#refuse to watch my comfort character bite the dust | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

army-author · 4 years ago

Text

jungkook scenario | the alchemy of amor

❝ jungkook is the arrogant son of the duke. you’re a humble alchemist just trying to make a living. unfortunately for you, jungkook seems to have taken a strange interest in you. when a dangerous wager involving a love potion spirals out of control, you find yourself flung into the deep end of emotion, and it becomes difficult to decipher genuine attraction from magical aftereffect... ❞

➝ prompt: i’m a witch who’s been experimenting with love-potion formulas, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up, and now the love-potion has somehow ended up in your hands, and you’re drinking it, and - no, please stop!

➝ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➝ genre: fluff, fantasy au, enemies to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 15.5k words

➝ warnings: profanity, mild injury, implied smut, some characters express misogynist sentiments

➝ author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! i had a lot of fun writing it. as you can see from the word count, i got a bit carried away. i can’t help it, i love enemies to lovers!

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

You are not wont to pray, but in circumstances such as this, with your life unravelling before you in tattered ribbons, your mind recalls the goddess you so often forget. Watching in horror, your supplications come thick and fast, as Jeon Jungkook downs the phial of rose-gold potion, and with it, swallows the hours of work you had invested into those shimmering contents.

Normally, you would not be so perturbed by the wasting of a potion, even one as rare as Impetus Amor. Ingredients can always be re-bought, potions can always be re-brewed. But something about Jungkook’s cocky expression as he sets down the vial, and raises a brow at you, overwhelms you with the heat of irrational fury.

“Mighty goddess above, what is wrong with you?” you spit venom more potent than your potions. “You know very well how long that took to brew!”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough.” He smacks his lips together, “Looks like the potion doesn’t work anyway. And on top of that, it tastes bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

How does he know what dried roses and soap taste like?

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you retort through gritted teeth.

You know that the potion does work. After all the work you invested - collecting rose-petals, gold shavings, and pegasus feathers, all to be brewed on a blue moon, and then carefully distilled – there was no way that the batch of Impetus Amor was unsuccessful. But every alchemist worth their gold knows that the finicky love potion takes a few minutes to take effect after ingestion.

Which means that in a few minutes Jeon Jungkook, the man you hate most, will involuntarily fall in love with you.

How could I let this happen? You cast your mind over the unfortunate events that had led you to this low point, while you stifle a scream.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Several days ago]

It starts when one of your customers steps into your potions shop, in the town of Sientha, with a peculiar order.

She wears a red hood that covers most of her face, and clutches a purse tightly in her gloved hand. Glancing furtively around the shop, she walks over to your counter, and slips a note between the demijohns and ampuls that crowd the area where you work.

Upon unfolding her note, your eyes widen. The note reads: ‘One vial of Impetus Amor’. You focus your eyes on the client, who keeps her head down. You can just make out shapely lips and a dainty chin below the lowered hood.

“I know it’s a difficult potion to make,” she says in a hushed tone, “But I’m willing to pay whatever you need for it.”

You study her intently. Below the cloak, you can see an expensive dress, and jewellery sparkling at her neck. It’s clear that she has the means to pay. In most circumstances, you would object to the use of Impetus Amor, but it is not your responsibility to tell your customers how to use your potions. You simply get on with brewing, and ask no questions. That’s how you make a living. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay,” you say, “I must warn you that it will take quite a while to make, and most of the ingredients are quite rare, so the wait may be long.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

You nod, leaning against the counter, as you tally up how much the potion will cost in ingredients and labour. When you finally name your price, the woman is silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nods, and rummages in her purse. She takes out a small brown sack, heavy with coin, which she places in front of you. Counting up the money, you nod in satisfaction. “You’re in luck. There’s a blue moon soon, and the potion should be ready not long after. Roughly five weeks,” you advise, “Come by to collect it when you’re able.”

Satisfied, the woman leaves the shop, while you gape at the sack of coins on your counter top. You hadn’t had that much money to your name in a long time.

Impetus Amor – the potion is infamously difficult to create, but you’re ready for a challenge. Spinning around to the shelf of tomes behind you, you scour the tittles until you find the one you need. You pull the tome down from its shelf, holding your breath as a fog of dust descents around you. So it begins.

✽ ✽ ✽

The first mistake you make is accepting the request from the mysterious woman who came into your shop.

Your second mistake is letting Jungkook into your shop. Or letting Jungkook anywhere near you at all.

Jungkook is the only son of the duke of Braewyth, the duchy you reside in - a hobbyist alchemist and your tormentor in his spare time. When he had first barged into your potion shop, and declared that he wanted to learn the art of alchemy, you were led to the conclusion that he was a pretentious prick. This suspicion proved to be correct, as after a few lessons from you – out of the goodness of your heart, and the impossibility of saying ‘No’ to the heir of the duchy – Jungkook believed himself to be better than you with your fifteen years of experience. He was now convinced that the two of you were rivals, and you were convinced that he was a pain in the arse.

As you work on crushing down dried rose petals for your new project, Jungkook barges into your shop once more. He doesn’t seem to know of any other way to make an entrance into your tiny business. He leans over the counter, his eyes burning on your skin as you work.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Preparing ingredients for Impetus Amor.”

His nose wrinkles as he leans back on the counter, crossing his arms over his overcoat, embroidered with the emblem of the duchy, a snow white stag on a blue shield. “Ah, the potion of love,” he muses, “I’ve heard that one’s incredibly difficult to make.”

“I know,” you grimace, as you continue to grind rose petals to a fine red dust in your stone mortar. “What of it, Mr. Jeon?”

The duke’s son gives an impartial shrug. “I’m merely stating that it’s a laborious potion to perfect. I’m surprised you’re attempting it.”

You bite down on your cheek to stop yourself from speaking indecently to Braewyth’s heir. “My customers respect me, and know that I’ll carry out any requests with the utmost care,” you cut back with thinly veiled anger.

Jungkook leans back lazily, his elbow brushing dangerously close to a decanter filled with Verum Serum, a silver truth potion you’ve been working on. “Well then, my little apothecary, why don’t we make a wager?”

You raise an eyebrow, setting down your mortar, and waiting for him to continue.

“I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to finish the potion,” Jungkook says, “In fact, if you finish it, and it works, I’ll pay you in gold.” He grins.

“And if I can’t?” you enquire. It’s an unlikely option, but you need to know what you are dealing with. You find it difficult to refuse the offer of money, especially if it’s a loss for Jungkook, but you’re wary of the consequences on the (very low) chance that you are unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook raises a hand, “I know you can’t pay much gold.” Your cheeks heat up. “But if you lose, then I demand a kiss from you.”

Biting down a retort, you take a deep breath, and remind yourself that it is unacceptable to call the son of the duke a ‘Bastard’, no matter how much you want to. Instead, with your fists balling, you reply, “Very well, Mr. Jeon. But please be prepared to lose.”

His eyes glitter under your gaze, “Okay.”

You know that there is no way you can lose. Still, the very thought of admitting defeat and letting him kiss you has your blood boiling as it churns through your heart. You ought to show more respect to the son of the duke - to most a kiss from him would be an honour - but your find respect hard to muster when he does nothing but flirt with the ladies about the town of Sientha, strutting arrogantly down the streets with a different girl handing off his arm each night.

It’s Jungkook’s loss for certain. You’ll make sure of that.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite your confidence, Jungkook does everything he can to get in your way.

The next morning you raise yourself early from your bed to head into the mountains in search of pegasus feathers. Jungkook catches you on your walk between your shop and the stables, with your satchel slung across your back, and a grenadine-coloured cloak covering your riding boots and trousers. He saunters across the cobbled street to greet you. “Look at you. Out and about. It’s not often I see you step out of the comforts of your shop.”

“Perhaps if you were up earlier, it wouldn’t be such an irregular occurrence for you,” you chide, as you make for the bridge to the east, leading out of Sientha, “I often go out in the morning to track down ingredients.”

“My apologies that I don’t know your schedule by heart, little alchemist,” Jungkook ripostes, keeping pace with you, short steps for his longer legs, “I’ll have you know that I have many duties that keep me in the Braewyth manor until later in the day.”

Uninterested, you reach the stables where your ebony mare waits, whickering in recognition when you reach her stall. You begin saddling up, annoyed by the presence of Jungkook behind you, which you try to ignore – but like a fly buzzing around an empty room, it gets too irritating too quickly. “Are you planning on following me around all day like a cur in heat?” you ask, and Jungkook smirks, clearly amused to have scratched at some deep seated vexation inside you.

“That’s no way to talk to me, little alchemist,” he reminds you, waggling a taunting finger.

You sigh, adjusting the bridle on your mare. “Please excuse me, my good sir,” you lace your voice with sarcasm, “It wan’t my intention to offend. I was simply surprised to see someone like you showing an interest in my humble activities.” You offer him a sickly sweet smile, before hoisting yourself up into your saddle.

Ignoring your mockery, Jungkook looks up at you from under your dark lashes, “Well, where are you headed today?”

You bite down on your instinctual reply, thinking better of telling him it’s none of his business. “I’m going to the mouth of the River Waye. It’s rumoured that a pegasus has nested there, and I need its feathers.”

“For the Impetus Amor?” Jungkook’s eyes gleam.

You bow your head in a nod.

“Excellent. I’d love to come with you,” Jungkook sates, “I’ve never seen a real pegasus.”

As you open your mouth, ready to deny him, he interrupts, “You offered to tutor me on alchemy after all. Ingredient collection is a vital part of the hobby.”

I never offered to tutor you, you simply thrust your cumbersome presence upon me. Before you can say any of this out loud, Jungkook is calling for one of the stable hands to saddle up one of their horses. “Mr. Jeon, need I remind you that this hobby is a source of income for some,” you’re left to respond, somewhat hopelessly, as Jungkook stares up at you in your saddle.

Your mare shifts restless, unsure why she’s still cooped in her stable.

“If it’s such a burden to earn a livelihood, then I’m sure you could find some kind husband who’d be more than happy to take care of you,” Jungkook responds, “With looks like yours, you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

Your blood boils in frustration. You bite down on your lip, watching in cold silence as the stable hand brings a chestnut stallion over to Jungkook, handing him the reins. Your horse senses your unease, and with a prick of your heels in her side, she’s all too happy to trot out of the stable and into the harsh sunshine of the winter morning.

Jungkook follows behind, his stallion’s horseshoes clacking on the cobblestones.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Jeon,” you say, controlling your tone as best you can, “I’m perfectly content making a living for myself, and am in no need of a husband.”

“And what of it?” Jungkook spurs on his horse, overtaking you as you reach the bridge out of Sientha, where the town guards immediately part, recognising the duchy crest on Jungkook’s overcoat.

As you follow over the bridge, Jungkook casts a look over his shoulder at you, “You wish to spend your whole life brewing potions, and die an old maid?”

“I know of worse fates,” you say, “I would rather live as a lowly alchemist than the chattel of some rich cretin such as yourself.”

Jungkook falls into silence, face frosty, and you wonder if your pushed things too far.

As you continue down the road, the quality of the surface worsens, with more potholes appearing the further you travel from Sientha. Fallen mute, you and Jungkook pass fields, appearing empty after the harvests of autumn.

It’s a long way to the mouth of the River Waye, which lies in the valley between two mountains, Mount Cantre and Ayn Blanch. The two peaks rise above you in the distance. As you branch off the main road onto a dirt track, you allow your mare to break into a gallop, and Jungkook urges his horse on to keep up with yours. You cast a glance over to him as he keeps stride beside you, his jaw set and his brows furrowed over dark eyes. With your gaze fixed, you almost miss the shouting, until the ruckus is directly behind you. Snapping your neck around, you see a group of Braewyth soldiers approaching on horseback. You pull on your mare’s reigns, attempting to bring her to a halt, but the soldiers are already upon you, passing by on the narrow track. Your skittish mare rears as the soldiers rush past, and you find your view turned upside down. Thrown from the saddle, you land on your rear in a soft pile of moss. You’re lucky to have nothing but your pride bruised.

Jungkook brings his horse to a halt next to you, and leaps down from his saddle, catching your spooked mare’s reigns, before she makes to bolt. Soothing the black horse with hushed murmurs, Jungkook leads her to a nearby tree, where he ties the reigns to a low hanging branch. “Are you alright?” he turns his attention back to you.

You wince, and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Good.” His voice is gruff, “Those bloody soldiers. I wonder if they realise who they just overtook. I’ve a mind to report them to my father.”

“Don’t bother,” you dust down your cape, “Everyone knows the Braewyth soldiers are bloated with pride after the last success in war.”

Jungkook snorts. “That war was three years ago. Their only responsibility now is to protect the people of the duchy, and they can’t even do that!” He heaves a sigh, eyes cast to the sky, where the harsh sun shines down from an empty winter sky. “No matter, we’re wasting time here. If you’re sure you’re alright, then we should crack on.”

You walk over to untie your mare, who has now calmed down and is happily grazing on some grass by the side of the road. Hoisting yourself into your saddle, you edge her on with a soft nudge of your heels. Ahead of you, Jungkook has already mounted his ride, patting the neck of his stallion. You’re almost in a mind to apologise to Jungkook for calling him a “cretin” earlier, but you bite back the words, pride getting in the way.

You continue the journey in silence. The path is long, and as your altitude increases, the temperature plummets. Shivering, you pull your cloak closer around you. Your mare huffs out puffs of warm breath as she trots down the winding track, weaving between the smaller hills that spread towards the Braewyth mountains. Further ahead, Jungkook is hunched down in his saddle, looking cold, but staying stubbornly silent.

At last, you come to the edge of the valley, and begin to follow the track next to the shallow section of the River Waye. The banks are padded with moss, and you spot the sleek shining bodies of carp flickering in the crystalline water.

Slowing your mare, you slip off your mount, and tie her to a barren tree at the edge of the water. Ahead of you, Jungkook, having noticed you have stopped, dismounts as well. “Are we there?” he asks.

You nod, putting a finger to your lips. With a hushed voice, you respond: “Nearly. But we need to proceed on foot. Pegasus are incredibly skittish. We’ll be quieter without the horses.”

Passing Jungkook, you follow the winding path next to the Waye, stepping on the spongy moss to silence your footsteps. The two mountains rise up on either side of you – on the left, Ayn Blanche, its peak capped with snow, and on the right, Mount Cantre, sitting squat in Ayn Blanche’s shadow. The valley in between is adorned with scree; clumps of heather dot the otherwise drab landscape.

You slow to a stop when your sharp eyes catch sight of what you were hoping for – hoof prints and loose white hairs caught on a bramble. Leaning down, you pick up a strand of hair, running your fingers over it. Course and thick, there’s no denying it. The hair from a pegasus’ mane.

“There’s a pegasus somewhere around here,” you inform Jungkook in a hushed tone, pointing out the hoof prints to him.

Staying silent, oddly obedient, Jungkook nods, eyes scanning the area.

Carefully, you make your way along the trail of hoof prints. Ahead of you, you spot an opening on the steep flank of Ayn Blanche, a few meters from the base. It appears to be the perfect spot for a pegasus nest, tucked away from the wind that normally sweeps through the valley. Walking to the base, you search for a good foothold, and begin to hoist yourself up the craggy slope to the opening.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jungkook breaks his unofficial vow of silence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you huff, “I’m getting up to the pegasus’ nest.”

“Isn’t that dangerous work for… well...” Jungkook trails off. Probably for the best.

“I’ve climbed my fair share of rock faces,” you assure him, “Alchemy isn’t just about sitting daintily at a table stirring tiny beakers and keeping one’s hands soft and free of callouses.”

“But won’t the pegasus be angered if you enter its nest?” Jungkook worries from below.

As you stretch to reach for a rock that juts out above you, you grunt, “You know, Mr. Jeon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were concerned for my wellbeing.”

You’re disappointed that you cannot look down to see the pout that is so evident in his voice as he retorts, “Well it wouldn’t look good if I were to go out with a young maiden, and return back with her maimed. People might talk.”

“People will always talk, regardless,” you say, pulling yourself up to the ledge at the front of the opening. “Don’t fear, Pegasus are only aggressive to those they deem to have a wicked soul. Which means I’ll be fine. But you might need to watch out.”

Before Jungkook can shoot back a reply, you turn your attention to the opening that houses the nest. The space is large, big enough for a pegasus. Peering in, you see that the nest is empty of any life, but the small cave is filled with exactly what you need – feathers caught on the rocky outcroppings. Pulling out a bottle from your satchel, you scoop up a few feathers, and preserved them in your glass. The feathers sparkle slightly in the sunshine that throws slanted rays into the cave. Satisfied with your find, you get ready to climb back down.

Just then, you hear a shout, and peer down to see Jungkook waving his hands at you from the bottom of the steep rock face. He gesticulates wildly, pointing downstream. You look in that direction, a spot the white shape of a pegasus, just before it plummets down with a splash into the Waye.

Quickly, you scramble down the rocks, and sprint to the river, where you see the water running red. An arrow is sticking from the flank of the pegasus, which raises its head above the water, straining to get up, before it flops down again. Horrified, you scan the area, trying to figure out where the arrow was fired from. It doesn’t take you long. Two poachers approach, a net swinging from their hands.

“Oi, get away from that creature,” one of them shouts upon spotting you.

“What are you going to do with it?” you ask, moving your body to block the pegasus.

“We’re going to make a fortune peddling off it’s body parts to alchemists,” the shorter of the two informs you, “Those occultists pay a hefty price for hair and feathers you know, not to mention a fresh heart, or a vial of blood.”

You grit your teeth, standing up straighter, “It’s a negative stereotype that alchemists use blood and hearts in their potions. And the hair and feathers are only useful if they’ve come from a living creature. You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll make money killing and harvesting this animal.”

The taller one laughs – an ugly sound that sends a shudder through you. “And what would you know about alchemy, wench? If I have questions about my cooking, or my laundry I’ll come to you. So how about you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about?”

Stifling your rage, your bite back, “I’m not letting you near this creature. Not one step further.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you just a darling bloody saint. Protecting the innocent fauna of the land. I don’t remember asking for a sermon on the morality of killing dumb animals.” Your eye catches the movement of the taller man’s hand to the hilt of his sword. “Now, I would suggest you get out of the way, before I make you get out of the way.”

You size the two men up, and swallow. You have a small dagger on your hip, usually used for cutting plant shoots. Not much use against two swords. Still, you bring your hand to your hip in anticipation, unwilling to back down.

“I order you to stop!”

You glance towards the source of the voice. Jungkook is standing behind you with his rapier raised, his stance indicating years of training in fencing. With two calculated blows he could puncture the stomachs of both poachers. The two men blanche.

Nonetheless, the shorter of the two poachers blusters on, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you two gentlemen that pegasus are considered an endangered species, and it’s a criminal offence to poach them, punishable by a good flogging in Sientha square.”

The shorter poacher swallows, his hand wavering.

The taller of the two is only all the more incited. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a king. Not even a prince. Just some lesser noble with a silver spoon shoved up your arse. What are you going to do, report me? We’re out in the middle of fuck-knows where, and you’re outnumbered, two to one.” He raises his sword.

“Actually, it’s two against two,” you correct him, unsheathing your dagger.

“Well that seems fair then, doesn’t it,” Jungkook purrs, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to punish you myself, seeing as we’re in the middle of “fuck-knows where”, as you so eloquently put it.”

The shorter of the two gulps audibly, and then turns tail and begins running in the opposite direction, slipping over the mossy rocks by the Waye’s bank.

A wiser man would have retreated, but it appears that the taller poacher is somewhat lacking in cognitive ability. With a roar, he lunges at Jungkook, who easily pirouettes out of reach, leaving the lanky man to swipe at thin air. Growling, the man rights himself, and launches at Jungkook, but the duke’s son easily parries the blow with his blade, a metallic clang echoing in the valley. The poacher stumbles back, grimacing. Seeing that he has underestimated the “lesser noble”, the poacher makes a grab for you instead.

You attempt to duck out of the way, but slip on the wet rocks, and feel a clammy hand grab around your wrist, pulling you into the hard body of the poacher. Up close, he smells of onions and beer. You struggle against him, but upon feeling cold steel at your throat, you freeze.

“Not another move,” the poacher growls, “Or this wench gets it.”

You glance at Jungkook, who stands poised, with rapier raised. An expression of fear flashes across his face, like a fleeting cloud on a sunny day, passing so fast, you could convince yourself you imagined it.

The poacher’s plot could have worked out for him, had he not underestimated your strength.

As he leers at Jungkook, you grasp at the advantage of surprise. With a sudden twist, like a striking viper, your hand – still holding the dagger - snaps up, and strikes the man on the side of the head with the hard wooden hilt. The man crumples with a screech.

You leap away. At the exact same instant, Jungkook jumps forward. You turn to see the son of the duke standing over the poacher, his rapier raised to the tall man’s stubbly throat. The poacher whimpers, with one hand clutching his face where you struck him. A trickle of blood trails down the wrinkles of his face.

“Now listen carefully,” Jungkook says, his voice low and dangerous, “I could kill you right here. But I’m choosing to spare you. I would suggest you get off your sorry arse, get up, and run away. Take your possessions, your wife and children – if you have any – and flee this duchy. Because know that you are a wanted man while you remain in the borders of Braewyth. I know your face, and soon ever guard in our troops will know it too. The punishment for poaching endangered creatures is flogging. The punishment for an attempt on the heir of the duchy’s life is the gallows. There will not be mercy the second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nods, slowly and carefully, his throat strained below the point of Jungkook’s rapier.

Jungkook lifts the blade. “Go.”

The poacher does not need any more prodding. Scrambling to his feet, he flees, glancing behind him every so often, as if he is scared that Jungkook will change his mind and follow after him.

Jungkook breathes a sigh, sheathing his rapier. The sweat on his neck is the only indication that he was at all shaken by the encounter. Your return your dagger to the holster on your hip, and turn your attention to the pegasus which still lies in the shallow portion of the river, breathing heavily. You carefully walk over, and inspect the damage.

There’s one arrow lodged in its side, but from the other gashes on its white coat, it appears that several other arrows hit, but subsequently fell out, leaving the creature to bleed from multiple open wounds. The pegasus lets out a distressed whinny as you approach, and makes an attempt to get up. Its legs shake, and it collapses back with a splash, too weak to run away. It has already lost a lot of blood.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you.” You know the creature can’t understand you, but you hope your tone is at least soothing. The pegasus thrashes in the shallow water, but realising it is too weak to move, it resolves itself to its fate, and lays its head down.

You crouch next to it, ignoring the cold water that soaks into your boots and riding trousers. Carefully, you pull a bottle from your satchel, and uncork it. You are thankful that you often carry first aid potions around. Wafting the bottle under the pegasus’ nose, you watch as it inhales the scent of your soothing potion and relaxes. With the creature sedated, you pull the arrow from the skin, and apply pressure to staunch the flow of blood that follows. Hunting in your satchel, you pull out a second potion, filled with healing balm. Pouring the thick green liquid onto your palms, you begin massaging it onto the pegasus’ open wounds. The smell of lavender and sage emanates from the balm, covering up the bitter metallic smell of blood.

Straightening up, you back away from the pegasus. The creature tentatively stands up, taking a few hesitant steps forward. Strengthened and emboldened, the pegasus canters forward with a whicker, its large wings ruffling as it takes flight.

“What did you give it?” Jungkook asks, watching the pegasus soar towards its nest.

“A simple Salutare Decoction,” you tell him, “Made to soothe and heal wounds, and-”

“And restore vitality. Yes, I know the one,” Jungkook interrupts, “I’ve never seen it used in practice.”

You flash him a cocky smile. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re impressed by my talents, Mr. Jeon.”

The heir of the duchy grimaces, “I’ll be impressed if you can actually make the Impetus Amor.”

“Oh, you of little faith. Are you allergic to admiring anyone who isn’t yourself?”

“Don’t get too arrogant, little alchemist.” Jungkook tramps back to his horse, his back a silhouette of irritation with shoulders hunched and head lowered. “Don’t forget who saved you from those poachers, you ungrateful wench.”

You snort, walking back to your mare, “Some help you were when I had a blade held to my throat...”

“If you had been alone, you would have been slashed to ribbons,” Jungkook parries, hoisting himself into his saddle. With a dig of his heels, his stallion canters forward before you can get another word in.

By the time you’ve swung yourself into your saddle, Jungkook is far ahead, and you know there’s no way your mare can catch up with Jungkook’s brawny stallion.

Clucking at your ebony horse, you encourage her into a trot, muttering insults that Jungkook will never hear while you weave down the path back to Sientha.

✽ ✽ ✽

With the necessary ingredients, you’re finally able to start work on the Impetus Amor once you return to your shop. There’s no sign of Jungkook as you work throughout the rest of the day, and of that you are glad.

If you never see his cocky face again, it’ll be too soon for you. Yet, as you crush down thin sheets of gold into fine dust, his visage clouds your vision. Even as you watch the pegasus feathers steep in rose water, the shimmering sheen slowing leeching from the feather into the liquid, you cannot shake his sure smile and steadfast gaze from your clouded thoughts.

Dazed, you extract the feather from the liquid, leaving behind the opalescent rose water. The ingredients are ready. You simply have to wait. The next blue moon will be soon – a lucky coincidence.

Your luck is sure to run out eventually.

✽ ✽ ✽

On the night of the blue moon, once your shop is closed for the evening, you begin to prepare for the brewing of the potion. You start by getting your ingredients together, setting them up in a semicircle around your caldron. While you may have no control over your own life, you can easily command ingredients to do your bidding, controlling the brewing process and modifying as you go. The whole process is a soothing ritual for you.

At least it would be, if it weren’t for an irksome knocking coming from your door.

Sighing, you leave your ingredients by the caldron, and go to the door. You slide back the wooden latch, and outside you see -

“Jungkook?”

He stands, illuminated in a halo from the lanterns outside.

You wrinkle your nose. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet the heir of the duchy?”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door to him, “Mr. Jeon, what an honour to see you at the threshold of my humble shop. Please make yourself at home. Is that any better?”

“A little,” Jungkook steps inside your shop.

You’re already seething, and he hasn’t even been in your presence for more than a minute. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I needed your expertise on something,” Jungkook says, sauntering over to your counter, and leaning against it.

You snort. “I find it hard to believe you think anyone besides yourself has any expertise.”

“Your words sting, little alchemist,” his eyes drag across the supplies lined on the shelves of your shop, before finally coming to rest on you. “I came here for some advice. Yes, yes, take time to gloat if it makes you feel better.” He waves a dismissive hand.

The gloating wouldn’t feel so good with his dark eyes piercing yours. You swallow, and stay silent.

“I need a potion to help me stay awake,” Jungkook admits.

You raise your brows. “It’s not healthy to stay awake for long periods of time, Mr. Jeon.”

“Well of course. It’s a one-off, naturally,” he shrugs at your concerns, “I’m just a little tied up you see. I promised a lovely lady that I’d take her dancing this evening, but I also have a commitment to the duchy, and that means being in attendance at an early morning meeting tomorrow. I was quite hoping to spend some quality time with the lady tonight, if you understand my meaning.”

“Are you sure it’s not an aphrodisiac you’re after instead?” you quip.

Jungkook raises his brows in feigned surprise. “What do you take me for? Some kind of cad?”

“Are you not a cad?” You examine him skeptically, “I see you around town with a different lady each day. What conclusions am I supposed to draw?”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so wrong,” Jungkook grins, “Just don’t tell the ladies that.”

“Don’t worry. They’re all too posh to speak to me, let alone believe my accusations that Jeon Jungkook is a good for nothing bounder who only cares about the delicacies that hide beneath their petticoats and pantaloons.”

“Can you help with the potion or not?” Jungkook has grown bored of your jokes.

Stepping behind your counter, you begin to rummage around the shelves. “Luckily for you, Vigil Concoction only takes a few minutes to brew.” You grab a jar of rhodiola rosea, along with a fine iron powder, and the scales of a mermaid. Crushing the aquamarine scales to a fine dust, you mix the ingredients together with a drop of lime juice. Jungkook watches, fascinated, as you pour the ingredients into a clean caldron, and bring the concoction to a boil. The smell of brine mixed with lime cuts through the air.

Jungkook's eyes wander over to the ingredients set aside for the Impetus Amor. “I see you’re finally going to be brewing it tonight,” he nods at the ingredients.

“Yes, I was about to before you interrupted,” you say, stirring the Vigil Concoction.

“So if it’s brewed tonight, it should be ready in a few days, correct?”

You sigh, and affirm, “Correct.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then to see if you were actually successful.”

You wince. You had been hoping that Jungkook would forget your wager. Instead of continuing that train of thought, you change the subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not cancel your plans with this maiden, and attend the meeting. Any lady would be more than willing to change her plans for you.”

Jungkook sighs, “Actually, meeting with her was my father’s idea.”

You pause stirring the concoction to eye Jungkook with curiosity. “I didn’t take the duke to be the type to encourage copulation with fair damsels.”

“Wether I have sexual relations with the women does not matter,” Jungkook blushes, “My father is insistent that I find a wife.”

You splutter, and his dark eyes flash.

“Did I say something that amused you?”

“No, sorry,” you focus your attention on the potion, “It’s simply difficult to imagine you settling down with a woman.”

“What can I say. Most of the women I meet are a bore. Perfectly satisfactory in the bedroom, but useless outside of it. I struggle to hold a conversation with any of them. I need a lady with more substance if I am to wed her, not just bed her.”

“It must be such a chore being forced to spend time with all those beautiful women,” you tease, decanting the potion into a vial and corking it. Handing it across the counter to Jungkook, you warn, “Wait until it cools down before you consume it.” Your hand brushes against his as he takes the vial.

“Listen,” his voice is quieter, and despite yourself, you find you are trapped in his gaze, “I do not want you to think less of me for this conversation. When I find the right lady, I’ll settle down. I won’t be a cad. I..” he trails off, pocketing the vial. “I… well. Thank you for your help.”

You nod, unsure how to interpret his words. Taking on a professional tone, you say, “The concoction will work for about twelve hours, and will keep you alert and sleepless in that time. Once the twelve hours are up, you may find yourself dozing off quickly, so do be mindful of that.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jungkook leaves your shop. You stand in your empty store, thrown off by the unexpected distraction he caused.

Shaking your head from your hazy thoughts, you get back to the business of brewing Impetus Amor. You sit down in front of the cauldron, with enough ingredients to make several batches. You carefully measure each ingredient out, pouring them into the caldron’s black maw, while the light from the blue moon shines in through the shop window. You murmur a few words as smoke begins to rise from the caldron. The words come from an ancient civilisation, now long dead. The accent is strange and heavy on your tongue. It is the words that are the most demanding part. One wrong inflection, one stutter, and the potion’s strength will wane, or even fade completely. You’ve practiced each phrase thoroughly, just to be safe. As you stir, the liquid in the potion changes from pale translucent to an opaque pearlescent pink. A success. Working quickly, you pour the mixture into an alembic to distill.

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

✽ ✽ ✽

The days pass quicker than you expect, with nothing much to note, apart from the weekend, when a young lady wanders into your shop with a tear stained face, asking for a potion to mend a broken heart. You could have sworn you had seen the lady with her arm strung through Jungkook’s the previous day. You do not comment as you hand her a bottle of Cor Integro.

At last, the Impetus Amor is ready, and right on cue, so is Jungkook. He walks into the shop as you are bottling the love potion.

“Is that it?” His eyes flash over the contents of the glass bottle.

You nod.

“May I?” He holds out a hand, and you hesitate, before relinquishing the bottle to him.

And so concludes the list of bad decisions you made concerning Impetus Amor.

He holds it up to the light, inspecting intently. “Well, it certainly looks convincing. But I suppose we won’t actually know if it works unless we test it.”

The bad feeling forming in your stomach has arrived too late to warn you. Jungkook is already pulling out the cork, and downing the contents of the bottle.

This is how you end up with Jungkook, the one man you cannot stand, drinking your love potion. The first person he looks at will be the one he falls for. He’s looking at you.

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

“Mighty gods above, what is wrong with you? You know very well how long that took to brew!” Your attempt to restrain your tone is unsuccessful. Anger pours freely from your words.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough. Looks like the potion doesn’t even work anyway. And on top of that, it tasted bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you remind him. “In one hour, it will begin to take effect, and you will be reduced to a fawning dolt, drooling over my every move.”

“That will only happen if the potion actually works. Which it may not.” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow at you, so sure of himself it makes you want to scream. “I cannot have you selling snake oil to the people of Braewyth.”

You are physically trembling with anger. “That potion is incredibly expensive. You’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fret not, you’ll get your money… if it works.” He swivels around, and is about to make for the door, but you dash in from of him, blocking off his means of escape. “I won’t allow you to leave,” you say, “You’ll make a complete fool of yourself if you’re free to roam the streets under the influence of a love potion.”

Jungkook blinks – innocent – and then laughs, “Come now. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it will be that bad,” you insist, “I’m keeping you here until I can cure you. The last thing we want is for you to cause a scandal.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobs, finally realising that you’re being serious. “What will the potion do to me?”

“You should have asked before you drank the potion.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “It might not work. We still don’t know.” His eyes are wide, like a deer that’s spotted a hunter with an arrow aimed at its heart. “What will it do?”

“It will make you fall in love with me,” you say, “Of course. On top of that, it will cause you great physical pain any time you are not close to me. It will make you desperate for physical contact.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. “Well… let’s… uh… hope you got it wrong then, hmm?”

You frown. “I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the street to make a complete fool of yourself, screaming your love for all bystanders to hear.”

“Surely you’ve got a cure,” Jungkook pleads.

You grit your teeth. “You can’t expect me to simply fix every problem with a magical potion, Mr. Jeon. Alchemy doesn’t always work like that.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook blurts, “There, I said it. I’m sorry! I know I’ve cocked up. And I know I take your abilities for granted. I underestimate you all the time. I’m sorry, alright? But you have had it out for me from the moment you met me. You hated me before you even knew me. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for that too. Now can you please stop piling on the blame and help me?” He holds up his hands, plaintive, “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Your shoulders slump. You want to be angry. All you feel is pity.

“Aright, Jungkook,” you concede, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” his voice is soft.

You set the sign on your shop door to ‘Closed’, and bolt it. Then, you move across to your shelf of books. You know that one of these tomes must contain an antidote for a love potion. It’s not something you’ve made before, and you cannot remember which volume it is in, but you know it must be there. You scan the indexes, the pile of rejected tomes towering taller as you search through each book for any help it may provide.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sits on a stool by the counter, fidgeting awkwardly.

At last, in your copy of Payne and Nash’s Antidotes for Advanced Alchemy, you find a potion called Aphrodite’s Cure – an antidote for love potions and aphrodisiacs.

Your finger mechanically runs down the list, checking off each one.

Extract from a siren’s tongue

Sap from a cherry tree

Crushed topaz

You have all those items in your shop. If you believed in the goddess, you would be praising her now. Your finger stops, hovering over the brewing time, spelled out in black ink. Two hours.

“Well, Jungkook...” The duke’s son looks up at the sound of your voice. “I’ve found a cure I can brew, but it will take two hours.”

Jungkook’s hopeful expression falls. “Well, I suppose I can bear being in love with a pain in the arse like you for two hours. Even if you are… the most… the most... beautiful maiden I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaps up from his stool.

Your heart pounds, animalistic instincts telling you to run far away.

Still you remain frozen to the spot, while Jungkook makes his way around the counter to grab at you, pulling you close. Your chest presses against his, while his hands grip your waist.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook murmurs, “Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

Your curse silently, caught in Jungkook’s ardent gaze. Your potion had worked wonders... unfortunately. “Does this drivel normally work on the maidens you woo?” you ask, pushing him away.

He winces as you part. “Please, my dear, it hurts when you force us apart.”

You remember the side effect of Impetus Amor embodies itself as physical pain when a couple is not close to one another. Despite your disdain for Jungkook, you feel a pang of pity for him. “Okay,’ you say, “You may stay near my side. But you can’t get in my way while I work on an antidote for you.”

“But I don’t want to be cured,” Jungkook retorts, “I’m in love with you, and it feels wonderful. I never realised how good it would feel to experience true love. You truly wish to part me from this happiness?”

“Yes. You asked for this. Remember that.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My past self did not know what he was talking about. I wish to stay by your side, forever..”

“No matter what I do,” you say, “The effects will wear off in a week. I’m merely expediting the process to save you the embarrassment that will follow.”

Firmly, you move away from Jungkook, fetching a bottle of siren’s tongue extract from the top shelf behind your counter, before you dig out your crushed topaz and cherry tree sap from a cupboard. You sit down in front of your caldron and let Jungkook take a seat beside you. His hand comes to rest on your knee. You startle at his touch.

“You said I could stay close to you,” he says, “Sorry, is this too much?”

You shrug. “Do what you need to. Just don’t get in my way.” As you pour the potions into the caldron and begin stirring over a low flame, you try to ignore the heat in your body, shooting up from the spot on your leg where Jungkook’s palm rests. The ingredients begin to bubble in the caldron. You watch carefully, smelling the steam that rises, hoping to discern clues on the quality of the brew. When the scent of caramel begins to waft from the caldron, you remove it from the heat, and allow it to sit for a few minutes before you transfer it to a flask where if will sit for two hours, allowing the ingredients to cool and fully incorporate into Aphrodite’s Cure.

“Well, Jungkook, now we wait.”

He huffs, “I already told you, I don’t want to be cured.”

“Tough,” you tell him. “Eventually you will be, whether you like it or not. Then you’ll be on your own to deal with the shame that follows. I’m not helping you with that.”

He bristles. “I don’t find being in love with you shameful. Not at all. After all, you’re strong-willed, and intelligent, not to mention beautiful! You have more wit and personality than most other women I have wooed. If I were to be embarrassed at the idea of loving you, I ought to cringe at the idea of having bedded the other women.”

“Well, you shan’t be ‘bedding’ me,” you say, “You can’t get between my legs just by flashing me a favourable look.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “You wound me, my dear. You truly believe I only have carnal pleasures on my mind. Do not worry. I know you need respect and commitment before you would allow a man to crawl between the sheets with you.”

You feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Let me guess – you wish to be the man who will show me that respect and commitment, and will crawl between the sheets with me?”

“Listen,” Jungkook diverges from your pointed question, “I know I need time to prove myself to you. I haven’t shown you my best side while I’ve been around you. I can only ask that you forgive me, and let me show you how much better I can be.”

“I’m used to the way you treat me.” You move away from Jungkook, but he grabs onto you, hands desperate.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I just need to get on with work. You may have forced me to close my shop, but that doesn’t mean I can sit and twiddle my thumbs for two hours until you’re cured.”

“But I want to sit here with you,” Jungkook whines. The potion doesn’t seem to have just struck him down with love, but also to have turned him into a pouty brat with the attitude of a spoiled toddler.

Give me strength. “Let me guess,” you say, “You want to hold me, and kiss me? Am I right?”

Jungkook’s face turns red. “You shame me my dear, for it seems you have been reading my thoughts. Forgive me, but how can I help but dream of such things, when you are so comely.”

You try not to roll your eyes. Men under the influence of Impetus Amor are intolerable.

You catch a hold of his hand, which is grabbing your right wrist, and wrench him off you. “Jungkook, I am refusing you for your own good.”

“I do not believe that to be true,” Jungkook says as you pry yourself from him, and begin to scour your shelves for any bottles that appear to be running low. The duke’s son follows you around like a lovesick puppy while you pull out a piece of parchment and begin walking along the shelves taking note of vials and containers that are running empty, so you can get fresh ingredients at the next opportunity. Your hands need to be busy. You feel hapless otherwise.

“I truly believe,” Jungkook pipes up behind you, “That even when this potion wears off, I will still be in love with you. I believe that I have been in love with you for a while.”

You snort a laugh, “You truly do amuse me, Jungkook.”

“Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you?”

You spin around to face Jungkook. He is much closer than you anticipated. A gasp breaks your lips.

“Listen, little alchemist,” his eyes bore into yours, as you step back, your spine pressing against the shelf behind you, “I’ve been trying to fight these feelings, for I know my father would not approve of a woman who is not noble-born, yet I still find myself drawn to you. I wander aimlessly to your shop, just to catch a glimpse of you, just to feel the warmth of your company. And you would scoff at this?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. The words are difficult to get past your teeth. “You’re lying. It’s just the potion talking.”

“Why would I lie?” Jungkook’s eyes are troubled, “I’ve been falling slowly, ever since I met you. I tried to push off the feelings by treating you harshly. I tried to forget them in the arms of another lover. But still… I always find myself coming back to you.” He lifts a hand, fingers gentle against your cheek. You shiver at his touch. “It’s always you, little alchemist.”

Your lips curl in amusement. “You almost convinced me Jungkook. You speak so earnestly…” You take his hand in your own, pull it away from your face, and let it drop to his side.

His eyes cloud over. “Being unable to touch you, it hurts me physically, you know.”

“I know.” A shard of sympathy embeds in your chest. “It won’t last long though, I promise. I’ll cure you soon.”

“While we wait,” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, “Could you spare me one kiss? Just to ease the pain?”

“Jungkook,” your hand goes to his chest, rising up to rest on his shoulder, “The potion worked. You lost the wager. You were only to get a kiss if you won.”

“Please,” the word falls soft from his mouth.

You stand transfixed, stuck between your shelf of potions, and Jungkook’s body. His face is mere inches from your own. A dreadful curiosity sweeps over you, one that you know you should ignore. Yet, Jungkook is here before you, eyes urgent, and you are tired of fighting him.

“One kiss,” you murmur, “That’s all I’ll allow.”

His hands find purchase on your waist as he moves closer. Your eyelids flutter shut as his breath fans your cheeks, smelling of rose and gold dust. His lips are warm as they settle on your own, mapping out your mouth. You fall captive to the sensation, and suddenly, you understand the appeal that draws countless women to Jungkook’s side. He may be a pain in the arse, but he is wonderfully skilled when it comes to kissing.

Pressed against the shelf, you give in to the affections from a man you were sure you hated. You promise yourself, as his lips part from yours, that you will wipe this feeling from your memory. Yet, even as Jungkook draws back, the ghost of his warmth haunts you.

Lost for words, you blink in the dim light of your shop, suddenly too bright after the dark of closed eyelids. Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on you. You struggle, unsure what to say. Instead of saying anything, you simply return to the chores you had assigned yourself, mechanically checking off ingredients on your piece of parchment.

At the counter, Jungkook is suspiciously silent. After a long pause, he finally asks, “What will happen to me when the effects of the potion are cured?”

You turn back to him. “You will forget most of this. It will all feel hazy, like a dream. And you’ll feel a little unwell. Headaches are normal after such strong potions take effect. Some people also suffer nausea, but that depends on one’s constitution. You’ll only suffer for an hour or so, then it should wear off.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jungkook says gently.

You swallow, understanding, “Your feelings will depart. Whatever you are feeling for me now will be replaced with your genuine feelings, so you’ll go back to hating me I suspect.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “I don’t hate you.”

“Well then you’ll go back to mild indifference,” you say, turning back to your shelf to continue working, while Jungkook sits down at the counter, silent.

The hours drag on, with Jungkook’s eyes following your every move. Occasionally, he expresses a desire for physical contact to stop the pain. When he does so, you return to his side, and gently press your palm to his. The action seems to be enough for him.

At last, the hour glass has run through twice, and the potion is ready. You carefully decant it into a vial, and set it in front of Jungkook.

He catches your gaze, “I… I don’t want this.”

“Jungkook, please,” you press your hand to his one last time, “You need to. No matter what, the Impetus Amor will wear off. I’ll still be here when you’re cured.”

His face firms into an expression your don’t recognise, and with a resolute, swift motion, he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth in one go, swallowing with a groan. “You did not warn me that it would taste repulsive.”

“You were already reluctant to take it.”

Jungkook groans again, lowering his head so that his forehead rests on the wooden counter top, “By the goddess, I feel like death. Do you have a potion for a headache?”

“Not one caused by the after effects of Impetus Amor,” you say, “But I do have herbal tea.”

“Yes please.”

Glad to have a task to distract you, you busy yourself with boiling the water and fetching tea leaves.

From his spot at the counter, Jungkook moans, “I embarrassed myself greatly, didn’t I?”

Watching a pleasing golden red spread out from the tea leaves into the boiled water, you reply, “That depends on what you deem to be embarrassing.”

Jungkook grimaces as he lifts his head slightly, then, upon reconsideration, lowers his head again. The colour has drained from his face.

“I imagine you were acting the way you normally would around any fair lady you intended to woo. You were fine. Quite respectful, actually.”

“Please, I don’t wish to remember,” Jungkook moves his head so that his cheek now rests on the counter.

You pass a cup of fresh tea across to him, ‘That should make you feel a little better,” you say.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’,” Jungkook raises his head to blow on the steam rising from the tea cup, “And an apology as well, I fancy.”

You pause, not expecting to hear those words from him.

“I’ve been an arse,” Jungkook says.

“It’s not often you and I agree on something, Jungkook.”

He laughs wryly. “Well, I can’t deny it, can I? I wasted your time and energy today, and for that, I am sorry. From, Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth, to you, master alchemist and potions-brewer extraordinaire, as my equal, please accept my sincere apologies, and my humble gratitude.” He bows his head.

You are unsure how to react, throat tight. All you can muster is an insincere chuckle, and a feeble “No need to be so formal... If you really want to apologise you can give me the gold you promised since it would appear I won this wager.”

“Oh, right!” Jungkook digs in his pockets.

Suddenly, strangely, you feel unsure of yourself. “Listen, I was just joking. I don’t need the money. Really...”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook dumps a sack of coin on the table. “It’s yours, fair and square.” He grins at you and takes a sip of his tea. “This brew really seems to be helping.” As he downs the rest f the cup, you busy your hands with the bottles on your shelf, straightening them so they stand in a tidy row. Jungkook glances through the window of your shop, where the sky above the roofs of the town is turning gold with the setting of the sun. “I’d better head off,” he says, “My father arranged a ball for the eligible women of Braewyth to attend, and he’s hoping I’ll meet someone there. And by someone, I mean specifically Lady Antille from the province of Armestice.” He grimaces. “I’ve heard she’s a dreadful bore. Not to mention there’ll be lots of business men at the dance, hoping to make a good impression, and get funding from my father’s treasury. So overall, I have a very pleasant evening ahead of me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find a woman you’re happy with?” you ask.

Jungkook wavers on the question, “I’m… not sure. I think I’m cursed by the fact that most noble women are not at all appealing to me.”

You shrug, “It’s all just a pantomime isn’t it? Performing the proper etiquette. Perhaps once the women have a chance to drop the pretence of politeness, you’ll get to know them for who they truly are, and you’ll realise they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Perhaps,” he looks unconvinced, “But I doubt I’ll have the time for that. My father is hoping I’ll drop down to one knee and propose as soon as I lock eyes with the right woman.”

“Maybe Lady Antille will be the lucky one,” you say.

“The longer this goes on, the more I worry my father will simply pick a lady for me, and force me to marry.”

“I hope not.”

He nods, “Yes. So do I.” He turns for the door.

“Enjoy your evening, Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door, and turns back to look at you, with a gentle smile. “You’ve started calling me Jungkook instead of Mr. Jeon,” he notes.

“Oh, sorry,” your hand springs to your mouth, “Is it improper?”

“A little bit improper,” He smiles, “I like it.”

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye...” He looks into your eyes, sunshine bathing him from the windows, and your name is soft on his lips. Not ‘little alchemist’. Not ‘wench’. Not ‘my dear’. Just your name. A warmth spreads from your stomach through the rest of your body.

You smile as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with the smell of herbal tea filling the shop.

✽ ✽ ✽

As darkness descends on your shop, the sun sinking lower, a lady enters. You recognise the red hood, lowered over her eyes and nose.

“Good evening,” you welcome her as you would all other customers.

Rather than greeting you, she simply asks, “Is the Impetus Amor ready?” Her tone is hushed, despite being the sole customer in your store.

Thankful that you had the foresight to create more than one batch of the potion, you fetch it from your cupboard and place the vial on the counter top in front of her. The potion shines, pearlescent in the fading sunshine.

The lady pushes back a blonde lock from her face, and her shapely lips smile below her hood. “Wonderful. Thank you.” She tales the vial, and places it into her purse. You notice her splendid gown beneath the folds of her red cloak. Only a rich lady could afford such a potion. And such expensive silk. You sigh, despite yourself.

The lady tosses another pouch of gold onto the counter top. “I trust that you will not tell anyone of this exchange.”

You pause, wondering what she means. “All my customer’s orders are confidential,” you assure her.

She nods, satisfied, and swivels on her heel, exiting the shop. As she leaves, she bumps into an older lady who is making her way into your shop. You recognise the older lady, Myrrh, who is one of your regulars. The younger lady’s red hood slips down as she passes Myrrh, revealing a head of golden curls.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Myrrh says.

The golden haired lady bows her head, quickly pulling up her hood again. “Think nothing of it.” With that, she slips into the darkening evening.

Myrrh approaches your counter, while you retrieve her order from the shelf behind you – Fons Iuventae, for aches and pains afflicting old joints. “Well, I never realised you got such fancy clientele in your store, dear,” Myrrh observes, as she counts out her silver coins for you.

You smile, “Her appearance here surprised me as much as it did you, Myrrh.”

The older lady chuckles, ‘Imagine! Lady Antille, in this shop! The store will be the talk of the town soon, I’m sure.”

“Lady Antille?”

Myrrh gives you a strange look as she hands her coins across to you. “You didn’t recognise the Lady of Armestice?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, well now you know,” Myrrh says, “Imagine, me bumping into her like that.” She takes her bottle of Fons Iuventae and heads for the door. You follow behind her, and flip over your store sign to ‘Closed’ once she leaves. The last dregs of sunlight seep through the window. With the shop shut for the night, you go and sit behind the counter, thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute. You know that you should not concern yourself with your customer’s potion usage. After all, you simply provide. You are not responsible for the actions that follow. Yet, you cannot help but have your suspicions.

Before you realise what you are doing, you pick up a vial of Aphrodite’s Cure from yoru counter. Your body leads you to the door, grabbing your satchel, and your cloak, pulling it around you before you step out onto the cobbled street. Your feet lead you to the stable, where you quickly saddle up your mare, and spur her into the dark of night.

The road that leads out of Sientha winds down towards the large mansion where the duke of Braewyth resides. Everyone in Braewyth is familiar with the sugar white house that stands tall, behind a maze of rose bushes. As you ride towards the mansion, rain begins to pelt down, stinging at your cheeks. You continue regardless, pressing your heels into your mare’s side, encouraging her on. You push her harder than you’ve pushed her before, hurtling down the road at a frantic gallop. The mare’s breathing is hard, foam flies from her mouth. Dirt flies from her hooves, kicking up the mud washed onto the road.

Ahead of you, past the sheets of rain, you spot the lights of the Braewyth mansion. Reigning in your mare, you stop her a few paces before the gate, and tie her by one of the trees. She’s breathing heavily, and you give her a reassuring pat before you make for the gates.

A guard, who was leaning lazily against the gate, stands to attention when you approach, raising his spear. “Halt.”

“Please,” you hold up your hands to him, showing that you are unarmed, “I wish to speak with Jeon Jungkook.”

The guard squints at you through the rain. “And who might you be?”

You hesitate. “I’m his alchemy tutor.” Technically not a lie.

“I wasn’t told you would be arriving,” the guard says, “Do you have an invitation to the ball that you can show me?” He sweeps a skeptical gaze over your trousers, flecked with mud, and your fur hood, soaked with rain.

“Please, it’s urgent,” you say.

In the gloom, you see the guard raise his eyebrows.

You wrack your brain, “I have a potion for Jeon Jungkook. He asked me to deliver it to him personally before the ball began.”

“He never told me of this plan.”

Just then, by the mercy of the universe – or perhaps the goddess – Jungkook appears at the other side of the gate.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon,” the guard smiles at you gleefully, hoping to have caught you in a lie, “Have you met this wench before?”

Jungkook walks up to the gate, “Of course. Let her in at once.”

The guard’s mouth hangs open for a slit second, before he quickly corrects his expression, and bows to the heir of Braewyth. “Yes. Right away!” He opens the gate, and scurries to get out of your way.

You hurry over the threshold, and begin walking with Jungkook towards the Braewyth mansion.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks, once you are out of earshot of the guard.

“What about you?” you say, “Do you make it a habit to walk around the garden while it’s tipping it down with rain?”

“I needed some fresh air, and I heard a commotion from the gate,” Jungkook explains, “But I really think you’re the one who ought to be explaining yourself.”

“I...” you’re unsure where to begin, “Has Lady Antille arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, “Now, will you please stop answering my question with more questions.”

“Sorry,” you swallow, suddenly realising how silly your reasoning will sound.

Jungkook waits, while you remain silent, walking down the path through the rose bushes.

You take a deep breath, “This may sound mad, but I have reason to believe that Lady Antille plans to use Impetus Amor on your tonight.”

Jungkook’s expression turns frosty. “You’re not jesting?”

You nod. “I could be wrong. But the lady who purchased Impetus Amor was Antille. I did not recognise her at first. I suppose it could merely be coincidence, and she is using it for someone else, but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

Jungkook is grave. “I suppose it would make sense. After all, a marriage into the Braewyth duchy would be beneficial for the province of Armestice. The province is too small to defend itself, so would be willing to seek the protection of a more powerful duchy.” He turns his eyes to you. “Will you be able to stay here with me tonight? I must be in attendance at the ball, and avoiding Lady Antille there is out of the question. If she does try anything, will you be ready to help me?”

You nod, “I have the cure in my satchel, just in case.”

Jungkook nods, taking your hand, and leading you up the marble steps to the mansion door. “Alright, if you’re staying, then you need to get changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not mean to offend, but your trousers won’t be acceptable attire for the ball.”

You swallow as you step into the house. The hallways are greater – both wider and taller - than you had anticipated, with lush white carpets that your feet sink into. You wince at the mud trailed in by your boots.

“Whyn!” Jungkook calls, and a flushed looking maid appears on cue, bowing before him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

“Can you help my lady friend? She needs to be cleaned up, and needs more appropriate attire for the ball.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeon.”

Before you can even get a word in, you are being herded down the corridor by Whyn, who appears overly eager to do Jungkook’s bidding. You’re pushed into the bathroom, and the last you see of Jungkook is his smile as Whyn closes the door on him.

The bathroom is lavish, tiled with white marble. Ornate sculptures depicting gryphons stand at each corner of the room. Steps lead down to a pool of warm water, from which steam rises, smelling of lavendar. A statue of a stag stands proudly at the centre of the water, with a beautiful woman depicted standing beside him, naked. She holds an urn above the pool, and water pours from the urn into the large bath.

Without any warning, or any chance to protest, Whyn strips you down, and pushes you to the water’s edge. “Quickly, m’am,” she urges, “The ball will be starting soon.”

Grumbling, you step down into the water. However, it’s impossible to continue complaining as the warmth envelops you, easing all the aches in your body. You sink down with a sigh, dipping your head under, and letting your hair become fully soaked.

However relaxing the bathing experience is, you know you need to get back to Jungkook quickly, so after a quick once over with soap, you reluctantly leave the embrace of the sweet smelling water.

Whyn is ready and waiting with a warm towel. She starts drying you off, and you complain that you can dry yourself, but she shushes you stubbornly. “Please, ma’m, let me do my job!”

Once your hair and body are towelled dry, Whyn helps you into the ornate dress she has picked for you. You’ve never worn a dress this fancy before, and until this point, you never understood why ladies needed maids to help them get dressed. Now, as Whyn scurries around you, lacing up your corset, and adjusting your petticoat, you understand. The dress has so many buttons, clasps, and ribbons, that it would take an eternity to dress yourself.

The maid finally helps you pull back your hair, pinning it off your face, so it curls elegantly to frame your cheeks. She steps back to admire her handiwork, allowing you to take in your full reflection in the mirror beside the bath. It’s surprising what a maid’s touch can do. You barely recognise yourself. A regal lady stares back at you from the mirror in a shimmering sapphire-coloured dress, with golden stitching around the bodice, detailing embroidered roses.

“Is it alright, m’am?” Whyn asks, “If you don’t like it, I can find another dress.”

“No, thank you, Whyn,” you smile at her, “It’s perfect.”

The girl flushes and bows her head.

You find your original clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room. You rummage in your satchel, and find your vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, tucking it under your corset for safe-keeping. You turn back to Whyn. “I’m ready.”

The maid leads you out of the bathroom down a snaking maze of corridors, until you reach a set of grand mahogany doors. She pushes the doors open for you, and indicates that you should go in.

You whisper your thanks to her again, and then walk into the ballroom. Inside, the dancing has not yet started, and the room is filled with groups of people, conversing with one another. You spot Jungkook at the far corner, by a set of wide windows that look out onto the garden, which is illuminated by lanterns. You walk over, and a smile erupts on Jungkook’s face as soon as he spots you. He steps forward to greet you.

“Whyn has done a fine job,” he says, casting an admiring glance over you.

You feel you face heat up, unsure how to respond.

“If anyone asks,” Jungkook continues, in a low voice, linking his arm through yours and leading you along the ballroom floor, “You are my personal friend. You needn’t give any more information than that.”

You nod, glancing around nervously, “Has Antille arrived?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Jungkook says. “I truly hope your fears are unjustified. But if they’re true, I want you by my side, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on wandering off alone.” Looking around the room, you notice many of the people staring at you. “Why are they looking at us?”

“Well, you are walking arm in arm with the heir of Braewyth, who’s rumoured to be in the market for a wife. People are going to be gossiping about our betrothal as we speak.”

You blush at the thought, allowing Jungkook to lead you around the room, stopping every so often to speak with groups of important sounding people.

Every so often, the door will open and someone will announce the name of the eligible young lady who has entered. The lady will smile and curtsey, and then everyone will go on about their business.

You find yourself stuck in an arduous conversion with an old noble, named Lord Chaperlet, about the effects of increased wheat tax, when the doors to the ballroom open once more, and the announcer cries, “Presenting to you, the Lady of Armestice, the honourable Antille.”

You raise onto your tiptoes to catch a glance at the lady over the heads of the crowd that has gathered.

She’s wearing a gold dress that trails across the floor like spilled champagne , her hair curled perfectly around her face. Lord Chaperlet stops wittering on about wheat tax to stare at the young Lady. “Antille truly is a beauty, is she not?” He winks at Jungkook, who gives a diplomatic chuckle, and says, “Now, now, Lord Chaperlet, what would your wife say if she overheard you?”

The older man gives a hearty laugh. Jungkook’s arm remains interlocked with yours, and shows no sign of budging. You swallow your nerves as Lady Antille approaches.

The lady pauses momentarily upon seeing you by Jungkook’s side, and a flash of ice glazes her gaze before she corrects her expression to a polite smile, and makes her way forward.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she coos, “How are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look as handsome as your portraits portray you.”

Jungkook gives a courteous smile, “I’m wonderful thank you.” He takes the hand she proffers him, kissing her fingers, as is the custom when greeting noble women. “And how are you?”

“Fantastic,” Antille smiles, “Although the coach journey here was frightful! The rain was atrocious. Hence my late arrival, you see.”

“Fashionably late, I would say,” Jungkook replies, and Antille giggles behind her white-gloved hand.

You are out of your depth, silently observing this display of courtly manners.

Antille finally glances your way, in the manner one might glance across at an old dog scratching its fleas in the corner. “And who is this?”

You swallow. You may look different in your gown, but you know she has recognised you from your potions store.

Jungkook answers in your silence. “This is my personal friend.” His arm is still slung through yours. His reassuring fingers squeeze you.

“Is that so?” Antille worries her crimson bottom lip with her teeth for a second, her gaze lingering on you, sizing you up.

It’s a relief when Whyn passes with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, moving between you and Antille. “Would you like a drink?” The maid keeps her head bowed.

Antille takes a glass, and hands it to Jungkook, before taking one for herself, “Might as well enjoy oneself.” She raises her glass to Jungkook.

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips. A flash of worry sparks in your head – the only reason you are here is to stop Jungkook from ingesting any potion. Yet, Antille seems happy to drink the champagne...

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s arm.

A vague scent of rose water and crushed gold floats towards you.

Jungkook glances at you, confused, before understanding floods into his eyes.

Wracking your brain for a good excuse to leave, your hand springs to your neck, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’ve just noticed! My necklace is gone. I was wearing it when I arrived here, but now it’s gone.”

Jungkook picks up on your cue. “Perhaps it fell off in the hallway by the entrance when you took off your cloak. I’ll help you search.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Antille chimes in. “Your friend can manage by herself. After all, everyone in this ballroom is here to speak with you personally, Jungkook. People might talk if you were to leave.”

Seeing Jungkook struggling, you begin sniffing, forcing your eyes to water. “The necklace belonged to my late mother. I can’t believe I was so careless...”

Jungkook hands you a handkerchief so you can dab at your fake tears, and before Antille can say anything else, he escorts you out of the room.

Once the doors of the the ballroom close behind you, you give up your act, following Jungkook down the twisting hallways.

“This is bad,” he mutters, “I should have been more careful. And after your warned me as well!” His hand is firm on your wrist, leading you up a set of stairs, before he slips into a room and quickly bolts the door shut behind him.

You find yourself in a lavish bathroom, this one different from the one you bathed in. Cherub angels are carved into the white frosting-coloured ceiling.

“You need to stay calm,” you tell Jungkook. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook grimaces, “Don’t you understand? That glass came from Whyn’s tray. Antille must have specifically asked her to spike the glass that she would then give me.”

“Maybe Whyn didn’t know what it was,” you suggest.

“Even if she didn’t, a maid shouldn’t put anything into a drink they serve. She’ll loose her job. It’s a shame, I liked her.”

“That’s not the main issue right now,” you remind him, rummaging in the folds of your dress for the vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, “You need to take this.” You hold up the glass to him.

Jungkook smiles, “I’m glad you’re so reliable.”

“I do my best.”

Jungkook makes to take the vial from you, but you pull back, “Wait. You need to take the antidote after the potion actually kicks in.”

“How will I know when that is?” Jungkook asks.

“Even if you don’t notice, I will,” you say, “You’ll start talking gibberish about how in love you are. And you’ll feel a sudden rush of emotion for the first person you looked at after you drank the potion… which was me, I think.”

“Right, of course. A rush of emotions.” He presses his lips together. “Perhaps, for the sake of clarity, I should confess something in that case...”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The trouble is,” Jungkook continues “I believe I have already developed feelings for you.”

When you open your mouth, he holds up a hand to stop you. “Before you say anything – no, the potion hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve felt this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with these feelings, so I’ve repressed them.”

Your heart rises in a flurry of childish giddiness. You don’t know where the feelings come from, but are surprised to find that you desperately hope he is telling the truth. “Perhaps we should wait until you take the antidote, and then we’ll talk about this...”

His eyes glaze over, strange and distant, “My dear, these feelings will remain unwavering, I promise.”

You press the potion into his hands. “Drink,” you command.

He nods, uncorking the vial, and tipping the contents into his mouth. “Goddess, that tastes vile,” he groans. He sucks a breath through his teeth. With his head lowered, he takes a few seconds to recover, before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You remain silent, not sure what to say. Your mind is still racing over Jungkook’s earlier confession. He said it wasn’t the potion causing the words to fall from his mouth. Yet, you cannot be sure. A part of you is unexpectedly sad at the though that his profession of love was simply the potion speaking.

Somehow, despite your determination to hate him, you are surprised to find that you love him.

Jungkook raises his head, eyes fixed on yours, “Without you I would have made a complete fool of myself. Not to mention, I probably would have ended up betrothed to Antille, which...” he blows out a sigh. “Let’s not dwell on that. Thank you for all your help. I know I’ve treated you poorly in the past, but you’ve still helped me regardless. That’s the sign of a good person.”

You bite down on your cheek, “Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“What you said...” Once you start, the words keep spilling, “Before the potion kicked in. About being in love with me. Did you mean that?”

“Sorry, it was improper of me to simply dump that upon you all of a sudden,” Jungkook says, “I suppose I should have kept that to myself. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings, since my father would not approve of someone who is not noble-born. I tried to push the feelings away by treating you brusquely, by distracting myself with other women, but none of it worked.”

“So you mean?”

His gaze is inescapable, “I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook chuckles, but his tone is earnest, “Sorry, you look like a startled deer. I know it’s improper to confess without suitable courtship first, but our relationship has always been a little unconventional. Spending my time with you, I was fascinated by you. And that fascination turned into something I’ve never felt before. I’ve never been so open or honest with anyone else. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’ve stuck around despite all that.” His cheeks colour, “I truly am just rambling now, please feel free to tell me to shut up.”

You’re still waiting for the part where Jungkook suddenly says, “It’s merely a jape!” His face is serious.

“Jungkook, I… I don’t know what to say...”

“Then don’t say anything, you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I just… the words evade me...” you bite your lip, “Your confession certainly came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one...”

Jungkook’s eyes shine.

“I’m very happy,” you say, “I would be lying if I said I do not have similar feelings for you. I never thought it would be okay to fall in love with a noble, so I never allowed myself the liberty of even thinking...” You hesitate, “Is it really okay for me to love you?”

Jungkook nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But your father?”

“It’s okay. We’ll make it work. The tradition of nobles courting nobles is ver old-fashioned anyway. I never liked it. Eventually, my father will accept whom I choose. And I choose you.”

He takes your hand, delicately bringing your fingers to his lips. The action is so simple, so gentle – a far cry from the kiss you had shared earlier – yet it feels so strangely intimate with his eyes drinking you in, while his warm mouth caresses your skin.

His lips work their way up to your wrist, then your forearm, then your shoulder, then your cheek, then grazing the side of your mouth. You let him kiss you properly, melting into his warmth, while the carved cherubs smile down at you from above.

Parting, Jungkook sighs, “I wish I could enjoy this without the after effects of Impetus Amor... My head’s killing me...”

You smile, “Don’t worry. There’ll be time for all of this later. I’m not planning on leaving your side.” You hold his hand tight in your own. “For now, let’s go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some herbal tea for you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After a cup of strong tea, Jungkook has perked up, ready to return to the ballroom. He holds your hand in his own as you make your way down to the main hallway. You can hear string instruments harmonising to a waltz from the ballroom. The dancing seems to have started in your absence.

“I hope you’ll dance with me tonight,” Jungkook says.

“Won’t people talk if they see us together?” you ask.

“Let them,” Jungkook says. “I’ll announce our relationship when you feel ready, and not a second before.”

You smile, “In that case, I’d love to dance with you.”

As you enter the ballroom, Antille glances over at the two of you and blanches. Jungkook lets go of your hand, and walks over to her, asking if she is willing to speak with him.

Antille looks around, as if considering her escape routes, but agrees to go with Jungkook – with obvious reluctance. Jungkook draws her to the edge of the room, away from the dancing couples that glide around the ballroom floor. Where the two of them stand, you can hear their conversation well, although they are tucked away from the rest of the ball guests.

“Antille,” Jungkook says, “I know what you have attempted to do.”

Antille glowers, “Attempted to do? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook continues, “I have enough proof to have you publicly disgraced, but I am willing to let you leave with your dignity intact, so long as you never set foot in this house again.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Antille hisses, “But know that you have made an enemy of Armestice today.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a frown, “That’s not a game you want to play, Lady Antille, believe me. The duchy of Braewyth is not one to be messed with.”

Antille is pale. Her eyes fall to you, and anger flashes vividly in her irises. “I thought I made it clear that my purchase was to be kept a secret.”

Jungkook steps closer to you, “Don’t, Antille,” he warns, “Your quarrel isn’t with her.”

The lady, visibly flustered, turns on her heel towards the door. You watch as she leaves the room.

Jungkook turns his attention to you. “Please don’t worry about her. I know what Armestice is capable of, and it isn’t much. Her threats are simply to stir up fear, but she won’t act on them.”

You smile as he threads his fingers through yours, “Now, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You are aware of the eyes boring into you from all sides as you step onto the dance floor with Jungkook, but in that instant, you don’t care. Jungkook is beside you, his eyes on your face, and a smile on his lips.

For now, that’s enough.

✽ ✽ ✽

It’s a cold morning, but the early spring sunshine is shining stubbornly despite the chill as you walk back to your shop. You have a basket of fresh herbs in your hand, picked from the mountain side.

As you turn the corner onto your street, a smile breaks across your face, recognising a familiar figure standing by your door.

You run over to Jungkook, setting down your basket of herbs, so you can freely fling both arms around him.

He grins, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Good morning.”

You unlock the shop door, and let him enter. It’s still an hour until your shop will open for business.

“How has your morning been so far?” you ask Jungkook, throwing off your cloak, and hanging it by the door.

“Good,” Jungkook says, “The new maid prepared a wonderful breakfast. Eggs and bacon and fresh bread.”

“Sounds much better than the oatmeal I had,” you say.

“Once our relationship is officially made public, you can move into the mansion with me,” Jungkook says, “Then you can have all the eggs and bacon and fresh bread you want.”

You begin sorting the freshly picked herbs into piles on the counter, while Jungkook runs an eye over the potions you have sitting out from brewing last night.

“That will be nice,” you say, “Although I will miss this old shop.”

“I’m sure we can set up a room in the mansion where you can have a workshop to continue brewing potions. People would pay well for potions brewed by the heir of Braewyth’s wife.”

You blush at the word ‘wife’, a thrill travelling through you.

Jungkook eyes some of your older equipment, “We can even get you some new tools. Some of these seem a little… rusty.”

“They’ve served me well, I’ll have you know.”

“Just a suggestion.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You grin at him, “So what did you want from me this morning? We could continue your alchemy lessons… or...”

Jungkook moves around the counter to be by your side. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer. “Well I had a few plans of my own.”

Your fingers curl through his charcoal hair. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook ducks his head down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he whispers his plan with words that make you blush scarlet. Desire pools inside you as his lips trace a path down your neck to your collar bone, “Don’t think you’re getting out of your alchemy lesson later.”

“Yes, m’am,” he grins, taking your hand in his own.

You let him lead you from your shop up the creaky stairs to your living quarters. You are happy to forget all responsibilities for the next hour, completely lost in Jungkook. You never believed a love potion could lead to true love – yet here you are, completely enveloped in Jungkook, overwhelmed by feeling. You don’t believe in the goddess but you thank her now, thank her that she decided to ruin your life by thrusting Jungkook into it.

The man you hated more than anything in the world has now become the man you love more than anything, and you couldn’t be happier for it.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it.

942 notes · View notes

thegremlincrowsnest · 3 years ago

Text

Good Vibes - A Stripper!Kiri x Reader AU NSFW

This is my contribution to the Magic Mike Collab by the illustrious Angelashido

CW: Use of pussy, clit, cunt. Daddy used in a sexual context,

Disclaimer: All Reader inserts are brown and ftm trans! Reader will have he/him pronouns. All characters are over 18. Minors DNI!

“Good Boys listen to daddy don’t they, my darlin.’”

Those words rang through your head almost every day you went to work.

The deep bass of his voice, the warmth of his hands, the hungry look in his eye.

They all haunted your dreams since you started working at Fatgum’s Farm. A southern farm themed strip club where the servers and performers dressed as either cowboys, farm hands, or farm animals. Your “uniform” was a cow printed bikini with a matching tail, ears, and horns. The straps dug into the plush flesh of your brown hips and sides, but you reveled in the stares you would get.

However, you weren’t the only one who had a liking for your outfit.

Eijiro Kirishima was one of the house favorites. A stripper who went by Red Riot, was very intrigued by your appearance. Tall and built like a house, he wore assless chaps, a black thong, and a cowboy hat. Besides the outfit leaving nothing to the imagination, he did love to tease you. Letting his hand slip ever so slightly lower as he walked by, would leave you with a lingering warmth for the rest of the night.

He’s a sweet man though, always walking you to your car and taking care of any customers who got too handsy. Although you never did complain the few times he had to pretend to be your boyfriend. One time in particular, actually. You had a customer gripping your wrist, begging for a kiss, and refusing to let go. Eijiro came up behind you, pulling the man’s hand off of you before putting a protective grip on your waist. Your mind went blank for a moment, feeling his solid body pressed against your side as his fingers dug into the meat of your hip.

“-you go along now baby.” A voice said, shaking you out of your fog. You stood there for a moment before a strong hand gripped your cheeks gently. Turning your face to him, his grip lowered onto your ass.

He gripped it tightly as he spoke. “Good boys, listen to daddy, ‘ight darlin’?” He asked with a low growl. His eyes quickly darted down to your slightly puckered lips, thick and painted red, before looking back up into your eyes.

“Y-yes sir.” Was all you could say before running off to the back to cool yourself off.

That was weeks ago and since then you’ve had your fun with teasing him. Grinding your ass against his bulge “accidentally”, pressing your breast against him with soft groans laced into whatever you were suggesting. Every time, you saw his crimson eyes darken and he licked his lips, looking at your display with hunger. He would recuperate, grabbing your ass as he walked by or snapping the straps of your bikini bottoms against your ass just to see your fat ripple. Today, however, you decided to try and make a move. The two of you were closing for the evening and were the last to leave.

As you walked into the back to change you saw Ejiro standing outside of the entrance. “Ya know you don’t hafta wait outside when it's the two of us right?” You comment to him as you walk inside.

“I know but my mamas raised me to be respectful,” he replies as he walks closer, leaning against a nearby locker as he begins to scroll on his phone. You smirked as you began to strip in front of him, as your back turned to him you felt his eyes trail down your back. Usually, you just threw on some sweats and changed at the house. But tonight you wanted to see how far you could push him. As you pulled off your bra you turned back to him, placing your hands on your hips you smirked. He was standing awkwardly against the locker, face buried in his phone with the faintest of blush dusting his cheeks. “Don’t tell me ya never saw a pretty body naked have ya Eiji?” You taunt as you walk closer to him. Only coming up to his chest you giggled as you pressed up against him.

His breath caught in his chest as he looked down at you. “Now doll… I know we’ve been teasing each otha for a while not..” He started, gripping your chin to keep your eyes on his. “But if ya want this I warn ya… I aint gentle,” he finishes lowly. You can only giggle and bite the inside of your cheek.

"Who says I want it to be soft?” You retort.

Suddenly you’re lifted up and pressed against the lockers by strong arms as a pair of soft lips are pressed against yours. You moan into his kiss as his large hands grip the fat of your thighs and ass. “Fuck baby, do ya know how hard it is for me to just sit by and watch as these hips swing by my stage,” he growls. You can’t get a word out as he sticks two thick fingers into your mouth. Soft whimpers echo through the changing room as your drool drips down his hand. He pulls them out and kisses you gently before slowly sliding a finger inside of you. He groans lowly as he feels how tight you are, your pussy clenches around his finger, desperately trying to suck him in. You stay like this, him stretching you slowly as he adds one more finger, scissoring you apart as he watches your face. How it contorts, how your eyes cross slightly as he feels your sweet spot, it all goes straight to his cock.

“Look at you..taking my fingers like a good little boy should,” he remarks as he looks down at the absolute mess you’ve made. He gently lays you down on a nearby bench, taking off his sweatshirt and folding it up before placing it underneath your hips. You watch as he slides off his pants and boxers, drool escaping you slightly as you watch his cock slowly reveal itself. Thick as heavy that even with it fully hard it can barely stand by itself. He positions himself between your legs, tapping his cock against your pussy. He smirks as he hears your voice hitch, feeling how heavy it is. He looks at you with concerned eyes, studying your face for any sign of discomfort only to find lust-blown eyes looking back at him. He grips your thighs tightly as they push them up to your chest. Your pussy clenches as you feel his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs. He slowly pushes in, biting his lip as he feels the hot, tight walls of your entrance. You reach up, digging your nails into his arms as his grip tightens on your hips.

Eiji gives you only a moment to rest before he pulls out, watching as your lips grip his shaft, glistening from how wet you are. He can’t help the deep growl in his chest as he pushes back in. He picks up the pace, leaning down on his forearms he leans his forehead against yours. The slapping of his balls against your ass echoes loudly. “God damn… you’re so fucking tight-ngh- didn’t think you could take me so well,” he moans out.

You let out a shaky laugh as your legs tighten around his waist. “D-didn’t know you thought so little oh fuck yes of me Eiji~” You replied. Your mixed juices dripped down the curve of your ass, adding to the explicit sounds coming from your rendezvous. To keep himself quiet he buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting and marking his way down to your chest.

Your whines grew louder as you felt the head of his cock hit your most sensitive spot. Your back arched and your nails drew blood from how hard they scratched down his shoulders. “Ah there it is~” He remarks as he sits up a bit, angling his thrusts to keep hitting your sweet pot. Absolutely enamoured by how fucked out you look, eyes crossed and drool dropping from the corner of your mouth, he can see the beginnings of hickeys bloom across your warm brown skin. It made his cock throb. “You’re all mine baby boy, no one else can have this tight pussy except me,” he announced as he began to thrust faster. Rubbing your clit in slow stuff movements he can’t help but smile seeing how your body reacts to the softest of touches. You can barely respond, only nodding your head and whimpering as you feel the knot in your loins tighten. “Gonna cum for me baby? Go on, I’m feelin’ nice today,” he remarks as he feels your pussy tighten around him. He thrusts faster, pinching and rubbing your clit along with his thrusts as he watches your face. You turn your head as you feel yourself about to climb over the edge before you feel a strong hand grip your chin. “Now now. Good boys look at daddy when they cum, I wanna see those eyes cross when ya squirt on my cock,” he commands. His smirk, usually holding warmth and comfort, throws you over the edge with a loud moan. Holding onto him like your life depended on it, you can’t help the cacophony of noises that spilled from your lips. He doesn’t relent, continuing to pound away at your quivering entrance.

“E-eiji nngj s-sensitive,” you moaned out, hot tears streaming down brown cheeks as you tried to move away from his powerful thrusts.

“Shh baby let daddy use you a little bit longer,” he comments as he hooks your legs over his shoulders as he holds your face gently. His large palms squish your cheeks gently as he speeds up his thrusts, your toes curl, and your body quakes as you feel his cock throb inside of you. Looking up at him with unfocused eyes you hold onto his wrists.

“C-cum inside daddy~ please~” You squeaked. That broke him, holding you close to him he unloaded inside of you, groaning loudly he humps against you. Feeling his cock throb and pulse as rope after rope of cum unloads inside of your tight cunt.

He keeps your bodies close together, kissing your face and lips gently as he asks how you're feeling. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I sweetheart?” He asks as he wipes away tears. You shake your head and lean into his touch.

“No no...that was exactly what I wanted,” you replied. He chuckles as he lets your legs down gently, rubbing your hips and joints to ease the tension.

“Good. Cause as soon as I get you home, you’re gonna need to call off tomorrow.”

#bnha kirishima eijirou #red riot #bnha kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha kirishima #kirishima eijirou #x reader smut #kiri smut #poc!reader #poc reader #ftm!reader #ftm reader #magic mike collab #cernunnos thoughts #cernunnos writing #bnha smut

204 notes · View notes

sevi007 · 3 years ago

Note

Baltheir must've seen Fran go ballistic like that once, knows that Mist can have a pretty strong effect on Veira, so this is probably isn't much of a surprise for him now. But consider, first time he saw her like that, wide eyed and feral, he's trying to calm her down cause she looks like she's scared or in pain, hugging her close until she calms down not caring about the wounds she's causing. When she comes to Fran tries to apologize but Baltheir wouldn't have any of it. 1/2

once he's done dressing his wounds, and hers, they have a long conversation about how Mist can effect a Veira so they can be better prepared next time. And Fran apologizes once more for that "ugly display" and Baltheir scoffs, "Fran, dear, you're a lot of things, but ugly? Never." She stares at him in shock for a moment before she smiles. and then, "if anything, you were even more beautiful, now that I have a chance to look back on it, you're very pretty when you're mad" she pinches him. 2/2

@rex101111 is absolutely my greatest enabler, and nobody should be surprised anymore when I take one of the prompts he gives me and just write an entire One-Shot out of it. Like I did here. In a rush.

(It is not quite what you had in mind, Rex, but I really had only so much influence over where this story went. I think the FFXII characters just possessed me halfway through and wrote this themselves. I hope you still like it as much as I liked writing it!)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XII ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fran knows it was a mistake, following Balthier’s lead. It does not matter what treasures awaited them, or how sure of their success he was; the moment he had told her their next trip would take them to the fallen city of Nabudis, she should have turned heel and walked out on him.

And yet, here she is; breathing in mist rather than air, feeling it claw at her throat and her mind, while she follows the hume man through this laid-bare bones of what was once a glorious city. Because it is Balthier who asked, and Balthier who lead the way. And Fran always, always followed his lead, ever since they had met each other. This, she knows, is a weakness.

She should have known better, than to let herself be weak. The forest taught her that. Life taught her that. Weakness means death.

The thought thrums through her, clear like a bell. It is the last clear thought she has before the burning of the mist ignites inside her, explodes in an inferno, and her head feels like it is being split in two. She thinks she screams, but she cannot be sure; the next thing she knows she is on her knees, doubling over onto all fours, and she is burning alive as the mist rages through her, her world tinging red.

With blurry eyes she watches her fingers curl together and her nails elongate, and tries to choke out a warning, but it never comes. Her head tips back and she catches a glimpse of Balthier, whirling around towards her with his eyes wide, before she opens her mouth and screams.

It is every nightmare she ever had, combined. She has feared such a moment for several reasons, and only one of them being what will he think of me, seeing me so unhinged?

The other, much more potent fear, was for his fragile hume life.

She is Viera; hers is the strength of nature, of the very forest which gave birth to her. With the mist clouding her mind, there is nothing to reign in that strength. She is a storm, an earthquake, a beast let loose. Her nails are claws slashing, her limbs like whips clashing, and her power enough to shatter stone and steel, so, so easily crush bones into dust.

And Balthier, the brave fool, takes one look at her twisted features, at her trembling body ready to pounce and rip him to shreds, and does exactly what she feared he would do: He runs towards her instead of away from her.

Fran wants to scream at him stop, you foolish boy, stop, but all which comes forth is another heart stopping howl and then Balthier is already crushing into her at full speed.

Instinct moves her; her body bucks and rears and tries to throw him off while she snarls and hisses at him. His arms come around her and he holds on with all his might. To her, it might as well be paper stripes trying to hold her back.

Not that he is trying to hold her down. It is from far away that the tiny part of Fran which is still her, which can still think, notices this. He is not holding onto her arms, trying to contain her. He simply cradles her protectively wit no care for his own wellbeing. As if her claws are not at present tearing into his shoulders, cutting through cloth and skin alike. And he is talking; a low, gentle murmur which should have gotten lost in her own thunderous roars but somehow rings louder still in her ears.

“… this why you did not want to come here? Forgive me, Fran. I should have listened to you.”

Perhaps it is the proximity to him. Perhaps the surprise of him being the one apologizing filters through. Whatever it is, her mind clears, if only a little, even while her body is still wildly out of her control. The rush of blood in her ears takes second place to the horrible sound of cloth tearing, skin ripping, and her own monstrous roars.

And over it all, Balthier’s voice, right there. “I will listen better from now on, I promise on the Strahl I will. You won’t have to endure this ever again.”

The hand which finds her cheek, thumb stroking infinitely gentle and too close to her sharp teeth, is a glaring contrast to her own vicious movements. Even in her rage, her body stiffens in surprise at the perplexing kindness of the gesture.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Fran. But right now, I need you to come back, you hear me?” The arms around her tighten as if trying to hold her together. “I know you are still in there, Fran. I know you can come back. Come back, please.”

Please.

It is that little word, the tremor of it, which stills her completely then. Fran is still breathing heavily, nostrils flaring, a mutinous growl rumbling in her chest. Yet she is no longer lashing out against the hume in her arms, her claws lying uselessly against his torn shoulders.

There is two equally strong urges fighting inside her - to destroy, and to protect.

Hurts. Pain. Lash out, her body burning under the mist thrums. The warm body pressed against hers is a nuisance. A danger, in her state. An enemy. Rip. Tear. Crush.

No. No. This is not an enemy. Fran clings to the blurry thought, as viciously as her inner beast, refuses to let it go again. This is no stranger. This is not any hume. This is the boy turned man who had taken one look at her and decided to reach out and give her a place to stay. This is her friend and partner who always has her back, no questions asked. This is Balthier.

Her Balthier. Who would hold onto the beast she had become to comfort it rather than cut it down in self-defense.

He has seen me, and he has not ran from me.

I will nothurt him.

She howls once more, but this time there is another sound wrenched in between; a sob. A mixture of fear and relief. It is like a rain drop onto a wildfire, but it is a start. It repeats itself, again and again. Her hands loosen, relax into something more natural once more. She drops in Balthier’s arms, slumps over like a puppet with its strings cut loose. She does not even notice when the world tilts around her and her back meets the ground.

The last thing she sees is Balthier’s face above her, pale and horribly young, mouth moving silently; or can she simply not hear him? His eyes look red, she thinks and moves to reach out and do something about it – but her body feels far, far away. Her arm simply will not do as she wants.

She cannot even worry about it before darkness takes over her senses and she knows nothing anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XII ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am quite sure a potion would have done the trick just as well-…”

“Be quiet, Balthier.”

He tries, for her sake. Even from behind, Fran can see him try valiantly to bite back the words, jaw working, before he does finish just like she expected, “You should save your energy.”

They have been going back and forth on this for a while now, so Fran decides it is best to let it be and simply do her work. In the silence, she focuses on drawing the tiniest bit of mist from the air and spin it into the most potent Cure she is capable of at present.

Fran understands his worries, she does. After all, she had needed to be carried back all the way to the Strahl after her breakdown and even then it had taken several hours before she had come back to consciousness once more. She knows he caresand that that is why they had nearly started wrestling with each other when she had tried to get up at first, and once more when she had started to tear at his shirt to try and assess the damage shehad done to him while he protested and tried to wave it off as nothing.

Fran knows all that. But as is usual with them, Balthieralso understand that she needs to do this without needing to hear it, and so he lets her, despite his grumbled protests and all his eye-rolls. It is for her peace of mind that she spins the magic and pours it into his body. Each bit of skin which knots back together and smooths out is a tiny piece of her own heart healed, a weight lifted of her shoulders as she watches her sins be wiped away slowly.

Once she is done, her hand hover uselessly over Balthier’s back for a moment, torn between reaching out and touching the skin there. As if to make sure it really is healed and hides no further injuries.

Injuries I caused.

“All done?” Balthier’s voice startles her. Humming in answer, she watches when he pushes to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a relieved sigh. “Ah yes, so much better. Remind me to ask you for white magick lessons again. We save a fortune on potions that way.”

“I will.” Her gaze follows him while he moves about, checking the range of his motions, shooting her a distracted smile as he does. She means it; it will do him good to know healing magic himself, should she not be around… or lose herself once more.

“Thank you. Now. How does it look?”

At the prompt, Fran instinctively finds her gaze rack one more time over his bare skin, counting blemishes which are not there anymore. A few shadows remain; places where a Curaga would have done more than a mere Cure. But those were mere bruises, and a lot less than pains Balthier was more than used to.

Still the knowledge of the source of these shades sits as a knot in her belly, and she clenches her traitorous fists tightly.

A throat being cleared snaps her out of it. When her gaze meets Balthier’s, his eyes are dancing with laughter. “My dear, you are welcome to look all you want of course, but I was talking about my shirt.”

Despite herself, Fran feels her eyes crinkle with her own smile. Somehow he had always had the ability to make her smile once more, no matter what. With only a little derisive snort at his peacocking – he never grew out of that one, did he – she holds up the stripes held together by mere thread, lets the remains of the shirt dangle from her fingers. “Beyond all rescue.”

Balthier pulls a disgruntled face as if, somehow, this is the worst thing that has happened to him all day, and sighs deeply and dramatically. “A shame. That was my best one.”

The knot in her belly tightens once more, but before it can get too much, Balthier already keeps talking with a flourish of his hand. “Well. Once we’re both well-rested again, it seems to be time for another shopping trip. What would you say if you charter the course after getting a good night’s sleep? I will follow your lead.”

Fran blinks, and feels her ears swivel forward, as if she has somehow misheard him. “… me?”

“Why, yes,” Balthier is already up to his shoulders in the closet he has pilfered as his wardrobe and his voice is muffled, but she can hear his amusement clear as day anyway. “Who else should I ask? Bless his heart, but I would not trust Nono to steer us right. He understands the Strahlwell enough, but reading a map, well…”

“Why not pick a course yourself?” Fran interrupts him without thinking, still baffled. This is unpreceded; it has always been Balthier who led, and she who followed. A role-reversal feels much more significant than Balthier is trying to make this seem. After all… “Are you not the leading man in your story?”

“Our story, Fran. Ours.”

Balthier is busy pulling on a new shirt – of much lesser quality than its predecessor– over his head once he resurfaces and thus Fran has an unobserved moment to school her features and make sense of this grand declaration, handed to her so casually.

She barely manages to get a grip before Balthier smooths down the cloth and runs both hands through his unruly hair to tame it. He is still not looking at her when he continues, voice suspiciously light and casual.

“I had time to think.” While you were unconscioushe does not say but it rings loudly between them. “I might be a master thief and an even better pilot, that much is true, but I do not seem to have a knack for picking the our next destination. So I will leave that honor to you, and no one else.”

He turns, then, and whatever astonishment she has not gotten under control must show plain as day, for his smile spreads easily over his entire face, chasing away first hints of apprehension there. He has the gal to wink, this man, eyes bright. “Every good sky pirate needs a good navigator, after all.”

Something settles in Fran’s chest then, and suddenly, she understands. Understands that this is not only him apologizing again, but also a sign of trust. A reassurance that whatever happened today has not shaken his faith in her.

Fran is not prone to great outbursts of emotions. No Viera is. And yet. Once the real meaning of this gift Balthier is handing her with a boyish smile truly sinks in, she finds herself looking down at the torn shirt in her hands, blinking rapidly and struggling to keep her breath even.

The decision is a laughably easy one. Once she feels more in control again, she does not hesitate to push the shreds of cloth aside as far as possible and looks up at her friend. “No need to charter a course. Let us head for Nalbina next.”

Surprise flickers in Balthier’s features before he is already smirking again, head tilting. “To restock, I assume?”

Fran smirks right back, gestures at him; at the shirt with the too short cuffs and yellowing from age. “To get you something proper to wear.”

His crooked smile blooms into real delight and he throws his head back in a startled, happy full belly laugh, just like she had hoped he would. The sound fills the room and unravels the knot inside her completely, and she finds herself smiling at him much less smug, much gentler than she had wanted to.

“Why, Fran, don’t tell me you don’t like what you see!”

“Not particularly. Once you look into a mirror you will agree with me.”

“Ouch. You do know how to pick your words,” Balthier presses a hand to his chest, his eyes still laughing even while he has quieted down to mere chuckles. “But fine, as the lady wishes. Nalbina it is. Now?”

“Nothing is holding us here,” Fran points out. Knows that he will hear what really means. Let us not stay here any longer.

Sure enough, his expression turns serious ever so briefly before he smooths over it once more and dips low in a bow, hand outstretched. “Shall we, then?”

“We shall.”

Reaching out for him is easy. It always is. This time, Fran takes a tiny moment longer to admire her long-fingered hand in his shorter one. Hers is so very different from his. So very dangerous. Now, he knows that all too well.

And still, he does not hesitate to take it, hold it gently, and draw her to her feet so they are eye to eye once more.

He really is a marvel, this Balthier.

She is smiling with her entire face when she teases, “Choosing our course… Will that not make me the leading woman, then?”

“Please, Fran.” There is too much fond warmth there to make it sound like a reprimand, and they both know it.

She laughs, and says nothing about it anymore. It is simply not necessary. They both know that between them, there is no leader, and no follower.

There is only them, together, moving in tandem wherever they went.

And Fran would not want it any other way.

#balthier #fran #ffxii #fanfic #my writing #final fantasy xii #ff12

31 notes · View notes

hqbbg · 4 years ago

Text

memorable.

pairing: kageyama x fem!reader

summary: you’re a virgin and kageyama’s about to change that

genre: smut

word count: 2.7K

warnings: 18+, language, aged up characters, fingering, loss of innocence, no plot tbh (but kinda friends to lovers?), awkward moments just for fun, slight hair pulling kink

author’s note: so this was supposed to be a response to a request but I'm dumb with fat thumbs and accidentally clicked the delete button on the post after I posted it (but thankfully I still had the story saved on my laptop uwu) but n e ways 👁👄👁 to the anon that requested this, I hope this finds you well and ALSO I HIT 500 FOLLOWERS!! thank you to everyone and I might have an event or something to celebrate idk yet 🥺🤧 ok sorry this a/n was long, hope you guys enjoy!! 💖

“Are you okay?”

You do your best to form coherent words, but you can only whimper as you nod your head, gripping Kageyama’s shirt in your fists as he slowly pumps two long fingers in and out of you while your shorts and underwear are abandoned somewhere on his living room floor.

It had started out as an innocent conversation as the two of you sat on his couch which had somehow shifted to the topic of sex. Kageyama was well aware that you were inexperienced, and you trusted him as one of your closest friends to not judge you for a lot of the different questions you had. Apparently being a pro volleyball player was a big plus in impressing the ladies no matter how awkward or intimidating you were, proven by Kageyama’s track record.

Perhaps you had overstepped a boundary when you’d asked him about his experience in fingering, but Kageyama certainly didn’t seem to mind and it was most definitely his idea to show instead of telling you just how good he was at it, even if he was super awkward in proposing the idea.

“Kageyama,” you surprise yourself at the sound of your voice that’s become hardly recognizable with how lustful it sounds. “Faster.”

He nods his head as he begins to thrust his fingers in and out of your sopping wet heat at a quicker pace. His fingers reach much further than your own ever could, and you feel almost lightheaded at the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he practically groans as he leans towards you. You throw your head back against the couch and soon feel his lips on your exposed throat, sucking and nipping gently at the skin. You arch your back as you feel his fingers brush a spot deep inside you that you’ve never been able to reach yourself and can’t help but cry out in pleasure. Kageyama is quick to get the hint and angles his fingers to repeatedly hit that spot, practically shooting you straight towards your first orgasm caused by another person.

“F-Fuck, Kageyama,” you moan as your toes curl. “I-I think I’m going to—”

Your statement is cut short as you feel Kageyama firmly press his lips against yours, swallowing your moans. You loosen your grip on his shirt and move one hand to the back of his head, weaving your fingers through his hair. He hums against your lips as you begin to tug on his locks, tightening your grip when you feel his thumb press against your clit, rubbing it in harsh circles. You gasp and feel his tongue slip inside your mouth as your body begins to tremble and before you know it, your walls are clamping down on his fingers and you feel your orgasm consume your senses.

“Are you okay?” Kageyama’s voice manages to reel you back down from your high as he pulls away and you look at him with half-lidded eyes, hearing a dull ringing in your ears.

“Never better,” you admit with a shy smile. He returns the smile and you notice that his cheeks have tinted a light shade of pink.

He slowly removes his fingers and you bite your lip to hold back the soft whimper threatening to slip out from the sensitivity. You watch as he brings his fingers to his lips and feel yourself blushing deeply at how erotic he looks, sucking and licking his fingers clean.

“You taste pretty good,” he says casually and you’re sure you look almost feverish from the embarrassment.

He leans forward again and kisses you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue and momentarily clearing your thoughts of anything but him. Your hands begin to wander down his chest to his waist and move towards the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Hey, we don’t have to go further tonight,” he says softly as he pulls away.

“I want to,” you say as you lock eyes with him. The dark blue tint of his eyes practically blends in with the lustful expanse of his blown-out pupils and you hate the idea of leaving him in this state without release.

“Are you sure?”

Your fingers graze over the growing hardness between his legs and you bite your lip as you nod, noting the increased pacing of his breathing. You know your friendship will change after this—whether it’s for better or for worse—but you’re willing to take that risk.

“I’m bound to lose my virginity eventually,” you say, your eyes flitting back up to look at him. “Plus, we’ve made it this far, so just make my first time memorable.”

“I think I can manage that,” he replies as he dips his head to kiss you again.

His hands take more liberty now as he uses one hand to cup your clothed breast, giving it a firm squeeze to elicit a moan from you. He slips his tongue inside your mouth and you feel him guide and maneuver your body so you’re laying down across the couch. He adjusts your positions, so you aren’t squeezed to one side as he hovers over you and slips his hand under your shirt, ghosting over the bare skin of your torso.

His lips move down your jaw and you sigh with content as he licks and kisses the skin behind your ear. Your own hands busy themselves with his shirt and he pulls his lips away for a moment to sit upright and lift his shirt up and over his head, discarding it on the floor. You have a moment to admire the definition of his muscles, the way they ripple with his movements. He leans back down to kiss your neck and collarbone, and your fingers trace the existing lines on his abdomen before arriving at his waistband.

Before you can do anything, Kageyama tugs on your shirt and you prop yourself up slightly to get rid of it. Upon doing so, Kageyama’s fingers are quick to unhook your bra as well and free your breasts, leaving you completely naked before him. He remains sitting upright and licks his lips as his eyes take their time memorizing every dip and curve of your body. You raise your arms to cover yourself from embarrassment and it seems to snap Kageyama out of his daze as he grabs your wrists and gently pries them away from your body.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” he says softly as he leans back over you. “You’re beautiful.”

Just when you think it’s impossible, your face burns hotter and you can barely mutter a response as he captures your lips with his again. His hands knead your breasts, his fingers occasionally pinching and rolling your nipples to hear soft moans from you. Your hands find their way back to his pants and you begin to tug them down. Kageyama removes one hand to help you and pulls his lips away, muttering curses under his breath when his sweats prove to be troublesome as they refuse to simply slip off.

You can’t help but giggle softly at his visible frustration and watch as he eventually yanks them down, sliding them off and kicking them aside. The crease that had managed to form between his brows softens when he turns his attention back to you and instantly forgets what he was even upset about to begin with—the way your lips are tugged into a smile along with your pink-dusted cheeks stirs something in Kageyama beyond his current lust.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” You ask, pulling him out of his thoughts. He can see how shy and nervous you are.

“I just never thought this day would come,” he replies honestly. Before you can question anything further, he slips his boxers down, freeing his erect cock.

You bite your lip as you look at it, head empty of every thought that does not revolve around the naked man before you. This is your first time seeing a dick in person and to be quite honest, you’re intimidated by it; how’s it even supposed to fit?

“We’ll take it slow,” says Kageyama, as if he was reading your thoughts. Your eyes meet his and you nod, only partially comforted by the softness of his voice; your mind is still trying to wrap around how you’re supposed to wrap around him.

Kageyama kisses your neck and you sigh softly as he uses his hands to relax some of the tension you hadn’t even realized you had built up in such a short amount of time. You feel his fingers prodding back at your entrance before his index finger drags up your slit.

You feel him spread your wetness around a little before inserting two fingers again for the second time this evening and you moan as he begins to spread them within you in a scissoring motion. Your hands are on his shoulder and in his hair as he continues to suck on a sensitive spot on your neck, nibbling every so often. He continues to stretch you out for a little longer until you’re writhing and whimpering under him, begging for something more. He pulls his fingers out and you watch as he sits up a little to position himself. He coats his length with a mixture of your juices on his fingers along with the precum that’s been beading at the tip of his cock and you can’t deny that he looks undeniably attractive doing so.

He positions himself at your entrance, prodding your lower lips open with the head before a thought seems to hit him and he pauses, pulling away. You look at him with confusion and he looks back at you with sheepish realization.

“Let me go grab a condom.”

You’d been so caught up in the moment that you’d also forgotten to implement protection and can only sit and watch as he hurriedly rushes into his room. You sit up and wait patiently as you hear him opening a couple drawers and slamming them, muttering incoherent words to himself before rushing back out to you, his fingers fiddling with a recognizable square wrapper. He tears it open and grabs the rubber ring as he finally reaches his way back to you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find where I’d placed my condoms,” he mutters as he rolls the condom onto himself.

“It’s fine,” you shake your head with a small smile. “Better late than never to remember, right?”

“Good point,” he smirks back and climbs on top of you again. He gives you a chaste kiss before gripping onto his cock again and you spread your legs for him as he repositions himself. You bite your lip in anticipation as he rubs the head of his cock against your pussy again, coating the condom with your dripping slick.

You watch and feel the anticipation building as he begins to push through and your hands scramble to grip onto anything tangible, one hand settling on the back of the couch and the other cupping over your mouth to conceal the pained whimpers escaping your lips.

“Are you okay?” Kageyama asks gently as he pauses his movements momentarily. You feel the painful stretch and glance down to see that he’s barely halfway in before inhaling deeply and nodding. “If you need me to slow down or stop, let me know, okay?”

You nod and squeeze your eyes shut as he begins to push his way in again, slowly easing in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses as he leans over you, using one arm to support himself by your head. He dips his head to nuzzle his face into your neck, whispering and muttering sweet encouragements in your ear.

After what feels like an eternity of being stretched and filled, he finally bottoms out and remains still to allow you to adjust to him accordingly.

“Are you okay?” he asks once again, lifting his head to look at your face. Your eyes are squeezed shut with tears lining your lashes and he brushes some hair out of your face as you shift your body slightly to feel more comfortable, though you can’t imagine how right now.

Kageyama’s patient as he continues to mutter sweet nothings in your ear until you’re finally ready for him to move.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” you manage to reply. He begins to slowly pull out and eventually stops right before his entire length slips out of you and pushes all the way back in. You can’t help but cry out as he repeats the motions slowly, pausing every so often to ensure that you’re doing okay.

So… this is sex, huh?

“Kageyama,” you say when you begin to finally feel the pain beginning to dull. “F-faster.”

You can practically see the enthusiasm on his face as he nods, his hands moving to your hips as he begins to thrust his hips quicker. You continue to moan and arch your back as Kageyama sits up, gripping your hips to stabilize you as he continues to snap his hips against yours.

He hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer to him to hit even deeper than before, causing you to practically see stars as you become undone under him, moaning and chanting his name. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes throughout his apartment and you prop yourself up with your elbow, using your free hand to reach out to Kageyama and pull him down to kiss you. He swallows your moans as he grunts against your lips, feeling you fist his hair in your hand.

“Fuck, I won’t last much longer if you keep doing that,” he practically growls, and you can feel your walls tighten around him, the bubble of pleasure in the pit of your stomach growing. “or if you keep tightening around me—fuck, you’re so tight, baby.”

“I-I think I’m close,” you whimper as you push yourself up further so you’re nearly sitting upright. Kageyama rests his forehead against yours, panting as he locks eyes with you.

“Me too,” he says as he does his best to maintain his rhythm. He releases one of your legs and moves his arm forward to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in circles. Your back arches and an ecstatic moan of pleasure rips through you as you’re hurled to your second orgasm.

“Tobio, I’m cumming!” You cry out as you feel your walls tightening around him, your nails digging little crescents into the skin of his back and shoulders. He hisses as he continues his ministrations, allowing you to reach your climax first.

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head as you throw your head back, moaning his name as the bubble in your stomach bursts and white flashes before your eyes, your whole body trembling. Kageyama is close behind as he hisses, his movements growing increasingly sloppier until he also finally begins to release his load whilst being inside of you.

Your body feels spent as he slows down, thrusting his hips a few more times before stilling completely. The room is soon filled with the simple sounds of both of your heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” Kageyama asks again once he’s recovered from his climax. He gently brushes some hair away from your face and you see how soft he is now in comparison to mere moments ago.

“Yeah, I think I’m more than okay,” you say with a bashful giggle.

“Good,” he replies with a soft smile and leans forward to kiss you. Your hands move up and cup his face, holding him close to you for a few more moments before he pulls away.

“I’m going to pull out, okay?”

You nod and wince as he pulls out, unbelievably sensitive. You’re also now more aware of the growing soreness between your legs and find it hard to close your legs.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” says Kageyama as he helps you move so you’re sitting upright on the edge of the couch.

Kageyama is the first to get up and begins to make his way towards his room before stopping and turning to look at you.

“So, was your first time memorable?”

“Definitely,” you reply with a nod. The smirk you see on his face is one you only see after he wins his volleyball games and another thought crosses your mind. “What if I said it wasn’t?”

“Then maybe I can try again until I get it right.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama x you #kageyama x reader #hq kageyama #hrnybbg

795 notes · View notes

achliegh · 4 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

@clearsuitcasecookienerd helped me out with this one!

For some background:

Leo is a bull rider as a side hustle.

His parents breed Tennessee Walking Horses ($$$$$)

His father died when he was 16 so he dropped out of school to help his mother and cousins run the ranch.

During the winter The Ranch hands take over the Ranch so Leo and his Mother can go visit family all over the country. During the Summer Leo and his cousins handle the ranch.

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Prologue:

Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy

And James was thrown off the mechanical bull for the third time! It seems as though no one on the team could stay on that thing long enough to win the prize of a free beer tab. Finn and Logan were standing hip to hip, forearms resting on the short fence surrounding the mechanical bull in this crowded bar. They were passing a cigarette back and forth as they made fun of Thomas and James as they rode this ferocious animal on the beginner setting.

They just got done for the day at a training camp designed to make them more agile on the ice, only the wingers and centers were there. It was being put on at the old professional hockey rink in New Orleans so it can get some use. The only reason why they choose this hick bar is because it was close to the rink and apparently LGBTQ+ friendly because some kid comes here and gets in fights with people who are homophobic.

A true hero.

Finn and Logan have been friend with benefits since college, did they plan to fuck again tonight? Yee-haw! They both had feelings for each other but refused to admit them because that's the one thing you aren’t supposed to do in a friends with benefits situation. Not fall in love. Everyone knew they were completely head over heels for each other but everyone also knew something was missing for them to be able to work. Usually they only talked about their feelings when they were angry.

Everyone in the bar was friendly, all locals too, so they would tell fun stories about what has gone down in this bar. Two names that would come up frequently and always together were, Leo and Clayton. Apparently, they are best friends and the most beloved frequenters of the bar. Yes, they were undersage. Yes, they did like to fight. No, no one snitches on them. Yes, Leo is a gay boy and Clayton is a Bi boy and they ran this town.

Both are apparently from very rich old parents who only ever had one child, so they treated each other like brothers. No one messed with them. Don't forget they know how to have a good time. Finn had squished his hand into Logan's back pocket while they listened to the local next to them at the fence talk about the two boys.

Then the double wood door to the bar was slammed open, two very tall specimens sauntered in, there was whooping and hollering as they walked past people. Tipping hats and throwing winks. The local leaned over and whispered to Finn and Logan who took a glance at the door and then back at the bull tossing their friends like a fucking salad.

“Speak of the devils.” Logan's attention was brought to the two men when they hopped over the fence to help James stand back up and dust him off. Cracking jokes with him, while the other went to the machine panel to change the setting. Logan took in their appearances.

The one with James had caramel toned skin with black coily hair under a dirty baseball cap. He was very well built and looked like his muscles were made of rock, Logan guessed he was around the same height as Finn. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeve cut off low enough to show off his abdomen. He had on some dark dusty jeans and brown square toes boots, looks like he just got off work somewhere dusty. The man looked up to check out the crowd of newbies to the bar and Logan took note of his dark dark brown eyes, which landed on him and he saw the man smirk a little before leaning over to James to ask for the names of Finn and Logan. Rolling his eyes a little he decided to look at the other man.

Oh my.

Logan felt like he had been punched in the gut, this man had soft blonde curls wrapping around the rim of his old baseball cap that's backwards on his head. He was also tan but looked more golden like he was tanned under the sun. He couldn’t see his face from under the man's hat but he could see his hard muscles from under his incredibly tight tank top. He too was wearing jeans and square toed boots. Logan could tell this guy was taller than the other and he just wanted him. The veins in his arms and the strength of his hands made his grip tighten on his drink. He knew Finn was looking to by the way he could feel his hand flexing on his ass.

There was a song playing in the background that portrayed exactly how they felt.

“SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY!” The bar cheered as the blonde boy swung his leg on the bull and grabbed the handle, nodding at his friend. The bull started thrashing around and all Finn and Logan could focus on was the way this guy isolated his body so the top half of him barely moved while his hips rotated with the machine, smoothly. As the bull got faster the tighter the guy gripped the handle the more veins showed in his arms. Logan took a drink while Finn took a drag.

When the man was finally flung off, he had won what Thomas and James were trying so desperately trying to win. When the man stood up he was right in front of Logan and Finn. Logan just about spit out his drink when he saw this man's face. Like it was chiseled from fucking god, dimples, electric blue eyes that shot electricity to their groins, sculpted eyebrows and a scar on bridge of his nose. He smiled and his teeth were perfect beside a chip on his left front tooth.

They had to have him. After hours of teasing looks and sexy line dances, which was a sentence Finn swore he would never say, they finally got this angel of a cowboy into their hotel room. His name was Leo, and god damn was he packing.

He was fucking into Logan as the smaller man fingered Finn open and sucked him off at the same time, Leo shifted a little to hit Logan's prostate, a loud moan was heard from around Finn’s cock. Logan pulled off of Finn and Pushed back on Leo like he couldn’t help it, catching Leo by surprise and asking him to pull out. Leo did because he was a literal angel.

Leo sat back on his heels and smoothed his hands over Logan's hips with a worried look in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” His voice was heavy with lust and worry, that thick southern accent caused the other two to groan.

“Don’t you remember what song was playing when we first saw you?” Logan and Finn were now on their knees facing each other but looking at Leo with hungry eyes. Leo looked down as he thought for a moment, then it dawned on him. He looked up at them and smiled a little shy, he was about to say something but he was pushed back to lay down. He shuffles a little to get more comfortable, Finn and Logan both mentioned that they were switches so he had no clue what to expect when two extremely sex hockey players asked him into their bed. Clayton was jealous.

He groans as he feels Finn grind back onto his cock, he looks up at the red head and smiles Finn is definitely enjoying himself. Leo placed his hands on Finn’s hips to help him sink down on his cock, furrowing his brows he tries his best not to fuck up into Finn as he gets used to Leo. Which they did mention Finn hasn’t bottomed in a while but he really wanted to with Leo and that made him feel special. Leo opens his eyes from when he scrunched them shut to control himself, he sees Logan watching Finn and stroking himself. An idea comes onto Leo’s head, tapping on Logan's arm he wraps his hand around his bicep and pulls him over to him.

“How about you ride my face, sugarbug? Hmm?” Leo is pulled into an intense kiss as Finn finally sets a comfortable pace of fucking himself down on Leo. Logan maneuvers himself so he is straddling Leo’s face and facing Finn.

Leo grabs Logan's hips to pull him down on his face, nipping lightly at his rim he smirks at the shiver he feels from Logan, hearing the smacking of kisses he knows they are desperately close already. Leo starts working Logan open with his tongue as he plants his heels on the bed and fucks up into Finn. The boys are moaning his name loud enough he bets the people in the room next to them are hearing everything. Leo is getting close and he knows Logan is barely holding on, plunging his middle finger and tongue into his smaller lover, hitting his prostate head on, he feels Logan clench around him as a wet heat is felt on his chest.

Logan Moans out Leo’s name and then Finn’s as he pulls the red head into a sloppy kiss as Leo keeps his rhythm with Finn, fucking him steady and deep. Finn changes the rhythm and starts moving faster, desperate for that release. Logan reaches between them and starts to jerk Finn off in time with his thrusts, after a few strokes he feels Finn spilling into his hand. Leo groans and bites down on Logan's left booty cheek as he muffles his moan when he releases into the condom he's wearing. Resting his head back on the pillow he feels logan crawl off him.

Finn pulled off him and collapsed onto Leo’s chest with an oof. Leo chuckles and runs his hands through Finn’s hair, mesmerized by the red flowing through hands. He just wanted to hold these boys close and relax, which he hasn’t done in a while. Kissing the top of Finn’s head he hears a cute whimper from the man on top of him. Hiding his laugh in his hair Leo looks up at Logan who wanders back into the room with a warm washcloth. He slaps Finn’s ass causing the man to jolt and glare at Logan.

“Excuse you, I was being snuggled by a hot cowboy who just fucked the life out of me.” Leo laughs as Finn rolls off him, Logan tries to hide his smile but fails as he wipes the other two down. Hopping on top of them and wiggling his way between them and smiles.

“Well I want to cuddle the hot cowboy who just ate my soul out of my ass.” Leo laughs again and shakes his head wrapping his arms around bothering them.

“Shh! I want to silently cuddle with two hockey players who I just had the most intense orgasm with!” They all laugh and fall into comfortable silence with comforting touches and caresses until they fall asleep.

When Finn and Logan woke up in the morning Leo was already dressed and writing his number on the notepad next to Logan’s phone. He turns to look back at the bed and smiles when he sees the boys both sleepily reach for him. He crawls on the bed still having not put on his boots yet and gives them both a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Text me or call me anytime you want to talk.” He whispers to them as he pushes some hair out of Logan's face and rests his forehead on Finn’s cheek. He crawls away shoving his boots on and walking out the door. Morning chores need to be done.

They all felt it when Leo left, cold.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

60 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Been . . . a DAY 1/3

Yeah, I've got WIPs, but yeah, this came to me. My oldest, years ago, had to pee really bad and NO ONE would let me use their bathroom. An insurance office, of all places, took pity on me, and my kid proceeded to pee on their bathroom floor. I burst into tears, and the woman there hugged me and told me how her kids peed in all kinds of places when they were potty training. The people were so nice, they refused to let me clean it up. I've never forgotten that act of kindness, and I likely never will. So that's the inspiration for this story which will have three parts.

Summary: Emma Swan bursts into Killian's life in spectacular fashion - when her three year old pees on his office floor. Nevertheless, Killian is mesmerized by this tenacious woman. Perhaps fate will let them cross paths again . . .

Rated: G

Words: Just shy of 2k

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite (sorry if I forgot anyone - I am really tired right now!)

Chapter One:

“Can we use your bathroom, please?”

Jones & Jones Accounting Firm isn’t your stereotypical lifeless, silent establishment, just as the Jones brothers don’t look like your stereotypical accountants. Nevertheless, the frazzled blonde bursts in upon a moment of intense concentration. It’s tax season, after all. Killian takes in said blonde, her hair a wild disarray and tension in her shoulders. She’s clearly not having the best day. A squirming three year old grips her hand, doing what Liam and Elsa always call “the potty dance.”

All four employees of Jones & Jones (it technically should be Jones, Jones, & Jones, but Elsa said that was far too pretentious) hurriedly assure the woman, “yes, yes, of course,” leaping to their feet, hovering, oozing politeness, and pointing to the end of the hall to the facilities. The woman practically weeps in relief.

“Pee pee now, Mama!” the child cries, and his mother scoops him up, holding him out in front of her as she races for the toilet. It’s another maneuver Killian is familiar with thanks to Liam and Elsa - or his nephew, to be more specific.

The blonde - he really wants to know her name - sets the boy down in front of the toilet. In her haste she doesn’t even bother to shut the door.

It’s too late.

Before she can even get the child’s pants down, a yellow puddle is spreading at his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps to the adults still unhelpfully hovering.

Then she starts ugly crying. Somehow, Killian knows this is out of character for her.

The boy begins to cry in earnest too. Liam and Elsa race off, most likely to take care of this, as the only two adults at Jones & Jones with kids. Ariel, who knows nothing about personal space and has never met a stranger, puts a comforting arm around the blonde.

“It’s okay, lass,” Killian assures, “really.”

“How can it be okay? We burst in here and peed on your floor!”

Killian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling or pointing out that only the lad did the actual peeing.

Liam appears with a roll of paper towels and a mop. “Accidents happen,” he tells the young mother cheerfully. “Potty training?”

“Yes!” the woman practically wails. “He’s three, so I know we should be done -“

“Ours is three too,” Elsa interrupts as she pushes a stack of clothes into her arms, “and he still has accidents. Which is why I have a spare set of clothes in my desk drawer.”

“Oh, spare clothes,” the woman mutters, shuffling through the massive bag slung over one shoulder. “Shit, he peed on those yesterday.”

He continues to sob as Liam lifts him out of his yellow puddle.

“So take these,” Elsa insists once again. “My name is Elsa, by the way.”

“Emma,” the blonde answers with a trembling chin as she takes the clothes, “and I never fall apart like this with strangers.” She chuckles sardonically. “Hell, I don’t do it with people I do know, but we’ve just had the worst time. Henry said he had to go, but every shop on this street said no when I begged for a bathroom. I was trying to buy him a pair of shoes. I mean, who the hell opens a kids’ thrift store and doesn’t put in a public bathroom?”

Killian once again bites his lip at the heat in her voice. He believes her when she insists that she rarely falls apart. She’s feisty and tough as nails - no question.

“Well,” Liam says, stuffing the wastebasket with sodden paper towels, “I’ve gotten most of it so you can change your lad out of his wet things. I’ll mop up when you’re done.”

Emma looks at each of them in turn, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “Why are you all being so nice?”

It’s clear from the way she says it that kindness has been rare in her life. It makes Killian wonder about the boy’s father. She isn’t wearing a ring, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t around. Whoever he is, he’s done nothing to ease that look of mistrust in her eyes.

“Because it’s clear you’re having a rough day,” Killian tells her gently, “and we’ve all been there.”

“Some of us literally,” quips Liam, and Elsa laughs.

“Your office was the sixth place I tried,” Emma whispers. “I never would have asked to use a bathroom in a business office if I wasn’t desperate.”

The boy - Henry - is still sniffling. “Was I a bad boy, Mama?”

“Oh baby, no,” Emma croons, falling to her knees before her son. “Even a big person might have had an accident holding it as long as you had to.”

Her soft voice melts the little boy, and he collapses wearily into his mother’s arms for comfort. Emma obliges, heedless of the child’s smelly dampness. She’s a good mother, that’s clear. The businesses on this street however? Killian clenches his jaw as he mentally ticks them off: the thrift store Emma had mentioned, a sporting goods store, a ladies boutique, a children’s book store, a jewelry store, and then Jones & Jones. Every single one had no reason to deny the desperate mother and child an exception to their “employees only” restrooms.

“Next time, love,” Killian says to the resilient mother before him, “you just stride right back to the bathroom no matter what they say.”

“Yeah,” Ariel agrees, anger flashing in her eyes, “I understand why they might not want a public bathroom, but surely they could see it was an emergency.”

“You just tell them it’s either let you use their bathroom or your kid’s gonna pee right on their floor,” Elsa grumbles. She’s clearly pissed - pun completely intended - or she wouldn’t have spoken with such poor diction.

Emma laughs, her face more at ease than it has been since she arrived. “I’ll remember that next time. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And potty training is definitely a desperate time,” Liam commiserates.

They leave Emma and Henry alone then so she can change his clothes. When mother and son exit the bathroom, they both look much calmer.

“I can’t say thank you enough,” Emma tells them. “I’ll come back by tomorrow to return the clothes.”

Elsa waves away her offer. “No worries. Those are pretty worse for wear. Ian won’t miss them, I promise.”

“Ian Jones, I’m guessing?” Emma asks. “That’s a nice name.”

“It’s a nickname, actually,” Liam tells her from where he’s mopping the bathroom. “He’s named after this git of a brother, over here.”

“Oi, but you did name him after me, didn’t you?” Killian shoots back.

“Nickname, huh?” Emma asks with a tilt of her head and a teasing smile. “Short for . . . ?”

“Killian.” Is it just his imagination, or is she flirting with him? “Killian Jones.”

He extends his hand, and she takes it.

“Emma Swan.”

A last name! His heart soars. “It suits you.”

Emma’s smile brightens even as she rolls her eyes. No, it isn’t his imagination - she is flirting. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones with kids who pee in my office.”

She tilts her head back and lets out a full-throated laugh. It does something to his heart - makes it expand or something equally cheesy. Her cheeks are pink as she looks at him while tugging at the ends of her hair.

“So . . . um, I still feel kind of bad about that.” Her nose wrinkles, and he notices the light dusting of freckles there.

“Well, you could make it up to us by staying and having dinner. It will be here any minute: sub sandwiches and practically a whole salad bar. Ariel always orders way too much.”

“It’s better than running low!” the redhead snaps indignantly.

His smile wavers as he watches a shadow pass over Emma’s face, dimming her eyes. It’s as if he’s watched a wall fall back into place. She shuffles her feet, and ducks her head. Henry meets her gaze, popping a thumb into his mouth.

“I . . . um, think this is a Happy Meal kinda night - right kid?”

“Yay!” Henry cheers, bounding up and down in that jerky way toddlers always have. “Ticken nuggets!”

“Chicken nuggets,” Emma corrects.

“Dat’s what I say,” Henry retorts with a frown.

Killian catches the boys gaze and winks at him. The boy giggles before popping his thumb back in his mouth. Then Killian regards Emma again, weighing the risk of his next question, but he has to know.

“His father is expecting dinner too, perhaps?”

Emma’s eyes narrow, and it’s clear he’s made a serious tactical error. “He certainly isn’t expecting it from me, wherever the hell he is.”

Killian ducks his head. “Apologies, lass.”

Emma sucks in a breath, then lets it out slowly. When she speaks again, it’s with measured calm.

“I thank all of you again, but we really need to go.”

They all talk over one another assuring Emma that it was no trouble at all, but she practically dashes out the door. When it closes, sadness sweeps over Killian at the thought that he’ll probably never see her again.

“Well, you sure mucked that up, little brother.”

Killian glowers at Liam. “Shut it.”

“Leave him alone, babe,” Elsa admonishes gently. “He had to find some way to make sure he wasn’t flirting with a woman who was already taken.”

“You think she was flirting?” Killian asks.

Ariel snorts. “Please. For a minute there, she was practically melting at your feet.”

Killian groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You’re right Liam. I mucked it up.”

“I don’t think so,” Elsa muses, her gaze drifting to the door Emma Swan had just exited. “I think her walls flew back up before you probed about Henry’s dad.”

Killian sinks dejectedly into his desk chair. “And now I’ll probably never see her again.”

“So what?” Liam shoves the mop back into the broom closet before heading back to his own desk. “You only talked to her for like ten minutes.”

“There was an instant connection, though.” Ariel clasps her hands together and practically swoons.

“And you never know,” adds Elsa, “the two of you may cross paths again.”

Killian frowns as he stares at the spreadsheets on his computer screen. He hasn’t been immediately affected by a woman in this manner since Milah. Liam’s right - it’s foolish to read much into their brief meeting.

Yet he can’t help hoping that he’ll see Emma Swan again.

#cs #cs ff #captain swan #modern au #first meeting #mommy!emma #single mom emma #little henry #fluff #humor

60 notes · View notes

doridoripawaa · 4 years ago

Text

Zenderella

What’s the point of wishing upon a star at night?

Could stars even hear wishes from up in the sky?

Zen continued to dream, with aspirations bright,

And hoped that one day, he would be able to fly.

Each day felt like a nightmare, trapping him inside,

As he strained to endure his family’s abuse.

Their cruelty was something he could not abide,

As they treated him like some hideous refuse.

But he found a release in the form of the stage

When he was not tidying up around the house.

Theater helped to free him from his family’s cage

That forced him to act as a quiet, ugly mouse.

One fateful night would transform his entire tale.

A night that’d show dreams and love would always prevail.

Clean as could be. Not a speck of dirt or dust in sight.

To meet these goals, Zen would likely need to work all night.

His parents and his brother would be off to the ball,

While they expected him to stay home and clean the halls!

Little did they know, tonight in that grandiose gala, the primary source of entertainment would be coming from the one who they had scorned, ridiculed, trampled, abused. The highlight of the night would come not from the dancing and music--which were to be expected at this type of event--but from the players who would take the stage and enchant the guests with a whimsical tale. Apparently, the princess of the kingdom had been struggling lately, living a life devoid of joy, hope, wonder, or optimism; thus, the king and queen had demanded a riveting tale that could restore the spark to their child’s eyes.

What kind of life was that? Even Zen, pitiful as he was working on his hands and knees in his family’s home, had his dreams. He had a reason to live, a reason to keep pushing forward. Did royalty ever feel troubles, though? At first, he hadn’t been sure; he thought all nobles and royals were born with a silver spoon in their mouth and would never understand what it meant to truly toil and suffer. However, after hearing the plight of the princess….

Maybe, just maybe, that princess was different.

A sudden rap at the door interrupted Zen from his tumultuous thoughts. With a grunt he lifted himself off the floor to his feet, and he brushed the dirt and dust off of his apron and his knees before heading over to the front door. The rest of his family had already left for the ball, leaving him behind to make their home sparkling clean before they returned.

Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he wouldn’t have to return.

A second knock came, sharper and more urgent than the first. Zen brushed some sticky, loose strands of his feathery grey-white hair out of his face, and then he hurried over to the door, not wanting to keep his guest waiting.

Honestly, he’s lucky that he decided to run, because as soon as he opened the door and saw a brunette woman scowling at him, he realized that she probably would have broken down the door if he had taken much longer.

“J-Jaehee,” he stammered as he looked down at his castmate. Out of all of the members of the troupe, she was the one with whom he felt the closest connection. She had an incredible work ethic, a true passion for the stage, a meticulous eye, and a personality that wouldn’t shy away from any task given to her. She would always be the first person to speak up if she didn’t like the idea for an upcoming show, but she’d also be the first person to shower the rest of the cast in praise for their heart-wrenching performances.

She also seemed to have a special fondness for Zen, which did wonders not only for his ego but also for his motivation. An actor’s job wasn’t to smile--it was to make others smile.

However, Jaehee also was the type of person who could easily kick you to the ground in three seconds flat if you messed with her or her crew. Apparently, running late was something that could land you on her hitlist, because the glare that her fierce coffee-colored eyes gave him was one that sent shivers down the young man’s spine. He was already ashen, but somehow, he felt as though that stern look made his face grow even paler. “What a delight to see you, babe.”

A soft blush rose to her cheeks, but she quickly managed to force that down. “Don’t b-babe me,” she muttered. “You were supposed to arrive backstage an hour ago. I had no choice but to fetch you myself.”

A whole hour? Zen glanced at the clock and his ruby eyes flew wide open in a panic. “Shit,” he muttered. “I got so distracted by this stain that I… well, that isn’t important.” He sighed and began to untie his apron. “Let me gather my belongings, and I’ll scamper off with you into the sunset, okay?”

He couldn’t tell if her face was flushing red from embarrassment, ire, or exasperation. “P-please make haste!” was all she managed to sputter before Zen headed to his room with a wink and a flick of his wispy ponytail behind him.

~~~

Ball gowns and smiles, pressed suits and polished shoes.

A room full of guests who appeared amused.

As MC stepped down the staircase that night,

Her eyes swam with woe, rather than delight.

Royal life was difficult to abide.

She felt lonely, with no one by your side.

What sorrows could have the heir to the throne?

A life of solitude, scared and alone.

She hoped to enjoy herself at the ball.

She wondered if you would feel joy at all.

When she descended the steps, her eyes glowed.

They had arranged for her to see a show.

The lighting in the room dimmed down and a hush fell over the attendants as actors made their way to the elevated platform at the front of the room. Murmurs and mumbles began to spread throughout the crowd. What was happening? Was this planned? Of course, the king and queen would never allow for any tomfoolery to take place at their event, so this must have been carefully orchestrated. But why take time away from the socializing, the dancing, the mingling? Would this show be enough to dazzle the audience?

Zen had the drive and the skill to ensure that it would.

A sharp inhale of breath, as Zen smelled the perfumes of the ballroom.

A twirl of his long, cascading hair around his fingers, as Zen relished in its softness.

A glance at Jaehee, as Zen sought comfort in her level smile.

A bite of his lip, as Zen tasted the remnants of berries on his tongue.

A twitch of his ears, as he strained to hear the music that signaled his cue.

And as soon as the clock struck, Zen departed from behind the scenes, and Cinderella strode out onto the stage.

Cleaning, cooking. Obeying, behaving. Little “Cinderella” was stuck, trapped at the whims and wills of her abusive family. As Zen knelt down to “scrub” the stage and enact all of her chores, he couldn’t help but feel a growing pit growing in his stomach and anxiety welling in his mind. He wasn’t worried about not portraying the character accurately-- on the contrary, he was nervous that he had embodied her too well. The parallels in Cinderella’s life with his own were almost frightening.

But here, on this stage, this was the one place where his chains were released, his shackles were open, and he could fly, free as a bird. He could forget his worries, he could abandon his burdens, he could become someone else and live his ideal life.

He could sing to his heart’s content, as a free bird, rather than a caged one.

A step. A song. A smile.

The fairy godmother was spinning her magic and casting a spell on the entire crowd, watching with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Above all, however, Princess MC found herself absolutely entranced, hooked on every word and her eyes tracking every single motion, every spin, every twirl, every wave of a wand, every flutter of a skirt. The costumes, the dances, the makeup… they were all spectacular. But above all, the star of the show, Cinderella, really shone like a princess in her own right. Who was this actor with skin as white as snow, hair as soft and pale as the clouds, and eyes that sparkled brighter and warmer than the reddest flame?

Cinderella, despite all of her hardships, had never let go of her dreams.

As Cinderella spun around and her filthy rags turned to magnificent robes, MC’s eyes twinkled and she felt a rush of excitement flood her. When was the last time she had genuinely felt so… happy? Watching this character’s aspirations be realized, watching Cinderella break free and manage to escape for one night of whimsy and fantasy at the ball, made MC’s heart swell. She wanted to cheer Cinderella on, encourage her, support her. Cinderella, who suffered at the cruel hands and horrible words of her family.

The way the actor walked forward, radiant white locks tumbling down his back as he took those first steps towards his dream. The way his drab brown and grey costume melted away, revealing a soft pink tunic and radiant periwinkle cloak, perfectly accentuating his figure while giving him an air of regality. He reached up and clutched a hand to his chest, and then when he opened his mouth to speak, MC felt certain that she had died and been transported to heaven.

That was no mere mortal whose voice she was hearing. She was currently being serenaded by an angel.

Princess MC was only snapped back to reality by the sudden sharp increase in volume of the music.

“And so Cinderella went to the ball,” the narrator announced in a booming voice, trying to orate over the echo of the strings and percussion. “Hoping to grab a dance before midnight should fall. Please, esteemed guests, enjoy your time to dance. Like Cinderella and her friends, may you find your fairytale romance.”

At once the actors and actresses began to mix with the crowd. Most of them moved in pairs and began dancing with the lads, lasses, lords, and ladies of the party. A few of guests rushed up to the actors and actresses--one of the actresses, a slender young woman with short chestnut-colored hair and eyes warm like mocha, was particularly popular--to try to woo them and coax them into a dance.

Perhaps on any other day, MC would have rolled her eyes and tutted softly, disappointed in their fawning and flattery. Today, however, she felt… softer. More in touch with her emotions.

Emotions that she had feared had disappeared into thin air, vanished as she drowned in the duties and obligations of her station, without a chance to fantasize or dream like she had done as a child.

The princess wasn’t normally one to take advantage of her station, but as she stepped forward, heels clacking against the tile ground, the crowd seemed to part ways before her. Out of reverence, out of fear, or out of pity, she couldn’t be sure, but their motives were the least of her concerns. As long as she could reach her destination, her goal, the means didn’t matter.

“Excuse me, Cinderella?”

Silence befell the folks gathered around the grand actor, as the princess of the kingdom spoke. The actor himself looked somewhat startled, but he masked it well; MC could only detect a faint glimmer of apprehension flicker in his rich red eyes before it faded away and a smile settled onto his white lips. “Good evening, Princess,” he greeted MC with a wink. “Did you enjoy our show?”

Enjoy? That would be putting her feelings mildly. “I absolutely loved it,” she whispered, and then she cleared her throat. No point in being meek with her request-- she was determined to obtain exactly what she wanted. “In fact, I liked it so much,” she went on, tilting her shoulders back and lifting her chin to stare directly into his eyes, “that I have a request for you.”

He tipped his head to the side in confusion, causing his flowing white tresses to sway with the movement. Nevertheless he kept that same smile on his face. He then nodded firmly and asked with that little coy look in his eyes, “Of course. Anything for you, babe.”

Babe? Now that was a new one. MC could feel her face flushing as crimson as the actor’s eyes, but she tried to ignore it and hoped that he wouldn’t be so brash as to actually draw attention to it. Nobody would dare to tease the princess, right? “If I may be so bold as to tear you from your fans,” she began, “then might I ask Miss Cinderella for a dance?”

A new expression lit up those eyes, that pair of flames that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his ashen features. Was he… surprised, flattered, bewildered, flustered, or…?

She couldn’t be sure, but despite whatever turmoil was burning in his eyes, he kept the rest of his expression level. In fact, the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a… smile?

“It would be my honor,” he told her with a wink and a bow at the waist.

“We haven’t much time left in the night, so to the dance floor, we shall make haste.”

And so he extended his hand, which MC graciously took with a squeeze.

To the center of the dance floor they scurried, where they could dance as they pleased.

With one hand on MC’s shoulder and the other resting right on her hip,

Cinderella led her across the floor, with a waltz, a twirl, and a dip.

The princess, for the first time, let herself give in to another’s demands.

She simply followed, losing herself to the feel of his step and his hands.

His grip was firm but gentle as he guided her to and fro ‘round the floor.

The princess could lose herself in his rhythm, dance with him forevermore.

His radiant ruby eyes matched the ribbon in his flowing, snowy hair,

But it was the warm smile on his face to which no gem could ever compare.

His statuesque features glimmered under the chandelier’s glorious light,

And as she took them in with her gaze, she knew she’d never forget this night.

As the music reached a crescendo, the actor pulled her close to his chest.

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” he whispered, and she felt her heart pound in her breast.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she told him, as she reached up to caress his face. “Thank you for making a world of magic and wonder in this humble space.”

He laughed at her words, and as he leaned in with his breath hot against her ear,

“Princess, you’re the one who made my night magical,” he whispered, “my dear.”

The chime of a clock tower suddenly boomed, and quickly they pulled apart.

Princess MC felt relief, as she struggled to steady her pounding heart.

The actor’s expression, however, had shifted from mirth to misery.

“They said they would return at midnight,” he murmured, “which has arrived, I see.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he lifted her hand and gave it a kiss.

“Thank you for this memory,” he told her, “and for a night I’ll truly miss.”

Then he dropped MC’s hand and dashed away to the entrance to the grand hall.

As he flew away like a frenzied dove, something from his outfit did fall.

Princess MC tried to scamper after him, but she was left in his wake.

Then she spotted the fallen accessory, which from the ground she did take.

A ruby-red ribbon, which matched the mysterious actor’s gorgeous eyes.

“I never got his name,” she said; his identity remained a surprise.

~~~

As soon as the sun rose the next morning, Princess MC followed suit. She knew that she had to hurry after that actor in fast pursuit. What if he belonged to a traveling troupe and they’d be gone by the end of the day? Princess MC knew she could not allow the object of her affections to get away.

With any luck, he was still somewhere within the territory, but she would have to act fast. The princess carefully scrutinized the team of knights she had amassed. She told them, “We’re searching for a young man with hair and skin fair.” Then she lifted the ribbon: “With eyes the same color as this ribbon,” she declared.

Near and far, to and fro, the princess’s team began to search. They checked the shops, the plazas, the gardens, the parks. They asked residents, merchants, children, adults--anyone who might have a hint. Every now and then, the princess would find someone who looked vaguely reminiscent of her prince, but as soon as she lifted the ribbon to their hair, she would just shake her head and sigh; his hair would be too dark or his eyes too brown. What was it about her Cinderella that made him so… ethereal? Someone that beautiful must have been a mistake from God, an accident that wasn’t supposed to bless mortal eyes.

Here and there, high and low, the princess’s team continued their quest as the sun traveled overhead. They had left at the first pink and orange streaks of dawn, carried on as the burning bright sun hovered directly overhead, and now they were finally allowing themselves to take a rest as the sun grew ever closer to the horizon once more.

Could the troupe possibly have left town? That thought kept creeping into the back of her mind, and she desperately tried to push it away, push it down, push it… somewhere else. She couldn’t afford to let such doubts sneak up on her, or she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t give in to her despair and cease her search altogether. This Cinderella, her first glimmer of light, her first ray of hope, in days, weeks, months. While her life as a princess was entirely different from Cinderella’s, who was practically a slave in her own home, MC could relate to the feeling of being trapped in one’s duty, being trapped by one’s circumstances, being trapped by one’s family, being… a bird with clipped wings.

This actor had given her the power to fly again.

“Your Highness,” one of the knights murmured to her as they rested for a minute underneath the overhanging shade of an oak. “May we take a moment’s respite? Most of us haven’t eaten since the morrow,” he asked tentatively. He looked full of trepidation, which only served to send pangs of guilt emanating from within her chest.

“Of course,” she told him with a feeble smile. “Let us find some food or drink to sustain us, alright? I wish to keep searching until the sun goes down, but…” Her gaze flickered to the sky, and even though the colors of the sunset were unobscured in the clear sky, she could feel dark clouds beginning to rumble in over her heart. “I’ll go fetch something,” she offered, barely suppressing a sigh. “It’s the least I can do,” she insisted quickly, before her knight could open his mouth to object. With a reluctant but firm nod, he watched as MC walked away, in search of a cheap, quick bite. They could feast upon their return to the castle, but candidly… as twisted as her heart and stomach were right now, the princess didn’t have much of an appetite.

This was a part of town with which the princess didn’t have much familiarity-- while the constant growth of her city was definitely a welcome sight, since she hadn’t ventured out of the castle too often recently, she found herself a little confused and disoriented by the unexpected developments. Had that shop always been there? What about these homes?

Exhausted, distressed, and admittedly hungrier than she had initially realized, MC nearly began to weep with joy as the sudden scent of batter wafted up to her nose. A freshly baked bun, calling for her, crying her name, luring her person. What delectable treats had she almost passed? What delicious delicacies were waiting in the middle of the street?

MC followed her nose and her soul, yearning to fill every one of her senses with whatever this mysterious morsel may be.

Her surprise upon reaching a humble little stall in a side alley was, to say the least… significant.

‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ she chided herself gently as she neared the stall, although anxiety began to tug at her and drag her feet. ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’

Sometimes, gifts came in the least expected places. That actor had been a surprise to her last night, after all. Maybe this snack--a fish-shaped bun, judging from the sign--would be a pleasant surprise as well.

Nothing could have prepared MC for the surprise that awaited her as the customer in front of her turned around, though.

Glittering white hair, like sunkissed snow.

Pale, translucent skin, with a gentle white glow.

Above all, the element that caught her by the most surprise,

Was this young man’s resplendent ruby-red eyes.

With a gasp, she immediately began to shuffle around in her satchel for the ribbon. “E-excuse me,” she stammered, “but… have you… lost this?” Her hands trembled as she pulled the little accessory out of her bag, but judging from the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide, he was equally as stunned as she was. Nervously she reached up to brush a feathery lock of hair from his face; his hair was pulled back in a ponytail, so she couldn’t be exactly sure that this was the same man who had enchanted her last night.

As if on cue, he put down his bag of fish-shaped buns and pulled his hair out of the hairtie, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders and tumble down his back.

As if that hadn’t already confirmed her suspicions, MC lifted the ribbon and placed it gently in his hair. In the glow of the setting sun, its scarlet hue shone vividly, perfectly matching the sparkle in his eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, princess,” he murmured, and a shy smirk played onto his lips. “Have you been… looking for me?”

MC felt a coy grin tug on the edges of her mouth as well, but the salty tears that were beginning to sting the corners of her eyes were probably ruining the effect. “Only for my entire life,” she breathed.

A Cinderella who dared to dream.

A princess who dared to wish.

Their fates overlapped by chance,

But were now sealed with a bean-flavored kiss.

This is my piece with @/watereddowncoffee on instagram for the @mysme-rbb! I hope you enjoy our fairy tale!

#zen #hyun ryu #mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mmrbb #cinderella #fairy tale

41 notes · View notes

bi-naesala · 3 years ago

Text

Fun at Seagull Cinema

Fandom: Yakuza

Rating: T

Warnings: /

Relationships: Kasuga Ichiban/Zhao Tianyou

Characters: Kasuga Ichiban, Zhao Tianyou

Additional Tags: Making Out, Nonbinary Zhao Tianyou (he/they pronouns)

Summary:

Ichiban and Zhao suffer through one of the myriad boring movies Seagull Cinema has to offer, at least until Zhao has an idea.

Maybe they can have some fun after all...

(Also on AO3)

One would think a movie about a shark eating a bunch of dumb teenagers would at least be a so-bad-it’s-good kind of movie, but no, this shit is just plain boring, though Ichiban suspects it’s his fault for trusting anything that Seagull Cinema releases.

Damn, though, he really thought that he had hit the jackpot when he saw its poster, figuring that he had the perfect excuse to ask Zhao on a date.

Here they are, now, bored out of their minds as they try not to fall asleep. Not even the terrified screams of the kids is enough to help them in this endeavor.

The only good thing is that at least they’re alone, which means they can get a bit more comfortable that they could’ve otherwise, with Ichiban resting his arms on the seats on each side of him, while Zhao has rested their feet over the row of seats ahead of them.

After the umpteenth yawn, Ichiban turns to Zhao.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I really thought this would be more… entertaining.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it, Ichi,” Zhao calmly replies, using the nickname he’s begun calling Ichiban with when they’re alone. “It’s fine, really.”

“But I really wanted to do something fun…” Ichiban pouts.

“Well…” Zhao begins, getting his feet on the ground and removing their sunglasses - yes, he was wearing them until now. “We could have some fun anyway…”

Before Ichiban can ask them what he means, Zhao has already grabbed onto his jacket and has drawn him closer, pressing their lips together.

Ichiban can’t help but to make a surprised noise, but he has enough presence of mind not to stay frozen like a dumbass and he enthusiastically returns the kiss, grateful to have found something to do that won’t make him fall asleep.

To tell the truth, every bit of drowsiness has completely vanished the moment Zhao kisses him, but that’s just because of the way Zhao is: even now he likes to keep Ichiban on his toes, teasing him for a moment with barely any contact, then going to directly lick his lips the next.

It’s the best thing that could’ve happened while watching a boring movie, and sure, they might be losing a few key scenes, but c’mon, who cares? It wouldn’t have been those scenes to make the movie worth the ticket price. Zhao kissing him, on the other hand, totally is.

When Zhao pulls away, Ichiban can’t help but to be slightly disappointed by the fact that it’s already over - c’mon, he was just getting into it! - but Zhao isn’t done surprising him: he gets up from his seat and they settle on Ichiban’s lap.

“Wait, what?! Here?!”

Zhao chuckles. “So what? It’s not like there’s someone who could see us, right?”

“I guess…” Ichiban mutters, still conflicted about this - it seems disrespectful to the owner - but when Zhao leans down and kisses him again, he doesn’t find himself that against the idea after all, but maybe that’s because, secretly, this is something he’s always wanted to do, making out with his special someone in an empty movie theater, completely ignoring the movie that is being displayed.

The only downside is that, if he had known this was going to happen, he would’ve picked a better movie to keep as background, but he has to say that Zhao is very good at drawing all the attention to himself, helping Ichiban tune out the screams of the protagonists of the movie.

It gets him going in a way that few other things do, especially when Zhao begins to touch him.

He’s still keeping it decent of course, because even though they’re alone, they’re still in public, but it still sparks a fire inside Ichiban when he gets their hands under Ichiban’s jacket, massaging his shoulders first, then his pecs.

A shiver runs across Ichiban’s spine at the contact, and he too begins to move, sliding his hands down to cup Zhao’s ass. As soon as he does, however, Zhao pulls away.

“Ichiban, you perv!” he exclaims, voice purposefully higher than usual.

Ichiban shrugs, sending a smirk Zhao’s way. “What? It’s not like there’s someone who could see us, right?”

Oh, this little…

Ichiban presses himself against Zhao with more vehemence, kissing him with everything he has to give, though by the way Zhao chuckles in the kiss, he suspects he played exactly the way they wanted him to play. Oh well, it’s not like he minds, especially if the result is as pleasant as this.

Both Ichiban and Zhao lose track of time, too busy focusing only on the other, on the sensations they’re making each other feel.

Ichiban gasps when Zhao forces him to pull away by yanking his hair back, exposing his neck which then they begin to cover in languid kisses that make Ichiban’s mouth water.

“Z-Zhao…” he mutters, though he himself he doesn’t know exactly why he called out for him, if it’s to tell him to stop, or if it’s to tell him to please, please, please more.

Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t have to decide anymore, because the movie’s over, even though they notice it only when everything becomes black at first, and then the main lights turn themselves on, making both him and Zhao jump on their seat.

“S-Shit!” Ichiban exclaims.

They move away immediately, Zhao hopping off Ichiban with incredible speed, landing on their previous seat, while Ichiban furiously adjusts his dress shirt and his hair. Anything to give himself a decent appearance, as if he hadn’t been making out with Zhao until a few seconds ago.

Everything’s still. Nobody dares to move…

Then both Ichiban and Zhao burst into laughter, and it’s not just a chuckle, but the real thing. Zhao has to dry their eyes from the tears that are threatening to tickle down his face.

“Fucking hell!” they exclaim, still laughing.

“What a bunch of morons!” Ichiban manages to wheeze, fanning air to his face with his hand. Of course they’d do something like this.

Idiots, both of them…

Once they manage to calm down, Ichiban turns to Zhao.

“We should go,” he says. “Or else the manager might think something bad has happened.”

“Yeah. Last thing we need is for him to come check on us,” Zhao replies, getting out of his seat.

They stretch one hand towards Ichiban, who of course takes it, allowing Zhao to help him up. He dusts off his pants, then, and after exchanging a glance with Zhao, they begin to head out of the room.

To greet them at the usual desk, of course, there’s the manager.

“Ah, Kasuga-san!” he exclaims once he notices Ichiban. “How was the movie?”

“It was great,” Ichiban replies, trying however not to laugh as he speaks. “Has to be my favorite so far.”

Zhao, the cheeky thing, has to hide behind Kasuga in order not to be seen barely able to stifle his laughter. He’s got a few guesses as to why Ichiban has enjoyed this movie so much, but unfortunately none of them concern the movie. Eheheh… Oh shit, he’s not supposed to laugh, not when they’re with the manager.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” the manager replies to Ichiban, blessedly oblivious to what is really going on. “Hope I’ll see you soon!”

“I’m sure you will…” Ichiban replies, waving him goodbye as he and Zhao move up the stairs, taking the exit towards Isezaki Road.

Once they’re out, they share another chuckle.

“Holy shit! Can’t believe you’d do that!” Ichiban exclaims then, throwing his arm around Zhao’s shoulders.

“Really?” Zhao teases him with mischievous tone. “You really thought I wouldn’t be able to do something like that?”

“Mmhh, yeah, you’re right,” Ichiban grins, but he doesn’t give Zhao any time to feel smug about it because he kisses them, right in the middle of the street.

Zhao doesn’t mind; during the early stages of their relationship they might’ve, but that’s more because he’s not that big on pda. Now he’s gotten used to it.

“I liked it,” Ichiban says once they pull away, pressing his forehead against Zhao’s.

“I noticed,” the other chuckles, stretching a hand down to grab Ichiban’s butt, just like he did to them in the movie theater. He pinches it, just to see Ichiban squirm, then he brings his hands to the side again, not wanting to do anything too embarrassing out in the open.

“So, I was thinking…” Ichiban begins saying then.

“Thinking? You?” Zhao can’t help but to tease him. Ichiban’s unimpressed.

“Ah ah. Funny…” he mutters in fact, though he goes back to what he was saying immediately. “Anyway, as I was saying, I was thinking that we could go grab a bite and then go for a walk before going back, how does that sound?”

“That sounds great. You have a place in mind already?” Zhao asks. Of course they’re not going to refuse an excuse to spend more time with Ichiban.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” the other replies, before taking Zhao’s hand and beginning to drag them to their next adventure. “C’mon, follow me!”

“Aye aye sir,” Zhao jokes, happily getting dragged by Ichiban.

After a moment of pause, though, they speak again.

“Hey, Ichi.”

“What’s up?” Ichiban asks.

“We should do this again something, Kasuga-kun,” Zhao says, a mischievous grin on his face that Ichiban can’t help but to return.

“Yeah, we totally should.”

#ichizhao #ichiban kasuga #tianyou zhao #yakuza #rgg #yakuza like a dragon #my fics #mine

18 notes · View notes

toga-time · 3 years ago

Text

Comrades (What we do)

by @toga-time

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia / My Hero Academia

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: ANGSTY. Mention of injury. Mention of (past) abuse. Some HPSC bashing. Self-worth issues. Hawks is sad.

Characters: Hawks (keigo Takami), Shigaraki Tomura (Shimura Tenko), Dabi (Touya Todoroki), Toga Himiko, Kurogiri, Twice (Jin Bubaigawara), Spinner (Shuichi Iguchi), The LoV.

Additional Tags: Found family. Hawks being part of the LoV. Hawks getting hurt. Hawks is sad. Shigaraki is mad. The LoV is concerned. Hurt/Comfort. I’m not too sure how to tag this tbh.

Thank you @skeletonwithakeyboard and @dreamingspark for beta-reading (as well as coming up with a title) <3

Now, on to the story!

---

Hawks’ wings are small.

They’re small, fluffed up and a bit sensitive to touch. The usual whenever they’ve been roughed up and he’s lost a slightly larger amount of feathers. However, unlike all the other times they have now stayed this way for over 3 weeks. Getting injured in fights is something he’s been used to for a long time and his wings has taken heavy damage before, sure, but this time it was worse. The guy was clearly focusing all his attention on Hawks’s back when attacking, intent on hurting him a great deal - probably wanting to destroy the very part of him that made him into Hawks.

He is familiar with these kinds of goals from the enemy and has learnt to counter several attempts at taking him down and yet, one single slip-up had him sprawled on the ground in agony; his back burning in pain and his muscles twitching, wings flapping desperately as though trying to get away, to move him to safety.

‘Pathetic.’

He could hear the word so clearly in his head back then. It was almost like his handlers were there in the room with him, as though this was just another test to see what kind of strength he held. Clearly, he had failed them. Had made them feel disappointed in him.

It had taken him minutes to get out of his own head - precious time wasted, which could have ended up with him being killed if not for his comrades taking notice of his immobile state and covered for him. When Hawks had finally gotten a hold of himself, he was met with the sight of Toga standing guard a few feet away, knives clasped tightly in both of her hands, eyes watching intently as the guys kept the threat occupied. Twice sat crouched down beside him, holding onto his arms and carefully ruffling his hair, trying to calm his eratic breathing.

Somehow, their opponent got away.

It was a frustrating fact, having all of them on edge afterward. It didn’t help that Hawks was unable to move without feeling like the skin on his back would split open, worrying the others and having them check up on him every hour of the day until the burning sensation was gone. Until he seemed fine again. The problem is, he isn’t fine. It’s been so long and his wings are not recovering. It’s been over 3 weeks, yet they are still so fricking small. And the base of them ache something terrible even if the rest of his body feels normal.

After a whole month has passed the thought occurs to him that they might not heal properly this time at all and it scares him. It scares him to no end. The others notice his distress, he knows, but Hawks tries anyways to hide it behind a smile and his usual jokes.

It will be okay, he tells himself. He is going to be okay.

He has to.

Two months has almost passed and Hawks’s wings are now covering at least parts of his back. They have a lot of growth to do still, but they’re catching up, albeit slowly. It’s okay, He can be patient. In another month or so they’ll be back to normal for sure. He has no doubt. No doubt. He’ll be okay. Just keep on repeating it. Just keep smiling.

It's when they're moving the furniture into their new base that it happens. Spinner is balancing four boxes in his arms and Hawks, out of reflex, tries to send out his feathers to help, but..., nothing. He tries again. Then again. A third time, stretching his wings out a bit to push the feathers into action, stress and fear rising from inside of him with each failed attempt. It’s not working. For a moment his mind goes blank before being filled by a panic so intense it makes him want to scream. He can feel them inside of his head still, even if just barely, but he can't conect to them the same way he did before. They won't respond to him, his wings are simply twitching on his back with the feathers stuck tightly to them. When nothing but a dull vibration goes up his spine, Hawks finally breaks down.

His wings..- His powers, they are gone.

The others are there in an instant, howering near him, reaching out to hold him as he cries and Hawks lets himself stumble forward into Dabi’s arms, pressing his face into the fire wielder’s shoulder when he reaches him. It's pure agony. His body is damaged- the wings that's been with him since he was a child- a baby.. They're damaged. He can't use them. They’re not responding to him anymore. Everything that has made him himself, everything he is, it’s..- lost. He’s lost. He has no idea what to do. So he cries, in the middle of the tight circle his friends have made around him, leaning his body's weight against Dabi and wails into the fabric of his coat while the dark haired man simply holds him close, rubbing carefully at the lower part of Hawks’ back.

‘Pathetic.’

The word is so loud it’s practically muting all other sounds surrounding him.

‘Useless.’

The voice is so cold, making him choke on the sobs escaping his lips.

He really is a failure. Clutching the slim, yet strong shoulders, Hawks drags Dabi down with him as his legs gives out. His throat is sore and his eyes sting, the tears refusing to cease their falling. He feels so weak, curled up like this in the others’ lap, but he also wants nothing more than to stay this way.

Just let him stay.

Please.

Off to the side, Shigaraki watches the bird in silence with an unreadable look on his face, nails scratching at his neck. Each broken sob and sniff makes him dig into the skin a little deeper. When the crying turns into soft coughing and gasps for air, the young leader swiftly turns and heads for the door, not saying a single word to any of them. Toga looks at his retreating back in worry, chewing on her bottom lip and only letting go when Kurogiri gives her a small pat on her head. He holds her gaze for a few seconds, enough for her to give him a small grin, before following their boss into the hallway of the building.

Shigaraki is seething. It’s visible in the way his fingers tenses and he’s striding forward with strong steps, feet hitting the ground hard as he walks. The sound is echoeing off of the walls, mixing in with his puffs of breath, mouth forcing air past his lips and into his lungs. Kurogiri knows all the signs. Has learnt through the years of serving him. Right now, Shigaraki is in a dangerous mood.

"Find their location,” Shigaraki hisses, his words biting and venomous. “And gather the others once Hawks has calmed down. Have someone stay with him. We have things to do." "Tomura-"

The young man stops abruptly and glares at Kurogiri over his shoulder, cutting him off. His eyes are glowing a scorching red and his hands tremble at his sides as though he can barely contain himself from turning something into dust in his palms. It renders the bartender completely speechless. "We will make them suffer, Kurogiri,” Shigaraki continues and there’s a finality to his voice. The order clear as day. He resumes his strides, voice growing distant as he walks. “It's what we do for the sake of our comrades."

19 notes · View notes

latetaektalk · 4 years ago

Text

love of my life | myg

“yoongi was always there for you, was always by your side, was always your rock to lean onto. he was the love of your life, but at one point, you had to come to accept reality and realise that some things come to an end.”

genre: established-relationship!au, heavy angst, fluff that hurts, grieving, pain, a lot of crying

pairing: yoongi x reader

word count: 6.989

warnings: mentions of character death, character death, reader isnt doing well in this, funeral, mention of sick characters, swearing, i dont know what else to tag this so please tell me if there is anything missing!!

playlist: dancing with your ghost - sasha sloan, now that you’re gone - lewis ross, hindenburg lover - anson seabra, just asking - aquilo

a/n: uh, this is a different from what i usually write and ive been trying to figure out how to execute this for months. i dont know how else to write this and im really not sure about the way i executed it, but i dont think i can improve this really? ive been sitting on this for months so i really just need to get it out at this point lol also yoongi and reader call each other toulouse and berlioz from the film aristocats!

The words danced in front of your eyes, bled together and even when you shook your head, you couldn’t decipher them. It was like they were taunting you, playing hide and seek with you and after another second, you gave up trying to read them altogether.

You let the notebook fall shut and land on the counter of the sink. With your hands, you held onto the edge of it. You looked at yourself in the mirror.

A pair of unfamiliar eyes stared back at you and you were about to turn your head to them and give them a smile, a smile that was meant to tell them that it was okay and to not cry anymore, but then you realised you were looking at yourself.

The fluorescent lights of this big bathroom brought out the harsh edges and lines of your face and made you look like a shell of a person. Your eyes were dark, empty and your skin looked grey, ashy almost.

You looked lifeless.

Your throat tightened painfully into a knot and you quickly averted your gaze, settling to stare into the sink instead. A shaky breath slipped past your lips and you could feel a shudder run down your spine. Your knuckles turned white, so white that they almost tore through your skin as you gripped tighter around the edge of the counter.

“Toulouse.”

You would have recognised his voice even if you had been deaf, would have recognised his voice even if the sky came crashing down on you and the world was screaming at you.

Your eyes locked with Yoongi’s in the mirror and almost immediately the corners of your lips started to turn up. There was just something so comforting about simply looking at him, something so calming.

“Berlioz,” you breathed out, blinking at him.

Yoongi was leaned against the wall next to the door of the bathroom and your gaze travelled down his form, admiring the perfectly tailored black suit he was donning. There was something so effortless about him, something so calming, something so familiar. His usual watch was strapped around his wrist and you wanted to tell him just how good he looked, but the words wouldn’t form on your tongue.

Yoongi didn’t seem to care even a little bit that he was standing in a women’s bathroom and that he would definitely get into trouble if he were to be caught. Instead of being warry, he looked as relaxed as ever.

“You okay?”

If you were completely honest, you didn’t remember or notice Yoongi walking in, but you were to blame for it. Your mind was just clouded, so clouded that you barely registered your surroundings anymore.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay,” you mumbled and watched Yoongi tilt his head at you and eye you through narrow slits.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked and folded his arms in front of his chest like he was questioning you, a deep knit forming between his brows.

“Yeah, of course,” you said a little too fast. It sounded rehearsed and Yoongi noticed, eyes softening at the sight of the tight smile etched onto your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

There was a moment of silence, a moment where Yoongi and you just stared into each other’s eyes and deep down you knew exactly what he was telling you, but you refused to acknowledge it, refused to admit the truth.

“Okay,” Yoongi breathed, nodding before pushing off the wall and walking over to you. When he stopped next to you, you watched him flip open the notebook, finger tracing the first page like he had never seen it before.

“To: Min Yoongi aka Berlioz,” Yoongi whispered, reading out the first line of the page before moving on to the next line. “From: Y/L/N Y/N aka Toulouse,” he read the last line, “Happy Birthday!”

You stared at the letters in front of you, stared at the words you had written down in the notebook many moons ago before you gave Yoongi this notebook as a birthday present and slowly the smile melted off your face.

“Not really accurate anymore, is it?” Yoongi chuckled before flipping open the next page to be only met with your handwriting again.

“You said I could have it,” you mumbled and Yoongi’s smirk grew at your words before he closed the notebook and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You wanted to protest for a second, tell him you were going to wrinkle his beautiful black suit, but the words died in your throat.

It was just too nice, too comforting to say something and you needed this, needed this hug. And Yoongi knew it before you did.

You essentially melted in Yoongi’s arms and wrapped your own around him, holding him close to you because you never wanted this hug to end, never wanted to pull away from Yoongi, never wanted to let him go.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Yoongi whispered into your ear and you could feel his breath ghost through your hair. Your arms tightened around him at his words and your eyes fell shut as you rested your head against his chest.

“You’re gonna get through this all,” Yoongi continued and his lips skimmed the crown of your head lightly, “I know you can do this, Toulouse.”

“It just hurts, Berlioz,” you whispered quietly, voice breaking when you finally admitted the truth, when you finally admitted to yourself and to him that you weren’t okay. “It hurts so incredibly much.”

At this point, you just wanted to forget, forget the last couple of days, forget everything that had happened. Deep down, however, you knew that it was the wrong thing to do, that you actually needed to move on, but right now that felt impossible.

Right now you felt like your world was burning up, falling apart, crumbling in front of your feet. You wanted to do something, stop it all, but you were beaten and lying on the dirty floor.

Yoongi hummed and placed his chin on top of your head, rocking you back and forth.

“But you know what to do when it hurts, right?” Yoongi asked, his voice resembling a quiet whisper more than anything else. It was so quiet, so quiet like it was barely there.

Your lips formed a harsh thin line before you swallowed and buried your face deeper into Yoongi’s neck because, of course, you knew, but you didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about it for even a second.

“I know,” you said softly, recalling the words Yoongi had said when you had first admitted to him that you were starting to fall apart, that you were starting to crumble underneath all of the pressure, that you were starting to lose yourself in all of the pain.

“You can do it,” Yoongi said and his arms tightened around you like he wanted to give you some strength. “I know right now it seems almost impossible, but trust me, you can do this.”

Tears started building up behind your eyes and you had to bite down on your tongue to stop them from spilling, but you knew it wasn’t going to work out for long.

The pain was just too much, eating you alive, gutting you inside out, leaving you empty and in pain. You didn’t feel human anymore, barely felt anything anymore except for the numbing pain and you knew that a part of you had died, had died the last few days.

“You’re so incredibly strong and amazing and great,” Yoongi mumbled into your ear, words cutting so deep into you that you teared up again and you felt brought down to your knees. “And there’s nothing you can’t do and this is no different.”

“Every day is a new start, an opportunity to get back up on your feet and fight through it all,” Yoongi continued, words slipping off his tongue with ease like he had prepared these words before. “And I know it’s hard and that nothing seems fair right now, but — and it sucks to admit it — that is just life.

“But don’t let life beat you up, don’t let life tear you down, don’t let life reduce you to nothing, don’t let life stop you and hold you back.”

The tears spilled down your cheeks, running down the same path other tears had run down before. You could taste the salt on the tip of your tongue, could taste the pain and hurt on the tip of your tongue and you wanted to throw up.

“Because you’re incredible, Toulouse.”

The walls you had built up, the facade of being okay fell apart right in front of you. It all crumbled into dust, but Yoongi didn’t judge you for it. Instead, he let you cry out your eyes and kept providing you with the strength you were missing.

Yoongi and you hugged each other for seemingly forever and it was only because Yoongi’s phone went off that you two pulled apart. It stopped after just a second—almost like it wasn’t there at all.

When Yoongi checked his phone, you knew, knew he had to step out and call back. He always had to, without fail.

“Always so busy,” you mumbled with a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

You weren’t mad, by now you were used to it, used to work constantly calling him, used to him needing to call back even if it was two in the morning.

“When you’re as smart as me, people are just always demanding for your attention,” Yoongi laughed with a smile and you rolled your eyes at his words.

“Yeah, you’re so smart,” you snorted and Yoongi grinned at you.

“A genius you might even say,” Yoongi continued before winking at you. You almost bursted out into laughter and it felt so good to talk about something else for once. Only Yoogi could ever make you feel this way, make you feel this way when you were on the brink of falling apart, make you feel this way in mere seconds, make you feel genuinely happy.

“Self-proclaimed genius.”

Now, it was Yoongi’s turn to roll his eyes at you, but both of you had grins pulling on the corners of your lips.

“Please, I’m a genius and you know it.”

“God, you’re so arrogant,” you sighed and Yoongi laughed at your words before sighing and letting silence settle between him and you.

Yoongi and you looked at each other and even though neither of you were speaking, both of you said so much to each other in the silence. You knew what he was thinking and he knew what you were thinking.

“I’m so-”

“It’s fine, Berlioz,” you cut in before Yoongi could apologise and placed your hand on his chest, giving it a light pat. “Do your thing. Call back.”

Yoongi looked at you for a moment before he let his lips split into a smile.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said softly, hand wrapping around your wrist before he brought your hand up to his lips and pressed the softest and lightest kiss on your knuckles. “You’re the best.”

And for the first time, you genuinely smiled and it was all because of Yoongi, all because he was smiling at you too.

“Toulouse.”

“Berlioz.”

Yoongi gave your hand one last squeeze before he turned on his heel and walked out to call back work. You turned to your notebook again, fingers tracing the edge of the hardcover.

When you heard the door behind you click open, you whipped your head around. You were about to ask Yoongi if he forgot something, but then your eyes locked with Miyeon’s. Almost immediately you looked away and turned to the sink like you were busy with it.

You could hear Miyeon step inside the bathroom and you begged for her to just go into one of the many stalls, begged for her to walk past you without talking to you, but you should have known now that things never worked out the way you wanted them to.

“Y/N,” Miyeon started and you hated the way she said your name, hated the fact that she was talking to you at all. You were praying that Yoongi was going to come back in, was going to come in again even though this was the women's restroom and just rescue you, save you from Miyeon, but, of course, that was wishful thinking.

You screwed your eyes shut for a second, letting your head hang as you drew in a much-needed breath. Slowly you peeled your eyes open and met Miyeon’s gaze in the mirror.

Her face was contorted into what could only be described as pity and you wanted nothing more than to turn on your heel and storm out, but you couldn’t, couldn’t because you were too tired and exhausted to.

“I’m sorry,” Miyeon said and your eyes began to travel down her form in an attempt to distract yourself a little. Like you, she was wearing a simple black dress that ended just above her knees. The sleeves were a little long on her and you knew she had bought it in a hurry, just like you had with your dress.

Her words echoed on the walls of the big bathroom and you could feel them haunt you as they bounced around and filled the air.

“I’m so incredibly sorry,” Miyeon kept going and tore her gaze away from you. Her fingers started to fiddle with each other in front of her stomach and she shuffled on her feet as your silence continued on.

You knew you should interrupt her and tell her that it was fine, that you appreciated her words and whatnot, but you didn’t, didn’t appreciate them and at this point, you didn’t give a fuck about formalities.

“I can’t imagine- can’t imagine how hard this must be for you right now,” Miyeon mumbled and her words were obviously chosen very carefully. “Your dad-”

Before Miyeon could finish her sentence, the door to the bathroom flew open again and both of you whipped your head around to see who it was. For a whole second, you thought it was Yoongi, but then you were disappointed a second time today.

The woman who had just entered looked flustered, almost embarrassed when her eyes landed on Miyeon and you, clearly realising that she had interrupted something.

Miyeon stared at her with big eyes and at that moment, you grabbed your notebook and pressed it close to your body. When Miyeon looked at you to say something, you shook your head and spoke your first words and only words to her today.

“I’ll see you outside,” you mumbled and your voice was barely above a whisper. If it had been just a little louder in this bathroom or if your words hadn’t echoed on the walls, Miyeon wouldn’t have heard you.

You hoped you wouldn’t, wouldn’t have to see her again.

You pushed past Miyeon and the woman caught up rather quickly that you just wanted to get out, jumping out of your way like she was scared you would yell at her if she didn’t move fast enough. The door felt heavy as you heaved it open and it took you seemingly everything to get it to simply budge.

“Y/N,” Miyeon started again, but instead of turning your head around or responding, you let the door behind you fall shut and tell Miyeon exactly what you were thinking.

You stepped into the big empty lobby and your eyes scanned every corner, swallowing heavily as chills ran down your spine. There was just something so uncomfortable, alarming, heavy about this room, about the number of flowers that decorated it and centred around those two big doors.

Frantically you searched for Yoongi and seemingly out of thin air, your eyes locked with Yoongi’s across the room. Unlike the time when your eyes had met with Miyeon’s, you felt relief wash through you and your heart quicken in your chest in the best way possible.

The corners of your lips turned up slightly and you started moving towards Yoongi. Your grip around your notebook tightened as you walked towards him.

Yoongi waited for you, standing in front of those grossly decorated doors . Only a few metres separated you from him when the two big doors got pushed open and you came to a screeching halt.

“Y/N!” your mother called out when she saw you and Yoongi stepped away when she started making her way to you. Without sparing Yoongi much of a glance, your mother walked towards you.

You knew she hadn’t done it on purpose and that the last couple days had obviously been rough on her as well if the circles underneath her eyes were anything to go by, but it still bothered you and certain words danced on the tip of your tongue.

When you were about to notify your mother of Yoongi’s presence, he shook his head at you and gave you a look you knew just how to interpret.

“I was looking for you, darling,” your mother whispered when she reached you and combed through your hair, fingers tucking your curls back into place. “Where were you?”

You were too busy communicating silently with Yoongi to answer your mother and when she couldn’t take your silence any longer, she turned her head around and sighed before looking back at you.

“Honey,” your mother started again and Yoongi nodded towards your mother, telling you to focus on her instead of him. Your eyes flickered to her and she was already staring up at you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Yoongi shove his hands into his pockets and you knew he was going to wait, wait silently until your mother and you had finished up talking.

“Where have you been?”

“I- I was just in the bathroom,” you shrugged and your mother frowned a little. It was then that you noticed just how much deeper her lines had gotten and you knew your father’s diagnosis was to blame.

“Okay, but please tell someone the next time before you just walk away. You scared me,” your mother mumbled and you simply nodded. The words of your mother barely registered in your mind and she knew they didn’t, but she didn’t say anything,

Your mother looked down at your hands and pried the notebook out of your grasp before you could protest. You were on the edge of snapping at her, telling her not to take it from you when she continued.

“Why is it wet?” your mother said, looking at her hand before using the sleeve of her black dress to swipe across your notebook. You quickly took it out of her hand and dried it yourself on your own black dress.

“I put it next to the sink,” you said and held onto it tighter this time, not wanting your mother to take it out of your hand one more time.

“Oh, okay,” your mother breathed and there was this uncomfortable silence hanging between you two. You watched as your mother’s eyes wandered all over your face, but they never locked with your eyes. It was like she didn’t know how to interact with you anymore and you didn’t blame her.

Your mother timidly took a hold of your hand like she was scared you would swat her hand away, lacing her fingers with yours before she tugged on it.

“Come,” your mother started and her voice was barely above a whisper. “We have to get back inside.”

Your gaze landed on Yoongi and when he nodded, you budged and followed your mother. Yoongi smiled at you, assuring you with that simple smile it was going to be fine.

Your mother led you to the two big doors and Yoongi silently followed you two. Again, your mother just walked past him and unlike you, he didn’t mind. He just fell into step with you and stayed by your side as your mother opened the door.

So far you hadn’t walked inside yet and when you saw the room that was hidden by those two big doors, your heart sank into your stomach. A second later, it started to beat out of your chest and you stopped dead in your tracks after barely crossing the doorway. The doors behind you pushed you forward a little when they closed behind you, but you didn’t care, eyes roaming the big room.

There were so many people, so many people you recognised and also didn’t recognise and they were all staring at you, focusing on you. Even though everybody was wearing black clothes like you, you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb.

A painful knot lodged itself into your throat and you could feel your breath labouring. Your eyes shot from one side of the other room to the other and you struggled to find a focus point.

Your world started to crumble in front of you again, started to go up in flames and you were certain that the pain would rip you apart, crush your heart into dust.

Your mother looked at you through tears and you wanted to yank your hand out of her grasp and bolt and never look back, but you felt too weak to even do that. When you shuffled back, your shoes hit the door and your heart quickened immediately.

Anxiety bubbled up in your stomach and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, felt like there was somebody suffocating you, felt like you were going to faint any second, but before everything could spiral into something much worse, Yoongi intervened.

“Toulouse,” he whispered into your ear, his hand landing on the small of your back. “Breathe.”

You did as he said, took a deep breath and after a few seconds, you started to feel okay, started to feel somewhat fine again. Your mother’s hand tightened around yours during it all and you squeezed back when you felt like you were capable to.

Yoongi smiled next to you before giving you a light push, prompting you to start walking away. Your mother immediately led you to the front, past all of the people.

You knew about half of them and half of that half you would even call your own friends, but right now you were so focused on breathing and surviving this that you walked past them without sparing them a single glance, just like your mother hadn’t spared Yoongi a single one.

It didn’t take you long to realise that your mother was aiming for the front and it was then that you saw the gap in the first bench, obviously reserved for you.

“Come,” your mother whispered before sitting down, hand tightening around yours like she was afraid you were going to bolt.

You sat down on the wooden bench and Yoongi filled up the space next to you, finishing up the bench of people. When you sat down, you didn’t let go off your mother’s hand and instead held it tighter, feeling like you were getting lost again.

Your notebook landed in your lap and finally, you let your fingers slip into Yoongi’s. He wrapped his hand around yours, but his fingers felt cold around yours. Usually, you would have pulled away, but this time you didn’t care.

If you had looked down the line, looked down the bench, you would have recognised each and every face, would have realised that they all had come to pay their respects.

You knew you shouldn’t, but it was hard to resist the temptation. It wasn’t like you had given it. Instead, you had just slipped into it and done it, just turned your head around to study the room.

The room was split in the middle by an aisle and on each side, there were rows of benches, almost all of them were filled with people, people dressed in black on this bittersweet day. The sun poured in from the windows, but instead of giving everybody a warm glow, it casted dark shadows and painful contrasts.

Your eyes wandered to the front and it was then that you first saw it, actually saw it. You had heard people talk about it, debate which one was the right one, but you had always been too exhausted, too exhausted to chime in.

Upon seeing it, you knew it was the wrong one.

The casket was black, a rich black with sharp corners and there was just something so scary about it, something so uncomfortable and wrong. It didn’t do him justice, didn’t represent who he really was to the core.

You tore your gaze away, not wanting to spare the abomination that was the choice of this casket any longer any attention and instead your eyes landed on the picture next to it. When you saw it, your heart cracked into dust and the air was knocked out of your lungs.

You almost doubled over at its sight, unable to look at it longer than for a second.

You couldn’t get it out of your head even though you had ripped your gaze away. Tears blurred your vision, but the picture was very much imprinted in your mind. After all, you had taken it when you had attempted to get into photography a long time ago.

He was smiling and looking to the side. The sun had just begun to set and given him this angelic glow. His eyes had reflected perfectly in the light, but your photo barely captured the light and love and hope that had always sparkled in his eyes.

You didn’t remember what you had done on that day anymore, but you remembered how you had felt, how he had made you feel on that day and every other day you had the pleasure of spending time with him.

Bliss and Love.

Without fail, he had always made you feel the happiest and most loved person alive and words couldn’t even begin to capture how thankful you were.

And so it hurt so much more to see his picture up there. It hurt so much more to know that he was in this casket that was supposed to hold what was once him for the rest of eternity. It hurt so much more to realise that he wasn’t going to be with you anymore.

It hurt so much more to come to the conclusion that it was in vain to hold onto the pieces of him.

You had to let go.

“Honey,” your mother whispered into your ear, shaking you a little to rip you out of your thoughts. You snapped your head around and stared at her with big eyes. “It’s your turn.”

When your mother nodded to the front, you realised that you had missed it, missed all of the other people speaking, missed half of the service already.

You let go of your mother’s and Yoongi’s hand and swiped across your cheeks, catching the tears that had almost spilled. You held onto your notebook that was burning through your dress and into your legs, leaving scars on your skin and it hurt so much, but you couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Your mother gave you a nod when you turned to her and when you looked at Yoongi, he smiled at you and mouthed a single word.

Toulouse.

You wanted to return it, say your part, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it quite yet.

With shaky legs and buckling knees, you stood up and made your way to the front with your notebook clutched close to your chest like it was a shield.

When you reached the front and put down your notebook on the podium and looked into the audience for the first time, you thought you were going to collapse. Your heart had stopped beating all together after it had pounded so quickly and with such force that it couldn’t catch up with itself anymore.

Your eyes scanned the audience and you swallowed heavily. Maybe it was because you hadn’t slept properly in days or maybe it was because tears were brimming your eyes again, but all of the faces started to blur together.

The second your gaze met Yoongi’s, however, you were brought back to reality. You noticed the eerie silence and you knew everybody was waiting for you to say something.

Somehow you managed to flip your notebook open, fingers tracing the edge of the first page as you read the words you had written down before giving this notebook to Yoongi as a gift.

It was stupid because you knew the words by heart, but you needed to read them just once more before starting, needed to read them to yourself like a mantra before you would start speaking.

When your eyes flickered to Yoongi for a second, he knew. He knew what you were looking at and he gave you a smile. Only you two could recognise the importance of those lines.

To: Min Yoongi aka Berlioz. From: Y/L/N Y/N aka Toulouse. Happy Birthday!

With a shaky breath, you turned to the page you had bookmarked a few hours ago when you had written all of this down in the middle of the night after forcing yourself to.

Unlike the last time when you had looked at the words, they weren’t dancing in front of your eyes anymore, weren’t bleeding together anymore, weren’t playing hide and seek with you anymore. You could read them, decipher them now.

With another heavy and shaky breath, you opened your mouth and looked up from your notebook.

“I’m going to be honest I don’t know how to do this, how to eulogise.”

Yoongi and you locked eyes.

“Usually, I would have asked him how to because he was the smart one out of us two. God, he was so smart. Truly the smartest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Tears threatened to build up in your eyes and a lump started to grow in your throat, but you swallowed it all down.

“Around him I always felt a little dumb, but I think everybody did.”

A quiet laugh travelled through the rows and people nodded, but you kept your gaze on Yoongi, not wanting to look away for even a second.

“He was always, without fail, the smartest person in the room. Somehow, he always knew everything about anything, always knew what to say. He always knew best, knew better than anybody else.”

It was then that you realised that you didn’t need to read the words. You already knew them because they came from your heart.

You kept staring at Yoongi through tears, but even then you could see him clearly. You noticed the angelic glow around him, noticed how the sun complimented his beauty and his beauty only.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that Yoongi was still the most beautiful person amongst this crowd of people, wasn’t fair that he was the only one with an angelic glow around him, wasn’t fair that only his beauty was highlighted by the sun.

It wasn’t fair how ethereal and surreal Yoongi was.

“He was truly a genius.”

Yoongi smiled at your words, but at the same time, you could see the tears build up in his eyes.

“I always liked to say that he was only a self-proclaimed genius, but I think everybody knows that he was definitely not. So please, don’t tell him I called him a genius. He’d totally get a kick out of it.”

Another quiet laugh.

“And because I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to properly eulogise and I cannot ask him, I’m going to ask for everybody's forgiveness because this will not be good. We all know he would do a much better job at this than I am- I ever could. We all know he would find the right words because he always did, always knew what to say.

“I promise everybody here that this will be awful, the worst eulogy- attempt of a eulogy, attempt of doing him justice anyone of you will ever hear because admittedly I am not quite ready.”

Your voice cracked as you struggled to form the next words, as you struggled to bring yourself to say them. And it took you an eternity to force yourself to continue.

“Not quite ready to say goodbye.”

Yoongi swallowed and the tears started to almost spill, run down his cheeks.

You knew that Yoongi was probably only crying because it pained him to see you on the verge of tears, pained him to see you say goodbye to him, pained him to see you have such a hard time letting go of the last pieces of him, pained him to see you come to the realisation that he wasn’t real, that he was all in your imagination, that he wasn’t here anymore, that he had left earth almost a week ago. Nevertheless, you liked to think that your words brought him to tears, liked to think that you could touch him with your words in a way he usually only managed to touch you.

“But I am going to try, try to say goodbye, say goodbye to him because I know that was what he’d want me to do. I know he wouldn’t want me to hurt, hold onto the pieces of him. I know he would want me to move on.

“So, I will try, will say goodbye to him with this.”

Yoongi started to choke up and so did you, but you fought through it, hands gripping the edge of the podium as you desperately tried to keep it together.

Your eyes continued to bore into Yoongi’s as you fought the hardest fight in your life.

“25 years or 300 months or 9125 days or 219000 hours or 788400000 seconds or simply put, all my life. I’ve known you all my life, spent practically every second of my life with you and, God, I loved every second of it. If I could, I’d wish for more, more time for you, for us. I’d wish for a lifetime for you, with you, a lifetime together so I can love you longer.

“I want to spend every second of the rest of my life listening to you play the piano until you’ve perfected the sonata you’ve been working on for ages, spend every second watching you attempt to make breakfast for us without burning down our kitchen in the morning, spend every second laughing with you until our stomachs hurt and tears brim our eyes and our laughter dies in the silence of the night as we grow tired, spend every second sighing as you go to answer the next work call, spend every second binging ‘Aristocats’ with you until we can both recite every line."

A shaky breath slipped past your lips and Yoongi let the smile fade away and be replaced by a thin line as he tried to swallow the tears and silence the sobs threatening to tear through his throat.

Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter because only he was supposed to hear.

This was for him and for him only.

“I want to spend every second of the rest of my life loving you.”

Yoongi screwed his eyes shut and you could see him try his hardest not to cry, not to break.

“Because every second I’ve had the honour and pleasure of spending with you, you’ve made me feel just that, made me feel so incredibly loved, loved so deeply that I never knew what to do, loved so unconditionally that I could never thank you enough for it.

“And I want to love you, love you until I can only remember how to love you, love you until my numbered days come to an end, love you so much that I outgrow, outlive my own capacity to love you.”

You paused, biting on your tongue as you swallowed the thick lump that had lodged itself into your throat. It hurt, hurt you so much to do this, but you knew you had to, knew that this was the right thing to do.

“Because you’re incredible.”

Yoongi peeled his eyes open to look right at you and you felt gutted, beaten as you looked into his beautiful eyes.

You let out a breath, sniffling a little before continuing.

“Because you’ve taught me how to open up, how to share, how to empathise, how to be patient, how to listen, how to speak up, how to live.

“But most importantly you taught me how to love.”

A strand fell into your face and you tucked it away, eyes digging further into Yoongi’s.

“And at the same time, you taught me how to dance with tears in my eyes, how to smile with pain ripping through me, how to speak with sobs tearing through my throat, how to live when my world is falling apart, how to buy a notebook and fill it with my own pain, how to be there for my dad through his battle with cancer.

“And I want to promise you my life, want to promise you every little piece of me, but you already have it all. It’s all yours already.”

Even with tears blurring your vision, you could see Yoongi clearly in front of you, could see the pieces of him you were holding onto.

“So, instead I’m going to promise you that every day I will get back up on my feet and fight through it all.

“I’m going to promise you that I will remember all of the lessons you’ve taught me, remember all of the things you muttered quietly in the middle of the night when I couldn’t fall asleep again, remember the words you whispered into my ear when the pain was threatening to rip me apart and consume me whole.”

You licked your lips, voice breaking as the tears continued to roll down your cheeks and stain the pages in front of you. But you didn’t care.

“You can do it. I know right now it seems almost impossible, but trust me, you can do this.”

Yoongi’s teeth sank into his tongue as you recited his words.

“You’re so incredibly strong and amazing and great. And there’s nothing you can’t do and this is no different.

“Every day is a new start, an opportunity to get back up on your feet and fight through it all. And I know it’s hard and that nothing seems fair right now, but—and it sucks to admit it—that is just life.”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips turned up into the tiniest smile as you continued to speak, not needing a single second to think about what to say.

“But don’t let life beat you up, don’t let life tear you down, don’t let life reduce you to nothing, don’t let life stop you and hold you back.”

Your hands tightened around the edge of the podium and you knew if you didn’t hold onto it, you would collapse, your knees would just buckle underneath you.

“Because you’re incredible.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you finished reciting Yoongi’s words. He looked at you with this smile on his lips, this bittersweet smile, and you could only mirror it, mirror it because with every word, with every sentence you could feel yourself let go more and more.

There was silence for a few seconds as you caught your breath and pulled yourself together. And if you had looked away for once, if you had taken your eyes off of Yoongi for just a second, you would have realised that everybody else was sobbing already, that you were keeping it together the best.

“You once told me that the average person can remember 10000 faces and recall 5000 of those and if I were ever to fall down the stairs and get amnesia like every girl does in the soap operas we loved to watch and laugh at,” another quiet laugh rippled through the rows, “I will promise you that I will still remember your face. And if my 5000 faces become only one face, it will be your face.”

Yoongi was sobbing alongside the others and you could feel yourself weaken, could feel yourself start to break apart more and more, turn into a weeping mess.

“Yoongi, Berlioz, you might not have been my first kiss or even my first love, but, trust me, you made all of the people before you irrelevant because no one compares to you. You were the only love that truly mattered, you were my one true love, the love of my life.”

Yoongi and you looked at each other and with quivering lips, Yoongi mouthed a single word.

Toulouse.

You smiled.

Berlioz.

Yoongi’s lips split into a bittersweet and painful grin at your response and you remembered it, imprinted it into your mind before you spoke up again,

“I love you, Berlioz.”

You blinked a few times before you closed your eyes. A deep breath filled your lungs as you prepared yourself for it. You whispered the last words and you knew he heard them nevertheless, you just knew,

“Thank you for everything, Yoongi, Berlioz, my genius.”

When you peeled your eyes open again, Yoongi was gone, but that was fine, fine because you got to say your goodbye to him.

You sat down with your notebook close to your heart and this time you didn’t leave space for Yoongi. And when you raised your head, you looked at the picture and saw him.

The love of your life.

→ links don’t work, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts/feedback! i’d love to hear it!

425 notes · View notes