#summoning stuff to cope with loneliness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlysarah235678 · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Bit Part 11

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Hi there. Thanks for sticking with this story. We’re making our way towards the end, slowly but surely. Thanks for the awesome gif, illuminated-blue. Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, discussions about death (I put *** at the beginning and end), brief mention of unhealthy coping mechanisms…

The rest of the day had been great, even though it was passing by at a painfully slow rate. You had appointments that were a piece of cake, or none at all, and you spent every free second you had with Milo. You couldn’t just sit in your office and think about Billie all day, so you resorted to spending time outside playing fetch with your dog. It’s not like you didn’t think about Billie Dean out here as well, but it was less overwhelming when Milo begged for your attention every 10 seconds. You were just grateful that this side of the building was hidden from the parking lot that the reporters had set up shop in.

You didn’t have it in you to deal with them.

You knew you had it coming though after the photo and story that was released had said in no uncertain terms that you had spent the night with Billie. You didn’t regret it at all, but you just wished that you could have just one day to bask in your changing relationship before it was in the tabloids.

Unfortunately, you’d made the mistake of reading what everyone was saying about you. Now your mood had transitioned from hot and bothered to just plain bothered. You knew that you weren’t anything too special, but some of the things that you were being called—it was just mean. You sigh as Milo comes running back toward you with his tennis ball. You go to take it from him when he decides that he’d rather play by himself. He runs away a little before dropping the ball on the ground and smacking it away. You laugh at this and roll your eyes at your ridiculous dog.

Since Milo wasn’t really in the mood to play anymore, at least with you, you sit down on the bench and take out your phone. At first you just look at your messages and then emails. You and Billie had agreed that if work didn’t tire you out too much, you’d see each other tonight. This was as far as you’d gotten in planning, and you were fine with that for now. You found your way to the internet, and again are too curious for your own good. You search for yourself and start going through the surprising number of results.

Some of them you haven’t seen, but one in particular grabs your attention in the worst way possible. You stiffen before staring at the article in an attempt to figure out if your suspicions are correct.

Billie Dean Howard Helping Another Find Peace?

You only read the first few sentences before you stuff your phone back into your pocket and stand up to go inside. It’s nearing the end of the day and it’s close enough that you decide to feed Milo now. You want to take your mind off what you just saw, and luckily Milo is all for it.

“Hey, Milo! Dinner time.”

Unsurprisingly, Milo abandons his tennis ball for the promise of food.

Billie Dean is watching the news and scrolling through her phone when you call her. She had Mickey in her lap and was just getting him to fall back asleep when her phone rang. She silenced it quickly but when she realized it was you, she smiled widely.

“Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Billie.”

Billie’s smile fades as she recognizes your tone and hears the distinct sniffle on the other end of the line. She confirms that it’s only 6:45 before deducing that you must be at home already. Or at least not at work.

“Y/N. What’s wrong?”

You sigh as you shake your head before blinking tears out of your eyes. You shouldn’t have read that damn article, but the second you got home you hadn’t been able to resist. Now you were crying again and probably ruining Billie’s plans for the night.

“I read something that—someone dug up a lot about me and now I feel horrible.”

You hate yourself for not being able to give Billie a better answer, but it was the best you could do. Honestly you felt like crying in frustration. You weren’t sure why simply reading the facts about something that you were so intimately familiar with affected you this way, but it did. It was like reliving it all again, and this on top of what Billie had told you was too much. Your usual sadness and loneliness quicky turned into guilt that became paranoia. After what Billie had told you, you felt like you were being watched and this set you on edge.

For this reason, you were actually hiding in the bathroom with Milo. He had followed you and was now sitting with his head in your lap as you wiped away your tears. Given how prudish your dad had been when it came to talking about certain things, you figured that the bathroom was somewhere he wouldn’t follow you.

“What did you read?”

You tell Billie about the article you found and you don’t realize that she’s pulled it up on her computer until she reads the title. You cringe as she says it but confirm it nevertheless, and you wait for a minute while Billie reads it.

Billie isn’t sure what to expect, but the title pretty much said it all. Her worry becomes anger as she reads the details about your dad’s death. You hadn’t told her all of this, and she wasn’t sure how the author had figured it out. She didn’t have to ask if it was true though because your reaction was telling enough. She didn’t think you’d be this upset if it wasn’t at least mostly accurate.

God this was horrible. Even after meeting your dad and talking to him a little, she hadn’t expected this.

Billie decided that sorting through all of this new information wasn’t the most important thing right now. She shut off the news that she just realized was still running before preparing to stand up.

“Where are you now?”

Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You stand up and head downstairs, leaving the bathroom that you’d been hiding in for almost an hour. You watched as Milo darted out into the hall and down the stairs, undoubtedly heading for the door. You couldn’t summon up the same amount of enthusiasm despite wanting to see Billie again. You had been looking forward to this moment all day, but you hadn’t thought this would be your mood.

When you open the door to see Billie standing there it took all of your willpower not to cry. Once you saw how concerned she was you had to look away as you stepped back to let her in. Milo greeted her with a tail wag and a quick lick to an offered hand. You smile before closing the door behind the medium and shooting her a grateful and somehow guilty look.

“Thanks for coming by Billie. You didn’t have to.”

You immediately cringe at how that sounded, but you don’t have time to take it back before Billie’s shaking her head. She’s watching you carefully as you lock the door with a sigh. She turns slightly when she feels Milo pushing her hand with his head, and she starts to pet him before following you into the kitchen.

“I know I didn’t, but I was worried about you, Y/N.”

You just duck your head into the refrigerator to get something for the two of you to drink. You immediately reach for the alcohol with too wide of a smile.

“It’s okay, really. I’m fine, I just needed to vent. Wine?”

Billie watches as you take several things out of the fridge and place them on the counter. She sighs before taking off her jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. She stood behind it for a second before deciding to move into the kitchen with you.

“It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know? You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You sigh as you stop pouring yourself a too full glass before shaking your head. You finally manage to look Billie in the eye again, but not for long. Your gaze quickly darts around the room before finding Milo sitting behind you.

“It feels like too many of them are bad.”

This was true because besides some of the days you spent with Billie and the better days you had at work, it seemed like you were always in a rotten mood. You were never good at just sitting around because your mind wandered to the most random things or you would obsess about things you didn’t want to think about.

You watch as Billie moves a little closer to you, and you don’t pull away when she reaches out for your hand. You actually sigh as you manage to look back to the blonde who is shooting you a smile that makes you feel so undeserving of her time and attention. You just kept complaining about the same things. How did she have the patience for you?

“That’s okay, dear. You are allowed as many bad days as you need.”

You release the glass that you’d practically had in a death grip to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. You shake your head before squeezing Billie’s hand with a grateful look.

“I know, I just…You shouldn’t have to listen to me a--.”

You’re cut off by Billie’s hand releasing yours as she shakes her head. She pushes some stray hair behind your ear with a smile that makes you heart race.

“Y/N. I’m here for the good and the bad, okay?”

You abandon the wine in front of you and wordlessly walk around the counter to where Billie is. She just waits until you hold your arms out before pulling you into her embrace. You immediately feel better and can’t help but want to stay here forever. Luckily Billie doesn’t rush you, and you stay like that for at least a few minutes before you collect yourself and shake your head.

After getting both you and Billie something to drink, you sit in the living room for a while just talking a little bit about your days. You’d already caught up mostly, but you were really buying your time and trying to get comfortable with the idea of finally coming clean. You had sat down across from Billie because you wanted to make sure that you had a clear head when you made this decision. You needed to get this off your chest because it was driving you mad. You also feel like you owe Billie an explanation after keeping her hanging for so long.

Billie just watches as you come to your decision. She pets Milo absentmindedly from where he’s sitting next to her. You’d given him a look as he’d jumped up on the couch, but made no move to scold him. Now he was lying down curled up next to Billie with his head on her leg and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your attention turns back to Billie, and once you realize how long you’d been lost in thought you blush slightly. It takes you a second before you manage a smile and sit up with a sigh. You eye Billie and then Milo with a shrug.

“Talk about what exactly?”

You aren’t playing dumb because you know that doesn’t work. You are merely asking for specifics because in your head there are a lot of different things that you and Billie could talk about. There were a lot of things that you had promised to tell her, and now was the time. You just weren’t sure where to start.

Billie just smiles as she brushes her hand over Milo’s ears making him close his eyes. She could tell that you had a lot that you wanted to get out into the open, but she didn’t want you to get overwhelmed. She just shrugged before saying the only thing she could think of that was encouraging, yet not too pushy.

“We can talk about whatever you want, Y/N.”

You smile immediately at this because there were plenty of things you’d like to talk about with Billie. Many of them more pleasant than what you had planned, but instead you just sit up in your seat before putting your glass on the table. You didn’t want it too close because then you’d be tempted to empty it.

“Well since you read the article, I guess you know everything about what happened.”

Billie watches with a frown as your head drops and you grimace at the mention of the damned article. She had wanted to call some people and try to get it taken down, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know if it was accurate or not. This would certainly affect her success, but what she was most concerned with now was you. Here and now.

Billie just nodded before she offered a verbal response since you still weren’t looking at her.

“I wasn’t sure how much of it was true, or if I could sue them.”

Despite yourself, you smile at the thought of Billie going up against the damn tabloid. You shook your head before looking up to see Billie smiling at you in a way that made you want to roll your eyes. You almost forgot about what you had to disclose before you opened your mouth to respond.

“As much as I would love to see that…Most of what they said was true.”

You took a moment to gather your courage before you sighed and started your story.

***

You’d already told Billie about what had killed your dad. How he’d had the disease for years when you were growing up, so it was easy for you to forget how serious it was. The way your dad never really seemed concerned about anything made it too easy to not notice what was happening right in front of you.

When you were almost out of high school, his condition had started to decline. His vision was getting worse and his feet hurt more and more. Again, you were so busy with school and your friends that you didn’t notice the new more comfortable shoes, or the way that he didn’t clean dishes as well. It was all just old age to you, until he told you that his numbers were bad.

This is what he’d always said, and you never really knew what numbers he was talking about until you’d bothered to ask. It was his blood pressure and sugar that were so alarmingly high that your dad started to actually take his medication.

By the time you started vet school, you still believed that he was taking his meds. He was exercising more and eating healthy, and you believed he was doing better. That he was getting better.

When you got to this part of the story you had to stop. Your voice had already broken a few times talking about your dad, but now you had to take a break. You had to take a deep breath and steel yourself for what you said next. This was something that you hadn’t told anyone, not even your sisters.

“I thought that he was getting better. He seemed to be, but then I--.”

You trail off as you close your eyes and take deep shuddering breath. You don’t realize that your eyes are tearing up until you open them at the sound of Milo jumping off the couch. You smile as you watch him come over to you and rub his head on your leg with a whine. He sits down next to you waiting to be pet or instructed, but you just shake your head before pointing to the ground next to you.

“It’s okay, Milo.”

You wait until Milo lies down next to you watching you closely as you manage a smile. You wipe your tears away before continuing, not noticing as Billie smiles at Milo’s actions.

“The article was right. I mean—I called the police after I found him upstairs, and I was crying so much I could…I could barely tell them what happened.”

You start to cry harder and you miss Billie standing up as you wipe your eyes again with a frustrated groan. This wasn’t going well at all. You sigh in defeat when you feel the cushion beneath you sink with Billie’s weight, and you turn to her immediately with a shake of your head.

“I was too shocked to realize I was technically a suspect, and I—well they wouldn’t let me walk Milo and when they told me why it still didn’t--.”

You don’t even bother trying to fight it and you’re crying freely now as you reach out for Billie’s offered hand. You squeeze it tightly before taking a few seconds to calm down. When you continue, your voice is a little steadier.

“I couldn’t believe it. Like I said, I thought he was getting better, and being blindsided like that---I blamed myself, I guess I still do.”

Billie opens her mouth to argue, but you beat her to it as you quickly continue your confession.

“I know you said-well that he said it wasn’t my fault, but I just can’t forgive myself for not seeing it.”

Billie frowns in confusion and disappointment. She wasn’t quite sure what you were talking about, but she also was certain that there was nothing you could have done. Your dad had said as much, and from your story, it was clear that your dad has been a stubborn man. He was going to do what he wanted.

“What didn’t you see?”

You are a little surprised by how heatedly you respond to Billie’s question. You yank your hand away to wipe your eyes as you stand up quicky. You shake your head before you start pacing, and Billie can only watch as you start ranting.

“Everything! Billie, I missed all of the signs! He was getting worse—he was hurting and I didn’t even notice! How could I...?”

You trail off as you feel a hand brush against yours as you pass by the couch. You turn to Billie who’s shooting you a pleading, yet cautious look. You don’t quite understand why until she looks away from you for a moment.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. It sounds like your dad hid these things from you because he didn’t want you to worry.”

You nearly scoff at this, but not because of Billie. The idea that your dad hid things from you only to have it backfire like this…that was scoff-worthy. You don’t get a chance though before Billie’s looking back to something—then turns to you with a sad smile.

“All of those secrets? Those are on him, and he knows that.”

Billie stands up and takes a step closer to you. She doesn’t do anything but hold your hand as she takes a deep breath.

“You weren’t responsible for his actions. He was your father and it was his job to take care of you. He wants to apologize for failing you.”

You start crying harder and you leave the living room, pulling Billie along with you, to the kitchen. You grab a box of Kleenex before accidentally running into the counter. You curse before dropping Billie’s hand, reaching for your side with a grimace.

“Shit! I don’t—why is he apologizing to me?”

Billie sighs as she listens for a minute before trying to figure out how to word your dad’s response. He was crying a little too at this point, but Billie wasn’t sure if she should tell you this. It would probably make you even more upset.

“He hates that he left you alone, and that he didn’t do a better job of taking care of you.”

You shake your head as you bury your face in too many tissues. You think about how alone you felt in that big house with only Milo to keep you company. You think about how long you had to stay there to get everything in order before moving out here. Most importantly, you think about how empty you felt and still feel because of your dad’s absence. Not having him in your life all of a sudden was something you still hadn’t really adjusted to.

You’d dealt with this loneliness by turning it into guilt that you realize wasn’t even justified.

As if hearing what you’re thinking, Billie says the last thing you need to hear.

“It wasn’t your fault he was so sick, Y/N.”

You practically start sobbing at this before you shake your head in denial. You walk back to the couch, sitting down and completely ignoring Milo who is pawing at you in concern. You don’t even know if Billie is near you before you start talking, well you try to talk.

“Y-es it was! I was supposed to ta-take care of him. I shouldn’t have let him-!”

Billie cuts you off because both you and your dad are getting more upset, and she’s afraid you’ve missed his point.

“You were not responsible for his health, sweetheart. He didn’t mean to make you feel like you were. He knows that’s not fair to put such a burden on you.”

You want to say that it didn’t feel like a burden. That you didn’t worry when you watched your dad eat something particularly unhealthy or complain about not seeing the mess he left on the counter. You sniffle pitifully as you shake your head out of a lack of anything better to do. You don’t know what to say at this point. You’re at a loss because even after all of this you still felt guilty.

You felt guilty about not seeing what was happening, and you felt guilty about not doing your job. Your dad had jokingly said one day that his doctor had told him to put you in charge of his diet. Since you had been the most responsible of your siblings it was your job to make sure he ate right.

You didn’t realize until right now how much pressure and stress that put on you, and if you weren’t already sitting down you would have collapsed at the realization. You felt guilty alright, but not just about what you’d mentioned.

You felt guilty because you were so angry.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it because it made you feel awful, but you had been angry when your dad died. You had thought he was getting better, and to find out that he wasn’t, that he hadn’t tried hard enough, or he’d started too late made you so mad that you couldn’t put it into words. You were mad at him for leaving you without warning, and for making all of your efforts meaningless. None of it had made a difference.

You didn’t realize that Billie had come sit next to you until you go to lie down. You’re crying miserably into your hands at this point and there really is no stopping it now. You’ve opened the floodgates and you feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

You end up lying down in Billie’s lap as you cry for your dad who had always supported you, even when you were wrong. You cry because you will miss him for too many reasons to count. You never really thought about your wedding before, but the idea of him not being there to walk you down the aisle made you cry impossibly harder.

How were you going to live the rest of your life without him?

***

Billie was running her fingers through your hair as you slept peacefully. After tiring yourself out, you’d fallen asleep in Billie’s lap for probably the fifth time since you’d met her and had been practically comatose since. Milo had barked a couple of times to be let out, but Billie didn’t want to risk waking you. Instead, she told Milo to sit and hoped that he would just continue to stare at you two instead of bark, or god forbid go pee somewhere.

It was getting late and Billie was trying to figure out how to get up without waking you when you finally started to stir. You groan in exhaustion and pain, you were still pretty damn sore, before you sat up. You realized that your pillow was actually Billie and you blinked the sleep out of your eyes before shooting her an apologetic look.

“God, I just keep sleeping on you, I’m sorry.”

Billie holds back her first flirty thought and decides to say something a little more supportive. You smile as you make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before sighing heavily. You look around the room and the first thing you see is Milo staring at you. You know he needs to go out, but you need to check in with Billie first.

“How are you feeling?”

You expect this question, but still, you smile as you nod without thinking. “Better. Thank you. I think I just needed to vent. I--.”

You pause as you consider the truth of your next statement. You just sigh when you realize how unintelligent you can be despite the amount of evidence that proves otherwise.

“I hadn’t really given myself a chance to process all of that before.”

Billie seems a little surprised by this because it’s been more than two months. According to you it had happened a month before graduation, and she understood you being really busy, but putting something off like this wasn’t healthy. She was amazed that you had made it this long without getting to the root of what had you so upset.

“Not at all?”

Billie realizes that this probably wasn’t the right thing to ask you when you just frown in response. You look away guiltily before shaking your head. You realize how unhealthy this behavior is and you feel a little bit like a chastised dog when you manage to look back to Billie to try and explain yourself.

You don’t get the chance though before Billie’s speaking up, and you just sigh in response to what she says.

“That’s not good for you, Y/N.”

You nod in agreement before sitting up straighter and trying to crack your back. You groan under your breath at the lack of success you have before you swallow your pride.

“I know, you’re right. I just wasn’t ready yet, you know?”

Billie frowns but doesn’t argue with you. She can’t really imagine how difficult it must have been for you to suddenly end up alone. To have no one and still need to finish school on top of dealing with all of your dad’s affairs.

Billie doesn’t realize how long she’s spaced out for until she hears Milo whine. She looks back to you as the dog paws at your leg with another whine. He must want to go out.

“He needs to go out. Do you want to come with me, unless you need to leave of course?”

You hurry to add the last part because you had almost forgotten how late it was. You weren’t sure of how long you slept for, but Billie hadn’t arrived until after 7. You stand up to busy yourself in case Billie says no, but Milo of course runs off to get his leash leaving you and Billie alone. You remember that you just woke up and that you don’t look nearly as good as Billie, not that you ever do, but it’s too late for you to care. You’re tired and have a lot floating around your mind right now, and how your hair looks like a bird’s nest is the least of your worries.

Billie just smiles before she nods in agreement. She wasn’t quite ready to leave yet despite the late hour. She wanted to spend more time with you and make sure you were alright to be on your own. You’d talked about a lot of upsetting things, and Billie didn’t want to leave you dwelling on those.

“Of course, let’s go.”

You, Billie, and Milo arrive downstairs without incident. It’s pretty deserted given the late hour, and you are too tired to really care about being seen. You stifle a yawn as you follow Milo out the front door, but you nearly trip as he quickly tugs you towards a tree. You groan when you hear Billie chuckling from behind you, but you don’t respond as you take a deep breath. You relax slightly as you let the cool air wash over you before turning to Billie with a smile.

“Are you ready?”

Part 12

#american horror story #ahs #ahs fic #my fic #ahs murder house #ahs imagine #billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard imagine #billie dean howard #a little bit

50 notes · View notes

zer0pm · 6 years ago

Text

No Name (10/?)

A/N: Your usual friendly reminder that you can find the complete series on my Ao3. Just simply click on any of the hyperlinks on my profile bio and it’ll take you to my works ^^ Thanks again for reading! This is a long one.

Pairing: V x Fem!Reader

You were walking the streets of Redgrave City. Honestly, as beautiful as the city looked, the downtown area left nothing to be admired. It was especially so for the building you stood before. It looked worn down and ready to collapse. In fact, it judging my past work you have spotted, it already has...quite a few times.

You: “This is the office of the legendary devil hunter?”

Frankly, you were not impressed but at the moment, you were desperate. Gulping down your pride, you pushed yourself through the doubleset doors. The inside was even worse than the outside. The office was a complete mess, cigarette butts, torn and worn out paper, along with what you can tell to be pizza boxes littered the place. The place was poorly lit and it was so unbearably stuff, you were finding it difficult to get a good breath of air the longer you stood inside.

???: “Sorry, office is closed. Come around whenever I feel like opening it back up again.”

A voice pulls from your growing disgust for the office long enough to direct your attention to a man seated behind a large, wooden table at the far end across from you. He had white hair, something you have not seen amongst the local folk at all since you’ve been here, and wore a red leather coat. He had his head down, not facing you at all, hunching over and eyes cast down beneath him. His arms would fidget which made you assume he was fiddling with something down there. How rude.

You: “You speak to all of your customers like this?”

He looks up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. You can feel his gaze slowly take in your form appreciatively, his eyes raking up and down and up again until he met your eyes. He leans back into his seat and offers you a charming smile.

Dante: “Not unless they look like you. Welcome to Devil May Cry.”

As he sat back up, his hands finally lifted from behind the desk. One ruffled back his hair although the long locks fell to sweep to the side of his blue eyes and the other set down upon the wood a rubik’s cube. He was playing with a toy this entire time!?

With a roll of your eyes and a slight tinge on your cheeks, you explain to Dante the job in hand. The entire time you spoke, the legendary devil hunter not once took his eyes off of you.

Dante: “So, got a name to match that pretty face?”

You tell him and he tests your name on his tongue. You could have been imagining it but it felt like he was savoring the taste of your name and it stirred you uncomfortably. You were warned ahead of time that the legendary devil hunter can be rather...forward.

You: “For a son of Sparda, you’re not quite what I expected.”

For a moment, you thought his smile falter slightly at the mention of his father, but it was fleeting and the ends of his lips tug upwards in a smolder.

Dante: “And you don’t look like the kind of gal with demon problems. Which I assume is what you’re here for.”

You: “It’s...not a demon problem, per se. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re somehow in the mix. I have a sister-”

Dante: “Does she look like you?”

You glared at him.

You: “She went missing three days ago and was last spotted in this city. I need your help to find her and bring her back home.”

The man leaned further back in his chair to lift his feet and stack them atop the desk, his arms crossed and his expression suggesting that he was positively unimpressed.

Dante: “Sounds like a job for the cops.”

You: “Normally, I would agree but being a nephilim attracts all sorts of unwanted attention. Normal humans won’t be able to handle what I...we will be dealing with.”

His brows furrow to a harsh line, his crystal blue eyes lit up with curiosity.

Dante: “The hell is a nephilim?”

GASP!

Your eyes open, your heart pounding in your chest. You were laying on something soft and familiar. Your bed. As your eyes adjust and your breathing steadies, you sit up and feel your sheets pool down to your lap. Your room. How did you get here? The last thing you remembered was entering the Qliphoth with Dante and the others.

Dante...

The sound of you door clicking open made you lift your head from your thoughts.

You: “Dante?”

The door stops in its swing, a moment passes and it gives way completely. The one who stood there was not Dante. It was V. He was not wearing his coat, instead garnering a black shirt and sweats, very similar to the clothes you gave him when you first took him in. He had an unreadable expression on his face.

You: “V... I’m sorry, I thought you were-”

V: “It’s alright. He was technically the last person you saw before you were knocked out, afterall.”

The man lets himself into your room, in his hands was a tray with a plate of food and a glass of juice on the side. He slowly makes his way to your bed and carefully sets the tray by your side.

V: “Eat. You must be famished.”

Right as he said this, your stomach grumbles loudly. A blush reddens your cheeks in embarrassment and your hands quickly moved to grab the utensils and dig into the warm food made for you. The taste was delicious and you found yourself digging in faster than normal. He was right, guess you were famished. V watches you devour the meal he prepared ravenously, a hint of a smile on his face at your appetite. The moment felt rather uplifting in a way, but he knew what was to come next. As you finally began to slow down, gulping down a bite, you looked at him.

You: “V, what happened?”

The man sighs, his head bowing down slightly at the ground as he took a seat on the bed. His back was facing you. None of these were good signs.

V: “After we were defeated by Urizen...”

Urizen? Was that the demon lord’s name? You could have sworn it was something else. Struggle as you could to remember what it was though, it was all hazy. You can only really recall the battle, Dante, and pain of all sorts coursing through you that night.

V: “The demon lord made his next move. He commanded the Qliphoth to spread its routes throughout the city. These demonic roots then began to drain the blood of the human citizens as is its purpose. Many lives were lost that night and the numbers grow each day. You have been unconscious the entire time since then. A piece of the tree fell hard on your head. I am sorry, I wasn’t fast enough to stop that.”

Oh, god.

You: “H-How long have I been out?”

V: “...About three days.”

You: “Three days?!”

You were absolutely shocked. That was simply way too long. You dreaded at the thought of what the city and the people have suffered while you were out, how much was lost. Judging by what V said, it seems like things have gotten worse since you were last awake but a nagging question etches to the front of your thoughts.

You: “Where’s Dante? What happened to him? Trish? Lady? There was another guy too, right?”

V: “The boy Nero is fine. He is currently helping the remaining survivors to a safe haven.“

Survivors. Remaining. These words made you feel sick to your stomach and it only worsened when V turned slightly to glance at you over his shoulder. He seemed to be struggling to speak about this and casted his gaze down from your eyes once more.

V: “I don’t know what happened to the others. But... I believe that none of them live.”

That made your heart drop.

You: “W-What makes you say that? Did you try looking for them?”

The man nods carefully before stretching his hand out to give a full display of tattoos that adorn his arm.

V: “My power is not limited to solely summoning and commanding the demons I made contracts with. I can also detect demonic presences, Dante, although only half, amongst them. I cannot account for Lady’s fate, but given that I have had no luck searching for Dante or Trish, it would only suggest that they-”

You: “Stop. Just stop, please.”

You couldn’t hear more, your plea so soft and defeated. You didn’t dare look at V, not after what he just said. There was virtually no hope. No hope of the others...of Dante...

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the last words he said to you and with it a great weight that rests painfully on your heart. It spoke volumes. It showed his regret of what happened between you two. Of the loss of your sister and his involvement. And it broke you...it broke you because those were the exact same words that you were going to tell him. Of how you treated him. Of how you never truly blamed him for what happened. But now, you’ll never get that chance. Even now as you hear those words again, not from Dante’s lips or your own, but from V himself. The man who sat beside you now. He turned himself completely to face you, a deep frown on his face that reflected his condolences of your loss. It was all coming down on you now and you did nothing to hide the tears that fell down your face.

Your body wracked and your voice choked into sobs, eyes completely shut from the pain. You now know why you dreamt that memory of your first time meeting Dante. Your mind was trying to turn back the clock, to bring you back to where it all started for you, creating a false hope that if you somehow woke up there, things could be different. But it cannot be. It was only a dream. This right now is real. You weren’t asleep. And the man you once called your friend was gone. And you couldn’t save him. As you cried, you felt arms wrap around your body to carefully pull you closer towards warmth in attempts to soothe your sorrows.

V was holding you, so gently too, but you were too far gone in your grief to notice and instead you instinctually sink closer in his embrace. V himself felt out of his element as he held you in his arms. He remembers the feeling of loss and mourning all too well, but knew nothing of how to cope with it. Back then, he had no one to comfort him. Yet somehow, he felt compelled to comfort you, perhaps if not to have you suffer the same loneliness he was forced to bare with. At the thought, he rubs your back with one hand, and pulls you closer with the other. V felt your body relax slightly to his touch and it was then did he make his decision.

V: “When I from black and she from white cloud free, I’ll shade her from the heat till she can bear...”

He was reciting to you, smoothly and softly. The deepness of his voice lulling the anguish that continuously drowned your heart in grief. Yet ever slowly, V was pulling you up. Eventually your breathing steadied and you fell asleep in his arms. V continued to speak to you and hold you like this for a while longer until he then set you back down on your bed, lifting the sheets to tuck you in before leaving your side. The man took one more look at you, at the peace on your face. He dreads that this will be the only time you will ever feel this calmness and resolved to stay by your side and help you through these difficult times. For now. V closes the door, you name pasts his lips even though he knew you could not hear him.

V: “I’m sorry.”

88 notes · View notes

johobi · 7 years ago

Text

When You Least Expect It | 09

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 11.6k

Warnings: depression, anxiety, a very vague allusion to self-harm, graphic, penetrative sex, vulgar language etc.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to edit!!

Next: 10 || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

The three days following that ill-omened evening passed with as much ease as a spell in the Underworld. You could have been swayed into believing that that was where you were now sentenced, perpetually, to reside, but for your familiarly unextraordinary surroundings. The Black Dog had become Cerberus, and tirelessly upheld your condemnation. Never too far astray, and possessed, always, of a voracious appetite for your misery, the hound snuck its way into the sanctuary of your home and watched you reduce to a melancholic soup between the stale, rumpled sheets of your seldom-left bed.

And you still functioned, yes – to the casual eye. But only to deter interrogation over that most unbearable of subjects. Adopting a frivolous front was so mentally taxing, that you attended only those obligations that demanded your appearance. Like at work, for example. Your sole method of coping, there, came in the form of the new hire Hoseok presented to you on Day One, Post-Taehyung.

In the wake of such devastation, it was far easier to assume a different role; a different life.

So, on Day One, you became The Trainer. The Trainer was bubbly, comedically clumsy and ever so relieved to have the extra pair of hands. Even Hoseok loved The Trainer. So much so, you began to wonder if he preferred her to the real you. The you that slept little, ate less, and, when at home, did nothing. Even when the roots of your hair came to shine like you’d been baptised in a font of grease, you did nothing. And when the blank page of your perennially unstarted assignment began to blend in with the walls surrounding it, you did nothing then, either.

On Day Two, as you lay there in the comforting—for its sheer suffocation—murk of your apartment, the laptop winked its final goodbye as it gave up hope.

And on Day Three, the day that should not have been Day Three but the date with Jungkook you had so been looking forward to, you gave up hope.

As the intervals between his determined door-knocking grew, hailing his weakening will, the path to him felt far too long; far too treacherous to tread. The exhaustion that dogged you saw corridors and rooms outstretch the paltry floorspace detailed in your tenancy agreement, casting Jungkook beyond reach.

You would never make it.

The rapping stopped.

So, this was loneliness. Four blank walls and sour-smelling sheets.

You rolled over, eager to succumb to the lethargy that lapped at your toes. That buffered you from the vulturous circling of your more serrated thoughts.

But then you saw him. Saw his kind, softly-sloping features. A face that granted you succour for its sheer existence.

Your phone cast you in a cool glow, not far removed from your waxen complexion. Jungkook vibrated incessantly, and would not go unignored. When his attempt to reach you passed its fourth minute, the gamble of picking up had your heart hammering. If you answered, what would you be met with? An anger that burned so hot, it could disintegrate what fragile matter of you that remained? You just didn’t have the strength.

But if you didn’t, Jungkook would be gone.

Just like him.

And the crippling fear of that possibility had your thumb swiping in a panic-stricken fumble to admit his call. “H-Hello?” you mumbled, voice uneven for its prolonged disuse.

“____?” came Jungkook’s sweet, agreeable – oh, so, so agreeable – tones. They cracked under concern. “Noona, are you okay? Where are you? I’m at your apartment, like we arranged.”

No, you hadn’t even possessed the decency to cancel the meeting you knew you would never make it to. But that’s what you did, when things became unbearable. Avoided them. Like you did, now, with anyone or anything related to the man who had cut you to ribbons. Even Yoongi, who, by mere association, had become painful to be in the presence of.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you rasped flatly. “I’m not feeling well. Hiking is too much.”

The fury would come, any second now. You didn’t even care to brace for it. Just a hope remained, that it would push you a stage past numb and into an anaesthetised utopia.

But it didn’t. Only warmth trickled forth from the speaker. “That’s okay, noona. We don’t have to go hiking. Are you sick?”

“Yeah, something like that that,” you mumbled, as indistinct as the enigma of an answer you’d given. Had you the strength, you’d have berated yourself for harbouring reservations about expressing your mental anguish to him. Jungkook had, after all, sworn himself to be nothing but a willing ear to your woes. As always, though, your reluctance to add to his burdensome load prevented you from voicing them. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Wise to your tendency for deflection, however, he wouldn’t allow you to withhold it from him. “Not feeling well in yourself?”

Such a gentle, considerate way to put it. Dare you say, the faintest of somethings tickled your necrotic heart? Maybe it was still capable of sensation. “No, not at all. I’ve been having some very bad days.”

A sigh filtered through your phone, but it wasn’t one of frustration. Nor despondency, which you feared more. “Noona, I know you have this thing where you feel like you have to keep everything to yourself, but even when we can’t be together in person, I’m at the end of a line, at the very least,” was Jungkook’s tender appeal to you. “Texting is great at hiding emotion, because I had no idea you were struggling. That, or I’m an idiot and should have realised.”

“You’re not an idiot,” you immediately dismissed such undeserving slander. “I mislead you on purpose. I was trying to dig my own way out of this hole, but, uh,” you cast a despairing look around the disarray surrounding you. “That didn’t happen. Sorry.”

Jungkook was swift to scold you. “Stop apologising, seriously. We don’t have to go hiking, but I don’t want to leave you alone—I mean, unless you want to be alone, that is,” he added hastily. He was trying so hard to say the right thing. A blooming warmth began to thaw you. “But I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to be with you. We could just spend the day inside and chill out? That sounds just as appealing to me.”

You surprised yourself. Spurning his company had seemed like a dead cert. “No, I don’t want to be alone. But you can’t come in, my place is a fucking pig sty and I’m—I’m embarrassed.”

At your confession, he addressed you with an impassioned softness. “Noona,” he murmured, the word like a velvet-wrapped embrace as it kissed your ear drums. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed. But, I understand, and I won’t ask to come in. Why don’t you come to my place?”

Now that it was he himself proposing it to you, the prospect of a fresh environment and more Jungkook became the only appealing suggestion to broach your shroud of gloom since its descension over you. Nothing could be better for you than to gain distance from the pungency of unlaundered clothes and the ecosystem that now thrived in your kitchen sink. You grasped the opportunity with both hands. “I-I’d love to. That sounds like a really nice idea. Can I have, like, ten minutes to make myself somewhat presentable? I’m sor—”

“Of course,” Jungkook cut through your forthcoming apology. He wasn’t having it today. “Take as long as you want. I’ll be waiting in my car, okay?”

“Okay,” you hugged the phone closer with both hands. “Thank you, Jungkook. Really.”

“It’s cool. Selfish, really. I wanted to see you so badly,” he admitted with a bashful chuckle, the pure noise summoning the makings of a smile to your face. And thank God, because you’d been convinced future appearances of the expression would prove elusive.

It was imperative that he knew this. “I wanted to see you, too. I really did, I was just—so—I don’t know. Well, you do know. And you didn’t give up and leave me to it. You could have done, probably should have, but—”

“Stop, noona. Go get yourself ready, and—” Jungkook paused to draw in a sharp, excited breath. “Hey, why not get some stuff together to do some baking? Not that I’m any good at it, but I know how much you love it. Why don’t you show me how to make something?”

A faint chuckle threatened to shake free the device you clasped so weakly. Jesus, you really needed to eat something soon. “That does sound fun. You probably won’t have all the utensils I’ll need, so I’ll bring what I can. Uh, just—”

“Hm?”

“I look like shit, so try not to look too horrified when you see me,” you rushed out with a grimace that couldn’t be seen, but felt all too well in your self-deprecative humour. Even as physically and emotionally weak as you were, you were incapable of giving yourself a much-needed break from criticism, no matter how undue. Indeed, had you been laid out on your death bed at this very moment, dragging in your penultimate breaths, you’d likely be apologising to Jungkook for the haggardness of your appearance, or how abrasive to the ears your final gasps might be. “I’ll try and lessen the damage if I can,” you continued, though the appeal of applying make-up was a zero on a scale of I can’t even be bothered to breathe to Do I really have to comb my hair?

Now Jungkook was frustrated. But only enough to target you with a playful chastisement. One that had you swooning like a silent movie starlet. “Don’t you dare, or I’ll come up there and throw you over my shoulder before you have a chance to,” he warned with an authoritative growl. “Just keep yourself comfortable. We’ll probably get messy anyway, I’m notoriously clumsy with food. Especially if I’m wearing a white shirt, which I am.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, his encouragement invigorating your faltering limbs enough to haul yourself from bed. You fished around in the pile of clothes that, while a little creased, were still unworn. “I’ll get my ass into gear. I’ll be down soon.”

“’Kay. I’m just outside,” was his parting comment before he hung up.

One brisk shower, a hesitantly adorned romper and a perilously pinned bun later, you were ready. Well, not ready, as such, because you still considered your appearance lacking, but Jungkook’s sternly-worded warning rang in your ears and prevented you from making further embellishments. Bare- and fresh-faced was how he was going to receive you. Okay, so maybe not fresh, more weeklong, sequestered neglect-faced, but at least it was bare, as ordered.

Having haphazardly shoved into a box what culinary implements and ingredients you could think to bring, you hauled the cargo with great difficulty down the narrow staircase descending. Your choice of flats afforded you, at least, the agility to catch yourself on the next step when you nearly met your neck-breaking end a few times.

With an incredibly unattractive scowl, you sandwiched the box between the wall and your body as you fumbled with the lock, and wore the expression still when the door opened into Jungkook’s immediate face. Abruptly, you wiped your features free of their unsightly crumpling and, quite of their own accord, found them curving to accommodate a giddy smile. One he wrenched from you with such ease. And giddy, because how the fuck did he get more beautiful with each meeting? The party felt so long ago now, but in reality, it had only been a week or so. The heart — and, indeed, the eyes — evidently grow fonder with time. “Jungkook, I thought you were going to wait in the car? You made me jump.”

“Sorry,” your guts twisted at the crooked grin he slapped on as he immediately relieved you of your load. “I thought you might need help carrying stuff.”

Forever obliging to lighten your figurative and physical strains, Jungkook’s attentiveness sent you into an inward flap. And the re-emergence of his beautiful fucking buck-teeth only intensified the party-for-one taking place in your stomach. Luckily, you were adept at channelling an outward serenity. “Thank you,” was your predictably unimaginative response. Honestly, he deserved so much more than that – not just for carrying a stupid box – but the words to express complex sentiment often abandoned you.

One side of his mouth pitched higher as he led you to his car. “Wow, this is a lot of stuff. Are we preparing a seven-course meal?” he jibed, gently setting the culinary collection into the trunk. He treated even the most inanimate of objects with the care and consideration with which he handled you, as though he considered anything by proxy just as precious. Why, exactly, had you been so unwilling to spend this day with him, again? Free from insidious thought – momentarily, at least –and rooted in the reality of his uplifting presence, the hopelessness of 30 minutes ago seemed lifetimes past.

Jungkook caught your quiet smile as he darted around the car with an adamance to hold open its door for you. “There she is,” he grinned openly when you neared him, hands on hips. “I love your dress, by the way. You look beautiful, as ever.”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned, plopping into your seat with a huff and whipping the seatbelt around you. “And it’s not a dress, it’s a romper.”

He closed the door and leaned through the open window to scrutinise the garment in question. “I don’t know what that is.”

It was the most throwaway of comments, but it tore a bark of laughter from you, as though he’d hammered on your chest to extract it from you himself. It was an odd, but welcome, sound. “That’s so funny, and I don’t even know why.”

Giggles continued to hijack you as Jungkook rounded the car and took to the driver’s seat, an eyebrow hooked high in amusement. “If I just say random words, will you laugh?”

“No,” you were perceptibly shaking, now, exposing you for the flimsiness of your denial. And even when you perched an elbow on the door to better adhere a hand to your mouth, it did little to stifle the string of hiccups you were now stricken with. Your chest ached for each sharp intake of breath they prompted. “Fuck, I can’t s—hyuh!—stop!”

As the engine turned over, Jungkook adopted a brassy voice that was comedically dissonant from his usual, reserved tone. He strained his vocal chords into breaking. “Cucumber, squash—oh, this fucking car—moist, cheese, moist cheese,” a hyena-like cackle, interspersed by loud, abrupt squeaks, resounded as your attempts to hinder the noises fell flat. His unrelated interjection — as passionately voiced as the rest of his nonsense recital — only heightened the hilarity of the situation.

“Fuck,” you tittered, wiping away a tear born, for once, from something other than melancholy. “You’re—hup—insane.”

Jungkook yelled victoriously when the car finally growled to life. “I was getting worried, there.”

A snigger. “Yeah, me too. Not for the car, though.”

“I’ve got more where that came from,” he tongued his cheek like the appealing bastard he didn’t know he was, peering behind the both of you to check for blind spots. As he pulled away: “Especially if I get to hear more of your ridiculously adorable hiccups.”

Your cheeks bulged with captive air. “Please, no,” you sighed, releasing a long, restorative breath. When no further hiccups came, you wrapped your stomach in a wary hug. “I’m aching. Sounds like your car’s on its way out, though.”

Jungkook’s face fell slightly. “It is. I’ve been told to expect it. I can’t afford anything else, though, and it’s already had some emergency maintenance,” you watched, distracted, the way his mouth puckered and slackened as it shaped every enchanting syllable. Receptive to the allure of the sight, your lips parted in harmony. “It won’t go on for much longer. I’m looking for better paid work, actually.”

That drew you back. “You’re leaving the school?”

“It’s not that I want to,” Jungkook nibbled on his lower lip like the long-eared mammal he so endearingly resembled. “I don’t have much of a choice. I won’t be able to afford rent, soon. The car trouble is only adding to the list of money troubles I’m having. And I really don’t wanna be stuck in this situation for too much longer,” his addendum was voiced with an understandable, though subtle, distress.

You wanted to draw his hand into a consolatory hold, but it was more pressingly occupied. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I know how tough things can get.”

Jungkook delivered a heartening slap to your bare thigh, sending you rocketing up in your seat. “Don’t worry, I’m surviving. To be honest, I was doubtful of whether I was going to bother sticking around this city. Until I met you,” the volume of his admission plunged dangerously close to a whisper. He stole a meaningful glance your way, the coyest of smirks twitching upward his mouth. Jungkook had an aptitude for pulling off such contradictory expressions. “Moving away from home definitely seemed like the best decision at the time, but I began to doubt it a couple of months ago. When I got poor, basically,” he snickered. “Things are really tough on your own.”

The breath you’d been inadvertently holding since the – by no means unwelcome – introduction of his hand, flowed free. “Right? Bit of a culture shock. I should’ve gotten a roommate, really, but my studio is just about manageable.”

Your heart fluttered to an unsteady rhythm when Jungkook became conscious of where his fingers were so intimately situated. Lingering along the innermost of your thigh, they skimmed the supple flesh beneath them as he corrected the bold manoeuvre and removed them entirely. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he begged his pardon with a clear of his throat, eyes glued a little too firmly to the road.

“Now it’s my turn to tell you off for apologising,” your lips plucked up slyly. “Not after the things we’ve been talking about. Anyway,” you drizzled the last word with a stomach-turning sweetness. “What were you saying about not sticking around until you met me?”

Jungkook’s flushing subsided somewhat with the diversion from altogether more sordid topics. “It’s simple, really. I want to stay here, now. Because of, uh, you,” but ruby kissed his cheeks all the more avidly for the heart-pounding proclamation.

God, you needed to kiss him.

Unfortunately, unless a kiss was worth the certain, gory decapitation the distraction would bring, you’d have to go hungry.

And you were positively starving.

You clenched fists around your seatbelt, like you didn’t trust it to hold you in place for much longer. However, even if your traitorous hands didn’t uproot the meddlesome restraint, the blaze of adoration raging against your ribcage would easily incinerate it. “Wow,” was your eloquent response.

Jungkook didn’t allow you to elaborate. “I—I mean, don’t think that I’m putting pressure on you to like me, or anything—”

“Fuck’s sake,” you growled, all a shackled beast burning with the frustration of being denied its master’s touch. Jungkook’s eyes widened fretfully. “I really gotta kiss you right now, but I can’t. You’re driving.”

The heated exclamation alone was enough for him to momentarily forget the importance of steering the death contraption you were both belted into. When you realised he was no longer adhering to the highway code, but instead lavishing you with a protracted, open-mouthed ogling, you pushed his face frontward. As heart-stopping as Jungkook was, the magnetism of his stare would, for sure, guarantee your collision with something far more fatal than each other. Nevertheless, he spent much of his time casting you vital, sidelong looks. “I—I can stop. I can stop right now. I can pull over right here.”

Your head hit the headrest with a dull thump, overcome with mirth for his urgency. “We have all day. Keep driving, I have some refrigerated stuff in the back.”

Jungkook emitted a desirous whine. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“Tough,” you snapped merrily, spotting a camera case in the backseat as your eyes perused its hazardously stacked contents. Guilt gored you when you caught sight of his thoughtfully-packed backpack. He’d clearly been prepared for your originally intended date activities. “You brought your camera, after all.”

He peered over his shoulder. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Well, now I can take pictures of you in the comfort of my own home, instead.”

Turning in your seat, you propped your chin upon the heel of your hand. There was no way you could let pass such a fortuitous opportunity to see him squirm. “Yeah? What kind?”

His mouth hung open a fraction at the bait, but avoided the snare. “Whatever you like. You’re my muse.”

The sincerity of the compliment threw off your sultry play. You’d never met a guy who countered coquetry with kindliness. Undefeated in all your many bouts of flirtation thus far, Jungkook was the only one to frequently give you pause. Who knew your Achilles heel was not, in fact, obscenities so appalling that Eros himself would recoil in revulsion, but plain old flattery? Flattery that spilled with such liberty from behind those exasperatingly darling teeth? “Stop being so nice.”

“Why do you always say that?” his brows met in bemusement. “It’s as if no-one’s ever treated you the way they should.”

He had no idea how close that hit to home. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just particularly kind.”

“I’m not,” the furrow deepened. “Sounds like you dated some douchebags.”

“Quite a few,” you began, then thought better of elaboration. Jungkook didn’t need to hear the true extent of your hormone-fuelled regrets. “But that doesn’t matter, now. You’re opening my eyes to a lot of things.”

“I’ll take that as your roundabout way of admitting that you really like me and wanna spend all your time with me. Forever,” Jungkook’s jesting crinkled the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

And, yes, you did.

Because you no longer wanted a life that was absent of something so diminutive, so tremendous, as the way his features puckered around joy. You wanted to watch those creases, with time, score themselves between his brows and atop his cheekbones.

And you wanted to be the one who engraved them there.

“Forever is a long time,” you cautioned with a wink. But inside, you were already living it.

You were enamoured.

When he parked beside an obnoxiously up-market apartment complex, you presumed it was to grab some snacks from the gentrified establishments opposite. However, as he lugged the box of utensils to your window, he ducked his head in, confused. “Why aren’t you getting out?”

“Wait, you live here?” you gawped, eyeballing the building that emanated affluence. “No wonder you’re fucking broke!”

As you exited the car, mouth still unflatteringly ajar, Jungkook developed a sudden interest in the – miraculously unblemished – paving beneath your feet. As one of the great unwashed, you felt at risk of apprehension for even daring to tread there. “It’s nowhere near as expensive as it looks, but, yeah. All my savings are gone. I didn’t really budget all that well, but I kinda left home in a hurry. This was the first place I could find.”

Was he really that naïve about financial matters? “Why not just downsize, then?”

“The landlord won’t release me from my contract. I have another six months left on it,” he huffed in vexation, tapping a six-digit code into the pad adjoining the gate. With a buzz as grating as the needlessly extravagant entrance it controlled, the lock released. Jungkook stood aside, stubborn in his chivalry, to allow you entry. “If you ever wanna get in, the code is 093457. Can you remember that?”

Wow.

Without a whisper of doubt fogging his eyes, he’d placed a ghost of a key in your palm. Like it was of no more significance than those digits of his stored in your phone.

Boy, things were progressing rather quick.

And you were clinging, white-knuckled, to the front seat of this rollercoaster as it barrelled down a track conspicuously free of obstacles, squealing for it to go faster. The opportunity to alight had long since passed. All you could do now was throw up your hands and scream. “I think I can, yeah. Thank you. I’ll make sure to come here in the middle of the night to relieve you of all the rich-people possessions you probably own.”

As you entered the lobby, as plush and immaculate as it could only have been, Jungkook ushered you into one of the immediate elevators. The cubicle alone, less of walls and more of mirrored panelling – you know, so you can better appreciate how wealthy you look when en route to brunch with dahling Cressida – was bigger than your only bathroom.

“I’m far from rich,” he muttered into the box staunchly cradled to his chest. A billow of powder stirred under the gust of his breath. Looks like the flour didn’t survive the journey. “Not anymore. My parents are, though. Maybe that’s why it was hard to let that lifestyle go. I made a lot of mistakes learning, that’s for sure. Still am,” was his barely audible addition.

You stood a little straighter. This was his first time mentioning more than their existence in passing. “Why did you decide to leave?”

“They started pressuring me into things,” the offering was vague and ominous in tone. Eyes rising to the mirror image of him opposite, Jungkook engaged his counterpart in a steely staredown. “Business stuff. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

The hum of the ascending elevator filled the hush left by your introspective pause. “You’re not part of a family-run crime syndicate, are you?” you posed, only half-joking.

Jungkook’s scowl broke with a bob of his shoulders. His laugh could be corked and peddled as a cure-all. And you’d be first in line. “No, it’s not quite that bad. Though, that’d probably be infinitely cooler than the reality. My parents—well, my father—is the head of a pretty large conglomerate. My mother is a member of the board.”

Your eyebrows shot up into the stratosphere. “Whoa. Hella rich, then.”

“Hella? Have you been playing Life is—”

“—Strange? Absolutely. I’m hella fond of that word, now,” you expressed that fondness with a toothy grin that tripled his. But your glee faltered somewhat when you recollected his earlier visitation of your apartment. “Shit, and you’ve been in my hovel of an apartment. I bet that must’ve been like dumpster diving.”

With a ding of announcement, the lift drifted to a halt. Taking the lead again, Jungkook shook his head. And like a cat stalking the metallic shimmy of a bell-toting toy, your eyes snapped to the quiver of his helix piercings. There wasn’t a thing about this man that wasn’t sexy as fuck. “I loved it so much I considered asking to move in as soon as I stepped foot inside.”

You rolled your eyes at his back. “Let’s swap, then. What do you have, a three-bedroom? Four?”

Jungkook crowed. “Okay, I’m stupid with money, but I’m not that stupid. It only has one bedroom. As you’re about to see,” he gestured to the door he now stood before. “Can you take this for a sec?”

“Sure, I should be carrying it anyway,” you relieved him of the box that clanked with the promise of sweet concoctions. “Did you just say I’m about to see your bedroom?”

He fished in the pockets of his jeans for his keys and, with a smooth turn of burnished brass, let you into the awaiting opulence. “I—I meant the apartment,” he spluttered, and you watched, with a kittenish smirk, the tips of his ears tinge red. “You know what I meant.”

“So, are you famous enough for me to Google y—whoa.”

Okay, so it wasn’t on the same scale as Yoongi’s gratuitous bachelor pad, but it was sumptuous all the same. “Nice,” you whistled, your focus fastening to the splendour beneath your feet. Rich, restored mahogany kissed your unworthy soles – something you were all too aware of, as you hastily slipped off your scuffed excuses for shoes – and played host to a number of tastefully-placed shag rugs. Rugs that just cried out to be rolled on. You eyed one, transfixed, a cat again. A cat that had located its next nap spot.

Juxtaposed with the knife-point angles and frigid decor of Yoongi’s apartment that so became him, Jungkook’s was warm- toned, with soft furnishings and of a lived-in air that appealed to you immensely. “This is probably how I’d decorate my place if I had any money,” you lauded, resembling a Nodding Dog for all your vague head-bobbing. “I like it.”

Like Yoongi’s, though, Jungkook’s apartment was open-plan but for the bedroom and bathroom tucked away to the side. Shafts of light, streaming from a slanted glass wall – a fixture imposing in its sheer immensity – brought forth golden tones latent in the dark wood. The sight further compelled you to flop down, belly-up, and bask, feline-like, in the warmth of its glow.

Jungkook deposited the the box – its contents, now, as tossed as a salad – on the asymmetrical countertop of his rustic breakfast bar. And with an expectant hand poised to catch his four-digit camera, he shrugged the strap free from his shoulder. “I’m glad you like it,” his voice took on that fondness for you that you could never quite understand.

What, in all actuality, did he see in you?

When you had drunk in your legal limit of his pleasantly sedative abode, you turned to him, giddy. His eyes played on you, cryptically astir at having won your acclaim. Chin in hand, he propped himself against the counter, looking nothing short of smitten. “I’m glad you like me.”

The boy had a talent for sending you off-kilter.

You tugged at the hem of your shapeless one-piece, jerking your head at the wonder of his affection. “I don’t understand why, but I’m glad you like me, too.”

“Don’t make me list the reasons, or we’ll be standing here all day,” he cracked over his shoulder as he rattled his way around an array of hammered-gold cannisters. Lifting each one free of its lid in turn, he peered dubiously into their depths. “I can never remember what’s what, here. You want coffee? Tea? Something else?”

“Just some water, thanks,” you croaked. God, you sounded like shit. Like a frog had taken up permanent residence in your windpipe and insisted on strumming your vocal chords for you. “I’m trying to keep away from caffeinated drinks at the moment.”

“Ah, of course,” Jungkook acknowledged with a click of his fingers. You watched with a vested interest as he rolled up the sleeves of his—indeed, white, and imminently on course for soiling—sweatshirt to oblige you. A succession of dulcet half-murmurs and airy croons drifted past his lips.

Fucking hell, he could sing, too?

“Voice of an angel,” you muttered, more an aside than anything, but the volume of your contemplation was enough for him to hear. With the full weight of his stare pinning you in place, you threw one of your own, much heavier, at the works of Bernini he called legs. “Thighs of a devil.”

Jungkook turned to the sink, a suppressed grin warping the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t realise I was singing.”

“Oh, you didn’t realise you were singing,” you pitched deeper to mimic him. “You just happen to have a voice that explains the immaculate conception, and you didn’t even realise you were using it. I see,” in a mannerism most certainly acquired from Jungkook, your tongue planted itself firmly in your cheek. “It’s not like you were trying to show off for me, anything.”

Whatever danced in the dark depths of Jungkook’s eyes, then, hit your circulatory system like a stimulant. “You’re asking for it,” was his harbinger of a warning.

You drew sullen circles into the countertop, jutting your lip to bait his scrutiny. “For what?”

The devious twitch of his lips was tacit enough. Leaving you to braise in the juices of your own undoing, he returned to the task at hand; your all but forgotten glass of water.

With a flurry of excitement, you pulled objects indiscriminately from the box, not caring where or with how much might you unloaded them. Your attention was better spent elsewhere, namely leering at the prominent veins that scaled Jungkook’s arms like ivy. When you tracked their descent to his generous hands, wet from the faucet, your want for him manifested in a bitten bottom lip.

“What are we making?” Jungkook startled you out of your indecent introspection, catching you on the edge of exposure. His lips curled tellingly. “Something sweet?”

“Something creamy,” was your proposal, steeped in suggestion. For some reason, Jungkook seemed oblivious to the water now surging over the rim of the glass. “I’m thinking a pavlova, because I’ve forgotten a lot of things. Got lots of eggs, though!”

Not a glint of recognition. “I don’t know what that is, either. I’m not doing great today, huh?”

“You’re doing just perfect,” you hushed him, taking the proffered drink. There was about as much clinging to the exterior of the glass as there was inside it. Looking up from the bowels of your emptied box, you affixed a sceptical smirk. “You don’t have an electric whisk, by any chance?”

Jungkook scratched at the back of his head. An imagined itch, to be sure; the gesture another of his wholesomely appealing habits. “Nope. I’m not exactly Gordon Ramsay, I’m sorry to say.”

“Then I’m gonna need your big, strong, man-arms, probably. Beating eggs is fucking exhausting.”

Flipping open the dozen you’d successfully remembered to bring with, you cracked one against the rim of your mixing bowl with a precision and fluidity that impressed Jungkook enough to provoke a gasp.

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen anyone do that except on TV,” he gaped, studying the art of yolk separation in an awed trance. He could catch flies with the amount of air exposure his mouth was getting.

And there he went again, affecting you in the smallest, most trivial of ways.

Teasing him was fast becoming a prized pastime. “You’ve never seen anyone break an egg before, Jungkook? Do you just live on instant ramen, or something?”

The swipe was barely glancing, but he played up the wound with the eyes of a Disney critter. “First of all, yes, I have seen someone break an egg. You know exactly what I meant. And, second of all, this is exactly what I was talking about.”

“What is?” you chuckled, siphoning your fourth egg into the awaiting gloop.

“All the bad things you say are gonna get you into trouble, one day.”

You stilled. That was a very direct attack. So direct, your pussy throbbed in the wake of its impact.

Feigning virtue was always fun. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m just crackin’ some eggs.”

Jungkook’s silhouette loomed closer. “You wanted me to beat something for you?”

Whisk in hand, your knees felt dangerously close to knocking themselves out and rendering you a floor-bound Salmonella risk. Unprepared for this lobbying of impurity, it took you a second longer than you’d prefer to formulate a counterattack. “I’ll need to see how capable you are, first.”

Yeah, not your best.

Jungkook, however, took it as his cue to mold himself to your back, granting your upper arms an explicit squeeze with the hands you were so fucking obsessed with. The sleevelessness of your romper had been a point of internal contention for you in your earlier clothing deliberation, but now it was the most valued of selections. You experienced, unobstructed, the softness of his unmarred palms as they ghosted down your arms’ reach and engulfed your fingers whole. Never had you felt so delicate as you did, then, swallowed in the expanse of his strapping hands.

Decisively, he plucked the implement from your slackening grip and hauled the bowl closer to him. Or you, rather, a little too comfortably wedged between the pressure of his body and the countertop that never asked to be part of this charged exchange. The warm, sturdy enclosure within which Jungkook held you captive tightened when he began whipping the bowl’s contents with a strength that struck you dumb. Like a primitive ape, you fawned over your mate's show of power, because the display was nothing if not to titillate you into a hard, dirty rutting.

And, fuck, you wanted that.

You leered, mesmerised, at the succulent bulge of tendon and vein alike as his hands whisked up a storm, his biceps rhythmically buffeting your shoulders with the effort of the motion. Hot breath met your ear, liquefying your entire being. “How’s this?”

“G-Good,” you couldn’t have given him a more vivid, greener light. All that he did piqued the fierce interest of your every nerve ending. And that was a reality all too apparent in the collecting slick coating the crotch of your panties. You should have been adding some sugar to the eggs around about now, but honestly, who gave a fuck about that anymore? “Until it forms stiff peaks.”

Jungkook pulled the whisk from the mixture to test its consistency, but didn’t return to the task when it proved unsatisfactorily blended. Instead, he dropped the implement into the creamy mess and seized, suddenly, the clothed swell of your breasts, adamant on turning you into a creamy mess, apparently. The switch in intent caught you wholly unawares. Like a boneless fish, you flopped into his built physique, lolling your head against his broad span of shoulder. “Oh, f-fuck.”

The fabric of your one-piece wasn’t the thickest. With impressively able hands, he kneaded you like dough, plying you into a putty that bulged from between the gaps of his wolfish grip. It wasn’t long before you were rising to readiness, a glaze streaking the space between your legs.

Jungkook was priming you for consumption.

His thumbs grazed to and fro over your budding nipples, wakening them to the chafe of your outer layer. “Feel pretty stiff to me,” he practically purred into the nape of your neck, his lips brushing a template of where he would later revisit. “I’d say you’re done.”

And from the burgeoning bulge making known its presence at the crack of your ass, you’d say he was about done, too.

A hand ventured lower, and then higher, as it slid surreptitiously beneath the hem of your shorts. “Do you want me to keep going?” Jungkook near-whispered, pausing his pilgrimage to your saturated cunt. You craned your neck, with some difficulty, to face him. “If you don’t want this today, I can stop.”

A dazed smile. “I want it. Today. Now,” and, bonding your lips in a kiss that should never have been broken on that night on the balcony, the heated, humid rejoining drew a muzzled moan from the both of you. Immersed, again, in the ambrosia of each other’s unfastened mouths, the steady undulation of Jungkook’s jaw as he received you felt as innate as your own heartbeat. How quickly he had attuned himself to your motions, your tempo; and, with a studious tongue, taken such an intimate cast of your mouth, knowing, already, how best to tease whimpers from you. Together you drowned, caught in a sea of saliva and amassed lust. Lust built from weeks of needless principle.

Oh, why had you waited so long, when this was nothing but right?

The potency of your monstrous, reciprocal desire now unleashed, it spurred your hands, your tongues, to paths they were keen to retread.

Jungkook was particularly quick in infiltrating that one part of you that begged for reunion. But despite his haste to submerse his fingertips in your gooey delight, he skimmed the outskirts of your panties with an infuriating lightness. He tore away from the kiss as though scorched. “You’re already this soaked?” he exclaimed, tormented, knocking his forehead to yours like the revelation had physically weakened him. “How are you so fucking sexy, noona?”

“It’s all you,” there was no need for exaggeration. Not when him simply broaching the meagre cotton barrier snatched the neediest of whimpers from you. Feeling his fingertips glide along the curve of your slippery slit, you briefly fretted that spontaneous human combustion may not merely be a myth. Because as he slathered himself with your syrupy, fervent welcome, you swore you were the pyre of a building inferno. “Don’t you dare tease me, Jungkook, you’ve gotten me so fucking horny,” was your urgent warning, coasting close to shrill. “Put those goddamn fingers--that you know I’ve been fantasising about--inside me, already.”

A husky chuckle tickled the nerve endings spanning your shoulders, every centimetre of your skin pining for the touch of his supple mouth. Kisses that he generously gave, but sprinkled chaotically, like he didn’t want to neglect any one part of you. The cupid’s bow that dipped his upper lip assailed you with volleys of heated adoration, riling you into a squirm that only pressed you closer to the tip of his other, drawn, weapon. “You mean, these?”

Oh how easily they sunk into you; two at once, with an immediacy that spoke volumes of Jungkook’s desire to touch the lining of your most sensitive parts. He half-hummed, half-whined his approval for having been re-embedded in the heat and squeeze of a place his cock wished it could inhabit. For now, it was forced to experience your narrow reaches vicariously, through the nubile probing of his fingers. Jungkook was bewitched. “You feel like fucking heaven, fuck.”

His dick twitched impatiently, pressed flush to your backside as it was. And, though cosy in the pressure with which your asscheeks provided, it answered to a higher call, now; your warm, throbbing pussy. You rocked against his languid insertion, more exploratory than possessed by hunger. It seemed Jungkook had become lost to the wonder of your calculated constriction, each tense of muscle prying further open his mouth and eyes. You snickered at his wonderstruck expression. “Never had your fingers this deep in a girl’s pussy, Jungkook?”

“Not one as delicious as this,” he shot back, leaving an aching void in the wake of his exit. Poised to question his knowledge of your taste, he spun you around so you could better view his sampling. He drew the drenched digits to his mouth, their savoury topping bridging the gap between as gooey strings that lit up his eyes in anticipation. As easily as he had buried them in your sopping cunt, he dipped them past the seal of his lips with an agonised crumple to his brow, like he was partaking of some tantalising elixir he’d been forbidden to let touch his tongue. “I knew it,” he murmured thickly, sucking clean his fingers and allowing your essence to titillate his tastebuds. “You taste as good as you smell, and as hot as you look.”

Enthralled by the vision of him drinking from you with all the reverence of a wizened man supping up the Fountain of Youth, the tail-end of his ardent declaration stole your attention enough to tickle you. “I don’t think it’s possible to taste hot? Unless that wasn’t water I showered with earlier, but sriracha,” you teased, slinging your arms haphazardly around his neck. You did so to close the far too vast a distance between your bodies, but, hands upon your ass and subjecting it to a voracious, possessive squeeze, he was already mashing you to him. Your romper may as well have been non-existent for all the dulling of sensation it granted you. When the top of your mound thudded lightly to the rock-hard protrusion reaching for you from behind Jungkook’s jeans, it did nothing to diminish the utter, raw aching the contact inspired.

“Don’t sass me, noona,” the admonishment was stern, but breathless. “Am I gonna have to bend you over my knee?”

Fuck, the suggestion was enticing. Unfortunately, the drooling maw between your legs had no such patience. It demanded gratification. “Not this time, baby. You can punish me all you like later on. Right now, I need your cock,” you cooed, granting its straining outline the coaxing smooth of your palm.

Jungkook stiffened to a rigidity that could rival his dick. “Ugh—I like that,” was his softly moaned encouragement. “Again, please.”

“I haven’t stopped,” a lone brow raised in bemusement. To demonstrate, you increased the pressure you were applying to his captive length, enough friction to have him grinding into your hand like a randy buck.

“N-No, not that—ah,” you stole his gasp with your determined toying. “Well, that too, but—c-call me baby, again.”

Your other brow arched to match. “Oh? You like that, huh?”

Jungkook sobered a little in his self-consciousness. “Yeah,” the arousal that dusted his cheeks deepened into an irresistible scarlet. “I don’t know why, but, man, that hit a note.”

You caught him before he could pull away. “Then I like it too, baby,” the endearment dripped as obscenely from between your lips as the honey from your lower pair. “So fuck me, already.”

The seconds proceeding your demand hung heavy; almost beyond endurance. But then, in slow motion, you witnessed that sudden click; the wildness that pitched Jungkook’s eyes into an all-consuming blackness that entreated you to an amenable doom. The shiver of energy that shifted through him was near palpable; it resonated from the soles of his feet and upward, until, like a carnivore coiled to pounce, he hoisted you with ease onto the countertop.

With a vulgar smack, the backs of your thighs collided with solid oak, and, God, did you wish you’d taken up his earlier offer of some disciplining. The sting would tingle all the more beautifully for having been dispensed by his hefty palm. “You don’t need to ask me twice, noona,” he puffed, excitement rather than exertion stealing his breath. “I’ll give you the fucking you so desperately crave.”

Jungkook’s arms encased your torso, sheltering your heart better than the ribcage that so freely allowed Taehyung to penetrate. “Whoa,” you hiccupped, steadying yourself with a grasp that landed, fortuitously, on his tautened biceps. They shifted excitably beneath your hands. “What are you gonna do with me?”

Legs free and sprawling, you welcomed him into the space between with an invitation written in your tongue’s ink, blotting his girthy neck with saliva.

An invitation he accepted wholeheartedly.

With an appreciative grunt, the mass of his body bore down on and nearly—oh, so nearly—inside you, dancing on the fringes.

You wanted him to invade you, claim and repurpose you. Dismantle your design; one so sorely built in error.

You would no longer be his, but Jungkook’s.

“So, so many things. But, first, I’m gonna give your pussy the beating it deserves,” he leered over you all stone-cold assertiveness, and you shrunk beneath his emanating power, both gut-squirmingly aroused and intimidated by the absence of the usual fumbled words and averted gazes.

He must have been practicing, you mused inwardly, allowing him this momentary victory over you with a sufficiently servile, doe-eyed pout. “Are you gonna let me see your pretty co—oh, fuck!” your yelp was consumed by a hacking cough, when one, misplaced hand catapulted the box whose only remaining contents consisted of the powdery residue left by your battered bag of flour. Your life, never having run the smoothest course, hit you with the timeliest derailments. This one presented itself as a billowy cloud that powdered most of you ghoulishly white. “Oh, God, look at me.”

Jungkook, who escaped relatively unscathed despite his proximity, cackled openly at your misfortune. But he didn’t surrender his hold of you; not even for a second. He only pulled you closer, marring himself to match. “You could be covered in anything right now and I would still be desperate to fuck you,” he stressed with a bow of his head, charting the topography of your sprinkled cleavage with a hot, open mouth, reducing the offending powder—and you, with every enthused flick of his tongue—to a streaky, viscous sludge. “You taste just as good when you’re a little salty.”

You wrinkled your nose at his willingness to ingest meal. “I guess you want this pretty bad, baby.”

Jungkook’s head shot up like he’d been conditioned into uninhibition on that one word’s command. “So bad,” he virtually snarled, scrambling to undress. Endowing you with your first, unfiltered view of his honed build, he yanked his sweatshirt free of his body, latching a smouldering gaze to you as soon as the obstruction was tossed aside. “Before you covered yourself in flour, I thought I heard a request?”

Your eyes trickled freely down his slopes of definition, steered into the trap that was Jungkook’s sublime anatomy. Cut, bronzed abs and a whisper of hair lay breadcrumbs to an outcropping so stark you could hang something off it.

Hopefully you.

“You know what I want,” your tongue painted the outline of your lips as he unbuckled and whipped off his belt with a crack that had your cunt quivering for the lashings of its master’s crop.

“Tell me again,” Jungkook barely breathed, peeling down the zipper of his pants at a pace that was far too leisurely for your liking.

“You’re getting a bit too bossy for your own good,” you cautioned, though the substance of your warning disintegrated upon each, agitated breath.

Clearly, it was for your own good.

Jungkook’s fingers fell away from his front. “Tell me again,” he reiterated firmly.

How effortlessly he flitted between subservience and indubitable control. Hopefully the thorough flouring you’d sustained would stave off the likelihood of you completely adhering to his countertop in your current, sodden state.

The thrum of your clitoris compelled you into compliance. “Please, let me see your cock.”

A triumphant smirk sharpened his features. “That’s my good girl,” he hummed, tugging his boxers down enough to allow it to topple into his awaiting palm like a freshly felled tree. Reality was far more generous to him than the feeble fantasies you’d concocted, with increasing frequency, the last few weeks. His arms weren’t the only appendages lovingly wrapped by veins, green and blue; powerlines supplying the monster that would soon be hollowing you.

Its perfectly pink head enraptured you. “God, you’re so hot—way too hot. I’m so fucking wet, Jungkook, you know I am. I’m so ready,” the sight of his fleshy offering stirred you into near-frenzy. So much so, you grasped for him without pretence; no longer did you possess the constitution to play ruler. “Fuck me, please.”

Jungkook’s calculated façade slipped when confronted with such raw need. He was on you before you could blink, inhaling you into a soul-sucking kiss that saw his tongue tickling the threshold to your throat. Was it possible to swallow and choke on someone else’s tongue?

If so, you gladly would.

He must have been in some state of severe desperation, because Jungkook spared no thought for your poor, flimsy romper as he yanked sharply at your shorts, inadvertently flossing your cunt with the seams. It should have been painful, in theory, and yet the angling strummed your clit to the tune of your resultant, yearnful moans. With a fistful of fabric, he paused suddenly, confused both by your fervid feedback and the stubborn garment that still adorned your body. “What the hell is this thing? Shorts? I thought it was a skirt,” his voice pitched with an adorable curiosity.

Yes, even now, cock out and teeming with pre-cum, he was adorable.

Tongue pinched between teeth, you giggled. “Yeah, and it’s all one thing. Gonna have to take it off in one go.”

With that, you sat straight, teasing two sets of straps down the round of your shoulders. Jungkook was your besotted audience of one, engrossed in your seductive shedding. His chest expanded with a sharp intake of breath when your bra peeled away from your breasts, tips painfully taut from his earlier bullying. “God,” was his succinct, but cock-felt response. And, sure enough, he watched the show unfold with a white-knuckled clench around said cock, spreading its drool the length of it through each your stages of undress.

Unclasping your bra with a fluidity born from nearly three decades of suffering the damned things, you threw the unwelcome item of clothing over Jungkook’s fruit bowl. And, with a jerk of your hips, disrobed yourself of what remained of your layers soon after—including a misguided choice in panties. In fairness, you’d hardly – having been wallowing in the depths of despair not an hour ago – been expecting his scrutiny. Not while you were spread-eagle and, with your fore and middle fingers scissoring the hood of your clit, beckoning him with your pussy like a wanton wench.

You eyed his vigorous pumping of his dick and tutted. “Baby, slow down. Are you that excited?”

Jungkook grunted past the lip caught between his teeth. “Fuck, yes. Ugh—” his gaze was unshakably fixed to the trail that oozed from your tender interior. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the utterance barely audible above the mouth-watering shlip of his rhythmic movements. Whether his comment had been for your ears, you didn’t know. But your confidence ballooned exponentially, banishing the skulk of inadequacy that had intermittently threatened your enjoyment.

Hooded eyes flew wide. “Wait,” Jungkook panted, stalling his overzealous strokes. “I-I don’t have a condom, I didn’t think—oh, no.”

Wow. He really had left this decision entirely in your hands, hadn’t he? Your abdomen crawled with a warmth not possessed of arousal. “I do,” you assured him, pointing to your purse. “In there.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered, shoulders sagging for the relief of your divulgement. “And you, of course,” was his snort of an aside as he pulled the accessory to him and rifled, behind thinly-veiled excitement, through its compartments. “Aha.”

It relieved you endlessly to witness him tear open the packet with his fingers, rather than his teeth. Every man you’d ever bedded that had been a teeth-tearer, had, without fail, vastly overestimated their sexual prowess. Jungkook’s concentrated fumbling only made your heart more buoyant. “Let me?”

He couldn’t have moved fast enough. Surrendering the wrapper immediately, he observed keenly, how adept you were at removing it. It could have been candy inside for all the pre-cum his dick was salivating, eager to don the sheathe that would allow him access to the sultry stretches of your vagina.

With a practiced pinch of the tip, you wrapped him from end to base in one soft, sweeping motion, never quite allowing him the gratification of a firm grip. He squirmed nonetheless, ostensibly overcome by both the feeling and realisation of having your touch grace his—very nearly—bare cock. “I wish you could fuck me raw,” you grumbled, never having been too fond of the taste or texture of latex, nor the hindrance it posed when all you wanted was to fully appreciate his silken skin as it caressed your insides.

That was, perhaps, the most provocative thing you could have said in that moment. Because Jungkook snapped to you like he was impelled by magnetic forces and, with a squeak of flesh on wood, pulled you to the very edge. The angered tip of his cock hovered directly beneath, inciting you to your grisly end by impalement. “Don’t say that to me right now, noona, or I won’t even survive putting it in. Jesus,” he ran splayed hands over the planes of your thighs, and thumbs along the pulse points that gushed, with urgency, to provide oxygen to parts of you that were fast becoming deprived.

“I’ll let you fill me right up one day,” you teased, hooking a leg around his waist and bringing your throbbing genitals into closer proximity. “But I won’t tell you when. I’ll just pull it off and shove you back in when you least exp—ungh!”

Jungkook silenced you with a hungry bruising of lips and teeth, delving his fingers into your backside to better guide you to the beacon that, now, stood sentinel between the seam of your pussy’s lips, coating itself in your plentiful excretions. He wrenched himself free of your oral dalliance. “Ready?”

As if your entire body wasn’t crying out for his fullness. God, you’d never experienced such a haunting ache between your legs. “I’ve been ready since date one, and failed date three is the extent of my self-control. Hurry, baby.”

And with a smooth rock of his hips, he eased his way past your slit and into the clamp of your unaccustomed cunt. The sharpness of penetration pushed a gasp from you, halting him immediately. “Are you okay?” he whispered to your lips, tracing each syllable with his hovering mouth.

You were okay.

More than.

Beyond okay.

It was formidable, the intensity of this moment. Skin-on-skin, simmering under a sheen of perspiration; the intimate, reassuring canopy of Jungkook’s weight, anchoring you to reality.

And you needed that anchor, when it was nothing but an unreality that you were melding, after so long, with a man who returned your ardour. A man who pursued you, who desired you, who embraced you without pretence.

That first stab let flow months of unprocessed, pent-up loneliness and desire for companionship. For sexual affinity.

And as he bled you of pain, all that remained was a strengthening, terrifying appetite, brewing in the pit of your being. With an exuberant smile, you cupped the sides of his face. “I’ve never been better.”

Coaxed by the sincerity of your own words, you laxed around your gradual accommodation of Jungkook’s cock, permitting him to share your body; to become the vessel for his enjoyment. He gave in to the pull of your suckling pussy, a breath he had long been holding rushing free to flutter the wisps of hair around your face that had abandoned their hastily styled arrangement. And though it seemed to pain him, Jungkook steadfastly maintained the quiet, intimate exchange that passed between your torpid gazes. As consumed of lust as they were, the darkness that swallowed his eyes was not that same, meaningless, matte void you had seen stare back at you, time and time again. There glimmered, like an uncharted nebula, thousands of stars.

And every one bore your name; shone to be seen by you.

Jungkook allowed you that glimpse of tender emotion before body overrode heart. He pressed welts into your asscheeks with his boisterous grappling. “Noona—God—you’re so tight.”

And you felt it, too; how you hugged him so inflexibly. Your walls spread, burned around the circumference of his cock, hewn wider by Jungkook’s measured descension to your core. The tip of his member brushed conciliatory kisses to your softest spots as it passed, mitigating what little discomfort there still remained.

And soon, there was none.

Soon, each, sunken inch of him induced only the most moreish, pleasing of sensations.

Jungkook’s sculpted abdomen, drawn tightly under the burden of moderation, pressed flat to your mound as you enveloped his full length. You writhed, feeling his mass so perfectly planted within you. “I-It’s been a long while,” your voice was more air than sound, the feeble, soft noise summoning his mouth to provide your own succour.

A few sprawling, desperate seconds later he broke away, though his impression lingered upon your smooch-swollen lips. Despite the visible trembling of his arms, he kept his tone considerately even. “Let me know when, ____.”

Even now, even lodged so deep that his balls kissed at your crammed core, he put you first.

“Now, Jungkook. Now,” you urged, trapping him in a vice of thighs. “F-Fuck me, I’m ready.”

And he did.

Instinct overruled cognition with a hasty, acute snap of his hips. From the very outset he set a hurried, frenzied pace that saw him transform from the attentive man you so treasured, to a rapt beast heeding the call of a pleasure that could only be found at your centre. A centre he plunged with abandon, tapping you for a completion he was racing startlingly fast towards. “A-ah, noona, I—fuck, you’re perfect, you feel so good,” he gushed unfiltered, your clenching pussy torturing him into the most candid of outpourings. His fingertips dug with such resolve into your ass, it felt like he could tear away flesh.

“B-Baby,” you began, but a raucous groan burst forth from him at your weaponization of the term, striking him at his most vulnerable.

He was gone.

Immersed, so deeply, both in your cunt and the effort he was expending to pound himself into its limits, your provocation only served to accelerate his harried thrusting to a dizzying tempo. The furious pacing was nothing but sweet, sweet violence; your plastered, swelling pussy and endless caterwauling was an attestation to that. Each thunderous clap of your flesh battered your clit to inflammation; a willing casualty of the pummelling he was subjecting you to. “You’re fucking me so good, d-don’t stop, oh!—”

With an ear-sundering squeak, he slid you from the breakfast bar and onto the burly shelf of his stiffened forearm, the other more tenderly employed to cradle your waist. In his strong, resolute hold, he suspended you from the floor, legs dangling, as he continued fuck up into you with admirable determination. And though you were quick to ease his burden somewhat by encircling him with your legs, he then began to stagger away from your previous perch. His intended path was unclear, more-so as you ricocheted from countertop to countertop, entwined and blind in a kiss so sloppy you almost missed mouths, drawing the vicinity of your lips into a maelstrom of tongue and saliva.

With the grating crash of unseated pots and pans, Jungkook drove you to the wall, plastering you onto the decor with the momentum of his pussy-rending pistoning. How he was able to maintain such a potent, jarring rhythm despite the strain of your added weight was an absolute mystery, and one you were only sad you were unable to witness in the rippled strain of his muscular thighs.

“O-Oh God, I don’t think I can last much longer,” he whined, the centre of his face crinkling into agony. “I’m already so close, I’m s-sorry—you’re just so—so fucking—ungh!”

An orgasm would’ve been lovely— okay, that was an understatement— but unanticipated. First encounters were often desperate, grasping tussles that lacked the longevity and attention you required to get you there. And yet, this was the first time it hadn’t bothered you. Ushering Jungkook to nirvana was euphoria enough for this cursory experience. It was a gift you wholeheartedly gave to a man who put you first in all things. And, given time, would master your body enough to pay you back tenfold. With a gentle brush of his cheek, you prompted his unfocused attention. “Don’t worry about me. You’re gonna make up for it later, aren’t you?”

Jungkook loudly moaned his affirmation. “F-fuck, yes. I’m gonna worship your pussy, noona. Just wait,” a series of harsh, broken thrusts was his endorsement. The drag and draw of his rigid cock was so smooth, now, so lubricated by a unified ecstasy, that it truly felt like he belonged. Like he was a part long missing from your malfunctioning machinery, well-oiled and barrelling into you to fulfil a function you’d never quite known.

And now you knew.

“Are you gonna dirty my pussy, baby?” you purred the salacious incitement into his ear to feel him flounder. And, boy, did he. The targeted battering he’d been unleashing on you stuttered to an erratic, madcap blindfiring that struck you in places that you would be sure to tell him to focus on later. A jagged rasp of a moan bruised your vocal chords. “J-Jungkook, f-fuck, fill me! I wish I could feel you fill me, want my pussy full of your cum—”

“Agh!” he spat the strangled response from behind a clenched jaw, your body drooping in increments as his knees quaked from the stress. With a surge of decisive strength, he hauled you up and flopped you onto the dining table directly behind, the surface lower in height than where your entanglement first began and allowing him the unhindered scope of your nude vista. Forfeit of decency for being so deep within you, his eyes dwindled on the hypnotic spring of your breasts, fuelling a passion that raged toward combustion. “I-I’m gonna come, noona, I’m so close—God, how are you so fucking gorgeous—”

With one, final, fatal squeeze of your vagina, you bought him a one-way ticket to his end. A last gasp of breath and the indistinct blurring of his hips saw Jungkook through a climax that thrashed him with such intensity that he no longer appeared conscious of the grip he had of your waist. It tightened as painfully as the vicelike restriction that tormented his cock, and his thumbs delved so far into the supple flesh of your tummy it felt like he was palpating you for medical examination.

“F-Fuck, yeah, oh, noona, yes—” he shouted with such vehemence you became conscious of the existence of his neighbours. That thought was fleeting, however, in the literal face of Jungkook, stubbornly grinding every drop of himself into the true recipient you both begrudgingly permitted to participate. And though the condom, surely, dulled his – and your, because you couldn’t think of anything more soul-rendingly erotic than him emptying the scorching contents of his balls into you – enjoyment somewhat, you were an awed spectator to the seraphic beauty of his bliss. Features free of anything but a meditative placidity, Jungkook, with every whoosh of expelled breath, looked a traverser of Elysium’s peaks.

“Wow,” you chuckled, rosy-cheeked and more serene than you could ever remember feeling. “You still in there?”

Jungkook’s eyes peeled open, black as night. With him fucked-out and flying, you were better able to access the rawness of him through the dilated pools that stared back at you.

A secret, there, seemed so within reach—

“Only just,” he panted, each word ousted from lungs devoid of breath. “God. I’m just—wow. I lo—I mean, you were amazing.”

You sat up to take his face into your hands – hands that craved him still. “I barely did anything. You rocked my world and I came along for the ride,” Jungkook slipped his wilting cock from you, the desolate chasm it left in its wake soliciting a gloomy pout. “I don’t want you to leave. You feel so good inside me.”

He held the softening appendage in his palm, eyeballing the abundance of cum he’d soiled its latex prison with. “Jesus,” he breathed, flashing you an impish grin. “I submit this as evidence that I also feel really, really, fucking good inside you.”

“More, please?” you simpered, prying wide your legs to tempt him into another round. “I’m hungry for your cock, still.”

Jungkook was enthralled by the ruddied, slobbering sight. His sagging dick heaved a determined breath, levitating precariously from his palm. “Fucking hell,” he threw an anguished look towards the bathroom. “I’ll give you as much cock as you want, noona. But I need to take this off, first. Let’s take a shower, and then—well. I promised you something, didn’t I?”

Your eyes may as well have lit up with jackpot signs. “You’re gonna worship my pussy?”

“I’ll do more than that,” he vowed, stalking away to the bathroom with an urgency to his gait. “I’ll get the shower going.”

Watching his chiselled backside leave was a perk in itself. You were definitely going to bite it at least once in your future tumbles together.

In his absence, you evaluated the trail of destruction your frantic fucking had wraught. As his guest - and the lucky recipient of said fucking - you felt compelled to straighten the place to the best of your ability. You spotted your purse first, dusted with flour, and patted off the excess that stubbornly clung to its exterior, inadvertently dislodging your phone from its compartment. Quite against expectations, you caught the sleek object before it could clatter to the floor and ruin your week, and with a relieved sigh and a habitual click, began mindlessly scrolling through a day’s accumulation of unnoteworthy notifications. In the midst of the unexceptional, Yoongi’s name popped out at you.

[15:33] Yoongi I don’t know if you have already, but can you talk to Taehyung, please?

Your stomach bungeed to your feet.

No.

Not now.

Please.

[15:34] Yoongi I can’t get hold of him since he told me the news.

Oh, God. What news?

Had he really disclosed the grisly details of that catastrophic evening to Yoongi?

[15:34] Yoongi You know he broke up with Tara, right?

Oh.

Next: 10 || WYLEI Masterlist

1K notes · View notes

jonathanalumbaugh · 7 years ago

Text

Weekly Digest

Dec 16, 2017, 3rd issue.

A roundup of stuff I consumed this week. Published weekly(ish).

Read

Whoever your graphic design portfolio site is aimed at, you have to remember that people’s time and attention is limited. Employers, to take one example, may look at dozens of portfolios in the space of 10 minutes. So you only have a few seconds to really grab their attention and enthuse them.

—8 great graphic design portfolio sites for 2018

Paying for more than 3,500 daily drinks for six years, it turns out, is expensive. The NIH would need more funding—and soon, a team stepped up to the plate. The Foundation of the NIH, a little-known 20-year-old non-profit that calls on donors to support NIH science, was talking to alcohol corporations. By the fall of 2014, the study was relying on the industry for “separate contributions to the Foundation of the NIH beyond what the NIAAA could afford,” as Mukamal put it in an e-mail to a prospective collaborator. Later that year, Congress encouraged the NIH to sponsor the study, but lawmakers didn’t provide any money. Five corporations—Anheuser-Busch InBev, Diageo, Pernod Ricard, Heineken, and Carlsberg—have since provided a total of $67 million. The foundation is seeking another $23 million, according to its director of development, Julie Wolf-Rodda.

—A MASSIVE HEALTH STUDY ON BOOZE, BROUGHT TO YOU BY BIG ALCOHOL

When Starbucks (SBUX) announced that it was closing its Teavana tea line and wanted to shutter all of its stores, mall operator Simon Property Group (SPG) countered with a lawsuit. Simon cited in part the effect the store closures might have on other mall tenants.

Earlier this month, a judge upheld Simons' suit, ordering Teavana to keep 77 of its stores open.

—America's malls are rotting away

The Dots claims to have a quarter of a million members and current clients include Google, Burberry, Sony Pictures, Viacom, M&C Saatchi, Warner Music, Tate, Discovery Networks and VICE amongst others.

—Aiming to be the LinkedIn for creatives, The Dots raises £4m

The Cboe's bitcoin futures fell 10 percent Wednesday, triggering a two-minute trading halt early Wednesday afternoon.

—Bitcoin futures briefly halted after plunging 10%

Through a very clever scheme, the people behind Tether can continue to send Bitcoin into the stratosphere until it reaches a not-yet-known breaking point.

—Bitcoin Only Has One Way To Go If This Is True

—Bitcoin Price Dilemma: Bull and Bear Paths in Play

—Botera – Free Font

"He is being a huge assh*le and avoiding you so it literally forces you to be the one to break up with him because he's too much of a coward to do it himself. GOD, I HATE GUYS."

—"Breakup Ghosting" Is the Most Cowardly Way to End a Relationship

—Britain rejected the EU, and the EU is loving its new life

“Although the science is still evolving, there are concerns among some public health professionals and members of the public regarding long-term, high use exposure to the energy emitted by cellphones,” Dr. Karen Smith, CDPH Director and State Public Health Officer, said in a statement.

—California Warns People to Limit Exposure to Cellphones

There is a way CSS can get its hands on data in HTML, so long as that data is within an attribute on that HTML element.

—The CSS attr() function got nothin’ on custom properties

“The recent coverage of AI as a single, unified power is a predictable upshot of a self-aggrandizing Silicon Valley culture that believes it can summon a Godhead,” says Thomas Arnold

—Former Google and Uber engineer is developing an AI 'god'

Here are two facts: 1) Throughout the tail end of Matt Lauer’s tenure at NBC’s Today, ABC’s Good Morning America beat it in the ratings, and 2) In the two weeks since Lauer was kicked to the curb for sexual misconduct and replaced by Hoda Kotb, Today’s viewership has surpassed GMA’s by a considerable margin.

Here are two opinions: 1) No one ever really liked Matt Lauer, but tolerated him as you would a friend you’ve known for 20 years but have nothing in common with anymore, 2) Hota Kotb makes everything better.

—A Funny Thing Is Happening to Today Now That Matt Lauer Is Gone: Its Ratings Are Going Up

The game challenges you to build an empire that stands the test of time, taking your civilization from the Stone Age to the Information Age as you wage war, conduct diplomacy, advance your culture, and go head-to-head with history’s greatest leaders.

—Get the newest game in 'Sid Meier’s Civilization' series for 50% off

Amazingly, despite the mind control and hypnosis, the girl resisted being totally drawn into her father’s “cult of three.” But she suffered from self-loathing and took to self-harm as a coping mechanism.

—Girl’s father tortured her for a decade to make her ‘superhuman’

The most searched for dog breed was the golden retriever.

—Google's top searches for 2017: Matt Lauer, Hurricane Irma and more

"A few months ago, I started collecting stories from people about their real experiences with loneliness. I started small, asking my immediate network to share with their friends/family, and was flooded with submissions from people of all ages and walks of life.

"The Loneliness Project is an interactive web archive I created to present and give these stories a home online. I believe in design as a tool to elevate others' voices. Stories have tremendous power to spark empathy, and I believe that the relationship between design and emotion only strengthens this power.

—Graphic designer tackles issue of wide-spread loneliness in moving campaign

While the Windows 10 OpenSSH software is currently in Beta, it still works really well. Especially the client as you no longer need to use a 3rd party SSH client such as Putty when you wish to connect to a SSH server.

—Here's How to Enable the Built-In Windows 10 OpenSSH Client

In America we have settled on patterns of land use that might as well have been designed to prevent spontaneous encounters, the kind out of which rich social ties are built.

—How our housing choices make adult friendships more difficult

Today was "Break the Internet" day, in which many websites altered their appearance and urged visitors to contact members of Congress about the pending repeal (see the gallery above for examples from Reddit, Kickstarter, GitHub, Mozilla, and others).

—How Reddit and others “broke the Internet” to support net neutrality today

“He’s the Usain Bolt of business for Jamaica,” Richards said. “For each Jamaican immigrant, Lowell Hawthorne is me, he’s you. He was the soul of Jamaica, the son of our soil, and all of our struggles were identified with him.”

—How the Jamaican patty king made it to the top — before ending it all

—How to break a CAPTCHA system in 15 minutes with Machine Learning

After the trap has snapped shut, the plant turns it into an external stomach, sealing the trap so no air gets in or out. Glands produce enzymes that digest the insect, first the exoskeleton made of chitin, then the nitrogen-rich blood, which is called hemolyph.

The digestion takes several days depending on the size of the insect, and then the leaf re-opens. By that time, the insect is a "shadow skeleton" that is easily blown away by the wind.

—How the Venus Flytrap Kills and Digests Its Prey

Back at The Shed, Phoebe has arrived. She's an intuitive waitress who can really get across the nuances of our menu, like how – by serving pudding in mugs – we're aiming to replicate the experience of what it's like to eat pudding out of a mug.

—I Made My Shed the Top Rated Restaurant On TripAdvisor

In order to create a candlestick chart, you must have a data set that contains open, high, low and closevalues for each time period you want to display. The hollow or filled portion of the candlestick is called “the body” (also referred to as “the real body”). The long thin lines above and below the body represent the high/low range and are called “shadows” (also referred to as “wicks” and “tails”). The high is marked by the top of the upper shadow and the low by the bottom of the lower shadow.

—Introduction to Candlesticks

The object in question is ‘Oumuamua, an asteroid from another star system currently zipping past Jupiter at about 196,000 miles per hour, too fast to be trapped by the sun’s gravitational pull. First discovered in mid-October by astronomers at the Pan-STARRS project at the University of Hawaii, the 800-meter-long, 80-meter-wide, cigar-shaped rock is, technically speaking, weird as hell—and that’s precisely why some scientists think it’s not a natural object.

—Is This Cigar-Shaped Asteroid Watching Us?

I tried out LinkedIn Career Advice and Bumble Bizz over the course of a work week and compared them in terms of how easy they are to use and the kind of people they introduce you to.

—I tried LinkedIn's career advice app vs. dating app Bumble's version and discovered major flaws with both

“The Bitcoin dream is all but dead,” I wrote.

—I Was Wrong About Bitcoin. Here’s Why.

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

In the study, depressed patients who got an infusion of ketamine reported rapid relief from suicidal thoughts—many as soon as a few hours after receiving the drug.

—Ketamine Relieved Suicidal Thoughts Within Hours in Hospital Study

We are trying to create an Open Source Website that searches through an open database of Interactive Maps focused on learning in a linear way. It leverages all of world’s knowledge in a unique way. It takes the Wikipedia model of curating knowledge but applies it to curating links in a meaningful and visual way.

—Learn Anything White Paper

"It was a very new word [in 1841]," Sokolowski said. "[Noah Webster’s] definition is not the definition that you and I would understand today. His definition was, 'The qualities of females,' so basically feminism to Noah Webster meant femaleness. We do see evidence that the word was used in the 19th century in a medical sense, for the physical characteristics of a developing teenager, before it was used as a political term, if you will."

—Merriam-Webster's word of the year for 2017: 'Feminism'

The Wall Street Journal issued a new note on its style blog earlier this week, suggesting the publication not write about millennials with such disdain.

"What we usually mean is young people, so we probably should just say that," the new WSJ note reads. "Many of the habits and attributes of millennials are common for people in their 20s, with or without a snotty term."

—'Millennials': Be Careful How We Use This Label

As of writing, the CoinDesk's Bitcoin Price Index (BPI) is at $16,743 levels. The world's largest cryptocurrency by market capitalization has appreciated 0.72 percent in the last 24 hours, going by CoinMarketCap data.

—No Stopping? After New High, Bitcoin Price Eyes $20k

People who tested as being more conscientious but less open were more sensitive to typos, while those with less agreeable personalities got more upset by grammatical errors.

"Perhaps because less agreeable people are less tolerant of deviations from convention," the researchers wrote.

Interestingly, how neurotic someone was didn't affect how they interpreted mistakes.

—People Who Constantly Point Out Grammar Mistakes Are Pretty Much Jerks, Scientists Find

Hydrogen particles are made up of an electron and a proton. Exciton particles, then, are made up of an electron that’s escaped and the negative space it left behind when it did so. The hole actually acts like a particle, attracting the escaped electron and bonding with it; they orbit each other the same way an electron and a proton would.

—PHYSICS BREAKTHROUGH: NEW FORM OF MATTER, EXCITONIUM, FINALLY PROVED TO EXIST AFTER 50-YEAR SEARCH

For reasons that people are now trying to determine, this weekend the internet turned its collective gaze to a short story called “Cat Person.”

Response to the story has varied from praise for its relatability to flat dismissal to jokes about how everyone is talking about a—Who’da thunk it?—short story of all things.

—The reaction to “Cat Person” shows how the internet can even ruin fiction

—Regular Icosahedron

—Repeal Day Poster – Summit Brewing Co.

[Dr. Simon Bramhall of the UK] pleaded guilty to charges that he etched his initials, “SB,” onto the livers of two transplant patients with an argon beam in 2013. Bramhall admitted the assaults in a hearing in Birmingham crown court on Wednesday, according to several news outlets.

—SB WUZ HERE: Surgeon pleads guilty to burning initials into patients’ organs

I get what you’re doing. Really, I do. You’re trying to shit on people’s musical tastes to either appear more well-versed in music than them or you just want to see the shocked look on people’s faces as you besmirch their favorite band. And listen, I don’t blame you for either. They’re both fun activities that I partake in on the reg. If you name me a band you like, I will find a hundred different ways to judge you on your taste. If the band happens to feature a white guy with dreads, make it three hundred. But The Beatles, dude? The fucking Beatles? You are really scraping the barrel if you are knocking people for liking The Beatles, you moron.

—Shut Your Dumb, Stupid Mouth about the Beatles Being Overrated

—Sonakinatography I Movement #III for Multi-Media

The font the menu is written in can convey similar messages; for instance an italic typeface conveys a perception of quality. But using elaborate fonts that are hard to read could also have another effect – it could alter how the food itself tastes.

A study conducted by researchers in Switzerland found that a wine labelled with a difficult-to-read script was liked more by drinkers than the same wine carrying a simpler typeface. Spence’s own research has also found that consumers often associate rounder typefaces with sweeter tastes, while angular fonts tend to convey a salty, sour or bitter experience.

—The secret tricks hidden inside restaurant menus

On Allison Benedikt, Lorin Stein, and the perils of extracting universal principles from fairytale endings...

“My career, at the time, was in his hands,” Allison Benedikt wrote at Slate this week, about the beginning of her relationship with John Cook, her husband of 14 years. They were colleagues at a magazine when they first kissed, and he was her senior. That kiss took place “on the steps of the West 4th subway station,” Benedikt writes, and Cook did it “without first getting [her] consent.” The piece is an intervention into the conversation on office sexual harassment, with Benedikt fearing “the consequences of overcorrection” on this issue.

—So You Married Your Flirty Boss

“We encourage the use of Teslas for commercial purposes and we’ll work proactively with these customers to find charging solutions that work best for them,” the statement said.

—Tesla Tells New Taxi, Uber Drivers Not to Use Its Superchargers

The deep web refers to anything you can’t access in a search engine, either because it’s protected behind a password or because it’s buried deep within a regular website. The dark web is a subsection of the deep web that you can only access with a special browser like Tor to mask your IP address.

—Things You Can Do on the Dark Web That Aren't Illegal

—This Graphic Explains Just How Crazy The Cryptocurrency Bubble Is

One such study published in the journal Neuroimage and highlighted on PsyBlog actually found that some forms of daydreaming cause measurable changes in the brain. This suggests that, done right, daydreaming actually requires attention and control.

—This Is the Correct Way to Daydream, According to a Harvard Psychiatrist

"VR can be stored in the brain's memory center in ways that are strikingly similar to real-world physical experiences," said Stanford's Bailenson, author of the forthcoming book "Experience on Demand," about his two decades of research on the psychological effects of virtual reality. "When VR is done well, the brain believes it is real."

—The very real health dangers of virtual reality

Respect for children means respect for the adults that they will one day become; it means helping them to the knowledge, skills, and social graces that they will need if they are to be respected in that wider world where they will be on their own and no longer protected. For the teacher, respect for children means giving them whatever one has by way of knowledge, teaching them to distinguish real knowledge from mere opinion, and introducing them to the subjects that make the mind adaptable to the unforeseen.

—The Virtue of Irrelevance

—You Will Lose Your Job to a Robot—and Sooner Than You Think

Watched

youtube

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

#weekly #digest

3 notes · View notes

athyrabunlord · 8 years ago

Text

LLSHP Interlude - Carbonado (1)

Arc1: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

Arc2: [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14]

Arc3: [Chapter 15 - Under The Black Lake (TBD)]

Interlude: [Carbonado (1)] [Carbonado (2)] [Of Feathers and Wind] [Delphinus (teaser blip)]

[Brief note about School Term] [other LLSHP AU stuff] [YohaMaRuby concept arts] [ChikaYouRiko concept arts] [KanaDiaMari concept arts] [Hogwarts Staff]

[FFN link] (finished the interludes!) [Pixiv Link]

A/N: I should be writing LLSHP 11, I really should, but I can’t get this out of my head OTL No way I can wait until the whole story is finished to write this behind-the-scenes chapter, so here it is, a DiaRiko special interlude. It shows how their relationship develops prior to the beginning of the main story and up to chapter 10. And somehow it got so long I had to split in two parts

[You don’t necessarily have to read the main story to understand this one, but there are a lot of connections so it’s highly recommended you do, to appreciate Dia and Riko’s bond]

Words: 7,181

Riko Sakurauchi is vaguely aware of the pleasant floral scent as she starts to break away from sleep. The pillow feels more comfortable than she could remember, coaxing her to snuggle and drift back to blissful oblivion. How long has it been since she has felt this relaxed, this sated from rest?

Something odd about her whereabouts prickles at the back of her mind, enough that she is forced to blink her eyes open to assess the situation. Silky green and silver greet her as she sweeps her gaze around the familiar yet unfamiliar room.

Slytherin… the prefect dorm-?

Her eyes widen a fraction when she locates another girl seated on the window sill, reading a thick tome. The light that filtered through the panes is Charmed to resemble sunlight, but retains the Lake's unique tints since this is the Slytherin Dungeon as opposed to the Ravenclaw Tower. Dia Kurosawa's silhouette is enveloped in that soft glow, giving her an unapproachable yet picturesque aura, like a painting to be admired from afar.

Disorientated from vestiges of sleep still, Riko sluggishly gets up in a sitting position.

"Good afternoon, Sakurauchi-san."

Riko tilts her head. "Good afternoon, Kurosawa-san… h-how long have I been asleep? And, how did I get here-?"

Dia slightly lowers her head, the book now closed in her lap as she turns to face Riko. "Apologies. It has come to my attention that you have not had much sleep the past few days. Therefore, when I found you napping in the living room, I took it upon myself to place you on my bed, as it would be more comfortable than the chair."

Fragmented memories of her reading books come to mind. Riko coyly meets the older witch's concerned eyes. "Thank you, for everything. I know I must be intruding and-" She jolts in realization and tries to get off the bed. "Oh, I'm so sorry for taking up space, I didn't mean to just fall asleep and-"

"Sakurauchi-san, it is fine. I did not feel sleepy last night anyway, and a few hours of nap on the couch is more than adequate." Dia is now standing beside her, her hand gentle but also firm on her shoulder as if to keep her from leaving the bed. "You need to rest more than I do."

Riko sighs shakily. That brief sense of contentment from earlier seems like a figment of her imagination, now that reality has caught up again. "H-How is-?"

"Takami-san and Watanabe-san are fine. Kanan-san is taking care of them, and I have requested Mari-san to inform me should anything peculiar happens." Dia summons one of the chairs beside the desk and places it close to the bed before sitting down.

Kanan Matsuura is Chika and You's childhood friend and someone they both look up to, while Mari Ohara is her fellow Ravenclaw Housemate with a reputation for her quirkiness and brilliant grades at many courses. The two seniors are also Dia Kurosawa's most trustworthy friends, and have been helping her cope with that terrible incident just as much as Dia has.

She didn't know them back then and neither did they, yet circumstances had brought them together and, already, they have done so much for her.

"I see. Thank you, again, for…" Riko swallows the huge lump in her throat. "I'm not ready to face them yet."

"Of course, that is understandable." Dia's husky voice is kind. "However, you will need to face them eventually. The first term may be over soon, but surely they would like to see you before they go home for the holidays, and vice versa."

Riko gives her a slow nod, not trusting herself to speak any longer. Despondency soon devolves to dread while guilt makes it difficult to breathe. She could still hear Chika's agonized scream as those hooded figures struck her down with a Cruciatus Curse. She could still see the blood staining You's robe and fair hair when she blocked a cutting Hex from hitting her. Most of all, their blank eyes when she desperately wipes their mind clean of the incident, of their research group, of her…

"Shhh, it is okay. Let it out."

A hand is gently caressing her back, and Riko does find it easier to breathe after a while.

"You should not have involved yourself with me. Kanan-san and Mari-san too," she chokes out, her voice feeble and strained.

"But we are," Dia says evenly. "We share a common foe, a common goal. What happened has happened. We are in this together now, Sakurauchi-san. Please do not hesitate to depend on us more."

Riko flinches from the selfless offer. She understands the gist of the Kurosawa heiress' situation, that those hooded figures are the same ones that attacked the Pureblood for reasons unknown. Even then, she is grateful for the company and support. She wouldn't know where she would be now, if Dia and her friends hadn't found her curled up beside Chika and You's prone bodies. She was a complete sobbing mess then, and she refuses to become one again.

She swallows down a whimper and subconsciously pulls the blanket closer so the floral aroma fills and soothes her sense once more. "Thank you, Kurosawa-san."

Dia's small smile is just as warm as it was back at the campsite.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

'Depending on the proficiency of the Charm, memories are either suppressed or irreversibly erased. Therefore, it is possible to recover those memories-'

Riko stares hard at the wizened page of a thick tome she had managed to find from her family library. She is by no means an expert in the Memory Charm, but if she is trained properly and learns as much as she could about spells and the body, she might be able to reclaim the memories she had wiped from Chika and You's minds.

This is it then, her new goal. Surely, by becoming a Mediwitch, she would be qualified to do just that.

Sighing tiredly, she rubs the bridge of her nose and sinks back against the chair. At least she has accomplished something today. The holidays have been horrid so far, as she is unable to speak to her parents about what truly transpired at school due to that accursed Unbreakable Vow. Other than the feeble excuse of wanting to research and study more, she could not explain to them the reason behind her distance and subdued demeanor.

Chika and You have been sending her letters, their lively entries bringing her both joy and guilt. Their parting at King's Cross Station was awkward and brusque, with her making pitiful excuses about family commitments. She doesn't understand why the duo is still so attached to her, since the Memory Charm should have eradicated everything and made her a simple classmate to them. Yet, it is as if the whole mess with the quill never happened and they are still close friends.

I miss them. So much...

At least, according to those letters, they don't seem to be suffering from any aftereffects of the spell and are as energetic as ever.

Riko slaps her own cheeks and stands up determinedly. This is no time to be despondent. While her family library isn't as vast as Hogwarts' collection, she is certain that she would discover valuable information. It feels therapeutic even, studying and researching on her own, rather than learning from a sentient quill. She feels that, by understanding the origin of something, the newfound knowledge is earned and is safe, controllable within her ability.

It's New Year's Eve today, so she might as well make the last day of the year as productive as she could.

She has no idea how many hours have gone by, but when a commotion outside snaps her concentration, she notices that the sky has turned dark. Frowning, she approaches the window with her wand out, dubious of the possibility of intruders since the Sakurauchi residence is well-Warded.

Suddenly the alabaster windows blast open with a strong gust.

"Good evening~! How is my favorite kouhai-chan doing?"

That peculiar pitch could only mean one person. Riko closes her eyes and reopens them again just to make sure she isn't hallucinating. There, mounted on a majestic Hippogriff, is Mari Ohara with her signature Cheshire grin. She has never been particularly close to the flaky senpai, so how did the blonde find out where she lives and why is she here?

Her inner question must have been obvious on her face, for Mari holds up her finger and says. "Just want to confirm something, Rikocchi. You don't have any plans tonight, right?"

Riko hesitantly shakes her head.

"Alright~ Then you're coming with me! I've already informed your parents that I'll be borrowing you for, oh I don't know, a few days~"

"Huh? What-? Where are we-?"

"Come on!"

Mari has been helpful and encouraging so far, and her presence within the property means Riko's parents must have approved of her entry. Therefore, it wouldn't be harmful to see what the older witch wants, would it? Perhaps the loneliness over the holidays have worn Riko out more than expected, for she reaches out and takes the blonde's offered hand.

This could sort of resemble a pivotal scene in a fairytale where the prince in shining armor picks up the locked up princess with his gallant steed, except the said princess is hoarsely screeching in fear and confusion, while the said prince is cackling in glee as they soar above the clouds.

Riko regrets not rejecting the invitation outright. All she could do is cling to Mari's back as the Hippogriff sail across the sky with twirls and spins every now and then. She has never been a fan of flying growing up, preferring the Floo Network or Portkey as method of travel. And, with her recently acquired skill of Apparition, she sees no point in ever touching a broom again in her life, not after watching all the reckless stunts Chika and You pull during Quidditch.

But this is, for a lack of better word, insane!

"Lighten up, Rikocchi! Have some fun~!"

"This is so not fun, it's dangerous- yeeeeeeek!"

When they finally descend in a condensed forest, thankfully in one piece, Riko practically leaps off the Hippogriff just to savor the safe sensation of terra firma again. Her knees are still shaking though, making her glare and folded arms not as intimidating as she has hoped.

"Mari-san…"

The blonde senior has the audacity to giggle. "Oho~ Not bad, Rikocchi! Work on it a bit more and you could be as scary as Dia!"

Riko resists the urge to stomp and tries to breathe calmly. "Just where have you brought me, Mari-san?"

Mari merely winks and sends off her Hippogriff back into the night sky. With one crooking finger, she beckons Riko to follow her. Though dubious, Riko has no choice but to follow her companion through this unfamiliar landscape. The forest trail is narrow but appears to be meticulously maintained, with the hedges trimmed and the soil compressed evenly. The quiet atmosphere is not unsettling like the oppressive aura of the Forbidden Forest, but it does share that ancient and magical presence.

"Just where are we-?" Riko murmurs and is about to cast Lumos when Mari stops her with a light tap.

"No light or any traceable spells, not in this territory, at least not until the coast is clear. Ah, there she is~"

Riko tenses when she spots a large silhouette padding towards them. She blinks when the wolf smoothly transforms into a familiar ponytailed witch.

"Kanan-san?"

"Hey. Glad you could make it."

"Make it to what-?"

Kanan chuckles exasperatedly. "You didn't explain to her, Mari?"

"I want it to be a surprise~"

Riko looks between the two older girls, but she pushes the confusion away for the time being and approaches Kanan anxiously. "How are Chika-chan and You-chan? T-Their letters said you had a snowball fight-?"

"Yup! Between them and Shiitake, I had no chance!" Kanan smiles amiably as her voice softens to an understanding tone. "They are doing just fine, but they miss you a lot."

Something inside of Riko deflates and she just feels weary. "I see... I do too, so much, but I-"

She blinks in surprise when Kanan ruffles her hair. "None of that here, not today at least. Mari and I are going ahead to make sure your entry won't be detected. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?"

"S-Sure? I'm not a little kid," Riko resists the urge to pout, though it does feel oddly refreshing to be treated like this. She often has to play the older sister figure within her group of friends, so this is a pleasant change for once. "You won't explain what's going on here though-?"

"Mari's kept this a secret this long, I'll do the same," Kanan and Mari exchange a small smile before the two change into their Animagus forms.

Riko leans against a tree, her fingers nervously wrapped around her wand as the wolf and the cat darts into the shadows. She has no reason to distrust the two older witches, and this forest does lack that ominous aura as the Forbidden Forest. The whole trip so far has thrown her routine schedule of research out of loop but it isn't wholly bad. This rather reminds her of the spontaneous excursions Chika would come up with, or the rare childish adventures You would lead them around the Black Lake.

No matter how much she tries, she keeps sinking back into that quagmire of remorse. Thankfully, true to Kanan's words, she doesn't have to wait for long.

"Good evening, Sakurauchi-san. Apologies for the wait, and for Mari-san's behavior as well."

"Kurosawa-san?"

Riko is astonished to find Dia carefully descending in front of her on an unusually large broom. The Kurosawa heiress is dressed in a simple vest and jeans, an unexpected outfit for someone of her station and making her appear like a Muggleborn.

"I assume neither Mari-san nor Kanan-san explained why they have brought you here?"

Slow nod. Dia shakes her head in exasperation. "I do not understand their intention either, but perhaps it is best that we talk inside." She gestures at the forest and at a direction beyond the canopies. "This is the Kurosawa Estate, and a complex system of Wards prevent any outsiders from entering the grounds. This trail is the only method of approach via Muggle means, but we can at least fly over the Manor and enter my private wing this way. Please get seated behind me."

Humbled and just a little apprehensive, Riko glances at her surroundings one more time before sitting on the invisible cushion of the large broom. "I've never seen this kind of broom before…"

"Ah yes, this one was specifically modified to fit one extra passenger," Dia's voice is rather monotonous. "I used to fly around with my little sister."

"I didn't know you have a little sister-" Riko bites her lips but the inadvertent question has already slipped out.

"... Ruby is four years younger than me, and she will be attending Hogwarts as well, for next year." Dia clearly doesn't want to speak more on the subject, so Riko nods and gingerly holds onto the handle in front of her seat.

Once Dia ensures that Riko is secure, they effortlessly ascend over the canopy and towards the distant Manor. The maneuvers are precise and steady while maintaining decent speed, making the whole ride a pleasant experience as opposed to the heart-stopping skydiving she did with Mari earlier. Nostalgia fills her as she recalls how Dia was the Slytherin Seeker when she first came to Hogwarts, and the times she sat with Chika and You in the breachers cheering for Kanan. Chika wanted to become a Beater after seeing her childhood friend's daring strikes, while You found the agile Slytherin Seeker to be cool and aspired to become one too.

Smiling wistfully, Riko leans forward and subconsciously wraps her arms around Dia's waist as if this would fend her from the night chill and these distant memories.

If Dia has any objection to such proximity, she does not say anything. Riko relishes in the warmth as she dazedly appreciates the view below. The Kurosawa Estate is truly a sight to behold, the extensive network of buildings and ground comparable to Hogwarts itself, just on a smaller scale. The mixed style of traditional Japanese ceramic roof tiles and Western arches present a rather austere atmosphere for any onlookers.

The central Manor resembles more like a fortress than a simple residence, so Riko is slightly relieved when Dia veers off to the side and descends towards an open area closer to the hedge that encompasses the entire Estate. This private section is more simplistic in appearance, with a quaint two-story house that has wooden verandas and traditional Japanese shoji doors.

Riko has the odd sensation of something cool traveling up her body as she carefully steps onto the grass, possibly the effect of the Wards accepting her presence. Unlike the frigid night air in the forest, the surroundings feel warm from heating Charms as if she is indoors. She glances around the garden in wonder, admiring the aesthetic arrangement of ornaments and small ponds with miniature bridges.

It must look breathtaking during spring, when the flowers bloom and the koi fish visible beneath the water.

Stretched on the porch are Kanan and Mari in their Animagi forms, appearing comfy and right at home as if they are Dia's house pets. Riko smiles in amusement at the idea.

"Well then, the two of you owe Sakurauchi-san an explanation," Dia puts away the broom and conjures a cushion for her guest on the porch before pointing her wand at her friends.

Mari purrs lazily and flops against Kanan, who lolls her tongue and wags her long tail. Riko couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

Dia's tense shoulders relax slightly as she lowers her wand and sighs in resignation. "Again, I apologize for their behavior, Sakurauchi-san. I hope you were not forcibly taken away from family gatherings or other engagements."

"It's okay, Kurosawa-san. I'm rather… humbled to be able to come here," Riko suddenly feels out of place, since she hasn't known any of the three older witches for long. The adrenaline has faded enough for the timid side of her to surface, making her drop her gaze uncertainly.

Dia furrows her brows and resumes glaring at the wolf and cat. Like chided children, the two Animagi transform back.

"We do this every year, Dia."

"Yes, but why did you involve Sakurauchi-san?"

"We thought she might like some company. It's New Year's, yes?"

As if on cue, a grandfather clock chimes somewhere behind the shoji doors, signaling that is is already midnight. Kanan and Mari share a grin before pouncing on their friend in a group hug.

"Happy birthday, Dia!"

The Kurosawa heiress stumbles a little but accepts her friends' fervent attention with grace. Riko frantically checks her pockets and despairs when she only finds her wand and nothing else. Then again, nothing would have been good enough to count as a present anyway.

"I didn't know it's your birthday, Kurosawa-san, I'm sorry I didn't bring a gift-"

"Do not fret, you did not know and it seems like you were brought here abruptly in the first place," Dia sends another withering glare at her smirking friends. "Besides, you have already given me a present."

"I have?"

"You seem to like the way I have arranged the garden, a small personal project that I am rather proud of," Dia holds her chin high and gives her an uncharacteristic child-like smile. As if embarrassed by the slip in composure, she then coughs and gestures for Riko to follow her onto the porch. "I am glad to have you here, Sakurauchi-san. Let us go inside where it is more comfortable, and I will bring some refreshments."

"Hehe, we shall party all night long~! Are you ready, Rikocchi?" Mari lunges at Riko's back, placing her hands on the younger girl's shoulder to usher her.

"Mari and I have prepared quite the cake, we'll definitely need your help to finish it," Kanan folds her arms behind her head and brings up the rear as the four witches enter the house.

The amiable atmosphere makes Riko's heart flutter in joy, something she hasn't permitted herself to feel since that incident. Before Dia could close the shoji door behind them, a horned owl swoops down and deposits a parcel onto her hands. Riko vaguely recognizes the bird as Dia's familiar, but what catches her attention is the small forlorn smile on Dia's visage as the latter inspects the present and the card attached to it.

She is familiar with such expression - sorrow and helplessness carefully veiled so that friends would not worry. Before she realizes it, she has already placed a comforting hand on Dia's arm, wishing she could do more for the older girl.

Dia gazes at her solemnly and repeats what she said earlier, in a softer voice. "I am glad to have you here, Sakurauchi-san."

Riko smiles. "I'm glad to be here too."

And it's not because she wouldn't have to endure loneliness back home, but because she gets to spend more time in Dia's company.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Riko ended up spending the remainder of the holidays at the Kurosawa Estate with Kanan and Mari. As the heiress, Dia had many duties and was rarely seen until well after dinner time, so Riko was left in the other two witches' rather enjoyable company.

Kanan seems to know exactly when she is feeling down and would provide comforting words, while Mari's unpredictability doesn't even give her the time to feel melancholic. Through them, Riko learns a lot about the Kurosawa family, of how they hold great pride in their Pureblood status and does segregate the Muggleborns and mixed lineages. While it isn't wholly in a condescending way, they do believe that they have special privileges as descendants of an ancient bloodline.

This is the reason why Kanan and Mari are unable to enter the Estate through the front entrance, as Kanan is a Muggleborn and Mari has Muggle heritage. The Sakurauchi line has diluted over the centuries, with marriages to Muggleborns or Half-bloods and so on. Therefore, even though Riko's mother and paternal grandmother are Purebloods, the traces of Muggle lineages in her blood would have barred her entry as well. Dia has specially set up her private wing so that her friends could enter via the forest trail.

Riko doesn't know why, but Kanan and Mari seem to enjoy sharing Dia's little secrets with her, such as Dia's favorite dessert or her borderline-fangirl idolization of the Deputy Headmistress. Even then, Riko only grows more fond of the austere heiress, finding these uncharacteristic sides of her rather cute and make her more approachable.

However, there is one topic even Kanan and Mari would not touch upon, respecting their friend's privacy. Riko has only caught glimpses of Ruby from afar, for the younger Kurosawa lives on the other side of the Estate under the elders' careful scrutiny. From what Riko could deduce, Ruby's magical abilities, while much better than average witches', are not up to the Kurosawa's standards and thus she is allowed very little freedom. The siblings only get to interact with each other during lessons and meal times, though Riko could tell that Dia cares about her little sister very much and vice versa.

Still, everything is merely speculation. Dia never elaborates much, and Riko doesn't pry. Family politics isn't something an outsider like her could interfere with after all.

"Ohayousorou!" "Riko-chan, you're early!"

Riko smiles warmly at her two best friends, who envelopes her in bear hugs the moment they spot her at the train station. The relaxing holidays are therapeutic enough for her to face Chika and You again.

It's a new year and the second term of their Second Year at Hogwarts. She is ready to confront her demons.

There's just something magical about Chika and You, for they easily break through her reserves and soon after, she finds herself laughing with them as they settle down in their compartment. She misses Chika's silly puns and adoration of mikans. She misses You's piles of fashion magazines and spirited salutes. She recalls how some of her Ravenclaw peers questioned her choice of company, considering the Gryffindor duo's less than mediocre grades and boisterous disposition. Even now, her answer is still the same.

They may be dorks, but they're her dorks. Her precious, courageous friends who didn't even hesitate in throwing themselves in harm's way to protect her.

"Hmm? Is there something on my face, Riko-chan?"

I stared too much. Blinking, Riko flusters and is about to wave it off when she does notice bits of chocolate dotting Chika's cheek. Chuckling fondly, she points it out and waits for You to clean it up like she usually does.

To her surprise, You merely nudges and teases Chika, while the latter grumbles good-naturedly and wipes her own cheek. Riko shrugs away the peculiarity and soon their conversation falls back to normal.

However, as time goes by, Riko notices more and more of the nearly indiscernible distance between them. Sure, Chika and You still act buddy-buddy with each other, but nowhere is the closeness they share as a couple. Back then, as long as they're only in Riko's company, they would inadvertently express their affection for one another.

Those cute secretive glances they share, shy blushes and content smiles, where have they gone?

Hoping she is just being paranoid, Riko forces out a chuckle. "You know you don't have to hold back around me. Thanks for the consideration, but I'd rather you just be yourselves."

The duo looks confused. "What do you mean?"

"Usually you'd hold hands or, um, you'd kiss You-chan's cheek just to make her flustered-?"

"Eh! W-W-Why would Chika-chan do that?" You sounds shocked while Chika's jaw drops. "Why this all of a sudden, Riko-chan?"

Dread settles in her stomach but she persists. "But, that's normal for a couple, right-?"

"We're not a couple!" The duo denies simultaneously. "We're best friends, Riko-chan. We've known each other forever, it'd be weird if we go out..."

Riko feels numb while their words reverberate in her chaotic mind. But that's exactly it! Both of you have crushes on each other as long as you can remember! You both confided in me, that you didn't want to ruin your lifelong friendship, so neither of you did anything! I was the one who managed to make you two confess!

Color drains from Riko's face as realization claws at her. And I was the one who took away all that. I Oblivated you both, and because I was too weak and inept, you had to save me and shield me and you paid the price and lost so much-

"Riko-chan?!" "Where are you going-?"

Filled with nausea, she runs out of their compartment and past startled students down the hallway. She needs to go somewhere secluded but she is practically trapped on the train. She opens the connecting doors and enters the next cart, then the cart after that, and more, just to get as far away as possible.

Suddenly, she runs into someone and almost tumbles backwards if it weren't for steady hands wrapped around her. She looks up to see Kanan's concerned expression and feels a familiar sting at the corner of her eyes. Before tears could leak out, Kanan pulls her into a warm hug.

Somewhere behind, she could hear Mari chatting with Chika and You, who must have run after her. It seems like the blonde is successful at diverting their attention, for soon their voices become inaudible beyond the connecting doors.

"We'll take care of Chika and You, you just keep going to the last compartment in the next cart, okay?" Kanan murmurs gently near her head before loosening her hold. Giving her one more encouraging pat, the ponytailed girl leaves her to her thoughts.

Riko dabs at her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat. Really, how could she ever repay them for their kindness?

Taking a deep breath, she follows Kanan's instruction and soon reaches the destination. Gingerly, she knocks on the door and pulls it open after hearing the occupant's permission.

Dia appears taken aback, a textbook still open in her lap as emerald eyes glance at her up and down. "Sakurauchi-san, what happened-?"

"M-May I stay here, please?"

"Of course."

Riko hastily enters the compartment and closes the door behind her, hoping her movement isn't as embarrassingly desperate as she thinks.

Rather than gesturing at the empty spot opposite of her, Dia scoots away from the window to make space. Riko gratefully takes the seat, prepared to wallow in melancholy while staring out of the window.

Yet the silence doesn't last for long. The warm and dependable presence beside her soothes her, and soon she finds herself opening her own books and discussing several topics with Dia.

A part of her hopes the train would never stop, though she doesn't understand where such thought came from.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The second term is hard, not just from her personal issues but from the intensive courses as well. Now that she's aspired to become a Mediwitch, she has discussed with her Head of the House and Deputy Headmistress, receiving permission to take Advanced courses for various subjects.

This change in schedule allows her to spend more time with the three Fourth-Years and less time with Chika and You, which has its pros and cons. While the heavy workload distracts her enough that she would not feel guilty distancing herself from her best friends, she also longs for their company and all the what-ifs had she never found that accursed quill.

While Chika and You not being a couple still bothers her, she's able to pretend nothing is wrong since they are usually at the library or around other students. Like old times, she enjoys helping them with their assignments and even berating them for their antics. Sometimes Kanan would join them, and with the older witch as mediator, she's able to achieve a sense of normalcy.

Due to them sharing the same House, Riko also spends quite a lot of time in Mari's company. The blonde's randomness, while exasperating and rather irritating at times, is just her way of showing affection. Riko subconsciously begins to think of Mari as a sister and a part of her likes to believe that Mari thinks the same too.

And there's Dia. The Slytherin prefect, as a Head Girl candidate, is very busy with various duties just as she had been back at the Estate, yet she is always there for Riko whenever she needs her. Since that time on the train, Riko has consciously acknowledged Dia as a place of refuge, though she realizes that it's been the case all along since that fateful day.

Also, whenever their eyes meet in the hallways, Dia would nod or smile at her, and such simple acknowledgement is enough to lift her spirits for the rest of the day.

Their secret group of four still meet at Dia's prefect dorm, as it grants them enough privacy, but soon they notice that the space is no longer big enough to accommodate their research or practice sessions. Riko almost wants to suggest the Hut, her old hideout with Chika and You back then, but she feels sick at the thought of returning there. As if understanding her dilemma, the three Fourth-Years never mention it either.

It is by pure luck that, two months into the second term, they discover the Room of Requirement. Riko's pet Kneazle Sandy, a loyal and intelligent familiar, would often wander around the Castle with Animagus Mari, and that's how they ended up stumbling upon the odd door opposite of the troll tapestry on the 7th floor.

This almost-sentient room provides anything they need, and they are able to train and study to their heart's content. However, in spite of the available resources, they have no breakthroughs on those enigmatic black feathers found on those hooded assailants. There just aren't enough samples to analyze these magic-imbued items, and whichever diagnostic spells cast upon them bring an array of results that could not be categorized.

The frustration only pushes her to study and improve herself more.

"Sakurauchi-san, perhaps it is best that we call it a day."

"N-No, Kurosawa-san, I haven't even gotten past your defense, let alone disarm you."

Panting, Riko raises her wand again and attempts to aim in spite of her trembling arm. She knows that she is well over her limit but this isn't enough. An enemy would not take pity on her just because she is exhausted.

Her spell dissipates upon hitting the invisible shield Charm around Dia, who simply stands there. In fact, she has barely moved since their duel began. And she hasn't even unsheathed her saber.

"You were never this stubborn, Sakurauchi-san, what happened?" Dia speaks in a severe tone, and Riko cringes like a child caught red-handed. Frowning, Dia glances over at the grand ornate mirror at the corner of the room and lets out a deep sigh.

"You must stay away from the Mirror of Erised. It will only do you more harm than good."

Riko lowers her head, ashamed yet unable to admit her faults. Sometimes the pang of longing becomes too much, and she finds herself staring woefully at the reflection for possibly hours. Within the mirror, she is happy, Chika and You are still a couple, and they are in their Fifth Years and have successfully passed their N.E.W.T.s.

"... if only Ruby and I are Muggleborns, or even other Purebloods, we might be happier."

Puzzled, Riko looks up to find Dia staring wistfully at the direction of the Mirror.

"I am proud of my family history, and so does she. It is my great pride and joy to be entrusted various responsibilities as the heiress, to be able to live up to and surpass my family's expectations. But, at the end of the day, what is the point, if my own little sister cannot be happy? Am I… happy?"

"... Kurosawa-san?" Riko tentatively approaches the older girl, whose expression is oddly calm and devoid of turmoil in spite of the sadness laced in her tone.

"All of that is merely wishful thinking, is it not? The Mirror shows us what we desire, and that is just that, a desire. It will never become reality."

Riko winces. She knows that, the rational side of her has always known, but the pitifully hopeful part of her refuses to see the truth.

"I am not saying these to discourage you, Sakurauchi-san." Dia's voice is quiet and lulls Riko into a peaceful state of mind. "We could work as hard as we could, to try to make that desire a reality, but it is also important to acknowledge your own limit. After all, how can you achieve your goal, if you collapse along the way?"

Riko tucks her wand inside her pocket and offers a weak smile. "Right. I'll rest and strive to become even better the next day."

"Good. We will resume the duel tomorrow." Before Dia moves to tidy up the area, Riko grasps for her sleeve, stopping her. "Yes?"

"Um, I was just…" Truth be told, Riko doesn't know why she did that, but she feels like there's something she should do, especially after the taller witch disclosed a rather personal secret. Peering up shyly, she then notices dark circles under Dia's eyes. "You need to rest too, Kurosawa-san."

"I will, but there are still some tasks I need to finish before-"

"No. Like what you've just told me, you need to rest too." Normally, Riko would've felt weird using such a firm tone towards a senior, but she sincerely hopes Dia would listen to her. The heiress has always appeared indomitable, but up close, signs of fatigue could not be hidden.

A revelation then occurs to Riko. "Is it because... I'm taking too much of your time? You've already helped me so much with my assignments, dueled and researched with me-"

"Not at all. I… I enjoy being with you. Helping you I mean," Dia looks away and puts on a stern expression before returning her gaze to the shorter girl. "I am well aware of my own limit. I just need a few more hours or less. You should head back to your dorm-"

"Then let me help you. What is it? Is it organizing the list of students for the Hogsmeade trip?"

"Sakurauchi-san…"

"Please."

They stare at each other for a while, neither willing to relent. Surprisingly, it is Dia who averts her eyes first, and Riko cheers inwardly while maintaining a calm expression. "Very well. I just have some paperwork…"

Perhaps it is sometime after midnight that they have finished everything. Riko stretches, her limbs burning with fatigue and neck stiff from the lack of movement, but her mind feels oddly awake. It feels rather refreshing, to work hard on something that has nothing to do with those feathers or the academic workload.

"You would make a good prefect, Sakurauchi-san."

Riko shakes her head, pleased but also flustered by the compliment. "You think so?"

"I know so. You have the right type of mentality to commit yourself to such demanding position," Dia murmurs thoughtfully, "I am certain many professors would not object, and Professor Toujou may have already placed you as a candidate already… although, she was the one who gave the prefect badge to Mari-san last year…"

"Did I hear my name?"

Blinking, Riko looks towards the door to see Mari strolling in with Kanan behind her. The two Animagi would usually patrol the school grounds at Dia's request, the cat around the Castle and the wolf in the Forbidden Forest. While the hooded figures haven't been seen since that day, they agree that it's prudent to stay on guard while searching for clues. So far, nothing has been found but at least they did understand the domain so much better now.

"Right… I think I sort of remember, in my First Year," Riko did wonder why the prefect had changed to a different witch within a week.

"Too much work. I enjoy my free time, thank you very much~" Mari shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that she knows would tick off Dia. The Slytherin pinches the bridge of her nose, as if to rein in her temper.

Ever the peacemaker, most of the time anyway, Kanan gives Riko a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Well, I agree with Dia, you'd make a wonderful prefect, Riko-chan."

"Speaking of which, what're you doing here still? I'd thought Dia would've sent you off to bed already, like the fussy mother hen she is~" Mari's grin only widens when Dia glares at her.

"Sakurauchi-san was very helpful, unlike someone," Dia huffs as she organizes the various parchments on the desk. "But yes, now that we are finished here, we should all retire. It has been a long day."

Riko almost feels reluctant to leave, but after they descend the stairs and reach the intersection, Dia turns to her and bids her goodnight before parting ways.

It is only after the two Ravenclaws arrive at their Dormitory that Mari giggles. "You should smile more often, Rikocchi. It fits you, and makes you look very cute~!"

Blushing, she immediately scowls and ignores her senior's smirk as she heads for her room.

The rest of term passes by rather uneventfully. Riko pours all of her efforts in those Advances classes, aiming to pass her O.W.L.s when her peers are just starting to prepare for the mock exams. Guilt will probably always lurk at the corner of her mind, but she is able to use it as fuel for her determination and she isn't as prone to bouts of depression anymore.

True to her promise to Dia, she balances her studies with sleep while making sure the older witch does the same. Mari, and even Kanan, would tease her about how they have never been able to get Dia to listen to them before. Riko is dubious of that claim, considering how close the three Fourth-Years are, for she is simply a kouhai fortunate enough to be tutored by the talented Slytherin.

Still, it makes her rather giddy to know she has certain influence over Dia.

By the end of the term, Riko could very well admit that she's tired and looks forward to the summer break. Those O.W.L. exams are indeed as stressful as the rumors, though she couldn't quite relax yet, not until she receives her grades. Unlike the rest of the applicants, she would know the results sooner since they're needed for her to plan her course schedule for the next year.

When she does receive the notification, she is utterly stunned, since she hasn't expected to receive Outstanding on all her O.W.L.s. She almost thought the parchment in her hand is a prank, but the Ministry of Magic's seal is proof enough.

Ecstatic, she clutches the document close to her heart and searches through the school for that one person to share her joy with. While her grades are the result of her hard work, she hadn’t accomplished it by her lonesome after all. Now that she has regained her sense of self-worth, she feels more confident in challenging the unknown in the future.

One day, she will definitely recover Chika and You's memories, and resolve the mystery behind those attackers.

She spots the Slytherin prefect walking down the hallway ahead of her and, before she realizes it, she is already calling out her name.

"Dia-san!"

Startled, Dia whirls around with an eyebrow arched. Riko is only vaguely aware that she is babbling, but she could no longer contain her joy as she shares the results of her exams with the older witch.

" - so because of these, I can continue on to take N.E.W.T. level course. Ah, of course, it will be another full year before I can even attempt tackling those exams but, I believe I can do it. No, I will do it!"

Now that she's finished speaking, she peers up at Dia and tries not to fidget under those intense emerald eyes. Slightly embarrassed by her outburst and out of character behavior, she is about to apologize when Dia holds out her hand and smiles gently.

"Congratulations, Riko-san. I too, believe in you."

Even though it had been a slip of tongue on her part, Riko is quite pleased to hear the senior return the gesture. Their distance has dwindled one more step, and that delights Riko in a way different than her marks.

She tries to fight down the flutters in her stomach as she shakes Dia's hand, relishing in the warmth and the simple connection between two people.

"Thank you, for everything, Dia-san."

TBC in part2

57 notes · View notes