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hoo-n-i-ki · 4 months ago

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Cold One. (Fin)

A vampire’s love is eternal—it transcends lifetimes that others can’t live.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 5886

WARNINGS - Vampires, shapeshifters, graphic violence, death, suggestive/fade to black. (This is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of Riki/Enha).

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Aro lifts you with ease, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. Cruel, cruel amusement.

Riki jumps, escaping the two tigers he’s facing.

It’s pure instinct, pure desperation, but Caius intercepts him, blocking his path. Riki snarls, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap, but Aro only chuckles.

“How tragic, my dear Riki,” Aro muses, his voice velvety smooth despite the carnage surrounding him. “Look how far you’ve fallen. A heart where there should be none. You would betray your own for this girl and her accomplice? Pray tell, is she your mate?”

Riki struggles against Caius’s grip, his ruby eyes burning with an emotion you’ve never seen before.

Fear. For you.

“She’s not the one who needs to die.” His voice is low, trembling with rage. “You’re here to kill me.”

Through his distraction, he lets the tigers’ minds go.

No.

But the tigers stay where they are.

“Caius, Master Caius, kill me. Let her and the Cullens go.”

“Oh, we will in due time,” Caius growls.

“But it is only fair you witness me take someone from you, dear Riki, is it not?” Aro’s smile widens, his fingers twitching around your throat. “After all, when you left, you took my prized Jane and Alec with you, and she was meant to die long ago, regardless,” he tsks.

Jasper moves, a blur of motion as he crashes into Caius, tearing him away from Riki. A split second is all Riki needs to break free, rushing for you—

But Aro tightens his grip.

“I wouldn’t,” Aro hums, lifting you even higher, causing the stony skin of your throat to start cracking.

Crack. By crack. By crack.

Alice screams your name.

Carlisle and Esme move in tandem, flanking Aro from either side, but Marcus intercepts them, knocking them back with a thunderous blow.

Riki closes his eyes.

Aro stiffens. His grip on you falters—just barely.

“Get out,” he hisses at Riki.

But Riki doesn’t reply. He’s trying his hardest to focus.

You can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch. He’s reaching, pulling, fighting to invade Aro’s mind.

But it won’t work. You know it won’t, because this past week, you were told all there is to know about the Volturi.

Aro is over 3000 years old. If Riki had centuries to hone his skills, Aro had several millennia.

The moment Riki is lost in his concentration, Caius moves faster than a blur. His hand snaps around Riki’s throat, yanking him back with an unforgivable force.

Riki chokes. His eyes fly open—but it’s too late.

Caius snarls, his face twisted in pure fury. “Pathetic boy,” he seethes, tightening his grip. Riki claws at his wrist, struggling, but Caius is older. Stronger.

Riki is losing.

And you’re helpless.

Your knees buckle, and the world around you slows to a dull hum, the chaos fading as a sense of peace washes over you.

This is it—the end.

Goodbye to Misora, who stood by you and made your last couple of months enjoyable.

Goodbye to the Cullens, who saved you the first time, gave you shelter, and let you feel like you belonged even when you didn’t deserve it.

Goodbye to Riki.

Riki.

You wish you had more time.

A wish. A regret. A gradual fall never spoken aloud.

And finally, a hello.

Hello to the parents you haven’t seen in twenty years.

Hello to the light you pray will still be willing to take you in despite the darkness that temporarily washed over your soul.

“This is not what we agreed on!”

A blur of fur. Glowing streaks of amber eyes. The crackling of bones as four legs move upright, shifting to two legs and two arms, covered by light honey skin.

Where the tiger who goes by the name Jay once prowled at the edge of the battlefield, a black-haired human boy you’ve never seen before now stands, eyes burning with fury.

“But our agreement was to remove the threat from your little town, was it not?” Caius speaks. “The newborn might be in the Cullens’ coven, but she is just as dangerous as Riki and his sister. Look at her red eyes.”

Jay’s eyes flick from you, to your captor, to Riki and his, and to your family being held back behind you.

Please.

“You’re right. We see the red eyes.”

Jay shifts back. Heeseung growls—a deep, guttural sound that rumbles through the clearing. Behind them, the rest of the tigers step forward slowly. Deliberately.

Sunghoon’s lip curls over his teeth. Jungwon’s claws extend. Jake’s shoulders tense, fingers flexing.

“Finish the job,” Aro growls, his minor disorientation making him lose his decorum.

The tigers don’t need to be told twice—they’re already moving.

Jay lunges.

Straight for Caius.

Caius is fast, but Jay is unexpected. He slams into him, tearing Riki from his grasp, sending them both crashing into the dirt.

The Volturi are no longer the predators. And you are no longer the prey.

“Traitors!” Caius spits, dodging Jay’s next attack, but he’s outnumbered.

The six tigers are everywhere. And even better?

The Cullens who were out hunting return with an unmatched vigor.

A roar splits through the night as Emmett crashes through the trees, his massive frame barreling straight into Marcus, sending them both tumbling. Rosalie follows, her hands catching his throat before twisting—

A sickening crack.

Riki twists to face Caius, finishing the job on behalf of the Baekho clan. He paralyzes him, while Heeseung tears his throat out.

Edward and Bella collide with Aro. His grip on you weakens, so you move while you still can.

You run straight toward Riki.

He reaches for you, arms about to pull you close, but—

“You think I’d let you have all the fun?”

A blur of motion. A flash of familiar long black hair.

Misora.

She bursts into the clearing, her crimson eyes burning, her fangs bared.

Edward is fast. Bella is strong. And Misora is Aro’s downfall.

She strides forward, her eyes locked onto Aro as he fends off Edward’s blows.

“You know, Aro,” she purrs, “you’ve had a long reign. But even the greatest kings fall eventually.”

Aro snarls, dodging Edward’s next strike, but he hesitates. Just for a second.

And Misora smiles.

“Did you by any chance think I was powerless?” she taunts.

Aro’s body stiffens. His expression contorts.

Then—he staggers.

His red eyes dart around wildly, as if trying to see something that isn’t there.

“What are you doing, lowly nomad?” he hisses.

Misora tilts her head. “Shutting you up.”

Riki watches, frozen, as his former master stumbles.

His movements become sluggish, his expression turning from rage—to confusion.

Aro reaches for his head as if trying to grasp at something that isn’t there.

And Riki, beside you, is just as confused.

“What—” His voice is hoarse as he steps closer, gaze snapping between Misora and Aro. “What are you doing to him?”

Misora smiles. A slow, dangerous smile. “I’m stealing away every last bit of his mental fortitude.” She turns to her brother with a raised eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

So Misora’s power… compliments her brother’s.

You see the moment the realization clicks into Riki’s head, in the way his eyes regain their fire, in the way he takes a deliberate step forward.

He takes his sister’s invitation.

Aro gasps.

His fingers twitch at his sides, his head jerking slightly—like his own body is no longer listening to him.

“You—” Aro chokes, but the rest of his words die in his throat.

Because without his centuries of control, Riki is inside his mind. It’s like he’s finally able to invade a kingdom without a king.

Aro’s body stiffens completely.

His own hands twitch at his sides.

Then—they rise.

His lips part in a silent scream as his fingers curl around his own throat, his grip tightening—

Harder.

Crack.

His head yanks violently to the side.

Crack.

His arms twist.

Crack.

With a sickening, final wrench, Aro’s own hands rip his head clean from his shoulders.

His red eyes—filled with terror—stare at Riki.

Finally, Aro falls.

Carlisle steps forward, his usually gentle face is hardened with resolve as he carries a torch in one hand. The flames flicker, casting an eerie light across the battlefield.

The Volturi’s bodies lay sprawled in unnatural angles, a testament to the brutality that just unfolded. Aro’s lifeless head is still locked in the wide-eyed expression of terror, his crimson eyes frozen in the moment of his demise. The others are equally still, their once-immense power now nothing more than lifeless husks.

Without hesitation, he lowers the torch to the first Volturi corpse—Caius’s body. The flame flickers and dances, igniting the exposed flesh, the smell of burning vampire flesh acrid in the air.

Riki watches, his eyes never leaving Aro’s head, his face a mask of quiet satisfaction, though his fists are still clenched. Misora stands nearby, her expression hardened, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind her gaze.

Carlisle moves methodically, his eyes sharp as he turns to Marcus’s body. Finally, Aro. As the final body catches fire and the flames roar louder, you stand there, surrounded by those who fought for you—those you care about most.

Riki turns to you, his gaze softer now, though his expression still carries the strain of everything that just happened. “We won,” he whispers, voice still hoarse from the struggle. “It’s over.”

Is this it? Is this the flicker of hope you’ve been longing for all these years? Beckoned by this beautiful’s man deep voice and carried by the scent of smoke engulfing the clearing?

You don’t need to inhale, none of you do, but it’s a smell that ensures that they’ll never rise again, so you savor it.

But then, breaking through the heavy stillness, comes a low, rumbling growl. It starts as a faint vibration in the ground, a guttural sound that seems to come from the depths of the forest. The tigers. Even they are inhaling the thick smoke, their animal instincts drawn to the scent of burning flesh.

For a brief moment, the tension is suffocating. Riki’s muscles stiffen, and his eyes dart toward the source of the rumbling. Misora’s posture shifts, a subtle but noticeable shift as she prepares herself for anything. A flicker of fear in her eyes betrays her calm exterior, but there’s also determination there. Your family have come so far, fought so hard, but it isn’t over yet, is it?

The growls grow louder, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as the tension in the air becomes palpable. You can sense the change in the atmosphere—another threat, still present, lurking. The tigers, the ones who’ve been an uneasy ally throughout this, are not actually on your side. They’ve been here with a mission of their own. They believe the treaty is forfeit by having Riki and Misora around…

But before any movement can be made, the heavily striped tiger—Jungwon—slowly steps forward. His powerful form shifts and cracks, bones realigning with a sickening sound. In an instant, he stands before you, human once again, dressed only in the shadows cast by the surrounding trees, and already perfectly healthy, perfectly healed like you didn’t manage to injure him to begin with. His sharp eyes scan the clearing, assessing the situation, his body still radiating a tense energy.

The other tigers, their eyes wary and calculating, tense up. Their movements are slow, deliberate, as if testing whether the situation will turn hostile once more. The clearing is once again on edge, the air crackling with the energy of lingering uncertainty.

Jungwon doesn’t speak at first, but his gaze flickers to the burning bodies of the Volturi, to the smoldering remains that still hiss and crackle in the fire. He looks from Riki to Misora, his expression dark.

“We came here for one reason.” His words are clipped, sharp. “To kill you.”

A quiet tension fills the air as his words land, but then, as if to dispel the weight of them, he adds, “But it seems… at our core, we’re more alike than we thought.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to the others. They turn, almost in unison, retreating into the shadows of the trees, their movements swift and fluid. For a moment, it feels as if nothing has changed, as if the battle is far from over.

But the retreat is final. The tigers vanish back into the forest, leaving behind only the fading rumble of their presence and the promise that this fight is done. For now.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Riki enters one of Cullen house’s various unused bathrooms, more than ready to wash away the last remnants of the battle. The proof that it happened. Proof that they survived.

His body aches, though not from injury—he heals too fast for that. It’s exhaustion, the kind that sinks into his bones, deeper than any wound. His mind replays the fight in sharp flashes: the Volturi’s lifeless bodies, the fire in Carlisle’s hands, the scent of burning vampire flesh. And then the tigers—the way their growls had rumbled through the clearing, how, for a second, it had felt like they weren’t done fighting after all.

And then her.

Through it all, she was there. (Y/N).

He turns on the hot water, and watches it cascade in steady streams. He presses his hands against the tile of the walls, head bowed as the steam curls. He tries to distract himself with the motions, but there’s no stopping his thoughts from drifting to her. The way she fought, despite her tangible terror. The way she ran to him. The way she looked at him when the flames consumed Aro’s body—like she wasn’t sure if she could let herself believe that it’s really over.

And maybe he wasn’t sure, either.

A sound. Faint, but distinct. Footsteps just outside the bathroom door.

His head lifts slightly, eyes narrowing. He knows her steps anywhere. They haven’t even known each other for two weeks, but all of his senses are now attuned to her, so even if her footsteps barely make a sound, even if her presence is subtle—he just knows.

And she stops. She just knows that he’s the one in there, too.

For a second, he wonders if she’ll knock. If she’ll say something first.

She doesn’t. But she doesn’t walk away, either.

So he walks up to the door and speaks. “You’re still wandering around.” His voice is rougher than he expected, still worn from the night.

A pause. Then, from the other side of the door, “I’m feeling restless.”

He huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. “I get that. I figured a shower might help.”

A beat of silence. He can picture her standing there, arms crossed, maybe leaning against the doorframe. Thinking. He wonders if she’s listening to the water running, if she’s imagining him like this—tired, drained, but somehow still wired.

Then, softly, she asks, “Would it?”

He exhales, watching the steam curl upward. “Not really.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, and for a moment, he wonders if she’ll leave. But then—

“I don’t think it ever will,” she admits. “Not completely.”

His fingers curl slightly against the tile near the door. “Yeah.” He swallows. “I keep thinking about it. How close it was. How easily it could’ve gone wrong.”

“We won,” she reminds him, her voice steady.

He closes his eyes. “I know. But that doesn’t make it stop.”

Another pause. Then, softer this time, “Make what stop?”

His grip tightens against the wall. He doesn’t want to say it. But for her, he’ll spill his truths. It’s some effect nobody but her has had on him.

“The feeling,” he murmurs. “That it’s not really over. That something else is coming.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that he almost opens the door, almost steps out to face her.

“Maybe it is,” she finally says. “For now, at least.”

For now.

He sighs and turns around to tilt his head back against the wall. He doesn’t know why those words make something settle in him, even just a little.

For now.

It’s not a promise. But maybe it’s enough.

Riki stays quiet for a moment, letting the sound of the still-flowing water fill the space between them. He feels her still standing there, a pure mind he simply brushed his power against.

Just to feel her. He’ll never use it on her, nor on anyone he cares about ever again.

Misora’s face of betrayal is still imprinted into his thoughts.

Then, her voice, quieter now. “Back there… when Aro looked at me. When he asked you if I was your mate.” A pause. “What did he mean?”

His fingers still.

The words didn’t register at the time, but now she reminded him.

Now, and for a solid minute, it’s all he can think about.

His mate… could she really be? Does he deserve to have one?

“You don’t know?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips despite himself. That’s just like her. Finding ways to make him smile. Tearing down his brick wall of stoicism.

He leans forward, crossing his arms. “It’s… complicated.”

“I think I can handle complicated.”

He closes his eyes. “A mate is…” He exhales sharply, trying to find the right words. “You know vampires feel everything more strongly than humans. But vampires are also unchanging. So when we fall for someone? It’s more than love. It’s something deeper, something that gets ingrained into our very being. When we find our mate, that’s it. It’s irreversible. It’s…” He hesitates. “Forever.”

Silence.

Not for the first time around her, Riki wonders if he’s said too much. If he should’ve held back, softened it somehow. But then—

“Forever,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Another pause. Then, hesitantly, “Is that… could I be that to you?”

Riki’s heart—silent, still—somehow feels like it should be racing. He takes a second to look up at the ceiling, feeling something he hasn’t felt in centuries.

The urge to pray to Ebisu, the Shinto deity of fortune.

He doesn’t remember much from his old life, not even the language, but lately he’s been feeling more and more human.

Now, he could make this easier on himself and lie. He could deflect. But she’s standing on the other side of this door, asking him something real. Something she deserves an answer to.

So he gives it to her.

“I think you could be, yes.”

The words lingers in the air between them. Vague, but just as heavy.

He waits. A shift in her stance. And then, softly—

“Oh.”

Just that. Just oh.

Riki huffs out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

She lets out something that sounds almost like a laugh. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

She’s quiet again. Then, barely audible, “How would you know?”

He shrugs even though she can’t see it. “It‘s supposed to be something you just feel. I guess I… felt something for you from the first time we spoke, but I never thought I would…. I didn’t put two and two together.”

A shaky inhale from the other side of the door. Then, after a long moment, “Okay.”

It’s not a rejection. It’s not disbelief. It’s just okay.

Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He expected more—questions, hesitation, maybe even denial. But she’s still just standing there on the other side of this thin wall.

A smile tugs at his lips. “Just okay?” he murmurs, the words slipping past his lips like silk. “That’s all you have to say?”

She shifts on the other side, and he can almost picture her expression, the way her brows might furrow, the way she might chew on her bottom lip, thinking.

“Well,” she finally says, her voice quieter now, laced with something softer. “What else am I supposed to say?”

He shouldn’t push. He shouldn’t—

But what if he throws caution to the wind just once? See what happens if he chases happiness rather than duty?

“Come here, then,” he says, a hesitant invitation.

Silence.

“I—”

Riki reaches for the door handle, twisting it just enough to crack it open, enough to see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes—but also something else. Curiosity. Intrigue.

“Scared?” His voice dips lower, something between teasing and reserve so similar to her own it makes her comfortable.

She swallows, and he watches the movement of her throat, watches the way her fingers twitch at her sides.

But she steps forward.

It’s happening.

The second she’s within reach, he tugs her into the steam-filled space, but through their excitement, they tumble back together into the walk-in shower, the warmth of the water swallowing them both. The thin fabric of her shirt clings to her instantly, darkening as it absorbs the water, molding to the curves of her body. His eyes drop, flickering over her, taking in every inch, every tiny shift in her expression.

She shivers—not from cold, but from him.

Riki reaches out, trailing wet fingers over the line of her jaw, tilting her face up so she has no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You sure about this?”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

This is all he needs. Since the past couple of weeks.

Since the past couple hundred years.

He doesn’t want to waste another second before closing the space between them. But something tugs at him.

200 years of conditioning.

His fingers tense slightly against her skin—not because he doesn’t want to—fuck, he wants this more than anything—but because they’re still standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understand. Because this is new, because he’s spent centuries guarding himself against anything that could make him weak.

And he’s giving someone the power to break him.

His hands still. His jaw clenches, restraint warring with the part of him that just wants to feel.

She notices. Her brows furrow slightly, her fingers ghosting over his forearm. “Riki?”

Her voice is softer now, questioning. Searching.

He closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. If he stops now, she’ll understand. He knows she will.

But then she shifts closer, her body pressing against his, warmth meeting warmth. And it shatters him.

The restraint, the doubts—gone.

He opens his eyes, and before she can say anything, his lips finally find hers, slow at first, deliberate—like he’s giving her time to pull away, to rethink, to stop him. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses closer, her fingers finding their way to his shoulders, gripping, grounding herself. She glides her lips against his full ones, teasing, tasting.

The water cascades over them, heat seeping into their skin, but it’s nothing compared to the fire burning between them.

Riki’s hands move, slowly sliding down her sides, memorizing. His fingers find the hem of her shirt, his touch featherlight against her skin. He tugs at it, just enough to test her reaction, to see if she’ll stop him.

She doesn’t.

The shirt is gone in a matter of seconds, discarded somewhere behind them, leaving her standing before him, glistening under the soft light filtering through the steam. Riki lets out a quiet curse, his eyes drinking her in, lingering on the way droplets of water trace paths down her skin.

“You’re—” He exhales sharply, like he’s struggling to find words, like for once, he’s at a loss. “So damn beautiful.”

Her blood orange eyes gleam, but she doesn’t shy away. If anything, she tilts her chin up slightly, as if daring him to keep going.

And so he does.

His lips find her neck, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the slope of her shoulder. His hands settle on her waist, strong and firm, holding her in place as he explores, as he takes his time.

She gasps when his teeth graze over a sensitive spot just below her ear, her fingers digging into his skin. He smirks against her neck. “That’s a nice sound,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “I think I wanna hear more of it.”

She barely has time to react before he’s backing her up against the cool tile, his body pressing into hers, leaving no space between them. The contrast of the heat from the water and the chill of the wall sends a shiver down her spine, but Riki is there, anchoring her, warming her, setting every inch of her alight.

And he’s not done yet. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

The sunlight barely peaks through the dense forest, the morning mist still lingering, as you hang around the spacious living room of the Cullen house. You stand by the window, watching the shifting shadows of the trees, lost in thought. Your mind is a tangled web of everything that’s happened in the past day. The Volturi. The tigers.

Riki.

Just then, a soft knock at the door makes you stiffen. Carlisle walks up to open it, and there he is—Dr. Park.

His eyes sweep the room, landing first on the Cullens, then on Riki and Misora, before finally resting on you. There’s no surprise in his eyes, just a quiet acknowledgement of the tension that lingers.

“I see the house is still… more crowded than I anticipated,” Dr. Park says awkwardly. His voice is calm, but there’s a hint of something else beneath it—something like resignation.

Edward stands by the fireplace, his hands clasped together, his face unreadable. “You’re not welcome here,” he says firmly, his voice lacking any warmth.

Dr. Park doesn’t seem bothered by the coldness. He just steps further into the room, uninvited but not deterred. His six tiger shifters follow behind him, their human forms nothing short of imposing, both the two you saw last night, and the four others. They stand in a loose formation, eyes narrowed, but they’re not hostile. They’re just… waiting.

Misora, standing by the back wall, crosses her arms. Her eyes stay cold, but there’s no aggression in her posture. She’s here to observe, just as much as the rest of you are. Dr. Park apparently wanted her dead just based on her eye color. But now, it seems, he’s learned how to differentiate between friend and foe.

At least, you hope so.

You can feel the tension in the room tightening, but Dr. Park seems determined to move past it. “I’m not here to make excuses. I did what I thought was necessary. I… miscalculated.”

Carlisle remains composed, but his gaze sharpens. “Miscalculated? You put all of us at risk, Dr. Park. You played your hand too long.”

There’s a long silence as Dr. Park looks at Carlisle, his eyes flicking to the six tigers, then to Riki and Misora. “I know. I can’t change the past. But I can try to make this right.

“We’re not used to letting vampires walk our territory.” A pause. “But I can see now that not all of you are the same.”

“We have no interest in staying where we aren’t welcome. Our family will be leaving soon,” Carlisle responds.

Dr. Park takes a deep breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “That will not be necessary.” He sighs. “The treaty Chief Black of the Quileutes forged between us was too limiting. Let us agree to a new treaty. So long as your matters do not concern our settlement, we will not interfere.”

Then, Jungwon steps forward, extending a hand toward Riki. “Apologies to you and your sister, and thank you for helping us kill the blonde one.”

You tense slightly, waiting for Riki’s reaction, but after a moment, he takes it. A handshake. A truce.

It’s not friendship, and it never will be, but it’s enough.

After Dr. Park’s visit, the tension in the Cullen house starts to settle, but an unsettling quiet remains.

Misora doesn’t move much from her spot by the wall, her arms still crossed as she watches the others, her expression unreadable. You know what she’s thinking—she’s never been the type to settle in one place for long. She’s a wanderer, always moving, always seeking the next challenge, the next horizon.

It’s something you both shared, for a while. You hunted together, finding moments of freedom that both of you crave so fiercely. You’ve seen each other at your best and your worst, and there’s a comfort in that unspoken understanding.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” you ask quietly, your voice breaking the silence.

Misora looks over at you, her gaze amused at first, but then softens just slightly. “I always leave,” she replies, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “You know me. I can’t stay in one place for too long. Not even for you.”

You let out a small, frustrated sigh. “I know. But it’s different now. You don’t have to run anymore.”

Her eyes flick to the others and then back to you. “I’m not running from anyone.” Her voice is firm, resolute. “I just don’t fit in here. I never have. And you? Are you going to stay with the Cullens?”

You hesitate, your gaze drifting towards them. You’ve felt the pull of belonging, of finding a place to settle, but you’re not sure you can embrace that life yet. “I don’t know yet. I think I’m still figuring that out.”

Misora steps closer to you, her presence grounding. “You don’t have to decide now. You’ve got time. But me? I know my path. I always have.”

You want to say something, to tell her to stay, but you can’t. You know better than anyone that she needs to go. Misora’s freedom is her own, and it’s not something she can easily give up.

She gives you a small nod, like she’s saying goodbye, but it’s not final. “Take care of yourself. Don’t let them tie you down. If you ever want to leave with me… you know where to find me.”

With that, she turns to walk toward the door, her movements smooth and sure. But just as her hand touches the doorknob, there’s a sudden shift in the air—an energy that only comes with Riki’s… your mate’s proximity.

Misora glances at you one last time, her lips twitching slightly in a way that could almost be mistaken for a smile, before she steps toward her brother. Getting through this last piece of unfinished business.

“Goodbye, onii-san.”

Riki pauses, his chin quivering. “Is that it?”

Misora shrugs. “We fought together, and we won together. That’s more than we can say for our previous life. I still don’t forgive you for the past 200 years or for you using your power on me. But… I might be ready to in a later lifetime. But for now? I’m not gonna pretend everything is fine when it’s not.”

Riki doesn’t reply right away. He stands there, his expression unreadable, the air heavy between them. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales sharply and extends his hand.

Misora hesitates for only a beat before accepting the gesture. It’s not a friendly handshake, not a truce—just a silent acknowledgment of the past they share. And, perhaps, a quiet farewell.

“Goodbye, Misora,” he says softly.

With that, she steps past him and out the door, leaving behind a heavy silence in her wake. Riki watches her leave, his gaze lingering on the empty doorway for several beats.

Without thinking, you step closer.

He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he finally does, there’s something raw in his expression—something unguarded, vulnerable. And then, without a word, he leans into you.

Your arms wrap around him instinctively, grounding him. His body is tense at first, but eventually, his muscles relax. It’s quiet, but in that silence, so much is said.

After a while, you murmur, “What now?”

Riki doesn’t answer immediately. He stays where he is, as if he hasn’t quite decided if he’s ready to let go yet. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I don’t know.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Are you staying?”

His brows furrow slightly, and you know why.

He’s never been offered a safe, loving place before.

“If they’re okay with it…” he gestures to the Cullens. “Can I?”

But he isn’t seeing the way they’re already fondly smiling at the two of you.

“Of course,” you murmur.

He laughs awkwardly. “Maybe if I stay for long enough, my eyes will start to turn gold like yours are doing.”

You smile softly at his words, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to rush it,” you murmur. “You’re already starting to fit in.”

Riki exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I feel like I’ve been fighting for so long, I don’t even know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to figure everything out right away.” Your fingers trail down to his wrist, a silent reassurance. “You’re allowed to just… be here.”

He looks at you then—really looks at you—and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the room fades away. The weight of everything he’s carried, everything you’ve both survived, lingers between you, but in this space, in this second, it’s just the two of you. No threats, no expectations. Just quiet understanding.

Riki shifts slightly, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “You make it sound so easy.”

You chuckle. “It’s not. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

A beat passes. Then another. Neither of you move to pull away just yet, as if breaking the moment would make it less real.

His fingers brush lightly against your waist, hesitant, testing, and you can feel the way his breath hitches. Your own hand lingers at his wrist, your thumb tracing soft circles against his skin. There’s something fragile yet certain between you.

Then, slowly, Riki leans in.

The kiss is soft—uncertain at first, like he’s still trying to convince himself this is real despite the ones you shared last night. But when you don’t pull away, when your fingers curl gently into the fabric of his shirt, he deepens it just slightly, exhaling against your lips. It’s slow, tender, a quiet promise exchanged between two souls who have spent far too long in limbo.

And it sets the tone for the rest of your day.

For the rest of your week, actually, as the two of your force yourselves to get used to the vegetarian diet under the supervision of the Cullens.

After a day trip with the wildlife, you follow Alice and her dainty, dainty footsteps back to the house.

She turns to you, halfway through your walk, gold eyes shimmering. “I saw you, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

Alice smiles, but there’s something wistful in it. “Nineteen years ago. When I first met Riki in Volterra. I had a vision,” she continues. “I saw him standing beside a girl with golden eyes. A girl who was part of our family.”

The words settle over you like a gentle weight. For a long moment, you can’t speak.

Alice’s smile widens, just a little. “I didn’t know who she was back then—but now I do.”

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

HOLY SHIT I JUST FINISHED MY FIRST FANFIC??? MEEE THAT QUITS EVERYTHING!!

Special thank you to everyone who actually liked it and was hyping me up throughout this novella-length journey yall have no idea how happy seeing the notifs made me😭😭

Deadass will miss Riki and (Y/N) sm

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Finale

@angelengene3011 @opheliaas-stuff @melzonly @meyinyin @nshmrarki @lizzygrantwrld @skyearby

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aiakosm · 10 months ago

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Drifting Stars AU: Mabel gets sucked into the portal before Stanford could come out and the portal shuts down, leaving her in that dimension with Ford while Stan and Dipper have to find a way to turn that portal back on.

(New one that I just saw) Reverse Drifting Stars AU: Ford comes back but the portal doesn’t turn off and it’s Stan and Dipper that get sucked in instead (although from the comment I read, it was just Dipper that gets sucked in which is also heartbreaking).

Other Gravity Falls AU’s if you’re confused>

Reverse Falls AU: their personalities are reversed and instead of the happy silly Pines family that you know and love, they’re the manipulative arrogant Gleeful family that everyone hates. The Pines (read: The Gleefuls) are cold-hearted and (in most cases) has the Reversed-version of Bill wrapped around their finger. Reversed-Bill Cipher (named Will Cipher) is a whiny, sensitive, baby-like version of the dream demon.

Fight Falls AU: Everything is almost the same, except for the fact that Mabel and Dipper can fight well. They got into a lot of trouble at their school and was sent to Gravity Falls so that more trouble wouldn’t happen. Dipper and Mabel are great fighters and have a much more sensitive temper but Dipper is still a nerd and Mabel still has a fun imagination (Just more secretly) Bill Cipher (Named Kill Cipher) loves violence—which isn’t out of character—and is mostly there to not only torment the town but also encourage the twin’s violent nature.

Monster Falls AU: Everyone’s a creature! You can switch up what creatures these characters are but most of the fandom has agreed that Dipper is a deer centaur , Mabel is either a mermaid or a unicorn, Stanley is a gargoyle, Ford is a Greek-style Sphinx, Wendy is a werefox or a moth-person, Soos is a clay golem, Gideon is usually a vampire, Pacifica is either a gorgon or a unicorn, Robbie is a zombie, etc. Bill Cipher is a humanoid hunter with a triangle-shaped head.

Reunion Falls AU: this is Mabel and Dipper but they’re separated at birth. Dipper usually lives in the mystery shack and it’s Mabel that visits years later for the summer.

Relativity Falls AU: Everyone’s age and role is switched. Stanford and Stanley are now the young pine twins going to visit their great uncle Dipper and great aunt Mabel (or just Great Aunt Mabel if you decide to have Dipper lost in the portal) for the summer. (Personal favorite simply because I like the older Mabel and younger Stanley dynamic).

Nightmare Falls AU: In this one, Dipper and Mabel are raised by Bill Cipher in a dimension called the nightmare dimension, and are demons. Dipper is depicted as popular but mean, only cares about helping his twin and causing chaos. Mabel is depicted as shy, creative, and secretly more powerful than she lets on (although they are both supposed to be equally powerful but whatever). Bill Cipher, their adoptive parent, encourages their violent and chaotic tendencies. Not many people touch up on this AU. But many should.

Transcendence AU: This one is really popular. If you’ve been in the fandom for longer than a year, you might’ve heard of it. The story often changes but apparently in the original version, Bill dies due to the Transcendence. Before he passes, he leaves a small part of himself in Dipper who turns into a demon. Or half-demon. I think this is where the whole ‘Alcor the dreambender’ thing began (Even though Dipper’s Demon name would just be Ursa Major and he’d be a star demon).

Demonic Twins AU: This time, the twins switch with Bill Cipher. So now Bill Cipher is Bill Pines (maybe Will is there too) and Gideon summons two demons, Mabel and Dipper, who are evil but aren’t as chaotic as the original Bill.

Crystal Falls AU: literally just the Steven Universe mixed with Gravity Falls. They all have different gems and such. I can’t exactly explain it, considering the fact that I’ve never read this AU nor have I watched Steven Universe, but it’s as it sounds.

ANYWAYS THATS ALL FOR NOW, YOU CAN USE THIS POST IF YOU WANT TO TRY AND REMEMBER. LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY AND ILL MAKE EDITS!

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werezmastarbucks · 10 days ago

Text

no title, head empty

inspired by me. 8th member au blueprint i wrote it off of. this is not a chronological chain, but rather a series of drabbles based on my headcanons! kinda like some events i wanted to write in detail.

idol!yoongi x idol!reader

word count: 12121

warnings / tags: i will either infantilize Jungkook or write him as a fuckboy until he personally comes to my house and dislocates my jaw; hurt/comfort, smut, dry humping, jerking off/masturbation, mint yoongi, grumpy yearning

July 2012

You are ready to faint - you've already seen the glimpse of their faces, and it's the worst of what you could expect. They don't just unwelcome you: they are in a state of active indignation at your arrival. You've seen the pictures of the boys so that you could memorize their faces and names. The only one who doesn't look like you stink is the scrawny, shy guy with his hair covering almost all of his face: long, scared eyes, affectionate mouth as if cut with a scalpel onto his head. Easily pretty. Maybe you should stand on his side but your body refuses to move. You keep your eyes on Taehyung and his lack of instant hatred.

The worst of all that rapper Yoongi guy: sharp jaws like he snaps his teeth at people, gaze hidden beneath his long bangs, body half-turned towards the mirror wall. His eyes travel everywhere in the room except for you.

Even their postures are hostile, until Namjoon finally sighs and begins his heavy lifting. Steps up. Puts out his huge hand. It swallows your palm and the sounds are dulled as he introduces himself. You keep staring at yourself in the mirror wall: small, hungry, completely horrified, but - with an unexpected arrogance on your face, lower lip protruding like you are judging them. Because you are. Because it's the natural defense mechanism against the seven faces who aren't even trying to fight the urge to frown. They want to show you that, even though they are powerless here, they were against it. Yoongi guy slowly raises his eyes to the ceiling when you start speaking, like he is praying for the light fixtures to collapse on your head.

You could snap your fingers and snark at them. Say, I don't want to be here either, I was supposed to be a solo act. I am not happy about living with seven boys either. Are you kidding me?? The realization finally crashes into you like a train: you will have to live with them? Narrowed eyes, lips curved in disgust like you are some kind of demon made of shit that usurps their bedrooms. Taehyung seems helpless at best, doesn't look at you anymore.

Then you spot the kid. Doe eyes staring at you in total shock, confusion, disbelief. You reckon his world will shatter pretty soon. He can't be older than fifteen, doesn't look it. He is pressed against Taehyung's shoulder like he is trying to hide from you, and you can't stop looking at him.

Namjoon names all of them one by one just to make sure you've memorized correctly. There's no smiles, no more handshakes: it's pointless pretending. There are managers in the room, the photographers, and those pictures will never end up being posted anywhere, because the sheer whiplash of hostility in the room transcends the digital. When the name check gets to Yoongi, he pushes himself off the mirror wall and eyes you up and down, hands in pockets. He looks like the type of guy to beat someone up in the back alley. You are sick of his quiet-loud demonstration, so you stare back, trying to mimick his cold gaze. And you lock eyes. And everybody gets super uncomfortable.

You got a problem?

Sure I do. I am looking at it.

His face is hollow, white. Dark circles under the eyes: he is malnourished like the rest of them, like you will be soon, he is exhausted and raw, like a leopard that's being skinned alive. You have sympathy for that. But he is giving you shit unfiltered. You feel like crying, and Namjoon senses that and tries to elevate the atmosphere. Taehyung is painfully silent, incredibly shy. Hoseok, the one with the darkest hair, shakes his head as if to cover his eyes.

In short, the first day goes horribly. They are probably in pain, too. You look at the schedule.

Fifteen hours of classes and practicing. Three hours of vocals. An hour orientation the whole first week. That leaves you five hours to sleep, eat and shower. You can do whatever you want with it.

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September 2012

You hear the sobbing from the kitchen. The kitchen isn't just that: it's united with the space that you call the living room. It's a fluid concept: sometimes kitchen is bigger, sometimes the living room is. It's hard not to walk in on someone when coming back to the apartment: the clothes rack is stuck at the door and the space begins there. No hall, no corridor. Home immediately.

Jungkook is sitting at the small writing desk Hobi and Namjoon dragged from the dumpsters. The kitchen table isn't big enough for all eight of you - one person has to either sit on someone's lap or eat at the dumpster desk. Another reminder of how you toppled their peace. You almost fit.

Now the boy turns away quickly as you step inside, shaking your backpack off. His sharp elbow flies up and his hand wipes his face. Another fist clutches the pen angrily. It makes you feel weird. Jungkook has been punching your gut with that kid stare since the very beginning: there's something distinctively vulnerable about him, about the way he slightly tilts his head like a kitten. The way he opens his mouth when listening. Imitates his hyungs like a little cub learning to function on the fly. There's not even a big age gap between you; just three years. But when you hear this chocked whimper, see the back of his head, hair standing all apart, you get irrationally soft.

"You okay Koo?" you try to sound flat, like you are just dropping an observation. Natural, unaffected. He sniffs and just can't stop. Jungkook's voice is bad this week, he keeps creaking like it's breaking again although he is way too old for it. It's most likely the strain: been recording for tens of hours, no breaks. Plus he is constantly dehydrated. You've seen Seokjin corner him and make him drink water yesterday, eyes on his mouth so that Jungkook can't escape it. He forgets to drink water.

The boy tries to steady himself; his shoulders grow angry, he is embarrassed, and you don't walk away. There's nowhere to go, except to the room maybe, but that would be uncalled for. He is just unravelling slowly, humiliated, in front of you, hiding his face. You give him a minute to collect his shit while you wash your hands in the bathroom. The fucking tap is so dirty with the toothpaste stains, it looks like snot, and you shudder. Usually you rub it with water with your palm, but now touching it is beyond you.

You come back, and Jungkookie is there, hovering above the desk with his eyes concentrated on nothing, staring through his notebook, pen standing in his hand like a windmill.

"You need help with this?"

His lips pressed together, he pouts at the same time. You look over his shoulder as the inevitable understanding breathes down your neck: stress like this is unhealthy for him. You drag the chair from the kitchen table to him and sit down, and Jungkook tenses further. You put your elbow on the desk, and he tries to move away, but there's nowhere to move. It's claustrophobically tight. His shoulder swallowed by the sleeves of Namjoon's big raincoat. Your eyes drop to the page: "Mixed Conditionals". Something to cry about for sure.

"I just..." he is trying to substitute his weakness with anger and grits his teeth, "don't fucking get it".

"I know", you take his pen, and he lets go of it with relief. You start fixing and marking his homework. He is sitting stiff, like a boy does, hands on his knees, looking at the textbook on the desk like it's the most disgusting thing he ever laid his eyes on.

"Why do I need this fucking English", he mumbles.

"Korean is way more difficult", you coo, "let it be consolation to you that you naturally speak a more complicated language".

He swallows something in his throat. It's rare that you don't see sweat on Jungkook's temples, his dark hair sticking to his honey skin. Eyebrows, soft and light, curve painfully.

You fix his mistakes which there are plenty. But feel like if you start actually helping - through explanations - he won't listen and only panic more. Jungkook sniffs further.

You look up at him.

"Rewrite it like this".

"Teacher knows I don't understand this. He will know I didn't write it".

You shrug. He doesn't sound like he is trying to fight; sounds powerless.

"It's hard because you aren't concentrated. Your mind is always somewhere else".

You know it's in the dancing studio. Where he keeps almost cracking his knees and exhausts his still growing organism to the point where it gets dangerous. At this level of fatigue, expecting his brain to also understand higher-level English grammar is stupid. He presses the heel of his palm into his eye.

"I just can't..." he repeats. And breaks down again.

"I am failing".

Your first instinct is to extend your whole body towards him. Jungkook has no idea how your female brain reacts to him: it's maternal. It's clinically protective. It's his bubbly cheeks and innocent eyes that remind you of your never-born kid that you never even wanted to have.

"You aren't failing", you utter, trying to make it land, but it's such a stupid line. It carries nothing.

"I am. I can't record, I can't do the split, I can't do my homework..." he mutters as his voice goes thinner and thinner, and you snap. Your hand gets to his shoulder and then, head.

"Jungkookie, you are worn out, it's not incapability, it's just..."

He lets you drag your palm on the back of his head, and his nostrils flare. He starts crying. Lips pursed, curved, chin dimpled, he drops his arms and leans into your hug, and you guide his head onto your shoulder. Now you are a mom.

"You better cry about it", you advise gently, "cry, you'll feel better".

"Nobody else cries, only me", he complains, gutted.

"I cry, too".

"You're a girl".

It sounds like an accusation, a punch and a dismissal all at the same time. But you let is slide.

"The others must cry too, they just hide better".

It's really hard for him. He lets his shoulders shake several times as the sobbing shudder goes through his body. He collects his tears into his palm and they spill onto your lap. You tell him he is doing great. No, he is doing excellent. He looks better than all of you, manages to sleep enough. He is doing his norm, which is actually the same as the adult norm. He is working at the same pace, and he still hasn't been kicked out of school, and he is doing amazing. You tell him to keep crying until there's nothing left.

"Cry it all out, give me a glass".

"A glass?" the sobbing is broken for a fraction of a second, confusion barging into the middle.

"A full glass of tears, no less".

Jungkook chuckles, but his nose is blocked now, so it comes out as a snort. You squeeze him tigher. He is bony, albeit muscular, but it's only because there's barely any fat in him. He squeezes you back, then wraps his arms around you, and you are reminded that at sixteen, he is already almost bigger than you. Boys may be small in their minds, but are all big in reality. He doesn't say "thank you", but instead, presses his forehead to your shoulder and sighs like a scared puppy. You keep tapping his back to maintain a rhythm to his catharsis, and he soon calms down.

The aftermath of it is just sniffing. Sniffing, he rewrites his homework on the next, empty page. Sniffing, he wipes his face and then wipes his hand on the jeans. Sniffing, he even starts joking and speaking a little.

"How did you even learn all of it?" he asks with a feeling, guiding his much lighter resentment onto the subject.

"It's like..." you almost say like tryna stick a fire extinguisher into an asshole, but stop yourself. Maybe when he turns seventeen and a half you could begin the asshole allegories. Jungkook smiles even though you don't finish it. You want to shield him from all the dark crap that's still about to happen in his life. You've only been here a month and already got the taste of this industry. Try not to think about it.

There's shuffling behind the door, a click, and Yoongi steps inside the apartment, immediately greeted by your two pairs of eyes. He is always slightly aloof when he comes to the dorm. Has to take off his hat, his earphones, then blink, and only then is he ready for a conversation, or even a hello. But now he clocks Jungkook's face immediately. He raises his eyebrows quietly, then looks at you for help or an explanation.

"Y/N is helping me with English".

Yoongi stares at his puffy nose.

"Did English do that to you?"

He takes off his jacket and carefully tucks it onto the clothes rack. There is one rack. There are eight people. It's bearable now, while it's still almost summer. But you can't imagine where you'll put all coats when autumn comes.

"Mixed conditionals", you explain, and he chuckles lightly. He can't resist, just like you couldn't, and his fingers tap the maknae's shoulder.

"Don't beat yourself about it. You don't actually need them".

"You do, you do!" you protest. "Hey, you do need them!"

Yoongi huffs further.

"No, you don't, why would you", his laugh is breathy and deep, "no one uses them".

You grimace at him from behind Jungkook's shoulder. Yoongi drags his feet, stooping, into the bathroom, and knocks over the toothbrushes by the sound of it. Curses quietly. Turns on the water. Opens and closes the cupboard door. Then walks back into the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?" question for the both of you.

"No", in unison.

"Then drop it, let's eat".

"You are an education disruptor", you tell him gravely. Yoongi pushes a stray chair away and opens his mouth with a smile. He must be in a good mood because he isn't usually as talkative. Not with you. What if you accidentally won him over by helping Koo?

"No use trying to study with an empty stomach. Come", he says simply, and turns away.

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November 2016

The room is full of Jimin and Taehyung's shimmer. There's so much loose glitter that it floats in the air. Every time someone jumps, it bursts into smaller clouds and disperses, makes the space around wobble, quietly shining like Aurora Borealis. There's a lot of jumping. This is the night that changes everything. You search for Namjoon's eyes all evening because in them, you see the most vivid confirmation that this is not a dream: you made it. You made it. This is Daesang in Hobi's hands, that you didn't steal, that wasn't given to you by mistake. This feels - to them - like the greatest party they've ever been to. To you, like someone finally cut the leash off of you and let you run.

This changes everything.

The amount of tears, both real, and the fake ones that grew into real ones, is left unspoken between you eight; you all cry throughout the evening, bursting into sobbing in the most unexpected moments. Since the second you saw Yoongi hide his face on the stage, you felt that your own resolve to stay adamant, calm, dignified, is crumbling. You even smiled at first, into your palm, thinking he was acting out what he had rehearsed earlier. Then you noticed his face became wet and realized he was really crying.

And when Yoongi cries, everybody kind of cracks.

Now it's past crying though: they are thrashing the hotel room like they are seven - that is, in age. Jimin is jumping on the bed in his shoes and Jungkook is swinging the whole Hoseok in the air, and you are searching for Namjoon's eyes: your roommate, your brother who is keeping your secrets, your partner, your supportive shoulder. He is the one who intimately understands what it means, what just happened. He had to carry it all. He had to be the reflective shield for all of you, these three years, he was the one who, instead of dropping his head and taking it like a good boy, looked straight into the camera and said,

I will prove it to you all.

He looks back at you and smiles. His face is spotted; he is trying to wipe the rest of make up off, since the tears and then water that Jin splashed on him started ruining it anyway. He is rubbing his chin with a napkin and smiles the way you like the most: like he is the lion resting on the top of the hill, surrounded by his pride. This gaze liberates you from the tension you've been feeling all evening, and you can finally join the party. Join the jumping. Even Yoongi is jumping: this is the first time you see him this happy. This smile manages to change his whole look: whereas normally he is sharp-jawed, pouty and expressive, now he looks like a boy ten years younger. His teeth make him look like a bunny. When he is happy like this, you're not scared to approach him at all.

And it's not like you're intimidated or anything. It's just that he is reserved, and you'd hesitate doing things like just ruffling his hair out of nowhere, like you do with the others. Normally.

Tonight, you go as far as to land on his lap, because your feet are already sore, your knees are in pain, you are a little drunk, a little dizzy, and all other surfaces, except for Yoongi, are already occupied: the bed is full of Jungkook and Taehyung's bodies, wrestling, puffling like they are fighting for survival, where the actual prize is the little camera still recording. The armchair is taken by Hoseok nibbling on a hard piece of white chocolate, a glass in his hand shaking and spilling every time he bites. The table is full of food, jackets, cameras, their bow ties, watches, food packages, glasses and empty bottles. Chairs have simply d i s a p p e a r e d. You think a couple of chairs might be in the other room, and the others... it's truly a mistery. So, without a second thought, with clarity that is proof it's completely within the context, you land on his lap.

And Yoongi proves to be completely okay with it.

After all, they sit on each other's lap all the time: he lets Jimin sit on his lap, Jin often perches on top of Jungkook, Hobi likes to occupy Namjoon and so on. They do it because it's funny. Because sometimes it's fan service. Sometimes there is, like now, not enough space. Not all rooms and spaces are designed to host eight people at once. You feel his hand keeping you in place on your back and feel comfortable, calm, safe. The conversation never stops: you're still in deep discussion with Seokjin huyng, and Yoongi joins it; Namjoon roars with laughter when Hobi spills the rest of champagne on his knees, but, while laughing, runs to him with napkins. The same napkins he'd been drunkenly rubbing his face with, so they carry make up. And when Hoseok starts wiping, the white foundation leaves spots on his black pants, and the volume keeps rising in the room.

It's happy. It's the happiest you've been in a while, too. Of course, just doing your job and being together is great, as well, but this is the real game changer. You feel happy like you finally managed to deserve something good. Like you are finally taken into account. Jungkook finally wins and stands up with a grunt, his face reddish with exertion, while Taehyung slowly slips off from the bed and rests on the floor for a while; you look at him, all disheveled and the hair up like he'd been zipped with electricity. He stares back at you lifelessly, dramatic, then grins. Jungkook films you and Yoongi, and you notice how different it feels from the usual. It's for personal use. It's the private memories. You down the glass quickly and put it on the floor, then put both your hands on Yoongi's face, relishing in the opportunity to annoy him while he is in a good mood. You pinch his cheeks and he acts for the camera, showing his teeth, crunches his nose.

"You have a beautiful smile, hyung", Jungkook slurs.

"You have a hole in your shirt", Yoongi laughs, surprised. Jungkook checks it, letting the camera swing off his wrist.

"He is getting so big", you whisper.

"And cocky", Yoongi complains, without bothering to lower his voice. Maknae doesn't notice anyway; his eyes forget the hole and focus on who to disturb next. He is searching for his next victim. It feels like you and Yoongi both are impressed with his growth; but in slightly different dimensions.

It all moves. The alcohol makes the time slow and fast all at the same time. And the only constant is he - Yoongi. The presence so subtle, assuring and permanent. The room spins around, flashes of glitter in the air, the boys' hair flies up as they jump with the music, their voices high, splashes of champagne and vodka, curtains bothered and dancing; his knee bobs under you, lifting you so effortlessly that it makes you think you are too light.

You don't even notice anything off until his voice is suddenly too close to your ear, but it's not only the proximity. Whispers, covered by grouped palms, lips even brushing against each others ears, aren't uncommon. It the tone of voice: deep, suddenly invigorating, rumbling, when he simply replies to Namjoon.

"Not even a little? I don't know, four?"

You have no idea what they are speaking about, but all of a sudden this voice makes you shudder and you mask it with a sway. His hand on your back tightens as Yoongi instinctively tries to keep you from falling - and settles you down again, firmly, like he refuses to let go.

You feel his face so close to you that it makes you question the whole decision to spontaneously sit on top of him. The bed next to him has been clear for almost an hour, ever since Jungkook defeated Taehyung. And yet, you two, like a couple of mice, squeezed into a corner, feel quite so comfortable that you sort of forgot the difference.

They sit on each other's laps because they are all boys.

You do that only for photoshoots.

Drunk, happy, ecstatic about the win, you forgot this is slightly outside the realm of norm. And now that it's been a while, Jungkook starts looking at you two curiously; not judgingly, no. Narrowing his eyes just slightly, almost like he is squinting to see better. Taehyung drops one look and his pupils go up and down. It's done on the go, without breaking attention from what they are doing.

Hoseok returns to the room with a huge water bottle in his hands and pauses microscopically as he looks at you.

You spiral under the surface in the quietest, the most casual realisation: your mini-dress is high up, and you don't even register it until your gaze drops. The boys never look properly, why would they? Yoongi's chest at your shoulder vibrates, and it's warm, and the moment when a snap of low, steady laughter leaves his mouth, you slowly lift yourself up.

His hand drops from your back. Drunk Yoongi is a sight to behold, if only because he taps you just above your tailbone before releasing his grip. You try not to make a big deal out of it as his eyes slide onto your face, calm and curious, still narrowed with laughter. He is so close that you can see the exact line where the make up artist decided his brow should end. There has never been a reason to get that close to him, and now it makes sense. He is so handsome it scares you for a second.

You get up and move away, failing to pat him back or say something to make it less awkward. As you walk towards the table, stretching your stiff back, you take off and kick your shoes away with the force. His hand falls on the mattress next to his thigh and clutches the covers. The room erupts in yet another burst of laughter.

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November 2016

Namjoon snores.

No, please, you guys don't understand.

Namjoon S N O R E S.

Might be a dramatization of events, but it feels like the bed is vibrating under you with each time he releases the air through his nose with that thunderous sound. Dammit, he deserves to be very happy when he decides to start a family, so he will need to do something about this. Some nights are quiet, of course, but when the dude snores, he goes all in. You wreck your head about how a young man can even produce such ancient sounds.

The earphones do nothing for you. Those two little buds are hard, pressing against the inside of your ears as you push them further, and even when you make music deafeningly loud, there's still a background track coming form the bed nearby.

It's been like this for a while.

He's giving you serious sleep schedule problems. The doctors Namjoon has seen don't know what to do yet, and neither does he.

You leave your bed and put on a thicker shirt over your sleeping tee because in winter it's cold at the dorm. Still do not wear your slippers, don't care to feel for them under your bed in complete darkness, because you can't stand being in this noise for much longer.

You usually sit in the kitchen, staring into the window, on your phone, or keeping your head in your hands. Just once did Seokjin find you under the table, curled into a pathetic ball in your own blanket you carried with you. Normally Namjoon snores the loudest in the hours between one and three o'clock, and then this horror just... stops suddenly, he turns on the other side and sleeps quietly. You just need to ride out the two night hours. The Snitching hours you call them. It's you combining the words Snore and Witching, and obviously it doesn't make any sense, but neither does a twenty-three year old healthy boy who snores like three industrial tractors working together.

Jungkook had offered to change rooms with you, selflessly. You declined knowing that he only did it because you're a girl. If one of the other boys suffered, they would all just shrug.

You sit on the small, hard chair, keeping one leg up, nibbling on your knuckle to keep yourself from falling asleep. The kitchen becomes uglier, emptier at night. There's always a tiny, narrow stream of cold air seeping through the entrance door behind your back. The table is full of spices and sauce bottles. Jimin forgot to put away his mug after he drank water before sleep. You decide to clean and put it away; soon enough you will become a night kitchen elf, finishing the dishes, tidying, maybe even cooking breakfasts for them, if you stay here between one and three in the morning often enough.

You take the mug and walk to the sink, turn on the slow stream of water to rub it with your fingers, when you hear steps.

Right. The all-nighter genius, and since very recently - a cause for distress, Yoongi.

It started two weeks ago. You discovered that there's one more person unsleeping nights; only, if you fail to fall asleep, he does it voluntarily, because "at night my head works so much better". First night you collided in the kitchen, in this twilight zone, surrounded by sleeping bandmates and enveloped in the magical soundtrack of Namjoon's rumbling snoring from behind the wall - when Yoongi crawled in to make himself a coffee.

"I nod off a little", he explained, a tight yet casual smirk on his face. In the wall light from under the cupboard, his face was greyish and the signs of lack of sleep, very clear.

"Then sleep?" you offered. He shook his head. Then said there is not a single spot in this tiny apartment where Namjoon's snoring isn't audible.

"Tried pinching his nose?" he asked, as if you were just a dumbass, who hadn't tried virtually everything.

Now, these run ins become more and more regular, and you're not even sure how much you hate them. You despise them a little because you caught a tiny crush on Yoongi. Or maybe it was there. He always seemed very pretty to you, but this prettiness has always been aloof, detached a little. Now that you know he lets you sit on his lap with the condition of being drunk, it unlocked the feeling. The feeling you know is definitely completely not desirable for anyone. You imagine the kind of ass-kicking the management gives to those who mess around within their own groups. It's discipline. Military, iron, impeccable. Too much on the line.

You change feet on the cold floor as you see his shadowy frame float into the kitchen like a ghost. The blue light of the laptop in his hands makes him look infernal, sharpening his sleepy frown. When he is busy, or tired, or occupied, one brow goes up and bends there, behind the hair. You reach for the light and click the little button. Yellow light pours into the kitchen, making the small space claustrophobic.

"We synchronized?" you guess, putting Jimin's mug away. On nights like these, you don't even have to worry about being quiet - or loud - in the kitchen, because Namjoon snores so noisily that the sound of a mug clunking against the metal bars of the dryer becomes soothing, melodic. Not to shade Namjoon. You actually worry about him more.

"You could say so", Yoongi walks around the table and puts his laptop on it, pushing the bottles back, "I heard your door".

You ahh with understanding.

"Coffee?"

He is so concentrated that you ask yourself why he even had to come out like a cave gremlin. His shoulders slouched, back arched, the top of the spine protruding under the white tee. He rubs the side of his face, tongue punching the cheek.

"Oh, thanks. Uh-huh".

He drops you glance, then his eyes look down.

"Why are you bare-footed? It's icy cold".

He kicks off his slippers and then pushes them towards you with his foot. Then his own feet start fighting for dominance to be on top of each other under the table.

Arguing with Yoongi is kinda pointless, he always has bulletproof points. He has the upper hand: he is older, therefore, in his logic, he should take care of others. The floor is cold; you accept the slippers with a puff and shove your feet into them; they are too big for you so you drag your feet on the floor as you move to the drawer with spoons. Yoongi tries to sit monkey-style, putting his feet up, and the tiny chair creaks under him, surprisingly loud.

"They are shit", you comment.

"Yeah..."

The light of his laptop changes. It's now white. He opens a spreadsheet, and you look curiously.

"What's that?"

"Things we need".

While the kettle is boiling, you walk to him and look over his shoulder. Your eyes are quite dry with lack of sleep.

"Mattress for Jungkook", you read, "what did he do to it?"

Yoongi shrugs, and it becomes obvious you're stading too close. Problem is, you don't care about standing too close. He is a warm body in the cold kitchen, and you are drawn to him like a moth to a lamp. As his shoulder goes up slightly, it touches the underside of your breast, and you clutch the back of the chair he is sitting on. Yoongi doesn't seem to notice.

"I think he turns and thrashes in his sleep". He pauses, "It is not a reason for you to spiral thinking he sleeps badly".

He says that without even looking up. Knows you so well. Wouldn't be surprising: in a dwelling like that, where every creak and sneeze is heard throughout, it's hard not to know everything about each other.

Yoongi adds chairs big enough for boys to the list. They go right after "curtains in Hobi & Tae's room" and "pepper spray".

"Why do we need a pepper spray?" you mumble, your eyes focusing on the spreadsheet. Yoongi chuckles,

"It was a joke", he deletes it, "Taehyung was annoying me".

The kettle is bubbling water but isn't ready yet. You stand up straight, looking at his head, at his stoop. Your fingers tug on the ends of his hair tickling the back of his neck.

"These are all uneven. They need trimming", you check how bothered he will be when you brush your fingers lightly against the skin. Yoongi's skin is so clear, milky-white in this light, the vertebra clicking back into place as he straightens his back. His hand shoots up, clutching your palm.

"Leave them alone. I am growing them out".

He scratches his neck as if to clean it off your touch. The kettle clicks, and you step away to make him coffee. Yoongi produces night sounds: gentle, barely audible purr-like humming while he is thinking. The light of his laptop changes to blue again.

You pour the water, add sugar, try stirring it without clinking the spoon against the walls of the mug. Then turn around and place it on the table next to his laptop carefully. With your past-midnight clumsiness, there is always a danger something spills somewhere. Seokjin did spill his tea on Yoongi's laptop once. It was quietly scary. Yoongi never yells. His slippers threaten to fall off your feet every time you make a step.

The snoring stops. You look at each other for a second.

"A bit early this time", the clock on the wall only shows half past one in the morning. Yoongi raises his finger.

"Give it a minute. He is either choking or woke up for a moment. He will start again in..."

He waves his finger in the air for a couple of times, and then an explosive burst of snoring tells you Namjoon has been, indeed, choking. You turn your head to stare into the darkness of the entrance door. Your shared bedroom is to the right; the sounds coming from under the door. As you listen to it, your hand gets behind your ear, pushing the hair away, mindlessly.

When you turn back to the table, Yoongi is still watching you above the laptop, his eyes now with a different expression. They are barely open, he is very tired, but something is simmering in them. Suddenly you want to talk about the Daesang night and whether he remembers it the way you do. Whether he remembers the sudden awkwardness and his own hand on the small of your back.

He is looking like you were in the middle of a long conversation and he is waiting for a response. Lips parted slightly; when Yoongi is unfocused, his mouth opens by itself. You sit at the table two spaces away from him, and he sips coffee quietly. His nimble, bony wrist bears a dark-red crust of the scrapping cut he earned when he fell off the bike two weeks ago. Hurting wrists is scary to Yoongi because he plays the piano. November is wearing thin under the frozen weight of December. The little window, almost unnoticeable with the light, gives view of the narrow street where the lamps are often broken. There's palish fading tint on the glass, and you get up again to take a look. Yoongi's hands click on the keyboard rhythmically, then the touchpad quacks a couple of times. You slide your feet across the floor to the window, looking outside, and touch it. The glass is like the floor: ice-cold. Street is barely visible down there, the faint yellow light, together with your puffy face, reflected in the glass. Behind your back, you see white and white and white: Yoongi stands up, white skin, white hair, white shirt, and makes the only step to the sink to wash the mug. Drank coffee in two gulps to make the brains work. His feet step completely silently, pants baggy, shirt oversize. He looks so cosy and helpless, and the contrast of what Yoongi comes across, and what he really is, might give whiplash to someone unprepared. You realize that this, what you feel, is tenderness. You like him. You like him a lot. All of him.

Without a warning, you both turn up back at the table, on the same side: him reaching for his laptop and you, criss-crossed with his hand, reaching for the bottle of jam forgotten by Jin. It's supposed to be in the fridge and, as soon as your eye catches it, your mind goes in the tidying mode.

The arms collide touching like two swords, the skin below elbow going cold. Tonight hasn't been the usual, casual, insomniac kitchen hangout; it has been awkward, kind of brusque; you hear Yoongi exhale like he is two sizes bigger than he really is. He turns his face to you. You see the eyes you perhaps haven't studied enough because you have always been shy to look into them directly for long. They crawl down towards your lips, and the punch of red makes your eyelids heavy with abashment. You don't want to, but you look away, shyness tearing its way through your bones with the force you had no idea it possessed. Maybe Yoongi never mentioned anything about the Daesang night because he doesn't care to say anything. He is, after all, a guy of few words where they can be substituted with actions.

He leans in, crooking his neck, to find your mouth, and you let him place an unhurried, soft kiss. The cord going through your spine makes you arch your back at the sensation of his touch; the bubble is burst; Namjoon's snoring, the soundtrack for the whole night, has drowned in silence and the taste of bitter coffee. You are drawn to him. The body feels every point of contact: at the mouth, where his lips, plump, are kissing you with the same devotion that Yoongi himself always has when helping you; and finally you understand what the slippers, the shared food, the window seats given up to you, were about. His hands snake carefully up to your sides, and the fingers brush over the ribs through two shirts; even the warmth of his stomach - almost touching, almost beyond going back - is vivid like you are suddenly completely aware. What's happening in between your thighs is surprising and painful, and you draw away, scared. The reality of it, a flashback into the future, is trouble. It's ridiculous that someone like Yoongi should be off limits for you; you can't even define what's so wrong about it, even though you know you will probably break your own restriction. For now, it's simply too much to take, the presence of him white like the icy tint on the window, is blinding you to the point of almost losing control.

And losing control goes completely against the discipline you have got yourself used to with this job. The whole point of being here is the control.

Thankfully, he is so close that you don't have to look him in the eye. His lips are kind of heart-shaped, you notice, with dread.

"I'll go try to sleep", you mutter, because he is quiet, and you can't think of anything better. He doesn't say anything. He moves his head in a tiny motion that gifts the nod to you, and to you only; it's understanding, not defeated. You have to hold on to his broad shoulder in order to escape the proximity of him; the shape of it just right under your palm. You step out of his slippers, leaving them in front of him, and walk soundlessly back to the bedroom, into Namjoon's noise that sounds completely surreal.

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December 2016 / Yoongi's pov

Distraught. He is distraught and ashamed of himself as he sniffs and crosses arms on his chest, pouting at everything, at everybody. No matter how he sits, a part of you is provocatively visible, and it's bothering in the ways that begin to make him feel like he's a creep.

He tells himself it's just built-up tension, and it happens to everybody.

Doesn't make it any more dignified though.

If he sits back, he can see your knees, bent, one grey stocking slightly pulled down, under the coffee table. Thighs hugged by the hem of the knitted winter dress. Fucking Christmas photoshoot. Said you were feeling cute so you didn't change, and now he has to see one sock slightly pulled down from your fidgeting in your place.

If he sits up, he sees your throat and two thin, straight bones going to your shoulders, where the collar of the dress is wide, threatening to slip just any second. Jimin looks so utterly bored sitting hip to hip to you on the floor, focused on the puzzle on the table. So totally unaffected by the bone-crushing beauty next to him, that Yoongi finds it both hilarious and liberating. It's nice knowing that it's just him. Would be scarier knowing you just exist... like that. Driving people insane while assembling a puzzle.

He throws a piece of it on the table,

"That's stupid anyway. Some are missing".

Three curious faces, including yours, look up at him.

"You hungry?" Seokjin asks from the couch, without turning his head. No, Yoongi almost says, I am horny, hyung. Happens.

If anything, it only means he is healthy, and everything is normal. It is normal to want someone you like. It is normal to like someone who is your type. It is normal to get a little frustrated when you live and brush elbows with that someone every day and are forced to see them in all kinds of revealing outfits, and also - and that's deadlier - with that messed-up hair, in the loose old t-shirt, with a sweet pout on their face in the morning.

It's been an okay venture for the first three years when Yoongi was relatively busy all the time and knew the lines of boundaries are drawn in red glowing marker.

Ever since the Daesang night it's been getting a little more interesting though. The cautious glances. When you get flustered, he noticed, your eyes go a full circle, avoiding his face, staring at the ceiling, and the blush is so bright that you can't keep it away even with ice.

When he kissed you in the kitchen to Namjoon's rumbling snoring melody, all hell broke loose. Because now he knows it's mutual. He has been inside your mouth. There's no going back.

Yoongi stands up. The little grumpy outburst gives him a reason to leave. He knows none of you will follow because when there's a frown in between his eyebrows, everybody's afraid he'll growl if approached. He only had to do it once, with Taehyung, guess the intensity was enough to send a clear signal to the whole pack. Crazy, they are like a group of animals, them eight, he thinks. Question is, what animals exactly.

He sulks for the rest of the evening, frustrated with himself first, because some days his mind simply refuses to unclutch the idea of you. Maybe under him. Maybe with your legs even wrapped around his waist. No clothes maybe. Hair tie on the floor. Some place without the other members. His mouth on your throat. Counting. Thursts.

He barely holds on until night when finally you all fucking disperse, and wanders around the big house aimlessly, staring at the faceless furniture, perfect for the winter shooting, but absolutely lacking life, shape or idea. Huge panoramic windows keep away the snow piles he doesn't see often and still gets that childhood faux association with cotton. He rakes his hair and looks around, listening to the relative silence of the huge living room where nobody lives. That's what it is lately: a series of lifeless houses belonging to no one, rented, styled in the same way, where the only living thing is you all. You eight light up the dwelling for two days and then leave; in Yoongi's mind the house stops existing, because who the fuck would want to live or even spend a holiday in a place with square white sofas and paintings of black lines on the walls.

The muffled voices and occasional booms of doors opened and closed come from the second floor. He is attracted to the warm, beige light of the kitchen island where he knows a bottle of something strong is hidden behind those tinted glass cupboard doors. The sight of your knees under the coffee table that's now empty of the unfinished puzzle haunts him like he doesn't see your knees all the time. Something is different now; it's less bearable. Of course. It's the warmth of your face next to his, and the vulnerable, short hitch he heard while he was kissing you. That one small glimpse of your 'yes'. He's been avoiding you solely for selfish reasons, not to get worked up even more. It's bad enough as it is.

He walks to the bathroom door glaring in the middle of the wall, a placement of the room so random: it's like the architect closed their eyes and poked a spot on the blueprint. He yanks the door open and steps into the mid-sized room, boring, white. You said his hair looks like edible snow nowadays. So, cotton. Candy.

You must think he is soooo cool. So collected. You tell him that all the time; Yoongi circles around the room choosing where he wants to embarrass himself; then steps back and locks the door. Walks over to the sink and opens the mirror cupboard to stop seeing his stupid face. You always tell him how collected he is; that he is an island of calm when everything becomes chaotic. He can practically hear your voice now repeating it. So collected... collected... your voice does a dip when you say that word. You've been avoiding him, too, and he is, honestly, grateful, because he hasn't figured this out yet. As he shoves his hand in his boxers, he holds himself on the sink, squeezing his eyes shut. Being too near you is the same as being gagged, with a rope on his neck and bound, while the others beat him up with sticks, and also, he is on fire. And you're just sitting on top of him, saying,

Yoongi-i, you are so collected.

When you say his name, you stretch the 'i-i-i' and he wonders what it sounds like just an octave higher. Just a bit higher. One sock slightly pulled down from fidgeting. Every time you move, your hand brushes over your thigh, a thin wrist with pen smudges, caught in a bracelet that costs like that square sofa. Yoongi strokes himself, then changes hand when the torn blisters he's been poking start hurting him. He doesn't like rough, he likes tender. He is tender. He wants to get it over with quickly; mind clouded but not enough to forget that his Bangtan boys - and girl - have an impeccable intuition and always turn up in places you aren't supposed to be. The house is only two floors. There are only six rooms, bathrooms included. Someone will knock, he knows it. He is jerking himself off, trying not to buck his hips too much, hot air shoots through his nose. He does have a lot to go off of. It's a cluttered existence. Knees brush against each other under the table during breakfast, fingers interlock for safety of movement or a good shot; smiles are exchanged to make a good or even suggestive picture; after all, you have grown into their little boy jungle in these three years, and became a monkey just like them. You do lie in a pile with them when watching movies, and Yoongi is the only one who keeps sensing your body close. It feels great. No drama. Okay, half a drama. His thoughts swarm like ants on crack, and he grips his own cock harder, trying to push himself back to the narrow corridor of focus. Fucking ADHD, can't even masturbate on turbo when needed. Yoongi puts an elbow on the cupboard shelf and hides his face in the crook of his arm. The night of Daesang was like something out of this world. Your soft weight on his lap, every movement sending warm, relaxing shock through his body. And he was drunk which meant it was so easy to stay collected. Your arm on his shoulder, the smell of champagne and Paco Rabanne on you. You kept fiddling with the back of his collar and didn't even register it, kept stroking the back of his neck. Pure madness, you were so close. Yoongi uses the dry, sure instrument of imagination to cum, unravelling the Daesang night into something that didn't happen. What if the others weren't in the room. What if you were willing to do it. What if he put his other hand on you and pulled up your dress. It's so obscenely normal to want to finger someone so gorgeous. What's actually making him cum eventually is the thought that maybe he will get to do that at some point.

The sperm shoots straight instead of doing the cinematic curve down and right into the sink. Yoongi stares at it, panting, wondering how livid Hobi will be if he ever finds out his little toiletry bag has been cummed upon. Thankfully, it's plastic. Yoongi washes it with soap and cleans the wall, numb and atrociously unaffected. That collected returning to him. Men are simple creatures. He knows he is quite simple when it comes to this. Dick limp, crankiness gone.

He takes a big breath of relief and puts his face under the water, squeezing his eyes shut. Then cleans the wall again just to be sure, and shakes off water. No towels in this bathroom on the first floor, they have all been nicked away upstairs. He shakes his head, too, recalibrating himself back to normalcy, and pushes the door open, lighter, almost pleased, at the very minimun unangry and calm.

You're sitting at the counter, shaking one foot in the air. Socks are off, only the winter dress left.

He can just go right back and lock the door again.

"I will pee myself", you jump off the stool and pace towards him, shooting one lip-in-between-teeth glance at his wet hair, and pushing him away.

"There's bathrooms on the second floor", he is breathless, not because he is supposed to be embarrassed. But because it's shocking how predictable the universe is.

"Occupied", you reply and sneak inside, shutting the door closed behind you.

Yoongi rubs his face. There's an impression of your elbow in the middle of his chest where you pushed him. It's like being a teenager all over again. Guess it's real love because Yoongi doesn't want to otherwise label himself just pathetic. He sighs, walking to the bar he still remembers about, and examines the choice of alcohol.

When you're done, you walk out of the bathroom shaking your hands in the air, feet bare again, tugging at the sleeves of your dress. The collar is too wide on purpose. The purpose being pissing off Min Yoongi personally. Your eyes are judging him when you see the bottle in his hand, but he is quite used to that. He can sense the intensity of the gaze has been turned up though: you know his aces now. You know he likes you. There's an angle to your brows. He raises his own, looking back at you. He knows you know he knows. You both know it. He places his glass on the counter.

"Is there tea?"

You stand on your tiptoes to look inside the cupboard, and he helps out of pure habit. It has become something like muscle memory; assisting you. Simply a thing he knows how to express himself with. His hand pokes around the top shelf, fingers trying to detect the shapes of objects: bottle opener, a tall glass lying on the side, a box of matches. Random, lifeless array.

"There's no tea. Do you want Cola?"

"Yes. Why are you wet?"

"I fell into the fountain", he hums monotonously, making his way to the fridge. "Are they going to sleep tonight at all?"

"Yeah, Koo is in the shower. Namjoon is already asleep, I think".

You perch yourself back on the same stool and gasp,

"Yoongi".

Not a good time to hear his name out of that mouth again, but he has to obey. The fever of this horniness, maybe motivated by the change of the scene, or even this fucking porn studio-like plastic house, is unrelenting. He looks at you.

"Look at these chairs".

He does. You make a good point. They are sturdy, new, and have little backs. They are also big enough. You lean against the counter, the arch of your back hidden by the knitted dress. He snickers.

"What are you thinking?"

"We shove them up our asses".

"Eight chairs in eight asses", he agrees, chuckling with a sense of relief. Your wide smile slashes him right across the face, and he can't pretend anymore:

"Don't do that, please".

He shakes the bottle of Coca Cola well and opens it slowly, gradually, to release the fizz out. Cause the bubbles hit you on the nose otherwise. And you always yelp. And you always crunch it. And you always let everybody in the room know.

"Do what?" You finally catch up and pour him the whiskey he had abandoned to serve you. You pour each other's drinks, and he doesn't bother to answer. He is wet, tired, quietly amused. Yoongi puts the bottle on the counter and his other hand on your back to feel the spine moving as you straighten up. You lean forward in a second, he can see there's something like fear, or doubt, or hell knows what else, holding you back. The restraint like a metal plate in your brain, that you walk over the second time around. Simply speaking, the Daesang night made everything very clear. He even considers confessing what he was doing in the bathroom so that you stop thinking he is the paragon of moderation, but your lips click his mouth busy. December of 2016 is pretty happy, all things considered.

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January 2017

He has bright-mint hair now. And it becomes a lantern visible in the dark hall even before Yoongi waddles into the kitchen. Like clockwork. Namjoon doesn't deprive you of sleep every night; sometimes you are so exhausted that his snoring becomes somewhat of a lullaby. You don't know that Yoongi comes out at night regardless.

During the day, you keep away from each other. There were no conversations. No conversations are needed here: you are stuck in the same bubble, reading each other's eyes every time you clash; it's more surprising how this thing wasn't more obvious before.

How it wasn't obvious that his arms are the perfect length to hold you in place, one hand on your stomach, the other securing your palm, long fingers enveloped around like petals of some lily-like flower. How it wasn't obvious you are both in love. His hair smells still of sharp chemicals; the colour is new, about two days old, and it makes him look younger than he really is. More tender. There are slippers on your feet protecting you from the ice cold of the kitchen floor, dark window opaque with the light from under the shelf. With your shoulder blades, you can feel his chest rise and fall calmly as he breathes, finding immense entertainment in watching you cut the greens over your shoulder. Since you hang out in the kitchen anyway, you get into a habit of prepping simple breakfasts. When the rest of the boys get up in the morning, you are usually less late to the studio when the food is ready in advance.

It's a strange new feeling, being hugged by him. This is not dating; there were no confessions of discussion about 'what the fuck we are doing'. Since it's the liminal space at night, in between snores, in between worlds, it almost feels like an ad break, like something you don't need to talk about. When Yoongi is confronted by Hoseok and Seokjin about lingering glances and palpable tension, he justifiably says nothing is going on. It feels true although it is not true.

Something is going on. His hand lets go of your other palm so that you can grab the knife again and get to the dill. Yoongi busies himself with your hair, putting it away to expose your neck. You like listening to his breathing, cat-like, low, with slight rustle like he permanently has weeping nose. Thinking that this can get you kicked out, can ruin you both and put a big fat period on your careers, is almost mind-splitting. This? His warm, careful mouth placing little, gentle kisses on your skin, embodying all that Yoongi is. Calculated, soft, caring. Because you feel like you don't deserve to get kicked out and fired for falling in love with someone like him.

It is always you who loses control first. Yoongi's restraint is insane; it's like he can hold on to that last flesh thread forever, hanging by one nerve that will never snap, instead stretching on and on.

You are, in fact, a virgin, who is way too adult now to fight yourself when Yoongi tickles under your ear with his tongue.

You make him release you for a second in order to turn around, your hands crawling around his shoulders and getting into the new cyan hair. It looks so edible, but couldn't be further from that; you know it probably will taste like acid and cigarette smoke. However the colour makes everything around blurry, highlights the blackness of his eyes. His need seeps through microscopically with how his hand presses on your back, fingers pushing through the shirt, tracing a rib to the side and back; you don't feel like hiding yours. There's nothing to battle about with this guy; he isn't competitive and won't use it against you. As you grab his neck, Yoongi grabs your mouth, and the whole body rebuilds itself. Bone to the bone, hips pressed against each other, every bend of an arm filled with closeness, the edge of the kitchen counter digging painfully into you, so you push him back and follow, clenched to him like a catfish. Yoongi slides backwards slowly, soundlessly as usual; the dorm is a beehive, where every space is occupied by someone. Somewhere behind the wall, a sound of thump makes you both stop and listen. Listening is hard, as well; above Namjoon's snoring, the blood in the ears adds to the loud humming. It seems like it's coming from Hobi and Taehyung's room; but there's no more movement.

"Is Jungkook at home tonight?" You hadn't noticed when you started calling the dorm a home. Yoongi's restless hand is holding you by the side like you're falling.

"No, he sneaked out after midnight".

Again. Maybe it's better he's not here because Jungkook still wanders around in his sleep, a somnambulist. Doesn't remember much in the morning, but still.

Yoongi starts moving again, until the chair cuts his way, and he sits slowly, and the chair still creaks anyway. He squeezes his eyes shut, looks like an animated character with that hair, unbearably cute. Bright hair, reddish lips which you kiss again, unable to keep yourself away. The chair moans, begging for mercy, warning you, when you lower yourself on his lap, his hands guiding you by the hips, and the moist, hot connection of your thighs clicks you cemented on top of him.

"Wait, let me..." Yoongi mutters into your collarbone, although he has no idea what he wants to do. His mouth keeps licking the shivers onto your skin. Hands adjust you, sliding up and down on you, chipping away at his control little by little. It's even more important to him than to you, you reckon. He feels more responsible for things. The soft democratic hierarchy of the group puts this on his barely functional shoulders to keep the peace, manage the finances and to-buy lists, and maintain control when Seokjin doesn't feel like taking things seriously. It's too much for one person, especially for a boy who hasn't even reached the full twenty five years of age yet, his frontal lobe still developing.

The real animal presses you into himself just a little harder, and you feel the friction in between your legs where his dick - what else could it be? - suddenly gets hard and pokes you demandingly in the core where the sensitivity shocks you. You have no idea exactly how this is working, but it feels good as you shift slightly, and you realize it's the back and forth movement. Yoongi shushes you, his fingers lightly tapping you lips and lingering there, pressing on the upper one. You breathe against them.

"We're too loud".

The chair is the first violin giving you away, croaking under him with every little movement you produce. The shuffling of your feet on the floor, and the slight, shy moan coming out of your mouth, all create the actual noise that's very obvious if anybody is awake. The dorm is, in fact, so loud at night. The old fridge humming its nightly labour, and the occasional wheez of a motorcycle below the windows, and let's not mention poor oblivious Namjoon for the hundreth time. Namjoon the facilitator of this vulgarity happening, who exiles you out of the bedroom and right into Yoongi's arms.

He does something, lifting you up slightly, and pushing the chair more firmly against the wall, so that it creaks less, and as you fall back, you grind against him again, and he produces a sharp, torn breath. The shock of arousal is so powerful that you nearly voice your surprise again, but at the last second just let the air leave your throat, and he rewards you for it with a wet kiss you have never experienced before. Everything moves: your chest heaves with breathing, your hands dig into his shoulders, making him hum with pain, your hips grind shakily until Yoongi's hands grab them from behind and finally make the motions sharp, technical, and precise. You are horrified of what may happen if anybody decides to drink water or go pee; and the boys just might. They do have the weird, ironic tendency to sniff out the worst moment to pop up. Your sleeping pants do nothing to lessen the sensation, soaked through; you sleek up and down, controlled by his hands rubbing you against him; you can even make out the shape of his cock, trying to behave, pressed down. You put your arms against the wall to allow more flexibility in your hips, and it suddenly makes you think of a part of choreo you do for Silver Spoon. You realize you have no idea how a wholesome night cooking session suddenly snapped into this; Yoongi sucking on your neck too hard, humming lower than a human ear can detect, your knees wobbling with weakness crawling up to your belly button. He curses under his breath, sliding his hand forward along your thigh, and you flinch with your whole body, feeling just the right angle he is coursing you on; debilitating trust forces your hands back to his head, fingers getting lost in the manufactured softness of mint. You come unexpectedly, dropping your chin down to choke the sound and try and exhale with no words.

Yoongi sighs like he's done a job for ten; the whole construction is wobbling like the tower of Babel. The chair is the most violated here. It creaks for the last time: a whimper of a dying creature, and then you both try not to breathe, listening. The heart thumps too hard; when you guard yourself, it makes your whole upper body beat rhythmically. The dorm is quiet. It's sinister: Namjoon stopped snoring. Your eyes crawl up the wall, eyeballs still pulsating slightly: it's five past three. His time to finally sleep. Yoongi holds you down lightly, lips dry, nose against your shoulder like he is preparing to nap.

You snake your hand down in between you, pushing your hips back slightly, and nearly fall off of him, but he keeps you intact.

He wants to say something, inhales, but doesn't produce a sound as you tug on the waistband. The apple inside his throat bobs beautifully.

"It's the first time I touch a dick", you confess, your whispering voice strained, some kind of shriek still trying to push through. Yoongi sniffs softly, his hand going along your back. Fingers clench the back of your neck unexpectedly hard.

"What have you been doing all this time?"

"Work".

Your fingers wrap around it, and Yoongi pulls the waistband down a little. It's wet mess under you, you try not to move too much. You produce a soft gasp although you don't know why you're so surprised. His cock is pink and pretty like his knuckles and elbows; Yoongi breathes shakily when you start stroking, then he makes you look away, his nose nudging your chin for a kiss. Delivering his reactions straight into your mouth; you can't believe a human can be this beautiful, this steady and patterened, making sense.

"Don't hurry", he asks, then licks your bottom lip from the inside. Your free hand brushes over his ear. You're drawn to his head, the shape of it, the sensation; it tilts back and forwards when you push, obedient. You slide your palm up and down the length of his cock, pressing your finger against the vein instinctively, and his tightening grip responds positively. Yoongi's hand slides down, lying on yours and helping you catch the rhythm. Your mouth against his cheek, you place a kiss on his face because you realize you barely do it. It's always you getting kissed, receiving the affection, drowning in it. You catch yourself wanting to pant again, moving hips together with him.

When Yoongi cums, he arches all over, throwing his head back and banging it on the wall; moans with pain as you struggle to pull it away by the hair to comfort him; his sperm is pushed out in gulps onto his shirt and your hand, surprisingly hot. You wrap your arm around his head, pressing to yourself to stifle his voice and soothe the pain. Guess this should go down your memory because it's the first time you see - feel - him shake, tremble. Never before. Not when he was sick, not when he was angry, this is different. Arms interlocked, you are like a disfigured squid perched on one small chair. You don't know if you should wipe your hand right on his shirt or if it will be rude. Yoongi whispers,

"We can't be doing it at home".

He says home, too. You wholeheartedly agree; almost drive yourself to horror when the clothes rack with Jimin's beige winter jacket looks like a human silhouette to you. The whole time Yoongi's words don't match with his hands. He is probably battling with himself all the time; as he says, get up, his fingers dig deeper into you and keep you in place.

You make it to the bathroom shambling, clutching on each other. The pants are wet and cold, highly unpleasant, so you pull them off as soon as the door closes behind you. There is no lock on it, so Yoongi simply steps to the sink and takes off his shirt, looking at it curiously like he is surprised by something.

You try not to stare like you didn't just orgasm from simply riding his lap, like there's something to be ashamed of. He picks up your pants from the floor, half-naked, and turns the water on, blinking tiredly.

"Just leave them in the washing machine", you suggest. He sniskers.

"Nah, no way".

As the water crashes on top of his head, he shakes it like a dog, bright-mint strands sending droplets around, beating on the plastic walls of the shower cabin. His dark eyes are smiling; he is trying not to look directly, seeing you become shy; steps behind you instead, puts his chin on your shoulder, and it's like an i love you in the way he gently presses against you. You lick your lips frantically, but you are coming down a little, knees getting steady again, unafrad of his hand covering your belly button. You both should say something. Instead you let the water hiss in silence and soothe something that's going to take a lot more fucking to calm down.

"Take my shirt", you offer, "it's big".

Yoongi moves his bad shoulder and rubs it, frowning, but accepts the shirt. One towel is wrapped around his hips, another, around you, and you're choosing to rob Taehyung of his to dry your hair. You press the handle of the door quietly, hoping for just a little more luck tonight.

There is none left.

As you sneak out of the bathroom, Yoongi behind you, you are met nose to nose with Jungkook performing the same silent handle trick at the entrance door.

His hair is loose, standing on his head, jacket unzipped, and he is trying to click the lock back into place as quietly as possible, helping himself with baring his teeth.

Your eyes meet across the short distance of the hall, and you two freeze.

Not Yoongi, who seemingly doesn't give a shit about anything anymore. He purrs judgmentally and shuffles on the floor looking for his slippers.

"Why are you back so late?" you decide to attack first.

Jungkook's eyes are huge like two freaking UFOs, and you know he has a right to feel indignated.

He points his finger at you accusingly, drastically, unhinging his jaw, and watches Yoongi walk into the kitchen towards the kettle.

"Uh, ha, uh!" is all maknae manages. You fix the towel around your chest and give him a frown, trying to maintain the subordination, but you know the nineteen-year-old Jungkook is slowly slipping away from your authority and only plays long because he loves you.

"Don't make noise there", Yoongi whispers from the table. You see he has taken out three mugs from the dryer. You and Jungkook glare at each other again. Maknae takes off his jacket in a sharp motion and tries to hang it on the rack, but misses the hook, the rack being full of clothes already. The iron fucking thing shakes, tilts to the side and starts falling, and he rushes to catch the whole mess, stumbling. You slip towards the table, feeling the disaster coming. As Yoongi slides across the kitchen to help, Jimin's voice tears the night through the bedroom door:

"God fucking dammit!"

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #bts imagine #yoongi smut

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the-dark-parade · 1 year ago

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Dear marshal,

Could I have... REINCARNATION AU!!!

Let's say that reader (female) used to be a soldier under lilia

AND while working under him, she fell in love

So she confessed to him. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. (annoying.)

But one day, it looks like he's going to get hurt fatally, and she takes the but instead. (how stupid.)

And she dies. But she doesn't regret it. And gets reincarnated!

(I wanna see him pining for her the same way she does for him!!!!)

WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... angst + fluff + lilia×fem reader

A/N: Thank you for your request, @something1032727 I hope my work pleases you. This is my first work after all. If you are not comfortable with this, feel free to leave. If you would like a version with male reader instead, please request it. Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Now, the parade starts with it's first destination...

Fate's Redemption: A Love Reborn

(part 1)

In the symphony of life, love echoes and reverberates endlessly, intertwining souls across time. Every gesture, every sacrifice, echoes through eternity, shaping destinies. And in the cycle of rebirth, love's refrain returns, reminding us that its melody endures, transcending even lifetimes. Truly, eternal echoes of love.

"Please go out with me!" You say as always, with such vigour, with such annoyingness, as always. Love-struck eyes stare into mine, seemingly going into my soul, hoping for a chance. It's like her eyes turn into hearts whenever I'm here.

How stupid. One of my best soldiers in the army, and she's so head-over-heels for me. Save her clumsy ass a few times, and she magically falls in love with you.

How naive.

I reject you once again, for what seems like the 1000th time or more, but you still don't give up. Your stubbornness is one of your worst yet best trait about you.

You eat my food with a smile even though my other soldiers avoid it like the plague. I suppose you do have good taste after all.

You cook for me, feed my ego, help me with my work, and so much more.

I wonder if you're just in it for fun. Perhaps you just want my title if we actually win the war. But I brush the thoughts off when I see your sincerity.

You ask again, and again, and again.

Why are you so insistent?

Why do you even bother?

Why do you like me so much?

This little crush of yours should be over by now. I have not treated you very nicely. I have not treated you any different from the rest. There is nothing between us. Why can't you understand that I'm just not interested?!

At least that was what I would like to say. If my heart didn't stop beating so hard around you. If your smile, your stupid, stupid confessions, that used to not bother me at all, now haunts me in my sleep every night!

What's wrong with me..?

Am I truly... falling in love..?

Well, that's what I wanted to ask.

How stupid. How fucking fucking fucking stupid!

How irritable can you be?

How much do you want me to cry over you?!

Is it too late to say I regret not accepting your confession all those years ago, if now you're dead..?

"General, watch out..!" You say, as you use your body to shield me from an arrow that I never even noticed was coming after me. Pushing me to the side.

"...you're dying. How stupid. Why did you take that arrow for me?" I pick you up, just running to base. Stupid human devices..! I can't cast my teleportation magic! There's no time, there's no time! You stupid fae...

"cause... *cough*, I love you." You say weakly, softly, coughing out blood in my arms. You even wink! You infuriate me so bad!

"Shut up! Don't you dare die on me!" I ran as fast as I could. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die! You made my life brighter, and now you want me to go back to how it was?!

You made me fall in love with you!

Fuck. Before we even reached, I could feel your heart stop beating. Your body is becoming cold. No, no, no! It can't end like this. It can't!

Is this what it feels to have your whole world crash upon you?

My heart feels heavy. My cheek feels wet. I feel like causing a massacre. My chest feels tight. It's a bit hard to breathe. I feel a chill go up my back.

But why..?

Death is normal in war. Death is a daily occurrence in war. Death happens in every fight, in every week.

So why?

Why does death, which was so normal for soldiers on the battlefield like me, make me feel this way?

Amidst my thoughts, I managed to bring you back to base. But it wasn't really you. Just a cold, soulless empty vessel of you.

This is just too cruel.

You should not have ended up this way, you still had so much to live for, and just when I was actually going to accept your confession you go and die on me?!

We... Could have been happy together.

If only... If only I wasn't so stubborn, denying my feelings for you.

If only you weren't so insistent on going out with me.

If only...

If only you didn't take that hit in my stead, could that have happened..?

Ah, but it's too late to regret it now, huh?

That night, it was said that wailings could be heard from inside the General's tent.

Years have passed, and the numbers signalling each year are not the only changes that happened in my life.

I have gotten wiser and older. Now I know what I felt for you in those days.

Love is the word for my overwhelming feelings for you.

I visit your grave from time to time. It mostly ends up in tears, despite how many years have passed.

I used to call you pathetic for being so love-driven. I guess now I'm the pathetic one. How my past words bite me in the gyatt, just like the youngsters say!

I entered school. I can't believe I still have that invitation letter from NRC from all those years ago!

I have gotten over you.

At least that would be what I would like to say, but when I saw you again, it was like my old heart started beating again.

"(y/n),"

The dark mirror said, and my eyes shot to the person in question. Could it truly be..?

Those eyes. Those mannerisms. Everything about you... I could never mistake you for anyone else. It's you.

"Thou shall be sorted into..."

Diasomnia. I hope she'll be sorted in the same dorm as me. But even so, I'll win her heart again even if she's not.

"Savannahclaw!"

I feel like sighing... We could have been dormmates! But, oh well!

Khehehe. This general makes a mission to himself, to make you fall in love with him as deeply and as hopelessly as you did all those years ago. And this general isn't one to fail a mission.

Get ready, my love.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! Thank you for reading if you read.

#lilia x you #twst lilia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland lilia #twisted wonderland lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge #lilia x fem reader #fem reader #twst fanfic #fate's redemption: a love reborn

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boundwithpurple · 19 days ago

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i have always wanted to write some kind of modern AU for hotd and lately it has become a really strong urge. the reason for this is because there are two strong poles about the possibilities of "complete" AUs, especially for a canon with as many seemingly irreducible elements as this (incest marriage, dragons, royalty). on the one hand, you have the idea, which i always find personally really unsatisfying, that you can divorce characters from context entirely. you can take two hot people and a general dynamic vibe and make them anything. this is a respectable and fun pastime and i'd never want to stop people from doing it, it just isn't interesting to me, because i am obsessively invested in this canon precisely for the things it deals with that very, very few other texts do in the exact way it does them. this leads to the trend of, say, rhaenicent fic where daemon is vanished entirely or made into a one note predator, because to have the complex, continuous, ineffacable presence of incestuous enmeshment in rhaenyra's life that is one of the things i feel must remain constant from canon in any AU is inconvenient to aspirations to any lighter treatment. i get it, but again, just personally unsatisfying - a rhaenyra who is not hurt by and who does not continue to love daemon is not rhaenyra at all for me.

then there is the opposite pole that NO translation is possible, that all modern AUs are shallow fripperies that cannot engage with the source material in any interesting way, which i think is about as off-base. i think for hotd especially because it exceptionalizes things that ought not to be exceptionalized. intergenerational incestuous marriage does not exist, but intergenerational incestuous family structures do sadly exist. girls are victimized (see above: forget daemon, viserys and alicent and otto as an abusive figure with an explicit sexualized component is near universally disappeared from modern fic as well, and an alicent that is not failed by and does not fail rhaenyra as a result of this is not really an alicent at all to me). women are trapped in the strangleholds of marriage and motherhood. there are still families who monopolize power in various ways and are invested in inheritance and legacies and exclude female members from full participation. it can be a way to critically engage with the themes of a text to try to translate it across contexts and see what changes and what remains the same.

i don't want to do politics or succession style business empire. mostly because this bores me, but also that in some ways they don't in the present capture what i find most compelling about targaryen self-mythologizing, which is a sense of special dispensation that has a mystical component that does not quite come off without the divine aura of kingship. things that capture that bit better are a lineage that excels in sports or the arts (equestrian olympiads, hollywood dynasty) or an actual cult. ruminations on possible avenues follow.

i have always been trying to crack a way into restaging rr - by which i mean another daemyra fic that focuses on those themes of transcending past trauma together through dependence. my thought has always been to do this in a modern AU - where the issues should be interestingly different enough to keep it fresh. i haven’t ever been able to really break this open to myself beyond vague ideas - rhaenyra is orphaned (as a child or as a teenager) and daemon has to confront various family histories (i DO have how the intergenerational incest as a dark family secret could work all sorted out…) while raising her, and then that relationship changing as she reaches adulthood

daemon and rhaenyra have a fucked up sexual relationship when she’s in her later teens, then some separation (as in the show) and then coming back together. one was rhaenyra moodily wandering around europe essos recalling this past devastating affair in her 20s, having just ended a relationship with harwin. another was her marrying harwin young after this and having her kids and it dealing more with ambivalent motherhood and regret. this would include a past relationship with alicent that was happening simultaneously and also simultaneously with viserys/alicent, because i am really interested in teenagers having sex while also in sexual relationships with adults.

hollywood AU - the targaryens are a hollywood dynasty (from like the conquerors in silent film to jaehaerys and alysanne in the studio era, or adjusting that timeline to hit what era i want) and then daemon and rhaenyra (and alicent) are all like fucked up former child stars (i think the idea was someone has turned to directing and cast the other one in a film - perhaps autobiographical or about their family - and it's about reinvention?) no idea of a plot, I think it would just be fun to worldbuild a modern westeros movie industry and it would also be good for translating the whole deal to a modern AU. could also be combined with the above in various ways.

on the darker side, i am a big fan of AO3 user allyoops’ original fiction, and she has many universes that basically deal with incest cults - the targaryens practicing intergenerational incest in secret. this could vary from the very dark end, to daemon being a (perhaps forced) perpetrator in some kind of organized abuse, to having escaped the cult in some way - something dealing with the implications of how that family structure would translate to a setting where incest is taboo in the “greater” world. the way those fics deal with finding some kind of life and fulfillment while being trapped in very horrible circumstances while also just being fetish content is creatively inspiring to me.

also would like to do another historical AU, that was fun - i an idea for a daemryacent historical WWI/1920s AU - rhaenyra and alicent were bohemians in paris lys pre-war, alicent has married viserys after it, rhaenyra is now sort of doing this nihilist lost generation thing, daemon is rattling around the family mansion mutilated and impotent after getting his dick shot off in the trenches…that vibe. (also something with them in early hollywood instead, targaryen theater dynasty breaking in to the movies...)

reading a lot of byatt has made me want a like 50s academia AU. daemon and rhaenyra as like old valyrian archeologists and alicent is a specialist in idk victorian renaissance poetry or something and they had an affair while at university in cambridge oldtown. and some dark family secrets, the disintegrating aristocracy, that vibe.

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chiliger · 10 months ago

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Thinking about my multiverse au again. Here’s a no-context scene.

Cody, Kote, and Boba: *standing in an elevator*

Kote: So what’s the plan?

Cody: oh I’m sure you know what I’m thinking.

Kote: *narrows his eyes* I think I would like to hear you say it.

Cody: *failing to hold back a grin* We should do “get help”.

Kote: *under his breath* Ka’ra, it transcends universes. *out loud* Absolutely not.

Boba: What’s “get help?”

Kote: Don’t tell him.

Cody: Its a tactic I — we — came up with as cadets to confuse our opponents.

Kote: tch, you mean at the ripe age of three. We’re not doing it.

Cody: I don’t hear any better ideas~

Kote: …. Ugh, fine. But I’m throwing you.

Cody: Fine by me. That’s the fun part.

Boba: Can I get thrown?

Cody and Kote: No.

#chili rambles #chili writes #multiverse au #one of my favorite scenes in Thor 3

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liobi · 2 months ago

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Yet more fic sketches from @thedeerus Time Is Running (out) Honkai Star Rail AU

Title; The price of memories

“Keep holding hands you two.” Akivili's voice was gentle as they put the piece of moldy bread between you and Caelus. “Stopping time by itself doesn't hold too many risks, but when you move it against its will, the forces of causality will begin dismantling your existence.”

You and Caelus stared at Akivili like the pair of confused six year olds you were. You knew that if you both held hands, one of you could stop the other from getting hurt when you shoved and pulled at time. You weren't sure what this causa-something was.

Somewhere behind them a much deeper voice sighed. “I told you explaining meta-chronometry to them like that wouldn't work.”

The shirtless other half of your parents walked out of the kitchen holding a plate of bacon and toast. The gash on their chest gently wept with golden blood today, and they had wrapped a sash around their waist to stop any from making its way down and ruining yet another pair of pants. They were the taller of your two parents. Nanook’s friends had said you took after them, while Caelus took after Akivili. Akivili’s hair was darker, and you and your brother's hair had settled in the middle. “It's like this, if you keep poking Time like you do Ifrit’s kids, eventually it's going to deck you like Ifrit's kids did.”

You wanted to protest, you and Caelus had given as good as you got and it was two against four, but Akivili gave you A Look and so you muttered “Okay, we get it.”

Your beautiful, dumb baby brother, born an entire five minutes after you, did not. “So we can beat up time??”

That earned him a sigh from Akivili and Nanook wrapping the top of his head with their knuckles. “Oww.”

“Can you not hit our son?”

“I barely tapped him. Besides, my parents hit me and I turned out fine.” Nanook’s face was as dour and brooding as ever, but the slightest tension in his face let you know he was smiling.

Akivili gave a great, heaving sigh. “It's almost funny to me that you don't realize how insane that statement is. Also I've seen you ‘barely tap’ an entire bridge out of existence.”

“The twins know to stop their bodies’ time when I touch them.” To illustrate their point, Nanook hefted the twins up, one on each arm. “See? No blistering, no decaying, no exploding or bursting or burning or any of that.”

“Nanook, can we get burgers later?” You gave your parent the biggest, goldest puppy eyes that you could manage.

Other children might call their parents by titles like “mom” or “dad” but yours had told you they had transcended gender, whatever that was, just like they transcended human limits, which you were pretty sure you knew what that meant, and that you should just call them their names.

That's why you had actually punched Mr. Ifrit's kids, they'd said your parents were weird for that.

“No, some idiots don't like me right now, so we can't be seen by any burger people.”

“I hope all the idiots fall and break their noses.” Caelus chimed in. You gave him a thumbs up and Akivili sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

“Caelus don't call people you don't know idiots. Stelle, don't encourage him please. Babe, can you put them down so they can practice their powers on the mold?”

And so you both were set down and held hands again, forcing the flow of time back and forth, making the mold grow and vanish as one anchored the other against the backlash of causality.

You heard your parents talk quietly in the kitchen. “Phantylia is coming by later. Lan and Yaoshi got into a fight and wiped a deserted island off the coast from existence. I need her to keep an eye on Lan’s crew.”

“Babe, I really don't think you should do that.”

“What do you want me to do, Aki? If any of Lan’s hunters get riled up enough to go on a rampage it looks bad for all of us, and your students are staying incognito while they establish themselves in the government. We have to be ready to do damage control any way we can.”

“And Miss I Possess People And Destroy Friendships is your best option?”

“That stupid centaur needs someone watching them. If you and I get publicly involved at the same time someone in Oversight is going to find out about us, and that means that they would find out about the twins and-”

“And we don't want that, I know. If people found out the Traveler and the Destroyer had kids and those kids could control time with no side effects as long as they were together, any chance we’d have of negotiating independence with Oversight would be down the drain.”

To be fair, even though no one in Oversight ever found out your secret, negotiations broke down in the worst possible way anyways.

“Can you tell me about your parents, Stelle?” Ms. Swan had a clipboard out, taking notes any time Stelle twitched or scratched or reacted in any way to any of her questions.

Stelle knew she had them, she knew she couldn't see them for one reason or another, and she knew that she and her brother had gotten something done to their brains that made it impossible for them to remember clearly without Stelle delicately undoing it. And she’d need Caelus for that, keeping her existence static as she reached into the blender that was the past and undid the very specific things they had done. Now the only time she could remember them was in her deepest dreams.

She knew one of her parents was alive at least. And a big shot too apparently, they had sent a member of their group to check on her after the Stellaron hunters had blown up a bank to snatch the worst wish granting device in the world. Kafka had been surprised that Stelle, or someone close to Stelle, had gone through the trouble of making her completely psychic-proof.

And now it seemed it was a good choice. She could feel Black Swan, an external psychologist and psychic consultant, subtly probing around her mind, searching for anything that remained of the memories. Fortunately the psychic cauterization was extremely thorough.

“I can't really remember them.” Stelle answered truthfully. “Now, if you want me to talk about all the people I would call mommy-”

“I don't.” Ms. Swan said, ignoring the fact that her face appeared in Stelle’s mind when she said that. “I'll make a note that you tend to have a thing for more mature women in your file though.”

“Is that what this is reduced to? They're paying you all this money to ask questions they already know the answer to, and now my fetishes?”

Swan smiled, but it was the tired smile of someone not paid enough to put up with Stelle’s bullshit. “They know less than you think. Did you know you've put three separate memokeepers in the hospital? Navigating your mind is like wandering through psychic radiation without any kind of protective equipment. How exactly did you manage that?”

“Natural talent I guess.” Stelle didn't know that's what happened to all the old psychologists. Oops. She couldn't even think of any specific reason why her mind would be so toxic. “Why do you even keep talking to me? I'm not gonna rat out my friends, my mind is apparently a psychic biohazard, and I've been here for how long now?”

“Four months.”

“Geez. I'm just a huge waste of government resources at this point. What's the matter, did the rest of my crew steal too many evil wish granting machines from Oversight's stash and they want them back?” Stelle wore a vicious grin, the psychologist looked unimpressed.

“It's Himeko, you know. The International Peace Corporation is petitioning for Oversight to publicly dispose of you.” That stopped any sardonic comments Stelle might have made. “They want to make you an example for the Stellaron Hunters and other groups like them. But Oversight owes Himeko and her backer a favor, and she vouched for your ability to be rehabilitated. So you're here as long as you don't get a third strike, and I'm here to help keep up this charade. I have my own personal curiosities too, but the charade is the main reason.”

When Stelle left the conference room, she stopped by Himeko’s office. The woman was in the middle of a discussion with Mr. Yang and looked like she hadn't slept in days, so Stelle simply popped her head in and said “Thank you.”

Himeko and Welt jumped in surprise, Stelle could be weirdly quiet when she wanted to be and had a talent for vanishing. Before they could ask any questions or respond, Stelle had already disappeared down the hall.

Kafka had been recovering from a gunshot wound to the shoulder when Stelle had finally asked her “Why did you say yes when Elio and I asked you to join us?”

Stelle was bandaging her up so she couldn't get away easily. The awkward bit is that due to the wound location she was very exposed at the moment, and it wasn't like she and Stelle were involved.

Not that Stelle would be opposed to that, if things went that way, she just didn't know where to look at the moment. “Like we come up and tell you ‘hey pretty lady if you stick with us you'll learn what being scared feels like’ and to me that sounds like a shit deal.”

“If you got the opportunity to remember the parts of your past that have been burned out of you, would you take the offer?” Kafka stared deep into her eyes, which solved Stelle’s dilemma of where to look. “If a piece of me was missing, I would want it back.”

“What if it ends up being a bad thing?”

Kafka smirked, drawing close until her forehead touched Stelle’s. “We’re bad guys Stelle, it comes with the territory.”

Stelle didn't dare move. Her lips were centimeters away from Kafka’s. She didn't know what to do but their breath was mingling and it was making her dizzy. “Does being a bad guy according to society mean we deserve bad things?”

“If someone took your memories of me, a certified bad guy, away what would you do? Many people would consider the unending days with one of the IPC’s most wanted traumatising. Would you try to get those traumatizing memories back?” Kafka’s eyes were so deep and so close Stelle felt like she was falling. “What would you do for them?”

“Anything.” The centimeters stopped mattering.

They got involved.

#honkai star rail #fic tag #my fic #time is running (out) au #writing tag

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jacobsnicket · 8 months ago

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fictober prompt 7: "follow me if you want to live" | transcendence au (gravity falls) | G

read on ao3

Ford comes to with a gun pointed at his head. His memory is still sluggish, but he can vaguely remember running from some space cops (the specifics were irrelevant, after long enough all the space cops started blurring together. Why did they all wear the same clothes?) and then being restrained. He must have gotten knocked out sometime during the fight.

He eyes the human— at least they certainly look human— pointing the gun at him. They certainly aren’t dressed like a space cop, unless the space cops of this dimension actually wore dress shirts, tailcoats, and stringy little bow ties, but that certainly doesn’t mean they’re trustworthy. Ford doesn’t trust snappy dressers on principle.

They’re both alone in a back alley, he notes. He’s sitting on the ground, no longer restrained.

“Follow me if you want to live,” the person says. They’re seemingly trying to be intimidating. If it wasn’t for the gun still pointed to his temple, it wouldn’t have worked.

The barrel of the gun in their hand burns a familiar blue, and it takes all of Ford’s strength not to bolt. It’s not him. It’s a perfectly normal gun that happens to be pointed at him. Half of the blasters he’s seen are the same color. And in any case, the person in the suit would surely shoot him as soon as he moved to leave.

“You don’t seem too concerned with my life either way,” he says instead. “Judging by…” He gestures toward the gun pointed at him.

“I’m literally the one who saved you from those government guys. And I was never going to kill you. I just didn’t feel like arguing with you, and I know you’d never listen otherwise.”

They finally lower the gun and pull him up so he’s standing. “I really didn’t think I’d get to see you here, Stanford Pines.”

“How do you know my name?”

They gesture to a WANTED poster on a wall next to them. His own face scowls back from it. “You’re a bit of a celebrity, you know.”

“And what if I don’t go with you?”

“If you wanna get captured by those guys again then be my guest.”

Ford considers his options. He’s half-tempted to tell them thank you very much but he knows how to take care of himself, but then he figures that the risk of them betraying him was much lower than that of going out on his own. It was simple logic.

It wasn’t because he was lonely. It wasn’t.

“Alright, I’ll come with. On one condition. Tell me your name.”

“Should I… it won’t mean anything to him, it’s gotta be fine,” the human mutters under their breath. Then their face cracks into a wide grin, just on the edge of familiar. “Call me Dipper.”

“After the asterism?”

They’re still grinning. Ford gets the sudden urge to check their eyes because he’s seen that smile, he’s sure of it, plastered onto his own face so long ago. “What else would it be?”

#I LOVE FORD MEETS ALCOR IN THE PORTAL FICS SOO MUCH #gravity falls #transcendence au #fictober24 #kiran writes

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themissinglynx · 3 months ago

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*Cautiously walks up to you like a deer*

Hello! Do you have any fun headcanons for the Starcore duo?

Likewise, what about the starfolks of their universe, what are they like?

Apologies for the wait, I was scanning discord chats trying to parse out all the headcanons I've dumped on pocket buddies and then my tab crashed and erased my draft, so this is take two.

Since the overwhelming majority of my followers haven't played Worldless, I'm gonna shove all this under the cut and issue a hefty spoiler warning for the game. In case someone reads this anyway, I'm going to use my placeholder names for the duo instead of their actual names.

Okay, now that they should all be gone, let's getter goin'.

Both

due to their bond, they can feel a little echo of what the other feels physically and emotionally. only four emotions have a strange feedback loop where they can end up intensifying: joy, sorrow, anger, and fear. Coal is better at diffusing these situations than Wisp is, but she can do it too.

every star was born over the course of a few hours, and the duo were amongst the last to be born. Wisp's core drifted down from the heavens veiled in her starry embryonic sac. when she was fully formed, she stretched her little body out and adjusted to the overwhelming sensations of life. Coal's core formed in the depths of the earth. and when he was ready, he broke his shell and stumbled out, dripping with primordial fluids, and rested from the exhausting task of hatching.

the starcore hairclip thingy doesn't exist when I'm writing them in a canon-based scenario, but they do exist for when I'm drawing them or working within an AU setting. it cannot be removed, though can somehow be refashioned, like if they wanted to tie their hair into a bun, the clip would hold the bun together. don't ask me how it works, it just does. it is highly sensitive to the touch, feeling weird when grabbed, painful if attacked, and pleasing if stroked. the starcore is the only place not affected by the "can feel what the other's feeling" thing.

they're both switches.

their general opinion of Gris the grayling is, "with love, please step on a lego." this feeling is mutual.

before they met each other on the battlefield, they met Summum's component stars. both Wisp and Coal can see a little bit of each in Summum.

Wisp

constantly gets The Zoomies™. she was like that before attaining the dash and sprint, much to the chagrin of her sisters. why else would she be the only light star we see rushing headlong into battle?

one of the traits she gained from their transcendence was the dark star Seek and Hunt instinct. combine that with her kinetic nature as a wanderer and that's makes something resembling a strong prey drive. not helping matters were her former sisters rejecting her as one of their own and treating her like just another dark star. in some ways, they were right.

described by Coal as tasting like, "a misty winter morning in the wake of a night rainstorm"

scars include: a lip scar (from Coal's talon gripping her jaw too hard), a cut on her shoulder (from Paladin's sword), a piercing scar in her abdomen (from Angel's spear), lacerations on the upper arms, chest, and back (from Coal's wind magic in their second confrontation), and burns at her hip (from Demon)

she really doesn't like Coal being underwater for too long. the first few times were great, since it was like seeing the realms from a new perspective. but there's this claustrophobic terror that comes over her if he doesn't surface for a long time.

she's got mixed feelings about her former sisters. she wants to feel sorrow for the light stars she and Coal have absorbed in their path, she really wants to, but she simply can't find it within her to do so. and she's distraught with herself about this. when she's being less conscientious about it, this expresses itself as anger towards her former sisters for not putting up a good fight.

Coal

got his scarf as a parting gift from a leviathan called The Deep.

while Wisp adopted more overt dark star traits from their transcendence, Coal was "stained by the light". this stain of light confused his former brothers, making mere sentient stars attack him on sight while near-sapient dark stars identified him as "other" and beat him into the ground.

described by Wisp as tasting like, "the light of a summer eclipse and nectar on midnight breezes"

scars include: a brow scar (from Wisp's sword), a piercing scar through the gut (from Paladin chasing him off), a concentrated lightning scar on the shoulder/upper chest (from Wisp's lightning magic in their second confrontation), a deep gash on the leg (from Unicorn), further lightning scars (from Lightmare)

praise him and he'll turn into a puddle. this poor star's self-esteem is in the pits.

Coal likewise has mixed feelings about his former brothers, but unlike Wisp, he actually feels some measure of pity for them. he hates that he feels this way, because aside from The Deep (who only barely counts since he still held Coal with a sense of contempt), all dark stars have treated him with indifference at best or vitriol at worst. he wants to be like Wisp and cut any sense of care for them out of his heart, but he just. can't.

Stars in General

they were all literally born yesterday. the events of the game take place over the course of a few days (for what that's worth in this new and unstable setting)

all stars are sentient to some degree, but very few are sapient. the duo could in fact talk before their transcendence (which granted them full sapience), but there wasn't a lot going on in the ol noggin worth speaking over. speaking with a near-sapient star is… something. all boss stars are near-sapient, including the other hybrids (sans Summum, who is fully sapient like the duo).

language is an instinctual thing for stars (and other creations of Worldless, like the graylings). they have an intrinsic vocabulary, they just need to discover it. saying a new word is kinda like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue and you're trying to remember it, aha, that's the word. on the listening end, even if a creation has never heard "petrichor" or "viscous" before, they immediately know what their conversation partner means from their instinctual vocabulary.

stars can only count to four, but they still understand the concepts of relative quantity and have four additional numbers for conveying larger numbers. haash (literally meaning "hand/talon") for 4-6, sam-haash (meaning "both hands") for 8-12, imma for over a dozen, and tekkir for many. tekkir could be used for several dozens, a hundred, a thousand, a million, infinity, it just means "a lot".

no, they cannot grasp the concept of five.

#worldless #worldless game #ask #octahedral-chaos #oops some of these are dripping with angst

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movedtoacolorlessworld · 9 months ago

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Rhymix Danganronpa AU or whatever but the wheel chooses their fate you should FUCKING GET IT BY NOW I THINK.

this is cursed.

the cast is determined by The Wheel™ (The Wheel™ made terrible decisions ngl) so yeah. here they are:

so yeah. the rest of the shit here will be under the cut. let'sa gooooooooooo (is filled with guilt and shame)

———

1. Chapter 1:

- Victim: Ionostream

- Culprit: Stasis

- Quick scenario:

WHAT THE FUCK STASIS-

Okay so basically: after killing game gets announced to the participants by Monocredits (i should really not call him that ew), Stasis gets desperate to escape, so he tricks Ionostream to come with him with the fake reasoning being, "I wanna discuss some escape methods with you! Y'know, ones that don't involve murder~"

Yeah, escape methods that don't involve murder my fucking ASS. He kills her and yeah. Lol. Lmao even. (is in paint without the t rn)

2. Chapter 2:

- Victim: Ringed Genesis

- Culprit: solips

- Quick scenario:

NOOOOO FUCK NOOOOOOOOOOOOO *head in hands*

After the events of chapter 1, Ringed Genesis becomes terrified and paranoid. Meanwhile, Solips—who is driven with even more curiosity than ever before—decides that maybe he should...try something.

Seeing that Genesis is in a more weaker state of mind, Solips takes his plan into action. However, after doing the deed, Solips couldn't help but feel...guilt.

3. Chapter 3:

- Victim 1: Lucas

- Victim 2: FANTA5Y

- Culprit: Upshift

- Quick scenario:

A motive is shown to the participants; whoever kills, their loved ones don't get hurt (which is 100% a motive used in THH ch1 but shhhh i'm still uncreative as shit ok). Upshift, desperate to save both Perfect and NULCTRL's lives, decided that he needed to commit a murder. Because he's stupid.

He thought about doing this with FANTA5Y, because she's also thinking of committing a murder to save one of her own loved ones: her long time crush. They both then decided to work together to sort out a plan to murder...Lucas. Because Lucas is the only one who isn't shown a motive, because that lonely ass of his doesn't have any friends (anymore).

However, what FANTA5Y didn't know, was that Upshift is merely using her for his own gain. After killing Lucas (who really did tried his best to fight back), he killed FANTA5Y.

He feels so bad about it once the trial starts that he just...tries to make sure everyone is convinced enough that he's the culprit. Because he knew damn well that if his two friends knew what he did for their sake, they wouldn't be happy about it at all.

(i'm deadass using the fucking. cursed ch3 format for this one. ew. i got uncreative ok)

(also this one is LONG. I POPPED OFF WITH THIS ONE FUCKKK)

4. Chapter 4:

- Victim: Amazing Mighty

- Culprit: Tempo

- Quick scenario:

Okay, this one makes NO FUCKING SENSE??????

But I guess in this logic Gods Can Be Killed, so whatever.

I genuinely don't know what to come up with for this one. I really don't. Uhhhh-

Motive comes up where if nobody kills Amazing Mighty before midnight strikes, everyone dies. Tempo didn't want that to happen, and decided to give it a shot. Mighty lets him kill him, solely because he's pretty tired with living life as The One Who Transcends All. Tempo kills him, cries about it, and then moves on for the rest of the day until the body discovery announcement.

5. Chapter 5:

- Victim and traitor: Opia

- Culprit: Tsunagite

- Quick scenario:

OH DAMN.

I initially wanted the culprit to be the traitor, but then The Wheel™ landed on Opia as the victim an then I immediately came up with a banger scenario.

Motive for this chapter is literally so fucking vague to the participants: just kill whoever you think is the traitor. Nothing about it says whether you can escape if you don't get caught or not. It just says do it. Lmao.

Tsunagite eventually finds out it's Opia, and filled with rage, kills him with her powers. She later becomes horrified and literally goes insane during the trial. Just- she literally goes insane over her horror of committing a murder. She never did that before, not even with Pandora. So now she's horrified.

She died in such a state too; horrified.

(woagh a traitor?????!!!!!!!!)

6. Chapter 6:

- Mastermind: Lumine

- Survivors: RGB, Ego Eimi, Ray, and Axium Crisis

- Quick scenario(???):

*Destonio voice* LUMINE??????????????

I GENUINELY DON'T KNOW WHAT TO COME UP AS A REASON FOR LUMINE TO BE THE MASTERMIND I REALLY DON'T KNOW 😭😭😭

Uhh.......she hates this world. Idk I genuinely don't know so I'll just leave it as it is.

The literal only child among the cast survived, though! Horray for RGB!

———

OH MY GOD THAT'S ALL WHAT THW FUCK I AM NOT OKAY

#arthesias nonsense #rhymix: misc #i'm not tagging them for now lol

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xomakara · 10 months ago

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Forever Lost, Forever Found

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | You're cursed to live an immortal life since you had broken the rules of the Celestial Realm. You're banished to live the life of a mortal but cursed to live forever and watch everyone die around you. It's the modern time and you meet Choi Jongho, a man that resembles someone you fell in love with many centuries ago. PAIRING | Jongho x Reader GENRE/CONTENT | mortal!Jongho, goddess!Reader, non-idol au, fantasy, romance, angst, fluff,slight suggestive (not really, more implied lol) WARNINGS | It’s a fantasy setting so…like exile, betrayal, etc. I mean not really any warnings I don’t think. RATING | SFW LENGTH | 6,230 words TAGLIST | -- NETWORKS | AUTHOR’S NOTE | I think this took me like a few days to write…more like a few hours haha. This concept/idea was so fresh in my mind that I had to write this. And look! My first SFW fic in a very, very long time (not including my dad!Wooyoung fic out there lol). Thank you for all the love and support and please reblog, comment and like. Much love~

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

Transcending time and eternal life.

You’ve been alive for a long time - too long. You’re a divine being, a high goddess, cursed to live an immortal life ever since you broke the rules of the Celestial Realm because you fell in love with a mortal. You were banished to live the life of a mortal, but cursed to live forever and watch everyone die around you.

You’ve seen empires rise and fall, watched civilizations crumble to dust. You’ve loved and lost more times than you can count. And each time, the pain is just as fresh as the first.

But there’s something different about this man. The first time that Choi Jongho walked into the cafe that you were working at in this time period, you felt something inside you stir and awaken. He reminds you so much of the man that you loved in your last life, so much like him that it takes your breath away when he looks at you. He reminds you of your first husband that you fell in love with many centuries ago. The husband that made you broke the rules of heaven and sealed your eternal fate.

You know that you can’t get too close to him. If you do, he’ll just end up like all the others. But you can’t help yourself. You’re drawn to him in a way that you’ve never been drawn to anyone else before. There’s no logic behind it, but the second you laid eyes on him, you knew deep down in your heart that you were meant to be together… even if it was just for a little while.

The day he asked you out, you should have said no. Should have pushed him away. Your life has always been doomed to failure after all, hasn’t it? Who knows how long you’ll be able to keep him in the dark? What happens when he finds out that you’re a divine being?

’Just one date,’ you tell yourself. ’If it doesn’t work out, then I won’t see him again.’

That’s what your rational mind tells you, anyway. So you go on that date with him. One date turns into another. Another turn leads to another date. Then another. Before you know it, you’ve fallen head over heels for him. Because he makes you feel things that you haven’t felt in ages. Feelings that are not just from lust. He makes you laugh. And he brings back memories of better days.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You promised yourself that you would never allow yourself to get close to someone again. Never allow them to break your heart or make you feel things that you’ve grown numb to.

All those promises flew right out the window when you saw Jongho. When he looked at you. When he touched you. Every single time, your insides tingle and your blood runs hot. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop yourself from falling deeper and deeper into him. Soon enough, you’ve found yourself completely enamored by him.

He’s helped you forget for a while. And when he kissed you for the first time, you’d forgotten all of your worries. All of your pain. For just that moment. Nothing else mattered except that his lips were pressed against yours, holding you tightly. Kissing you softly. Holding you close. And making sure that you didn’t go anywhere without him.

That kiss set off a spark inside of you that had been dormant for a very long time. It awoke a hunger inside of you that you thought was long dead. Jongho’s slowly drawing you back out of the darkness. Bringing back the person that you once were, the person that you used to be when you were with your first husband. He shows you a glimpse of the future, and it looks bright. For just a few moments, you let yourself dream about what could be. About how happy you might be. How good it feels to finally be loved again.

Every single night, you fall asleep with a smile on your face. Falling asleep next to him is even better. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. Feeling his warm breath against your neck. The feel of his chest rising and falling next to you.

And every morning, you wake up with the same smile on your face. Even though you’re broken. Even though you’ve been hurt again and again, you find comfort in the fact that you still have hope for a brighter tomorrow.

A future with him.

Tonight you watched Jongho as he slept. He moved restlessly, rolling around on his side, making small noises every now and then. His dark hair covered his forehead, framing his delicate features and you wanted to run your fingers through them. To stroke the side of his face. Touch him in ways you hadn’t been able to touch your husband in all these centuries.

When he shifted slightly, you realized that he was awake, his eyes fluttering open slowly. “Babe?” he whispered, his voice rough from sleep.

“Mmm?” you replied quietly.

He glanced at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

You turned away quickly. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“No. No.” Your face burned red with embarrassment. “I was just thinking.”

Jongho turned onto his back again and put his arm over his eyes. “About what?”

“Nothing important.” You ducked your head. “Just my mind wandering. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He lifted his hand and lightly stroked your hair. “If you ever need to talk…”

You smiled softly. “I know.”

You laid there in silence, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, remembering all the times you were alone in your bed, wishing for someone to come in and comfort you.

You’re no longer alone.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tell him how much you appreciated him, but before you could say anything, his fingers traced their way along your collarbone, eliciting a shiver. “Why do you look so beautiful while you’re sleeping?”

You laughed nervously. “Do I? Why?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

With each word he spoke, your body felt like it was going numb. You reached for him, wanting desperately to hold him, to kiss him, but instead you simply laid your head against his chest, letting your fingers trail through his hair. You listened to the sound of his heartbeat, comforting and steady. The only sounds you heard were your own breath and Jongho’s quiet breathing. It was blissful in its simplicity, yet it felt like everything you needed to be happy.

Eventually, you fell asleep.

When you woke up again, it was still dark outside. Your eyelids were heavy and you could barely keep them open, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep if you waited any longer. So you stretched and got up from the bed, looking around the room for something to wear. All you could find was a white robe draped over a chair near the foot of the bed. Sheathing yourself in it, you went downstairs to see Jongho sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV. He gave you a smile when he saw you. “Good morning.”

You walked over to him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept well.” His cheeks flushed and he looked away, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. He patted the seat next to him. “Come here, babe.”

Feeling like you couldn’t turn down an invitation like that, you slid into the seat beside him. Jongho wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You laid your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “Are you okay? You just seem out of sorts lately.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured. “It’s just been a long day.”

He nodded and kissed your head again. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Maybe some coffee would be nice. And a kiss too.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess that would be alright.”

Jongho kissed your cheek once more and got up off the couch, heading towards the kitchen. You watched him go, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds casting a warm glow on his handsome face.

His black hair framed his features, brushing his eyebrows. He caught you staring and blushed, turning around. As he poured you a cup of coffee, you admired his broad shoulders, admiring the muscles flexing as he lifted the kettle. He turned around again, holding two cups of steaming hot liquid in his hands. One for himself and one for you.

“Here you go.” He sat the cups down on the table in front of you. Settling back in his seat, he softly kissed your lips. “Feel better?”

“Better.” You murmured against his lips. “So much better.”

He kissed you again and you leaned into his embrace, enjoying the warmth of his arms surrounding you. After several minutes, he pulled away, looking at his watch. “Oh, it’s that time already. I need to head out to work.”

“Can’t you skip work today?” You pouted.

“As much as I want to stay home with you, it isn’t possible. Sorry, baby.” Jongho leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again.

As he headed out the door, you lingered in the doorway, watching him walk down the steps. “Have a good day.”

“Bye, babe.” He waved as he stepped outside. The door closed and you found yourself all alone again. Looking around the room, you noticed a notepad sitting on the countertop of the kitchen. Glancing down, you saw Jongho’s neat handwriting scribbled across the page. You smiled, picking it up and opening it. A simple message that told you that he loves you and that he hopes you’ll have a good day.

The perfect reminder of why you fell in love with him.

You heard a ’whoosh’ from behind you and you didn’t even have to turn around to know what, or rather who, it was.

“Greetings, General Seonghwa.” You turned to look at the person that had magically popped into your living room. General Seonghwa, a divine being that you have known for centuries, stood silently in the middle of the room. He looked exactly as he did the last time you saw him, save for the fact that he seemed a little tired. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence and not showing up when he was still here.”

“This new mortal looks like the one that you fell in love with. The same one that you broke the rules for. The same one that got you banished.” Seonghwa walked towards you slowly, stopping right in front of you. You could see the concern in his eyes as he gazed down at you. “The Heavenly Emperor is worried about you.”

“If the Heavenly Emperor was worried about me, why did he banish me in the first place?” You asked, your voice trembling. “He banished me, General. His own daughter.”

Seonghwa shook his head sadly. “Even gods make mistakes.”

“Was it a mistake to fall in love?” You asked. “All the lesser gods and goddesses and other divine beings that cultivated into an immortal can fall in love. But a high goddess…no, the heavenly princess, the daughter of the Heavenly Emperor, can’t? That was my mistake, wasn’t it? That was my punishment.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “For being brave enough to show your true feelings? Being so stubborn that you’d risk everything for a mortal man?” He frowned. “There are worse things than getting banished by the Heavenly Emperor. Believe me, Princess Y/N. Your father did you a favor.”

“You think so?” You asked. “That’s all you have to say?”

Seonghwa stared down at you. “We were lovers once, weren’t we?”

You sighed heavily. “Yes. We were. But that was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I suppose not.” He shrugged. “Still, I’m worried about you.”

“Why should you be?”

“Because you’ve fallen for this mortal.” Seonghwa said simply. “The mortal that looks like your first husband.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Why exactly are you here, Seonghwa?”

“The Heavenly Emperor has lifted your banishment. He wants you to return home.”

“After a hundred, no, a thousand years after he banished me, he decides that he wants me back?” You snorted derisively. “Sure, that makes sense.”

“Perhaps he feels bad for banishing you.” Seonghwa shrugged. “Regardless, he sent me to ask you to come back.”

You sighed. “Fine. Tell my father that I will be in the Celestial Realm shortly.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Will do, Princess.”

After you said your goodbyes, Seonghwa vanished without a trace. You looked at the clock that adorned the wall above the mantelpiece. There were still hours before Jongho got home from work. Going up to your bedroom to get changed, you knew that you had to go to the Celestial Realm sooner rather than later. To get everything over and done with.

You went back downstairs and looked at the notepad that was on the countertop. You scribbled a small message to Jongho just in case he came home early, saying that you’d be running errands and that you loved him.

You took a step back and knowing that your banishment was lifted, you felt your spiritual energy return to your body and then you found yourself walking into the Celestial Realm once more.

“Welcome home, Princess Y/N!” The heavenly guards shouted as you stared at the city of the Celestial Realm. Bright lights and colors danced and fluttered throughout the sky, bathing the city in a golden light. The buildings in the distance glistened in the sunlight, reflecting the brilliance of the heavenly moon. To the untrained eye, it appeared as though they were glowing from within.

You saw the other gods, goddesses, immortals and even dignities from each of the three realms: Celestial, Earthly and Underworld. Each of them were happy to see you return and as you made your way towards the Jade Palace, you were greeted with cheers and applause.

You held no emotion on your face. These were the same entities that exiled you in the first place. You still hated them, and their attitude still pissed you off.

But you didn’t care anymore. In the beginning, you had hoped that you could prove to your father that mortals are worthy of being treated as equals. That love between humans and immortals could flourish and bloom into a beautiful flower. That love conquers all, and those sentiments remain unchanged. Even after everything that happened to you, you still believed in the human heart and its ability to open up to others, to accept others, regardless of their differences.

And now you had Jongho. The mortal that opened your heart and healed the wounds that had lingered inside of you for a millennium. The mortal that showed you what unconditional love really meant.

When you reached the Jade Palace, you followed the servants through the lavish halls and up the stairs until you finally arrived at the top floor. There sat the Heavenly Emperor, your father, imposingly on his throne. With his long, graying hair tied into a topknot and secured with an intricate gold ornament, he sat tall and proud, his white robe billowing out behind him.

Beside him was Empress Jihyun, your mother, clad in luxurious white robes. “Welcome home, my daughter. We have missed you.” Her face broke into a smile as she beckoned for you to join her. She wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. “It’s good to have you home again.”

“Likewise, Mother.” You returned her hug and glanced at the other members of the court.

They bowed deeply to you, grateful that you were back. The emperor raised his hand and the entire Jade Palace came to a halt. All eyes turned to him.

“My dearest daughter, you have been gone for far too long. I thought I would never see you again.” His deep voice boomed throughout the palace. “Are you well?”

“I am fine, Father.” You replied.

His gaze softened and a gentle smile appeared on his face. “I have waited for this moment for many, many years.” He chuckled softly. “So I hope you understand why I feel relieved to have you back under my roof.”

He stood up and clasped your hand in his. “Come, let us retire to my private chambers. There, I shall tell you of how your banishment ended and how you came to be summoned back here.”

You stayed rooted to your spot, the other members of the court leaving. You took a deep breath and looked at your father. “Father, I can’t stay long.”

“Why not?” Your mother asked, looking at your father. “You just got back home.”

“You know why. I can’t just leave Jongho there waiting for me.” You said, looking down at the floor. “Time works differently between here and the Earthly Realm. What could be hours or days here are like years…I can’t do that to him. He needs me.”

“You wish to go back?” Your father asked. “Return to the Earthly Realm?”

You looked at your father. You couldn’t lie to him. Could you?

“Yes.” You breathed. “I wish to go back.”

Your father sighed. “You’d throw away your second chance at godhood, to finally be home, for a mortal man?”

“Yes, Father. Yes, I would. And I would do it all over again if I had to.” You let out a deep breath. “After thousands of years loving different mortals, Jongho is different. I don’t want to keep going through the motions. After everything that happened to me, he helped heal my heart. He gave me hope that things could be different. He gives me strength to move forward and find happiness again. I love him. Father, don’t you care about my happiness? Don’t you care about your daughter?”

Your father remained silent, thinking. Finally, he lowered his head and sighed. “You have become much stronger since you left, child. Much more compassionate and caring. You have shown me what unconditional love truly means. And while I may not agree with your decision, I cannot deny that you love him dearly. But you also need to realize that this decision won’t be easy. You’re a goddess and he’s a mortal. He will grow old and die, but you…you’ll remain young and vibrant forever. Your world will always be upside down and chaotic. Why put yourself through such hardship?”

“You haven’t seen how beautiful our relationship is. Our ups and downs, our joys and sorrows. Even when times are rough, we pull through. We’re better together.” You smiled sadly. “And if we could be together forever, wouldn’t you want that too?”

“Of course I would.” Your father replied. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“My love,” your mother laid a hand on your father’s arm. “I know that it’s unheard of, but why don’t we grant this man that our daughter is in love with, immortality? Give him an eternal life with her, as your son.”

Your father stiffened. “Impossible.”

“If you do that, perhaps you could persuade her to stay.” Your mother pleaded. “Don’t you want her to be happy?”

“Do you really love this man?” Your father demanded.

“I love him with all of my heart.” You answered simply. “And I promise that he loves me just as much. If I have to be banished by the heavens to keep him, then I would gladly do it all over again.”

“How do you know that he will even accept this?” Your father pressed. “What if he refuses? What happens then?”

“Then let me go back so that I can tell him. At least then, I’ll have tried.” You crossed your arms over your chest stubbornly. “I refuse to spend another day living this miserable existence alone. I am tired of watching people I care about die around me. Living a life without love. So please, let me try. Let me take this chance.”

“Alright.” Your father nodded slowly. “If this is what you truly want, then we will give it to you.” He patted your shoulder lightly and kissed your forehead gently. “However, there is one condition.”

“Name it.” You sighed.

“If he decides to become an immortal to be with you, then he will marry you. The marriage will be binding in all worlds, mortal and divine.”

“Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother.” You smiled and threw your arms around them both. They hugged you back tightly. “Jongho and I will make sure to show you that our love will last a lifetime.”

“We look forward to seeing that.” You father waved you off. “Now go before I change my mind.”

“We look forward to meeting our future son-in-law.” Your mother laughed.

“Go and tell him.” Your father urged. “We await his reply.”

You let out a sigh as you plopped on the couch once you returned home from the Celestial Realm. You leaned against the cushions and closed your eyes.

This was a good start. Things seemed to have gone well, considering your fate.

That didn’t mean that things were completely rosy though. You still had to convince Jongho that he should choose to live an eternity with you, instead of continuing his earthly existence. Even though you wanted to stay by his side, you knew that the decision rested solely on his shoulders.

“I’m home!”

You blinked your eyes open. Jongho entered the room with a bright smile on his face. “Hi, babe.”

You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a kiss. “How was work?”

“Tiring.” He replied with a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

“You must be drained.” You stroked his hair affectionately. “Why don’t you rest for a bit and I’ll fix dinner?”

“Okay, baby.” He leaned down to peck your lips again. “I’ll be right back.”

He ran off towards the bedroom, and soon you heard the water running in the bathroom. Once the bathroom door closed, you hurried into the kitchen and began cooking.

The aroma of food wafted through the house, and soon the delicious smell of sweet potatoes filled the air. Jongho walked in wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He wrapped his arms around, placing his chin on your shoulder as he watched you cook.

“It smells amazing, babe.” He murmured, kissing your cheek.

“Go get dressed.” You giggled. “You’re being a distraction.”

“What about you?” He cocked his head curiously. “You look hot enough to eat.”

“Jongho!” You blushed furiously and swatted him playfully. “Later. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“I’ll be right back.” He grinned, winking at you before exiting the room.

Once you finished preparing the meal, you called Jongho into the dining room where you had prepared two plates. “Here.” You handed him the plate and watched as he sat down across from you.

“Thank you, babe.” He smiled at you gratefully.

“Anything for you.” You winked and tucked some strands of hair behind your ear. “Eat up.”

Jongho picked up his fork and started eating. When he was halfway through his meal, you decided to ask him a question that had been weighing heavily on your mind. “Jongho?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m not of this world?”

“Y/N, I know that you’re not of this world.” He reached across the table to grab your hand in his. “I’ve always known that. Ever since we met.”

“You have?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He nodded his head. “I knew there was something special about you when I first walked into that cafe for the very first time. There was something…magical about you. Something that drew me in. That made me forget about everything else and fall hopelessly in love with you.”

A warm feeling settled in your stomach as you felt Jongho squeeze your hand.

“Before I met you, every night I would have these dreams of you and I. Wearing clothes from ancient civilizations.” He brushed the back of your hand with his thumb. “Dreams of you and I walking through lush green fields of flowers, at the marketplace eating honey roasted nuts and candied fruits. The scent of jasmine drifting through the air as we walk along the shore of a crystal clear lake. Dreams of holding you in my arms while we danced together under the moonlight. It was magical and felt so real.”

“Oh Jongho…” You squeezed his hand harder.

“Then you showed up.” He swallowed hard. “When I walked into that café, my heart stopped beating for a moment. A whole eternity passed inside of that instant. I knew that you were real and not just some dream. You were real and so beautiful.”

His words melted your heart. How did you get so lucky? How did you ever deserve this?

“I thought I was going crazy.” He took a deep breath. “Falling for someone whom I just met. But it felt like I’ve known you forever. Like I’ve always known you. All those strange dreams that I’ve been having finally made sense. Every dream of us together was a memory. Memories of us being together long ago. Before this modern age. Back in a time when the world was full of magic and mystery. Memories of our past lives, where we were lovers and soulmates.”

“Really?” You let out a small sob. “You remember all of that? Our memories? Our lives?”

“Yes, baby.” He breathed deeply. “I remember every second of it. Everything about you. I can’t imagine how lonely you must have felt without me. For centuries to pass without knowing if my reincarnated soul would find its way back to you. To see your soulmate being taken away from you because of that damned curse…”

He looked down at the plate in front of him.

“I promised myself that no matter what happened, I would find a way to save you.” He raised his head to stare into your eyes. “No matter what it takes, no matter how impossible it may seem, I will save you. No matter how much pain it brings upon myself. I will fight against the gods until the end of time if I have to. And I will never let anything or anyone separate us. Not even death itself.”

“Even if it means becoming an immortal yourself? Getting rid of your earthly existence?”

“There’s nothing I won’t sacrifice to be with you.” His voice shook. “To be able to wake up next to you every morning, and to lay my head down next to yours every night. To hold you in my arms and feel your heartbeat beneath my fingers. I will risk it all to have a life with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You spoke softly. “And neither are you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jongho sniffed, wiping the tears away from your eyes. “For everything you had to go through. For breaking the rules of heaven because of me. For falling in love with a mortal like me. For not being able to grow old with me.”

You pulled him closer and buried your face into his chest. “It’s okay.” You said with a smile. “I don’t regret loving you. You were the only man I ever loved, and you were the only one I ever needed. My heart belonged to you from the beginning. From the moment I laid eyes on you. I always knew that you would come back to me someday. It’s just that you got lost in the midst of our journey. But now that you found your way back, it feels like everything is coming full circle.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jongho mumbled, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you close. “But no matter what happens between us, even if this cycle continues, my soul belongs to you. You alone. Nothing will ever be able to take that away. You are my everything. I will always belong to you, my goddess. My heavenly princess. My eternal love.”

Your heart soared as he uttered those precious words to you. Words that you had always longed to hear from him. Words that your heart craved to hear over and over again. Now that you could finally hear them, you vowed to treasure them forever.

“Jongho…I…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words to say.

“Don’t worry, my love.” He cupped your face in his hands. “I know exactly what you want to say. You want me to marry you. Right?”

“Right.” You smiled and nodded.

Jongho reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond ring. You gasped as you stared at it in awe.

“Oh Jongho, this is-”

“Shh.” He silenced you with a finger to your lips. “You’re supposed to be speechless.”

“Oops.” You cleared your throat, letting out a light laugh.

“Y/N, I will do anything and everything to be with you. Even if I have to become an immortal myself. As long as I have a chance to spend an eternity with you, then I will do whatever it takes to make that happen. You are the reason for my existence. The reason why I continue to exist after my death. So I promise to never leave you alone. Not even for a single day. Not even for a single moment. Forever and always, my love. You will always be the center of my universe.”

You stared at the ring in his palm. So elegant and exquisite. A shining reminder of your undying love for each other. A perfect symbol of your unbreakable bond.

“Marry me.” He whispered softly. “Become my wife. Be my everything. My eternal love.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat had gone dry. You had never wanted anything more than to spend the rest of your life with Jongho by your side.

“Say yes.” He urged gently. “Please, baby. Please, say yes.”

Slowly, you nodded your head. “Yes, Jongho. I will be your wife. Your eternal love.”

Jongho smiled as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

“Now that we’ve gotten that settled, let’s celebrate.” He chuckled, pulling you into his arms. “Let me love you in ways that I have never done before.”

You moaned as you felt him lean forward and kiss you tenderly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and ran your hands through his hair, bringing him closer to you. Jongho kissed your lips passionately, devouring you with every kiss.

After several minutes, you broke the kiss. “Is this how you want to celebrate?” You asked with a smirk.

“Of course.” Jongho chuckled. “This is the best way to celebrate. Celebrating with you, celebrating our everlasting love.”

Jongho held his breath as you led him up the stairs of the Jade Palace and towards the Great Hall. Never in his entire life had he been so nervous.

“Are you nervous?” You asked him as you took his hand in yours.

“Nervous? What am I supposed to be nervous about?” He laughed nervously. “Baby, of course I’m nervous. I’m meeting your parents. You know, the ones that are the Heavenly Emperor and Empress?”

“I guess that makes sense.” You laughed. “Jongho, I’m right here with you. We’ll be fine.”

He sighed as he glanced down at your hand. Saw the way the diamond ring glistened against your skin.

“I just want you to know that I’m really happy that you’re here with me.” He said softly. “Because Y/N, without you, I wouldn’t be able to deal with meeting your parents. At least not alone.”

You smiled softly as you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Jongho watched as you walked ahead of him. Taking in every step that you took, every movement that you made. Feeling as though he was entranced by you. Every time you took a step forward, he felt like his legs grew weaker. And every time you turned to look at him, he lost control of himself. Seeing you in your robes of white and gold silk, looking so ethereal and majestic as you walked ahead of him, left him speechless.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” He whispered to himself as he followed you. “I love you so much, Y/N. More than anything else in this world.”

You smiled as you glanced over your shoulder and saw him watching you. Walking behind you slowly, unable to stop staring at your figure. The way your hair flowed gracefully behind you. The gentle sway of your hips as you walked. Each step sent waves of lust coursing through his veins. Making him ache for you. Make him crave you with every ounce of his being.

You couldn’t help but turn around to see if he was still following you. If he was thinking about you too.

“Come on, husband-to-be. Hurry up.” You called out, laughing quietly as he tried to adjust the white robes he originally hesitated to wear but wore them anyway to please you.

Jongho chuckled as he continued walking after you. Focusing his attention on you instead of the path in front of him. Just like how you used to walk ahead of him, stealing glances at him whenever he was near you. Always catching him off guard whenever he turned to look at you. Leaving him speechless and weak. You were so wonderful, so breathtaking, so intoxicating. And you made him want to surrender his very soul to you. Completely. Without hesitation.

A gentle breeze blew past your ears as you stood in the middle of the Jade Palace. The soft chirping of birds echoed throughout the palace. Flowers bloomed along the path, surrounding you with their sweet fragrance. Jongho smiled as he gazed at you, standing there so serenely. A vision of beauty that stole his heart away. You could easily pass for an angel if he didn’t know any better. But he did know better. He knew the truth. That you were far more than an angel. Far more than he could ever dream of.

You were his goddess, his heavenly princess. His eternal love.

You turned to look at him and giggled softly as he looked like he was having a hard time walking. The Jongho of centuries past would have had no problem in these clothes. He’d simply stride forward confidently. But this Jongho was slightly awkward in his white and gold robes. So clumsy and shy. So cute. You couldn’t help but giggle. This version of Jongho was quite endearing. A completely different person than the version you had fallen in love with years ago. And yet, you knew deep inside that this Jongho was the same man that you had fallen in love with from the start.

“Ready?” You asked, gently nudging him with your elbow.

Jongho gave you a sheepish grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You laughed as you led him into the Great Hall, entwining your fingers with his. You were glad that there was no else present apart from your parents. Just you and him. And you hoped that they liked him. Because you loved him with all of your heart. And he was the first man that you ever truly cared about.

“My lovely daughter, my soon to be son-in-law.” Empress Jihyun smiled warmly as she stood in front of you. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at you with love.

“Mother. Father.” You greeted respectfully before turning to look at Jongho. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, silently telling him that you were here with him. “This is the man that I love, Jongho. I lost him once, and now I’ve found him again. And I don’t intend to lose him again. He’s my life.”

The Heavenly Emperor, your father, nodded. Taking yours and Jongho’s hands in his own, he patted them reassuringly. “It has been far too long since I have seen my daughter smile like this. Welcome to our family, my son-in-law.”

You turned to gaze at Jongho, eyes filled with happiness from the words that your father had spoken. To hear that your father was accepting of him. With tears of joy streaming down your cheeks, you wrapped your arms around him tightly. Hugging him tightly as you let go of all the pain and anguish that had consumed you over the years. All those times that you cried yourself to sleep because of the mistakes that you had made in the past. All the times that you wondered if you would ever find true love again. But now, with the return of your Jongho, you knew that you were finally home.

In just a few days, Jongho will become an immortal and live forever. You won’t need to worry about losing him anymore. Because you’ll be together forever. Together with your soul mate, and the one that you both had waited for your whole lives.

Your beloved Jongho.

#illusionnet #blossomnet #atzhouse #cromernet #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez fanfics #ateez stories #ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho #jongho x reader

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a-cat-in-toffee · 1 year ago

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me: yeah im gonna go to sleep

also me: *proceeds to send my friend 650+ words of pepsisprite analysis*

thinking about john being a literal embodiment of the narrative and davesprite being an embodiment of the game. the game and the narrative are intrinsic to each other's existence, but without each other they would be useless. what's the point of the game if no ones watching, and whats the point of watching if no ones playing? john and davesprite’s relationship sort of mirrors that, davesprite wouldn't exist as a sprite if john had never died, but john WOULD have died if davesprite didnt save him. they're necessary to each other's creation and to each other's continued existence and relevance.

they're the world's shittiest soulmates because their relationship is so riddled with the game and narrative but davesprite and john are tied together in a way which ends up with davesprite always ending up right next to john again. johndirk and pepsisprite are very related what with davesprite mirroring dirk in a bunch of ways, but the difference between the two ships is mainly when they would happen imo. (canon) johndirk can only work postcanon, mostly because they simply don't actually get to meet each other until then, whereas pepsisprite HAS to happen during the game, the 3 year trip to be precise.

all they had were those 3 years together, really, before everything went to shit. obviously they had known each other before then, but that was john and dave. the "real" dave, before the specifications had to be made. it's kinda sad how because of the timeframe that pepsisprite would be able to work out in, they could never actually have a relationship. like they were both dealing with their own issues (most of which never were resolved, not fully) but it mightve fixed them tbh.

thats really why I'm a big fan of back to the beginning post game aus that include the splinters because their stories are never really completely resolved, most of them are sort of just brushed away or swept into something new (e.g. davepeta)

also going back to what I said earlier on how johndirk mirrors pepsisprite in a way, it does! but there's a lot of nuance to the situations? davesprite is more like bro than dave is, thus making him more like dirk, but he's still a dave yknow. pepsisprite is actually a closer parallel to jakehal, especially by the end of the boat trip with the vaguely antagonistic relationship the two of them have.

actually i think they should be kismesis sometimes as a treat. john has so much emotion and anger built up and having somewhere to vent out that frustration would probably be really good for him. at the same time, though, they're also moirails because john and dave are quite literally the closest humans can get to moirallegiance. john and davesprite transcend quadrants in the actual definition of it, embodying the quads all at once instead of vacillating.

davekat (a ship most people consider to embody all quads) sort of does something similar, however a lot of the time their characterization is of vacillation between redrom and blackrom vs where pepsisprite is happening simultaneously.

davesprite *is* proud of john and he does really love his friends, however because of the trauma he went through growing up (which was later reinforced by all the shit that went down in the game) he can only express so "ironically" or backhandedly, and john is so repressed to hell and back that *he's* not even sure what emotions he's feeling half the time

I think the fact that the two of them can so effortlessly communicate despite all that, though, really shows you their relationship. john can see the genuine in davesprite's "ironic" statements, and davesprite can pick out john's feelings through all the happy freedom bullshit. they communicate so well despite everything because they're best friends and because they've known each other so long. davesprite is important to john just like john is important to davesprite, and they always end up right back next to each other.

#john egbert #davesprite #johndavesprite #pepsisprite #homestuck #hs meta #homestuck meta #they never leave my fucking brain y'all

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mrsvante · 3 months ago

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Borrowed Time

pairing: taehyung x female oc

genre: military au, special forces taehyung, strangers to lovers

summary: trapped behind enemy lines after a mission goes sideways, staff sergeant kim taehyung is forced to navigate a war torn city alone. his only objective is to regroup with his unit—until he stumbles upon a civilian woman hiding from the chaos. with danger closing in, he makes a split second decision to help her reach safety.

warnings: language barrier (oc only speaks Spanish), guns, violence, minor character death, unprotected sex (wrap it up!)

word count: 1,316

A Fragile Alliance

The air inside the abandoned pharmacy was thick with the stale scent of expired medication and dust.

Moonlight slipped through the cracks of shattered and boarded-up windows, casting eerie shadows across the room. Taehyung had spent the better part of an hour securing the building, his heart a drum solo against his ribs despite the relative silence.

Now, with the immediate danger abated, exhaustion finally settled into his bones.

He glanced at the woman huddled in the corner.

The flimsy blue dress she wore, a reminder of civilian life, was now a tattered reminder of the world she'd been pulled from. Her head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed in a semblance of sleep, but the shallow rise and fall of her chest spoke of unease.

Taehyung felt a pang of responsibility. He didn't know her name, didn't understand the fear that haunted her dark eyes.

But he understood pain.

He knelt beside her, the floorboards groaning under his weight. “Hey, excuse me,” he whispered, tapping her arm. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open before she jumped, eyes stretched wide in surprise at his closeness.

He gestured to her feet, hesitant. “We need to take care of those before they get infected.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, then she carefully lifted the tattered edge of her dress, revealing raw, blistered flesh where shoes should have been. Shame flickered in her eyes, a flicker quickly replaced by a wince of pain.

Taehyung understood, smiling softly before turning to his pack.

He rummaged through his backpack, pulled out a first-aid kit, and gestured again, this time to the kit and then to her feet. Her eyes widened further, but this time with hesitant gratitude. He carefully opened the kit and spread the contents, the sterile instruments gleaming under the faint moonlight.

The next few minutes were a clumsy dance of communication.

He used gestures, pointing to the disinfectant wipes, and then miming cleaning a wound. Her face contorted in pain as he gently cleaned the blisters, but she held still.

“Done. We need to find you some shoes.” He smiled at her, tapping her foot gently.

The white gauze was stark against her bronzed skin.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. A shy smile graced her lips, those alluring eyes conveying a depth of thanks that transcended words. A warmth bloomed in Taehyung's chest, a stark contrast to the cold metal of his dog tags resting against his skin.

She pressed a hand to her chest, “Kataleya,” she whispered, holding out her hand to him.

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, repeating the word in his head, Kataleya. Hoping it triggered something in his brain that would remind him what the word meant.

After coming up with nothing he sighed, dejected.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.” He shook his head, brows contorted in frustration.

His eyes widened when she laughed softly, pressing her hand to her chest again. “Kataleya, mi nombre es Kataleya,” She said. “Yo soy, Kataleya.”

“Kataleya,” His mouth slowly curving around each syllable, “is you. You are Kataleya?” He gestured toward her, fighting off a smile when she nodded. The smile on her lips grew, she held out her hand in front of her, the silent question lying between them.

“Taehyung,” he answered, sounding out the syllables the best he could to help her repeat it.

He couldn’t stop the chuckle that rolled out of him as she clumsily repeated his name, her accent adding extra inflections.

“Ta..he..yong,” She tried, frowning when it didn’t exactly match his pronunciation, “Ta–Taeheeyong.”

“Tae, if it’s easier,” He pressed his hand to his chest, their eyes catching, “Tae.”

“Tae.” She smiled, yawning as she pressed her back against the crackled wall of the corner they’d huddled in for the night.

He settled on the floor a few feet away from her, leaning against the wall.

Sleep beckoned, heavy and insistent.

Yet, as he closed his eyes, the image of Kataleya’s bruised feet and that grateful smile lingered.

* * * *

Taehyung jolted awake, a strangled gasp escaping his lips.

The nightmare was a vivid replay of the ambush that separated him from his unit, clinging to him like sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum solo in the silence of the pharmacy.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline running through his body.

A soft whimper cut through the night, drawing his gaze towards the corner where Kataleya slept. She thrashed restlessly, her face contorted in fear, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

Her dress, the color now muted in the dim light, clung to her trembling form as she twisted and turned.

Trying to escape the madness in her head.

His gut clenched with a primal urge to protect. He was closing the space between them before he realized, quietly kneeling beside her. His hand hovering hesitantly over her shoulder.

Another whimper, laced with terror, tore from her throat.

“No...no,” tumbled from her lips, “déjame en paz. Déjame ir.”

He didn't understand the words she might be muttering in her sleep, this language barrier was a frustrating wall between them.

But the raw fear in her voice was a language he understood all too well. Carefully, he reached out, his touch tentative at first, brushing a stray strand of hair from her damp forehead.

“Kataleya,” Taehyung whispered.

The contact seemed to anchor her to reality. She opened her eyes, at first wild with terror, before settling on his features.

Recognition slowly dawned on her, followed by a wave of relief that mirrored his own, moments earlier. He didn't speak, words felt too heavy for them both regardless of their lack of understanding each other.

Instead, he offered a small, reassuring smile.

Reaching out again, ever so slowly, this time his fingers brushing against the thin fabric of her sleeve. The touch was light, almost a question.

To his surprise, she didn't flinch away.

Instead, she leaned into his touch, a silent plea for comfort.

His heart pounded a strange rhythm against his ribs, a mix of residual fear and something entirely new. It was a warmth that spread through him, chasing away the lingering chill of the nightmare.

He gently pulled her closer, offering his body as a shield against the unseen terrors of her dream.

She curled into him, her soft sobs muffled against his chest.

The warmth of her body seeped through his thin shirt, a stark contrast to the cold metal of his dog tags resting against his skin.

Though he held her close, relishing in the press of her soft body against the hard planes of his torso, the soldier in him remained vigilant. He scanned the darkness beyond the boarded windows, his senses attuned to any potential threats.

The night wore on, punctuated by the occasional rustle or distant gunfire.

Taehyung drifted in and out of sleep, Kataleya's gentle breathing a soothing counterpoint to the chaos that echoed in his dreams.

When the first rays of dawn crept through the cracks in the boarded windows, painting the room with a soft, gray light, he finally allowed himself to fully relax.

He looked down at the woman nestled against him, her face peaceful in sleep. The fear that had haunted her earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet serenity.

He traced a finger along her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over the soft skin.

Her eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily at him.

A blush crept up her cheeks.

The skin, a flushed rosy color, deepened as she realized their closeness.

He saw a flicker of something in her eyes, a question perhaps, or gratitude. He met her gaze, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. In the quiet intimacy of the dawn, they gathered their supplies and left the pharmacy, hoping to meet with his squad as soon as possible.

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masterlist

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #military au #bts au #bts taehyung #taehyung x oc #bts military service

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black-wolf066 · 4 months ago

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Once Upon a Time Fanfic/Writing Master List

Hello everyone!

I'm in the process of revamping my blog mostly to make things easier for app users. The old master list will be deleted, and this list will be in its place due to outdated info and links since I no longer use FF.net and now only use Tumblr or Ao3. Please also keep in mind my OUAT works were posted originally back in 2015-2018, and while I will always love OUAT and will still talk or nerd out about it with anyone, I no longer really write for it.

List of works is below the cut. Enjoy!

All Killian and Henry Step Father/Son bonding stories:

“Well, You Do Have My Chin” (one-shot)– Season 7 AU (not Fix-it fic) in which “Somewhere in the translation it’s lost that Killian is Henry’s step-dad, so Henry just says his dad, leading to a “well you do have my chin,” commentary from Killian. And when the curse breaks they just squint at each other for a really long time.“ Captain Cobra centered fic with background Captain Swan, Hooked Queen Friendship, Glass Believer, OutlawQueen (((This is my pride and joy, out of all the stories I’ve written so far, I’m most proud of this one and I hope you guys enjoy it too. It was one of those prompts that just completely ran away from me and turned into a monster of a one-shot lol)) [Ao3 link]

“Never a Dull Moment” (Completed)– “In which the land of untold stories should have been a warning that it wasn’t just fairytales that were real.” This is a Captain Cobra centered fic, set 4 years after season 6 and before season 7. Warning of language, Killian Whump, and BAMF!Henry. [Ao3 link]

“Can You Not Be ‘That’ Dad! (two-shot)– “Imagine Henry trying to explain internet memes to Killian” “Or in which Henry comes to regret his decision, tenfold.” with an added bonus of Wish Hook at the end. Captain Cobra centered fic (established pairings, and if you squint you’ll get a little bit of Hooked Queen at the end with Wish Hook and Regina) (2nd chapter is simply a requested continuation prompt) [Part 1] [Part 2] [Ao3 link]

“When Everything Shifts” (one-shot)– Henry’s thoughts on the topic of fathers. With thoughts of his own father, to Hook and the transition of him becoming Killian, to step-father, and eventually someone that Henry sees as more than just a father figure, but as a second father. [Ao3 link]

Family/Gen KnightRook Father/Daughter bonding Stories:

“Sing Me Sweet Lullabies and Chase the Demons Away” (one-shot)– Season 7, father/daughter bonding. “Or in which sometimes even Papa’s need to be sung too.” [Ao3 link]

“Bed Hog” (one-shot)– Alice is a bed hog, plain and simple. Family gen with a side of Curious Archer [Ao3 link]

“Christmas Memories” (one-shot only posted on tumblr)– (Post-curse and post-poisoned heart issue). Alice, while flipping through the Christmas Movie laden channels, thinks back on her real and fake childhood. (Curious Archer mostly, but with some KnightRook feels)

“The Dreaded Why” (one-shot)– (season 7) “In which Alice is a very inquisitive little girl, and ‘why’ will be Killian’s undoing” (KnightRook fluff and feels await you my friends! Enjoy!) [Ao3 link]

“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum” (one-shot/snippet tumblr only)– Alice enjoying playtime with her papa.

“It All Comes Crumbling Down” (one-shot/Part 1 tumblr only)– just a snippet of tower living, and how young Alice could have been when Killian got cursed with the “Poisoned Heart”

“And the Flames Consume Us All” (One-shot/part 2 tumblr only)– Continuation of “It All Comes Crumbling Down” But in Alice’s POV.

“Panic” (one-shot tumblr only)– Alice dealing with the claustrophobia of crowds throughout her years, and the wonderful people who have helped her through it (Mostly KnightRook, with a blink of Curious Archer, and a brief appearance of Ella’s mom).

“Flat Lining” (one-shot tumblr only)– “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” A timeless lullaby that transcends all realms. (KnightRook feels galore)

“Killian Takes Alice Home After the Curse Breaks” (just a short snippet)– this came after seeing Killianmesmalls and thesschesthair’s post about what would happen or what they’d liked to see…

“A Broken Feeling, Like a Broken Figurine” (short snippet)– Just a tiny snippet of the white elephant decision and repercussions seen from Alice’s point of view.

Hooked Queen Stories:

“The Conundrum That Is Regina Mills and WishRealm Killian Jones” (one-shot tumblr only)– “In which Henry asks what even is his life anymore” where somewhere along the 11 years between helping the Resistance and landing in HH, Regina and Wish Hook go from friends to something else entirely.

“Darling, I’ve Got The Cold Christmas Blues” (one-shot)– Everyone has a place to be for Christmas Eve, whether volunteering at the local soup kitchen (Tilly and Rogers) or spending it with family and friends. Everyone that is except Roni/Regina. Not when she can’t afford to have her bar closed for even a single night. [Ao3 link]

“The Cake” (Short snippet tumblr only)–Regina was only trying to look out for him. He wasn’t aware of the danger he was in. Didn’t mean she didn’t feel guilty about it.

Captain Swan Stories/snippets/one-shots:

“Misadventures of the Jones’ and their Cat” (multi-chapter snippet series)– Just a series of ongoing short snippets involving the life of the Swan/Jones/Mills household with their latest addition to the family, Orion. (Mostly Captain Swan Cobra, but other pairings and characters may make an appearance, and will possibly go into season 7 territory). [Snippet 1: Hello Beastie][Snippet 2: A Name][Snippet 3: Stowaway]

“Emma and Killian’s room headcanon” (snippet/ideas)–reblogged from Bleebug and thesschesthair (but mostly chesthairs’ humorous two cents that i couldn’t help but add my own too).

Hooking Utensil/Captain Cook Stories/one-shots:

“Break Down” (one-shot tumblr only)–Sabine isn’t having a good day. Thankfully Rogers is there to help.

Written Snippets and other Once Upon a Time One-shots:

“Killian with a drunken Browine” (snippet)– the little gnome-man singing sea shanty’s in Killian’s pocket ((((I do have an actual one-shot and not just a snippet, planned out for this, just gotta find time to write it))))

“Of Humor and Hi-Jinks” (one-shot tumblr only)– (Post curse and poisoned heart) Alice and Henry team up for some hi-jinks in Hyperion Heights, leading to Killian bailing them out. ((Mostly KnightRook and Captain Cobra 2.0 (with bro-tp, Curious Believer between Alice and Henry). There’s also background canon, and non-canonical pairings, off to the side)).

“Holiday Fiasco” (one-shot tumblr only)– The curse breaks at the most inopportune time, and with all the running around; the looming holiday managed to slip from the HH gangs’ mind. With it being too late to cook a Christmas Eve dinner for 10; a lucky reservation at a restaurant is placed and the resulting shenanigans ensue. (All canon and non-canonical pairings of the romantic, familial and bro-top verity make an appearance)

“Rock-a-bye Mermaid” (one-shot tumblr only)– Killian and the crew stumble upon a treasure chest (looted from other pirates), that isn’t a treasure chest at all, but a crib. And inside, is a small infant mermaid. The decision to keep it and the chaos resulting from that decision ensue. (just a fun little piece born from a comic)

“Happy Hour Hysteria” (one-shot tumblr only)– (Season 7) Flu season has hit Hyperion Heights and Regina is in over her head at the bar. Thankfully Henry and Rogers are there to help.

“When Will the Storm End” (One-shot tumblr only)– His mother was always a ray of sunshine, even in the roughest of storms. It was only fitting, that the sky would mourn her loss too. (Somewhat of a companion piece to “Flat Lining” only because I use the “You are my Sunshine” lullaby)

“Dig” (snippet)–a headcanon from thesschesthair that inspired the feelsy snippet with Liam and Killian digging for Silver’s treasure.

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halfseoulco · 1 year ago

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All My Love: A SEVENTEEN x Hogwarts AU

Published Wednesday, February 14th, 2024 — Happy Valentine's Day and, more importantly, happy Carat Day! Honestly, I really got attached to these versions of the SEVENTEEN members that I created for the Christmas AU, so I decided to continue their stories with what I hope is a cute series of events for our thirteen diamonds. ♡

As a refresher, here's some information before you start reading!

Word count: ~ 10,800

AU Ages:

Seventh years — Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, Junhui, Soonyoung

Sixth years — Wonwoo, Jihoon, Seokmin, Mingyu, Minghao

Fifth years — Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan

AU Houses:

Gryffindor — Seungcheol, Soonyoung, Vernon, Chan

Ravenclaw — Wonwoo, Jihoon, Minghao

Hufflepuff — Junhui, Mingyu, Seokmin, Seungkwan

Slytherin — Jeonghan, Joshua

Description: It's Valentine's Day at Hogwarts and everyone has plans—or some things that go according to plan and some that don't. Romance is on the table for some, while others prefer to spend quality time with their friends—because all love is important. All you need to know is that you probably don't want to be Vernon.

Read “All My Love” on Ao3!

The Black Lake — February 14th (early evening)

"Hansol Vernon Chwe!"

The Gryffindor winced as his boyfriend's voice transcended octaves in his unbridled fury.

"You'd better have a good explanation for this!"

Gryffindor Fifth Year Boys' Dormitory — February 1st

"Vernon?"

The fifth year Gryffindor turned his head away from where he had been watching the rain fall outside the window to look at his oldest hyung over his shoulder.

"Oh, hey, hyung," he greeted him with a nod.

"Have you seen Seungkwan recently?" Seungcheol asked him, brow furrowed with concern.

"Um, not since last night," Vernon replied, face blank. "Why?"

The older Gryffindor sighed, sitting next to him on the bench seat in front of the window.

If not even his boyfriend had seen him recently, then maybe Seungkwan's situation was far more serious than anyone realized.

"I'm worried about him," Seungcheol admitted. "He doesn't really seem like himself. Not anywhere near a quarter as fussy as he normally is about everyone and everything." He glanced at Vernon out of the corner of his eye, noticing that he had gone back to facing the window. "You're usually attached at the hip, it's unusual that you haven't seen him at all today."

"Are you saying that I should know where my boyfriend is every minute of every day?" Vernon said tonelessly.

"No, that's not what I'm saying." Seungcheol tilted his head to one side, surveying him carefully. "I'm saying that as his best friend, you might know what's been going on with him."

The younger boy turned his head away.

"So you do know," Seungcheol said gently.

Vernon's shoulders tensed. He said nothing for a few moments, Seungcheol waiting patiently while he grappled with whether he should confide in the prefect or not.

Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Last spring," he began, "one of Seungkwan's closest friends from home... passed away."

"I remember," Seungcheol said gravely. "That's why he was gone for a while."

"Yeah, he went back home to attend the funeral." Vernon sighed. "The friend... he was a Muggle... and obviously Seungkwan couldn't tell him that he was a wizard, so his friend thought that he had gotten a scholarship to attend some fancy boarding school in the UK. Seungkwan had been jumping through all kinds of hoops to stay in touch with him without giving himself away, getting letters sent by Muggle post... talking about classes that are taught at Muggle schools... They would hang out all summer when Seungkwan would go home after every end of term... but then..." Vernon rubbed at his nose furiously with the sleeve of his sweater, sniffling. "His friend was really unhappy and I think he missed Seungkwan a lot—"

"It's okay," Seungcheol stopped him. "You don't have to keep going."

Vernon nodded gratefully, wiping at his eyes.

"His birthday was last week," he said softly, "and Seungkwan hasn't been taking it very well. I feel like I should be doing something... more? Better? But he barely even talks to me, won't even look at me sometimes..." He finally looked up at Seungcheol, his eyes sparkling with tears. "Hyung, I don't know what to do. I feel like such a bad boyfriend."

Seungcheol inhaled deeply through his nose, his mind running through the memories he had of Seungkwan and Vernon, both back when they had been just friends and after they had gotten together. To anyone who didn't know the pair very well, it would seem like Seungkwan took care of Vernon in every way—because that was how his affection manifested itself—but their friends all knew that Vernon was Seungkwan's biggest supporter and that the Hufflepuff relied on his boyfriend more than anyone. At just fifteen, they had a connection deeper than most adults Seungcheol had met; and no one who saw them together could ever accuse Vernon of not being a good boyfriend.

Seungcheol exhaled heavily.

"You're not a bad boyfriend," he reassured Vernon. "The fact that you're worried about it this much is proof that you're not. All you need to do is let him know that you're here for him." He stood up, patting the younger on the shoulder. "Besides, Valentine's Day is coming up in a couple of weeks. Maybe come up with something that will really show him that he's not alone in this."

Astronomy Tower — February 14th (early afternoon)

"What took you so long?" Wonwoo asked, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading.

"I'm so sorry," Mingyu huffed, stuffing something into his school bag. "I got stopped by... Alice Pembroke... on my way up here." He dropped to the floor next to his best friend, chest heaving with exhaustion. Shoving his still-open bag away from him, he raked his fingers through his sweaty hair. "I didn't mean to be late."

"I know you didn't," the Ravenclaw said softly. "You have quite a lot of sweets in your bag," he observed, finally looking away from his book to peek inside the contents of Mingyu's school bag.

The Hufflepuff beater snorted.

"I would offer you some but after that one Gryffindor girl was sent Sugar Quills dipped in love potion, I've learned not to eat anything people give me on Valentine's Day," he muttered, zipping up his bag and leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. "It's all a bunch of nonsense anyway."

Wonwoo carefully folded the corner of the page he was reading before setting the book aside. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't because he felt inadequate and needed Mingyu to tell him that he was wrong about what he was going to say—he just wanted him to be happy. The possibility that his best friend was choosing to remain single so that he would always be able to hang out with him just didn't sit right with him, and he would make sure that Mingyu's love life no longer suffered, even if it meant he had to spend more time alone.

"You know, you don't have to keep turning down girls because of me," he said quietly.

Mingyu slowly straightened up, opening his eyes to stare at Wonwoo blankly. When he didn't say anything for a few moments, Wonwoo decided to elaborate.

"Every time I try to have this conversation with you, you refuse to talk about it," he pressed. "You like girls, or at least you liked the girls back home. I know that you want to fall in love—that you believe in love—but you've rejected every single girl that's been interested in you since we started at Hogwarts. It's okay, you know? I'm not going to become a recluse if you start going out with someone. I can take care of myself."

Mingyu continued to stare blankly at him, showing no sign that he was taking in anything that the Ravenclaw was saying. Irritated, Wonwoo waved his hand in his face.

"Is any of this getting across to you?" the usually laidback boy demanded.

Still not receiving an answer or any indication that Mingyu had processed anything he had just said, Wonwoo stood up and started gathering his things, trying not to be too aggressive about it. If Mingyu wanted to keep avoiding the subject, then he could do it by himself.

"Wha—wait, wait, wait!" Mingyu said hastily, lurching forward and tugging on his arm to stop him. "Don't leave! I... I'm not trying to be annoying on purpose, I just—" He cut himself off, exhaling through his teeth. "I don't really know how to explain it."

"Explain what?" Wonwoo asked, looking down at his best friend, who was still sitting on the floor.

"A lot of things," Mingyu replied, leaning back against the wall again, "but I promise you that I'm not turning down dates because I think that you can't function without me."

Now thoroughly embarrassed that he had even voiced that particular insecurity, Wonwoo hesitated for a moment before dropping his bag back on the floor and sitting back down next to him.

"I'm sorry I got upset," he murmured. "I just don't want to be the one holding you back from something that I know is important to you."

"You're right, it is important to me," Mingyu agreed, "but not right now." He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling of the Astronomy Tower. "It's funny... we're in our sixth year, we have one more year left after this before we have to go out into the world and decide what we want to do with our lives... and I still feel so... young."

"I mean... we are." Wonwoo looked up at the ceiling himself, eyes following the veins in the stone. "Sixteen is not old enough to really make any decisions, not even about girls."

"Right, so I don't really understand why everyone is trying to find their future spouses now. I know a lot of Pureblood families don't arrange their children's marriages anymore, but there are still a few Slytherins who are already bound to betrothal contracts! Betrothal contracts! In this day and age! Anyway..." Mingyu grabbed his bag and shook it, the contents rattling around inside. "This? It's all fake. These girls are only interested in me because they think I'm handsome."

"You are handsome, though," Wonwoo pointed out.

"Thanks, but my point is that they don't know me. They don't know anything about me," Mingyu said. "I'm nothing more than good looks to them—with bonus points for being a foreigner and adding to the intrigue."

"Well, how is anyone supposed to get to know you if you don't let anyone close enough?"

"I don't need anyone else!" the Hufflepuff insisted stubbornly. "I have a twelve-person friend group. For some people, that's more than enough. Plenty. A lot, even."

"Oh, you won't find any disagreements from me there," Wonwoo said, chuckling. "Sometimes I think our friend group is a little much at times, but they're very understanding about me time. Anyway, back to you, you're being very cynical. A lot of people our age date for fun. No one's telling you that it has to be that serious, it might just be nice to have someone to spend time with on Valentine's Day. That's all."

"Is that something you want?" Mingyu asked him.

"Someday," he answered. "Not today, though. Besides, no one's been asking me, but a lot of people have asked you. That's why I'm bringing it up. If you were less nice, the girls here might start calling you a heartbreaker. Even Cedric Diggory had a girlfriend, you know, before the Triwizard Tournament."

"They can say whatever they want about me, it doesn't matter," Mingyu said, shrugging. "We're graduating next year and I don't think I'm going to be looking for jobs here, so I don't have to play British wizarding politics by avoiding rejecting girls from good families. I value my time and I'm choosing to spend it with people whom I also value, which includes you. Like..." He scratched the back of his head, frowning. "I think you're the most important person in my life and I want to be with you forever, but like... in a... not romantic way? If that makes sense? Like, I think we could get a house together and split bills and go grocery shopping and I would find that just as fulfilling as doing all that stuff with a girlfriend. I mean, girls are nice, but they're not you."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'platonic'," the Ravenclaw supplied helpfully. "And for the record, I feel the same way. I think people whose friends stop existing for them once they get a significant other are terrible."

"Yeah, what is up with that?" Mingyu agreed. "Can you imagine Seungcheol and Jeonghan just dropping all of us? Or Seungkwan and Vernon?"

"Never." Wonwoo shook his head. "Our lives are all so wrapped up in each other's, the thirteen of us can never really be apart. We're going to be old and gray... and taking up an entire apartment complex building by ourselves."

"I think that would be fun, honestly. A huge high-rise in Seoul, paid for by Jeonghan hyung." Snickering, Mingyu dug through his bag, unearthing a couple of packages of kimbap wrapped in plastic from under the piles of candy and cards. "My mom sent these, by the way. She specifically told me that I could not eat your portion, so you are now legally obligated to eat it."

"Tell her I said thank you," Wonwoo said, gratefully accepting the kimbap and unwrapping the plastic. "Your mom always has really great timing, she just knows when to send food."

"See, now you have to be friends with me forever," Mingyu teased. "Otherwise, no kimbap for you."

Wonwoo punched the Hufflepuff's arm affectionately.

"I don't need kimbap for that," he promised. "We were always going to be friends forever."

"Is there something longer than forever?"

"Forever and a day."

"That's still forever."

"I know."

Hufflepuff Sixth Year Boys' Dormitories — February 14th (afternoon)

Seokmin shuffled through the pile of parchment in his hands as he trudged into the sixth year boys' dormitories, muttering to himself about moonstone properties and measurement conversions. Entirely preoccupied with trying to figure out where he might have made a mistake on his last quiz, he didn't notice that anything was amiss until a voice broke through his concentration.

"Whoa, what happened in here?"

Seokmin's head snapped up when his dorm mate walked into the room, the amazement in his tone catching his attention.

"Well, that's certainly something," he said, blinking at the grand display in front of him.

The curtains of his four-poster bed had been pulled back to reveal a large bouquet of red, pink, and white balloons floating in place with magic above his mattress. Also floating in the air was a single card in a plain white envelope with his name printed neatly on it, although it didn't look like anyone's handwriting that he recognized—especially since the person had written it in Korean and he knew what all of his friends' handwriting looked like when they wrote in Korean.

Seokmin crossed the room to his bed, dropping his bag on the floor and the parchment in his hands on his bedside table. He plucked the card out of the air, using a quick spell to break the wax seal on it without destroying the pretty heart shape. When he opened it, he saw that the person had tried to also write their message to him in Korean with the help of a translation spell; and while the words were a little clumsy, he immediately found himself touched by the effort.

"To the one and only Lee Seokmin,

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm sorry that I couldn't face you in person. I'm not ready to reveal myself to you yet, but I still want to tell you that you make me smile every single day because you deserve to know. Please accept this card and the balloons well, I worked really hard on the spells to make them work. Maybe someday I will be able to tell you how I feel face to face. Until then, please be happy and healthy, and tell some new jokes in class when you learn them. I promise I will laugh like I always do.

With love,

Your secret admirer"

Reaching the end of the card, Seokmin stared silently at the words on the cardstock paper, trying to think of people in his classes who maybe laughed a little too much at his jokes or paid him any kind of special attention. Truthfully, there were very few people who didn't find him funny, so he quickly gave up on trying to figure out his admirer's identity that way.

"Does the card say who the balloons are from?" his dorm mate asked him, breaking him out of his deep thought.

"No, secret," Seokmin replied absentmindedly.

"Oh, that's a shame. Well, good on you anyway, mate!" His fellow Hufflepuff clapped him on the shoulder. "At least there's someone out there who likes you a whole lot."

As the other boy left, Seokmin inspected the balloons with a critical eye. The card had said that his secret admirer had worked really hard on the spells to "make them work" and he was curious to see exactly what the balloons were meant to do. What could you even make balloons do with magic anyway?

Intrigued, he cautiously poked one at the front of the bunch and gasped as the shiny surface rippled, revealing the words "POP ME".

"But I'm easily startled," Seokmin muttered to himself.

Wand clutched in hand, he debated just leaving the balloons alone and enjoying the sight of them—but the thought of never finding out what kind of magic had been placed on them was too tempting for him to ignore.

Waving his wand, he then quickly braced himself for the loud pop, covering his ears. However, instead of a popping sound, a high-pitched voice chirped, "I hope your Valentine's Day is magical!"

The voice had been disguised, of course, but the realization that his secret admirer had charmed the balloons not to make sounds when he popped them because they knew he was easily startled had tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Wiping at his face with his sleeve, he eyed the remaining balloons, trying to decide which one to pop next so that he could hear a different message.

"Wow, who sent you those?" Junhui asked, peeking in the doorway on his way down the hall.

"No clue," Seokmin told him happily, "but they're pretty amazing. Look!"

The older Hufflepuff entered the room, approaching Seokmin's bed to get a closer look at the magic balloons. The sixth year tapped a random balloon, showing Junhui how the words "POP ME" appeared, then waved his wand, causing the balloon to pop.

"I must need Occlumency because I can't get you out of my head!" it trilled.

"That is some amazing charm work," Junhui praised, peering more closely at the balloons. "The person who sent them to you didn't leave a name?"

Seokmin passed him the card.

"Too shy," he informed him.

Junhui read over the contents of the card quickly then handed it back.

"Hmm, would've been nice to know so that you could thank them for their effort, but the gesture is thoughtful," he said, shrugging. "They even made it so the balloons wouldn't make noise when popped. They must have enough classes with you to know you're a big ole scaredy cat."

"Yah!" Seokmin huffed, even though it was true.

Junhui chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"I'm happy for you, Seokmin-ah," he said, his tone genuine. "I'll see you later, meeting up with Minghao."

"What else is new?" Seokmin called after him as he left. "Now, back to these balloons..."

The Whomping Willow — February 14th (early evening)

"Who do you think it is?" Junhui asked his best friend, having just finished telling him about the charmed balloons Seokmin had received from his secret admirer.

Minghao didn't look up as he answered, his focus on washing the tea leaves in preparation to brew tea for the two of them.

"Your guess is as good as mine. A lot of people think Seokmin is funny, I'm sure he has no shortage of admirers."

"Honestly, I kind of want to know just so that I can ask them how they came up with the spell," Junhui said thoughtfully. "It was really very impressive. Whoever did it must like Seokmin a lot."

Minghao hummed in agreement, still concentrating on the task at hand.

The pair had chosen a nice spot not too close to the tree to set up a small, low-rise table so that they could sit and drink their tea together. Minghao often held these tea ceremonies alone, something that he did purely for his own joy and relaxation. The activity required singular focus, which took his busy mind off of other things for a while. It's not that the others were never invited, but they understood that it was something he needed to do for himself; and he had an unparalleled collection of different teas for a sixteen-year-old living away from home.

Junhui stretched his arms over his head, looking up at the Whomping Willow looming deceptively calmly above them.

"Do you ever wonder about what it would be like to settle down with someone?" he mused. "Even if they really like you, they still might not understand certain aspects of your personality or what's really important to you. What if they don't appreciate your tea ceremonies?"

"I haven't really thought about it," Minghao replied, tone even. "I know that I'd like to settle down eventually, but that seems pretty far off. There are still so many things I want to do first—like graduate from this school that we worked so hard to get into. I'm not enduring racism and xenophobia from narrow-minded Brits to worry about whether some witch from the English countryside appreciates my tea ceremonies. Besides, I do the tea ceremonies for myself, not for other people."

"You're preparing a tea ceremony for me now," Junhui pointed out.

"Yeah, well, that's you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you're not on the same level as everyone else," Minghao elaborated. "You're my best friend, and I know you do appreciate my tea ceremonies."

Not even remotely satisfied by the reassurance his best friend was giving him, the Hufflepuff pressed further.

"Will you miss me after I graduate?" Junhui's eyes left the Whomping Willow, dropping back down to observe Minghao's hands as he started to steep the tea leaves in hot water. "Tell me honestly."

"Don't be stupid," Minghao told him flatly and without missing a beat.

"Hey! I was just asking—"

"And I'm telling you again: don't be stupid." Minghao didn't take his eyes off the tea leaves, even as he spoke. "No offense to our friends but you know I'd miss you the most. I can't believe I even have to tell you that."

"It wouldn't hurt you to tell me sometimes! I like the reassurance."

"All of our friends are already talking about how I'm going to try and sneak you into the Ravenclaw dorms every weekend next year. If they know it, then so do you. Now drink your tea."

His tone was not unkind, simply matter-of-fact, the way it often was. Junhui knew that Minghao was nice in his own way, and he definitely cared about him—he just communicated it a little differently.

Having already poured the freshly brewed tea, Minghao carefully slid a teacup across the table towards the Hufflepuff. Junhui simply stared at the cup for a moment, admiring the detail and craftsmanship of the emerald green and gold accent pattern. Tendrils of steam wafted up gently but Junhui knew it would be the perfect temperature. It always was.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, finally picking up his tea and bringing it to his lips.

Minghao hummed in response, picking up his own tea. The fragrance coming from the perfectly steeped jasmine tea leaves filled the chilly February air around them, almost as if they were in their own bubble.

Most days they really were.

Junhui knew that he was really lucky that Minghao had come to Hogwarts at the same time as him, even though they were a year apart. It had been a long and difficult process to get accepted as a second year; and if Headmistress McGonagall had been a less generous woman, he never would've met Minghao—or any of the others. They had been made fun of and harassed from the moment they had arrived, but now—almost at the end of his time at the illustrious school—he wouldn't have done things any differently.

Now, if he could only be as certain about what laid ahead.

"Do you think falling in love is as big of a deal as everyone makes it out to be?" Junhui asked, setting his cup down.

"You're full of existential questions today." Minghao also set his cup down. "I think... that it's probably really nice in its own way... but that it's not the only kind of love that's important. Love comes in all forms and they're all equally necessary and fulfilling. People put all of their eggs in the romantic love basket and then wonder why they're still unhappy when they ditched all their friends for a new relationship."

"So you don't think it's lame that you're having tea with your best friend on Valentine's Day?"

"Of course not." Minghao snorted. "There's nothing else I'd rather be doing. Anyway, do you think it's lame for Mingyu and Wonwoo to be hanging out in the Astronomy Tower of all places doing who knows what when Mingyu has the entire female student population after him?"

"No, not at all," Junhui replied quickly. "They are each other's most important person."

"Exactly." Minghao smiled at his best friend over the rim of his teacup. "Aren't I your most important person?"

"Yes. Always yes," Junhui assured him.

"And you're mine, so don't worry about it anymore," Minghao said, reaching across the table to pat Junhui's shoulder fondly.

"Why do I feel like you're the older one instead of me?"

"Because it's my duty to impart wisdom upon you from time to time," the Ravenclaw informed him matter-of-factly. "It comes with the house."

Junhui rolled his eyes.

"In other news, my mother wrote to me this morning letting me know that one of the girls with whom I attended primary school told her parents that I'm going to a private school in the UK, and so they contacted my parents asking if they had any prospective fiancées in mind for me," Minghao told him. "My pretend pedigreed education is apparently an attractive quality."

"Ah, they're Muggles," Junhui concluded. "Your parents don't have a problem with that, do they?"

"No, definitely not." Minghao shook his head. "I just think it's much more difficult to try and be in relationships with non-magic folk. You have to hide so much, not even just because you think they can't be trusted but because you never know how they're going to take the news. It's a lot of information for most people to handle."

"I don't know, I think my father took it pretty well," Junhui said, thinking back to the story his parents had told him about how his mother had broken the news to her then-boyfriend that she was a witch. "But he is a little odd himself, so I think he was just relieved that she wasn't as normal as he thought she was."

"Your parents are a pretty strange pair," Minghao admitted, "but I like them. They're very nice."

"And your parents are hilarious," Junhui returned, remembering when they had come to the pick-up point at Hogsmeade to take a Portkey back to China for the summer just last year. "You really take after them."

Minghao shrugged.

"Superior genetics."

Junhui snorted into his teacup, blowing bubbles across the surface of the still-hot liquid.

"Don't scoff," Minghao pretended to scold him. "You have the very best best friend you could possibly ask for. You should be grateful."

Still holding the teacup to his face to hide his smile, Junhui nodded in agreement.

"Oh, I am. I always am."

The Library — February 14th (early evening)

"I knew I'd find you here!" Soonyoung exclaimed happily, weaving through the aisles as he skipped towards the study tables.

Jihoon looked up at the Gryffindor, frowning. The table that he was sitting at was covered entirely in books and parchment, a stark contrast to the other empty tables. In fact, his was the only occupied table in the entire library. Madame Pince wasn't even lurking in the shadows as usual, considering that Soonyoung was speaking at louder than an inside voice and she hadn't come over to reprimand him.

"I'm usually here," he deadpanned, looking back down at his work, "the same of which cannot be said for you."

Soonyoung didn't look the least bit offended by Jihoon's words, long since used to his particular form of communication. Undeterred, he looked down at all of the materials spread out on the table, trying to figure out what Jihoon was working on even though it was upside down for him.

"You have to be the only person in the entire school who's studying today!" he pouted, pawing at the parchment nearest to him. "It's Valentine's Day! A day for love! What are you even working on?"

"Getting ahead," Jihoon said shortly, yanking the parchment back from him. "Love can wait."

"Jihoon-ah, you'll work yourself to death," Soonyoung chided him, pulling out the chair opposite the Ravenclaw. "I think you should take a break."

"That's how I like it," Jihoon grumbled, "and I have nothing pressing to attend to tonight, so there's no point in taking a break."

"I came all the way up here, to the library—where I never am, as you correctly pointed out—to find you and you won't pull yourself away from your books to hang out with me?"

Jihoon's quill paused mid-scratch, the only indication that he had heard the seventh year's question, before he continued writing.

"You don't usually ask me to hang out," he said, his tone bordering on indifferent.

"It's not for lack of wanting to. I always want to," Soonyoung admitted. "And I always think you're going to say no, so I never ask."

He thought he could see a faint pink blush on Jihoon's cheeks but it was hard to tell from this angle.

"That's not very Gryffindor of you," Jihoon commented, scribbling away.

"It's the one thing in which I lack courage," Soonyoung huffed. "But to be fair, you're very intimidating, even though you're the cutest person I know."

Jihoon accidentally pressed down on the parchment too hard with his quill, creating an ink blot over the words he was writing. Swearing under his breath, the tips of his ears red, he waved his wand at the offending spot.

"Stop talking nonsense," he hissed, the red flush spreading from his ears to the rest of his face.

"I'm not!" Soonyoung insisted. "I think you're the cutest person in the whole school!"

"Shut up!"

Jihoon wasn't even trying to focus on his work anymore, intent on getting Soonyoung to stop talking before he had a coronary. Not that it was possible. The seventh year was actually very shy—but you would never know it by the way his mouth ran a million miles when he was around his friends. He seemed determined to say his piece and nothing was going to get in the way of him saying it.

"You're always so strict and I think it's because you like it when people listen to you, but you're always doing nice things for people while pretending that you had nothing to do with it," the Gryffindor continued, oblivious to the fact that Jihoon was now bypassing red and heading into scarlet. "Like that time you jinxed those people who had been making fun of Junhui and Minghao when they first arrived. It was so impressive, I remember thinking that you were such a cool and dependable person even back then."

"That's enough!"

"And you're so buff for such a small and cute person." Soonyoung rested his chin on one hand. "You could probably knock me out if you really wanted to. Honestly, please do it, it would be the greatest honor of my life. Anyway, it makes no sense... and yet it makes perfect sense. Everything about you is just... so fascinating."

The Ravenclaw jumped up from his chair, hurling the quill he had been using at Soonyoung, who turned and ducked just in time to watch it sail over his head.

"Whoa! What was that for?"

"Why are you saying all this?" Jihoon demanded. "Did you come up here just to embarrass me?"

Realizing that he and the sixth year were not on the same page in spite of the way he had just gushed about him, Soonyoung shook his head.

Apparently he had not been clear enough.

"Accio quill," he murmured, holding a hand out for the quill Jihoon had thrown at him before offering it back to him. "I'm not trying to embarrass you, although I am sorry if that's how you feel. I'm just trying to tell you how I feel, which is that you scare me but I like it—I like you."

Jihoon snatched his quill back, face still impossibly red.

"You have a funny way of showing it," he snapped. "You have mere months left before you graduate, your timing is nothing if not grossly impeccable."

"I know, I haven't been very brave," Soonyoung said, shrugging, not even the least bit put off by Jihoon's criticism. "I really didn't want to ruin our dynamic or make things weird for the others, but if we hadn't agreed to the no dates rule for the Yule Ball, I would've asked you."

"You said you weren't interested in anyone when Minghao asked you," Jihoon pointed out, narrowing his eyes at him.

"So I lied." Soonyoung started gathering the parchment on the table into a pile. "I haven't exactly told anyone that I've been harboring this secret crush on you for three years. I'm no good at keeping secrets but I was very good at keeping this one. And stop being so pragmatic about this, I'm trying to be romantic."

"I really don't know what you want me to say to all of this," Jihoon said snippily. "You're the last person I expected to confess to having a years-long crush on me."

"How about you say what you want to say?" Soonyoung suggested, a hopeful expression on his face.

Jihoon, having just noticed that the seventh year had compiled all his parchment into a neat stack, slid the pile away from him and across the table, putting everything into his school bag. He then waved his wand, sending his books flying back onto the shelves in their rightful places. When he had stalled enough, he sighed and turned to face the Gryffindor.

"I know we've been friends for my entire time at Hogwarts thus far," he began finally. "I know that I can trust you, that you're telling the truth—that you wouldn't confess just to yank the rug out from under me, as I believe the expression goes. I know all of that, logically, but considering that—as you said—people find me intimidating, it's hard to imagine someone being so earnest about their feelings for me. Most people think I'm too... domineering."

His hands came up to his throat, loosening his blue and bronze tie from around his neck.

"I can't even really say if I like you as more than a friend or not," he said, sounding apologetic. "I didn't think it was a possibility, so I never considered you in that way."

Soonyoung leaned over the table between them, reaching for the Ravenclaw's school bag and hoisting the strap over one shoulder. He maintained eye contact the entire time, willing Jihoon to believe him but also wanting to fluster him just a little bit more.

"But as you said, you know that you can trust me," he pointed out. "Plus, if you think about it, you're a strict taskmaster and I'm a glutton for punishment—we're perfect for each other."

Jihoon tried to wrestle his school bag back from the taller boy, his pale face gaining back the red that had just begun to fade.

"You can't just say things like that!" he hissed.

Soonyoung simply tugged the bag out of his grasp and just out of his reach, smiling cheekily.

"I've waited three years to confess," he reminded him. "Now that the secret's out, I have all sorts of things that I kept to myself that I'm going to say—including how adorable I think you are. Walk with me?"

Jihoon stared up at him for a few moments, expression unreadable. If he thought at all about refusing him, the thought didn't last. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he nodded towards the front of the library.

"Well, after you then."

Slytherin Common Room — February 14th (dusk)

"Hong!"

Joshua didn't even so much as raise his head, instead making an indifferent "mmm" sound in acknowledgement.

He didn't need to look to see who it was—the voice alone was clue enough.

William Bennington the third was an awful homage to the Pureblood Slytherins of old. With generations of English aristocratic breeding to support his claim to everything he wanted in life, he was disliked even within his own house and by many of the portraits in the dungeons; and after seven long years sharing a dormitory with him, he still said "Hong" with a certain sneer that was clearly affected by poorly concealed racism.

At this point, Joshua had been living in the UK long enough to let things roll off his back, but William could've given Draco Malfoy a run for his money with the way he paraded about the school as if he owned it.

"Pretty prince doesn't have a date tonight?" William asked him, dropping down onto the sofa across from him, his tone mocking.

"Not that I'm aware of," Joshua replied pleasantly, still not looking up from his book.

"Hey, it just goes to show you that looks aren't everything in life," the other boy commented snidely. "The girls here won't go after some foreigner with no title. And aren't you a Half-Blood?" he added as an afterthought. "Yeah, that won't do at all."

Joshua turned the page, letting William carry on the conversation by himself. The golden-haired heir to a Potions empire (or so he claimed, Joshua had never bothered to verify this) had been harassing him from the moment he had set foot in the common room first year; and he had long since learned that it was best to let him converse with himself to get everything out of his system before he was satisfied. Not only did William take issue with his race and his blood status, he seemed oddly offended by his appearance as well, referring to him as "pretty" with his tone suggesting that he did not mean it in a positive way.

"Nothing to say?" William asked him softly, noticing that his tirade was falling on deaf ears. "Truth hurts, does it?"

"If you say so." Joshua barely shrugged his shoulders.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say.

"You think you're better than me?" William demanded, suddenly shooting up from his seat. "That you can sit there like you're royalty and I'm some sort of commoner? I'm far more important than you will ever be!"

Joshua sighed, recognizing that his night would be a lost cause if he didn't address this particular problem promptly, and slipped a tasseled bookmark in between the pages of his book before closing it and looking up at his aggressor for the first time during their previously one-sided confrontation.

"I get that certain things matter to you," he said carefully, "but they don't matter to me—and they don't matter to a lot of people anymore, not even the Slytherins here. I didn't realize that me being dateless on Valentine's Day was of such great significance to you, especially when it's of no significance to me and my evening. Maybe you should be more worried about the fact that you care so much about what I'm doing with my time, alone or otherwise."

William's upper lip curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing.

"Listen, you filthy—"

"Oh, shut it, Bennington," snapped a voice from behind Joshua.

Joshua turned to look over his shoulder, noticing that Mira Nott had just come from the girls' dormitories and was standing just behind the sofa he was sitting on.

According to Jeonghan—who seemed to always know the latest gossip amongst the various wizarding families—Theodore Nott had settled down with a Pureblood witch from Bulgaria who had graduated from Durmstrang. They had met while Theo had been taking some time away from England and had returned together shortly after their wedding.

While she had been a cute girl when she had first arrived, Mira had grown into an exceptionally pretty young woman by the age of seventeen. Taller than most of the other girls in the school, the first thing that Joshua had noticed about her was that she had perfectly straight posture that adjusted minutely according to her movements. With long, dark curls framing her face, a warm complexion, and high cheekbones, she had the best features of both of her parents—except that she had one brown and one blue eye, both of which were cunning yet also surprisingly kind. Top of the class in at least every class Joshua shared with her, she was also the Slytherin Seeker; and he loved to watch her fly against Seungcheol during matches. Her intellect and athleticism made her a formidable opponent, and their matches were always close ones.

All that being said, Mira was obviously highly sought after—even by William Bennington the third.

"Don't mind him. Joshua," she said to him, a beautiful, wicked smile on her face as she made direct eye contact with William. "If betrothal contracts were still common practice, I would've already asked my father to request a meeting with your parents to discuss one."

Joshua resisted the urge to grin broadly at the way William's face had gone absolutely scarlet, a purple vein starting to make its appearance at his temple.

"You flatter me, Mira," he said to her instead, laying it on a little thick for the benefit of their audience, even as he ignored him. "I don't think I would be opposed to such a meeting. There's still time to write to your parents and mine."

Standing up, he offered her his arm.

"Walk with me?" he asked, every bit the perfect gentleman.

"Of course," she replied, walking around the sofa and linking arms with him.

Triggered by the events taking place right in front of him, their forgotten peer leapt up from his seat, positively quivering with entitled rage.

"Mira! You cannot possibly be thinking about entering a betrothal contract with that Half-Blood foreigner! My father—"

William's deranged bellows were cut off abruptly as the door swung shut behind them.

"I wonder what his father would have to say if he knew that the daughter of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family had filed a complaint with the school governors about the shady little deals William conducts in the prefects' bathroom," Mira said innocently.

Joshua smiled at her, completely enamored. Was there any other witch at this school more perfect than the one looking at him right now?

"You are so ruthless, I love it," he told her.

She tossed her hair over one shoulder, smiling back at him.

"Tell me more."

Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch — February 14th (evening)

"Yoo-hoo! Channie!"

Chan squinted down at the figure waving up at him, figuring out who it was based on the gleaming head of hair.

Camille Archambault, which she had told him meant "bold master"—the girl from the Yule Ball.

It had been almost two months since Christmas and he had met up with the stunning beauty from Beauxbatons a handful of times—a Hogsmeade outing here, a walk on the grounds there. They were what some people might call dating, if a little intensely for something that was supposed to be casual. Translation spells helped bridge the language barrier; and she was sweet, funny, and charming. She was quite good at spells, and she had told him that if she had been a student during the time of the Triwizard Tournament, she would have entered. She liked picnics by the greenhouses and broom rides with her arms wrapped around his waist, coffee with milk poured in delicate swirls and the feeling of his hand intertwined with hers, primrose perfume and the way he got red right before he kissed her.

Sometimes he found himself thinking that he should be a little more cautious with his heart—that he should be waiting for the other foot to drop—but so far he was having fun, and he supposed that was what mattered.

He was surprised that she could tell it was him considering how high up he was, but he did catch her staring at him from the Ravenclaw table quite often. She never looked embarrassed at having been caught—in fact, it only emboldened her and he ended up having to be the one to look away.

"That girl never gets tired of looking at you," Jeonghan had told him once, the disdain in his voice more like that of a disapproving parent rather than an overprotective friend. "I wonder how she manages to concentrate on her studies when she's staring at you all the time. I suppose she'd at least get an Outstanding in Lee Chan."

"Let them be, Hannie," Seungcheol had admonished him gently.

Secretly, Chan wondered what Camille saw in him, exactly. She had been the one to ask him to dance at the Yule Ball and the one to lead him out to the gardens that night. She had also initiated all of their dates so far, as well as most of their shows of affection, which he still hadn't quite gotten used to. After their time together at the ball, he hadn't expected to hear from her again, yet she kept seeking him out. She seemed to have memorized his schedule to account for all the classes she didn't share with him—she always knew where to find him, even when he didn't tell anyone where he was going.

It was flattering, he had to admit.

At the ball, she had asked him how to pronounce his name correctly, repeating it multiple times even after he had told her that she had down—and then proceeded to only refer to him as Channie, saying that it was her cute name for him. One of the other Beauxbatons girls, having only heard Camille call him Channie, tried to use the nickname one morning and the next time he saw her, she was missing her eyebrows.

"Why doesn't she just grow them back?" Mingyu had asked, perplexed.

"If she would, she could," Chan had replied, shrugging. "Camille's really good at spells, the other girl probably can't figure out how to reverse it."

"Wow, you'd better make sure she never gets mad at you."

Privately, he agreed.

That being said, he wondered if she felt like she had to teach him everything—where to put his hands, when to kiss her, what he should say. He had made his lack of experience known that night in the gardens, but she hadn't seemed to mind. She had simply directed him and he took direction well.

And yet... he couldn't help but think it was as though they were caught up in a race in which only she knew where the finish line was—and the thought made him more than a little sweaty-palmed.

Coming back to his senses, he Summoned the Quaffle he had been practicing with and tucked it under one arm. Although he wasn't on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Chan still liked to fly. It brought him peace and helped clear his mind, and on an evening when he figured he had no plans, it was the perfect way to spend his time.

I guess I have plans now, he thought to himself.

He circled the goalposts on the far right side of the pitch, making a nose dive and pulling up straight just as his toes skimmed the grass. He dismounted smoothly, giving Camille a friendly smile as he approached her, Nimbus 3000 broom in one hand and Quaffle in the other.

"Hi, Camille," he greeted her. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"Bon soir, Channie," she returned, smiling prettily at him. "I admit, I am a little disappointed that you did not come looking for me today. I was hoping that we could spend some time together."

"Ah, I wasn't aware that that was what you wanted," he told her sheepishly. "It's Valentine's Day and we're not, you know, official, so I didn't think you would want to do anything."

"Channie, Channie, Channie." Camille shook her golden blonde head. He caught sight of delicate pearl strand earrings dangling from her ears, a matching set with the string of pearls around her neck. "I am going back to France at the end of term, do you think I want to waste time going slow?"

"I wouldn't think it was a waste of time," he protested, cheeks growing pink. "I just... haven't really hung out with a lot of girls. You move kind of fast."

"Oh, I know, mon chéri, it is what makes you one of the good boys," she said, touching his cheek, her expression fond. "I always enjoy our time together, and I think it would be silly to not make the most of the time we have left, non?"

Chan dropped the Quaffle on the grass and placed his own hand over her hand on his face.

Being with Camille was like one ongoing surprise party. Sure, it was fun, but it also kind of gave him a heart attack. Even though he always did his best to try and read her mind before she actually executed any of her plans, he more often than not found himself unprepared. It was a little jarring to be caught unawares as many times as he had been since they had started seeing each other, but he knew that he had to enjoy the ride while it lasted.

She was, after all, leaving at the end of term.

"Let me shower first?" he asked her.

She tilted her head to the side to press her lips to his other cheek.

"Meet me at the entrance to the grounds in half an hour," she murmured in his ear. "I'll be waiting."

The Gilded Phoenix (Private Room) — February 14th (night)

"You know I really didn't need all of this," Jeonghan said, taking a sip from the glass of elf wine he was holding daintily in one hand. "We could have stayed at school and I would have been just as happy."

"I know, but it's our last year at Hogwarts. Maybe it sounds kind of childish... but I just wanted to do something to commemorate our last year as kids," Seungcheol told his boyfriend honestly, shrugging. "Life is going to change pretty dramatically once we graduate. I feel like we're never going to have this kind of peace again."

"So you wanted to live in this bubble of youthful innocence one last time," Jeonghan guessed.

"Exactly."

"We're still going to be kids when we graduate," Jeonghan said thoughtfully. "The Wizarding World in the UK moves so fast, it's amazing how anyone manages to find something stable so soon after graduation."

"Are you planning on going home?" Seungcheol asked him.

"Yes, for a while. My parents will want to see me—and they'll want to see you as well."

"I think I'll go home for a little while, too." Seungcheol ran a finger around the rim of his wine glass absentmindedly. "There's this famous producer based in London whom I'm trying to get an internship with, though. I'll need to find a job so that I can get a flat nearby if I get accepted."

"Darling, you know that you don't have to work if you don't want to," the Slytherin reminded him. "I don't have to work if I don't want to, and I'm more than capable of taking care of both of us. Besides, my family loves you. We'd be married as soon as we landed on Korean soil if it were up to them."

"Spoiled rich kid," Seungcheol teased.

"You love me," Jeonghan flirted back.

"Always." Seungcheol took Jeonghan's hand, his thumb skimming the tops of his knuckles affectionately. "Look, I appreciate you offering to support me financially, but I want to be able to do things on my own, whatever I choose to pursue."

"Your music has always been important to you. You're an artist. You could... simply think of me as your patron," Jeonghan suggested.

"Hannie—"

"I mean it," Jeonghan insisted. "You would be focusing on making music without worrying about your finances. It's not like I would be paying for you to stay idle. I'm sure I could also come up with work for you."

"I really can't accept," Seungcheol said firmly, "so please don't ask me to."

Jeonghan set down his wine glass with a huff.

"You never let me do anything for you!" the Slytherin exclaimed, eyes narrowed dangerously. "I always indulge this little... complex you seem to have about being perceived as the provider, but you know that that concept is extremely outdated. There is no hunter-gatherer dynamic in the twenty-first century."

"You think this is about my masculinity?" Seungcheol asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do!" Jeonghan snapped. "I let you open jars for me and move my furniture around because I know it makes you feel useful. The least you could let me do is use the resources I have to help you!"

The Gryffindor leaned back in his chair, staring at his boyfriend in disbelief.

"So that's how you really see me," he said flatly.

Jeonghan sighed, deflating at once.

"Cheollie, it's not that I see you as some sort of caveman," he said sadly. "You help me all the time. I just want to be able to help you for once."

Seungcheol's expression softened. He knew that Jeonghan just wanted to help—he was generous to a fault, and throwing his money at problems was his way of trying to make things better. There was some truth to what he was saying, though—his ego wouldn't let him allow his boyfriend to pay all the bills while he tried to make it as an artist.

"You do help me," he murmured, taking both of Jeonghan's hands in his. "You help me every day just by existing. I'm already taking advantage of the fact that you wake up every morning still wanting to be with me."

"You're stupid," Jeonghan huffed, eyes watery. "You big, stupid man. You're not taking advantage of anything. Sometimes I wish you would!"

"Alright, point taken." Seungcheol chuckled, gently smacking the palm of one of Jeonghan's hands. "I mean it, though. Do you know how coveted you are by most of the student body?"

"Of course everyone wants me," the Slytherin scoffed. "As they should. It doesn't mean that they can have me. I'm yours, and I always will be."

Seungcheol smiled at him.

"I know."

"So will you let me bankroll your endeavors in music?" Jeonghan asked hopefully.

Seungcheol stared at him for a moment, considering.

"I'll think about it," he said finally.

"I suppose that's the best offer I'm going to get." Jeonghan sighed dramatically, picking his wine glass back up. "Life doesn't have to be so hard, you know. If there's an easy way, you should take it, never mind your moral qualms regarding classism and the way the one percent uses their wealth to get ahead in life."

"Hannie, you're the one percent," Seungcheol pointed out dryly.

"And what about it?" he sassed back.

"Nothing, you're the most benevolent benefactor in all the land," the Gryffindor said primly.

Jeonghan reached across the table and tugged his boyfriend forward by his black tie, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Only for you."

The Black Lake — February 14th (early evening)

Vernon paced back and forth anxiously on the far shore of the Black Lake. He had tasked a pair of what he hoped were reliable second-year Hufflepuffs to locate Seungkwan and bring him to the Black Lake, where he would get in a boat that he had charmed to row itself across the water. He had spent more of half of the time between the day he had talked to Seungcheol and Valentine's Day panicking over what to do, then spent the remaining time trying to get everything together, including practicing the spell to make the boat row itself for several days. That morning, he had packed a picnic basket full of all of his boyfriend's favorite things, as well as a blanket, and he hoped that his sincerity would come across.

Before they had started a relationship, Vernon and Seungkwan had been friends, and even then they had done something small and quiet for previous Valentine's Days, just because there was no one else they'd rather have spent that time with—and because Vernon had spent his first five years at Hogwarts avoiding any girls who even looked at him longer than necessary. So really, he didn't need to worry. Seungkwan just happened to be his boyfriend now—it wasn't as though he needed to be impressed further.

Vernon looked down at the picnic basket sitting on the rather cliché red and gold patterned blanket and wondered if it was enough.

Maybe I should have gotten flowers? he fretted.

It wasn't so much about the fact that it was Valentine's Day than it was about how much Vernon had been worrying about Seungkwan since his late friend's birthday.

Every time the Gryffindor had tried to approach his boyfriend to try and get him to open up, Seungkwan had always come up with excuses for why he couldn't talk and would busy himself with something else. It was frustrating, of course, but it was more anxiety-inducing than anything—and more than once Vernon wondered if he was just a really bad significant other who didn't know how to talk to his partner just right in order to get him to confide in him.

"Agh!"

Startled out of his own self-wallowing, Vernon looked up to see the boat that he had charmed to carry Seungkwan across the lake rocking back and forth wildly—with Seungkwan in it.

Privately, Vernon was relieved that the boat was already pretty close to shore, but he didn't think that his boyfriend would see it that way—and definitely not after the boat tipped to one side, dumping Seungkwan into the lake that was surely still freezing.

"Oh, no," Vernon muttered, covering his face with his hands. "He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me then bring me back so that he can kill me again."

Peeking through the gaps in his fingers, he watched as Seungkwan swam the remaining distance from where the boat had tipped over to the shore, weighed down by his school robes. A fairly decent swimmer from his years spent growing up on an island, Seungkwan was letting his fury propel him forward with surprising strength. Dripping wet and looking absolutely furious, he stomped up the bank towards Vernon, who silently sent prayers heavenward and hoped someone heard him.

"Hansol Vernon Chwe!" The Hufflepuff tore through his full name. "You'd better have a good explanation for this!"

Not my government name, Vernon grimaced.

Lowering his hands from his face, he said uncertainly, "Happy... Valentine's Day?"

Seeing that Seungkwan was opening his mouth to deliver what would probably be the human equivalent of a Howler message on a Monday morning in front of the entire Great Hall, Vernon interrupted.

"Look, I didn't mean for you to get dumped into the lake!" he blurted out. "I've been planning everything since the beginning of the month and with everything else, I didn't have that much time to practice the spell on the boat. It was just supposed to bring you across the lake without you having to do anything, I swear!"

Seungkwan held up an index finger, cutting him off. Vernon shut his mouth abruptly, anxious, as his boyfriend leaned his body to one side and peered over his shoulder at the blanket laid out behind him with the picnic basket.

"Kwannie," Vernon began.

Seungkwan made a noise, his index finger still raised. He inhaled deeply—dramatically—then lowered his finger.

"You planned all of this?" he asked.

Vernon nodded rapidly.

Seungkwan exhaled.

"Okay, walk me through your vision." The Hufflepuff gestured with his hands for his boyfriend to proceed. "Tell me what was going through your mind when you came up with all this. I want to know."

"Well, it's our first Valentine's Day together as a couple." Vernon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "And I know that you've been really sad since Binnie's birthday..." When he noticed Seungkwan had stiffened at the mention of his friend, he said defensively, "I tried to talk to you about it so many times but you wouldn't talk to me! I thought that maybe I was doing something wrong, or that you felt like you couldn't trust me to open up... so I talked to Seungcheol hyung."

"And he told you to drown your boyfriend in the Black Lake?" Seungkwan deadpanned.

"He told me that I should use Valentine's Day as an opportunity to show you that you're not alone," Vernon corrected him gently.

Seungkwan huffed, wringing the water out of his robes as he avoided looking at the Gryffindor. Vernon watched him for several minutes while he fussed over his water-logged clothes before he finally straightened up and took a few steps closer to him.

Vernon held his breath.

He's going to break up with me, he chanted in his head. He's realized how bad I am at this whole relationship thing and he is going to break up with me.

"I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better listen," Seungkwan told him sternly, holding his face securely between wet hands. "Well, not only once, because I will always tell you good things about yourself so that you're aware of your own worth, but regardless! Me not talking to you about Binnie has nothing to do with how good of a boyfriend—or even how good of a friend—you are. You are doing wonderfully, I promise. Do you understand? Nod for yes, shake for no."

Vernon nodded, face still trapped between Seungkwan's hands.

"It's very difficult for bossy people like me to let go," the Hufflepuff continued, trying to sound flippant. "We need to be taken care of just like everyone else, but we're not very good at letting other people take care of us. And it shows in our dynamic, even after we got together," he added, using one hand to gesture between Vernon and himself. "So me avoiding talking to you every time you tried to talk to me about Binnie is not because you're not good at being supportive, because you are—it's because I'm not good at being vulnerable. Understand? Nod for yes, shake for no."

Vernon nodded again.

"I appreciate the effort you put into this." Seungkwan smiled at him, the effect only slightly diminished by his bangs still dripping water onto his face. "I appreciate the effort you put into us, all the time; and I'm sorry that I made you feel as though I didn't."

"I know how hard it is for you to say sorry first," Vernon teased, his voice muffled by the squishing of his cheeks. "So I appreciate it."

"Yah!" Seungkwan pinched his cheeks gently. "But you're right, and I really am sorry. You're an amazing boyfriend and I love you." Vernon jumped, not expecting the sudden declaration when neither of them had never said those words before. Noticing this thanks to his grip on his face, Seungkwan only held on more firmly. "Do you understand? Nod for yes, shake for no."

Unable to do anything else, Vernon nodded.

"Good."

Seungkwan loosened his grasp and stroked the apples of Vernon's cheeks with his thumbs affectionately.

"Because I do. Love you, I mean. Since first year, when you told those boys off in class for bullying me," he clarified unnecessarily. "I knew then and there that you were someone I could count on, and you've proven time and time again how right I was—although, of course, I've never been wrong in my life. So I'll tell you that I love you all the time, because you need to hear it. I want you to hear it and know that I mean it, because I've never meant anything more in my entire existence on this wretched planet."

Vernon swallowed.

"Kwannie, I—"

Seungkwan stopped him, putting a hand over his mouth.

"Tell me when you're ready," he said. "I'll still love you then, even if you make me wait for a long time. But don't make me wait too long, okay? Nod for yes, shake for no."

Vernon nodded.

#SEVENTEEN #SEVENTEEN x Hogwarts #TW: mentions of Moonbin from ASTRO #VerKwan is the main attraction #MinWon but like... platonically #Seokmin's admirer is secret because they're too shy to reveal themselves #JunHao but like... also platonically?#Joshua has an admirer because of course he does #Chan is still having dalliances with the Beauxbatons girl from the Christmas AU #JeongCheol #And a new pairing that wasn't established in the Christmas AU... SoonHoon!#There's all kinds of tension but everyone is happy in the end #It was so much easier to write the Christmas AU because they were more grouped together #I had to come up with something for each of them to do whether as a pair or on their own with an original character #Carat Day #Valentine's Day #HalfSeoulFics

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