leaving me here?"

"Well, you could stay here, or..."

"Or?"

"If you can be out of the way and let me focus on my work when I need to, then you could tag along with me. It’d be nice having someone other than my boss to talk to during the downtime."

His grin stretched across his face again, and he spun up to you, batting his eyes. "Oh babes, you do care! Of course I'll go with you! Not my idea for a first date, but I'll take it."

You pressed your lips tight. Was this a mistake? Not like you can take back the offer, though. That would crush him. You let out a long sigh and rubbed at your temple.

"Not a date, dude."

"If you say so," he purred.

You shook your head and grabbed the keys before heading to the car. The ghost trailed you, with an ever present chill at your side. On the way to the car, he pointed out each of the apartments and spilled whatever secrets he found out. You had an inkling of some of your neighbors' crimes, but you weren't one to go tattling. It was best to let them deal with their lives and you deal with yours. So you ended up nodding along to what the ghost told you.

When you got to your car, you sat behind the wheel for a moment. Once your ghostly friend floated into the passenger seat, you took in a breath.

"Okay. A few things before we get there," You said as you fought to start the car, "If either my boss or a customer comes up and needs to talk to me, I would appreciate it if you hang back for a minute and let me handle them. Otherwise, I mostly just front-face merchandise and I can talk with you so long as I'm quiet. Also, I take my lunches in the cemetery, so I can talk a bit more freely there."

"Sounds good to me, toots."

You rolled your eyes and got the hunk of junk started. The car protested with clangs, but you drove off with a little more of a fight. On the scenic drive to work he asked you to turn on the radio, which got a dry laugh from you.

"What's so funny?"

"Radio's broke. Most things in this car are broken. Radio, heater, a/c. All of them are broken."

"Can't you get a new one? There's cars all over the place, just take one."

"Th-this isn't Grand Theft Auto,"

"It will be once you take a car!"

"Okay, technically true. I meant this isn't the game GTA, this is real life. And I would get arrested."

"Not if you had help from the ghost with the most!"

You rolled your eyes and turned onto the main road, heading for work. The rest of the drive, the "ghost with the most" filled the air with his own voice, singing a medley of songs. Some of them you recognized, others you suspected he made up on the spot.

You pulled into the employee parking and parked your car alongside the two much nicer ones there. As you collected your things, Beetlejuice pointed to the sleek mustang.

"That car looks fun! We should steal a car like that!"

"I'm pretty sure that's Brandon's car. I'm not stealing my coworker's car to take for a joyride."

"But it would be so cool!"

"Maybe later," you said, stepping out of your junker.

The bell chimed as you entered the store and caught your boss's attention. He came over to greet you and made sure you were doing better. You gave a small laugh and rubbed at the back of your neck.

"Yeah, I'm doing better." You glanced sidelong to the ghost wandering over to the front counter.

"Good. Now hopefully I can focus on training Brandon without as many interruptions. He keeps breaking away to chat with every customer that comes into the store. So I need you to handle the customers so he doesn't have an excuse."

"Got it. And if you need help with him, I can always smack some sense into him. The new order of mallets is in the back, right?"

Mr. Turner laughed and turned to go back to teaching Brandon. You smiled to yourself and meandered over to the counter. Your ghost pal sat on the countertop next to the computer.

"You never mentioned you get to hit people at your job, any openings?"

"Sorry, spot's filled. For now, anyway. But who knows, maybe we'll need a replacement soon."

"Save it for me. I would kill to get to hang around a pretty little breather like you all day and get paid for it. But doing that for free is nice too."

"You're a shameless flirt."

"How can a sexy beast like me not be with you around and able to see me?"

You shook your head and glanced at the computer. There was something you wanted to look up, you were sure of it. But what was it? You stepped closer and opened a new tab for the search. It sat blank for a moment as you retraced what the topic could have been.

"What are ya doing, babes?"

"I can't remember what I wanted to search for."

"One hundred great ways to skin a cat?"

You raised a brow and frowned at him. "I'm not hurting Rigel." A light flicked on in your head.

You typed in the cat's name and clicked on the page for the star. A picture of the Orion constellation to the side of the page showed off the stars. Most of them had fancy looking letters next to them, with a few having numbers attached. Rigel marked the lower right star, while the upper left was the only other star with a word.

"Beh-tell? Goose? Wait..." You jerked your head over to the ghost, who wore a Cheshire grin. "That's how you spell your name?"

"Yep. That's me. Behtellgoose."

You read the name once more. Betelgeuse. Such a strange spelling to sound like beetle-juice. Kind of cool though. You smiled and closed out of the tab when an unfamiliar voice called out to you.

"Good morning, Art. Great to see you doing better!"

"Heh, yeah. Feeling better." You forced a tight-lipped smile to prevent yourself from frowning. Brandon stayed still with his own fake smile plastered on his face. After a beat of him not saying anything, you asked, "Do you need something?"

"You forgot to go grab your apron. What if a customer came in? That would look very unprofessional. Here, I'll watch the counter and you can go grab your apron."

The corner of your mouth twitched, and you took in a deep breath. You stepped away and grabbed your stupid apron. As you threw it on, the bell chimed. You rushed back out, hoping to catch the customer before Brandon.

The counter stood unattended and you found Brandon down one aisle with a woman discussing products. You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Isn't that what your boss wanted you to stop him from doing?"

"Yes, Beetle, it is."

You hissed out a sigh and shook your head. As you walked over to them, you prepared yourself to speak in your chipper customer service voice. Brandon insisted he could take care of the customer, only for Mr. Turner to order him to get back to training. Brandon grimaced and stepped away to let you take over.

Your smile was easier to keep on your face after that. You helped the customer find what she needed and rang up her items. She left with a wave and you went back to the computer.

"What the hell is that guy's deal?" Betelgeuse asked, gesturing with a thumb to Brandon.

"I don't know. I don't know if I really care." You leaned back onto your heels and let your mind wander. Whenever you were alone, stuck at the counter, you always pulled up simple web games on the computer to pass the time. But with Betelgeuse there, you couldn't ignore him to play games.

"What are ya thinking about, sweets? How hot it would be to make out right now?"

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "No, you flirt. I'm thinking of what we can do to pass the time. All I'm coming up with are twenty questions and I spy."

"I'm fine with that," he said as he flashed you a sharp grin. "Okay, I'll start. I spy with my rotten eye, something... metal."

"Well, that narrows it down."

The two of you spent the rest of the morning going, taking turns playing those silly kids' games. Betelgeuse huffed and whined whenever a customer, or worse, Brandon, pulled you away to help them. Any time you called him out on his grumbling, he denied it as the color in his hair shifted.

He caught you staring at his hair once or twice, which exacerbated the shifting colors. Each time that happened, Betelgeuse quickly picked up whichever game you two had been playing. You left the topic alone for the moment, but stashed it away to ask about later.

Halfway into a difficult game of twenty questions, Mr. Turner came up to the counter. You ignored Betelgeuse's smug punchable face and greeted your boss, hoping your frustration didn't bleed into your tone.

"Cass, I'm stepping out for a bit to pick up something. I should be back for you to take your lunch break. Keep an eye on the store and Brandon for me, while I'm gone, okay?"

"Got it. Burn down the place and leave no evidence. Can do."

He shook his head with a laugh. Mr. Turner said, "you turd," before he waved goodbye and left the shop.

"Ooh baby, I love you talking about crimes like that! Tell me how you'd light up the place."

You turned back to the ghost. He floated with his stomach parallel to the ground as he held his scruffy chin in his hands and swung his legs pointed upward. You laughed at the dork and smiled.

"Well, the kerosene is over there, and the rolls of rags are an aisle over. There's a blow torch with some of the other tools."

"Artemis!" You whipped your attention to the stick in the mud, frowning at you. You didn't even get the chance to speak. "That kind of talk is highly unprofessional! Going over ways to burn down the store, shame on you."

"I was joking dude, it's not—"

"Well, I don't find that funny. And you shouldn't address your elders as 'dude', it is very disrespectful."

"Alright, I'm sorry."

"Good. Now I need your help."

You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. Brandon motioned for you to follow him, and once he turned back, you brought two fingers to your temple and jerked your head away.

In the middle of a tedious and painful walkthrough of creating an order of paint, the bell rang. Brandon broke away the second it chimed and went straight to helping the customer. That was irritating enough, but after the regular said they didn't need any help, Brandon insisted on assisting them.

You took in a deep breath and let the man dig his own grave. If he doesn't value your help, then he's not getting it. You marched back to the counter and found Betelgeuse picking his teeth.

He licked a striped tongue over his sharp teeth then said, "What a douchebag."

"Tell me about it."

The customer came up to the counter a minute later, followed by Brandon. You greeted the regular and switched the computer over to its register display. Your new coworker nudged you aside and insisted on being the one to ring up the customer.

"Artemis, you should have stayed at the paint desk. I'll meet you back there in a minute, after I help this gentleman."

You wanted nothing more than to slap that man. Who the hell does he think he is? Calling you unprofessional and pulling stunts like that? You grit your teeth and forced a smile before excusing yourself to head back to the paint desk.

Betelgeuse floated after you and lounged on top of the desk. You spared him a glance, but stuck to pacing the small paint pit, waiting for that douche-canoe to get back there. The customer didn't even have a lot of things to buy, so it shouldn't take Brandon that long.

"That freaking jerk," you said under your breath, "I can't believe Mr. Turner hired a guy like that."

"Want me to kill him?"

"Tempting, but no. I'm just going to talk to my boss when he gets back." You checked your phone for the time. A quarter after one, which means only fifteen more minutes until your lunch break. "God, I hope he's here soon."

You tapped your nails against the metal top of the tint machine, the speed of which accelerated the longer you waited. What the hell was taking him so long? Did another customer show up? This was getting infuriating.

"You sure you don't want me to kill the guy?"

"No, Beetle, I don't want you to do that."

"Art, who are you talking to?"

You turned around to the voice. Brandon stood at the threshold of the paint pit with his hand on his hips and raised a brow at you. Your face burned as you laughed, attempting to cover up your embarrassment.

"Oh, just this annoying little beetle. It was crawling under the tint dispenser."

"Do you regularly talk to disgusting bugs?" he asked. You opened your mouth to speak, only for Brandon to keep talking. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't act so childish. How old are you? Late teens?"

"No, Brandon, I'm closer to my thirties than my teens."

"And you're talking to bugs, where any customer can come up and see that behavior. You ought to grow up and act your age, Artemis."

The bell chimed again, and you shuffled to the side to get an unobstructed view of the front. Mr. Turner stepped in with a smile and a wave. You waved back and checked the clock on the computer. One twenty-seven, perfect. You pulled your apron's strings and took it off in a swift motion.

"Where do you think you're going, Artemis?"

"Lunch."

Brandon frowned, and you folded up your apron with a smile. He probably wanted to stop you from leaving, but that shit would not fly with the boss back. Betelgeuse hopped down from his spot on the counter and followed. You tossed your apron behind the front counter and greeted Mr. Turner. After a quick rundown of what had happened, you left for your break, with a quick stop to your car to grab your food.

On the walk to the cemetery, Betelgeuse mocked the stupid things Brandon said. He was dead on with his impression, too.

"Artemis, do you think I give a shit? I'm a giant douche with a stick up my ass! There's no fun allowed in the store."

You did your best to hold back your laughter, but that only caused you to snort. A laugh roared out next to you in Betelgeuse's voice. You covered your mouth with your free hand, but that couldn't stop your shoulders from bouncing. As the two of you crossed into the graveyard, you glanced sidelong at the ghost, who shot you a grin.

In the cemetery, devoid of any other visitors, you veered towards your usual spot, off in the corner and near the front gate. You sat on the stone bench, setting your lunch beside you. Betelgeuse, however, sat on a gravestone, with his feet propped up on the one next to it.

You opened up your small bag of chips and started snacking on them. Betelgeuse looked over from picking at his nails and raised a brow at you.

"That's all you're going to eat, babes?"

"I have a granola bar too."

You grabbed the other half of your lunch and showed him. He tilted his head with a frown, but said nothing. It grew quiet, save for your munching on the chips. Your mind wandered, and you zoned out, staring unfocused in a random direction. Betelgeuse moved, catching your eye, and you studied him.

He gnawed at his black nails with jagged yellow teeth. Stubble covered his round chin, matching the same green mixed in his hair. Has his stubble changed color like his hair has? And why did his hair change color to begin with?

You hummed to yourself after finishing the last of your chips.

"What's up, sweets?"

"I... was hoping to ask you something."

Betelgeuse tilted his head to the other side and raised a brow and pursed his lips. You gave a half smile and laughed. He looked like a curious puppy. How could this ghost-demon look so cute?

"What is it?"

"I've noticed that your hair isn't always green."

As soon as the sentence left your mouth, the color of his hair shifted to a deep purple. You shrank back as your stomach twisted into knots. Even without knowing what the colors meant, the frown on his face and sudden dodging of eye contact weren't good signs. On no. You messed up, didn't you? Why couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut?

"I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything. Forget I ever mentioned it."

You dug your nails into your palms and turned your gaze to your knees. Betelgeuse produced a mix of a growl and a groan, and you peered up at him through your hair. His lips pulled into an almost smile as he kept sharp eyes pointed at his hands, where he raked his nails through the hair of one.

"I might as well tell you, you'd figure it out eventually. My hair changes color with my mood."

You dared to lift your head more. Your lips parted as your brain processed the new information.

"Like a chameleon?"

"Like what?"

He tilted his head and raised a brow as his nose wrinkled. You forced out a small laugh and smile as you wrung your wrists. "A chameleon, the little lizards that change color. It's to communicate their mood. Darker colors like black are when it's stressed, neutral tones are when it's calm, and vibrant greens, or reds can be excitement or aggression."

Betelgeuse lurched forward with a growl and ran his hands through his hair, shielding the deepening purple from view. Your stomach twisted into knots. This wasn't getting better. You parted your lips only to press them shut a second later. Why did you have to screw up and bring up his hair in the first place?

Your nails dug deeper into your palms. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"If you're going to strip a guy naked like that, babes, you could at least buy me dinner first."

Your face wrinkled as you tilted your head at him. Betelgeuse still held himself curled and closed off, but he wore a weak crooked smile. Your lips twitched, and you huffed out a dry laugh.

"Alright, we can go through the drive thru to get a few things off the dollar menu."

"Ooh! I wanna try one of those green sludgy shake things from that Old MacDonald place."

"Sorry to break this to you, but they only sell those in March."

"What? That's lame!"

"Everything is pumpkin spice right now."

He pouted and crossed his arms with a huff. Despite the childish act, the purple in his hair faded back to a muted green. You chuckled to yourself as relief washed over you. With a soft smile, you grabbed the other half of your lunch and hummed before you opened it.

"Hey Beetle."

"Hmm?"

"I won't bring it up again if you don't want me to, but I wanted to say I think your chameleon hair is pretty cool. Like, is it magic? Or is it a demon thing? Or—sorry. I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it now. Sorry."

Your eyes darted to focus on your granola bar. You fumbled with tearing open the packaging for a second, only for the wrapper to give. The force sent your food tumbling to the ground. You stared at the broken bar and heaved out a sigh. Just wonderful.

Your pocket buzzed, veering your attention to it. You pulled out your phone and checked the caller id. Unknown number. Chills cascaded down as you stared at the phone.

"Something wrong, babes?"

"Nope. Everything's fine. Just some spam call."

You shoved it back into your pocket and let it ring. If the caller wanted anything, they can leave a voicemail. Besides, you needed to get back to work.

You picked up your trash and nodded your head to the gate. Betelgeuse hopped up and floated alongside you. After a few steps out of the cemetery, your phone rang again. Every fiber in you tensed up, but you left your phone in your pocket. The third time your phone rang, Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Who the hell keeps calling you?"

You shrugged and laughed despite your dry throat. "Who knows? I have to get back to work though."

With a hurried pace, you made it back to the store in a few minutes. The bell swung, chiming away as you beeline for your apron behind the counter. Brandon stood at the register with a phone up to his ear.

"There you are, Art! I've been calling you and you never once answered!" Brandon frowned at you and slipped his phone into his pants pocket. "You're obligated to pick up if I or Mr. Turner ever need to call you."

"O-oh, that was you calling." A small breath escapes passed your lips and you relax, only to register what he said. "Wait, how did you even get my number? I've only ever given this number to Sam and Mr. Turner."

"Why does it matter how I got your number? The issue is; if work calls you, especially if you have a shift that day, you need to answer."

"Fine, okay. I'll save your number so I don't panic again when I'm called three times in a row."

"Oh please, three phone calls make you panic? Artemis, you're an adult. You should know better than to be worried about something as simple as a phone call."

You grit your teeth and smiled. This conversation wasn't going anywhere you wanted, and you didn't plan on sticking around. You threw on your apron and marched to a far corner of the store to get away from everyone. Well, save for the ghost haunting you.

"Wow, babes, that guy is a major piece of work."

"Piece of shit is more like it."

You grabbed at products on the shelf and pulled them forward, turning the labels when needed. If you looked busy, maybe Brandon would mind his own fucking business. You clenched your jaw and growled as you brought more things forward.

"I shouldn't be worried about phone calls? What the fuck does he know? He's never had to put up with the shit I have!"

"And what shit would that be, babes?"

You glanced up to the ghost laying on his stomach across the top of the aisle shelving. Betelgeuse tilted his head. Soft and earnest curiosity graced his features. The corner of your mouth twitched before you closed your eyes and let out a hiss.

"I don't want to get into it," you said, keeping your voice quiet, "but I've had someone call me over and over before. It wasn't fun."

You pulled the rest of the items forward within arm's reach before sidestepping to get more. Betelgeuse floated after you as you inched down the aisle. He picked the games back up, and you welcomed the distraction.

There were one or two rounds of I spy, several goes at twenty questions—which you're positive Betelgeuse cheated and switched his topic multiple times. Towards the end of your shift, well after Brandon left for the day, you two asked a few "would you rather" questions. While he asked a few risque questions at the start—bite or be bitten, top or bottom—his questions took a tamer turn, similar to the ones you asked.

"Okay babe, would you rather find a rat in the kitchen or a roach in your bed?"

"I mean... I guess I'd prefer seeing another rat in the kitchen over finding more roaches?"

"M-more?"

"Donna hires her incompetent nephew to do the pest control for the apartments." You swept the line of dirt into the pan and tossed it into the trash. "Actually, speaking of, I should double check the traps and make sure something isn't rotting somewhere in the apartment."

Betelgeuse watched you finish the last of the closing routine. You clicked the pan back around the neck of the broom and stuffed it into a corner behind the counter. The only thing left was Mr. Turner to finish locking up the cash and heading out. You leaned against the counter and rolled your head back to look at the ceiling.

A quiet stillness overtook the store. It lasted a few seconds before Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Would you rather have a nicer place but the same landlady, or the same apartment with a nicer landlady—"

"Alright Cass, you ready to leave?"

You turned your attention from the unseen ghost to your boss. He smiled and gestured to the door. You returned a half smile before exiting. Mr. Turner locked up, and you waved goodbye. A minute later you sank into the car seat and rested your hands on the wheel.

"Well babes, this certainly seems familiar."

You glanced his way and rolled your eyes before getting the car started.

"Yep, it's been an entire day since a demon followed my home, like a lost puppy."

"I'm way cuter than any puppy. Plus, you can keep me in your apartment all you want and your shitty landlady can't do anything about it!"

"Nicer landlady, by the way," you said as the car sputtered to life.

"What?"

"I'd rather have a nicer landlady than a nicer place. Donna would just let a nicer place fall to ruin."

You pulled out of the parking lot and drove home. At the first red light, you tapped your finger on the wheel and hummed.

"Hey Beetle, would you rather stay in a comfortable and familiar place with people that don't believe half of what you say, or cut all contact with them and be alone if it meant freedom?"

Betelgeuse tilted his head from one side to the other, closing his eyes as he mulled over your question. As he thought, the light changed, and you continued on your way home. A sharp grin stretched across his face a moment later.

"Easy. I'd take my freedom."

Your lips twitched up. "Yeah... me too."

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #roses and styx #my writing #fun fact. I kept miss spelling Brandon as Brandong when typing this

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hotfrost · 3 years ago

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i hated brambleclaw’s nine lives ceremony so i fixed it at 4am please don’t kill me if this is badly written

also major spoilers for the first four arcs, and there’s some violence in here. (this is also what would have happened if brambleclaw wasn’t an asshole)

Brambleclaw shivered.

The night was clear and bright- Silverpelt shone high above the two of them. A single star twinkled brighter than the rest, its glow more warm than any other in the sky. Firestar, is that you?, Brambleclaw wondered, feeling the familiar pang of grief for his mentor. It had been only one moonrise since the former leader’s death, yet Brambleclaw missed him like he hadn’t seen him in seasons.

“Drink the water.” Jayfeather prodded him and Brambleclaw snapped back to reality. He glanced at his son for a moment. It was hard to think that once the ThunderClan medicine cat had been just a tiny kit in the nursery, mewling for his mother. Brambleclaw felt a rush of affection for the blind tom. I was wrong to abandon you, he thought, regret surging through him.

Then he obeyed and bent down to the Moonpool. The water was crystal clear and the closer Brambleclaw’s nose got to the water, the colder he felt, a harsh freezing sensation that carried from his face to his tail-tip. Still, he drank from the pool and the water rushed through him, filling his body with memories. He felt his eyes began to droop.

“You’re sleepy. Let it take over.” Jayfeather sounded different, unlike himself. Drowsily, Brambleclaw realized he hadn’t ever taken the time to speak to either of his children after Hollyleaf had died. His heart ached for the black she-cat; he missed her the most. The briefest thought of her made Brambleclaw want to wail like a newborn kit calling out for his mother.

Then he closed his eyes, and sleep crashed over him like a wave on the lake.

When Brambleclaw opened them, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t standing on the ground anymore. He looked down to see he was floating in midair, his feet dangling helplessly below him. Everywhere he looked, he saw stars.

“You can put your feet down, Brambleclaw.”

Brambleclaw turned, eyes widening in shock. Bluestar stood in front of him; he had not seen the ThunderClan leader in many moons before the Great Battle. She looked young and strong and happy, the opposite of how she had been when Brambleclaw had been just a kit in the nursery. She walked towards him, tail swishing happily. Starlight dotted her blue-gray pelt and her eyes shone.

“Welcome to StarClan, Brambleclaw,” she said softly, but her voice carried through the void that they stood in. As Bluestar spoke, eight other cats appeared on her sides. Brambleclaw was sure his heart must have stopped.

He recognized most of them, but before he had a chance to call out to them, Bluestar dipped her head to him. “It is an honor to be giving you your first life,” Bluestar mewed solemnly. “With this life, I give you clear sight in hopes that you may use it to lead your Clan fairly.”

She placed her nose on Brambleclaw’s head and he was thrown off balance by the force of his first life. It roared through him like a blazing fire, and he could have sworn he felt like he was drowning. This must have been what Bluestar had felt as she died, he thought.

Bluestar pulled away. Then she added, “I am sorry I was not able to do this during time with you.”

“That’s not true,” Brambleclaw said quickly. It was true, but he had too much respect for the old leader to say so.

Bluestar said nothing. She stepped back and another she-cat took her place. Her pelt was as black as night and she purred as she approached Brambleclaw. “Hollyleaf!” he breathed, his mew just barely audible.

“Brambleclaw,” she said serenely. She seemed calmer, more collected, in StarClan. More like the kit Brambleclaw remembered, before the tunnels. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I miss you,” Brambleclaw said. He wanted to speak to her, but he knew Hollyleaf only had one job tonight.

“With this life I give you justice.” Hollyleaf raised her head, and Brambleclaw thought she looked more like a leader than he would ever look. “Use it to punish those who deserve it, and look after those who look after others. Be fair in all your judgements and never be cruel,” she finished, and touched her nose to his head.

Another burning life flowed through him, although this one felt good. Brambleclaw felt himself punishing the wrongdoers and looking out for his Clan. It burned like white-hot rocks did, or as if he were looking straight into the sun. He staggered backwards, caught off guard by the force of the life.

When Hollyleaf looked at him again, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Is she thinking of Ashfur?

His daughter left. “Hollyleaf, wait!” he cried, trying to go after her. But something was keeping him in that spot, rooting him in place.

“She’ll be waiting for you.” The next voice was one Brambleclaw knew well; it was the same voice that had soothed him in the nursery and defended him against the Clan. Goldenflower padded up to him, her long body shimmering with the stars.

“With this life I give you compassion,” Goldenflower whispered. “Use it not only for your own children, but for your Clan. They are all your kin now. Love them as a parent, as a brother, as a mentor. They are your family.”

Her head came to rest on Brambleclaw’s. This life was much less painful than the last two. It felt like a fire as well, but instead of a blazing hot one, this one smoldered and burned quietly inside him. Brambleclaw knew he was feeling Goldenflower’s love- for him, for Tawnypelt, for his father, and for her Clanmates. As the fire inside him died, he stumbled and stared at Goldenflower, a cat that had risked so much for him, a cat that had held so much love inside of her.

His mother walked back to her place among the starry warriors. Brambleclaw wanted to call out to her too, but he held his tongue, and gasped as the next cat walked up.

“Sorreltail?”

The tortoiseshell molly gave him a wistful stare. “I know what you’re going to say-”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Brambleclaw blurted out, fur bristling in shock. “What- why are you here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brambleclaw.” Sorreltail purred, and her gaze turned sad. “It was my time. I’m okay with that.”

“I’m not!” Brambleclaw said indignantly. “What in the name of StarClan happened?”

“It’s not important.” Sorreltail seemed very focused on giving Brambleclaw his life. “With this life, Brambleclaw, I give you patience. As a leader, it is your job to understand your Clanmates, and to never become frustrated with them. They are your family and your responsibility.”

With that, Sorreltail put her head on top of Brambleclaw’s; he had to duck for her to do so. The life that went through him this time was calm, and soothing. This must be what patience is, Brambleclaw thought. He would do his best to watch after his Clanmates. For Sorreltail, and all the others they had lost.

The next cat to step up was one Brambleclaw admitted he had been expecting. Mousefur dipped her head to him, looking younger and livelier than he had ever remembered her in life. She was like a kit again, looking as if she were about to burst with excitement. “Mousefur,” he said warmly, coming up to the molly.

“Brambleclaw.” Even her voice was different. “Welcome.”

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Purdy misses you, you know.”

Mousefur sighed. “I know,” she said, her mew distant. “But we will meet again, in this life or the next.”

“I’m sure he would be happy to hear that.”

Mousefur shook her head. “Never mind that, I’m here to give you your life!” Her yellow eyes glowed, and Brambleclaw recognized the cat he had known since he was a little kit. “Brambleclaw, a give you a life for listening to your elders. We may be retired, but that doesn’t erase our importance. Elders carry the stories of the Clans, and without them we would never know our own history.”

Brambleclaw took a shuddering breath as Mousefur touched noses with him, and the life that passed through him left his knees shaking. His mind flashed, and he knew he was seeing the elders. There was a fire, a raging fire, and a little brown kit. That’s me. This is Patchpelt, he thought. The elder who had died in the fire that had killed Yellowfang so long ago.

Then he saw a rabbit, and his stomach growled. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of his Clanmates. But he was so hungry... if he just... ate it. This is Dappletail’s memory.

Then it was Longtail, the cat who had become an elder far to soon, and here he saw nothing. The world was black and voices beat down on him from every side; they were so overwhelming that Brambleclaw wanted to curl up and mewl like a kit.

Last he saw Purdy, and Brambleclaw realized he was fighting. He was battling against a big dark tom, and with a sudden jerk he was picked up and thrown across the camp, and then-

The memory faded. Brambleclaw stared at Mousefur, dazed. The brown molly just gazed back calmly, nodded, and went back to join the ranks of her starry Clanmates. Goodbye, Mousefur, Brambleclaw thought sadly. He didn’t know when he would see her again.

If hearts could break, he was sure his did as he saw the next cat walk up. “Ferncloud.” He wanted to run to her, the cat he had known since he was a kit, one he had grown up with.

The gray molly padded up to him, her eyes bright. “Brambleclaw,” she purred. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you to,” Brambleclaw breathed, wishing that he didn’t have to watch her leave. “Dustpelt misses you.”

“I miss him too.” Ferncloud dipped her head. “I miss him, and my kits. But I have a life to give you!” she purred. “The life I give you is for understanding that it is not just warriors who have a part to play in the Clan. Even though we may not add food to the fresh-kill pile, we raise each apprentice, each little kit, as our own. Honor the queens, Brambleclaw, for we are the ones who give you life.”

Brambleclaw let out a shuddering breath as Ferncloud’s life hit him. He had expected this one to be gentle as well, but he was surprised with the ferocity that it hit him with. He saw Ferncloud, battling for her life against Brokenstar, and Sorreltail, defeating Darkstripe. Then he saw his own mother, defending a young Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt from the Clan. You’ve all done so much for us, he thought.

But Ferncloud’s memories didn’t stop. He saw every kit that his friend had ever raised. Brambleclaw had thought it would only show her own kits, but no- he saw Spiderleg and Shrewpaw, and Squirrelflight and Leafpool, Whitewing, and then Hollykit and Larchkit who had died so young, and then Birchfall, the only surviving kit from her second litter. He saw his own kits, Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf along with Foxleap and Icecloud and Cinderheart and Honeyfern and Poppyfrost and Molepaw. He saw Blossomfall and Bumblestripe and Briarlight, and Cherrypaw and Molepaw and Amberkit, Snowkit, and Dewkit and Lilykit and Seedkit, and Brambleclaw thought he might collapse if he had to see any more.

But there was more. He felt Ferncloud’s fierce loyalty to the nursery, he felt how bravely she had defended the nursery. Brambleclaw felt her pain as she saw Hollyleaf’s unmoving body lying in the camp, her pain as the Clan had found Ashfur, her pain as they had buried Brindleface. She’s been through so much.

The memory cut to black and Brambleclaw jumped back in shock. That’s where she died, he thought.

Ferncloud said nothing, but her eyes glimmered like stars. Brambleclaw didn’t even know what to say. What could he say?

As Ferncloud padded back to her new Clanmates, another cat came up. “Feathertail.” His long-departed friend approached, starlight dappling her beautiful gray pelt. “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, my friend,” Feathertail agreed. “With this life I give you courage. Use it to guard not only your own Clan, but also all the cats who need it.” As she touched noses with him, Brambleclaw knew Feathertail was thinking about how she had given her own life for the Tribe of Rushing Water. You were the bravest of us all, he thought.

This life was a roaring, raging storm that ripped through him like claws and Brambleclaw stumbled. He knew what courage was- yes, he saw it in his Clanmates and in his leader, and in Squirrelflight and Hollyleaf. He knew it well.

As Feathertail began to walk away, he cleared his throat. “Where will you go now?” Brambleclaw’s voice faltered. He didn’t want her to leave yet.

“I walk two skies now, my friend,” Feathertail replied, turning her head. “We will see each other again.”

Brambleclaw found that a vague and rather frustrating answer, but he nodded silently and stepped back, waiting for his next life. There were only two more to go, if he was counting right. He couldn’t help but wonder who would give his last lives to him.

He couldn’t have been more surprised by who came up. The small black and white cat looked up at him, and Brambleclaw was surprised. He had never been this small in life. He always remembered looking up at the apprentice. “Swiftpaw,” he whispered, taking in the sight of his brother who had died so long ago.

“Brambleclaw,” he purred. “Clan leader. Who would have thought?” His voice was young and high, but Swiftpaw sounded so much wiser.

“I certainly wouldn’t have.” He kneaded at the starry ground, still feeling awkward. It was as if there was no floor; it was unnatural. “I wish you’d been here.”

Swiftpaw said nothing, but moved forward to touch noses with him. “With this life I give you mentoring,” he said. “Raise each apprentice to be the best warriors they can be.” Then he paused. “I gave this life to another leader, a long time ago.”

Brambleclaw gasped. Firestar? he thought, and looked around for the leader.

But he had forgotten about the life Swiftpaw was about to give him in his shock, and he was pushed back by the force of it.

His vision blurred and suddenly Brambleclaw was standing in his brother’s paws, snarling at a huge, vicious dog. Through the corner of his eye he saw Brightheart, a much younger Brightheart, standing next to him.

There was a growl and a clamp of jaws and it was over.

Brambleclaw stumbled, reeling from the force of the life. “Brother...” he panted, at a loss for words. Swiftpaw’s death had been so terrible, so brutal. But the apprentice didn’t respond.

“One more life to go,” was all he said before joining StarClan once more. Brambleclaw didn’t even get a reply.

Only one to go! And Brambleclaw was sure he knew it would be.

He had expected it, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised when a familiar flame-colored tom weaved his way through the warriors of StarClan. He was much bigger and stronger than he had been in the moons leading up to his death. The ginger tom looked like Brambleclaw remembered him as an apprentice.

“My apprentice,” said Firestar warmly. “My deputy.”

“Firestar.” Brambleclaw’s voice was thick with emotion. He had missed his mentor more than he could say. He saw Jayfeather raise his head at the edge of the starry clearing, staring straight at them. “Are you here to give me my last life.”

“Yes, I am,” Firestar said, his forest-green eyes glistening. “My life is a life for nobility.”

Nobility. Brambleclaw exhaled softly, watching Firestar continue.

“Long ago, I had an apprentice,” Brambleclaw’s former leader began. He had no idea who Firestar was talking about. “She was a bright, energetic cat, and I trusted her with my life, even after she was no longer my apprentice.”

He’s talking about Cinderpelt. Brambleclaw leaned forward, intrigued. A storm of emotions raged inside him, making him shake at the feet.

“Afterwards, I mentored my own kin. And despite his shortcomings as an apprentice, he is one of the finest warriors I’ve ever had the honor of knowing.” Firestar was talking about his nephew, Cloudtail. Brambleclaw frowned. What was the point of his speech?

“As I mentored Cloudtail, I met a young cat who looked far too much like someone I knew.” Brambleclaw held his breath. He’s talking about me.

Firestar’s eyes rose to meet his, expression stony. “And I held that against him. Yes... I did. I held that against him for a long time, until he was faced with a choice. A choice to join his father, who looked so much like him, or to stay and fight for his Clan. And he chose the second one.”

“I should have seen it then.” Firestar’s mew was hollow. “But I didn’t, not fully. It wasn’t until I had gone on my quest, named him after his father. I didn’t realize until he brought us to our new home. And I realized that what a good leader he was.” Firestar paused. “And I couldn’t blame him for hesitating to kill me on the lake that sunset. I would have killed a cat who had never trusted me.”

Brambleclaw was shaking. How could he tell Firestar that he blamed himself for that day, for that life Hawkfrost’s fox trap had taken from him? How his hesitation was the reason Firestar wasn’t with them anymore.

“What are you saying?” Brambleclaw asked thickly.

“I’m sorry, Brambleclaw. I’m so, so sorry.”

Brambleclaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re sorry? For what?”

“For never trusting you. For being so foolish. You’re one of the noblest cats I’ve ever known.” Firestar’s voice was shaking.

“No.” It was so sudden that Brambleclaw hadn’t even known he had said it. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“What?” Firestar didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“I’m not noble,” Brambleclaw hung his head. “I spent most of the past few seasons avoiding my responsibilities, as a father, as a deputy, as a mate. And I’m sorry.”

Firestar didn’t say anything, just listened.

“You’re the noblest warrior I’ve ever known, Firestar,” Brambleclaw murmured. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t be half the cat you were.”

Firestar still said nothing, just touched his nose to his former apprentice’s.

The life that rushed through him was Firestar’s. It was all his.

First Brambleclaw was a little kit, sitting on the fence of a Twoleg nest. He was looking out at the forest, his paws itching to jump into the trees. Then he was fighting a younger Longtail, one that could see and he beat him. And there was Bluestar, and with a shudder Brambleclaw recognized his own father. As he followed Firestar’s life, he saw Silverstream, Feathertail’s mother, dying. And Cinderpelt in the medicine den with Yellowfang, who he had only known for a few moons. And then Cloudtail, and Sandstorm and Firestar rushing to rescue him.

And with a startle, Brambleclaw saw himself, a tiny, mewling kit hanging from a tree, with flames rising up around them. He jumped out to grab Bramblekit and carried him out of the camp. The scene changed, and Brambleclaw was watching his own apprentice ceremony, and Sandstorm’s anger. Then there was Stonefur’s terrible death, and now Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan with Tigerstar.

Brambleclaw watched as Scourge ripped every single life from Tigerstar, and felt Firestar’s shock. He watched in horror as Bone crushed Whitestorm, the most loyal of Firestar’s warriors, and saw Graystripe’s appointment to deputy. Then there was a long pause, and Firestar was leader of the Clan, finding out that Squirrelpaw and Brambleclaw had disappeared. He watched as ThunderClan had fallen apart- Brambleclaw saw Dappletail die, and then Hollykit and Larchkit and Shrewpaw. He felt Firestar’s agony as Graystripe was captured, his sadness as the Clans left the forest and Ravenpaw, Firestar’s other closest friend.

But there was also happiness. Brambleclaw was still in Firestar’s body, giving Squirrelpaw her warrior name and making Birchpaw an apprentice.

But the sadness came again, as Cinderpelt died and Graystripe was declared dead and he was bleeding out on the beach... bleeding, bleeding... and Brambleclaw saw a dark brown shape standing over him. Two of them. Panic rose up in him as the throbbing in his throat worsened. I’m going to die here, he thought.

But he didn’t die.

Brambleclaw, still in Firestar’s paws, watched three little kits stumble into camp, golden, gray, and black. He felt Firestar’s pride as he watched his kin, but also his hesitation. There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws. Then his body broke out into a coughing fit. This is the greencough. And then Sol appeared, his menacing eyes staring right into Brambleclaw.

And there was a long time of peace and happiness after that, until a shadow fell over the lake and Brambleclaw turned fearfully to see Tigerstar standing behind him.

There was a flash of lightning and Brambleclaw was released from the memory.

And it had pretty much confirmed it for him, that Firestar was the noblest cat he had ever known.

But Firestar seemed to make no comment about what Brambleclaw had said before. The flame-pelted tom stood up tall. “I hail you by your new name, Bramblestar. Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of ThunderClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

Bramblestar! The rest of the cats broke into cheers of his new name. Bramblestar turned to his leader.

“Go well, Bramblestar,” Firestar murmured. “I will be with you, always.”

#brambleclaw #bramblestar #firestar #jayfeather #hollyleaf #goldenflower #tigerstar #feathertail #ferncloud #sorreltail #mousefur #bluestar #somewhat of a fix-it #fic**#warriors #warrior cats #i wrote this in ten minutes forgive me

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saladejin · 4 years ago

Text

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me)

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :)

<< masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories.

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.”

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed.

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

~ three months later ~

“That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

TO BE CONTINUED

#jimin x reader #jimin angst #jimin smut #bgwdynamitedads #btsghostie #jimin fluff #jimin scenarios #jimin imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jimin fanfic #BTS jimin #bts fluff #bts fanfic #policeman jimin #s2l au #heavy angst #shy jimin #saladejin

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bloodletterepicness · 3 years ago

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Stormy nights...

Thunder roared overhead loud enough to vibrate to the bone, lightning reached out to all corners blazing in the night sky and the rain felt like jagged rocks pelting against my flesh. I observed it all, taking it in like fuel being added to an already explosive inferno. I fed off every tremble, my black gloved fingers flexed around my blade like a caress. There were two things that I could depend on, my brothers and the steal that I was presently holding.

I wasn’t on patrol but I couldn’t be inside either and yet the idea of being around others, was a hard fucking no. My adrenaline was on hyper drive and every one of my senses were riding high. I had the craving to spill a fuck load of black oily filth and no, I obviously had no fucking intention on taking backup with me. I mean come on, all I was really doing, was taking a night stroll through the city. It’s not my fault if I by chance run into some pale bastards and dispose of them...Hell, I’m just being a good Motherfucking samaritan.

The one thing that I hadn’t planned on, was Mother Nature being a bitch tonight. Before I had Dematted from the Pit, I checked all that standard shit and the night skies were clear. But I wasn’t pissed, my insides felt like a raging storm. Mother Nature and myself were of the same mind this evening.

My shitkickers stalked through the back alleyways. I was staying far away from pesky humans. Those fuckers are quite irritating. The rare times that I went out amongst them, they either wanted to shit themselves or run in stark fear that I might slice and dice them. The latter was always preferable but I refrained.

It was the hairs on the back of my neck that was my first warning then I inhaled and the second one came in sweetly scented. I had to tamp down on the surge that coursed through or else my diamond eyes would be shooting out lasers....Okay so maybe I enjoyed fighting more than the average brother. Don’t fucking judge.

I had a permanent smirk on my face and it was just enough lip action to reveal the lethal fangs that had punched further down.

“Looks like the village idiots are out and about...Yay for me.”

We all had our hobbies, I just got lucky as fuck that mine was beneficial to our people and at that moment, I hit the jackpot. There were three that filled up the opening of the alley, but I could feel so many more on the horizon.

I stopped, letting them come to me. What can I say, I like shit like that. You know, that whole control thing of mine. It was amusing to see the expressions on each of their faces. They were chalk full of confidence and positive this was their night. It pleased me much that I would be the being, to dispel them of all this good fortune.

My head cocked to the side a little, eyeing them as a whole and then it was the one an inch taller, standing center of the other two that spoke first. ‘We were looking for a party. I guess we found it.’ Dumb and dumber chimed in with their own very non fucking genuine puns, laughing and thinking they were the cat that got the canary. There was no amount of control that I had in me that could stop my icy eyes from rolling almost to the back of my skull and coming around again. They took my silence for fear and decided it was a good idea to advance on me all at once. Too bad for them, that everything about their minds were transparent to me and in a mere blink I dematted from their game of ring around the rosey and came to form right behind their spokesman. There was a collective gasp and then my blade slicing directly across his adams apple, added a more enjoyable sound of blood gargled groans and pleas. In that moment I became a top notched dancer and was light as fuck in my shitkickers as I moved in and out between the trio, cutting and stabbing. I took my time, playing with them, taking chunks of flesh or random parts. There was always that euphoria that came when my hand and arm became an extension of my blade, they moved as one, knowing exactly what to do. It felt like it went on for minutes but in actuality it was only seconds that it took for me to take three single jabs and my dagger found its true home, piercing the place where their hearts should have been. I was surrounded in a funnel of dust as each of them vanished in almost unison.

“Never did like the lungs full of lesser junk.”

Coughs out a few heavy breaths.

“Fuck…”

I moved away from the dying particles as I straightened my jacket, holstered my knife and for this next scene I had a desire to hear some beats. They were closing in, that sick scent mingled in my lungs with the vanishing remnants of the previous three. I slid the earbuds in and let the lyrics of ‘Papa Roach, Kick in the teeth’ blare into my ears.

‘We live in a cold dark world with venom in its fangs.

You can spit it in my face but I know I'll be OK, It's on the attack. It's a war, it's a game. A ball and chain chew my arm off to get away. Don't fight, or deny it, invite it 'cause when it feels like a kick in the teeth, I can take it. Throw your stones and you won't see me break it. Say what you want, take your shots.

You’re setting me free with one more kick in the teeth…’

An unnaturally savage grin split my lips as the words soaked into my marrow and when the first two lesser flew at me out of nowhere, I was beyond ready...I craved the attack. I needed the fight. My leather encased hand came up, grabbing one fucker by the back of the head and rammed his skull into the grimy steel dumpster. The second I released him, I went in on the other dumb bastard that thought he had a chance when he advanced on me. I stretched my arm out, and way too easily caught him, closing my fingers around his throat, taking pure fucking pleasure in the few seconds that I allowed myself to watch his eyes widen and start to bulge as I increased pressure . Apparently that was enough time for the other pale fuck to get back on his feet and try for a rear attack. I almost fucking laughed as I heard the rush behind me and I gladly assisted in close lining him and only when he was not so happily lying near to his pale buddy, did I play out the lyrics that were presently screaming in my head ‘What doesn't kill me only,

Will make me stronger in my head. In my head.’ I reared my shitkicker back and let it come forward with all my force, kicking the lesser straight in the teeth until black oily blood splattered across my boot, ground and his face. It was fun to play with the two heads, alternating between them, just ramming my boot into the gaping hole that I was making in each of their faces. Call me a sick fuck, but I got hard as fucking cement as I watched their skulls turn into something unrecognizable and the bodies that were still barly connected to them, twitched and spasmed.

‘Damn, who pissed in your cheerios, Brother?’

My smirk grew by leaps and bounds when I saw Wrath come to form in front of me and I stopped and shrugged.

“You know what happens when I get bored...It’s not my fucking fault.”

#BDB #black dagger brotherhood #Vishous #V #SL #RP #2

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brindlestorm · 4 years ago

Text

My Truth or Yours

CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6

There were two bodies laid out for the vigil that night.

Featherwhisker had passed on earlier that day, likely while Tigerclaw was on patrol. With Spottedleaf being torn between caring for Bluestar and Featherwhisker, neither seemed to get the treatment they needed. Not that it was Spottedleaf’s fault of course, the molly was run haggard by trying to care for the whole clan’s ailments. She must have accidentally brought Featherwhisker’s illness to Bluestar’s den when updating her on the recovery of the other sick patients.

Not many warriors stayed out for the full vigil, half-starved and exhausted, most preferred to stay in their nests rather than braving the cold night.

Adderfang was still in the medicine den, though the old cat tried to insist he stay out with his old apprentice, he could barely make the walk into the clearing to share a few words about Thistleclaw.

Rosetail, a senior warrior and Thistleclaw’s sister tried to stay out all night, but her bones were too cold beneath her thinning fur and returned to her nest quickly, taking comfort in the warmth from the other warriors who had also chosen to sit out the vigil.

Lionheart had taken the spot on Tigerclaw’s other side. He and Goldenflower had been denmates with Thistleclaw as kits, he had shared a few stories for fallen clanmate. It was strange to think that his best friend was barely younger than his old mentor, who in turn had only been a few moons younger than their leader.

Bluestar managed to drag herself from her den in time to start the vigil, but she only performed the formalities of it before returning to her nest at Spottedleaf’s insistence, though she didn’t seem to need much convincing.

Dappletail and One-eye were prodding Goldenflower and Lionheart awake, Smallear was about to approach when Tigerclaw forced himself to his paws. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he gazed down at Thistleclaw once more, his body as cold as stone. Thistleclaw’s face was still twisted in a snarl like it was when his patrol found him, and though his eyes were dull Tigerclaw could easily imagine them alight with fury like they always were when he was in a battle.

Or was it pain that Tigerclaw saw, but masked so well that Tigerclaw saw exactly what everyone else did, an eagerness to battle left unchecked.

Lionheart bid his sister goodbye and returned to the clearing to have a meal before collecting those meant to join him on the dawn patrol while Tigerclaw ushered Goldenflower to the medicine den, with her being so close to kitting he worried that staying out all night could have been bad for her kits. She insisted she didn’t need him lurking there so he went back into the clearing in time to see off the burial.

Bluestar leapt up onto the Highrock, gathering the attention of only those who had stayed out for the vigil. There was no need to wake anyone else up before dawn. Once again, the clan thanked Thistleclaw and Featherwhisker for their services to their clan, and wished them a safe journey to Starclan. Rosetail and Patchpelt shared a look before approaching the base of Highrock.

“Bluestar?” Patchpelt called up to their leader. “Rosetail and I were talking last night and we’ve decided it’s time for us to retire.”

Rosetail nodded slowly. “Our bones ache too much in this cold, maybe I could have gone on for another season but after Thistleclaw...”

She shook her head sadly, choking on her words. “Now that my brother has passed on, I’d like to live the rest of my days in peace, sharing stories with my denmates and the young ones until Starclan calls on me as well.”

Bluestar blinked sadly but dipped her head, raising her voice, she called a clan meeting.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a clan meeting!”

The warriors shuffled out of their dens, looking around blearily, those chosen for the dawn patrol seemed the most irritated as they fluffed out their pelts against the bitter morning cold.

“Rosetail, Patchpelt. Please step forward,” Bluestar said, the gathered warriors looked curiously at the two oldest warriors among them.

“Rosetail and Patchpelt, is it your wish to give up the name of a warrior and go to join the elders?”

“It is.”

“Yes, it is.”

A gasp was heard from the medicine den and Goldenflower could be seen ducking her head back in, Patchpelt winced and looked down at his paws guiltily. But Bluestar continued the ceremony without stopping.

“Your Clan honors you and all the service you have given to us. I call upon StarClan to give you many moons of rest. May you sleep easily knowing your clan will care for you for all the coming moons, and may we continue to learn from you as you uphold our clan’s history.”

Rosetail and Patchpelt stepped forward and Bluestar came down from High Rock to rest her chin on both of their heads briefly.

“Rosetail! Patchpelt! Rosetail! Patchpelt!” The clan called out.

Dappletail and One-eye had just come through the gorse tunnel to hear the end of the ceremony, “We were wondering when you would join us! The elder’s den is sure to be warm now even if there’s a draft, it’ll be just like when we were apprentices.”

Rosetail purred and followed the two to the elder’s den, “There’s enough bedding to make two more nests, though we’ll have to be quiet, Halftail is still asleep, the lazy badger!”

Smallear snorted, “You’d better not be thinking about tearing apart my nest for them!”

Patchpelt shuffled his paws, “Uh, I’ll be in in a moment. I need to talk to Goldenflower.”

Dappletail gave him a nod, “You can have Adderfang’s old nest for now, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Patchpelt dipped his head gratefully and went to Spottedleaf’s den, Tigerclaw got up silently to follow Patchpelt, though he didn’t enter the medicine den with him, he wanted to give them some amount of privacy after all.

Though that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear the whole conversation anyway, Spottedleaf should probably get someone to reinforce the bramble walls in there.

“Goldenflower? Can we talk?”

“... What’s there to talk about?”

Tigerclaw heard Patchpelt sigh, “I’m sorry for not telling you, I just-”

“No, do not try some sorry excuse! You promised to stay a warrior with me at least until our kits become apprentices, they aren’t even born yet!”

“Goldenflower, please.” Patchpelt’s voice cracked. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just can’t keep up anymore, I’m hurting and I have been for awhile now...”

Goldenflower held back a sniffle, “Your bones are hardly older than mine.”

“Maybe, but my bones are older than our leaders!” Patchpelt joked, “And don’t worry about our kits, I’m sure that you’ll raise them just fine. And I’ll be in the elder’s den so you won’t have to worry about them not seeing me too often.”

“If anything they’ll see too much of you,” Goldenflower quipped back.

“Only when you need a break dear, elders are meant to rest after all!”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Tigerclaw had decided to take a quarter moon off from his duties, allowing Ravenpaw to tag along with Dustpaw and Sandpaw for training sessions. Now he was leading a small hunting patrol just beyond their borders. Darkstripe and Brindleface had paired off earlier which left Tigerclaw with...

“You’ve been avoiding talking to me, want to talk about it?”

Tigerclaw snorted and kept his nose to the ground, “Hardly, now be quiet, we’re supposed to be hunting, remember?”

His hunting partner sat down beside him with a loud huff, Tigerclaw’s eye twitched when he saw the water vole he had been tracking disappear into the ferns.

“Hard to hunt when my partner won’t communicate with me.”

“Then hunt by yourself and stop scaring off my catches.” He replied shortly, stalking away from the irritating white tom.

“Talk to me, we haven’t shared prey in ages. Just tell me what I did wrong!”

Tigerclaw stopped walking and flexed his claws into the dirt, taking a deep breath before facing the other tom.

“Why didn’t you stay for the vigil, Whitestorm? He was your father, you didn’t even say anything during the ceremony!”

“... Oh, is that it? Tigerclaw, you know that my father and I have never agreed on well... anything before.”

“So, what? You just forgot he was your kin?” Tigerclaw spat back.

Whitestorm’s pelt bristled, “Of course not! We had an argument not long ago and I was in shock, okay?”

“An argument is no reason to skip out on your father’s vigil!”

“I know that! I-” Whitestorm’s words were caught in his throat. “He asked me to join him in a raid on twolegplace, he wanted to attack kittypets in their nests! We haven’t had an issue with kittypets in moons, he told me himself he was just bored and wanted to fight someone!”

“Was he bored? Or was he trying to reach out to his only kin?”

“What are you talking about?”

Tigerclaw glared at his paws, trying to not to let his emotions overwhelm him. “I think... I think Thistleclaw is dead because of me.” he whispered.

“... That’s a load of fox-dung. Thistleclaw is dead because-”

“Because we never noticed how much he was hurting.” Tigerclaw cut Whitestorm off.

“Why in Starclan’s name do you think that you’re to blame?”

Tigerclaw didn’t answer for a moment, instead staring up at the foliage in the trees. “You know, Bluestar mentioned, back when she was Bluefur, that leaf-fall was Snowfur’s favorite season. Do you remember that?”

Whitestorm blinked sadly, but smiled at the fond memories that came back to him, “I remember. The few times Snowfur left the nursery, she would come back with pretty leaves she found. You always ended up shredding them by accident.”

Tigerclaw purred, “I did, I felt bad every time too, but she also died in leaf-fall. Thistleclaw used to love leaf-fall because it was Snowfur’s favorite. Or at least that’s what my mother told me.”

Whitestorm frowned. “Thistleclaw has never been happy during leaf-fall, not that I can remember.”

“And why do you think that is?”

It didn’t take Whitestorm long to puzzle it out, “You really think? After all this time...”

“He never once stopped thinking about her,” Tigerclaw affirmed, resting his tail on his friend’s shoulders.

“So what does any of that have to do with you blaming yourself for his death?” Whitestorm asked, back to the point of the matter.

“... He indirectly insulted Ravenpaw’s idea to keep our prey to fed. He said that ‘hare-brained ideas like that’ must run in Bluestar’s family, so I asked him if he thought Snowfur was hare-brained.”

Whitestorm let out a breath, “That... definitely crosses a line,” he agreed.

Tigerclaw immediately jumped to the defensive. “Of course I don’t think your mother was hare-brained! And I didn’t mean to upset him when I said it, I was more focused on Ravenpaw. I didn’t want Thistleclaw heckling him later about it, my apprentice gets enough of that from his denmates.”

“Peace, Tigerclaw. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just... Maybe if I hadn't said that, if I hadn't brought her up, he wouldn’t have felt the need to blow off steam by fighting with Riverclan.”

“And I should have realized he was trying to reconnect with me, even if it was in the only way he knew how.”

Tigerclaw stared up at the sky, even though it would be sometime before the sun would come out and reveal the stars, he found himself searching still. Whitestorm leaned against his shoulder and sighed.

“He may have been a grouch, but he was still our father.”

“Our father?”

Whitestorm shrugged, “We’ve been as close as brothers for as long as I can remember, and I know you looked up to him as a father figure after...”

“I get it, you don’t have to say it.”

“Sorry,”

“It’s fine, it's in the past now.”

The silence stretched between them for several heart-beats.

“Would you like to visit his grave before we return to camp? I saw some snow-drops we could leave for him.”

“I’d like that, thank you Whitestorm.”

“I owe him that much at least, I’m sorry for not being there.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure he understands.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t understand.”

It was nightfall by the time the two got back to camp with their catches, they stayed longer than they had meant to by Thistleclaw’s grave. Sharing memories they had of him, the good and the bad, like their own little vigil to make up for the one Whitestorm had missed.

They didn’t expect to find two more bodies laid out for vigil.

Patchpelt was crying silently next to his father’s body, Rosetail and Dappletail doing their best to comfort the new elder while One-eye washed the lavender into his pelt to prep him for the night’s vigil.

Bluestar was openly weeping next to Thrushpelt’s body, whispering over and over, wondering why Starclan had taken him as well. Lionheart and Goldenflower lay next to her, pressed up on either side to keep her steady.

Spottedleaf ended up leading the vigil that night.

Tigerclaw felt himself spiralling, was it their fault that the two elder’s died? If they had returned sooner, given the elder’s something to eat, would they have lived through leafbare?

Whitestorm bunted his head against Tigerclaw’s. “Hey, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t go blaming yourself for this, okay? Darkstripe and Brindleface got back long before us with fresh-kill, they may not have been able to keep it down anyway.”

“So much death...”

“So much death,” Bluestar unknowingly echoed from her place next to Thrushpelt. “So many deaths in such a short amount of time, will Thunderclan even survive to see the end of leafbare? Could this be the end of us?”

“Don’t say that,” Redtail chided her. “We’ve faced worse, I know it looks bad but I promise we’ll make it out okay. We’ll see Thunderclan through to the golden ages yet, I just know it.”

“I pray to Starclan that you’re right, Redtail.”

“Of course I’m right, have I ever led you wrong before?”

“Of course not, forgive me Redtail, it’s been a hard moon for us all.”

The leader and deputy’s conversation faded out as Tigerclaw gouged deep scores into the earth beneath his paws. Redtail. How could he forget? That traitorous no good fox-heart!

Tigerclaw’s head shot up.

Redtail had been working with Shadowclan for moons, giving up their prey and Starclan knows what else! Could Redtail be responsible for the food shortage?

If Redtail hadn’t been giving their prey to Shadowclan, those sick with green-cough would still be alive.

Featherwhisker would be alive.

Robinwing and Fuzzypelt would be alive.

Windflight would be alive.

Adderfang would be alive.

Thrushpelt would be alive.

Thistleclaw would be alive.

Tigerclaw curled up tighter next to Whitestorm and Patchpelt, eyes squeezed shut in rage. All of this was Redtail’s fault, it had to be!

He wouldn’t wait to bring it up to Bluestar, he knew he’d sound mad if he tried. No, Tigerclaw would deal with Redtail himself.

No matter the cost.

----------------------------------------------------------------

This chapter was meant to be filler, but it ended up being the catalyst chapter, who knew?

Please please please comment down below!

#warriors #brindle writes #my truth or yours #I'll update the links later #Tigerclaw #Whitestorm #Goldenflower #bluestar #redtail #uuuuuuuh basically everyone pre tpb lol #any cats who haven't been mentioned in this story that are alive in Bluestar's Prophecy but aren't in ITW #are probably dead already #oh and in case it wasn't clear #Tiger blames Red for Thistle's death #because if there wasn't a food shortage #they wouldn't have had to look elsewhere for food #so their argument may not have happened #he's grasping at mouse-tails right now

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lokispettigerr · 5 years ago

Text

To Summon A Witcher: Geralt x Reader Chapter 1 (NSFW) Smut

Summary: Reader lives and works in one of the most romantic cities in the US, Charleston, SC. However, because of the city's colored past, romance isn’t the only thing that can be found there– it is said that ghosts, goblins, ghouls and the like make the city their home. When Reader meets one of these creatures she has to get the help of someone not quite so human in order to be free, but he frees her from much more than she ever expected.

Taglist: In reblog

Word Count: 1769

Warnings: This shit spooky, fam. Graveyard, and corpse mention.

A/N: This is the first-ever Geralt fic I have written. I hope you enjoy it! Leave me your thoughts in the comments or in an ask!

“Yeah, it’s this huge guy with stark-white hair, golden eyes, and seriously, a body that could pick me up and snap me like a twig,” I told my best friend, Genny.

“Sounds hot. I’m not sure I understand where this is a problem?” She swirled the coffee mug around, stirring up the settled liquid in her latte. “I mean, unless you are waking up to find that these dreams with the ‘Daddy-white-haired-tree-man’ are really wet dreams that soak your covers through… I could see that as being a problem.” She laughed a musical beautiful laugh. I danced around her comment, not wanting her to know how I felt when I woke up from the dreams of the mysterious man or the nature of some of the dreams which truly did feature bare skin, hard muscle, and moans that rang out in unison.

“Genny, I have never seen this man before in my life, yet he has been in every dream I have had for months now. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Sure, but you’ve had to have seen him somewhere.” She looked around us now, glancing all about the outside patio of the coffee shop that was nestled between a bakery and a uniquities store. People were milling about, their arms full of shopping bags or clutching briefcases or talking on their cell phones. “Honestly, I want to see this guy.” Genny licked her lips. “Maybe he is nearby right now,” she whispered, “Either that or he was the main stud on some porn. Yeah, that’s likely it.”

I stared at her blankly. Why did everything have to come back to sex? I mean, to be fair things always came back to sex for the both of us and this was likely one of the reasons why we enjoyed each other's company so much, but this was serious. Dreams mean something, or so my mother taught me to believe. And I couldn’t help but think that the man in my dreams had something to do with my current predicament. After all, they had started shortly after things took a turn for the worse.

I’d felt it on more than one occasion, and lately with the way things were going whatever beasty was following me seemed to only be growing stronger.

It had first started on a cold, wet day. The rain had been steadily falling for more than a week, but that day the wind was stirring maddeningly and there had been a tornado warning.

When the storm began I was at work and after the numerous alerts and warnings, me and my coworkers were all told it would be best if we left. In my rush, I dashed out of the door with only my keys.

I had forgotten my bag and my phone and all the contents that I had slowly collected over the years and kept in a satchel as a sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits and the like that seemed to want to attach themselves to me.

The satchel contained an odd assortment of things: a small vial of salt, a clay statue with its own strikingly unusual appearance, a stone of jet, a globe of labradorite, and the tooth of a black cat that all helped me to feel safe, to be protected and to walk unnoticed throughout the world-- at least in the realm of those things not living.

From childhood, I noticed shadows, without shape or form. Most of the time they were harmless. As I grew older, I became more aware of other creatures and entities. The shadows would go from playful to predatorial.

I quickly grew scared and when my mother found out she took me to see a children’s therapist. The apparitions did not stop, they poured forth latching onto my fears, my desperation and hopelessness. It was as if I had become a house for them to dwell within.

I became haunted.

I passed through the hands of multiple therapists, too many to even count. None of them could help me. I was a child becoming a teen that was out of their depth. They either pitied me, despised me, or feared me.

Eventually, my mother heard tell of a spiritual healer, who was no more than a witch, yet she was the only one who could help.

Instead of claiming that I was delusional or sick, the healer praised me for my abilities and told my mother I was gifted, however, the healer sensed the dark energies threatening to consume me and crafted the satchel that had been blessed and enchanted with wards to keep me safe.

And from then on, I carried it with me wherever I went.

That is, until the day the tornado hit.

I’d left work feeling hopeful that I would make it home before the storm became dangerous. But the further I went, the harder the storm raged. I lived in an aged and historic town and was lucky enough to be within walking distance from my work. A few blocks and I would have been home.

I dashed through the rain, taking care not to slip and hurt myself. My keys jangled loudly against my hip.

Rainwater was pelting my eyes and I had trouble seeing. I was soaked. Lightning flashed while thunder rumbled threateningly.

If I would have left a few minutes earlier from my work maybe things would have been different.

If I would have not forgotten my purse with the enchanted satchel within maybe things would be better for me.

Being a human means making human mistakes and mistakes breed consequences that are not often too kind.

I’d rounded a corner at the French district, splashing through puddles when I came to the wrought iron, overgrown with ivy and tangled weeds, entrance of the graveyard.

People often said the graveyard was haunted, cursed.

There were ghost walks and spirit tours that brought groups of people to this very cemetery so they could “Oooo” and “Aahhh” and romanticize about all the horrific deeds that had taken place here. They would return home or to their inns or their taverns and tell the stories they had heard over a beer with a friend, or sitting in front of their fireplace, or tucked into a cool bed on a winter night.

The locals all knew this cemetery was bad news, nothing good ever came of it except for the endless revenue of the ghost tours that the cemetery enticed.

I planned to continue on down the block, straight past the graveyard, but a harsh streak of lightning cut through the sky overhead and thunder cracked so loudly I could feel it deep within my very bones.

Though I cringed at the thought, I knew that if I cut through the graveyard I would be home in half the time.

I gulped and with a look of harsh determination on my face, I ran into the graveyard, pushing my body through the gate.

It closed behind me with a harsh clang, but I continued.

I wasn’t interested in taking my time like some of the tourists do when they come here to meander and ponder while they look at the ancient graves, too old to even have names or dates on them, or too overgrown with tangled foliage for anything to be made out.

There was a worn path beneath my feet, and the rainwater had caused it to be treacherously slick with red clay mud. It threatened to be surpassed and covered in its entirety by tall and leggy green weeds. They slapped relentlessly at my calves and thighs as I ran through.

The weeds made me run blindly. I thought if I stayed on the path it was safest, but I was wrong.

My foot caught on a thick, twisting root that lay horizontally before me. It snaked from one set of graves to another, likely gaining nourishment from the rotting corpses underneath the ground.

I fell, catching myself on the heels of my hands. My pants leg was ripped open and a sharp, sudden pain could be felt above my knee.

I sat up, thoroughly covered in mud and grime from the cemetery, my hair completely soaked through, my clothes stuck against my skin and inspected the gaping wound above my knee. It wouldn’t need stitches, but as soon as I got home I would have to place some butterfly bandages on the wound, or it was sure to leave an ugly scar.

A wet warmth spread along the skin of my knee as my pants soaked up the blood that was pouring forth.

Just then the wind gushed maddeningly, causing the trees in the graveyard to sway and the grey Spanish moss to dance. The trees creaked and groaned with their movement.

Nearby I heard a clicking noise and I couldn’t place it to anything natural. I shifted, sitting up straight, remaining still so I could hear whatever the noise belonged to.

A shadow crossed my periphery and I turned my head towards the movement.

Whatever it was, was using the headstones to hide and shifting between them, manipulating the shadows of the graves to appear “natural”.

But the feeling of dread I had that I often associated with the shadow beings from my past was all too familiar.

My hands fumbled around for my purse. I would grab the enchanted draw-string satchel and would put an end to this shadow thing coming after me.

It was then, I realized my mistake. I had left my purse at work.

“Shit!”

The clicking grew louder and before me, the shadow began to take form.

I knew I couldn’t turn around. All I could do now was keep moving forward, towards home-- towards safety.

The shadow-being before me darkened, swirling and shifting menacingly, and I rose to my feet charging through it.

When I passed through its still collecting form, I felt a cold that seeped into my bones and gripped with a deadly claw around the deepest parts of my being. It was as if, in doing that it knew me. Everything about me.

My darkest desires, my deepest fears, my hopes and my failures.

I ran from the storm.

I ran from the graveyard.

I ran from the shadow that threatened to abolish me.

Things have been a nightmare since and the depression I was treated for long ago with the help of the spiritual healer is slowly lurking back.

I am certain the shadow beast followed me home, and what I am most uncertain of is how to get rid of it.

**** Hope you all enjoyed chapter 1! Please get this fic out into the tumblr verse by reblogging, commenting, and even sending asks if you feel like it! If you would like to support me head on over to my Patreon where you will get access to my fics before anywhere else and much more! Or fuel me with Ko-fi! Until next time! Peace, Loki’s Pet Tiger

#geralt fanfic #geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt lemons #geralt smut #lpt #geralt fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill geralt #henry cavill fanfiction

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calitraditionalism · 4 years ago

Text

Arc Two: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

As Littlepaw was having her history lesson, the edge of the stone settlement an hour away saw Darkpelt grooming herself in the sun.

It was a little useless, she was free to admit. No matter how much she cleaned her already spotless pelt, she always carried the dusty scent of the Versant family. She thought it was a nice smell – had a faint adventurousness to it that stirred curiosity in the heart – but it wasn’t helpful for her job. Having absolutely no scent at all was infinitely better; the difficult part was that the plants that could smother that smell generally did not smell themselves, meaning that even she had a hard time finding them. So she had to resort to continuous grooming and occasionally jumping into a nearby stream.

That all said, it was a good way to spend time while she considered her next move, so on she went, tongue rasping over her shoulder fur as she plotted.

The boys were a great deal more useful than she had expected, and together they had collected some useful information about Redheart and her goals… but it didn’t feel like it was enough. They knew she didn’t like StarClan and that she wanted to leave the Territory. That was good and all, but they didn’t have any thorough details on what her exact plans were and how long they had before they needed to intercept.

Besides, there was more to this situation than had been discovered – things that no one was aware of except Redheart. There wasn’t much basis or proof for that thought. There didn’t need to be. Darkpelt’s intuition had not led her wrong before.

What they really needed to do, she thought, was get more information on Greyleaf’s involvement. Even Mistface had barely had a chance to talk to him after all this time. Perhaps that was deliberate on his brother’s part. But, then again, Darkpelt was aware of how close the two had been all of their lives leading up to this point. It didn’t make much sense for Greyleaf to be actively avoiding Mistface. Perhaps he knew something too, and-

“Oh, there you are.”

Darkpelt paused, tongue sticking out, and looked around uselessly, as if she couldn’t smell and hear the cat to her right and a bit behind her. She made a show of sniffing the air, then rotated her position until she was facing the cat.

“Here I am,” she said, as friendly as was appropriate. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Darkpelt,” the cat said. “I heard about how you handled Starkfeather being a prick to Littlepaw.”

“Ohhh, that.” Darkpelt lifted a paw and waved it dismissively. “Yes, that was me. Is she doing alright?”

She kept her tone casual and her face smiley, but mentally she winced. Coming to the apprentice’s defense and catching the attention of an entire crowd had not been wise. She had risked blowing her cover in the long run – now everyone there knew that there was a blind cat around who was ready to talk smack to a seer, of all people. She was a thought, however small, in many minds. If she wanted to sneak around, she had to contest with that.

It had been fun, of course, but still.

“She actually left a while ago with some of your friends to visit the Vultures,” said this cat that Darkpelt now figured was Littlepaw’s friend, Flyfang. “So, yeah! She’s doing fine.” There was a sneaky amusement in the molly’s voice. “She told me you offered to teach her to swear.”

“Lies!” Darkpelt dropped her jaw and moved her paw to rest over her chest. “I would never teach a kid to swear. I just extended an invitation to help her learn to stand up for herself, that’s all.” She winked. “Of course, whatever she overhears me say when I’m not talking to her, that’s her business to take or dismiss.”

Flyfang laughed. “I can’t say I’d be any better about that. What she must have heard me say the entire time we’ve been here…”

She paused, and her fur shifted rapidly, like she had shaken herself. “Well, to my point – I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for what you did.”

Darkpelt blinked, surprised.

“Littlepaw’s a good kid,” Flyfang went on. “She can be sensitive, though, especially on her own. If I’m not there to stand by her, she’s as meek as she was before we met. She’s great, but… she wouldn’t stand up for herself if she’d been alone.” Flyfang cleared her throat. “Yeah, basically, thank you. It meant a lot to her – your offer and you speaking up. So it means a lot to me, too.”

Darkpelt had no idea how to respond. She was generally considered unpleasant company; as a result, she did not recollect a time where someone was genuinely thankful and appreciative of her actions beyond her services in spy work. Usually she just antagonized others and laughed about it.

Well. First time for everything.

She felt her smile level out into something more real (and self-conscious) than her usual mocking grin. “She is a good kid. I haven’t talked with her much, of course, but I can hear her playing with those two other apprentices sometimes. I can’t imagine some punk thinking it would be a good idea to pick on her.” She fumbled a little in her mind, trying to think of what else to say, and she came up with, “I appreciate the thanks.”

Flyfang shifted, and in her own uncertainty Darkpelt couldn’t tell if she too was feeling awkward or not. “I was going to ask, actually – what are you doing here to begin with? You can’t really get into fights… well, not physical ones.”

“You underestimate my power,” Darkpelt said. Her grin returned. “Though I just came here to witness the chaos Redheart’s about to cause. It’s too good to miss out on.”

“It does get pretty chaotic here already.” Flyfang laughed again. “You’ve heard all the crazy things that happen. Fights, arguments, everything.”

Darkpelt waved her tail with a practiced merriment, seizing the opportunity to change the course of the conversation. “And from what I’ve heard myself, you’re the resident champion in those fights.”

She could feel Flyfang puffing out her chest. “I win a fight or two, sure.” There was a loaded pause, and then Flyfang continued, “Redheart told me I’m the perfect warrior to help protect whatever cats come with her.”

“Oh!” Darkpelt tilted her head, ears perked. “Then you’re leaving too?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Flyfang suddenly sounded quieter, and not because of some sweet gossip she wanted to share. “I have a couple cats I’d like to take with me, if I do. They’re not ready to go yet. Apprentices, you know.”

Darkpelt hummed sympathetically. “As far as I can tell with Redheart, I think she’d be willing to wait for them. She seems nice enough.” A thought came to her mind, and she took a gamble on it. “I’m surprised she doesn’t just become a leader and do whatever she wants once she’s there.”

“That’s true,” Flyfang said thoughtfully. “And she’d have nine lives to get it all done, right?”

“I don’t want nine lives.”

Darkpelt jumped and looked around wildly before settling on the source of Redheart’s voice. Somehow, they had let her sneak up on them.

“Why not?” Flyfang asked, completely oblivious to Darkpelt’s surprise, thank the stars.

Redheart didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low and dark. “I’m not interested in the price for them.”

“Alright, I guess.” Flyfang sounded a bit bemused. “You sure do like to talk cryptically.”

“Things will be cleared up once we’re out of the Territory,” Redheart said simply. Before Flyfang could respond, she turned to Darkpelt. “I just came by to make sure you two are doing alright. I heard about Starkfeather’s behavior, and the argument.”

Great. Now Redheart was properly aware of her.

Darkpelt just nodded. “I’m sure he’ll back off from here. I gave him quite the lashing!”

“So I was told.” Redheart sounded like she was hiding some amusement herself. “But you are well? Nothing to see a healer over, no problems in camp?”

“Nope,” said Flyfang. “We’re all good. Or I am, at least.”

“I’m fine too,” Darkpelt said pleasantly. “I appreciate you checking in, at least, ma’am.”

Redheart didn’t respond. Presumably, she had nodded. Darkpelt heard her take a breath, but that faint shaky voice of Greyleaf’s called for her, cutting her off.

Paws carried the speaker closer. “Sorry, we’ve just got an argument. Snowshine wants you to come help resolve it.”

“Speartalon again?” Redheart said.

“No, Vireoberry and Peregrinefang.” Greyleaf sighed. “They’re not happy with the newcomers, as usual.”

Redheart made a noise with a mood that Darkpelt couldn’t quite decipher. “Show me the way.” To Darkpelt and Flyfang, she added, “Let me know if anything troubles you two.”

“Will do."

“Yeah, same.”

With that, pawsteps, and they faded away. In the distance, Darkpelt could faintly hear angry voices.

“It’s really been getting more contentious around here since Redheart’s been gathering cats,” Flyfang remarked. “I mean, there’s always some conflict going on, but I’m sure it’s not usually this bad.”

“Has anyone been annoyed with you and Littlepaw?” Darkpelt asked, more for information than curiosity. This could be useful to establish a timeline, if she needed it.

“No, we got here just before the masses.” Flyfang sounded a little irritated herself. “I get where they’re coming from, at least. The whole purpose of this place is to be rough-and-tumble and get into fights. Half of the cats that arrived are totally disinterested. And honestly? Kind of punks about it.”

Darkpelt nodded, letting Flyfang continue. She started going on about some specific cats that had been poor guests in the settlement, but Darkpelt only half paid attention. The rest of her was focused on this note of conflict between the potential deserters and the natives.

The main thing that this implied was that Redheart didn’t have a lot of time before tensions rose too high and cats were forced to leave. If Darkpelt was right, then the natural conclusion was this:

She and the boys needed to gather more information fast. They had a brief period left to discover everything they could before Redheart walked away from the Territory. And they were missing something, Darkpelt could feel it.

What did that mean, she wondered, "the price”?

#warrior cats #steorra #arc two #chapter #chapter nine #darkpelt #redheart #flyfang #greyleaf

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hyungbean · 6 years ago

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I’m Not Ready | Endgame

“Whatever It Takes”

One-Shot: Angst

Synopsis: Vormir always seemed like a nice place to die.

Pairing: Avengers X Younger!Reader

(Made little tweaks to the original plot of the movie)

flashback:

Helicarrier , 2012

Your POV:

“Look! It’s the star spangled man with a plan.”

Steve turned around rolling his eyes playfully. We had just captured Loki and after many failed attempts, beside from Natasha, to get information out of him, we let him be for a little. I had this terrible feeling that something wasn’t right. The god of mischief himself, giving himself up so easily, and well— not being mischievous? I can’t do math and I know that none of this adds up. But according to Bruce his mind is a bag of cats and you could practically, “smell crazy on him” so we just left the subject alone.

“Y/N.” The captain smiled at me. We were now currently walking down some hallways probably making our way to the lab to see Bruce and Tony. Steve and I had met only hours ago, but I felt a sense of trust towards him.

“Are you nervous?” The captain stopped in his tracks when hearing my sudden question and turned to me.

“For what?”

“The fight. Loki still has an army behind him, it’s inevitable really.”

“I’m not quite sure actually, you?” I smile but it falters a little. “Yeah... yeah actually. I know that I’m a lot younger than you guys and have a lot less experience. I just— I- I’m afraid of dying. Just like the thought of game over, boom, it’s done— terrifies the living crap out of me Cap. I don’t like not knowing what happens after this life. Not being in control and never waking up. It’s horrifying.” I look up at Steve with tears collecting in my waterline. After a moment Steve sighs in understanding before enveloping me in a tight hug, much to my shock.

I didn’t know it at the time, but after my little outburst, Steve swore to himself to always look over me.

flashback:

Battle Of Sokovia, 2015

Your POV:

“Agent L/N is down, I’m taking her to the quinjet. Does anyone copy?”

I faintly hear Clint yell into his earpiece. The battle was over for the most part and the people had evacuated to safety jets. Clint had ran back to a fallen market after seeing a child still scrambling out of the rubble, his mother screaming hysterically on the jet. Pietro and I had seen it before the Hawkeye, bullets pelting the ground harshly. Before Pietro could act I teleported in front of the two and put up a force field to shield us. Unluckily for me, two stray bullets managed to lodge themselves right in my shoulder and abdomen.

As of now, a frantic Clint and Pietro were scrambling towards the quinjet while I was most likely bleeding out.

“You didn’t see that coming huh old man?” I stole Pietro’s classic line but all I earned were two bewildered looks from the men. I scoffed, “jeez tough crowd”.

The adrenaline prevented me from feeling the immense pain I should probably be in. Which I hadn’t realized until after because I was probably a little delirious at the time. Once we made it to safety, Clint laid me on a bench and I let out a loud yelp as the sudden pain shot through every vein in my body. Burning like hot coals, the stinging traveled straight to the bleeding wounds.

“Holy shit! Oh my god.” I nearly screamed as Pietro clumsily ran to look for medical assistance. Clint stayed by my side, gripping my hand, “hey kid you’re going to be okay. Just don’t close your eyes.”

At this point, I was bawling my eyes out and letting whimpers past my lips.

“Oh my god. I’m dying. Clint. Please, I don’t want to go. I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready.” I frantically spit out, squeezing his hand hard, vision blurry with tears.

The pain became overwhelming and I let out one more strangled cry before letting the darkness consume me.

Present:

Vormir, 2018

Third person

Natasha, Clint and Y/N made their way up to where the soul stone was supposedly at. Vormir was a beautiful planet, although under such circumstances, it made the venture all the less exciting. Y/N had been on Titan with Tony, Strange, Peter and the galaxy gang when Thanos decided to throw a moon at the beloved man of iron. She had also witnessed Strange giving up the time stone to Thanos.

After the decimation she remained with Tony and Nebula for who knows how long, before being rescued by the flying space woman— or in other words, Captain Marvel.

Now the remaining avengers split up in teams to go through with their time heist, to undo the decimation that ruined their lives five years ago. Being in space with Nebula for so long, Y/N learned of the price that had to be paid in order to retrieve the soul stone.

One of them would not be coming out of this alive.

Y/N blanked out after meeting the floating red skull guy, the supposed keeper of the soul stone. It has been some time and Natasha and Clint paced around, in denial about the price of the stone.

Y/N was standing to the side, quietly talking to herself, looking down at her transporter and a watch. She turned around to Clint and Nat sharing a moment, foreheads together and hands clasped in each other’s. And then suddenly it happened, the pair breaks out in a fight, momentarily forgetting the young girl watching with cautious eyes a few feet away.

Y/N furrowed her brows, understanding what they were doing. They were fighting over who would get to die.

It happened so fast. One constantly stopping the other before they could reach the edge. Suddenly as Clint launched himself over the cliff, Nat followed after, a cry ripped itself from Y/N’s throat. Y/N teleported to the edge, looking down to see the crying pair, dangling from the cliff. This was it.

“Don’t worry, I’m ready now.”

The pair looked up confused, eyes widening as realization dawns on them.”

“Y/N NO-“

Suddenly, Y/N launches herself off the cliff, locking eyes with Nat and then Clint. Air swishing through her hair. Limbs tense as she plummets to certain doom.

‘It’s okay.’

Avengers Facility, 2023

“Where’s Y/N?” A tearful Black Widow and Hawkeye stood before the team, shaking from the near death experience and losing their best friend. Before either could answer they were interrupted.

‘Hey. It’s Y/N-“ Y/N’s voice suddenly rang out from the computer behind the team.

“We’re currently on Vormir. Hopefully this worked and I’m not just talking to my wrist...I know the price that we have to pay to get the soul stone, Nebula wasn’t exactly discreet about it. And for the first time I feel empowered to do what I’m going to do. Like this was my destiny, the whole reason why I wasn’t decimated all those years ago. I realized after the decimation that I can’t be forever afraid of something so much bigger than me—death. And I realized that I’m much more terrified of having one of you guys die, than me. I know we don’t trade lives Cap. But what choice do we have? But trust me, It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay, because we’re the god damn avengers... So now what, are you all going to stand around or are we gonna end this thing? “

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signs-of-the-moon · 4 years ago

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Moon Rise: Chapter 39

Warning: this chapter features depictions of an illness that may be considered similar to Covid-19, and could potentially upset those effected by it. Reader discretion is advised

Swiftcloud awoke early the next day, emerging from the shelter of the warrior's den into the crisp morning air. The clearing was shrouded in darkness. The sky above was nothing more than a depressing gray slate. Snow still fell upon the meadow, turning everything powdery white. Even the ground underpaw was covered. Swiftcloud shivered as a chill started to seep into her pawpads. She skipped over towards the shadow of the Tall Stone, where less snow had settled. Even here the ground was as cold as stone, but it was better than standing ankles deep in the white substance.

Other warriors stood within this small clearing. Chicorynose sat above the rest, atop Tall Stone's peak. It appeared she was ready to send out the dawn patrol.

"This morning we will be prioritizing our border patrols over hunting," the deputy began, "it'll be harder to catch anything while the sun's barely risen, especially with this snow. For now, let's ensure all of our scent markers have been freshened up. Shadowfang, lead a patrol to the Twolegplace border. Cloverpetal, you'll take a patrol to the Forest Patch. And Cowpatch will lead one to Mountainclan. You three may choose whoever you want to join you."

Instantly Shadowfang turned to acknowledge his mate. "You already know I'm having you join me," he remarked to Swiftcloud.

"You'd better," Swiftcloud warned teasingly, "someone has to be around to make sure you don't go fighting any more kittypets."

"That was one time! I was young. Besides, how was I supposed to know that kittypet would one day become the love of my life?"

Swiftcloud let out a flustered mrrow of laughter, batting at Shadowfang's whiskers playfully. "So who else are you going to take on your patrol?"

"How about Bumblethroat and Sheeptail?" Shadowfang suggested

"Good idea," Swiftcloud agreed, turning. "Let's go find them."

"No need, I've already found you." Bumblethroat came padding over to the mates, tail held high in greetings. "I was just about to ask if I could join you two. I need a good jog. My chest's feeling kind of heavy today and I'm hoping the morning air will do me some good."

"Why don't you see a medicine cat about that?" Swiftcloud prompted, lifting a paw to lick warm.

"I'm sure I'll be alright. It's nothing to bother Goldensong and Mistyleaf over. How about I grab Sheeptail for you, and we'll meet you two over by the brambles?"

"Sounds good," Shadowfang agreed to the plan. "We'll be waiting. Try not to take too long."

***

The sun slowly creeped overhead as the patrol made their way across the snowy meadow. The land was still dark, the fields hard to navigate behind it's flurry curtain. But the four warriors had been this way dozens of times; by now they didn't need their sight to know where they were headed. When they'd arrived, three out of the patrol wasted no time remarking the border. One cat, however, was straggling behind.

Bumblethroat came hobbling over to the others, wheezing. His breathing came out more as a ragged pant as he settled beside his clanmates. Despite concerned looks, the tom insisted that he was fine. Shadowfang and Sheeptail chose to believe him, but Swiftcloud was skeptical.

Later, as the patrol made their way along the edge of their territory, Bumblethroat began to cough. The cough didn't appear to be a mere tickle in his throat, nor was it a one off instance throughout the rest of the mission. It became more of an upsetting, reoccurring nuisance. By the time the dawn patrol was concluded, the tabby looked as though he'd run across the whole meadow and back.

"Bumblethroat, you really should go see Goldensong," Swiftcloud insisted as they entered the camp. Bumblethroat whimpered a little, then nodded his head in defeat. The white and black patched molly watched as her clanmate made his way over to the medicine den. She stared onward for an extra couple of heartbeats to make sure the tom would keep his word. Satisfied, shr turned her attention elsewhere for the remainder of the day.

Two days passed. Many of clan awoke to the sound Sheeptail wheezing. Swiftcloud sat up in her nest to study the white tom, still a groggy from sleep. Sheeptail's head was bent and back arched, jaws parted in a pant as he tried to catch his breath. Around them, despite how late into the night it was, every cat was on edge. Swiftcloud's denmates slowly crawled away from Sheeptail, like he would lash out and kill them at any moment. Swiftcloud didn't understand why they were all making such a fuss. She stood, padding towards Sheeptail to check on him. Certainly no one else would.

"Swiftcloud!" A pair of jaws clamped around her scruff. The patched molly turned to look into the worried eyes of her mate who began to drag her back with all the might he could muster. Swiftcloud promptly pulled herself from Shadowfang's grasp, turning to face him, awaiting an explanation.

"Don't go near him. I don't want you getting sick, too," Shadowfang mewled.

"He's not sick," Swiftcloud insisted, though she was clearly in denial. There's no way a third cat could be sick. Rosebloom was isolated yesterday. The greencough couldn't possibly be spreading. Could it..?

"Can't you smell it? Sheeptail is ill, Swift. Or getting there. Bumblethroat and Rosebloom have already been confirmed to have something. It's better we be safe than sorry," Shadowfang insisted in return. Swiftcloud huffed, sitting down. Shadowfang came to stand in front of her, as if he could protect her from the possible disease with his body.

"Sheeptail, dear, why don't you go and have a little chat with Goldensong?" Quailbelly suggested to the tom, shielded behind the large form of Frostfeather.

Sheeptail lifted his head weakly. He nodded then rose to his paws, practically dragging himself out of the warrior's den. Swiftcloud's denmates let out a collective sigh once the senior warrior was out of sight. They moved back to their usual nests, tension still heavy in the atmosphere. Shadowfang shook out his pelt to rid himself of his nerves.

"I'm sorry about that. But we can't risk you catching whatever he may have," the black tom mewed, bumping his head against Swiftcloud's chin. Swiftcloud nodded in understanding, licking Shadowfang on his muzzle before settling down with him in their shared nest.

More coughing erupted outside in the morning when the warriors awoke once more. Slugsnout and Snailear were paired together, herded by concerned clanmates over to the medicine den. At a safe distance, of course. And in the days to come, more cats would follow. Meadowcall, Ladybugbite, Boulderfall, Seedpaw, and a few of the clan's kits were among them. Too many cats to house in the medicine den. A decision was made to move all sick cats to one location. Anyone with even the slightest cough was isolated in the elder's den, sending the displaced elders to live with the warriors for a while. After all, the den was halfway vacant.

Things stayed pretty contained, or at least for a few days. Then another case of greencough would make itself known, and Whitestar would begrudgingly have to order another cat to quarentine.

Grassclan's warriors were dropping like flies, and at the worst possible time. Leafbare fully settled upon the Land's Star; most prey had gone into hiding or hibernation for the season. The snow remained ever present on the meadow, making the world seem that much bleaker. Cats were hungrier now than they'd been in previous moons. And that drove the remaining healthy warriors to work themselves to the bone, as they tried to provide for the rest of the clan.

Swiftcloud was no different. Sometimes, she'd stay out long into the night trying to find a bite to eat. And when she'd catch something, the prey always went right to the queens. She made sure to that.

Three quarter moons had passed since the first cat had been diagnosed with greencough. By now it'd been two days since Swiftcloud had anything to eat. Her belly ached, so badly that she felt as if she were dying. She had no idea why she felt so awful. She'd grown used to hunger by now. Despite the risk of going, she decided to take herself to the medicine den. Maybe the medicine cats would have an herb that would cure the knawing pain in her intestines. Luckily no sick cats were in the den at this time. Mistyleaf and Snowfrost sat within the tree trunk's confines alone, shuffling through a pile of herbs.

"Do you think there's enough here to provide everyone a dose?" Mistyleaf asked. Snowfrost twitched her whiskers.

"Hardly," she admitted. "Hopefully enough to at least dull their symptoms. Adding in chickweed might help. Oh- and we'll need to add some tansy to Rosebloom's mixture today. She's running a fever."

Swiftcloud felt bad for pulling the healers away from their work, but she was desperate. "Um, excuse me?" She meeped.

"Swiftcloud!" Mistyleaf perked up. "What's wrong? You don't appear to be sick. How are you feeling?"

"My stomach hurts. It feels as though my insides are missing," she explained with a grimace.

Mistyleaf stepped away from her task, sniffing her friend. "Hm. When was the last time you ate?"

Swiftcloud blinked. The thought of food had barely crossed her mind recently. "Ate..? Um...well, I can't remember honestly. All the prey I've caught I've used to feed the queens and kits."

"But you didn't think to save some for yourself?" Snowfrost snorted.

Swiftcloud shrank in her fur. "The Code says queens and elders eat before the warriors."

"And you didn't think that the Warrior Code may want you to save at least a mouthful of food for yourself? You're a adult, Swiftcloud use your head!" The medicine cat snapped. Snowfrost gave her head a shake, putting her focus back on her herbs. She muttered to herself as she sorted through her supplies, clearly agitated by Swiftcloud's ignorance. "Warriors and their pride, I swear it's obnoxious sometimes."

"Snowfrost has a point," Mistyleaf agreed. "I'm sure the reason your stomach feels so bad is because you've been starving yourself."

Starving..? That was a concept Swiftcloud hadn't been familiar with before. In her life she'd barely known hunger, yet alone something so severe. A luxury, perhaps, she was granted due to being born a kittypet. Swiftcloud had known of starvation, but never realized it would make her feel so hollow. For a brief moment, Swiftcloud thought back to the day she had been invited to join the clan. Whitestar had warned about the dangers of Leafbare. The fierce cold, the lack of food. And yet, despite facing it all now Swiftcloud had no regrets. She would always be happy to be part of Grassclan, even if she had to go hungry.

"You need to go have something to eat." Mistyleaf's voice cut into Swiftcloud's thoughts. "Consider this a medicine cat's orders. And if anyone should gripe at you about it, tell them they can come speak to us."

Swiftcloud nodded weakly, eyes wide in shock at the stern tone Mistyleaf had acquired. She was too stunned to speak, in too much pain to even think. Instead, Swiftcloud turned herself around and brought herself out to the fresh-kill pile. The pile was the smallest that she had ever seen it. Swiftcloud knew a hunting party had recently returned home. Yet there was only a half sized mouse and a scrawny vole to choose from. Swiftcloud didn't care which she ate, all she knew now was that she needed this food. Just the smell of it alone reminded her of how hungry she truly was.

Out of desperation she gave into her temptations. Swiftcloud quickly snatched up the vole, pulling it close to her chest. The first bite she took was glorious. The flavors sang loudly on her tongue, and her stomach begged her to eat more. Swiftcloud consumed the rest of her meal in a matter of heartbeats, the delicious meat of the vole disappearing inside of her all too soon. For a moment, Swiftcloud felt satisfied. But the sight of the mouse still sitting there on the icy ground was calling to her. Well...I haven't eaten in a while. And Mistyleaf did say to eat, so... Swiftcloud got back to her paws. With claws extended she gripped the mouse up and pulled it towards her. As she was about to settle down to eat again, Rabbitstorm appeared through the bramble tunnel. His eyes were sunken, his expression miserable. In his grasp he held nothing, despite returning home from hunting. The lynx point tom practically dragged himself over to Swiftcloud, slumping into the snow as he sat beside her. Swiftcloud resisted the urge to whimper. She hated seeing her friend so defeated. Since Heatherwing had died, Rabbitstorm hadn't been the same. He was more work driven, and a bit snappier with others. It was almost as if he'd reverted back to an apprentice again; in personality at least. Although Rabbitstorm had become a bit clingier. When he wasn't doing work, he was spending time with his mother or siblings. And when they were too busy, he'd come to spend time with Swiftcloud. She was honored, honestly, that Rabbitstorm found comfort in her company. At least she thought he did. It was hard to tell. Regardless, Rabbitstorm's constant presence reassured her at least that the bond they had formed hadn't shifted back with his attitude.

Despite her stomach growling at her, urging her to go back to eating, Swiftcloud refused to do so. Instead, she pushed the mouse over to Rabbitstorm, showing him a soft smile. "Here. I think you could use this more than I can right now," she meowed. "I know it's not much, but-"

"Thank you," Rabbitstorm interrupted with a sigh of relief. He lowered his head, taking small bites of the prey in front of him. He leaned his larger body against Swiftcloud's, warming her with his long fur. Swiftcloud felt grateful for the tom's presence, and was happy to have a friend like him. In the beginning, Rabbitstorm had hated Swiftcloud. The two were practically rivals, insulting each other, playing tricks on one another. But after many moons they were finally getting along. Sure on occasion the two would pass on snarky remarks, but now it was all in good fun. Rabbitstorm wasn't such a bad cat. And Swiftcloud hoped that he thought the same of her.

Rabbitstorm let out a satisfied sigh as his mouse became nothing more than fur and bones. He purred, turning to groom Swiftcloud's shoulder. In return she cleaned his. For a few moments the pair shared tongues, comfortable in the silence that had settled between them. But a gust of cold wind blew through the camp, making the warriors jump to their paws. In silent agreement they walked with each other to enter the warmth of the warriors' den.

Here, the remaining healthy warriors of the clan were taking shelter. Most had been out not long ago, finishing patrols and returning empty pawed from their hunting parties. A gloom seemed to hang heavy in the hollowed stone den. Swiftcloud saw depression in some cats eyes. In one way or another, every cat was connected to the ill or starving. If they weren't among those directly suffering.

Quietly in the back of the den, Swiftcloud could see Cloverpetal crying. She hadn't eaten in nearly a quarter moon, and Swiftcloud knew the other molly was reaching her breaking point. But still, she refused food. She wanted everyone else to eat instead. Cloverpetal was a quiet, kind soul. She would never complain about anything, and would give someone the fur off her back if they needed it. But Swiftcloud thought the pale calico molly was being foolish. Still, she wouldn't say anything. Not long ago Swiftcloud was doing the same exact thing. She knew she had no right to judge.

In the center of the den, the clan's two remaining elders laid. Tornface was grooming his pelt, possibly trying to warm himself. While Smokesnout lay curled in a ball, his son Shadowfang beside him. The two toms were not very close, but Shadowfang still respected his father. In this trying time he was determined to provide the elderly tom some support, especially since he was the only family Smokesnout had left. Swiftcloud admired that in her mate. He cared, even if he didn't have much reason to. Smokesnout wasn't much of a father; he never showed the same compassion for his kit as Ashwhisker, the dam of his litter, did. But Shadowfang wouldn't hold it against him. Some cats weren't cut out to be parents.

Swiftcloud touched her nose to Rabbitstorm's ear gently as she tiptoed towards the center of the den. She settled by Shadowfang's side, giving his cheek a good rub with her own. Shadowfang purred a little from her affection, a warm glow in his eyes. But the glow swiftly dimmed as he turned his gaze back onto Smokesnout.

"He's gone," Shadowfang whispered only loud enough for his mate to hear.

Swiftcloud blinked in confusion. "W..what?"

"Smokesnout," Shadowfang clarified, licking the dusky elder's still shoulder. "He's dead."

Swiftcloud felt her heart drop into her paws, a ringing dulling her hearing. "What do you mean he's dead? H-how? When...?" She stammered, voice low.

Shadowfang sighed, looking melancholy. "A little while ago. I noticed he stopped breathing... But he's so peaceful, I don't want to take him from his nest yet."

"Shadowfang..." Swiftcloud pressed herself into her mate. "I'm so sorry.... But, we shouldn't keep him here anymore. The clan will want to know he's gone; they'll want to mourn him."

"I know," Shadowfang sighed once more, rising to his paws. He bent his head, griping Smokesnout's body by the scruff. Swiftcloud stood to be with them. At once, the focus of the entire den fell upon them. Every cat's eyes were dark; a knowing look passing between each of them. Shadowfang tried not to pay attention, wanting to ignore the pity that would soon be passed onto him. Rabbitstorm came over as the mates began to take the elder out of the den. He moved to Smokesnout's free side, helping Shadowfang carry his father. The three warriors emerged into the windy Leaf-bare evening, placing Smokesnout's body in the center of camp. Here he would have an easier time traveling to Starclan, and here the rest of the clan could come to properly say goodbye.

"I should tell my dad," Shadowfang realized. "Im not sure if he'll come out right away, though. Pigeon's isn't doing well... But, I know him. He'll at least want to send Smokesnout off with a prayer." With his reasoning voice, the sleek black tom turned, stalking to the elder's den.

"I'll go inform the medicine cats," Rabbitstorm decided, heading off in the opposite direction.

Swiftcloud sat alone in the cold empty clearing, awaiting the arrival of others. She stood there, in the whistling wind, staring at the body in front of her. Smokesnout's fur ruffled in the breeze, the only movement to come from the elderly tom. Shadowfang had made sure to lay him down nicely. The old tom appeared as though he had fallen asleep. It was almost eerie.

This was the first casualty of many to come, Swiftcloud realized. The knowledge of that filled her with a terrible sense of dread. She knew things would only get worse from here on. And yet, there was still a small glimmer of hope left inside of her. The gathering would be soon. Maybe Grassclan could ask for prey and herbs from some of the others. The chances were slim, Swiftcloud knew, but she had to keep her chin up. If she gave up hope now, what else would she have?

#warrior cats #wcs #warrior cat ocs #wc ocs #Signs of the Moon: Moon Rise #Moon Rise #Chapter 39

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wordsturnintostories · 5 years ago

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show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?” word count: 1.6k note: hmmm i can't just leave you guys without at least giving you a short treat, can I? this is for you, @taeshuworld... i hope it will all get better soon. i know this won't help much but maybe it can give your heart some comfort ✨

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

It’s during the third day that Namjoon begrudgingly makes three mind-blowing discoveries. Firstly, he really needs to keep a better tab on his friends (aka he’s not a perceptive friend at all outside of Bangtan), secondly, Jimin really has no idea what they are saying to him and thirdly, he realizes that he can’t lie to save his life. (He should really work on a good way of introducing this Jimin to the others - he can’t lie about this.) But then again, it’s not like Namjoon lies to the members often, let alone enough to get some practice in. (But the thought of the cheeky brat called Taehyung that always plays along with his lies does annoy him. The younger always acts so gullible and innocent, never giving off any vibes of treason with those big brown puppy eyes. The nerve!)

The day starts rosy. Hues of red and lilac mix with faded blue in a slow, heavenly progression, calling for a mellow day in Korea’s capital. Namjoon enjoys it, takes a few photos of Seoul’s skyline that elegantly poses in front of the impressive canvas. His own lyrics travel through his mind, reminding him of the shifting image the metropolis takes in his mind, being so different than what he remembers from his first days with the members.

When he looks down through the window, there’s nothing he hasn’t seen before - the bustling of too many humans on too small sidewalks, pressed towards the high buildings by the loud traffic that separates them from the other side. Almost everyone chooses a fast walking pace in this part of Gangnam, born with a destination and stepping ahead with bold steps and expensive clothes.

Locking these images away as precious memories, Namjoon turns around, watching with golden anticipation how the first rays of sun slowly reach out to create a sight that he has never seen before. A baby leopard’s body softly rises and falls with every breath, nestled into the curving white sheets of the rapper’s bed. Thanks to the visiting sun’s light, the fur glows in a warm golden tone even through the dark spots almost make up all of the cub’s plushy baby pelt. He looks like a tiny glowing ball of fur. It’s a sight, truly a sight worth seeing every day, Namjoon thinks and takes a few nice pictures of his little dongsaeng. Pictures even Taehyung would frame and hang on his walls, right next to his thousand-dollar paintings.

At the moment, everything is quiet and Namjoon even hears his own heart rumbling its own chill melody, riding the soft indie playlist vibe. The only thing that makes him feel even better in this beautiful room with the big windows that let him see even Namsan Mountain dipped in the glorious sunrise is the feel of Jimin under his fingers.

At first, Namjoon is hesitant to even sit back on the bed. It would be a shame to wake my little dongsaeng up, he thinks, he’s sleeping so peacefully. But then a strange yet not unfamiliar sense of loneliness, of reclusion wraps around him in this early hour, struts in before he can close the door and he needs to feel another warm body close to himself. To his relief, Jimin doesn’t protest when he is slowly lifted against Namjoon’s t-shirt-clad chest. His little paws simply knead the firm underground and he finds a new way to curl up, not able to hold himself on his feet with the morning stuck inside his bones. He slightly tips over to the side and into Namjoon’s open hand.

It’s pleasant to have him here like this, Namjoon thinks, even if we don’t know what’s happening. Maybe Yoongi was right and this is a blessing rather than a curse. Until it ends, we’ll just cuddle and play. It sounds like a good plan in Namjoon’s mind and it’s enough to push away the bitter feelings that come with being an ever-recognizable idol who can’t even step in front of his own door without precautions.

Jimin doesn’t seem to sense his inner struggle, just comfortably nuzzles his snout into the rapper’s throat and falls asleep with his tail and legs slightly twitching against Namjoon’s palm. He must be dreaming. How adorable. The small movements remind him of Rapmon and with a longing sigh, he tells himself to pick her up later. When Jimin dreamily darts out to lick Namjoon’s jaw, he wonders whether Jimin and Rapmon would like each other. Whether the dog would recognize that this is Jimin, who she has played with many times before (even she can’t resist Jimin’s charms).

Namjoon’s soul feels light with the sun falling in gently and Jimin lathering him in kitty affection at the same time. He can only hope that Rapmon likes sharing.

Breakfast goes… okay. It’s not difficult to get Jimin to munch happily on meat. It’s just that he’s so easily distracted (and by the smallest things, really) that Namjoon has to catch him from rolling off the table twice and after relocating to the floor, retrieves Jimin from underneath the sofa, not once, not twice, but four times. There is just one incredibly bold (and lucky) ladybug inside the apartment with them and there seems to be no other explanation; this one must be part of the Resistance because even when Namjoon carries it outside, it just comes back and continues crawling over any given surface. Namjoon notes with a discouraged sigh that all his parenting methods and tactics are useless with his dongsaeng now.

The first time Jimin catches it in his mouth Namjoon has all the mind to let him have this victory and get him back to breakfast (Jimin’s stalked after the bug for five minutes, looking disheveled and dirty as he’s collected every single cloud of dust from behind the bookshelves and Namjoon is not koniophobic in any way, but he simply doesn’t have the nerve to wash Jimin ten times a day).

The second time the dancer catches the red little thing in his mouth (yeah, because it escaped the first time, good job Jimin), Namjoon looks to heaven while he waits for the crunch. It doesn’t come. Instead, he has to deal with a regretful-looking cub that puts its paws on his thighs and meows some hardly understandable pleas at him while opening its mouth. He has no idea what it means but he spots the wet little bug and digs it out. The second it’s out in the open, Jimin excitedly paws at it, effectively tossing it through the room and sprinting after it before Namjoon can complain or even remember that he wanted his dongsaeng to eat this nutritious breakfast that required twenty minutes (!) of passionate research. But the kitty plays and just when the hyung rises to pick up the happy-go-lucky cub, the doorbell rings.

Shit. A shock flows through Namjoon’s body without him even knowing who this is going to be. It could be Yoongi, who has forgotten something in his room (unlikely, he’s got all one could need to survive a zombie apocalypse in that studio of his), or any other member who took a few trains too early to surprise the leader with a premature return (just as unlikely, they will all spend as much time with their families as possible). Other than that, there is a slight possibility that staff is at the door, sent by management with some new information about their upcoming tour or schedule changes or maybe a new sponsoring deal. Shit, it might be staff. I haven’t checked my mails or my schedule since we came home. Who else can get into the building?

There’s just a slight issue that comes with the reassuring knowledge that this is staff (staff is on very good terms with all the members). Staff can’t see Jimin like this. Namjoon moves fast, grabs a complaining but weak cub with a thrashing tail and a little ladybug provocatively crawling over his face. For a lack of good hiding places and time, the rapper places the kitty in a drawer in the next room. Best solution, he thinks, (pats his own shoulder for his problem-solving skills) and rushes towards the door when the bell rings for the third time.

Trying to present himself as a collected, calm human being with no leopard cubs hidden in his apartment’s drawers, Namjoon remembers his stage breathing exercises, takes a really deep breath (and a second one, for good measure) and moves a hand through his hair. A soft meow that sounds like a confused question sounds in the distance and he hopes he can either get this business done outside the apartment or that whoever is out there won’t be able to pick up Jimin’s vocalizations. (He is aware that separating the cub from the only parental figure in his life so spontaneously can’t be good, but he shoos that gut feeling away in hopes of good luck.) The bad feeling is accompanied with a crashing sound in the distance that makes Namjoon’s head whip around so hard he might get neck strains later. The little leopard, undeterred by his fall and crash, runs to the door immediately.

“Oh God, no, Jimin-ah,” Namjoon pants in surprise and tries to grab the little one who is just way too curious for his own good. Those blue eyes glow with babylike innocence and Namjoon has to hold on to the wall to not fall for the younger’s charms. No, he wants to say sternly, but something tells him the little leopard doesn’t understand the concept of… things… yet. So all he can do before the doorbell rings a fourth time is to kinda push Jimin away gently and ignore the playful mewl and the sharp claws digging into his big toe. That should occupy him enough, Namjoon hopes and grabs the door handle.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

tags: @xmagicxshopx, @taeshuworld, @justanemptydream, @hoodmeup, @gingerpeachtae

#park jimin #jimin #bts #bangtan #bts fanfic #smyrbg #show me your rosettes baby (g)#yay #part three #wordsturnintostories #oct18 #what do you think?#who is behind the door?#cute jimin #cute namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #wow

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lord-explosion-baku · 6 years ago

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Siren!Shinsou x Pirate Captain!reader (soulmate twist)

Warnings: fluff? Angst, violence, alcohol

A/N: this is gonna get done in two parts because Meeps went a little overboard (pun intended.) for editing purposes and so I’m not a stressed muffin I’m not adding the keep reading insert thingy so I can link the two fics together because it doesn’t let me do that after I put that shit in there. Don’t come for me, I blew it, I already know. Anyways, here’s wonderwall.

Red Scarf Part 1

“Don’t listen to them!” You bellowed at your crew as you tried to steer your ship away from the rocks. Rain pelted on your face as you pushed as hard as you could on the wheel. It wasn’t enough. “Kaminari!” You called out to your first mate that seemed only half dazed. “We need to turn this blasted ship around! Grab the wheel, I’ll go for the sails!”

The man nodded and ran for you. You ran down to the deck and flipped yourself up, beginning to climb the ratlines to the yardarms, cutting away at ropes as your hands burned from gripping on to shrouds. You gazed down and saw that Kaminari’s attention was elsewhere. Soft and mystical humming grew louder and one of the monsters, the beautiful damned creature, climbed aboard your ship, swung her long slick tail over and reached a delicate hand to him. Kaminari had a stupid grin on his face as he walked over to her.

“Kaminari, no!” You screamed but your voice was drowned out by thunder and the symphony of a dozen other sirens. You watched as the monster caressed his face and he put his hands on her shoulders. “Kill her!” You yelled. He did not. Instead, he kissed her.

Pale arms wrapped around his body and pulled him down and into the sea. You stifled a pained yell. “Dumb bastard,” you gritted your teeth, now standing at the top of your ship. More than half of your crew was gone, taken from you by those unforgiving temptresses. You gazed upon your rocky doom and to other ships that have met the same demise. With a broken heart, you watched as your bowsprit smashed and crumbled. A gust of wind hit you, blowing your beloved hat off of your head and into the abyss You caressed the wood of your ship, your pride and joy, closed your eyes and accepted your fate.

As your body was beaten by the waves, all you could hear was a soft hum. A call just for you.

You awoke to the sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline. Cold water lapped at your bare feet and you shuddered. You held your hand over your face to stop the sun from frying your eyes, you were sure your skin was burned enough. The hellstorm had done its damage and passed, leaving you with clear skies but no ship. You stood up and held your arm to your chest. It stung badly but it wasn’t broken: probably fractured.

You kicked at the sand, causing cedarwood from your ship to surface. The beach was littered with rubble: cracked bottles, destroyed cargo boxes with linens and wet clothes hanging around them, ropes and wood had been washed up along with, apparently, you. To your right, up the sandy slope, were large wispy trees. Too dangerous to start a fire but convenient for a camp set up.

You cursed at the gods for keeping you alive. What were you without a ship? How could you be a captain without a crew? You wanted to cry out. You nearly did before you saw a small head bobbing in the waves, not twenty meters away from shore.

The head belonged to a young man, his dark wet hair was clinging to his face and his eyes were on you. You didn’t recognize him but you didn’t think much about that. Before leaving on your journey, you collected many able bodied men for your crew. You knew that your voyage was going to be tough so you didn’t spend too much time learning everyone’s faces. Besides that, crew members came and went, as they traveled searching for their own paths. You had the ones you knew would stick around, the ones whose destinies were similar to yours; to be bound to the sea. The grim irony of the fate of your crew caused a nasty knot in your stomach. Still, you thought, you had at least had one man. As a captain, you make one thing very clear: your men belong to you until the detonation has been met. Whether or not they stick around for the next voyage is up to them, so long as they know who is in command until then. So, you put on your stern captain face and called out to him.

“What are you doing, playing in the waves like a child? Come me to shore and help me set up camp before ye ‘come ill!”

The man continued to watch you for a moment before his head dipped under water and appeared closer to shore at lightning fast feed. You gasped at the same guy if him.

The Caribbean Sea was very clear so you saw his toned torso through the water. What made you gasp, wasn’t his swimming speed but the beautiful and horrible iridescent tail that was attached where his legs should’ve been. He was one of them.

“Vile creature,” you said under your breath. “Return to the miserable depths or you’re mine to kill!”

The monster grinned at your command. A wave pushed him onto the shore. With your good arm, you drew your cutlass. “Stay back!” You barked with wrathful vigor, still your legs were shaking as you took a step back.

He began climbing into the shore. If you were quick, you could plunge your weapon into his back but monsters like these were cunning. He wouldn’t make himself vulnerable to you for no reason.

His tail, purple now that the sun was shining directly on it, began to bubble up. You saw it split in two and soon he… he sprouted legs! He stood up and over the pile of skin, or scales, whatever it was it reminded you of of snake sheddings you had seen when you had gone a quest to slay a leviathan.

Taking another step back, your foot found a piece of wood and you slid down, closer to the bare naked man. Wobbling, you swung your sword at him, warning him that you were not to be messed with. You hated the amused look on his face. “Quit smiling at me, hellspawn!”

His grin widened. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to hold dangerous objects without knowing how to use them?” Your face reddened as you scowled at the man. You hadn’t known sirens could speak human tongue. All the more reason to threaten him.

“I’ll cut that tongue out and wear it around my neck!” You charged forward, too confident and not used to fighting on land. In one swift move, the creature had you disarmed and turned around so your back was against his bare chest.

Cool breath tickled your ears as he said, “this is the thanks I get for saving your life?”

Huh? It was unusual for you to have washed to shore hardly scathed besides the pain you felt in your arm. But why would a siren save the life of any human? They only caused destruction. Other pirates told tales of crew mates in the past who were victims of that same siren song you heard last night, never to be seen again. So why were you alive? Why hadn’t you been eaten or drowned? It hardly mattered now. You had lost everything.

“My life wouldn’t need saving if it hadn’t been for what you’ve done to my crew- my ship!” You writhed around in his too strong arms.

He chuckled darkly. “For what I’ve done? Love, I wasn’t the pirate who decided to steer their ship in siren territory during a storm. And during mating season? Especially foolish.”

“You’ve killed my men! You’ve taken everything from me!” His grip on you loosened and you took that opportunity to elbow him in the ribs. He let go and you sprinted foreword, up to the island trees. The sadistic prick probably only saved you so you could savor your death. Play a game of cat and mouse with you. You weren’t going to have that. You would either die a noble death or you get away. At the moment, you preferred the latter.

Still, running through the flora had proven difficult given your injuries and your wet clothes. You didn’t get far before your pants got caught on a log and you tumbled down a slope, leaving your body with scratches and bruises. You winced at the throbbing pain in your arm.

“For someone who walks around on two legs all the time, you sure are bad at using them.” He was standing on the log, smirking down on you. He slid smoothly down to where you sat, frowning on the forest floor. His smile faltered. “You’re hurt,” he said. He reached a hand out to your arm and you swatted it away. “Tsk! Let me help you!”

You gazed up at him. His eyes were narrowed but he seemed to be genuinely concerned for him. Giving up, your eyes fell. You averted your gaze from his lower regions. “If you insist on cleaning me up before inevitably eating me alive, could you please… you’re indecent.”

The look he gave you was that of mirth. “My nudity is making you uncomfortable? Have I not the same alamagation as you’ve surely seen on other men?” Your cheeks burned hot at his question. You hadn’t the patience to explain to monsters why it was appropriate to cover themselves. He chuckled at your reaction. “In that case, I’ll run back to the beach and search for something to cover up with, along with tools to aid you.” He gave you a once over and suddenly you were too conscious of how your wet blouse cling to your body. He leaned down so his parallel to yours, you still did not return his glare. “If you move,” he said, “this island is ravenous and will eat you up. What could happen here is far worse than anything I would do to you. Do you understand me?”

“Aye,” you nodded, clenching your teeth, unable to accept that you were allowing this fiend to help.

He gave you one last look before darting through the trees. You leaned back hitting your head to the tree. What have you gotten yourself into? You had been clumsy in your haste and you’ve rendered yourself defenseless against a creature most foul who already seemed strong enough to take you on even if your health was in peak condition, moreover, as a siren, he could simply sing to you and you would be his for the taking. You thought about moving, in fact, you did scoot your butt up to the tree and force your body up to stand but without a doubt, you were exhausted. You wouldn’t fare well on your own.

He was back, as swiftly as he had left, loose fitting trousers hung around his hips, crinkled up from being bathed in the ocean and dried by the sun, and a red scarf was draped around his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. In his arms were linens, a knife, and large dark bottle. You eyes glowed at the sight of the bottle; perhaps if you were going to die, you could do so with rosy cheeks and a pirate’s bliss.

“I found what I could,” he said placing, throwing the linens over his shoulder and racing down to you. “I’m not sure what’s in the bottle, perhaps it could be medicinal?”

“Medicinal indeed!” You reached a greedy hand out to the bottle and he pulled it away, warily. You scowled.

“Let’s find us a good place for you to be worked on,” he said scanning the woods. He placed the knife between his teeth and laced a hand around your waste. He gave you a coy smile and you glared back at him. Suddenly he had you picked up and was carrying you bridal style.

“Excuse me!” You hissed. He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I will not be handled like a common strumpet!”

“Uh-huh,” he said and the threw you over his shoulder, his hand holding you by the small of your back.

“This be worse!” You yelled, weakly hitting his back.

You walked for minutes while he was silent and you were silently grumbling to yourself, cursing him, cursing the gods, cursing your situation. Finally, he placed you down on the side of a large rock. He took the linens and fixed them around your shoulder. With the blade, he cut and ripped away at the material, creating a fairly decent sleeve to hold your arm in.

“There’s a spring on the other side of the island that has healing properties. I’d take you to it now but my sisters can be… possessive. They’d see you as a threat and I wouldn’t want to deal with that today but if you’re up to it, after we set up camp and get you a good night’s rest, we can head there come dawn.”

We? So he thinks the two of you are what? Companions? Far from it, siren. “I do not wish to be healed,” you spat.

“No? And what do you wish for?”

“To be delivered to the same fate as me crew!” You said throwing your head up and looking towards the sky.

Then, he laughed. Your eyes narrowed and you glowered at him. He looked at you and shook his head. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying!” He laughed again and you felt your body heat up. How dare he mock you! “I’m sorry,” he said disenguinely, “it’s just *aha* the men from your ship? They’re alive and well. Probably better off than they ever have been before. My sisters have them and, uh,” he shook his head and ran his hands through his drying purple hair, “my sisters have needs that need satisfying and those men have been all too willing! So when you tell me you wish to lay with my sisters?”

You pressed your lips together. The thought of your men still being alive sent goosebumps across your body. If you were to be retinitis with them, you would be overjoyed. You’d send each of them a slap on the neck, then pull them all in to a kindly embrace. You might’ve even cried. The dream was tempting, and temptation is what sirens excel in. “Liar,” You said looking to the ground.

He scoffed, “humans. You really know nothing about my kind. You think we desire to be the demise of all men. You think we are creatures of destruction while your kind run about the world slaughtering in masses, committing genocide. Greedy things, taking what’s not theirs and frowning at anything that does them no benefit.” He leaned closer to you with each word until his face was in front of yours. “You think sirens take as much pleasure in murder as you? I’ll have you know, I’ve never killed any man that didn’t deserve it,” his gaze went down to your body, “and I would never harm a lady. Certainly not one as enchanting as yourself.”

Enchanting? That was laughable. You pushed him away from you and grabbed the bottle from the floor, walking towards the beach. “I’m no lady,” you growled. “I am Captain Y/N L/N of the Whispering Winnie and I will not prey fool to your trickery.” You fit the cork into your mouth and pulled.

“Spirits?” he asked.

You spat the cork to the sand. “Rum,” You said taking a swig and continued to walk down the beach in search of materials you could use for a raft.

“Well I am Shinsou, not that you had the decency to ask.” Ignoring him, you pushed a hefty piece of wood up the beach. You collected other wooden shafts and some ratrope and threw them onto the board. You huffed, trying to ignore the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Shinsou watched entertained as you took another swig from the bottle that was more than half empty before you even started drinking it.

You sat down next to your board and scowled off at the sea. “You know, Y/N, I’m hurt,” he said, taking some of the frayed rope you collected in his hands and examining it. “I think I’ve been fairly hospitable towards you and you’re thinking about leaving so soon? Without even saying goodbye to the men you seem to care so much for, your die for them?” He watched your face contort from sadness to confusion, and back to your scowl. “Or perhaps you don’t want to see your crew now that they have other women in their lives? Tell me, you must have been close with some of them, yes? Perhaps you’ve had a scandal or two with a particular mate of yours and you’d hate to know that he’s happy with someone else?”

Your blood boiled. He hadn’t been true but the fact that he was trying to get a rise out of you, well, got a rise out of you. You have never been with one of your mates regardless of some of their advances. That was a rule of yours. In fact, you’d only been with one man before you devoted your life to your ship and you lost him. You’ve heard your crew make comments about your sexuality when they thought you weren’t around. There was one time you had stayed in a port and your crew went to a tavern while you had business to attend to. You had traded a lost diadem to a man for a bountiful amount of doubloons and the transaction hadn’t taken long so you headed to the tavern. There you found your men merry making and drinking. They were talking about their captain, calling you a prude, joking that you were so tight-ended with them because you haven’t been… relieved in quite some time. You had cleared your throat to alert them of your presence. They stared at you, mortified for being caught. It took everything you had not to crack a grin at seeing the fear on their faces. You walked to to head of the table and took the man who called you a prude’s tankard, downed it, and glared at him until he was out of his seat. You sat down, slamming the cup to the table and said, “ye all look like I’m going to kick you in the dungbie. Good. Ye all be picaroons and deserve nothin’ but a switching from yer mums for speaking ill of a lady. But I ain’t yer mum, I’m yer captain and a mighty jolly one at that. Tonight we’ve made coin, boys! Ale fer ye all!” The table cheered and pushed your tankard into the chest of the Sorry sailor that had insulted you. “Be grateful I don’t send ye home to that miserable wife of yours, Peter, ye hornswaggler. Now, make use for those two feet before I have your toes.” He nodded and said, “aye, captain,” and scurried off to fetch you ale like a good mouse. You didn’t care if they poked fun. They can have their laughs as long as they feared you.

You did, however, have Kaminari. Before he was your first mate, he had been a stowaway. When he was found, you were livid. You had threatened to throw him off the ship unless he proved he deserved to be on it. And that he did. He was just a kid when you found him, albeit, a few years younger than yourself, though you made sure your age was the least of anybody’s worries and he did the same. First you had them keep your ship pristine, scrubbing your deck, emptying the buckets nobody else would touch. But Kaminari was agile and fast. Soon you had him climbing the helms, handling the crow’s nest, amongst other high intensity jobs. Through the years of having him aboard your ship, the two of you did end up forming a tight bond. And when he saved you from a particularly nasty situation involving the rising dead, you thanked him by making him your first mate. He was loyal to you and he never let you down until he was brought into the sea by the seductive siren’s song.

You kicked at the soft warm sand. “No,” you said not looking at Shinsou. “I’ve loved once before and I vowed to never let that happen again.” You went to take another sip from the bottle but it had been empty.

Shinsou sat next to you. “The sea calls for many broken hearts,” he spoke softly. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to be chummy with you. His hand found your knee and you tensed. “The sea alone can’t mend it, though.”

You knew his touching you was supposed to be friendly, maybe even calming, but it sent you into a blind rage. You took the bottle and smashed it against the wood. You pushed Shinsou down and climbed on top of him, pressing the broken glass against his neck. “Don’t you dare touch me!” You barked down at him. He looked bored with your threats and that made you even more furious. “Why are you here? Why do you insist on troubling me with your presence?”

Purple eyes blinked at you. His hand met your wrist and you pressed harder on him. Still you saw no fear in his eyes. “You’re so weak right now. I could fight you off easily,” he said, wrapping his hands tightly around wrist.

“By the time you start, I’d have cut your neck!”

“You’re right,” he said, relaxing his head back. “What ever shall I do?”

“Start by giving me some answers!”

“Hhmph,” his hand traveled up to your arm. He started humming softly to himself as his hands tickled your arm. You watched his lips part and he began to sing. The melody wasn’t something you’ve heard on land but it seemed oddly familiar. Your body began to tingle. You let go of the bottle and it rolled over to the side of the plank. He lifted himself up and you scooted away, now blushing. Your hands went to your ears but he caught them and brought them down with his, his singing growing louder. It seemed to echo across the sea, making your heartbeat quicken.

“Stop it,” You said weakly.

He shook his head, his hand now on your cheek. You leaned into his touch and he made it so you were looking into his hypnotic eyes. Your eyelids grew heavy and you blinked lazily. Your mind was telling you to move away, another part of you wanted to run your hands down his bare toned chest. His fingers wove through your hair. You sighed and closed your eyes, unable to look at him for much longer before you did something you knew you would regret. As he sang he pushed softly on your shoulder, laying you down on to the panel, and slowly your mind started to drift away from you as you surrendered to his siren’s song.

Under the water, you watched cannonballs sink down below you as wood swirled around. You watched the fire above the surface as Whinnie crumbled and screamed and broke, your pride and joy, your ship now destroyed. Creatures, beautiful and dangerous swam around you, baring their teeth as they got closer. One grabbed your leg and pulled you deeper into the depths. Something darted by you and you heard a high pitched squeal. And then singing. It was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It reminded you of your childhood, your innocence, and at the time time, it brought you back in to your ship, your freedom, your passion.

The song grew louder and a man appeared before you. Purple hair whirled around him. The song was coming from his lips. He stared at you and you, him. A question was asked through his song. You answered. He brought his hands to your face and pulled you into him, locking his lips with yours. Air was pushed into your lungs. You wrapped your arms around him as he propelled the two of you forward. The last thing you remember was seeing a gleaming tail trailing behind you.

You woke from your daze to see that the sun had set and a fire had been built for you on the beach. You gasped for air as if you had been under the water again, though you were completely dry. Shinsou sat on the other side of the fire, his trousers were folded neatly next to him. You saw two skewed fish roasting. Your sling had been taken off of your arm that felt significantly better. In its place was the red scarf that Shinsou was wearing earlier.

“You’re awake,” he said, grabbing the pants. “I thought that maybe you’d be hungry so I caught us some food. I’ve also taken the liberty of bringing you some of that spring water I told you about. The liquor must’ve dehydrated you because you drank it up with haste.”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. Shinsou had been the one to save you. The other sirens were going to kill you but he stopped them.

“You responded to my siren song,” he said before you could make any remark on what had been done in your daze. “Mine is different than the others. It calls to only one.”

You pulled your knees to your chest. Somehow, you knew what that meant. Whether or not you could accept that, was a different story.

He pulled the skewers out of the fire and stuck them in the sand so the fish would cool off. “Like I said before, I’ll take you to the spring, to your crew, at dawn. Then all of this,” he gestured to the island, “will start making sense.”

You ate your meals in silence. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Shinsou, or at least, not while you knew he was looking at you. You watched the moon move across the sky and the stars began to twinkle. On your ship, you would use them to navigate your way across the sea, you would use them again, that night.

He seemed to read your mind because he said, “if you’re thinking about leaving still, you better not. That storm will be coming back. The island won’t be affected by it but out there...” he shook his head.

You scoffed then. There was no sign of any harsh weather. He was lying to you. He just wanted to… keep you. Under the water, when his lips… touched yours, you had made a promise to him. A promise you thought you understood in your time of distress, now it meant nothing. You were getting off that island. You laid your head down.

After awhile, the fire died down and you heard soft breaths coming from him. You watched his chest rise and fall in his slumber. He was kinda cute as he slept, no reason for him to have a smart mouth in his dreams. You unraveled the scarf and put it on his chest.

You walked down the beach and found your raft materials. You tried to build it as fast as you could, the moon was full, providing a fine amount of light for you to do your work. You used extra linens to fix a sail. Soon, you were drifting out to sea, in calm waters, watching the stars.

The storm came, just as Shinsou warned it would. It didn’t make more than a couple giant waves to break the spirit of your departure. Water pushed and pulled at your raft and the wind lifted you into the sky. In the air, you searched for the island but it was clouded by mist. You prepared yourself for impact as your body broke into the waters. As soon as you surfaced, another giant waves crashed into you, dragging you down without mercy. You swallowed bitter salty water as you searched for air.

Strong arms wrapped around your body and you were pulled along the depths. Your vision blurred and you were out.

Part 2

Tags for EVERYTHING (closed): @yandere-inamorata @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelanore @kpanime @ayeputita @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland @iamthe-leaf @midnightfeline666 @bungou-stray-alies-tales-of-aly @rubyred-28 @kattariapenn @heypartypeps @quirktaker @thecryingsombra @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @ghost-of-todoroki @geektastic84 @personoffangirlingandtears @glixeo @rubycubix @mekakushi-dan-01-kido

#bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha #bnha reader insert #boku no hero academia #reader insert #mha #my hero academia #shinsou x reader #bnha halloween #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #siren!shinsou #siren!shinsou x reader #kaminari denki

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ikesenhell · 6 years ago

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Falling

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here or become a Patron of mine! NOTES: This was a commission for @psychedelicaya! Thank you so much! Slight warning of mild reference to disturbing content.

She made herself known, and that was difficult to do. He pulled long enough hours that eventually all of the residents blurred together (except for the ones that made stupid mistakes--those he remembered and kept away from his patients). Dr. Ieyasu Tokugawa didn't have time to play professor to the residents. Never mind that he’d been one himself recently; he had obligations of a caregiver, and it was the responsibility of the students to learn at a safe, comfortable distance.

But she stood out immediately.

Part of it was her manner. Ieyasu had plenty of nurses and doctors around that knew how to set others at ease. He’d never mastered that himself. His specialty was cardiology, not people. But every time they wheeled someone from the ER into his wing, her at their side, the patients were calm and collected, no matter the situation.

“Dr. Tokugawa is great,” she assured them. He paused to snap on his gloves and soak in the sound of her voice. He’d never caught her last name. One of the other techs called her ‘Aya’, so Ieyasu assumed that was her name, but it felt so unprofessional to refer to her by it that he stayed from calling her anything at all. “He’ll take care of you.”

“Awful young, isn’t he?”

Ieyasu pretended he didn't hear that. Aya pressed on, comforting and warm. “He’s the best doctor in the wing. You’re in great hands.”

He didn't know how to thank her for the compliment. She liked coffee, so one day on an impulse he bought a gold thermos and tucked it onto the residents station in the ER with a simple note reading only her name. The next day he heard a knock on his office door.

Aya waved the thermos at him. “Was this you?”

Ieyasu stared, nonplussed. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Date said it looked like your handwriting.”

Of course. His best friend and administrator had sold him out. Uncertain where to go from there, Ieyasu quickly answered, “It was a sign of appreciation for your compliment, as well as an acknowledgement of your passable efforts with the patients. Plus, your other thermos is tacky.”

She smiled and his heart froze in his throat. How unfair that expression was! It was almost as if the sunshine came streaming in through the ceiling and hovered around her. How did she have the power to transform the whole hallway? “Yellow is my favorite color. Thanks.”

Ieyasu couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Mine too. You’re welcome.”

---

Months passed. Her smile became something of a fixture in his life. No matter the rain or storm or sleet, she appeared for her long hours and tense shifts with a smile on her face and the hard determination that so many others lacked. Sometimes she spotted him in the hallways and waved her thermos, eyes sparkling. Ieyasu couldn’t decide if he hated or loved that she kept it on her.

“You’re sweet on her.” Masamune grinned over a late night feast at the local diner, both of them still in their work clothes and not entirely up to the task of going home and cooking dinner.

“Don’t be foolish,” Ieyasu snapped, spearing a potato wedge a little too forcefully. “She’s just a resident. If she doesn’t have a breakdown by the end of the month, I’ll be somewhat surprised.”

“You bought her a present.”

“It was unfair of me not to acknowledge the compliment. Besides. Anything more than that is unprofessional.”

Masamune looked every inch the meme of the smug cat surrounded by knives, but he tucked into his eggs benedict and didn't say anything more.

---

Ieyasu was walking back to his office next week when he heard the soft huff of a sob in the corner. He slowed, mentally calculating his path. Dealing with a crying patient was the last thing he did well--but there was no other way. Whoever they were, they were lingering in the same little cubby space with the vending machines, and his feet would carry him straight past them. Flipping open a folder, he pretended to be in deep thought and strode purposefully by--

Only to halt in his steps.

“Aya?” He asked, daring to say her name aloud for the first time. She started, wiping her eyes.

“Dr. Tokugawa.” Her smile was weak. “Sorry. I thought--I thought you went home for the day.”

“Paperwork,” he answered. Did he ask? Did he dare? She wrapped her arms around herself, smelling of the peppermint oil they sometimes slathered in the ER when a horrid stench permeated the halls. “What--is something--are you okay?”

“I--” Desperately her eyes roved everywhere but him, welling with tears again. “Sorry. We had a burn victim. Baby.”

Oh.

Ieyasu stood there a moment longer, flipping the folder uncertainly in his hand before motioning to her. “Come with me.”

“Dr. Tokugawa…?”

“Ieyasu,” he corrected, uncomfortable in the moment, “Just Ieyasu. Come with me.”

Together they dipped into his cramped office. He turned on the comforting yellow light and motioned a chair, which she sat on, before he flipped on a white noise machine by the doorway.

“Go on.”

She stared blearily at him. “What?”

“It’s a tough job,” he murmured. “Go on. You’re allowed to cry.”

As if permission were what she wanted all along, Aya burst into sobs. He just sat there with her, rubbing her back in slow circles and letting her mourn a child she’d barely known.

---

After that, things were… different.

It started when she left a handwritten note in his office, thanking him for letting her cry it out. Ieyasu didn't know what to do other than leave a small packet of good coffee for her in the residents office. Then it turned into them having small conversations in the hallway and exchanging music recommendations. Ieyasu even went so far as to burn her a CD.

“Is this a mix tape?” She asked, the laughter spilling from those pretty lips. Ieyasu wondered what they tasted like for only a second.

“Look, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“No. No, no. I do.” Aya clutched it to her chest and smiled at him. “I’m just feeling a bit like a teenager right now.”

He was too, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was for the same reasons, so he kept it to himself. Instead he watched her flit through the ER in whatever brief glimpses he was allowed. She teased Dr. Sarutobi and roasted Dr. Sanada with the best of them. When she split pizzas with the other residents, she would pop by and give him a spare slice, sure to give him that smile and light up his office just by existing. He didn't care for pizza (not much, at least), but her--

It was a dangerous thought, but he couldn’t help but entertain it.

One cold December night he was on his way back to the garage when he saw her standing at the bus station, hands tucked into her pockets and breath circling skyward. Thick flakes tumbled around her. Ieyasu wondered if they sold that picture on a postcard.

“Hi.”

She blinked up at him and smiled. “Hi.”

“The bus stopped running an hour ago.”

“Did it?” Aya frowned and reached for her phone. “I thought I read it right…”

“I thought you had a car.”

“I do. It’s in the shop. I’ve never ridden the bus before.”

Ieyasu thought over his options for a half-second before motioning for her to follow him. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose--”

“It’s no trouble.”

She fell into step beside him, their arms brushing and sending electric sparks shooting all over his body. God. How could he be cold with her there? They stepped into the garage and he unlocked his modest Honda, both of them slipping into the frigid interior.

“God.” She sniffed. “It’s freezing.”

Something born from habit of being around Masamune kicked in. Without thinking, Ieyasu offered, “Want to get hot chocolate?”

“Yeah! That sounds great.”

They both paused as if realizing what had happened, Ieyasu with the keys barely in the ignition. It was another beat before he started the car. What was he doing? But--but she’d said yes, and something in his stupid, stupid heart soared.

He drove them over to the twenty-four hour Starbucks. The snow was falling fast, drifting up against the curb, and together they bundled inside and ordered their twin hot chocolates. Something about it felt so natural that Ieyasu almost forgot his reservations, his position, all of the duties that stood between the two of them. It was just her, her, her, Aya, this lovely woman who graced him with her time and smile. She talked about grad school and residency and he offered her advice, their knees nested together as they huddled up by the window.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” She laughed, tossing her long-ago drained cup into the trash. “What time is it, even?”

Ieyasu checked his watch. “Nearly two am.”

“We’re probably bothering the staff here.”

The very real possibility he was bothering her struck fear in his heart. “I should get you home.”

But--much to his surprise--Aya frowned at that. “Aw. Are you sure? We could do a sortie around the block and then go, just so we can get into the snow.”

“Fine.”

She ordered a second hot chocolate and they scooted around in drifts on the sidewalk. Before he had the sense to feel what was coming, Aya hopped to the nearest car and packed a snowball from the hood. “Heads up!”

“What the--” An instinct born of being around Masamune kicked in; Ieyasu barely dodged the ball and watched it smack harmlessly into the Starbucks.

Oh no. This was war. Without a second thought he dove for his car, loading up ammunition and pelting her. She screamed and raced around the parking lot, her infectious laughter echoing through the night. Back and forth they went, snow flying and loading in his hair and hers, the thick flakes replenishing their supply almost as fast as they used it--and then she slipped on the pavement.

“Are you ok?” Ieyasu raced to her as fast as he dared on the slick ground. She was smiling still, just rubbing her hip and shaking her head. “Let me check you over.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! I promise.” She blinked at him, her eyelashes dusted with flakes and her smile as radiant as the white winter around her, her cheeks pale from the frost. God. His heart beat so loud in his chest that he wondered if she might hear him.

“You swear?” He asked.

Aya’s smile faded. And it was a second--only a split second--where she cast her eyes to his mouth.

He took the cue.

She tasted like snow and chocolate and whipped cream and the sunlight she so often was. He pulled away and she whispered a faint uh uh, dragging him back in by the collar and kissing him right back. All of his fears and obligations melted away in her radiance, the soft drift of flakes around him forgotten. Ieyasu curled his whole body around hers and gave her everything she wanted.

It was a long, long time before they broke apart again. Her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Again?” She asked.

“You’re greedy,” he responded, and leaned in once more.

#Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Ieyasu #Ieyasu Tokugawa #Ikesen Modern Au #Dr. Ieyasu #fluff #commission #Falling #My writing

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kusunogatari · 5 years ago

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[ @wanderingmelodies ] 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩

Soft leather boots are soundless against the cobbled street...and even if they’d not been, her footsteps would still be drowned in the hustle and bustle of the busy little village.

Well…‘little’ is a relative term. Rin has certainly been to places smaller, but it’s still not quite the same as the large cities closer to the center of the continent. But this one suits her well enough. A place with a sizeable port of comings and goings. Perfect to receive shipments of her goods without being breathed down upon by large city inspectors and tax collectors.

For Rin, you see, is a witch. One most typically working with plants, herbs, and the concoctions one can make with them. And while she grows a great many things herself, every so often she’ll come across a spell or potion requiring something a bit...out of the ordinary. And that means finding it elsewhere. And while she’s gone galavanting across the countryside before, she’s not eager to leave her little hideaway too often.

Magic, after all, can be a bit of a dirty word, depending on the tongue it sits upon.

Rin’s own is used primarily for good! Poultices for wounds, brews for illnesses, charms that help ward against pain or evil. But...every so often, she won’t deny having crafted something a bit...devious. A poison for a deserving throat, or an acid to melt through hard-crafted locks over treasuries. Not her favorite things to do, but...one must eat. And to eat, one must have coin.

While the forests she calls home are plentiful, and her house built herself in a place few can find it (let alone scaredy cat statesmen who won’t dare venture so far to collect her dues), Rin still has expenses. She can hardly do everything for charity, though her large heart indulges when it feels it must. Hers is oft a cruel world, after all. She does what she can to lighten it.

Hood of her cloak drawn over her head, she weaves her way through the rumbling masses. The markets are in full swing, people yelling and bartering for this, that, and the other thing. The sounds of animals brought to be sold join the cacophony, and all in all, it’s a block of chaos.

Exactly what she wants.

Guards, after all, have to keep close eyes on the daily gathering to ensure nothing is stolen, illegal, or being traded without proper taxes atop them. Which means they aren’t as watchful elsewhere.

Slipping into an alley, Rin keeps her face hidden as she meets with another shady figure. Ruddy eyes and flyaway black hair peek out from beneath the hem of another hood.

“You have it?” Rin ask quietly, trying to look nonchalant.

“So long as you have my coin.”

“Of course.” From a belt at her waist she draws the pouch, which jingles pleasantly with gold.

The other woman’s eyes alight, accepting before handing over a parcel. “Do be careful with it. Getting you another won’t be so easy...and I’d have to charge you double.”

“Double?”

“I’ll bore you with the tale later, but you’ll not get me to run such an errand again on so light a payment. There’s a concealment charm you’ll have to break: thought it wise in case you’re checked. Until then, it’ll just look like some spare fabric.”

“I’ve been meaning to make myself a new blouse,” Rin replies blasely.

Giving a subtle nod, the other witch exits the way Rin came, and Rin in turn takes the other mouth out. Package tucked under her arm, she winds her way back around to the eastern gate of the village.

Home again, home again.

The cobble gives way to dirt, thankfully dry after a week of no rain. That doesn’t rid it of the deep wells from uncounted wagons, but Rin keeps to the center, shifting her path only when encountering another traveler. A few miles pass, and then she takes a trail off to the north. This she follows a ways before cutting west again to a path barely discernible to the naked eye.

Just as she likes it.

Here the trees of the forest seem to grow ever thicker, dense foliage blotting out all but the most determined light. Ivy hangs in thick sheets from sturdy branches, and after a long, silent trek, Rin waves a hand.

Heeding her call, the flora shifts to reveal a small, yet cozy cabin. Plants of all shapes, shades, and sizes grow in what looks to be chaos around it, but Rin knows every stalk and stem. A ways behind her dwelling, the chuckling of a brook can be heard.

And what a curious dwelling it is.

Formed from wood, rather than cut...it’s been grown. Several trunks meld together to form walls, the roof a conglomerate of branches and leaves thick enough to waylay any rain. The floor is flattened roots, walk to a shining after so many years of her pacing and passing. Even a hearth crackles warmly, the wood of its belly and chimney simply made so dense with magic, it can’t begin to burn.

And even inside there’s a plethora of plants. Every shelf and surface is home to bottles, planters, crystals, vials. Several of the stones glow brightly to illuminate her space, colored by the gemstone that houses the werelights.

It’s a strange, almost alien place. But for Rin, it suits her perfectly.

Clearing a space on her table, she sets her package, unraveling the string around it and finding - as Kurenai warned - a simple folded stack of velvety fabric.

To most, the charm would be completely undetectable. But Rin is both aware...and talented in magics herself. Taking a moment to feel out the particular incantation, she breaks it with a few murmured words.

The fabric is no more. In its place is a pelt.

A rather particular pelt.

Grinning widely, Rin runs fingers over the scaly hide. As she does, the pigments change to match her skin, blending perfectly.

Exactly what she’s been looking for: a chameleocan skin. A rather peculiar beast with a marvelous adaptation: it can blend into any environment and become practically invisible. While not perfect, it’s far more stable than a cloaking spell, and has no mana cost.

All she has to do with it now is tan and shape it into a cloak, and she’ll finally be able to prowl about unseen. At least, to most eyes.

Giddy with excitement, she takes it outside, giving it one last wash in the river before stretching it on a tanning rack to dry and finish curing. Admiring her handiwork, her smile vanishes as a sound reaches her ears.

A voice.

Spinning around, she tries to place it. Still a ways off, it’s nonetheless far closer than Rin would like anyone to be. She’s not expecting any guests...which means this person isn’t welcome.

Subtly, she begins tightening the ivy around her little homestead, doing her best to further hide it. Creeping quietly, she listens.

Another cry. Still too far too make out words, but...she can hear the tone. It sounds desperate, like...a call for help.

Though there’s a reflexive want to go investigate - someone might be in trouble! - her worry is tempered by experience. Often times, such a plea is a charade. A lie to draw in unaware travelers before your throat and coin purse are slit.

Weighing her options, Rin pulls her lip between her teeth before parting the ivy. Either way...she needs to make sure her home isn’t discovered. Easier to do the further away she keeps this person. A woman, judging by the pitch of the cries. For a ways she steps carefully, pausing every so often to listen for the voice. Once she’s close enough, she peers around trunks before finally catching sight of them.

Whoever they are, they’ve donned a silvery-white cloak. That immediately draws Rin’s brow. Something of that make looks costly...what would someone able to afford finery like that be doing this far out in the woods? Their gate shuffles, occasionally stumbling as they call out for help. Spinning in a slow circle, taking in the endless swaths of the same trees and undergrowth, they eventually turn to face Rin in her hiding place.

They certainly appear feminine, from what she can see. The cloak covers a gown of downy grey that sweeps the forest floor. It, too, seems fine in make. Along their front spill waves of white hair...curious. And the expression on their pale face - seemingly even paler with fright - looks far too deeply etched to be rehearsed.

Something more is going on here.

Magic humming at the ready along her fingertips, Rin cautiously steps out of hiding. “...lost?”

Sharpening their focus on her, the stranger stumbles back a few steps, gait still quite warped. Staring a long moment, they dare to ask, “...you...you’re the woman who was in the village this morning, are you not? You’re a witch!”

The words, by reflex, earn a small flinch. Typically they’re thrown with disdain...but this one utters them with a desperate hope. How did they spot her, let alone figure what she was? “...I’m learned in magic, yes.”

“Please...you have to help me. I…” Looking stricken for words, they ask, “...may we speak somewhere...private?”

“Why?”

“I...I’ve need of help regarding a curse. I…” They turn to glance around. Surely the woods are empty, but they seem fearful to risk being seen. “...I can’t let anyone know.”

Still wary, Rin considers the request a moment before murmuring, “...follow me.”

They trudge back toward the cabin, and Rin - taking the lead - continues to listen. Her companion’s gait is still...off. Not quite a limp, but not even steps, either. Almost like…

Parting the ivy, she lets them in, seeing the wonder on their face. “...try not to touch anything. Some of these are toxic,” she warns, gesturing to the plants.

Once inside, she sets a kettle to boil water, glancing up to see her guest lingering uncertainly in the doorway. “...you can come in.”

“...thank you.” Taking a few cautious steps, they offer, “...my name is Ryū.”

“...Rin.”

“I...I know this may be rather forward, given that it’s me asking for your help, but...may I ask for your silence? If anyone else were to know what I’m to tell you…”

“I don’t vomit up secrets,” Rin assures her. “So long as you’re not going to harm anyone else -”

“Oh, no no! Never that! You see, I…” A weary sigh. “...I’m of a royal line. Of a land north of here. I’m...their princess.”

Brow furrowing, Rin tries to think. She mostly keeps her dealings to this land - she knows little of any others. She barely knows her own royal family, given how low she tries to keep her profile. “...you said you’ve a question about a curse?”

“I...yes. A few weeks ago, a curse was laid upon me. I’ve been searching for help ever since. While magic is not viewed so...poorly in my homeland as it is here to the south, I couldn’t let anyone see me like...like this.”

A brown brow perks. “...like…?”

Hesitating, Ryū wilts with a sigh. “...I...I hope it doesn’t cause you alarm.”

“I’ve seen a great many things. I assure you, little can shock me.”

One last pause, and then Ryū begins to remove her traveling gear. Gloved hands lift the hood from her head, laying the cloak atop a chair. Rin’s eyes slowly widen the more she removes, until she’s left in little more than her skivvies.

From her temples grow short horns of a moonstone color. In patches along her limbs are silver and white scales. In fact, her entire left leg is distorted, looking more like a beast’s in its proportions than a human’s.

...that explains her gait.

And from her spine as she turns, posture clearly ashamed, is the beginnings of a scaly tail topped with white hair. Strange lumps stretch the skin over her shoulder blades, as though something lurks beneath the surface, ready to burst.

“...by the gods…”

“It...i-it’s been slowly taking me over. At first it was just a few scales...t-then my back started aching, and my leg shifted in shape…! I...I’m turning into a -!”

“A dragon.” Moving, Rin walks in slow circles around her, expression both horrified...and yet fathomlessly curious. “...do you know who cursed you?”

“I...I do - he’s a member of my mother’s court. I’ve always had my suspicions about him, but his influence is too great to simply be ousted. He…” Her face turns aside, expression pained. “...he’s nearly thrice my age, but has been...attempting to court me. I know he only wants to sneak his roots into my kingdom. I rejected him again and again, as softly as I could. It seems...he realized I’d never have him, and has decided to remove me instead.”

“Did you speak to your mother?”

“I couldn’t…! Before I could find her, I’d already started changing. I was scared, and unsure what to do, so...I-I fled.”

“...you should pen her a letter. Tell her what has happened, and why you left. She needs to know, and your absence may be having drastic consequences, m’lady.”

Ryū gives a sorrowful nod. “Can...can you help me…?”

The witch heaves a heavy sigh. “...transformations aren’t my forte,” she admits. “Nor are curses. Magic has many branches...and mine lie mostly in flora. It’s rare they can attain such results...or counteract them.”

“Do...do you know of anyone else who might be able to aid me…?”

A pause to think. Kurenai is skilled in illusionary magics...Anko in poisons and beast taming. But this isn’t one that needs to be calmed. “Not personally, no...and I fear by the time I find one, it may be too late. How long has it been?”

“Um…” She thinks. “...three weeks, perhaps? I...I’ve not tracked the time since I fled.”

“Why come here where magic is harder to find?”

“I didn’t want to be recognized. If my people knew their next queen might become a beast, surely they would panic…!”

“And they’ll not panic with you simply up and disappearing?”

“...I…”

Rin sighs. “...fear can rob anyone of their sense. I understand. But we really should alert your mother. This man that cursed you may very well have other schemes waiting in his sleeves...if he’s not implemented them already.”

“Yes...you’re right.”

“Here...let’s get you redressed, and then we’ll find some parchment and ink.”

Once a warning letter is written, Rin calls upon a feathered friend to bear it. “They’ll be swift.”

Seated at Rin’s table (which grows right up out of the floor), Ryū braces her brow in a hand, eyes weary. “I don’t know where else to go, what else to do…”

“Does your mother not employ a court mage?”

“Several...and he’s one of them. I feared they may reject my claims and protect him as one of their own. I could never have asked…”

“Mm...a fair point.” Sitting opposite the princess, Rin rubs at her chin, racking her brain. While she’s heard of curses like these before...she’s never seen them for herself. Nor does she know anything about them. Their casting, their effects...or their cures. Nor do any of her own types of magic immediately come to mind when it comes to a possible remedy. Transformation magics are their own branch, one she’s never really breached.

Standing, she goes to her bookshelf, looking over her collection of tomes. A finger trails over their spines, trying to find a title that might at least hint at a possible solution. She looks among her collections of flora, stretching her imagination to possible uses among theirs that might help.

...and then an idea starts to bloom.

A risky, terrible idea.

Biting her lip, Rin goes back to her shelf and pulls out a glossary of plants and herbs. Flipping through the weathered pages, she finds the proper entry, finger tracing along the text. As she thought she remembered, there’s no mention of human ingestion...just uses on blades to aid in battles…

“...have you thought of something…?”

“I…” A pause. “...I don’t know...in all honesty, it’s not a thought I’ve ever entertained before…” Sitting once more, she lays the tome atop the table, turning it round so Ryū can read. “...this is dragonsbane. Typically used to concoct an oil you coat a blade with to better your chances at slaying a dragon. In short, it reacts very...negatively to a dragon’s biology.”

She then flips a great chunk through the book to another page near the end. “And this...is wolfsbane. It has similar effects, but on werewolves. However…” A digit points to a small paragraph near the bottom. “It’s also used, in a far more diluted form, to help control werewolf transformations. Werewolves, of course, only take that form during full moons...and yours is instead happening slowly, until - I’m willing to assume - you take a fully dragonic form...or perhaps one like the old draconids, but they’re long extinct…”

At Ryū’s curious look, she expounds, “A specie of dragon that walked upright, and could speak. They were hunted after a war broke out, and it’s assumed there’s no more of them left. That might be more like what you’re facing, given that your anatomy has only changed slightly, like your leg.”

Back up she gets, on a whirlwind of thought now. “I’ve made wolfsbane potions for a very long time, for a dear friend of mine afflicted with the bite of a werewolf. I’m intimately familiar with it. But...I have no idea if the same principle could be applied to dragonsbane. I’ve never heard of it done. Then again...I’ve never heard of someone being cursed exactly as you have: to become a dragon, I mean. Werewolves aren’t cursed, per se...”

Hands trace up to the wolfsbane plant, and then over to dragonsbane. “...I’ll have to do some tests. Because if I’m wrong...that potion might kill you. If I make it too strong, and it affects you too potently…”

Ryū pales, looking quite frightened for a moment. Head bowing, eyes flicker over the table before closing with a soft sigh, resolute. “...well...I’ve nowhere else to turn. No other leads to follow. Whatever you need me to do in order to see this through, I’ll do. It’s either we take this chance...or I certainly turn into a monster.”

“Well, it depends on your view of dragons...or possibly draconids, if that’s more what you’re headed toward.” Rin then fetches her kettle, finally boiling, and begins to make tea. “In some cultures - mostly those more...remote and perhaps a bit...outdated - dragons are seen as sacred beings. Almost akin to gods. Then in other places, they’re simply nuisances. Monster, then, is a relative term. If it does fail, maybe you could go find a land where you’d be welcome. Possibly even worshipped.”

At that, the princess blanches. “I’d...rather we simply find the cure.”

“Well, of course. But that’s a better alternative than death, isn’t it?”

“...to never again see my home, or my mother? Being held aloft by strangers? I don’t know…”

Well, Rin can hardly change this young lady’s priorities. “...I’ll write to my friend. Ask him to come. Maybe he’ll have some insight into how you can best handle this. I don’t know if your...conditions have similar enough roots, but it can’t hurt.”

Another bird is sent with the invitation, and the pair get to work. Rin begins asking all sorts of questions: her routine, her diet, her birth sigils. Anything and everything that might have an impact on how her body handles the curse, and its progression.

“Curses do tend to act most slowly in those who are larger,” Rin notes, taking measurements. Ryū is returned to her undergarments, a bit pink as the witch gets all manner of personal with her person. “You’re rather tall, so that might be helping slow the transformation some. It obviously can’t stop it entirely, but it helps.”

Looking to some of the princess’ scales under a magnifying glass, Rin compares them to a few dragon scales she has on hand for potions and charms. Ryū’s are considerably smoother, and quite a bit smaller, but appear to be made of the same material. “Hm...well, given all your measurements, compared to the apparent progression of the curse...I do think it’s safe to say you’re not going to change into a full-fledged dragon. If you were, your anatomy would be changing far faster, given the rest of your symptoms.”

“Is...is that a good thing?”

“...I’m not sure.” Rin taps her glass against her chin, thinking. “...it does make you more similar to a werewolf. They too are anthropomorphic creatures, just...another breed. And also directly correlating to a celestial body. You, however, seem to be taking a permanent form.”

The word ‘permanent’ clearly doesn’t sit well, and Ryū can’t help a small whine of worry.

“But, if the dragonsbane potion does work in a similar way, then...it would simply be a matter of ingesting it more regularly. Rather than just on the worst nights of the moon cycle, you’d likely have to take it once a day, depending on how safe the maximum dosage is, and how potent it can be without harming you. All things we’ll need to test. Very carefully, of course.”

The princess gives a slow nod, brow knitted.

“Don’t worry, m’lady. I’ll do all I can.”

“...I know.”

That evening, there’s a call from beyond the ivy. “Oi!”

“Oh, that’s Kakashi.” Abandoning her work, Rin moves to let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure. Though I’m not sure what use I’ll be.”

“Neither do I, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt.” Taking him inside, Rin gestures. “Ryū, this is Kakashi. Kakashi, Ryū. She’s a princess.”

Grey brows lift in surprise. One dark eye looks her over, the other clouded with blindness, an angry scar cutting through the lid. “Wasn’t aware I’d be meeting royalty.”

“I’m hardly a proper princess at the moment,” Ryū offers somberly. At Rin’s request, she shows the scales on an arm, and then blushingly lifts her skirt to show her leg.

Squatted to a lower level, Kakashi rubs his chin thoughtfully as he observes the limb. “It’s definitely the same structure as what I change to. Just, uh...scaly rather than furry.”

“As I thought…have you ever come across this while traveling?” At Ryū’s curious look, Rin expounds, “Kakashi is a monster hunter. Rather ironic, eh Kakashi?”

He just grunts in response, still thinking. “...can’t say I have. I’ve only ever had to face one dragon...and thankfully not for very long. Never seen one shaped like this.”

“Nor have I. I’ve read about the draconids, but...that’s ancient history by now.”

“Interesting that someone would choose it as a curse, isn’t it?”

“There are dragons in my homeland,” Ryū offers, “but...none like you say. We are...neutral towards them. They can be quite wise, and have aided us in the past. But we mostly try to stay out of one another’s way.”

“Out of a dragon’s way is the best way to be,” Kakashi agrees dryly.

“Well...it’s getting late now,” Rin offers. “You should get some rest. You can take my bunk.” A hand points up to a small loft.

“Oh no, I couldn’t -”

“I insist. I’ve slept in worse places for worse reasons,” Rin offers with a wry smile.

Looking sheepish, Ryū accepts, climbing the ladder up and disappearing.

The pair below watch her go before looking to each other. With a nod of her head, Rin gestures them both outside. Out they walk to stand on the riverbank.

“...so?”

“...I don’t know,” Rin muses softly. “I’ve never heard of using the plant this way, but...it has the same basic properties as wolfsbane. There has to be a way to mirror its effects, but…”

“Testing will be dangerous.”

“...yes. And if she has to consume it every day, she’ll need a steady supply. I wish there was a way to just...rid her of it completely. But I don’t know how. Or if it’s even possible without the proper countercurse. And I have no way of knowing how to do that, given I don’t know the curse that started it.”

“...I could always go nab the guy.”

Rin gives him a pointed look. “I’d like to keep this from turning into an international incident, if you just go up there and kidnap a court mage.”

“I could explain.”

“We’ve sent a letter to her mother...perhaps we’ll hear word back. For now, though...time is my biggest enemy. If she finishes changing, there might be no going back. There’s so much unknown…”

“You’ll figure it out,” Kakashi assures her. “You always do.”

Rin doesn’t reply, not so sure.

The pair sleep downstairs, Rin waking with the dawn. Letting the princess sleep, she goes about prep work to begin making the first attempts at the potion. Thankfully she has a decent supply of dragonsbane, but...she might want to start propagating more. Out in her garden, she starts encouraging new seedlings to sprout.

By the time she returns, Ryū is back on the ground floor. “Sleep well?”

The small grimace she gives in return speaks well enough.

“Well...we’d best get started.”

Using her data of Ryū’s physiology against the wolfsbane potion, Rin starts calculating conversions. Even then, she begins with a fraction of potency. The brew takes nearly three weeks to properly simmer, so in the meantime...there’s little else to do but talk. They exchange stories of their pasts, their families, their friends. Strolls are taken within the woods and along the riverbanks, gaps slowly filled in their knowledge of each other. Little by little, Rin gets to know more about the mysterious princess and the lands she comes from. In turn, she reveals things long-buried about herself...things she hasn’t dared to think of in years.

Like a vine-covered window slowly pried open, light starts to shine through into her solitude. The air starts to clear form the years of idle dust. And things start to seem...different.

Rin starts to realize how...alone she’s felt all this time. And how much company her guest has proven to be.

...she’ll be sad to see her go.

“My name actually means dragon in the old tongue,” Ryū muses one afternoon as Rin puts the finishing touches on the first batch. “I wonder if that’s where he got his inspiration from…”

“It’s possible,” the witch muses, carefully tending to her cauldron. While wolfsbane is always a deep green, this concoction is a noxious purple. “...all right, I think we’re ready. Now, I can test it on your skin, first. See if you have any reaction before we go pouring it down your gullet.”

Ryū nods, baring an arm as Rin carefully takes a small spoonful, letting it cool before a drop is spared to a patch of scales.

It hisses, smoking and bubbling for a fraction of a second. Then, after a pause...a scale pops off onto the floor with a clatter.

Both women stare at it before looking up. “...um…”

“...it might be a bit strong,” Rin offers nervously. “I’ll...try diluting it a bit.”

“Maybe...maybe it’s something we should apply topically…? Rather than, um...internally?”

Rin nibbles her lip in thought. “...let me try one more thing.”

Baring Ryūs back, Rin takes another drop and lets it dribble onto one of the protrusions on her shoulder blade: something she can only assume will later tear and reveal wings, as the base of her spine has done for her new tail.

Immediately, the skin begins to burn.

“Ah...ah!” Curling up in pain, Ryū’s hands scramble back to try and reach the sensation. “I-it’s like...acid! R-Rin!”

Panicking, Rin summons water from a nearby bucket and tries to wash the residue away. It steams upon contact, and she can’t help but blanch at the hole left behind. Ryū’s muscles twitch and flutter in lingering pain, and Rin just...stares at the infant fifth limb now uncovered, like a lanced boil.

“That...t-that didn’t work,” she notes, tone a bit weak in residual shock.

Shaking and biting back tears, Ryū looks over. “...is...is it bad?”

“...I’ll tend to it.”

Mixing up a poultice for burns, Rin carefully applies it to the melted flesh, covering it with clean cloth. “...I’m so sorry…”

“You didn’t know.”

“But the scale, I -!”

“It’s okay, Rin.” Ryū gives her a shaking smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You...you tried. Maybe floral magic just...isn’t the way to go.”

“But…!” The witch deflates, frustrated tears in her eyes. “...I don’t know any other methods…! And I don’t know any witches who specialize in curses, we’re - we’re running out of time!”

“It’s okay. I think...I think I knew this wouldn’t work.” Ryū’s expression shifts to a somber acceptance. “Surely there’s no stronger curse than one born out of scorned love...even if he never really loved me. All he wanted was what he could take from me… and now he’s taken everything. My mother has no other daughters. She’s too old to bear another. The crown will have to find another path, and...maybe he’ll find a way to take it with me removed. Maybe this was his plan all along...”

Her own face defeated, Rin mulls all that over. Part of her is so angry, she has half a mind to drag Kakashi back here, march up to the north, and duel that bastard herself with him as her second. He couldn’t have her...so he’s turned her into a beast no one could love. He ended her line, and...he…

...wait.

Perking up, Rin scarcely dares to breathe. No...that can’t...but could it…? Looking to Ryū, whose face is turned aside with shame, she looks over the princess’ form. There’s been more changes since her arrival. Her horns are longer, ears taking a more bestial shape: long and hollow (and currently drooped in sorrow). Scales coat more than half her arms and abdomen, both legs now inhumanly distorted. Even her tail is longer, thicker. To anyone in their right mind, she’s a horror to look at. Something to be feared.

...but…?

It’s a rather cliche solution to curses. One often used simply because it’s so glaringly specific. It has to be pure, unmatched, and without any pretense or force. And given all of the lined up circumstances - she’s ugly, now removed from a royal line with no other branches, given up on by the man who sought to use her - it only makes sense.

“Ryū.”

Turning to face her, the princess stiffens with widened eyes as Rin takes the front of her gown in her curled fingers. For a moment they search one another’s gazes before Rin closes the gap, and locks their lips.

As she does, she recalls all the hours of talking, laughing, secret sharing they’ve done since Ryū has arrived. How Rin’s inherent loneliness has been lifted. How much warmer and brighter her little cabin has felt with two people within it, bound by a common goal.

It’s then Rin admits to herself that she’s grown quite fond of this cursed princess.

It’s then she admits that she loves her.

...but it can’t be one-sided if this is going to work.

Still tense with surprise, Ryū stares as Rin kisses her with closed eyes. Heat blooms in her face. She...but...what…? Her heart flutters in her chest, a warmth spreading from her mouth to every end of her nerves. Then slowly she relaxes, lids sliding closed, returning the kiss softly.

With a clatter like a box of marbles spilled upon the floor, scales shed in a torrent. Magic flares and ruffles at their clothes and locks. Horns drop from her head, flesh rippling as time seems to reverse, anatomy shifting back into human until a flawless princess slowly opens her eyes.

Rin looks up, her own gaze softened with the fog of affection, before they both turn to look at the mess. Lifting her slip, Ryū stares at her legs. Pale, fleshy, human legs. She wiggles her toes, and then breaks into a torrent of giggles.

“You...you did it! You really did it!” Eyes starry with unabashed joy, she launches forward and embraces Rin, who squeaks and topples over. Laughing and crying, Ryū then spares a moment to kiss her again, butting their brows as she looks to the witch adoringly. “...you saved me,” she murmurs, tone soft with gratitude and affection.

Face flushed and eyes wide, Rin lingers in shock for a moment before giving a curt, nervous laugh. “I...I guess I did...didn’t I?”

Still beaming, Ryū giggles a bit more, sitting up and looking around at the mess of scales. “...well, I guess you won’t have to buy any more dragon scales for a while, will you?”

Rin then does the same, and snorts. “...I guess not.”

They sweep up the silver and white shards, Ryū carefully picking up the pair of horns. “Wow...these are actually really pretty.”

“I agree. I’ll have to make them into something.”

Setting them atop the table, Ryū looks to Rin thoughtfully. “...so...now what do we do…?”

“Well...I guess you get to go home now, m’lady. Hopefully your mother has taken care of the bastard who cursed you...though we may want to be cautious until we hear back.”

To the witch’s surprise, something falls in Ryū’s expression.

“...you...do want to go home, don’t you?”

“I...I do. And I must. But…” Somber, demure eyes glance up. “...I wonder if...you would come with me…”

“Me?”

“It was love, wasn’t it? That broke the curse?”

Rin suddenly turns sheepish. “I...well, yes - but -”

“I don’t want to leave that behind.”

At a loss for words, Rin...isn’t sure what to say.

“I know you love this place, and...if you want to stay, I cannot fault you. But...if you were to come with me, you wouldn’t have to hide…! You could practice your craft without fear!”

“But...you’re a princess! Surely you need to marry a prince, bear an heir -!”

At that, Ryū laughs. “I can bear an heir without marrying a prince. My line, as I’ve told you, is matriarchal. We don’t need a king. I could very well make a witch my queen if it’s what I want,” she adds coyly. “...and...if that is what the witch wants.”

Rin flounders. “...I...I-I don’t know...I’ve lived here so long, and -”

“I don’t expect an answer now,” Ryū assures her, holding up a placating hand. “...but I should go soon. My mother is surely eager to see me...as I am to see her.”

“...I’ll send Kakashi with you. He’ll keep you safe, especially if things are still...unsettled there. And...I’ll take time to think.”

Ryū smiles softly. “...very well.”

The next day, set with supplies and with the werewolf at her side, Ryū stands outside the ivy. Silvers lock with umbers, unnamed emotions flitting through both.

“...be careful,” Rin murmurs.

“I will be. I’ll write soon.”

“Okay…”

Drawing her hood, Ryū then leans in, giving the little witch a gentle kiss. “...I will see you again.”

Flushed pink (and ignoring Kakashi’s snickering), Rin manages a jerking nod. “...until then.” Watching them go, she feels something in her chest sink with every step. The impulsive part of her - a very large part, at present - almost goes running after her.

...but for now...she has thinking to do.

It’s not every day you fall in love with a princess, after all.

.oOo.

Day three! This time RyūRin with @wanderingmelodies‘ Rin! Which is...technically a ship we never really fleshed out, more just...hinted at, and usually in crack xD But I’ve always liked the concept, so...here it is in a fantasy verse! Woo! So far this is the longest one by far up til now - had to do a lot more worldbuilding to set things up here, sooo I got a lil carried away lol - what can I say, I’m a worldbuilding nerd =w= But uh, yeah! I dunno why, but I’ve always gotten like...flora mage vibes from Rin. Which is also how I write her in Divine Light! Hence her being a wee plant witchy here. And ofc Ryū’s got dragony things going on! Was tempted to let her keep the ability to transform, but this is long enough as-is xD Mey, I know you don’t write on that blog anymore, but I miss yer beans and I hope you enjoy this...very random story, lol And with that, I’m gonna sign off! We’re about halfway through the week, woo! Ngl I’ma be sad when this is over...but it’s fun while it lasts!

#narutoocxcanonshipweek #noxcsw #wanderingmelodies #nohara rin #suigin ryū #like magic [ au ]#gore //

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