#this isn’t a cry for help i think. my brain is always morbid like this

[piepiepiemag]

these days i just want to lay down and rot into the earth and become a pretty flower

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger - The Finale

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst, not intended to be a historical au. 

Word Count: 28k

Warnings: depictions of violence, death, blood, choking, mentions of battle, heavy angst (happy endings only), LONGING, explicit language, mentions of grief, mentions of loss, mentions of insecurity, explicit smut: scratching, biting, lovebites, unprotected sex. 

A/N: welp :( This is the end for now folks. I can’t believe I finally finished a series on this freakin’ blog lol. I am so incredibly grateful for your patience. I truly hope you enjoy it and if you do, I would love to hear from you. Whilst this is the end of the series, I wouldn’t be surprised if I wrote drabbles for it in the future so, if there is anything you’d like to see more of, please let me know :D

A few thank you notes to my sisters from across the globe @yoonia​ and @randombtsprincessa​, the two of you are so important to me and, I am forever grateful for your friendship. I love you lots. 

To @kithtaehyung @missgeniality​ @noelleydances​ thank you for always hyping me up and, being willing to chat with silly ol me. You’re all amazing and I LOVE YOU ALOT.

To @gldnrecs LISTEN IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW, LAY. I am so thankful you and, your willingness to scream with me in my dms. I’m so honored to know you and, I hope you know that I am always here if you need anything. ALSO HAPPY COLLEGE GRADUATION YOU FREAKING GENIUS. Please consider this (and Hobi’s conclusion specifically) my graduation present. Love you. 

Love letter to Rachel: It’s very important for anyone who comes across this story to know that I would have NEVER EVER EVER be able to conjure up this universe without the help of my bestie @bulletproofbirdy​. My friend, you are a genius and, it has truly been such an honor designing this world with you. I am so grateful that I’ve been able to create something with someone as amazing as you but, ON TOP OF IT??? We became so close that we literally talk every single day. I don’t know what to say without being the mushiest person ever but, I just want to thank you for being you. Without your love, your support and your BIG BRAIN, I would have never finished this series. I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. I love you. 

The clouds hung in the air with a heaviness that was almost palpable. Storm season was looming over the horizon and, although you’re aware that the rain is more than overdue, you still feel a sense of doom clinging to your subconscious. This time of year, arrives like clockwork and your village is well-equipped to deal with all the rainfall, the thunder, the lightening...

But there was always a chance that the river would flood and thus there was always a chance for tragedy to strike; a chance for everything you’ve ever known to be swallowed whole. You know you can’t stop a flood. The water operates on its own axis, untethered by human convenience. It terrifies you yes but, you’re fascinated none the less.

With a deep sigh, you step away from the edge of the river. The soft bubbling of the water is intriguing you, eliciting a yearning within you to step inside just one last time. However, you know the bite of the water would be too much to handle on your bare feet and you really don’t want to catch a cold before the winter season has even started.

Turning around, the breath you are preparing to take gets lodged deep in the center of your throat. It’s Yoongi and he’s reaching out for you but the look of pain on his face alerts you that something is horribly wrong.

“Y/n...” He croaks, his eyes wide with fear as he reaches out to you and it’s then that you see the blood dripping from his fingers. Your eyes frantically travel down his figure before realizing the source of the blood.

A wound similar to that of a sword brandishes his lower stomach, staining his tunic and causing the bile in your stomach to swirl uncomfortably.

He’s hurt.

He’s hurt badly.

“Yoongi!” You cry to him, your heartbeat rising to a level that feels painful.

As you try to run to him however, he falls to his knees, the life sparking in his eyes one last time before he collapses.

The scream coming from your lips is unrecognizable but, thankfully it draws you upright in your bed, informing you that horrible scene you just witnessed, was only a dream.

You clutch your hand to your chest, breathing heavily, your eyes stinging as they well up with tears. Without thinking, you sob into the clasped hand over your lips, trying your best to calm down but the morbid images continue to assault your mind over and over.

The light streaming in through your window, informs you that the sun has risen. At least your nightmare had allowed you to sleep a full night before rudely interrupting. You swallow back another sob, forcing a deep breath through your nose while you remind yourself that Yoongi is ok.

But you can’t know that for sure, can you?

The small break in your logic is enough to make you rush out of bed and into your coat, not bothering to fix your appearance as you shove your feet into your shoes. Thankfully, your parents are still sleeping soundly in their beds when you bustle through the main room and towards the door.

You have to see for yourself; even a glimpse of him could loosen the grip that fear currently has on your mind. You take the back way to avoid the marketplace which already shows signs of coming to life. You would need to make it quick to avoid missing the morning crowd: that’s usually where most of your sale’s come from.

With everything in you, you hope that he’s already awake because if he isn’t, you’d just have to move on without the reassurance, which is what you should do anyway, but you can’t bring yourself to let it go.

Thankfully, Yoongi is awake and by the looks of it, he’s out with the new recruits, running drills in the grass right in front of their camp. You see Jungkook out there as well, assisting one of the men with his form as he brandishes a sword.

The sight floods your mind with images of your dream once again, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

He’s ok though, so regardless of the images, you feel content seeing him in good health. Logically, you know you need to go about your day and allow him to go about his but, as you move to turn back towards the village- he notices you.

At first, a smile passes over his lips almost involuntarily but, his keen observation skills notice something is array. You see him gesture to his men to continue before he starts making his way in your direction.

Embarrassment washes over you without any warning and you try and wave him off, reassuring him that everything is ok, but he ignores it and jogs over anyway.

“Good morning-” He murmurs, his hands reaching out for yours. As he laces his fingers between your own, he tilts his head, “Are you ok?”

Instinctively, you nod but when you open your mouth to say something, nothing comes out.

Glancing up towards his face, your eyes pass over the area your mind brandished with blood and, without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

Yoongi is a little taken aback but he reciprocates nonetheless, his arms encircling you and pressing you against his chest. You feel a sigh of relief leave your lips as you cling to his robe, breathing in the subtle scent of him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

The whisper of your voice sends an aching into his chest and although you don’t disclose exactly what happened, Yoongi trusts that you had a valid reason for checking on his well-being.

With a soft smile, he presses a kiss to your temple, “I feel a little more than ok now...” He confirms before pulling back to look into your eyes, “May I do my own wellness check?”

There is a playfulness to his tone that softens the hard exterior of your residual panic and you bite your bottom lip when you nod.

His expression grows pensive as he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your face from left to right, his own head following the motions whilst he narrows his eyes,

“Hm, nothing out of the ordinary here...” He grins, his blonde hair rustling slightly with the pace of the wind, eyes alight with fondness, “Still beautiful- still curious, still driving me insane because, I don’t know what’s going through her head...”

A small bit of laughter leaves your lips as you slide your hand up his forearm before settling gently on his wrist. With your fingertips, you press lightly against the bone beneath his skin, relishing in any tangible part of him you can touch, “I had a nightmare about you.”

He purses his lips together, rubbing his thumb over your cheek, “Did I turn into a tiger and try to eat you? My men have told me they had this dream quite a lot during training...”

Yoongi attempts to keep his tone playful but he looks slightly deflated now as he waits for your response.

With a small smile, you shake your head tightly. You take his hand away from your chin, lacing your fingers together, ensuring that the grip you have on him is tight.

“No. You were-”A sigh leaves your lips whilst you shake your head, “You were hurt.” You spare him the details, “I woke up and just started running over here to make sure you were ok...it’s a bit silly now that I’m thinking of it.”

Yoongi can’t help but smile at you, his heart flourishing with the promise new romance often makes. He is saddened that you were worried on his account but, he would be lying if he said that this wasn’t endearing.

Ok- so perhaps it was extremely endearing.

“And if I wasn’t ok?” He wraps his arms around you, “Would you have come to my rescue?”

The smirk on his lips makes him all the more handsome and the feeling of his hands on the small of your back, makes your mind fuzzier than you’d care to admit.

“I would have-” Your voice grows higher with determination which causes Yoongi to chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, “Why are you laughing???? Do you doubt my ability to hold my own on the battlefield?”

Yoongi’s laughter is choppy and warm, it soothes every sore spot of anxiety in your head in almost medicinal way.

You wish you could hear the sound more.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, still chuckling a bit, “In fact, I think you’d make a fine solider, ma'am. It’s just-” He glances down at your feet, “I don’t usually recommend wearing house slippers on the battlefield.”

The rolling of your eyes, brings Yoongi’s laughter back into the conversation.

“I would have managed just fine, thank you. You underestimate how powerful house slippers can be when brandished by the right person.”

He raises his brows, “Is that right? You wouldn’t need a sword then? Just your slippers?”

“Mhm.” You grumble with certainty, your fingers finding the ends of the hair hanging down from his pony tail, “My slippers and my wit are more powerful than any weapons you have here.”

Yoongi chuckles, the sound low and slow in the base of his throat, “Now that sounds a bit more realistic- that mouth of yours would certainly be enough to guarantee your victory.”

As he’s replying, you’re gently tracing your fingertips up the length of his spine, admiring the strength clearly present in the muscles of his back.

“Hm-” You muse, stealing a look directly into his eyes, “I do hope to show you what my mouth is capable of someday-” Fluttering your lids innocently, you try to stop the smirk from taking over your mouth but, when Yoongi’s grip tightens on you, it takes over anyway.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, you see his Adam’s apple bob in the center of his throat as his jaw fills up with tension. An audible swallow comes from him as his gaze slowly shifts from playful to perturbed.

“I find it ironic that you’ve chosen to threaten my wellbeing…whilst in the middle of a wellness check …”

You hum with a sense of false innocence, “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”

“You’re dangerous” He murmurs, and you don’t miss the lust that coats his voice, “and unarmed...” A chuckle leaves his lips then as he presses his hands further into your skin, “and in your house slippers. I think you might be the biggest threat I’ve ever encountered.”

This makes you giggle now, dropping the salacious tone from your voice but, as you lean up to press a kiss to his lips- a voice brings your motions to a halt.

“General Tiger! Are you going to join your men for training this morning or were you planning on teaching them the art of seduction?”

It’s Jin and he’s stood outside their tent with his arms crossed. It’s then that you notice the lack of movement in his camp. Most of the recruits were sort of standing around awkwardly, many of them sneaking a glance at the two of you.

They look rather shocked at Jin’s choice of words, expecting Yoongi’s wrath but instead he merely smirks and leans in so his lips are at your ear before whispering, “We’ll talk about this later...”

His slightly menacing tone sends excitement rushing into your chest as you reluctantly pull away from him.

You salute him, “Yes sir.”

Yoongi forces a breath out of his nostrils, shaking his head at you, “You’re going to kill me one day.” He mutters to himself as he practically saunters back to his camp.

Yoongi is still smirking as he returns amidst his group of men, which Jin promptly comments on.

“Even after a decade with you, you still surprise me.” He notes, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

“Third line, run those last two again! I need you sharper than that!” Yoongi calls out to his men, replacing his commanding expression with one full of nonchalance, “What are you referring to?”

Jin merely nods to the place the two of you had just been canoodling in, “I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see the day you took a partner- let alone the day that you’d publicly display affection for one. I wouldn’t necessarily think to question it but-”

Yoongi smirks, his eyes on the men in front of him but his focus clearly elsewhere, “And yet here you are...”

Jin rolls his eyes, “You can’t possibly blame me. I mean, you have a reputation that spans across the entirety of this land- does it concern you that they might mark you as vulnerable? From what I’ve gathered around the plaza, many of these villagers have already began to view you more casually.”

Yoongi’s smirk never fades as he calls out another command to the recruits, “If an enemy brands me as vulnerable- that is an error on their end, not on mine. In fact, I imagine it would bode quite well for me in the end. In regard to the villagers viewing me in a certain light- I can’t say I mind. Being feared was never something I asked for- you know this well. I would hope that more of the people I’ve served find me approachable.”

Jin doesn’t look convinced, knowing Yoongi far too well to believe that this was the end of his explanation, “There is more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have other motives for being so open about her.”

Yoongi tilts his head in thought, still not bothering to look at him, “I just don’t think it hurts to send a message, to anyone who might be observing us.”

Jin scoffs at his vagueness, attempting eye contact, “What message might that be?”

Finally, Yoongi turns towards him, the ghost of his previous smirk on his mouth, “That she is both protected and accounted for.”

With that, Yoongi draws his sword and heads back amongst the large crowd of men who, having finished their drills, were now eagerly awaiting his instruction.

Jin finds himself smirking as well now, undeniably intrigued by his general’s newfound attitude.

Your day in the marketplace moves slowly but, you find yourself largely unphased. With a mind full of budding romance and unresolved passion, it’s difficult to focus on the mundanity of everyday life.

“So- “ Jane begins, with a curious gaze as the two of you begin packing up your wares for the day, “I’ve seen you over at the military camp quite a lot these past few weeks...”

Unable to resist, you roll your eyes at her observation whilst lining your bags with your belongings, “I’ve been making bread for the battalion.”

You’ve learned over the years of working with Jane that keeping your responses to a minimum is a good idea, particularly when she decides to fish for information.

She has an impressive habit of picking your words apart in search of anything potentially scandalous.

“Oh? So I suppose canoodling with their leader is just a part of your services then?”

With wide eyes, your head whips in her direction, “What do you mean?”

Jane chuckles, smoothing her hands over the many fly aways atop her head, “The man clearly moves as though a burden has been lifted from him and, given the way he looks at you every time he visits our plaza- I have no choice but to assume that you were the one to do so.”

Most of the time, you’d shy away from her attempts to gossip but, you’re in a bit of a mood after your earlier encounter with Yoongi so, you decide to give her something to work with. “I am a healer Jane, if I can lift the burden of stress from my patrons- I won’t shy away from the opportunity.”

It’s her turn to widen her eyes now as she chokes back the small gasp coming from her throat, “Are you- are you saying it’s true then? You’ve laid with the Tiger?”

In an almost child-like manner, you giggle to yourself, glancing over at her briefly, “Is it still considered lying with him if I were pressed up against a tree?”

Jane’s face shines like a summer tomato, fit to burst, as she hustles closer to you, “My girl!” She whispers, “What has gotten into you?”

Brushing off leftover debris from your cart, you turn towards her, “Well according to your theory-” You wager, “I suppose it was the Tiger,” You smirk, “Wasn’t it?”

Jane smacks your arm now, causing your laughter to increase in volume, “Y/N! I am shocked by you-” She begins before her features seem to morph back into her previous curiosity, “and slightly impressed...I thought I was the only whore around here.”

“Jane!” You swat her arm now, shaking your head at her and trying your best not to laugh, “Aren’t you married?”

She shrugs, a smirk now present on her lips, “I am but-” She eyes her husband, who is obliviously untangling his fishing line across the plaza, “Morris and I are well-acquainted...” She allows the word to drop from her mouth like maple syrup, “with other members of the village.”

Did she just-

“Whatever satisfies your heart and mind, Jane. I’m glad you and Morris are active community members...” You wave her off, giggling once again and desperately hoping she won’t divulge any further details, “I’ll see you tomorrow...stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t give me advice you know I won’t take Y/N...” She chuckles loudly before calling her husband, “Oh Morris! Don’t forgot we have plans with the minister and his wife this evening!”

Morris’s eyes widen, seeming to understand the hidden implication behind her words as he puts his index finger to his lips in an effort to silence her.

With that disturbing piece of information, you rush out of the plaza before you learn anything else that has the capability of scaring you for life.

Before heading to Rachel’s with her steamed buns, you decide to stop at the library to check out the new arrivals from the Queen’s province. Every month or so, they send new copies of the latest publishing from the capital and, given how coveted they are- you always try to make it to the library on the day of delivery.

You’re able to snag a title on growing herbs in the wintertime before spotting someone you’ve been quite eager to see: Rachel.

You find her perusing the history section, completely unaware of her presence even as you slink up beside her, “Oh hi there- fancy meeting you here; how was meeting your new student?”

Jumping slightly at the unexpected interruption, she pivots towards you before her eyes narrow with accusation, “Oh NO you don’t!” She chides, though her red cheeks suggest something else, “I cannot believe you used my love of teaching to stage a romantic COUP in my own schoolroom!” She rants, eyes wild with disbelief.

Ignoring her completely, you lean against the shelf- admiring the scent of the parchment before repeating your question, “Uh huh yeah-” You dismiss, “How did it go?”

“It went...” She clears her throat, mindlessly running her fingers over the spines resting on the shelves, “very well- it went very well.”

Looking at her expectantly, you raise your brows, “Can you define ‘well’ for the courts please?”

Rachel’s eyes seem to light up all over again as they drift into her story, “I never thought a man like that could be interested in such a quiet life like mine...we hardly know each other but, there is such kindness and passion in his eyes...it feels like I’ve known him for years.”

Seeing your best friend so enamored warms your heart; if anyone deserved happiness in this world, it would be her.

She goes on to tell you everything that happened between the two of them, recounting the nervous glances, flushed cheeks and a romantic confession from Bambi with the biceps himself.

At her conclusion, you’re unable to help the excited squeal that leaves your lips as you wrap your arms around her flushed frame, “I’m so happy for you!!!” Your scream comes out as an excited whisper, not wanting to feel the wrath of the librarian before you recall her earlier comment, “I think your quiet life and impeccable charm is what drew him in, in the first place...” You nudge her playfully, “You should have seen him talking about you- even I was swooning.”

She glows brighter, her figure emanating a bright carnation as she smoothly changes the subject; Rachel will only take the spotlight for so long, “Speaking of swooning, how is that ferocious general for yours, eh?”

Suddenly, you become very interested with a book on the shelf beside you, “Hm? What general? I don’t know a general Rachel, I’m just a silly little medicine woman.”

Her eyes widen as she smacks you playfully, “APOTHECARY!” She corrects and, the two of you giggle like schoolchildren as the librarian shoots daggers in your direction, “Don’t play coy with me- I spilled my guts about Jungkook. Fair is fair.”

Resigned, you let out a sigh and try to contain all of your emotions towards the subject, “Fiiiiine. The general simply explained that...” you look around to make sure no one is listening before lowering your voice, “that the reason we haven’t, hmmm what’s the word-” You pause once more, looking rather pensive, “defiled one another yet, is because he wants to wait until he has no more distractions. Which basically means we must wait until retirement, which of course also means- I am likely to go insane.”

Rachel snorts, slapping a hand over her mouth in an effort to conceal with laughter, “Wow he is serious about his intimacy.” She comments as she places a hand on your shoulder, “It’s been nice knowing you. I will tell the world your story.”

Slumping against her, you groan, feeling the full weight of your impatience, “If you’re wondering whether or not he still kisses me passionately beneath the moonlight despite the fact that he wants to wait- the answer is a resounding yes.” You explain, matter of factly, “it’s like he is wishing for the destruction of my sanity...”

Rachel links arms and giggles once again, “Look at us hm? Being pined for by heroes like in the poems that line these shelves...” She nods to them, “Who have thought?”

“I am slightly regretting all of my daydreams involving a knight in shining armor- who would have thought there would be so much yearning?”

She merely laughs again, shaking her head at you, “Have you two discussed his retirement?”

You nod, “His entire battalion is retiring this year. He said it should be around the wintertime, all of them have been in service for 10 years, including Jungkook.”

“That’s incredible: ten years of such a hard life. I couldn’t imagine. Do you know what they will do?”

“That means Jungkook joined the queen’s army before he was of age,” You observe, furrowing your brow, “I imagine they will retire with their chosen partners. Yoongi said that, that was his plan at least-” Your voice turns slightly coy at the end, “I don’t imagine they will have to work for the rest of their lives. My parents always talk about how well taken care of decorated soldiers are.”

Rachel’s face falls, “I’m just imagining Jungkook choosing this life at such a young age...the things those men have seen and, the rough life they have in service to the two queens...” She shakes her head, “I hope they all find peace and happiness, no matter what they choose.”

You nod, resting your head on her shoulder, “I think they have made their choices already- it all depends on if their partners reciprocate their advances.”

Rachel nudges you when she hears your teasing tone, “Quiet down you, we’re in the library...”

After much more giggling and, gushing over the men that have stolen your hearts, the two of you part ways.

Rachel has an evening to prepare for after all...

She rushes home after her time at the library. The books she gathered for her lesson on Monday are carefully placed on her bookshelf and, the ingredients for tonight’s meal are sprawled out on her countertop.

As she begins the long process of preparing for her night with Jungkook, she allows her mind to wander to a place she seldom visits: the past.

Like most people, she finds indulging in this subject to be quite the slippery slope. Today, she finds herself remembering a time where finding love seemed like nothing more than an elaborate fantasy. Rachel is a brilliant woman yes, but she has mistakenly branded herself as invisible for most of her life.

Now, she is faced with the reality that not only does someone see her but, they are enamored with her.

It’s slightly terrifying.

Another quiet breath is pulled through her nose then as she smooths her hands over her dress once more.

Glancing back towards the home she’s shared with herself over the years, a small smile comes over her face as she realizes that she might need to get used to the idea of sharing.

But then again, it will be nice to have someone around during the winter...

Especially when that someone has biceps like Jungkook.

Rachel waves at a group of students who scream her name excitedly from across the street whilst desperately hoping that they don’t try to follow her to her destination.

With another deep breath, she begins heading out of the market plaza and into the deep emerald of the clearing just before the camp. Normally around this time, she would be heading there with Y/N to deliver bread but, tonight she takes a sharp left into forest.

She had given Jungkook instructions on how to get there and he had then insisted on getting there before her to set things up. Rachel realized at that moment that her ability to refuse him was at a minimum, especially when he flashed those beautiful eyes her way.

Curse him and his ethereal beauty.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she navigates through the maze of trees as the sound of running water slowly makes its way into her ears. A smile comes across her lips then, as she realizes she’s getting close.

The sun is beginning to take the minimal warmth of the day with it as it begins its descent towards the horizon and, she feels slightly regretful that she chose to meet with him around sunset.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice body heat for the ambience.

As she nears one of the many pools that come off of the main river, she finally sees Jungkook waiting for her. Slowly but surely, she can make out his appearance for the evening and as she does, her heart swoons.

He’s standing somewhat awkwardly at the edge of a large tan woolen blanket, dressed in a red tunic and red cloth pants, with his onyx locks freshly washed and curling in various directions atop his head. She sees him swallow at the sight of her, the tiniest of smiles etching onto his lips.

“Good evening.” He bows slightly, gesturing to her, “You look- um, you look very nice.”

She returns his smile, fingers clutching the basket of food a bit tighter, “Good evening. I could say the same to you, red looks really great on you.”

His stance seems to light up at her compliment, the tiny smile growing, “That’s what my hyungs said, I wasn’t sure if it was too much but, if you like it then-” He nods, cringing at how nervous he feels, “-then that’s good.”

Rachel bites her lip, noticing his nerves immediately, “I love it,” She assures him before raising the basket up, “I brought dumplings. I wasn’t sure what kind you liked so I brought a few different ones.”

At the mention of food, the tension within his figure seems to dissipate.

“I can’t wait to try them,” He grins now as he gestures to the blanket, “You can sit wherever you’d like, I can take those from you-” He shakes his head then, regretting his choice of words, “No wait... here-” He is gentle as he takes the basket from her before turning around to set it carefully on the blanket. He then reaches out with his palm extended, “I’ll help you down...”

Her heart bursts.

It seems she isn't the only one flooded with nervous excitement.

“Thank you-” She insures to heighten the gratitude within her tone, wanting to soothe his anxiety in any way she can, despite feeling so much of her own.

He plops next to her in a less graceful manner then he would have hoped as he looks regretfully toward his canteen, “We don’t have an extra canteen in the camp. They were all given away to the new recruits. I would have brought you your own but, I washed mine for you and filled it up. I can drink from the river over there.”

“Oh goodness no, you don’t have to do that-” She shakes your head, pulling out her canteen from the basket, “I figured you would have had your own; I should have brought you one just in case though-”

“No really, it’s ok! I can just use mine.” Once again, he cringes, “I guess it’s a bit strange that I would have thought you’d want to drink from mine...I don’t know what I was thinking.”

At the rather innocent pout on his lips, he looks up at her- feeling slightly hopeless.

A bit of silence lingers in the air for a moment before Rachel giggles and at the sound, Jungkook’s lips twitch.

“It’s not a good sign that you’re already laughing-” He laments, the smiling that was threatening his mouth fully taking over, “Even though I quite like hearing it...”

Rachel places a cautious hand over Jungkook’s knuckles, relishing in the warmth of his skin, “I promise you it is-“ She disagrees, “It’s important that I’m around people I can laugh with- even if its at our own expense sometimes…”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth turns up in a half smile, “That might work out in my favor then- my hyungs say I appear one way but, behave another…I guess that’s why I feel so nervous now…”

He looks up at her quite innocently through his long eyelashes as Rachel furrows her brow, “What do you mean?”

Jungkook’s fingers are now aimlessly toying with the bit of loose thread and, with her heightened sense of empathy, Rachel can sense that he is burdened in some way.

“I am slightly afraid that you will be disappointed when you get to know me…” He admits.

This shocks Rachel as she cannot imagine how someone as beautiful as Jungkook could lack confidence in any capacity. But still, she feels the urge to understand him.

“Well, I don’t want to discount your worries Mr. Jeon but, “ She tilts her head slightly, a hint of sternness in her gaze, “I sincerely doubt your ability to disappoint me.”

Jungkook’s cheeks begin to burn all over again; there is something about the way her lips look curving around the words ‘Mr. Jeon’ that he stores away for a later time.

“Aren’t I already different than what you expected?” He chuckles, and the sound is boyish and full of airiness but, it still holds a bit of tension.

He was right.

He was much different than she had anticipated but that isn’t saying much, considering the fact that her first impression of him came after he took down a group of raiders.

“Different doesn’t always mean disappointment…” She assures him candidly, “In fact, I am quite relieved that you aren’t what I expected.”

He is intrigued, “Most of the people I meet are afraid of me but, I can’t say I blame them; My hyungs and I come with a reputation. Were you afraid of us when we came here?”

Jungkook wants to know what she thinks, even if he might be uncomfortable with her answer.

Rachel eyes the dumplings collecting the cool air around them and, doesn’t even notice the fact that they have yet to start eating. Both of them are too overcome with anticipation to pay attention to much else aside from each other.

It felt instinctual to begin things this way.

“Yes.” She replies honestly, catching the way his face falls and regretting it instantly, “But that wasn’t your doing. I have come to understand that you and the rest of your battalion are merely victims of village gossip. Besides, the fear I felt quickly disappeared once I saw you.”

Jungkook’s face lightens once again as he extends his hand towards hers. Rachel feels a shiver rush eagerly up her spine as he slips his fingers between her own, “You aren’t afraid of me now?”

Anyone else may have found it odd that Jungkook needed this type of reassurance so early in the evening but, he simply couldn’t relax until he knew that he wasn’t perceived as a threat. He is so used to putting on a tough persona and, even more used to people fearing him. He has grown quite tired of always needing to disarm himself.

Tightening her grip on his hand, she allows a playful smirk to etch across her lips, “I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with you in the middle of the forest if I was afraid of you. That would be quite foolish don’t you think?”

Jungkook’s teeth are brilliant as he grins, a breathless bit of laughter leaving his mouth, “Not unless you were some sort of thrill seeker…”

Sensing the bit of suggestion in his voice, she takes her chance and utters, “Those aren’t exactly the type of thrills I’m seeking…”

Jungkook feels his mouth dry up at her words but, before he has time to process any of it, she raises the basket once more, “These are getting cold.”

And ever the gentleman, he doesn’t comment on it but just as he did with the image of her lips, he stores her comment away.

For later.

The two of them begin eating and, Rachel watches on fondly as he shoves more than half of the dumplings in his mouth. She can tell he is doing his best to appear civilized but, Y/N did mention that they don’t eat proper meals very often so, his manners weren’t exactly in tip-top shape.

Rachel didn’t mind. In fact, she took great pleasure in watching him stuff himself. His cheeks puffed up adorably to accommodate the volume of dough he was shoving in them but, despite him wanting to eat the entire batch, he kept insisting on feeding her bites of food every 30 seconds or so.

During dinner, they talked about all sorts of things:

Rachel’s childhood, her work as an educator, her favorite seasons…

Jungkook wanted to learn it all.

He was fascinated by her entire existence.

However, after a certain amount of time, Rachel begins to notice how he continuously shifts the conversation back towards her. He doesn’t look uncomfortable when she asks him questions but, he keeps answering them as quickly as possible.

Finally, Rachel decides this theme has gone on long enough before she finally asks the one question that’s been on her mind all night.

“What led to you joining Yoongi’s battalion so early?”

Jungkook swallows the instant lump in his throat, “Uh well…it wasn’t hyung’s battalion yet when I first joined. We both went in together. He took over when he was about…” He thinks for second, “20 I think? So I would have been about 17. But we were both running in missions long before that.”

Rachel almost comments on the fact that he didn’t answer her question but, he beats her to it and, continues.

“Yoongi-hyung and I are brothers but, not by blood.” He begins, “His family took me in when I was 7.”

She can sense that he is about to tell her something quite serious so, she hesitates to ask any further questions; he would clarify if he was comfortable enough to do so.

“Hyung and I are from the same village. Our families had been neighbors for three generations until-“ He averts his eyes, preparing to tell the story that started it all, “we were attacked. Our village was destroyed by a raider clan. The first incident wasn’t so bad but, they came back and-“ Jungkook swallows the emotions that have balled up in his throat, “they decided that they weren’t after our valuables any longer; they were after blood.”

Rachel’s whole body is tense with the weight of his story, her mouth seemingly frozen in its slightly parted position as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“I still can’t comprehend it.” He breathes, shaking his head, “It wasn’t even like they were trying to recruit us or take us as laborers; they just wanted to create chaos.”

She can see the way his eyes are growing glossy and the way his breath seems to shorten and with her whole being, she expects to wipe his tears but, they never come.

“Our families tried to flee the village together but-“ He clears his throat, “my parents and I were shot by the enemy’s arrows. I remember seeing them go down in front of me and, then there was this horrible pain in my side. I tried to stay with them but, Yoongi-hyung wouldn’t let me. He just threw me over his shoulder and ran. I still don’t know how he did it; he must have ran with me for hours before we made it to the next secure village.”

Still captivated by his story, Rachel runs his thumb over the backs of his knuckles to ensure that he knows she’s right there with him.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers and, he offers a sad smile in return, squeezing her hand.

“Hyung told me many years later that the shots my parents received were fatal. There was no chance of rescue. But, for so long I believed I had abandoned them there. From then on, the only family I knew was Yoongi-hyung and, the parents he decided to share with me; He shared everything with me actually: his food, his clothes, his bed, his patience,” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “When the military council came for him, I panicked; we had been inseparable for so long. I couldn’t stand to see my hyung going off to war alone so,” At last the heavy emotions begin to lift from his face as a slight smirk comes over his lips, “I may have snuck out in the middle of the night and, followed him out…”

Rachel’s eyes widen, “You could have been killed!” She smacks his arm playfully which causes him to break out in a fit of laughter, “How on Earth did you manage that??? I’ve always heard they were so meticulous!”

Jungkook shrugs, somewhat smugly, “I fit in quite well. I was already taller than hyung at this age and, he and I had been training together since we were young.”

“What did he say when  realized you had come along??? I’m surprised he didn’t send you home himself.”

He is chuckling again, his eyes lighting up fondly at the memory, “Oh he nearly killed me himself actually…he found me hiding out in a barn on the military camp and, it was truly the only time I’ve ever seen him that afraid. But once he was done lecturing me, we both decided it was safer for me to stay. Hyung was worried that I’d be punished if he turned me in to his general so, I passed as a volunteer. The rest is history…”

Rachel grins, overcome with fondness, “History indeed, especially the part when you became the youngest recruit to ever join the royal army.”

The faintest blush crosses his cheeks, “Well technically, the records will never reflect that, most people in our land believe hyung and I are the same age. I personally find this hard to understand as he clearly has so many more wrinkles than I do but-“ He shrugs again, “I suppose it works out.”

She smirks, “I suppose it does. I don’t know where the royal army would be without it’s Terror Cub…”

Jungkook groans, his face turned up in disgust, “I will haunt the historian who writes that name down in the books. Could they not have come up with something more menacing? Terror Cub? It sounds like a character in a children’s book…”

He is pouting profusely now and, Rachel decides that his adorable expression is far deadlier than any weapon he could wield.

She was simply powerless against it.

“I promise not to go blathering to any of our historians about it. If anyone asks, I will tell them you were the fiercest solider in all of the land.”

Jungkook’s heart swells with pride as he subconsciously puffs out his chest, “While you’re there please tell them of our involvement as well. I hope to be remembered for the pursuits of my heart rather than just my skills on the battlefield…”

Rachel’s lips twitch, “What exactly shall I tell them?”

His demeanor shifts slightly and, it's as if the sparkle in his eyes turns to lightening, “I think you should tell them that-” The distance between their lips seems to lessen almost subconsciously as Jungkook licks over his bottom lip, “our connection was medicinal, that it was almost as if we had been holding our breath until we finally found one another.”

Despite Jungkook’s words raising every hair upon Rachel’s skin, he seems to grow immediately nervous by his candid statement.

“That’s really excessive isn’t it? My hyungs always tell me that I should think before I-“

But he isn’t able to finish his sentence…

Rachel has closed the distance between them and, is pressing her lips against his own. Jungkook’s body stalls at the feeling and, he assumes the whole world stalls along with him.

For in this moment, there is nothing else but her lips.

Jungkook’s hands are unstable as they reach her cheeks and, he grimaces because he knows his palms are damp with the evidence of his nerves.

But Rachel doesn’t notice.

She can only sigh hopelessly into his mouth as the two of them deepen their kiss.

============================

The river welcomes you with open arms this evening. The chill of the oncoming fall season is no match for the thick woolen coat your mother made for you last year. Tonight, you are overcome with peace as you stroll along the embankment. You’ve always felt so much happiness around the river but ever since meeting Yoongi, the meaning of this piece of land has shifted and intensified.

He is unlike anyone you’ve ever known. He’s wise and controlled but, he carries a type of wildness that is uniquely his own. The great and powerful Tiger: he is so much more than just a rumor.  Even though you claimed to make your own judgements about things, you still expected Yoongi to be some sort of brut; an egotistic warrior at best or a bloody thirsty monster at worst.

But you had been wrong.

Yoongi was a man of great skill yes, quick like lightening and deadly like his feline persona but, his heart contained so much depth and so much warmth, that you found yourself drowning in it. The two of you hadn’t known each other long but, the emotions are already so strong. Your future with him is all you find yourself daydreaming about and, you can only hope that he is able to keep all of the promises he made to you.  

The anxiety surrounding his departure strikes again, right in the middle of your heart.

You have half a mind to join his ranks or even stowaway amongst the new recruits…

Surely he wouldn’t notice if you wore a disguise, right?

The twigs snapping on the forest floor behind you remove you from your ridiculous plan as a smile immediately graces your face.

“You’re late.” You call, not bothering to turn around, “Did the recruits keep you tied up again?”

There is a bit of silence before a voice answers your question.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting me- although it doesn’t surprise me that Yoongi’s plaything would have a heightened sense of awareness…” The voice is unfamiliar and, it causes your blood to run cold, “…given that she’s canoodling with a monster.”

It all happens so quickly.

Just as you’re about to turn towards the voice, a burly arm is wrapping around your neck. Gasping for air, your hands immediately fly up to claw at your attacker’s forearm.

Panic is rushing through you, your feet kicking around as he attempts to drag you backwards into the trees.

“You really shouldn’t be out in the dark by yourself, pretty.” He snarls into your ear, his breath reeking of alcohol, “There are a lot of maniacs out here…”

You can feel yourself losing consciousness as he tightens his grip on your neck. Your fingernails are desperately digging into his skin, trying to cause him any discomfort that you can.

“I want to see the look on his face-“ Your assailant cackles, “I want to see his reaction to your cold body laying in the place where you first kissed…He thinks he’s strong but-“

You hear him gasp for breath as an unknown force seemingly knocks it out of him. When he releases his grip on your neck, you frantically suck in the air around you, wincing as you fall to your knees.

In your attempt to distance yourself you scramble up against the nearest tree and, just as you’re about to scream for help, you realize that you’re not alone.

A golden dagger sticks out of your attacker’s shoulder as he attempts to get away from the one who threw it: Yoongi.

“Stay right there.” He calls to you gently, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

You are still reeling from nearly being choked to death but, you listen to his command, nonetheless. The man on the floor is dressed in the colors of the royal army and, you gather that he belongs to Yoongi’s battalion- or at least he pretended to.

Yoongi catches him by the hair as he drags him up to his knees. The man is spluttering from the pain, his brows drawn in tightly as he struggles against Yoongi’s grip.

“Do you remember the lesson from this morning, rat?” He ventures, his voice casual and icy cold.

“Y-yes sir…”

Yoongi rips his hair back again so the tip of his nose is facing the sky, “What was it?”

“Ah!” He groans, his hands balling up at his sides, “N-necessities, sir.”

“Necessities- very good.” Yoongi would sound like he was praising him if it weren’t for the heartless smirk painted across his lips. “Now, would you say your head was a necessity?”

As Yoongi asks his question, he unsheathes his sword with his free hand and presses the blade to the man’s throat.

“Yes!” The man practically yelps, his body freezing beneath Yoongi’s grip, “Yes, sir! Very necessary, sir!”

You can’t help but watch in complete shock. There is a part of you that knows Yoongi would never kill someone in front of you but, the way the light has drained from his eyes is forcing you to doubt yourself.

“Oh is it now? What about your throat?”

Yoongi’s expression barely shifts but, you can literally feel the fury emanating off of his figure as he presses the blade further into his skin. Ruby red blood barely peeks out of the man’s skin as he whimpers.

“Yes-“ He chokes out, “It’s necessary! Please! They told me to kill her, I’m just the middleman! If you spare me, I promise I will tell you everything just-“

Yoongi stalls his movements, his eyes flashing towards you for a moment before yanking his head back again, “Who is they?”

Through another pained groan, the man spits out his answer, “The Meddleways sir.”

Although unfamiliar to you, the name seems to affect Yoongi greatly. However, he quickly composes himself and pulls the man upwards by his hair, “Stand up.”

Wincing, the man rushes to his feet, his hands lingering out in front of him with uncertainty.

With his lips curled beneath his fury, Yoongi offers one last eerily calm sentiment in the man's ear, “You are very lucky that I am in the presence of a lady. Had I come across you on my own-” He stops himself, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He shuts his eyes for a moment, collecting the storm inside of him before continuing, “I will put you with your leader after my men are done questioning you. From there, you will make the journey to your trial and, whilst you are on your way- please be sure to thank whatever god you believe in that I am not the one tasked with your punishment.”

Yoongi’s voice is nearly unrecognizable. It’s like a glacier, cold and enormous but, slow moving. It seems to inch into the man’s subconscious as he cowers beneath him.

“Do you understand?” Yoongi confirms to which the man nods immediately, “Good.”

With that final word, he rips the dagger out of the man's shoulder. His yelp is cut short by the handle of said dagger as Yoongi whacks it against the side of his head. The man falls to the ground unceremoniously, his body going limp for the time being.

The events that have transpired, leave you frozen against the bark of your favorite willow tree. Yoongi seems to know something you don’t and, you can’t fight your instinct to ask questions.

“Do you know him?”

Your voice seems to pull Yoongi away from his urges and back to reality. In an instant, he is rushing over to you, his cold gaze defrosting slightly as he assesses your wellbeing.

“Did he touch you?” He mutters, his fingers on the end of your chin, tilting your head to the side.

“Well, he was choking me but-”

Yoongi glowers, his nostrils flaring slightly, “Did he touch you?”

The way he emphasizes the word ‘touch’ gives you the hint that Yoongi is referring to whether or not he violated you.

“No...” You whisper, allowing your fingers to brush against his cheek, “He was only on me for a moment before you found us.”

Yoongi deflates under your touch but, to say that he relaxed would be an overstatement. In fact, it's safe to say that he has never been more tense in his entire life.

“Are you hurt?” His voice breaks at the end as he swallows back his emotions. Before you’re able to answer, Yoongi’s eyes light up with quiet rage all over again, “Your neck- it's going to bruise-”

“Hey-” You coax his gaze up to yours, “I’m safe. You saved me and, I’m safe.”

Your words unfortunately do nothing for him but, he doesn’t want to center this interaction around his fear. Instead, he simply nods and places a tense kiss to the center of your forehead before nodding to the limp figure behind him.

“I need to take him back to the compound, Namjoon and Jimin will get out any information he has. In the meantime, I need you to stay away from here. In fact, don’t go anywhere alone after sunset- not until I can assess the-”

“Let me come with you. I want to know what’s going on-”

Yoongi shakes his head, “No. It’s too dangerous to have you on the compound right now. My entire battalion may be compromised.”

“But Yoongi-”

His eyes grow cold again, “This is not a discussion. A civilian has no place in these matters.”

With his words, he drops his grip on you but just before he steps back, you are shooting a glare his direction.

“Civilian? Is that what you call me now, Min Yoongi?”

Using his full name would be considered disrespectful if the two of you didn’t know each other the way you do but, it still feels foreign coming out of your mouth.

Yoongi technically has authority over you and your entire village. If he wanted to, he could order you to do anything he wishes. Yoongi never exercises his power this way but, he is so overcome with fear that he wants to do anything to protect you. “You know that isn’t what I was implying. Don’t twist my words.”

“Then please feel free to untwist them for me. That term comes with a loaded meaning, and you know it...”

The tension clings in the air between you like moss to a tree. It’s uncomfortable and more importantly, unfamiliar. Yoongi stares you down, his hardened gaze wavering as the seconds pass. His eyes trace each feature of your face with desperation, seeking to memorize your current expression and, not because he is particularly fond of it but, merely because it belongs to you.

Yoongi’s future is not guaranteed and, therefore- neither is his life with you.

So he must memorize it all.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” He concedes, his features softening, “I just need some time to sort through my men. I won’t deny your request for information but, I have to gather it first. I am asking you to stay away until then and, its only because I fear for your safety- not because I don’t regard you as my equal.”

His words gnaw at your guard until it disappears and, suddenly you wish to be in his arms. You know both of your reactions came from a place of fear as its woefully unlike the two of you to misunderstand one another.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, “I don’t want to leave your side.”

Yoongi’s heart breaks at the worry written on your beautiful face and, he loathes the unconscious man beside him even more for making you feel this way.

“Come here,” He reaches a hand out towards you and, as soon as you take it, he is pulling you against him. He places a kiss atop your head, allowing his lips to linger for a moment. When he feels your fingers curl into fists around the fabric of his tunic, his eyes squeeze shut.

He is terrified.

“I won’t let anything happen to you ever again, do you understand?” He murmurs, his voice unstable, “I will protect you with my life and, gladly lay it down for your own.”

All you do is nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck, “But you’re going to leave me...”

And for this Yoongi has no response.

Because he will protect you yes, but he will never lie to you.

He is going to leave you and, it will be much sooner than he had planned; there is no use in training the recruits now- as far as he is concerned, they have all gone bad.

“Only my body will leave you.” He answers with another kiss to your head, “The rest of me is bound to you forever.”

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

It’s been nearly a day since you’ve seen Yoongi.

After he tied your attacker to a tree, he walked you back home and, fetched the rest of the men for reinforcements.

You have yet to see the man since Yoongi disarmed him but, more importantly, you hadn’t seen any of the battalion.

It was as if they had disappeared overnight.

The only indication of their presence was their horses roaming around the compound. The rest of the men were seemingly confined to their tents, a tactic likely used by the leaders to ensure they kept track of everyone whilst they interrogated the wayward recruit.

But still, it was unnerving.

It gave you another glimpse at what your world would look like very soon. Your life had changed so drastically since Yoongi’s arrival and, you simply weren’t ready to move throughout your day without the promise of meeting him by the river.

But you had to be ready.

You had to be ready a lot sooner than you anticipated.

The day had moved like slugs along the riverbank after the summer heat has dried up parts of its shoreline. Despite the nerves brewing within you and the ache of anticipation all over your body, the clocktower stared back at you defiantly, refusing to move.

Yoongi promised you he would come to your house as soon as he had the information he needed but, you weren’t planning on waiting for him any longer.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since you were attacked and, without answers, you slowly felt yourself going insane with impatience. Once your wares were packed up and taken home, you strode with determination to the makeshift compound.

Still appearing to be deserted, you don’t have any clues as to which tent to start with first. You opt for the one that the seven men usually stay in and as you approach it, you desperately wish you were here delivering bread.

The illusion of simplicity had been shattered. You were being courted by the leader of the Royal Army and because of this, nothing was never simple to begin with.

You felt foolish for believing otherwise.

Before you’re able to ring the bell outside of the tent, you are met with Yoongi rushing from the opening, still dressed in the same clothes he wore the night prior. Dark rings of exhaustion are positioned around the sockets of his eyes and, his lips look as though they haven’t had a sip of water all day.

He is beautiful but, he looks like hell.

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t need to come looking over you-” He smiles but, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he offers his arm and jerks his chin towards the trees, “Walk with me?”

This can’t be good.

You nod, interlocking your arm with his and, taking a moment to relish the warmth that still ebbs and flows from him. Even with the gnawing monster of the unknown staring daggers at you in the distance, you feel safe with him.

“Did he keep his promise?” You ask him as the two of you step into the forest. The light shining through the trees is painted the same color as the sunset on the mountains and, if this were a normal meeting between the two of you, you would have admired it. However, the only thing you can focus on is what Yoongi has yet to tell you.

“He did,” He nods.

The promise, of course, refers to the attacker vowing to tell Yoongi anything he wanted to know if he decided to spare his life.

“And?” You cock your head, trying to catch his gaze that seems to be fixated upon the dirt beneath your feet.

If only you knew that he was actually staring at the way your dress billows in the wind, the way the shadows from the leaves bounce off the soft skin of your ankles...

He must memorize it all.

“I have to leave...” He finally says, looking up at you, “...tonight.”

The news is reasonable but, it feels like a cruel joke. You have half a mind to deny him, to lash out and, scold him for toying with you in such a way.

But Yoongi would never lie to you.

Ever.

“Tonight.” You whisper, swallowing the bitter flavor of the word. And almost involuntarily, your hands are curling gently around his forearms in protest, “Why tonight?”

Yoongi can quite literally taste the pain in your voice and, it sickens him; it sickens him because, there is nothing he can do about it.

He leaves his arms in place for you to touch however you want, thoroughly shocked that the desire still manages to coil in his stomach even in the face of such sadness.

“The man who gave me this scar on my face was the leader of a cruel wayward group known as the Meddleways. Years ago, after Namjoon successfully lead them to our army, the leader and I fought to the death. Xansa, was his name. It was the closest I had ever come to losing my life.” Yoongi almost smiles as he feels your grip on him tighten but, he opts for gently caressing beneath your elbows instead, “This group, they had plans to attack the Queen’s capital and assassinate the people who lived there. After the death of their leader however, many of them came to our side- claiming that they were held against their will. There were a small number who escaped and, I foolishly assumed they would dissolve.”

You look up at the scar he speaks of, gazing at the angry strip of marred flesh running down the center of his right eye. In complete silence, you reach up and trace your index finger along the shape of it, letting out a shaky sigh at the thought of someone causing him pain.

“They haven’t.” You conclude whilst Yoongi closes his eyes beneath your touch, “Have they?”

He simply shakes his head as his hands secure themselves round your waist. His eyes stay shut even when you move your hand from his scar to cup his cheek. The skin there is splotchy from the evening breeze and, surprisingly soft. You almost think to question it but, Yoongi is already answering your silent observation.

“Your salve.” He chuckles as his beautiful eyes finally open, “It would be swept up by the people of the capital in no time; it’s a miracle in a tin.”

Allowing just a moment of reprieve, your mind drifts to the not-so-distant future, “Shall I make a career there then? I imagine if you’re retiring, I will be the one providing for us.”

A bit of ego flashes through Yoongi’s eyes, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, “My villa is nowhere near the capital. And as for providing for us, I am pleased to inform you that I have enough gold from my military service to last us several lifetimes.”

Good, you think, one lifetime together wouldn’t be enough anyhow.

“Am I to be a housewife then?” You arch your brow, throwing an unimpressed but playful glance his way.

Yoongi smirks, “You are to be whatever you wish. It’s just worth noting that I have the means to take care of us both. Although, I will admit that whilst my retirement will hardly be noticed as there is already someone taking my place, if you chose to retire now that- that would have some dire consequences.”

His compliment, however silly, makes you giggle as you roll your eyes, “Your logic is insanely flawed my dear general however, I will accept your flattery nonetheless.”

Your laughter soothes the rawness in Yoongi’s heart, even if it’s just for a moment. He follows suit, unable to help the small bout of laughter that leaves his lips. But before long, you two seem to settle back into the solemnity of the moment and, you’re asking:

“There after you...aren’t they?”

Yoongi is nodding, his brows drawn tightly together whilst he murmurs, “They are coming for me now. My battalion and I must reconvene and cut them off before they attack here. Xansa is dead but, according to the man who attacked you, there is a new leader, Xansa’s brother. Their objective remains the same: they wish to destroy the peace the Queen’s have built and, exploit the land and it’s people for power.”

To know that not only is Yoongi tasked with defending the lands from violence, but also that he is being targeted specifically, frightens you beyond belief.

“Why can’t you stay hidden? My family will hide you; you could blend in here until they are defeated, I know it isn’t ideal but-” You sound panicked now and, it breaks Yoongi’s heart that he must deny you any reprieve.

“Darling,” He cups your face, his own bottomless gaze searching yours, “There is only one place in the world where I can truly hide. And someday,” A calloused thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “I will take you there and, we will live out the rest of our lives. But as of now, anywhere I go- weak minded men will follow, desperate to prove their idea of strength. My head is a trophy to all men who are poisoned by their masculinity.”

“Your head is not a trophy,” You protest but your voice barely reaches above a whisper, weakened by your own despair. For the last time it seems, you brush your fingers against his skin- electrocuted by the sensation, “and you are so much more than the rumors that follow you. So much more...”

Yoongi has to summon all the strength within him to keep his emotions at bay, not wanting to break down in front of you. Instead, he silently brings your lips to his and, presses the softest kiss to your mouth.

He pours everything he wish he had time to say into it, his breathing picking up slightly as you return the passion with everything you have.

The two of you know you have to break it off, especially as you hear the compound finally come to life beside you; they were preparing to leave.

With foreheads pressed together, you are the first one who speaks with bated breath, “Promise you’ll come back to me...”

His hands are on either side of your face now as he centers your focus on his eyes. You had yet to see such silent determination within them since you met and for the moment, it convinces you that his word is golden.

“I will crawl back to you if I have to.”

When you part, you gather that most of Yoongi’s men have already left. It appears that only the main unit and, a group of thirty or so remain in the compound.

“Hyung!” Hoseok calls from the front of the tent, his normally bright expression full of contempt, “It’s time.”

You detest how well their readiness to leave coincides with the end of your conversation but, it almost feels easier this way. Being unable to anticipate the exact point of Yoongi’s departure has allowed you to be suspended in ignorant bliss.

The pain isn’t as drawn out.

Yoongi returns his statement with a tight nod before, turning his attention back to you for the last time.

With all the power in him, he musters up a type of promise one can only convey with their eyes and says, “I’ll meet you back at the river...” He swallows around all of the words he wishes to utter but, with a delicate brush to your cheek, he leaves you with only two, “...my love.”

And suddenly, the world between you is massive once again.

Suddenly, he is a thousand miles from you even though he only moves a few yards away.

You feel frozen in place almost, your cheek burning with the remains of his touch as you try to catch the breath his words stole from you.

Is this really it?

The last guaranteed moments of your incredible connection with a man you could only dream about- is this truly how they end?

You’re standing there longer than you realize because, the next thing you know, you hear the whinny of the last horses and, the sharp commands of Jin’s voice.

Spinning around, you aren’t thinking clearly as you sprint towards the group of men beginning to ride away into the forest.

“General Min!”

You are surprised at how well your voice carries over the noise and, out of the group pops Yoongi riding on the back of a black stallion.

With his gold sword attached to his hip and, his capable hands controlling the reigns, Yoongi brings the movements of his horse to a stop.

“Don’t be late.” You call to him, fresh tears spilling silently from your eyes. But despite the tears, you are smiling- offering some semblance of hope to the two of you.

He chuckles, bowing his head towards you, eyes outlined in red, “Yes ma’am.”

Then he is gone.

And with him goes all of your steam for the time being.

It’s as though the energy has been pulled away from you, leaving you sullen and exhausted regardless of how much rest you’re able to get.

The weeks without Yoongi begin with nightmares. The one you had just before he left seems to haunt your subconscious day in and day out. It’s as if your brain were torturing you with worst case scenarios, preparing you for a world without him.

Without Yoongi.

The night the battalion left, you rushed over to Rachels and, upon her opening her door, you simply collapsed into her arms.

With your head on her shoulder, the two of you cried together. You hated the fact that she understood the pain you were in but, you were happy to have someone relate to.

She understood.

To live such an ordinary life one day, only to fall for a mysterious stranger the next…

And then to have that stranger seem so familiar, to connect so deeply with someone you haven’t known for very long and, then having to say goodbye…

It was a very specific type of pain and, your best friend knew exactly what the sting felt like.

Nearly a month of this passes before you receive something that has your monotone soul seeing color once again: a letter from Yoongi.

A young man, who identifies himself as a royal messenger, shows up at your door with a tightly wrapped piece of parchment that contains enough hope to keep you going for the foreseeable future. This young messenger explains that he was commissioned by the “the Royal General” to deliver two letters to this village every month until his return.

Two letters meaning, one to you and of course, one to the beloved schoolteacher next door.

The thought of Rachel getting to hear from Jungkook makes your heart sing.

Trying to contain the tears in your eyes, you thank the messenger profusely before practically tripping over your own feet as you rush back to your bedroom. You waste no time in removing the protective fabric from the letter, your shaky hands nearly ripping the corner of the parchment.

Y/N,

I know we didn’t discuss writing to one another but, I couldn’t handle not contacting you in some way. Thankfully, I’m privileged enough to have access to the royal messengers and, they have promised me they would deliver my letters until I return. Are you staying healthy? I know how cold it must be getting where you live. Please reassure me that you’re staying warm so, I can stop obsessing over it.

Our men have been successful so far. We’ve encountered many obstacles but, we have the strategies to hold our own. Most of my days have been spent working on a pathway out of this mess but, we have been unable to find the new leaders of the Meddleways. The Queens are aware and have sent reinforcements but, we still have a long way to go.

Not to worry, I still plan on keeping my promises to you. It’s the only thing that keeps me alert most of the day as I haven’t been able to sleep as much as I’d like to. Our time at the river spoiled me, I didn’t realize how much energy I was getting from your lips. Sleep depravity meant nothing when I was with you.

Yours,

Yoongi.

By the time you finish the letter, a teardrop is regretfully staining the center of the page. Frantically, you wipe it from the parchment before it’s able to blur the ink placed there by your lover. The indents from his lettering are the only piece of him you have so, you press your fingers to the page in an effort to feel closer to him.

Over and over, you read the words he wrote, overcome with gratitude that he would go to such lengths to have this message delivered to you. By the time you’ve read it for the tenth time, your mother is calling you from the other room, signaling supper is ready.

You have no interest in eating at this moment but, you know that family dinners aren’t something you’ll be able to enjoy once Yoongi returns. So, you decide to file your thoughts away for later and join your parents in the main room.

The meal your mother prepared takes a lot of time and effort so, you insist on cleaning up after the three of you finish eating and, send your parents to bed early. They work so hard and, deserve all of the rest in the world.

After cleaning up the kitchen, you eagerly return to your room to draft your response to Yoongi.

General Min,

I am pleased to report that I have not one but, two woolen blankets at my disposal. You can put your obsessions regarding my warmth to rest for the time being. Other than missing you, my health has kept up just fine since you left. The village is preparing for a rainy season as we do every year but, I’m actually quite excited for the storms.

It’s good to know the Queens are supporting your mission as I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to track down such a volatile group. Nevertheless, my faith in your abilities is still strong. If anyone were able to apprehend them, it would be you. In regard to your sleep deprivation, I can only offer you my energy from afar. I visit the river every night since you’ve been gone and, I find myself leaning against our tree, wishing that it was you who was pressing me into it.

Continue to think of my lips, General. They will be all over you before you know it.

I cannot wait to hear from you again,

Y/N  

A smirk is on your lips as you seal your letter with melted wax, hoping that your wayward tongue motivates him to keep going. The promise of finally being able to consummate your passion for one another burns brightly within you and, you can only hope he will feel the same.  

The messenger had explained to you that he would return for your letter in the morning as he had other deliveries in the area. That night, you slept particularly well and, for once you were able to dream of something peaceful.

As promised, the man returns to your home the next morning to collect your letter and with a tip of his hat, he assures you that he will return the same time next month.

And he certainly does but, it seemingly comes at the cost of said month dragging on endlessly. However, when the messenger shows up at your home, you are quick to forget the last four weeks and, instead just focus on the small piece of Yoongi waiting for you. Before the boy continues on, a nagging question enters your mind and, you are stopping him before he reaches Rachel’s house.

“Excuse me, I hate to pry but, have you been in contact with the general at all?”

He offers a small smile as he shakes his head, “No, ma’am. The general leaves his letters at one of my many posts throughout this land. I met with him only once but, he specifically instructed me not to come looking for him if he didn’t leave anything for me to deliver; he said it was too dangerous.”

This frightens you as it comes ripened with the devastating possibility of Yoongi being incapacitated in some way. Of course it isn’t the man’s intention to worry you and rather than unloading all your anxieties onto him, you merely smile back and thank him for his time.

Before he knocks on Rachel’s door, you also learn his name and, silently scold yourself for not thinking to do so sooner.

He tells you his name is Hyunjin and, expresses his gratitude for your business before leaving you alone to read your letter.

Y/N,

I am trying to find the words to properly convey how many times I re-read your letter and, all of the ways I managed to use it, without sounding crude, but then I remembered that my Y/N doesn’t really care much for decency does she? So I shall be candid for once…

It’s very late when I’m writing my response and, I am overwhelmed with my desire for you. It’s quite sickening actually. I feel lightheaded when I think of us alone together.

Never in my entire life have I wanted someone so badly.

I wish I could see you somehow. Jungkook draws pictures of Rachel on every surface he can but, I don’t possess the artistic abilities he does. My attempts to draw you would be insulting. Although, I wouldn’t commission anyone to illustrate you either; They would mess it up somehow.

How has your month been? Are you still baking bread as often now that my greedy battalion is away?

Yours,

Yoongi

You are immediately transported back to your schoolyard days as you squeal into your bedsheets at his confessions. Yoongi truly had a way of saying everything you needed to hear in only a few words. More notably, he had a way of speaking so passionately; it took your breath away.

Feeling full of unbridled optimism, you pull out a fresh piece of parchment and your ink to begin drafting your response to him. 

General Min,

I can’t help but wish you had been a bit cruder. Next time, feel free to include all of the way you used my words; it would comfort me to know that I am tending to your needs from so far away.

It seems as though you and I share the same illness. I can’t help but, think of you in the same light every evening when I’m trying to sleep. I only wish I was able to dream of you the same way, I’m certain I would wake up feeling much more rested.

Are there any updates on your progress? It’s been three months and, yet I feel as though it’s been twice as long. Are you feeling alright? Are you able to find adequate shelter?

I’m sorry for the interrogation but, I can’t help myself when I begin worrying about you.

Tell Jungkook that Rachel draws him as well. Every time I visit her at home, she is shoving one of her pictures into dress pocket. She thinks I don’t notice but, I most certainly do.

What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t know when she was in love?

In regards to the bread, I am baking slightly less than I was before but, I still find myself adding in extra ingredients for you all every now and then.

I’ve gone on long enough but, I still have so much more to say.

Just know, I miss you terribly.

Love,

Y/N

Hyunjin returns again the following morning and, graciously accepts your letter before heading on his way. When you hand him the parchment full of late night confessions, you truly think nothing of it.

Despite the longing you felt for Yoongi, you had grown used to looking forward to his letters. In a way, it was almost as if he were much closer than he actually was. The letters made you feel like he were writing to you from the capital while he was away on business rather than out in the middle of the battlefield.

But that didn’t change the reality.

Yoongi was out in the battlefield and, things were growing far more complicated than he was letting on.

“Hyung, we can’t keep evading their fire. They are going to catch up to us eventually.”

Yoongi has been trying to write his response to you for over an hour and, every time he sits down to do so- he is interrupted.

This time, the interruption comes from Hoseok who stumbles into the tent, sore from yesterday’s battle.

“Yes they will,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “and when they do, we will lead them to the outskirts of the capital where the Queen’s have established reinforcements.”

“Aren’t you worried they will strike before then? We have already lost-“

Yoongi interrupts him now, trying his best to control the frustration and pain in his tone, “I am aware. I write down every single one of their names. That does not change my plan. We will not engage unless we absolutely have to. I don’t want to see another village go down beneath our fire.”  

Hoseok is dissatisfied with his answer but, he knows better than to question Yoongi when he is like this.

“What is our plan for tomorrow, hyung? Are we moving to a new area?” Jimin asks quietly, his tired eyes barely lingering open as he runs his fingers through Taehyung’s hair. His head is positioned in Jimin’s lap whilst his injured body tries to recuperate; everyone was losing their steam. “I don’t know if Taehyung should be travelling right now. He might have to ride on the back of my horse if we must move on…”

Yoongi’s chest tightens as he sees the state of his men.

The most prestigious army is now littered with bruises and open wounds. There isn’t a single muscle in their bodies that doesn’t feel strained or damaged in some way and, he doesn’t even remember the last time they had a proper meal.

Clutching his quill in his fist, he nods solemnly at Jimin’s comment, “You are probably right. I will walk the perimeter with the rest of our men tonight before bed and if all is clear, he can camp out an extra day whilst he heals.”

Jimin offers a small smile in return that only just reaches his eyes, “Thank you, hyung.”

He nods tightly, adjusting the grip on his quill before continuing to write; he has so much he wants to tell you. He wants to cry out to you in his letter but, he doesn’t want to worry you. Instead, he’d rather pretend like everything is alright, like the two of you are merely star-crossed lovers sneaking around after dark and, writing in code to communicate with one another without being caught.

He wants to pretend like he is anyone else but most of all, he wishes to pretend to be the man he promised you he would be.

But, he won’t lie to you.

He can’t.

Y/N,

This might be the last time you hear from me for a while. Things are growing extremely difficult for my men and I. We must now focus all of our efforts on making it to the outskirts of the capital safely so, that we have the reinforcements we need.

My entire body aches for you, Y/N. There is no comfort for me aside from your letters.

And as much as it pains me to say it, I am beginning to fear that I might not make it home to you. I have yet to express this to my men because, I don’t want to worry them. I just don’t know what our future holds anymore.

We have sustained so many losses.

I don’t want to worry you either but, I am only doing so because, I need you to know something. My need for you to understand this overcomes my need to make you comfortable.

I love

BANG.

With a flash of fire, the tent Yoongi resides in is quickly overwhelmed with chaos.

And as he hears the desperate calls of his men, he knows he has no choice but to abandon his words to you and, fight.

Or else he and his men are doomed.

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

There wasn’t a particular day Hyunjin arrived but, you did expect him to come some time during the middle of the month. However, the middle of the month comes and goes without a word from him and, while you find this to be quite odd, you chose to think nothing of it.

Yoongi was in the middle of a lengthy mission, it was a miracle you had been able to hear from him as much as you did.

However, when the second month passes without word from him- you begin to feel the tidal wave of panic swelling inside of you.

You feel idiotic for getting sucked into the romance of letter writing. It had convinced you, only for a moment, that there was nothing at stake.

But this couldn’t be further from the truth.

Everything was on the line.

How could you lessen your vigilance?

Yoongi could very well be in a grave danger somewhere and, you would never know.

Does he have arrangements for such a thing?

Did he consider this?

Of course he did, you think, as you begin to choke back your tears.

He has seen more carnage than you could ever imagine; he most certainly thought of informing you of his passing.

So maybe this is a sign to be hopeful.

Maybe this means that he is merely stuck somewhere or far too busy to send letters.

With an almost delusional sense of certainty, you furiously wipe your hand across your face and, try to gather yourself.

Today was a busier day at the market so, you desperately hoped things would move quickly.

For once, you are lucky enough to have your wish granted.

The next month however, isn’t so merciful.

Every day is the same. You wake up, try to muster up a smile, pack your wares and sell in the plaza. You bring Rachel her snacks and, the two of you eat in silence before it becomes too much and, you both end up crying.

She hasn’t heard from Jungkook either.

It’s been three months and, you have heard nothing about the whereabouts of the men you intended to be with for the rest of your lives. It’s as if the world is turned upside down and, you spend the majority of your time thinking the worst.

The next morning however, you are granted the briefest moment of respite when Hyunjin knocks at your door. You barely manage to pull on your coat when you yank open the door and, beam at his presence.

“Thank goodness, I was so worried-“ You are cheering for only a second until you catch a glimpse of his expression.

“Good morning ma’am. I’m sorry to have disturbed you but, I felt it was my duty to give you an update on the General…”

Your blood is cold and still within your veins and, the sickening feeling of grief begins crawling its way through your senses.

“We haven’t heard from his battalion for months now. The Queens have sent out a league of experts to find them but, we have yet to-“ He swallows back his nerves as he sees the look on your face, “-we have yet to be successful.”

The tears are unstoppable as they quickly flood the sockets of your eyes. Your hand feels clammy whilst it grips your door frame, your whole body growing numb with each word he utters.

“This doesn’t mean the worst, ma’am. The Tiger’s army is well known for disappearing like this, it’s part of their strategy. I just didn’t want you to be left wondering why I didn’t return. When I went to the postal location, nothing was waiting for me.”

With a shaky and unrecognizable voice, you ask, “Not from Jungkook either?”

He frowns, looking at you with pity, “Nothing, ma’am. There are normally hundreds of letters for me to deliver and, I didn’t find a single one.”

Regardless of his attempt to comfort you, you knew exactly what this meant: something was horribly wrong.

You couldn’t even manage to think of the word but, all of your terrifying nightmares containing Yoongi begin to flood your subconscious. It's all you can think about now.

“I promise to update you as soon as I hear from them, ma’am.” Hyunjin feels immensely uncomfortable delivering this news and, he is eager to return home as quickly as possible.

All you can manage is a nod before you robotically begin closing your door, “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Thankfully, your parents are out for the day so, you’re able to shut the door quietly before sliding against it, allowing a broken sob to leave your lips.

You knew in your heart that the likelihood of Yoongi and his battalion being safe was next to nothing. The lack of his letters had been evidence enough but, you wanted to remain hopeful, you wanted to convince yourself that he was just busy.

But you were lying to yourself.

Cupping your hand around your mouth, you let out all of the emotion you couldn’t relinquish in front of Hyunjin. Your eyes burn as your tears stain your cheeks, your lips parted in a silent scream. With your body shaking, you cry for the life you were never able to have and, for the man you were never able to love.

That evening, your mother helps you into bed. She understands when you refuse supper even though she made your favorite. She lets you cry in her lap like you did when you were a little girl only this time, you weren’t crying over schoolyard bullies.

You don’t leave your bed for two weeks. The only time you have contact with anyone other than your parents is when Rachel finally decides to drop by to check on you. Of course, the feeling had been mutual and, just as you had before, the two of you spend most of your time crying together.

Once she decides to leave, you are once again left alone with your thoughts, all of which are of Yoongi. Today in particular, you are remembering his hands and, the first time you intertwined fingers.

“Why are you looking at my hands?” You had asked him

“Because I want to hold them.”

His voice echoes in your mind now as fresh tears find their way out of your eyes for the millionth time and, it’s this memory that prompts you to visit the river.

You hadn’t been back since Hyunjin came to deliver the news. The thought of going there alone sent a deep sadness through you but, part of you felt like it might be a good idea.

If you were to ever truly mourn him properly, you would have to grieve every piece of your time together.

Wrapping yourself up in your winter coat, you make the short journey towards a place you once called your favorite spot in the world. At first, it was because of the inner peace it had brought you but once Yoongi came into the picture, it took on a whole new meaning.

The rain had stopped hours ago so other than a bit of extra mud and a much colder breeze, the river looked just as it did during the summer.

Securing your coat tighter around yourself, you sniffle whilst looking out towards the river. The palette of the sunset is reflecting off the water and, bouncing against the ground beneath your feet. If it had been under any other circumstances, you would have felt content here. You would be collecting herbs, humming to yourself, speaking with the forest creatures- despite their lack of understanding you but...

Most importantly, you would be waiting for Yoongi.

The thought once again causes you to cry as your brain tries to conceptualize a world without him.

It seems so impossible.

...

“So- is this where the tree bark grows?”

Your eyes widen and you turn around so quickly you nearly fall over. As if out of a fairytale, General Min Yoongi stands just beneath the entrance to the river, dressed head to toe in his strongest armor. His hair is slightly messy and framing either side of his face and his mouth is portraying a brilliant smile.

He’s alive.

You’re crying harder now, frozen in place as you call to him, playing out the first time you two met here,

“You of all people should know not to ambush someone like that...”

If you aren’t mistaken, you see him sniffle as the smile on his face only grows, “I’m sorry, I’m late ma’am...”

His voice breaks at the end and the next thing you know, you are running. Opening his arms, he braces himself for you and, as you crash into him- he uses all of his strength to lift you off the ground. Spinning in a circle, he chuckles fondly when you start placing kisses anywhere you can reach: his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead, his chin...

It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s him.

“You bastard!” You cry to him which only causes him to laugh harder, “I thought you were dead I- I thought you were...”

He stops spinning as his gloved hands come up to cup your face, his eyes wet with the slightest evidence of tears, “Shhh I know, I’m so sorry- I tried everything to reach you but, it wasn’t safe...”

You’re shaking your head, your hands coming up to rest over his, needing to feel every part of him, “It doesn’t matter- you're here now.” You say the phrase but then suddenly, you are overcome with a sickening feeling. What if you were just imagining this? What if you had simply dreamed of him? With a desperate glance, you press your hands into his harder, searching his eyes, “You are here aren’t you? Like- you're really here? You came back to me?”

Yoongi’s expression crumbles, his thumb brushing over your cheek, “I am, my love. I am here- this is the only place I know now.”

Sniffling again, you lean in towards his lips, your mind completely fuzzy with emotion, “Show me, show me you’re here.”

He takes the hint, closing the distance between you and, tucking his mouth into yours. It’s a much harder kiss than you’re expecting but, you relish in it nonetheless. Yoongi’s lips taste like medicine to you, all of your pain melting away beneath his touch. He sighs shakily as he presses your body into the cool steel of his armor, slightly wishing that he had been able to wash up before coming to see you.

It’s been a long journey.

“You’re here...” You whisper into the kiss, your hands tracing over his features, “You kept your promise...”

Yoongi is nodding, pecking at your lips over and over again, “I told you I would crawl didn’t I?” When you nod, he continues, “Well I crawled, darling. I crawled all the way back to you...”

You pull back slightly, unable to get enough of his face, your fingers coming up to brush the hair from his face. Elated, you laugh breathlessly, a smile burned onto your mouth.

“You will never have to crawl again, General Min. It is now my life-long mission to make sure you are in a warm bed with a full belly for the rest of your life.”

Yoongi beams at your sentiment, his eyes lighting up along with his grin whilst his hands slide down your body before settling on your hips, “I love you.”

There it is.

Those three little words that have been etched in your mind for longer than they should have been.

Gripping his face between your palms, you are bringing his mouth down towards you once again, “I love you too.”

After much more kissing, Yoongi mentions that he hasn’t eaten properly in quite a while and, that he has a few things to discuss with you before you can leave with him. You insist that he can use your family’s bathing area to wash up and, that you will pick up clothes for him in the plaza; the armor he’s wearing looks incredibly uncomfortable.

The two of you decide to visit the local tavern as it will be a good place for Yoongi to eat and, update you on what’s going on. He does specifically mention however, that he doesn’t want to speak of what he’s just been through. He only assures you that all six of his leaders survived and, that the Meddleways had been apprehended. He promises you that he will tell you stories from the mission later down the line but for now, he only wishes to speak about your future together.

However, there is one question that’s been nagging at you since he arrived that is slightly off-topic.

“Is Jungkook here?” You take your seat at the table across from him, slightly hating how far apart the two of you are.

Yoongi grins, a bit of fondness in his eyes, “He wouldn’t even wait for me to get out of the chariot before he was already sprinting like a mad man towards her home.”

You feel overjoyed at the thought of how your best friend’s day is going. The grief hit the two of the same way so, you hope she is feeling all of the happiness you felt when you realized the man you loved returned home.

“Are the four of us riding in the chariot together then? You might need to stay in town for a few days if that’s the case- I can throw all of my worldly possessions into a trunk but, Rachel would need more time to prepare.”

Yoongi reaches out for your hand then, smiling as you instinctively lace your fingers between his, “The chariot only has room for two, I’m afraid. My brother has decided to stay here for the time being. I think this final mission was especially hard on him, he’s expressed that he just wants to stay in one place for awhile.”

This resolution warms your heart. The idea of Rachel and, Jungkook making a quiet life for themselves in your home village, brings you so much joy. In many ways, it seems as though they had found a home in each other and, you couldn’t wait to see what their future held.

“I couldn’t imagine a more perfect scenario for the two of them. Although, I do know someday Rachel wishes to leave the village…I’m sure they will work out the details when the time is right.”

“My brother has already insisted that he will build her a house with his bare hands,” He chuckles, “so, at least she doesn’t have to worry about finding a carpenter.”

“What a gentleman.” You giggle before taking a sip of your drink.

Yoongi squeezes your hand gently, acknowledging your sentiment before eagerly moving back to what he wanted to discuss with you.

“My villa has been prepared for the two of us whenever we are ready. We have an entire battalion waiting to escort us there but, we will have to return to the capital after a few days.”

“Retirement ceremony?” You venture with a smile to which he chuckles and, shakes his head.

“I opted out of the theatrics actually. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, those ceremonies last far too long. I am just eager to start my life with you. However,” He sighs, wincing slightly, “my successor doesn’t seem to feel the same way. He wants his full induction ceremony which of course, I would have to attend...”

You cock your head, “Who is your successor?”

Yoongi smirks, “Seokjin-hyung.”

This doesn’t surprise you. Jin is the oldest member of the lead battalion and although Yoongi was technically their general, Jin never failed to assert himself as his right hand.

“I thought the seven of you were retiring this year. Did he re-enlist?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “No, he is taking on the position I turned down.”

You cock your head, brow furrowed with confusion, “Oh? What position is that?”

A rather arrogant look flashes in his eyes for just a moment until he seemingly reigns it in, attempting to keep his tone as casual as possible, “I was asked to serve on the royal council as an advisor to the Queens…”

Its impossible to hide the widening of your eyes causing Yoongi to chuckle at the expression on your face, “You must have made quite the impression, General Min. My father has always told me that positions on the royal council are passed down by blood…you really turned it down?”

Yoongi merely squeezes your hand, “I did. Do you think I was mistaken?”

You shake your head, “Oh, of course not. I mean- selfishly, it’s the outcome I would have hoped for but, I just want to ensure that you didn’t do this for me.”

A small grin comes over his lips whilst his thumb brushes over the backs of your knuckles, “Unfortunately, I can’t exactly guarantee that, ma’am. I don’t think any of my decisions are made without you in mind…” You open your mouth to protest and, Yoongi merely chuckles again, holding his finger up to signal that he isn’t finished, “However, even if I didn’t have you in mind- I still would have turned it down. As flattering as the offer was, I don’t wish to work in this field any longer. I’m grateful for my time and, honored that I was able to serve my land properly but-“ He stares into your eyes and, you can finally get a look at how exhausted he is, “I’m very tired. I’ve spent my entire youth with a sword on my hip and, I want to live simply now. If I’m being honest, I want to be detached from the rest of the world for a little while...”

You admire the man sitting across from you so much.

He’s only ever given to others, laying his life on the line over and over again, only to have his reputation constantly called into question. Staring at him now, you can’t even remember a time when he was nothing more than a rumor.

“I can’t even imagine the hardships you’ve endured. Your desire for peace is only natural after everything you’ve been through.” You place a kiss on the back of his hand, allowing your lips to linger there as he responds.

“What I desire is you.” He counters, his voice slightly raspier than before, “Peace will just allow me to indulge in you properly. I want no distractions... just as I told you before.”

Yoongi’s voice is laced with something that is wholly inappropriate for a public setting but, neither of you seem to care- instead you just stare at each other for a moment. You watch as his eyes travel over every inch of your face before slowly easing down your neck and, back up again.

The pain of missing him is one thing but, the lack of opportunity to bury into one another is physically painful.

You clear your throat and, send a smirk his way, letting him know that you understand what he’s getting at, “Did you offer the position to Seokjin? Or was he just next in line after you?”

Yoongi leaves his lust in the back of his head for now. He doesn’t want to rile himself up in the middle of the busy tavern.

“The Queens offered him the position when I turned it down. He was named my successor a few years ago when I fell ill so, he was already in a position to take over for me if necessary. Out of all of my men, he is the most capable but, also the most willing.” He chuckles, thinking fondly of his hyung, “He will do a far better job than I would anyhow. He is much more social and, outspoken. Plus, he will be living in the palace- I couldn’t imagine a better life for such a man.”

The warmth in Yoongi’s tone is palpable and, you can’t help but admire the way he talks about his men; its as though they are family to him.

“To Seokjin,” You smile, raising your glass.

Yoongi follows suit, clinking the rim of his goblet yours, his eyes brightening, “To Seokjin.”

As the two of you sip from your cups, Yoongi continues on with his explanation, “The journey to the villa will be brief. We will visit the palace for the ceremony in a few days and, then make our way back home again. From there, we are free to do whatever we wish.” The word home fills you with bliss. For the first time in months, it seems as though everything was falling into place. Now, the two of you could truly be together and, live out the rest of your days in peace.

“Free-“ You muse with a smile, “I quite like the sound of that.”

He smirks, “Of course you do. You have never failed to remind me that you don’t care much for the rules…”

Shrugging, you lean back in your chair and regard him for a moment before replying, “I don’t care for the rules that keep me away from you, General.”

His smirk never falters, “Consider them retired then, apothecary.”

The two of your resist the urge to maul one another in public and, decide to return to your home so that you can pack up your things and, Yoongi can bathe.

You try very hard not think of the fact that Yoongi’s naked body is on display in your back garden as you neatly fold your belongings away in your trunk. There are some things that you’re leaving behind so, that your parents can continue to sell your wares if they wanted to. Yoongi has arranged for them to receive part of his retirement so, they never have to worry about working again. It’s been discussed that the two of you will visit often and, you promised your parents you would write them every week.

Yoongi returns from his bath whilst you’re shoving the last of your clothing away. You can smell him immediately, the scent of your lavender soap wafting away from his skin as he walks toward you. He says nothing until his arms are wrapped around your waist, his chin coming to rest atop your shoulder, “I’ve never been in here before but, your room is very much like what I pictured.”

“Oh?” You lean against him, “I didn’t realize you would imagine what my room would look like.”

You feel him grin against your shoulder, “Well- I suppose I thought more about what we would do in your room…”

Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side to get a better look at him, “And what exactly would we do in here?”

You have half a mind to check to make sure Yoongi had closed the door to your bedroom but, when his hands start sliding up the front of your body, you no longer care.

“I would have love to take you in this bed…” A low chuckle comes from his throat as he starts kissing up the side of your neck, “Although, I wouldn’t be able to make you scream properly with your parents in the next room would I?”

His words send a jolt of electricity up your spine, your body growing weak beneath his touch. Through your nose, you emit a deep and unstable sigh before gripping his hands that are resting just under your breasts.

“You could have kept my mouth occupied somehow-“ You counter, feeling your attitude brewing beneath the surface of your patience.

At your comment, you feel Yoongi’s grip tighten on you as he moves his lips to your ear, “Excuse me?”

But all you do is smirk in return, regretfully pulling his hands from your body so you can continue packing.

“You’re excused.”

Yoongi is about to grab you again but, the knock on your door interrupts your flirting.

This seems to be a very irritating trend.

The two of you eventually part ways with your parents and, although you feel a bit of sadness, you’re overjoyed that they are able to live their life together in comfort. And because of Yoongi’s connections, you will be able to come visit them whenever you want.

The sexual tension between you and Yoongi has yet to fully fizzle out and, he reminds you of this as he grips your waist whilst the two of you walk towards Rachel’s home.

He has many things he’d like to say to you after that comment you made back in your bedroom but, the excited greetings from villagers prevent him from doing so. And all the while, you continue to grin, pleased that you’ve been able to pierce that carefully crafted demeanor of his.

You scamper away from him as you near Rachel’s front door, eager to see your friend after everything that has happened today. You’re anxious to see Jungkook too; Yoongi mentioned that this mission had been hard on him so, you’re hoping more so than anything that he isn’t injured too badly.

Yoongi lingers extremely close behind you as you knock on Rachel’s door, practically bouncing in your steps as you await for her to answer.

And boy does she…

Swinging open the front door, Rachel is still giggling at the man seemingly attached to her from behind. Her hair is absolutely destroyed and, her dress is buttoned up improperly as she addresses the two of you.

“Good evening, Y/N-“ She practically slurs, her eyes lit up with the type of insobriety that does not originate from alcohol. She bows her head towards Yoongi, “Good evening, General Min.”

Your lips are parted in delighted surprise as you survey the two bumbling humans before you. Jungkook is dressed only in his linen trousers, his black tendrils sticking in every direction atop his head and, from what you can see- his neck is littered with various reds and purples.

“Good evening to you- harlot…” You chide, trying to contain your laughter.

She shrieks, reaching out to smack your arm, just as she always does, joy painted all over her face, “Excuse you! I am a respectable woman of education.”

“Uh huh-“ You smirk, unconvinced before nodding towards the man behind her. He’s not even really paying attention to you, his eyes are just staring up at your friend like a lost puppy, his lips swollen from their previous activities, “Jungkook, it’s good to see you. Are you well?”

He merely smiles, only glances at you for a moment before his eyes rush back to Rachel, “Very well, thank you.”

Yoongi clears his throat, “Jungkook-ah,” He scolds, “Answer her properly…also, why are you answering the door if you aren’t decent.”

Jungkook seems to snap out of it, hiding behind Rachel in an effort to shield his body from your view, “My apologies. I’m feeling much better now, I’m glad to see you are looking healthy as well.” His tone shifts once again as he addresses Yoongi, his brown eyes lighting up with mischief, “I just wanted to see you off hyung and, uh- Rachel said this was decent in this village, I’m just adapting to the new lifestyle.”

Yoongi raises a brow, unconvinced but endeared nonetheless, “I am highly suspicious of that explanation…”

Jungkook giggles like a boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “You should be.” He winks at his hyung, giggling harder as Yoongi wrinkles his nose in disgust. He rests his chin back upon Rachel’s shoulder before speaking again, “Are you two heading to the villa then?”

You’re grinning now, admiring how relaxed Jungkook seems around her, “We are. I was hoping to hug my best friend goodbye before we made the journey…”

Jungkook gets the hint, his eyes widening a bit as he reluctantly moves his arms from her, “I will give you thirty seconds.”

This causes Rachel to laugh, waving him off playfully as she opens her arms to you, “Come here you…”

You throw your arms around her, smiling even as the tears sting the corners of your eyes, “I’m going to miss you… far more than I care to admit…”

She laughs again, patting your back gently, “Oh you know I’ll be around…” She assures you but, her voice is tightening with her own emotions, “…but please make the journey to me often…I fear how stale this village will become without you.”

You’re looking at Jungkook now as he grins softly, admiring the two of you and, send a look his way, “I’m sure this one will keep you properly entertained…”

Finally, the Jungkook you remember returns as he seems to shy away from your comment, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Rachel is staring at Yoongi too and, she musters up the courage to throw a pointed finger in his direction; she is still slightly intimidated by him after all.

“You’ll take care of her, won’t you? She is precious cargo, General Min.”

Yoongi tips his head toward her as he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart, “You have my word, ma’am.”

Rachel smiles, sniffling a bit as the two of you release each other, “Good.” You pull away from her, trying not to give in to your urge to cry as you both sort of giggle, exchanging a series of knowing glances with one another.

“I love you, my dear friend.” You squeeze her hands and, she returns the gesture, her eyes glossy while she slowly begins to release your hands.

“I love you.”

Jungkook is back on her then, his brow furrowed with concern at her saddened state. He says nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment between you two and, chooses to press a soft kiss to her shoulder instead.

Yoongi moves closer to you as well, winding his arm around your waist and, squeezing your hip reassuringly.

“Write to me?” Rachel asks, trying to mask the cracks in her voice.

You nod, blinking back the remainder of your tears, “Every week.”

Leaving Rachel is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do but, it feels so much better knowing how happy she will be. Yoongi stays silent for the moment, gently escorting you down the street, waving at many of the civilians that bid the two of you farewell.

Roughly 10 minutes later, the two of you are huddled in the back of a massive wooden chariot, pulled along by four black horses and accompanied by a group of guards. The interior is lined with padded silk and, is easily the softest thing you’ve ever sat on in your life. After the two of you are settled inside, Yoongi mentions your departure with Rachel:

“You two have a special bond, I’m sorry that you won’t be living near her for the time being…” He feels guilty for the moment, wondering whether or not you were happy giving up so much for him, “You know, we can always come back. I could commission the architect to design us a home out here.”

You squeeze his hand, touched that he would suggest such a thing, “I appreciate your concern but, I promise you that I am beyond content with my decision.”

His lips curve slightly, feeling satisfied with your answer for the time being. He would be sure to check in with you often, the last thing he wants is for you to feel unfulfilled.

“I’m happy to hear that but, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever get tired of me.” He chuckles, squeezing your hand as the two of you approach the chariot.

“I promise you, you would know...” You assure him, nudging his leg with your foot. Yoongi grins and quick as ever, he grabs your ankle and, places it upon his lap. The sudden motion makes you jump, a bit of laughter coming from your lips. Silently but still grinning to himself, he gestures for your other foot with his hand until you get the hint to rest both of them in his lap. He looks down at them, something unreadable flashing through his eyes whilst his fingers brush over the tops of your ankles.

Its such a simple gesture and, yet it sends shivers across the surface of your skin. Yoongi continues to touch you, not saying a single word as he traces the faint shape of the veins beneath your flesh.  Resting your head against the silk lining of the chariot, you allow your eyes to close in order to enjoy his touch. As your lids fall shut, Yoongi grins softly, finally allowing himself to ogle at you the way he wants to.

And oh, can you feel his eyes on you. They burn into your skin despite the fact that you cannot see exactly where he is looking. Truthfully, it wouldn’t matter even if you did, his eyes were everywhere.

His fingers slowly venture up to slide along either of your shins but, he is careful not to reach your knees just yet. And it's here that you decide to set your curiosity free.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

You feel his motions stop for a split second as he processes your question, the silence of the chariot much louder than before.

“Not long before I first arrived at your village.”

The effort to hide your frown is in vain as Yoongi’s rickety laughter gives you the hint that he’s already spotted it.

“Does that upset you?”

You keep your eyes shut, trying to stifle your smile, “Immensely.”

And there is another beat of silence before the two of you are laughing together. Yoongi flattens his palms on your legs, rubbing them gently in an effort to soothe them.

“I suppose that’s reasonable.” He concedes, his tone thoroughly amused, “And you?”

Your teeth are on your bottom lip then, trying to stifle yet another smile, “Not long before you first arrived at my village.”

Yoongi is pinching the skin of your calf playfully as an affronted scoff leaves his lips, “I see what you mean now, that is a truly upsetting answer.”

At long last you open your eyes and, the two of you regard each other for only a moment before you’re laughing again. It feels quite juvenile to jest about something like this but to you, it’s merely a testament of your comfort around Yoongi.  

“I guess it sounds odd on my end though, doesn’t it? Since I’ve been so insistent on waiting with you...”

You shake your head, “I don’t think so. I never assumed you insisted on waiting because you were protecting a virtue of some kind. You are a 28-year-old man, it would be silly of me to think that you hadn’t taken a partner before.”

“Taking a partner sounds far too intimate...” He retorts, “...my reputation caused many people to throw themselves at me in attempt to satisfy some sort of fantasy. Occasionally, my physical needs made me privy to their advances. But, that’s all it ever amounted to.”

It does sadden you that people interacted with Yoongi in this way. If they had taken just a moment to get to know him, they would have discovered someone worth spending their time on. In your case, spending a life time with...

You’re adjusting your position so that you’re able to get closer to him. With your feet off of his lap, you move across the seat until you sitting right beside him. His arm immediately positions itself around your shoulders, hugging you against him whilst your fingers venture towards the free hand now resting in his lap. Silently, you run your fingers over his skin, not missing the way his breathing shifts as you do.

“I am exceptionally grateful that you allowed me to get to know you. I don’t think I could have been this happy with anyone else.”

Your voice is smaller than normal and, it makes Yoongi feel warm inside, his head cocking in such a way to signal that he wants you to look at him.

“The pleasure has been all mine, ma’am- I can assure you.”

He leans into to kiss you then, barely capturing your lips before he’s pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. In the small beat of silence, you choose to utter the words you’ll be saying every chance you get for the rest of your life,

“I love you.”

And with a brilliant smile and, a kiss to your nose, he is whispering, “I love you too.”

On the rest of the journey, Yoongi updates you on the status of the rest of his battalion:

Seokjin, as he mentioned earlier, is making arrangements to move into the royal palace as he will be taking the coveted position of the royal advisor to the Queens. Yoongi also explains that he will likely take a partner in the coming years and, that his family will be well-taken care of for generations to come.

Namjoon returned to his home village to reconnect with his beloved, Danielle. The two of them plan to move towards the ocean and, raise a family there. Yoongi explains that it will likely be awhile until he sees him again but, that you both can expect a wedding invitation in the next year or so.

As for Jimin and Taehyung- they will be following a similar path that you and Yoongi are. Their villa is positioned deep in the forest, even further from civilization than the one you’re headed to. The last thing Jimin said to Yoongi when they parted ways was that he plans on dropping by once every other month to catch up, emphasizing how much he would miss him.

Hoseok’s status was somewhat of a mystery and, Yoongi smirks with a sense of fascination as he explains where he might be. Years ago, Hoseok met a woman who matched his skill with a bow and arrow. She lived in a village not far from yours and, takes a rather firm position against any kind of authority. Hoseok took a liking to her attitude and, challenged her to a marksmen competition. She won. Naturally, Hoseok was both wounded and intrigued by this woman and, Yoongi suspects that they had been lovers for quite some time until his battalion eventually had to move on. Her name was Orion, just like the constellation and, Yoongi bets all the gold in his possession that Hoseok disappeared to look for her.

The ride to Yoongi’s villa comes to an end nearly half a day later and, you’re asleep on his lap when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“We’re here, darling.”

And here you most certainly were.

Beyond a massive wooden gate laid the most beautiful structure you had ever seen. The villa sits proudly in the middle of a massive stretch of emerald grass with an array of flowers blooming around the perimeter of the cherry oak that winds in intricate patterns up into strong pillars. The windows are tan and, made of a screen like material which is intended to keep pests out of the home. There is a pond just off to the side, which you are eager to explore later and, a balcony facing the right side of the forest. Yoongi had not exaggerated when he said that the villa was quite far from civilization for the backdrop of the scene before you were the mountains themselves, enormous and calm as they loom over the property.

Everything inside Yoongi’s villa was a brand of luxury you had never known: art, elaborate furniture, plumbing, and more space than you knew what to do with. Still however, it was uniquely Yoongi in that it was comforting.

It felt like home.

He explains some of the interior to you as he leads the way to his bedroom. He mentions that you can get comfortable and put your feet up while he checks the perimeter; something he says to expect every night.

Old habits die hard.

With a kiss, he opens the door for you and, promises he will return in shortly.

His bedroom, or our bedroom as he had called it, matched the rest of the villa. It was quaint but clearly displayed his immense wealth as he had an enormous bed in the center of the room covered in likely expensive linens. The windows were all shuttered for now, the only light coming from the lanterns hanging by the door and the entrance to the balcony.

Whilst Yoongi is checking the perimeter, you figure you only have a few minutes to prepare before he returns. Rushing over to your trunk, you settle beside it on your knees as you rifle through your belongings, looking for the one article you had been saving specifically for this evening. Tucked into the bottom, much neater than the rest of your items is a sapphire robe made from the finest silk your village offered. You had been working on it slowly every since Yoongi had left, preparing for the night when you two were finally alone.

You were buzzing with anticipation as you take off your clothes, neatly folding them and setting them aside. Then the cool silk is drawn over your body before you secure it with the tie just above your belly button.

With a deep breath drawn in through your nose, you pad over to the end of his bed and, take a seat upon the cream-colored linen. The rain begins marching prominently upon the outside of the villa bringing a cold breeze through the cracks in the shutters. The glow of the lanterns placed at the entrance of the chamber throw shadows onto the tile floor, entertaining you for only a moment until the creaking sound of the door grabs your attention.

Yoongi enters the room, not looking up as he relays the findings of his perimeter check, “Other than a few rabbits, the coast is clear and, I think after all my years of training I can handle-“ He is in the middle of this joke when he looks up at you, the rest of his sentence dying on his tongue. You see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, his eyes darkening as they trail over your figure.

It seems like forever before he says something, his body simply frozen by the door, unable to do much else aside from staring at you.

“I don’t remember you packing that…” He breathes, his tongue wetting his lips.

“That’s because I hid it from you intentionally.” A nervous but sly smile comes across your lips, your hands sliding over the tops of your thighs, smoothing down the robe for the millionth time, “Do you like it?”

He’s shaking his head, his lips kissing his teeth, as he steps just a little bit closer to you, “That’s really not the proper word to use…”

“Well-“ You swallow, standing up from your position on the bed, eyes searching for his, “You are free to use whatever words you’d like…”

“I’ve suddenly forgotten most of the words I know, unfortunately.” He counters, his eyes darting from you to the floor multiple times before finally focusing on your face. And he’s shaking his head all over again, a sort of desperate look in his eyes, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

The sincerity in his tone takes your breath away but, you do everything you can to hold his gaze, trying to beckon him toward you, “I want you to see all of me.” Your hands are moving towards the tie that’s concealing you from him but, when you’re about to undo it, his voice stops you.

“Wait-“ He pleads, hands lingering out in front of him, “May I?”

You try your best to swallow but, the sheer look of desire in his eyes is removing all moisture from your mouth. Nodding, you hold a hand out to him, your fingers wiggling to beckon him toward you.

He finally seems to thaw out his frozen posture, heeding the gesture of your hand and, closing the distance between you. Almost involuntarily, he leans down and places a soft kiss against your mouth. His lips are dry, almost sticking to yours as he pulls away.

He’s nervous.

You both are.

But at the same time, you feel so incredibly at ease. There is a sense of peace between you now and, even though you’re about to experience something incredibly intense, you are both finally free from the bonds of the outside world.

Now, it is only the two of you and, all the unresolved passion that needs tending to.

Yoongi leans his forehead against your own, his hands slowly moving towards the tie at the center of your robe. You can see that they are unstable, the breath that leaves his nose is proof of that but, he continues forth anyway until his fingers are beneath the bow.

“You’re sure?” He whispers, his breath hot on your lips, making you want to kiss him all over again.

Your hands come up then, cupping either side of his face as you pull away, eyes desperately searching his own, “Certain.”

With your confirmation, he pulls the tie forward, drawing the robe apart and revealing your bare body to him. You never allow your eyes to leave his face, wanting to capture every bit of his reaction.

When you come into view, his expression seems to collapse slightly, his lips immediately parting in awe. Doing the impossible, he tries to swallow again when you use your fingers to slide the robe the rest of the way off.

And without saying a single word, he drops to his knees right in front of you, his hands coming up to grip your hips. Looking up at you, he shakes his head in disbelief, entirely overwhelmed by your beauty.

“There isn’t a battle in the world that could have prepared me for you.”

His words knock the wind from your chest, your breath leaving your lips in an unstable burst when your hand comes out to touch his cheek. When you do, he smiles, with nothing but bliss present in his expression. He turns his face so that he can press his lips into your palm a few times before rubbing his mouth over the area. Your other hand comes into play then, brushing over the clips in his hair and then allowing your fingers to slide down the length of his ponytail.

Right before he speaks again, he drags his lips to your wrist and, nibbles at the skin there, his grin broadening when he hears the change in your breathing, “Will you take my hair down for me, darling?”

His request is nearing the likeness of a coo. It’s a tone you’ve never heard before but, you now know you’d do anything if he asked you with this voice.

You pull your hand from his face and, allow it to join your other one in gently removing the accessories in Yoongi's hair. They might add a level of luxury to his look but, you know for a fact you prefer him without them.

He is beautiful without any embellishments.

When you start on undoing the elaborate work in his hair, he rests his chin just beneath your belly button and, simply stares up at you. The intensity of his gaze actually makes your cheeks hot but, you do your best to continue taking down his hair, scratching at his scalp once you’re finished removing the clips.

His eyes close as you do, a low hum resonating in his throat at the sensation. Yoongi’s hands begin moving down the sides of your body whilst his lips pepper kisses all along your stomach. They’re wet and lacking urgency and, they send a wave of pleasure directly between your thighs.

“Your hair is so beautiful- you'll have to let me practice my skills on it one day...” You murmur with a smile, letting out a sigh as he takes a bite out of your hip.

“You may do whatever you wish with me...” Yoongi smirks, sponging his lips down towards the ache between your leg, “For however long you wish.”

“I wish to undress you-” You reply, coaxing his gaze up towards you, “and then maybe have a turn on my knees...”

At your comment, Yoongi takes another bite out of your hip, his eyes blazing with lust. And almost defiantly, he begins kissing towards the tuft of hair between your legs, his tongue licking and just barely tasting the skin above your core.

Your fingers are back in his hair when he buries his face in yours and, you hear him inhale deeply before exhaling with a groan.

“You smell so good…” He nearly whines, kissing over the mound of your pussy, “…wont you wait your turn? I want to taste you first.”

And it’s so unbelievably lewd isn’t it?

The two of you had only pecked each other’s lips and, your lover is still completely dress and yet, he is begging to bury his head between your legs.

“Before you’ve undressed?” You tease, trying to maintain some level of sanity but, the way he’s looking at you is making that an impossible feat.

He looks absolutely maddened.

His response comes in the form of his tongue, licking over the top of you whilst his hands grip the outside of your thighs to coax them apart.

“Do you want me to starve?” He accuses, a sense of darkness in his eyes. Before you’re able to answer, he licks up the length of your pussy, his fingers pressing into your flesh, “Hm?”

The lust that’s running through your body is peaking at dangerous levels from his touch but, the way he’s talking to you is sending you into frenzy.

You feel like you’re going to explode.

“No, of course n-“

He cuts you off then, his eyes nearly black with desire, “Then let me eat.”

Your head is on the pillows seconds later with Yoongi nudging your legs apart so that he can situate himself between them. The silk of his own robes tease across the surface of your sensitive skin with every movement of his body. He still seems to be taking in the rest of you with hungry eyes but, as soon as he uses his hands to part your legs, his gaze turns ravenous.

Bared before him, you can feel how wet you are when the cold air of the room hits the moisture between your lips. You’re positively drenched and, he hasn’t even touched you yet.

This fact doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi who is now smirking darkly betwixt your thighs. He says nothing as his index finger draws a line straight down the center of your pussy before curling towards himself as he follows it back up, collecting the evidence of your arousal.

Even in the dimly lit room, you can see the way you’ve drenched his finger but, he emphasizes the visual by rubbing his index against the tip of his thumb, only to pull them apart and display your arousal drawing a string between them.

Yoongi stares at you with slight quirk to his lips as he raises his fingers to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking each of his digits until his cheeks hollow out, his eyes closing at the taste of you.

Your cunt quivers at the sight of him, mouth parted in disbelief at how unbelievably good he looks.

When he pulls his lips from his fingers, he allows the smirk to form on his mouth once again before whispering, “Oh- I’m going to devour you.”

And then his head is buried between your thighs.

Yoongi’s tongue moves with contradiction, like lightening and mud all at once. He traces the tip of it around the circumference of your clit slowly but, sucks it into his mouth with fervor. In an effort to torture you with pleasure, he never does one movement for too long, knowing that this would draw you to your end far too quickly.

You can feel your breath leaving your lips at an unstable rate, your fingers searching for something to grasp onto. Yoongi has this covered of course, his hands reaching for yours before resting both of your intertwined digits on your hips.

His tongue continues to explore each fold of you. It’s as if he were collecting every ounce of moisture from your cunt before becoming determined to make you to make it all over again.

When Yoongi is satisfied with cleaning you up, he sets his sights on your clit, his tongue licking over the throbbing bundle of nerves three times before releasing his grip on of your hands and, placing one atop his head.

With an adoring glance, he slurs, “Use my mouth, darling. Show me how you like it…”

His gesture makes you let out a breath you had been unconsciously holding, your grip tightening in his hair at his request.

The sensation sends a shiver down his spine that he most certainly plans on addressing later. For now however, he is preoccupied with learning how you like to cum.

You tug his hair gently so his mouth his back over your clit and, slowly you move his head up and down. Ever the fast learner, he quickly picks up on the pattern you want and begins licking his tongue over the throbbing muscle.

The relief that comes with consistent pleasure finally pulls a moan from your lips, to which Yoongi immediately mirrors between your legs. You find yourself parting your legs further, your hips angling up to get closer to his mouth which only causes him to increase the pressure of his tongue.

The pleasure is mounting inside of your stomach like a hurricane and, for some buried reason, you bite your lip to attempt from crying out. Yoongi stops what he is doing and pulls his lips from you, which are completely soaked with your arousal.

His brows are drawn together in disappointment, his hair tickling your thighs as he shakes his head, “Oh please…let it out my love, no one can hear you but me.”

He pulls his tongue up the length of your clit slowly, his gaze nearly predatory as he reinforces his request, “Won’t you sing for me, darling?”

You nod, licking over your lips as you guide his mouth back to your cunt. He seems to work twice as hard now, flattening his tongue as he continues to rub it against your clit.

The muscles within your core are fluttering inside of you, your orgasm not far from reality. At Yoongi’s pleading you allow yourself to be more vocal, whimpering his name when he sucks at your clit.

He groans again at the sound of it, his fingers digging into your hips for the moment and then, suddenly pulling back. Eyes locking with yours, his wet lips get to work on lubricating his digits before positioning them at your entrance.

Yoongi licks his lips and, with a salacious look he says, “Deep breath…”

And try as you might, the feeling of his fingers curling up inside of you, yank the breath you attempt to take right from your throat.

“Ah-“ You preen, leaning up on your elbows to watch him fuck you with his fingers, “Oh Yoongi…yoongi…”

He grins up at you, securing his fingertips against the spongy tissue you inside of you whilst his other hand comes down to rub at your clit, “I shall ban anyone else from uttering my name, only you know how to say it correctly.”

With the increase in speed and pressure, you can feel something mounting inside of you that you’ve never felt before. You don’t quite know what it is, you just know that you’re going to make a mess.

Slightly panicky, your shaky hand reaches out for him, “These are clean linens…I feel like I’m going to soil them.”

The breathy and desperate nature of your tone goes straight to Yoongi’s throbbing erection but, instead of burying myself in you as he wants to, he merely increases the pace of his fingers.

“They will be much cleaner if you do, my love.” He assures you, his voice nearly cooing, “Just remember to say my name.”

His right hand is massaging against your clit at the perfect pace as his fingers curl up harder inside of you. The squelching sounds from your body would normally embarrass you under different circumstances but now, the pleasure is too overwhelming for you to care.

“Oh- oh Yoongi…yoongi…” You whine, your back arching off the bed as the dams inside of you break, your orgasm gushing out of your cunt in a way it never has. And although you can’t see him because your eyes are screwed shut, you feel Yoongi’s breath grow closer to your core until his mouth is back on your clit.

“Yoongi!” You whimper, toes curling into the sheets as he draws the pleasure from you.

He groans against you once again, his tongue repeating the same pattern you showed him earlier until you are shivering mess beneath him. Once he can sense you growing sensitive, he gets to work at slurping up every ounce of your release. His lips are sucking at your folds, your entrance, the inside of your thighs, nibbling and licking up every single thing you gave him.

With spotty vision, you anxiously reach down for him, suddenly despising the distance between you. He takes notice instantly, crawling up the length of your body and, placing kisses on every bit of you that he can.

Yoongi’s hair forms a platinum curtain around your head, which closes quickly when you grip the back of his neck to pull him down towards you. You meet each other’s lips with a type of hunger you now fear that you could never satisfy, tongues intertwining with desperation.

Ever so tenderly however, Yoongi his cupping your cheek and whispering sentiments to ease your overstimulated body.

“Shhh it’s ok, its ok my love.”

“You did so well.”

“You fed me so well.”

“I love you- I love you so much…”

With each phrase, he seals it with a kiss, the rest of his body settling between your legs and its then you are reminded that he is still clothed and, desperately hard.

“I love you too.” You whisper shakily against his lips, “I want to see you, I want to please you now…”

You’re practically begging, filled with disdain that his body is hidden from you, especially after you’ve just cum all over his face.

And he’s grinning against your lips, a rather sly look twinkling in his eyes, “And how do you plan on pleasing me?” He hums, kissing up the length of your nose.

“Well…” You begin, allowing a hand to travel down the black silk adorning his body before finding the solid length of his cock, leaning away from his hips. Smirking softly, you place your palm against him, relishing in the way he twitches up towards it, “You said you’d give me your soul didn’t you? I want it down my throat first.”

Your comment causes him to groan, hips pushing forward against your hand as he furrows his brow. Almost frantically, he stares down at you and shakes his head, “I know you think of me as a strong man but, I don’t think I could contain myself if you put your mouth on me- not with the taste of you still on my lips.”

Using your hand, you encase his length in the silk of his pants, squeezing gently as you move it up towards the tip of him. And you have his head hanging on his shoulders now, arms trembling beside your head whilst he tries to hold himself together.

“I don’t remember asking you to contain yourself. Those have always been barriers you designed.”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes drawn in with a mix of pleasure and apprehension. When you squeeze him again, he shivers, a wanton groan leaving his lips. When he opens his eyes again, they look more nervous than when he stood before you at the end of the bed. In fact, it’s a look that you’ve never really seen before.

It compels your hand away from him slowly as your other one comes to cup his face, “What’s wrong?”

He breathes out a laugh, his mouth turned up at the corner, “Why is it that you can always find your way into my head and yet, I can never find my way into yours?”

You ignore his attempt to lighten the mood, your thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, “Yoongi- what is it?”

The tone of your voice is gentle but, the look in your eyes compels Yoongi to bear his truth, no more how vulnerable he feels.

“My body is-” He sighs and restarts his sentence, leaning his face into your hand, “The last battle, it left me with many injuries. Most of them have healed but, I don’t want them to startled you.”

You sit up then, causing him to take a seat on the backs of his legs. Unable to help your saddened expression, you simply shake your head, “Yoongi, the only thing your body can be is beautiful. You have laid your life on the line for the people of this land, myself included. I could only ever love everything about the body that brought you home to me.”

With glassy eyes Yoongi is reaching out for you, placing a searing kiss upon your lips and, through it he murmurs “I have never let anyone undress me before…”

You kiss him once more and pull away a bit to lock eyes with him, “Do you trust me?”

And looking like a much younger man, his wide-eyed gaze full of innocence he nods, his hand coming up to brush against your cheek, “You’re the only one.”

His response accounts for several sentiments. His trust, his love, his dedication…

All meant for you.

“May I undress you then?”

His answer comes in the form of another kiss, lips attaching to yours with passion as his hands reach out for your fingers. He leads them to front of his robe, which covers the length of his tunic and his pants and urges you to remove it from him. Taking his lead, you push the material from his shoulders and, allow it to drop behind him before finding your way to the hem of his tunic.

The two of you find each other's eyes once again whilst you slowly draw the material up his torso. He follows your motions, lifting his arms above his head and placing them back by his sides when his tunic is removed.

The first thing you notice is his hair, flowing in prominent waves down his chest and, stopping just above his belly button. Then come his arms, strong and lanky all at once, much of their surface littered with the evidence of his missions. You can see what he meant and, you try to control your expression when you gaze upon the bruises and, cuts that have yet to heal.

You want to scold him for not acknowledging his injuries earlier so, that you could tend to them. But, you can clearly see that they have been taken care of by someone with much more skill.

His eyes are on you, searching for any sign of disapproval, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He wish you could hear what you are thinking.

But just then, a soft smile comes over your lips as you carefully take his chin betwixt your fingers, “Just as I thought- you are molded from the gods, Min Yoongi. There has never been a man who contained more beauty.”

Your words hit his heart like a dagger, some of the air nearly forced out of his lungs. And he’s wanting to kiss you again, his lips desperately chasing yours before your hand comes to rest on his chest.

“Easy tiger…” You giggle, causing his lips to twitch into a smile, “I haven’t finished yet…”

He eases up, moving back into place with both of you still on your knees, facing one another. With tender hands, you move the tendrils of hair from his chest so that they flow freely down his back. His chest is fully exposed to you now, the swollen muscles beneath his pecks also displaying traces of the life he has lived.

Of the life he is finally able to leave behind.

Now, with just your fingertips, you trail your them across his clavicle, stopping for a moment at the ball of his shoulders before trailing them all the way to his wrists. A prominent shiver rattles through him, his hands twitching by his sides with the need to reach out and touch you.

But he doesn’t.

He stays perfectly still with only his eyes falling shut as you explore the surface of his skin. You take your time, dipping your fingers into the lines of his muscles, tracing the maze of veins beneath his skin, and smoothing your palms across the tops of his shoulders.

He’s properly turning to mush when you whisper, “Lay down…”

Like a man bewitched, he feels the urge to obey every command that comes from your lips and, commit every statement you make to memory.

He pushes his hair back, allowing it to settle on the pillows in various directions. And beneath you now, with his arms outstretched above his head, he looks like a king.

A sort of curve settles on his mouth when you position yourself between his thighs and, although he may look strong and confident beneath you, you can’t hear the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

Sex is familiar to Yoongi.

Intimacy however, is not.

Smoothing your palms down the muscles in his stomach, you use your fingers to hook under the band of his pants.

“You might need to help me with this part.” You smile and it only broadens as he chuckles, lifting his butt in the air and maneuvering his body so that he can help you pull the material down his legs.

Settling back into his position, Yoongi takes a deep breath whilst you take in the sight of him. He’s so hard. The skin of his dick, reddening towards the tip, the veins winding patterns up his shaft, the whole length of him begging to be touched.

“My, my- so the rumors are true…” You muse, slowly tickling your fingers up his inner thighs, which send his dick twitching in response.

His brow is furrowed however, wondering what you’re getting at and, you answer him before he ends up asking you.

“You do keep a viper on you at all times.”

And for the first time this evening, he is laughing. The full bellied and rickety sound leaves his lips as he wipes a hand over his face.

“You are incorrigible.”

His tone is disapproving but, his eyes are still filled to the brim with adoration. Because of course you would make this so easy for him.

Of course you would make love so easy.

All of his fears seem to mean nothing when he is with you, even when he is at his most vulnerable like he is now.

“And you, my dear Yoongi-“ Your tone lowers a bit as your brush your fingers over his balls, smirking when you see his chest puff out, “-are beautiful.”

With that, you lean down and lick slowly up the length of his cock, collecting the bit of precum that has collected on the tip. He tastes like the salt of the earth and, with that small bit of him- you now find yourself craving so much more.

His lips part, a sharp breath leaving the confines of his throat, his fingers quickly rushing to the sheets in anticipation. It’s been nearly half a year since he received any sort of pleasure from another person but, seeing as it’s now coming from the woman he loves, he is overwhelmed.

You are licking up the length of him again, your ass sticking up there for him to gaze upon as you slowly encircle his throbbing dick in your palm.

He is melting.

With his chest rising and falling unsteadily, Yoongi’s stare blazes right through you, when you suck him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck-“ He swears under his breath, the sound of that word coming from his lips sending an ache back to your core. You start him out slow, your cheeks hollowing out with the force of the suction you’re providing him.

His fingers toy helplessly with the linen beside him, the pleasure from your mouth numbing the tips of his toes.

With your free hand, you cup his balls, sighing through your nose at the almost desperate groan that leaves his mouth. He looks beautiful, his lips parted, stomach caved in at the pleasure he’s experiencing, his hands fisting in the sheets beside him.

“’sso good…” His brow is furrowed now, hips jolting a bit when you take him deeper towards your throat, “Be c- careful love, I don’t want to hurt you…”

But you don’t listen and, instead you continue your motions, your two fingers pressing behind his balls as you attempt to swallow his length.

“A-ah…” He throws his hand over his mouth, still slightly apprehensive at the sounds he wishes to make. You watch him as he breaths through the gaps in his fingers, eyes squeezing shut whilst you take him further down your throat.

He moans into his hand, his toes curling into the linen. And to address his attempt to conceal his sounds of pleasure, you simply walk your fingers across his trembling stomach and tap lightly.

Instinctually, he looks down at you- nearly cumming when you suck off of his length, your lips swollen and covered in saliva which you then spit back down on his dick.

Rubbing your lips against the sensitive underside of him, you coo, “We’re the only ones out here, my love. Let it out…”

He leans down, rubbing his thumb over your lips for the moment as he nods rapidly before allowing his head to hit the pillow again.

Chest heaving, he tries to prepare himself for your mouth all over again but, fails miserably. The pleasure is just so intense.

You waste no time in easing him back into your mouth, paying careful attention to relax your throat. He is confident, even in all of his years of sexual exploration, that he has never felt like this before.

He feels like he barely has a grip on his sanity and, when you take him down your throat- he has no choice but to whimper.

The sound only encourages you, your eyes unable to leave him as you watch his nipples harden, his stomach cave again, his eyes roll back…

“Fucking- fuck…fuck fuck…” He mutters through gritted teeth before his mouth parts again, “Please- don’t stop.”

Fucking him into your throat is no easy feat but, the sheer state of ecstasy he seems to be in, allows you to continue.

You rub at his hips, attempting to sooth him, your motions on his dick now becoming hands-free as his hips start pumping at their own pace. Despite the burn in your throat, you don’t ease up, wanting to see him overcome with the sensations, wanting to please him completely…

He shakes his head, eyes blown out and searching for an explanation as to why it feels so good but, he comes up empty.

Its just you.

Yoongi slams his head against the pillows, exposing his Adams apple when he swallows back the scream that wants to leave his chest. But when he feels his balls tighten and throb with his impending orgasm, he caresses your cheek.

“Please, my love- wait a moment…please…” He’s only pleading because it’s the only thing that can properly leave his mouth right now, for your motions on him have left him bewildered.

You’re careful to suck off of him cleanly, kissing the tip of his dick as you bat your eyes at him, “Are you alright?”

He’s smirking now, and a breathless laugh comes from his lips, “I think you’re well aware of how I’m doing.”

You giggle at his comment, kissing his dick again before resting your cheek upon his hip, “Then what is it?”

And with that same rather innocent, slightly humble look in his eye, he confesses, “I’ve always pictured being inside of you…the first time.”

In his earnest and rather proper way of explaining himself, you are simply taken over by your love for him.

He looks at you as if he is asking for the world but, little did he know- you would think nothing of giving him such a thing.

You’re kissing his hip now and starting a trail up his naked body. His hands come to life beside you and take their time caressing over your skin.

One last trail is place up the valley of his chest before your lips are hovering over his.

“Then be inside me.” You whisper into his mouth, sucking the bottom half of it into yours.

A deep growl resonates within his chest and, the next thing you know he is flipping you over, arms placed on either side of your head as he reconnects your lips.

Wildly, he kisses at you, allowing your tongues to intertwine in a somewhat disorganized fashion, neither of you concerned with rhythm at this point.

Yoongi is pulling away to take a look at you, silently reassuring himself that this beautiful creature below him, desires him too.

It’s slightly hard to wrap his brain around.

But as you raise your middle finger to the scar marring his right eye, you are breaking down the last of his concerns. He closes his lids beneath your touch, his chest tightening as you whisper,

“No more wounds, my love. I will make sure you feel only pleasure for the rest of your life.”

With a last and exasperated sigh, Yoongi guides himself inside of you in one quick motion.

“Oh-“ He breathes, his eyes widening as he chokes back a moan.

Your own moan is forced from your chest, Yoongi’s rhythm not giving you a chance to last very long.

He presses his forehead against yours, his mouth hanging open even as you kiss at it, hips quickening with each thrust inside of you.

“I love you.” You moan, whilst your hands come up to secure themselves behind his neck.

He is hurling towards his release so quickly, he fears the intensity of it, but the only thing he can tangibly focus on is confessing his love to you over and over.

“I will l-love you forever, it is a-all I will ever do for the rest of m-my life…”

Even as he stumbles over his words, his eyes never leave yours, pouring all of the emotion he feels into his movements.

He pours and he pours…

And you drink and you drink…

Until there is nothing left to do but surrender to one another.

The first rope of his release leaves his body with a jolt, his hips jerking forward and, immediately his eyes screw shut, his face burying into your neck.

You rub his back, kissing all along the side of his face as another hot spurt of cum leaves his cock.

“Oh Y/N…” He whines finally, sounding in pain and relieved all at once, “Y/N…Y/N…Y/N…”

He calls your name over and over and, somewhere along the edges of bliss, you tip over the edge too, digging your nails into his back as you do.

You seem to take turns saying the name of one another, the two of you riding out your highs for as long as possible until finally, your lover collapses on top of you.

In the stillness of the night, the only sound either of you allow is the rainfall atop the roof and, the whispering sound of your breathing.

For awhile, you just trace shapes into the skin of Yoongi’s back as his lips sponge into your neck and across your shoulder, or any part of you that he can reach. Moments later, his concern for his bodyweight upon you takes precedence and, he finally rolls over, the two of you wincing at the loss of contact.

You quickly take your place atop his chest as he leans over to the bedside table and, grabs the goblet of water waiting there. There was one on either side when you came in and, you assumed the staff had put them there.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and, attempts to steady his hand as he brings the goblet towards you but, to no avail.

His hand continues to shake.

Placing your hand around his, you try to assist him as a soft bout of laughter leaves your lips, “You’re trembling.”

And with waves of messy hair framing his beautiful face, he simply grins and corrects you, “I am in love.”

He raises the glass to your lips and, admires you when you take several big gulps, feeling good that he is able to take care of you.

His reply sends butterflies into your stomach, which seems like a rather impossible feat considering the fact that they had taken up a permanent residence there months ago.

When the Tiger moved into your life…

You usher the glass towards his lips with a soft smile, feeling so much happiness at the peace present in his eyes.

“As I’m I.” You whisper, rubbing your hand over his hip as he drinks the rest of the water in the goblet. There is also a sense of exhaustion in his gaze however and, you are met with the reminder that he probably hasn’t slept properly in months.

Your telepathy pays off once more as Yoongi addresses the heaviness upon his lids.

“I always pictured this to end with one of our elaborate existential conversations…” He chuckles softly, laying back on the pillow. Before he continues, he is reaching up to brush his thumb over your lips, “…but I do believe you’ve drained me of energy for now, my girl.”

A kiss is placed against his thumb, “Sleep now. We have plenty of time to question our existence.”

Yoongi chuckles again, using the hand that’s on your face to pull you closer to him. He kisses you one last time, ensuring that it reaches your soul before he’s puling you beneath the covers with him.

The last thing you remember before drifting off is another exchange of those three words.

The three words you would never grow tired of saying.

Yoongi sleeps well past sunrise. His chest rises steadily beneath your head for the better part of the morning and, although you want to wait it out, your desire to see the view from the balcony finally overtakes you.

You’re careful not to wake the sleeping man beneath you as you slip out of his grip. And as you’re pulling on the silk robe he had left discarded the night before, you take the time to admire him. Cheeks puffed out, lips pouted, brow smoothed over, none of his features containing a single ounce of worry…

You planned on keeping him this content for as long as you both shall live.

The mid-morning air was cold but, it felt nice upon your skin. Sleeping with Yoongi was new and, you now know that he emits as much body heat as a fully grown bear.

Or a Tiger…depending on who you ask…

This of course is wonderful, especially given how harsh winter can get but, you were growing quite warm beneath his arm.

The balcony was simple. It was painted the same color as the rest of the villa: a deep cherry red and, other than a few plants in the right corner, there was nothing else aside from the view.

Overlooking the grounds of the villa, the balcony displayed all of the elaborate architecture as well as the natural aspects of the grounds themselves. You set your eyes on the mountains to the left of you and, are overcome with excitement at the thought of them being covered in snow.

A hawk flies high above your head, his call echoing off every surface around of the villa, connecting the two of you for that single moment. As your eyes move to admire the thick expanse of trees before you, a pair of strong silk-covered arms wrap around your waist.

And normally, you would jump in surprise but, this time you don’t.

You could sense him staring at you for quite a while now but, rather than disturb him, you just let him have his moment.

Most of your moments would be spent staring at him if you had it your way.

“I had feared for a moment that I had only dreamt of you again…”

The tone of his morning voice is much deeper and covered in gravel, the sound sending a shiver through you. You lean back against him, lips curving up in a smile.

“We are finally alone, General Min.” You assure him softly, rubbing over his forearms. He kisses up your neck, causing your eyes to shut, just basking in the feeling of him.

Of the man you love.

“Well-“ And you can hear the grin in his voice, “Not completely alone.”

You open your eyes, confused by his response but as you try and look back at him, he is jerking his head towards the trees. At first you are confused by the amazed expression on his face but, when you see the mix of orange and black moving through the forest in the distance, you gasp in understanding.

“Is that?”

“A tiger?” He chuckles and when you look back once more, to confirm your suspicion, he winks at you, “It most certainly is.”

“Should we be worried?” You breathe, quite amazed yourself. The tiger doesn’t seem agitated from what you can tell, they merely move through the trees slowly- seemingly locked onto a destination.

“No, this one I have seen before.” He replies confidently, “They maintain their distance just fine…” Yoongi pauses for a moment and, then smiles to himself, “Unless of course, he falls in love…then we’ll never get him to leave.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy birthday, @irrlicht-ghostfront ❤️ i love you, and i'm judging you for this being your prompt, but i love you some more, so here <33 (warnings: car accident) [NO MCD]

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Blink and a miss — accident — wrecked car, and fleeting on the painful side of barely conscious in a pool of his own blood. There was too much of it anyway. Castiel felt dizzy more than he felt the pain as time, almost tangibly, passed on.

There's no way he was going to live.

(It was supposed to end old — fingers crossed for painless. Featuring inevitably beeping monitors, and time to come up with last words. A goodbye to his family.

Not that he had much of one right now — he isn't sure if he can call Dean's family his, yet; Dean seems to insist on it but then he's always been a pioneer in giving Castiel more than he could ever deserve, starting with his own heart, so Castiel can't tell — but he'd finally started to have intentions to, in the future.

A dog, for Dean.

Children.

Intentions to beg his brother to come back, and not give up until he'd gotten his forgiveness and his only remaining family back. But that — well, it was a different alley than Castiel's thoughts swarmed to right now. And swarm they did, his head throbbing, and life thudding at its gates.

Castiel had also intended to marry Dean, misty-eyed and denying it. Intended to figure out flower arrangements, and guest seating. Intended to kiss him at the end of the aisle, with his hands cupping Dean's face, and Dean's around his waist.

Then, move out from their shared apartment into a house.

Yellow wallpapered bedroom.

Treasure, and keep Dean happy forever.

Fuck.)

His breathing is still ragged, and his head feels too empty, but the heaving has lessened. Probably the blood loss. Less pain, more haze. And the resultant thoughtlessness is perhaps the only thing that sparks the courage in him to do what he does next.

Castiel picks up his phone.

(A struggle, but he's determined.)

If he's dying, and he'll never get to live the life he'd finally started to dream of — never have a life to share with Dean, never get to see Dean again, then he'll take what he can get.

He's allowed this, he tells himself. Allowed to be selfish, one last time.

He's on his deathbed after all.

It's outstandingly painful to bend his neck enough to see he's picked the right number — but the mere idea of accidentally calling an acquaintance at a time like this brings a tensed sliver of life into his muscles, and straining, he looks. Right enough, he's got 'Dean :)' on the screen.

Pressing dial, he lets his head fall back on the seat, wincing again. Maybe that'll relent the floatiness, if his body circulates some goddamn blood into his brain — because he needs this.

He's dying, but he needs this. One last time, he needs Dean.

A thumb swipes the familiarly placed 'on speaker' button — he can't bring the phone to his ear right now. He's going to have to risk Dean hearing the still crackling ruins of the poor engine, strewn across the wreck in smoldering pieces.

He must make quite a sight, he thinks, waiting for the call to go through. Man found in car wreckage, trapped by the door, dead within —

"Cas?"

Dean's voice cuts through Castiel's morbid mental news report, and almost reflexively, he closes his eyes. There's a tangible relief in his head when he does it, and god, Castiel must've been doing worse than he's convinced himself he is.

Dean sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar its like home.

It's the last time he ever gets to have this.

"Hello, Dean." Maybe he manages to not sound weird, or Dean's just not listening for clues. The loud racket behind him, at Bobby (and Dean's) automobile shop, helps as well.

"Hey." There's a smile in his voice now. Fuck. He's smiling. He's smiling, and he's smiling at Cas, and it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear it.

He loses himself trying to remember the last time he saw Dean smile — earlier this morning, kissing him goodbye before he left — no, down from their balcony, accompanied by a gleeful wave because Dean's shift started a couple hours after Cas's day in the office did — no, when Castiel checked the time, and the Dean on his lockscreen grinned up at him — and he doesn't realize he's fallen silent until Dean's speaking again.

"Babe, you okay?"

There's a tinge of worry. Only a smidge, and it still hurts. The last time Castiel hears Dean can't be laced with anything bad. And it can't be Castiel's fault.

There's a pause. "Cas, what's up?"

Castiel doesn't know what to say so he tries to hold on to the phone tighter, his throat fluttering as a tear rolls down his face.

"Wait," The worry dissipates, apology slipping in. "Am I forgetting something? Did we make plans for lunch, 'cause Bobby and —"

"N-no." Cas struggles, and it's getting harder to not pant. He sounds too breathy anyway. "We don't. Didn't."

He forces a smile into his voice while saying it. As if it doesn't break him that he'll never get to see Dean again. But he needs to smile, doesn't he? One last time. Just for Dean.

"Well, do you want to?" Dean sounds cheerful. Normal.

Perfect.

Castiel doesn't want to die.

"Not, today." He half-heaves, and another tear rolls down his face.

Not today.

(If he'd known, he'd have stared to his heart's fill this morning. Kissed him an hour longer. Held him in his sleep. Oh, if he had had any foresight at all.)

"Dickface-atron keeping ya busy?"

Castiel lets the air stuck in his chest out, and it probably makes up for a small chuckle. He doesn't want to lie, he just won't agree.

"Figures."

"Sorry." Castiel tells him, meaning it entirely.

"Nah, s'good. I love you." Dean adds, clearly smiling wider, because they've only recently added that to their vernacular instead of the pedestal it'd been on for the first eight months of their friendship turning into a relationship. Somehow, it feels grander though — or, that might also be because it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear Dean say it to him.

Oh, he loves him so much.

(He doesn't want to die.)

"And I have my packed lunch anyway." Dean continues, filling the gap thankfully. Machines blare in his background and he braves on like a man used to not being able to hear his own words due to the racket. Castiel is grateful for it. He hangs onto every word, drinks it in. Makes himself hold on. "Pretty sure you'd kick me to the curb if I let a PBJ go to waste."

"Jelly?" Cas smiles, when he wants to sob. He's certain he sounds fainter too, he feels fainter, and it's a miracle it doesn't show.

The tears well up in his chest, for possibly the rest of time. Dead men don't cry, and Castiel can't.

(Can't be long now, can it?)

"Jelly." Dean confirms. "It's the curse of paying attention when you rant about jam, you know." He snickers. "I used to be normal."

"Yes, I'm very lucky."

Dean chuckles, and Castiel sighs.

He's yearned for Dean to be happy, tried to make him smile, longed to see him laugh, for so, so long it feels like a part of him now. And now, it goes back to Dean, without him.

Somebody else'll make him smile, somebody else will wake him up with a kiss on his temple, and somebody else will love Dean for exactly who he is because it's Dean, and there was never someone who deserved it more — so of course somebody will.

But it will never be him again.)

An untethered broken sound escapes his throat, and Cas winces, faking a cough with it.

That makes the blood gush.

"Oh, also — wait. Just a second." He interrupts himself, and probably covers the speaker with his palm before yelling blurrily to someone near him.

(Or perhaps it's not supposed to be blurry. Castiel wouldn't know. He can hardly make out his own breathing. It's a feat that he can make out the conversation, even if most of it is instinct memory, and all he's doing is holding onto Dean for as long as he can.

Somehow, it feels like he's been doing so forever. But the time left, had never been so little.)

When Dean returns, he sounds apologetically busy.

"Dude, that dick who yelled at Ash, remember? He's back. Garth went this time, 'cause douchebag brought a Sedan."

Castiel swallows again, and vaguely registers that it tastes like metal. Almost like there's blood mixed with saliva.

There's another morbid thought. What, in this wreck, is finally going to kill him?

"I should probably check on him. Garth sorta wears on you."

"Of course." He croaks, and slips — fuck, he slips — but for once, thank god for oversensitive customers and boyfriends with likeable personalities, because Dean's conversing off the phone again, his hand on the speaker.

"I'll call you back, babe." Dean comes back to add in a rush, and Cas sucks in a painful breath, slowly beginning to feel like the only thing keeping him conscious any more is the sensation of air in his lungs, in his mouth, in the back of his throat. "Still have to ask what you even called about, you know. Or maybe if you just missed me." He beams, he obviously beams, and Cas stifles a groan.

"I do." He wheezes. "I —"

"Me too." Dean returns, flirty, and Cas goes to add to it — because he has to, because he's not going to make it, he's not going to be able to hold on until Dean returns, and he has to — but there's a click.

Castiel stares at the screen, devastated.

(Or tries to, anyway.)

"I love you," He cries out, aware that the line's cut, but needing to hear himself say it anyway. Plus, his head feels too numb to keep words inside anymore. It's less a prison of thoughts, and more a canyon of loss.

More tears fall.

His heart is beating faster than it ever has.

"I love —" His voice trembles, tries again, and fails. His throat refuses to comply with the thousands of things there remain to be said, and the words slowly fade, neglected.

In more ways than one, it's like being administered anaesthesia before a surgery — Castiel was operated on for tonsils at age eleven, and he remembers it still — and it finally sinking in, and knocking you out, as the doctor says to count to ten, and you hardly graze six.

His hands clutch the phone tighter, neck rendering him incapable of looking anymore, so he has no idea what his thumbs are trying to type — but it doesn't matter, not really, because this is it. Completely alone, young, and desperately in love with Dean Winchester, Castiel closes his eyes for the very last time.

And everything fades to black.

*

When they find him, it's been at least four hours.

It's night.

The uniformed official stuck with the responsibility of calling the next of kin, Victor Henriksen, fishes out the wallet as the paramedics carry him into the ambulance and attach him to IV immediately, and steps away to dial his emergency contact with a crinkled brow of sympathy.

And as he waits for the guy, a Dean Winchester, to pick up, he can't help but notice that his number is exactly the same as the one the last text almost sent from the victim's phone had been typed to — clutched in his hand, an unnerving, 'I love'.

And well, he isn't particularly into romcoms, but he hopes the poor guy gets a chance to finish his sentence.

He was in pretty bad condition, Henriksen recalls, and the bloodloss had knocked him out for several hours, but he looked twenty five at most, more importantly healthy, and — he looks at the wallet again, and the picture of two men (one of them, the victim) smiling at the camera with their hands around each other — most importantly, seemed to have reasons to fight for.

(Plus, he'd been the one to call the accident in himself — albeit four hours after it happened, but Henriksen figured he'd been passed out for that long — so he had to want to live, right?)

"Hello. Dean Winchester, who's this?"

"Hello, sir, I'm Officer Henriksen, and I have you listed as Mr Castiel Novak's emergency..."

*

"You dick."

Castiel coughs, and gives up on squinting against the bright light. It's a LED. Like in hospitals.

"Jesus, Cas. You complete asshole, you —"

Castiel opens his eyes a sliver again. The walls do resemble a hospital. Plain, white tiled. Way too many AC vents. Is that something on his hand?

"So you'll open your goddamn eyes, and not even fucking look at me."

There's IV's on both his hands. And something stiff around his neck. Almost like a collar, but thicker. And when he breathes, his ribs start like they might hurt — but the pain is numbed as it registers. He must be running really high on painkillers; they never really worked for him.

"Fine. You don't gotta look at me." A pause. Then, more shaky. "I was so scared, Cas. So fucking terrified. They said they weren't sure, said it may be too late, and you were dying. And then they tell me the crash happened at three, and I feel like I'm going to have a fucking stroke."

His vision slowly unblurs, feeling returning to his fingers. He tries to fold them, and winces at the strain.

Immediately, there's a hand on his arm.

"Stop moving, dumbass. I'm going to kill you for this, you know. I am, but I need you to be okay first."

The words don't register, but the voice does.

(He sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar it's like home.)

"Hell, I just need you, Cas. Period. I need your ridiculous, stupid ass — and I need you to look at me when I'm begging you to be okay, and I need you to stay, with me, forever, and not call me first when you need a goddamn ambulance, you dumbass —"

"Hello, Dean." Castiel interrupts, a hoarse whisper, and he thinks he hears a sob from the general direction of the love of his life.

(He really can't move his neck — he's got to tell Dean that at some point if he's not understood already. It's the cast.)

"Oh, thank god." Dean cries, the words muffled by either him burying his face in his sleeve, or the lifesaving medications Castiel is alive on account of, but it's okay, right? Dean's here — and he's okay. It's fine.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm still going to kill you for this."

"Well, I'd deserve that." Castiel tries to joke, and almost pulls it off, except for the part where he can't see Dean's reaction until the latter lets out another broken sob, and grabs his hand. Castiel freezes, trying to squeeze back, tears welling up again. "I'm really sorry, Dean." Then, after a beat. "I'm going to make this up to you."

It feels like a strange thing to say, but it's exactly what he means.

"Yeah, you are. Although it can't stop my revenge being not texting you when I have a heart attack in aisle three when I'm eighty and you're buying eggs, but okay."

If Castiel could, he would've shaken his head at that.

(But at least, and this is what really matters — they made it. He's alive. He — he gets this.)

"I love you, you son of a bitch."

Castiel smiles slowly, a tear landing on his pillow. "I love you too."

[mckinlily]

Filed under “Things that never would have made it into Voltron even with competent writers but I WANT”: Pidge and Shiro make morbid jokes together. And everyone else HATES it.

It starts with Shiro. He still disappears at the end of season 2, but instead of actually dying he’s “inconveniently dematerialized.” It takes some time for the team to figure out how happened and what to do (not a whole full 4 seasons though), and there’s some nice character development blah blah blah before they re-materialize his body and bring him back--NO murdered clones, thank you very much. It’s a lovely reunion, many tears, much joy.

But Shiro did essentially get ripped from his body and existed as a spirit entity in the astral plane and while that’s not quite “death”...it’s also not exactly not. At the very least, it’s also something that the human brain is not equipped to handle. And since Shiro is already maxed out on “things the human brain is not equipped to handle” and he can’t exactly process right now because--hello? war going on here? team of teenagers? other bonus trauma? he deals with the only coping mechanism he sees available to him: making excessive jokes about his “death.”

Bleeding out? Hey, I already died once. Hasn’t slept in a week? No different from when I was dead. Looks like death? Haha, nah, death looks totally different. Paladins won’t stop bickering. All. The. Time? I did not die and come back for this.

(The reaction to that last one was...bad. Shiro did not properly appreciate how deeply his disappearance affected his team because he’s traumatized and stupid like that, and oh crap, he did not meant to re-traumatize his team, he didn’t mean it, please stop crying--

For then on, Shiro keeps the “I didn’t die for this” jokes to when he’s mildly inconvenienced by the broken food goo machine or other inanimate objects.)

Eventually, Keith assures the rest that Shiro’s sense of humor has always been terrible and it’s something they’re just going to have to learnt to live with. No one likes Shiro’s death jokes, but they’ve come to accept they love Shiro so they’re just going to have to love him with his terrible jokes.

And then Pidge gets hurt.

It’s a mission-turned-trap, and Pidge finds the bomb soon enough warn everyone else, but there isn’t time for her to get out the control room herself. When they find her...it’s bad. They really aren’t sure she's still alive at first, and it’s touch and go for a while, panicking while they rush to get her to the Castle, and before they can get her to a pod, her heart stops. CPR does nothing, and finally Allura is able to shock her back with alchemy mumble-jumble, but for a minute there, Pidge was dead. It’s the worst injury anyone’s taken (and this includes Shiro not-dying), and everyone’s glued to the pod praying she’ll make it out of it okay.

Everyone’s a little scared and traumatized when Pidge makes it out--Pidge is scared and a little traumatized too--and at first it’s all hugs and cuddles and reassurance. They’re here. She made it. Everyone’s alive. And look, Pidge loves her space family. She literally almost died (actually did die, for a second) for them. But Pidge doesn’t do coddling, and she can only hold out with the coddling for so long before something breaks. And finally, after someone (Hunk, she knows it was Hunk), steals her headphones for the fifth time in two days, she bursts out with, “Just because I died doesn’t mean you get to keep my stuff!”

And the thing is...thing is, once you start making “I died” jokes, it’s addicting. She can’t stop. And at first Shiro hates it--Pidge nearly died on his watch; the guilt is eating him. But Pidge keeps joking with this special smile at him like “You know exactly what I’m talking about” and damnit, Shiro does. He knows exactly what she’s doing, and despite his best intentions, the guilt starts to fade away and the next time he makes a dark comment, she joins in because she gets it.

It’s not about not caring what happens to you or wanting to die. It’s about their lives being fragile and terrifying and unpredictable, and sometimes all you could do is throw it back at the universe with sharp smiles and gleaming teeth that say “I’m not afraid.” And Pidge, brave, clever, sharp Pidge, gets it.

Shiro always knew his humor was tragically under appreciated. Pidge is delighted with what she sees as her opportunity to worm her way into position as Shiro’s favorite paladin (no, favorite space sister is NOT good enough). And now that there’s two of them, they can play off each other and exactly NO ONE is happy with the results. 

“Do you WANT to die?” yells Hunk during one battle. “Because this is we end up dead if that’s what you want!”

“Eh. Death’s not all it cracked up to be.”

“Tried it once. Didn’t stick.”

“SHIRO, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HELPING!”

And at breakfast in the morning:

“How are you, Pidge?”

“Good. I think I died again for about two hours last night.”

“Nice. I was probably dead for four.”

“SLEEP! IT’S CALLED SLEEP YOU TWO, AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY YOU BOTH NEED MORE!”

So yeah, they’re both messed up and in need of serious therapy when they finally make it back to Earth, but for now they have each other and that special gleam when they lock eyes and know they’re about to say something that will make the others scream. They have someone they don’t need to be good for and the special delight of knowing in that moment someone gets you.

After all, what do they have to be afraid of? Death hasn’t stopped them yet.

[rvmmm21]

. scent .

summary : sheltered omega wendy doesn’t heed the warnings she gets about wandering into secluded parts of the woods. so naturally, when alpha joy - who’s sitting out her rut in the exact same location - sniffs her out, she doesn’t stand a chance.

requested : yep, by rvmmm21 to rvmmm21.

[alpha(g!p)joy x omega!wendy]

tw : dubcon, overstimulation.

(my first proper a/b/o! good practice, i guess but idk why i decided to go down such a weirdly hard route when i could’ve just made them soft but uh. also it feels weird to write g!p as top? if you know what i mean? i like writing my g!p characters as bottoms or submissive... but oh well.)

...

Seungwan has walked right into the wolves’ den.

Stumbled, more like… but she doesn’t know it yet.

She should really enjoy these final moments of freedom she has while she still can. While she still has a clear head. Although how clear the head of an oblivious young omega – who has willingly – willingly – ­left the safety of her village to gather various kinds of herbs only found in the densest, most secluded area in the woodlands – must be, is questionable. Dangerously questionable. It’s not like she hasn’t grown up huddled round by the fire with her big sister, listening to their grandmother tell them stories about vicious monsters that lurked around in the shadows, just waiting to devour young children. Hell, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been warned prior to her departure that this wasn’t something she could just treat like a hop and a skip in the park. Oh no, no. There were real threats out there. Blood-sucking demons, perhaps not, but there were threats much realer than that. Threats who wouldn’t hesitate to make an absolute meal out of delicate little things like her.

Old wives’ tales are everywhere, Seungwan thinks now she’s older, just so kids won’t go out and play past dinner time. Monsters? Hah, as if there could ever be such things. She bids her family goodbye and sets off until she’s past their point of vision, nothing but stubbornness and idealism shielding her from any sort of danger. It’s still the afternoon, so she has plenty of time.

Plus, it isn’t like this route is ‘new’. Back when she was a child, her and the neighbourhood kids would often explore the ‘Forbidden Forest’, as they called it, on dares or out of morbid curiosity. Seungwan had her fair share of ‘I dare you’s’, and - once she had gotten over the initial excitement of going against everything her parents had ever told her - had found the woods to be rather serene. Somewhat of an escape, if you please.

So she knew her way there like the back of her hand. Every twist, every turn, every slope and every dip; memorised as well as the tune she hums to herself as she begins the tedious task of gathering. The shade of the trees is marvellous, and it puts Seungwan in an extra good mood. So surely when she’s exhausted from filling her basket with herbs and cooking flowers – surely when she feels the ache in her back from bending over so much – it isn’t totally unreasonable for her to lay back on the trunk of a tree and… rest her eyes? Just for a while?

It can’t hurt, can it?

Yes. As crimson pupils and a predatory snarl will soon tell her, it very much can.

Unbeknownst to the naïve, unconscious omega, her fate was sealed the minute she set foot into the woods she thought she knew so well. This was never hers. It’s hers. The greenery, the trees, and every shadow they casted belonged to her.  This is her territory; alpha territory. And this is where the cruellest one of them all intends to wait her rut out. It is nothing but a mild inconvenience to her, a sorry stroke of luck, that Park Sooyoung is no longer part of a pack. Then again, killing another in-pack alpha for no good reason will do that to you. She had left the group without a shred of remorse for their fallen member; it was survival of the fittest, anyway. And in Sooyoung’s case, a hard-hitting reminder that wherever she may go, raging jealousy will always follow. So here she is, secluded and alone, not having anything to take her frustrations out on.

Until now.

It’s her scent that sets the alpha off, all bright and innocent, and it has her suppressing a hungry growl as she pokes through the air with a heightened sense of smell. Finally, through a clearing, she finds her prize, propped up against the oak, eyes closed and dreaming. Dreaming sweet things, of course. There’s no way anything so fragile-looking, so peaceful – so delicious – could dream of anything other than rainbows and sunshine. What on earth is a human doing taking a –

Hang on, Sooyoung sniffs the air again… no. No way. A human omega? Oh. She drinks the sight of her; tiny hands, tiny feet, tiny everything. She’s so incredibly petite, Sooyoung wonders how she doesn’t have an alpha of her own yet. Either that, or she just can’t smell past the density of her own arousal to locate the lingering scent of any potential alpha. If she was really unbound, Sooyoung would love to change that, of course. But she’s not sure she has the space in her head right now for flirting and small talk. There’s a demand in her trousers that’s far too pulsing to ignore. A demand that soon has her creeping up to the blissfully oblivious girl.

…

Cinnamon eyes blink sleepily open at the particularly loud sound of a crushed leaf.

She sees Sooyoung. Then she sees the ravenous glint in her pupils.

Then it’s a struggle. Everything’s a struggle. From trying to kick free of the vice-like grip dragging her face down and backwards, to the panicked efforts of lungs expanding under the weight atop her, everything’s a bloody struggle. A good fight she’s putting up, too, Sooyoung has to admit. If only she weren’t so much taller and so much stronger, Seungwan might not be washing all her determination down the drain. It’s just too easy to flip her over and pin her down, and Sooyoung gladly lets the little omega writhe and wriggle until she’s too tired, too defeated to do anything other than meet her gaze with innocent, frightened eyes and ragged breaths. Park Sooyoung is alpha, undisputed.

God does she even know what she looks like right now?! Sooyoung’s mind goes berserk at the image of the omega trapped under her. Cheeks tinted a deep rose, caramel locks all tousled like she’s just woken up – which, I mean… – and the overwhelming smell of… just her. So soft, so warm, so vulnerable.

Sooyoung barely manages to snarl down at her with how much that lust cloud has expanded in her brain. “What are you doing here, omega?”

She sounds angry, but Seungwan can tell it’s much more than that. The hardness she feels pressed against her core is a pretty big giveaway, for starters.

“I was j-just resting… p-please don’t hurt me,” she whimpers, shivering under the alpha’s scrutiny but too terrified to look away. “Plea – please let me go!”

Though even Seungwan knows that was just a breath worth saving.

The response to her tearful pleas is a deep, throaty laugh and powerfully concentrated alpha pheromones that force their way up her nose, suffocating her. It’s overbearing, and it’s more than enough to trigger her instincts. Seungwan bares her neck, head lolling back onto the soil below them. Feeling those sharp incisors nudging the delicate skin of her throat has the helpless omega whining in submission, unconsciously tilting her chin further back so Sooyoung can clamp down on her throbbing pulse point.

After dutifully marking her, the alpha can take it no longer. She only needs one hand to hold Seungwan down while she unzips her trousers to free herself, hard and aching with the need to mate. It’s too much work to even think about stripping her, and Sooyoung simply pushes her skirt to her waist and yanks her panties to the side. Seungwan lets out a tiny gasp; the late evening mist is crisp and frigid against her thighs and it makes her feel slightly feverish.

Although she has no time to worry about a stupid draft when there’s a scorching heat now overtaking her. She doesn’t even realise how wet she is until she feels two fingers slide far too easily inside her, curling upwards and stimulating the spot that makes her cry out. A sinful grin tugs at the corners of Sooyoung’s mouth when she feels Seungwan try to push herself further onto her fingers, hips on autopilot, grinding down like she has no control over her own actions. Seems like little omega is a lot more worked up than she’d thought. She throbs with desire as she watches the smaller girl fuck herself on her fingers with her eyes rolled back in her head, but it’s so mesmerising that she almost forgets her own needs. She remembers just in time, though; just in time to tear Seungwan’s orgasm from her, laughing as she grabs her hips to hold her steady.

A small whine fills Sooyoung’s ears and she looks down. “Aw, what’s wrong? What do you need?”

It’s too adorable when she feels those trembling fingers paw weakly at her chest in a silent plea for more. Still, she leans forward, letting the girl grab onto the fabric of her shirt. “Voice up, little one,” she purrs seductively, “I have no idea what you want, and I’d never take advantage of a poor, defenceless omega.”

Seungwan tries to resist, but it’s hopeless. Her body needs it.

“Alpha,” she whispers, sending electricity up Sooyoung’s spine at the sound of her title, “plea – ah!”

Seungwan sucks in a breath, eyes screwing shut as the fingers suddenly enter again, teasing her where she aches to be filled completely.

“Alpha, please what, hm?” Sooyoung asks, a little sinister, a little playful. “Please stop? Is that it? I can do that.”

She removes her digits from her dripping heat, acting as though they were really done here.

“N-no! … please don’t leave!” Seungwan can’t help sounding as desperate as she looks, whiny and ridiculously needy, “… please… please fuck me…”

Oh, anything for you, baby.

In one fluid motion, Sooyoung sheathes her length right the way to the hilt. Tears well up in Seungwan’s eyes and cloud her vision with sheer pleasure when she finally gets what she needs. Sooyoung won’t lie either, she’s glad she did it when she did… who knows how much longer she could’ve looked at that pretty face just begging for her cock. Their combined fluid allows the alpha to build a steady, albeit punishing, rhythm, and Seungwan sobs at the arousal burning through, inner thighs coated with slick that continues to drip out of her.

“So tight, little one,” the alpha growls, nipping at a collarbone when she feels the omega’s walls clenching down on her every time she moves to pull out, greedily sucking her back in. Seungwan lets out a restricted sigh at the feeling; the girth stretching her open, the way the ridge of her head rubs mercilessly against her inner walls. It takes a few jerks for her to realise she isn’t being held down anymore. Well, not by Sooyoung, anyway. Her own burning desire still has her very much pinned in place.

For a good moment, Seungwan can only hear the wet noise whenever Sooyoung’s hips meet her butt as she decorates the silence with her own little moans and gasps. Not even the sounds of the surrounding nature registers in her foggy mind.

Sooyoung reaches down in between the omega’s legs, prodding around in search for her clit. She finds it with ease, and a keening whine erupts from Seungwan’s throat as the pad of her thumb rolls against the swollen thing with the perfect pressure. This alpha is immaculate at multi-tasking, she thinks, involuntarily bucking her hips up towards her, begging for more stimulation, begging her to never stop.

Sounding pathetic again is the absolute last thing she wants to do, but – “please, please alpha… I can’t take it, please let me cum…”

“Soo – young,” the alpha corrects her between thrusts, voice noticeably huskier as she gets closer herself.

Okay, okay, anything.

“… ple – ea – se… Soo – young,” she’s panting out now, unable to make a sound louder than a hoarse whisper, “… I’m – gonna…”

Sooyoung feels her tense up, and takes it as a cue to thrust deeper, if that was even possible. With a final gasp, Seungwan’s cumming. Hard. She’s sobs freely, shuddering and twitching at the sparks of heat ripping through her, entire body trembling. It’s immensely pleasurable… for a while.

And that’s when it all becomes too much.

“Ah! Sooyoung, Sooyoung… no, please… I – I came, it hurts,” she whimpers. She carelessly grasps at whatever is around her, trying to shift off the cock still pounding into her, and away from the pressure on her sensitive clit – but Sooyoung won’t let her.

“Don’t you dare…” she warns.

Her nails dig into her thighs, leaving pink crescent marks in the soft flesh, probably hard enough to bruise. She holds the squirming omega in place as she chases her own release, knowing she’s too drained and too spent to put up a fight. The teary omega can do little but lay there and take the overstimulation that’s driving her mad, shattering any other physical sensation she thought she had. She’s limp, but that goddamned tightness is slowly rising again, overwhelming and awful. Oh my god no, she can’t cum again, she can’t, it’s impossible. But apparently, so were the existence of vicious monsters lurking in the shadows of the woods, waiting for their chance to pounce on unsuspecting little things like her – so, she knows there are some lessons to be garnered from what she assumed was impossible and what was really not.

The thought of a second orgasm is terribly daunting, but Sooyoung’s cock and her thumb that never left her clit were pushing her closer and closer, giving her all the stimulation she needs and the heat is rising and she doesn’t think she can stop herself and she’s – she’s – oh god, she’s –

Seungwan’s vision goes stark white as she’s tipped over the edge again, falling apart with a raspy wail.

That does it for Sooyoung. The moaning, the shivering, the way velvet walls tighten around her shaft when she makes her cum a second time has her groaning as she gives a few final thrusts.

“Oh baby, yeah, I’m cumming,” she grunts, curling over Seungwan to lock her in her arms as she pumps into her, fucking her into the ground, the omega’s quivering heat milking every last drop from her.

They stay like that, both too tired to move. When Sooyoung eventually props herself up and pulls out, she’s rewarded with a feeling of satisfaction and the wonderful sight of the little omega who’s blinking wearily up at her, letting out a tiny yawn. Sooyoung wants to slap herself for mating one this adorable. Not for anything other than the fact that she can already see herself weak at the knees for this girl, and she can see herself tending to her every need, when she’s supposed to be the one in charge.

Still, now that she’s found her, she’s not letting go.

Seungwan’s fast asleep by the time Sooyoung gathers her up in her arms, mindful of the scrapes and cuts her poor little omega sustained from their first encounter. She’s so glad she got to her before anyone else did. She’s so tiny and warm and all hers.

...

i’m so sorry, i really don’t know what the heck ‘cooking flowers’ are i clearly just made that up it sounds so dumb lol.

also it’s hard to write smut when the words you hate typing are literally all the words you need to describe the scene??

[karlnapity]

Deviltown is Colder in the Summertime

Chapter 2: I'll Lose My Mind At Least Another Thousand Times

(tws: manipulation, alcohol/drug abuse, panic attack)

It takes a few months for the cracks to solidify. The final moment starts when he walks in on Wilbur reading. Wilbur’s head snaps up as the train car’s door shuts, and he’s quick to close the book, put it in his coat’s pocket.

Tommy inclines his head. “What’re you reading?”

Wilbur waves him off. “Classics, you know the like. Ovid.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Tommy lets it slide. He sits beside Wilbur on a seat, hands him an apple from his pocket.

They don’t have to eat in the afterlife, but food’s there when they want it, and it’s comforting all the same.

“So you think this is, like, fucking limbo, or purgatory, or what?” He asks, taking a bite of his own.

Wilbur fixes him with an interesting look, but he answers all the same. “Something like that. My theory’s that this is the way to the solid afterlife, but that until we ‘let go-’” he makes air quotes- “we’ll be stuck here.”

Tommy nods. It doesn’t make much sense to him, but whatever makes his brother happy. He pulls his feet up on the seat, trying to get more comfortable. “Do you wanna go back?”

Wilbur grins. “Of course I do.”

“But you said-” He frowns, but Wilbur holds up a hand.

“Tommy, did you really think I wanted to stay dead? Did you really think I wanted to sit in a musty train with fucking Schlatt and MD? You thought I wanted to stay here forever?” His voice pitches up in a way that makes Schlatt’s words ring in Tommy’s ears.

Before he knows what he’s doing he leans back in the seat, pushed up against the window. His breathing quickens, and in the blink of an eye Wilbur is tugging him close, holding him to his chest. His hand cradles the back of Tommy’s head, tucking him halfway in his jacket.

“Don’t be scared, “ he murmurs, and Tommy wishes it were that easy. The cigarette smell isn’t half as nostalgic as it used to be.

He struggles, lashing out, but Wilbur holds him close. He always did that, when Tommy panicked, and it used to be comforting before. It’s not anymore.

Eventually, he relaxes. Wilbur doesn’t let him go, not for a long time, but eventually he lets him pull away, stretches and stands to peer out the window.

He sneers and gets out as quickly as he can.

(He realizes, as he’s putting as much distance as he can between the two of them, that he forgot to pull the book from Wilbur’s pocket, but he can’t risk going back.)

“Hey, Tommy!” He tenses immediately, but grins when he realizes.

“MD,” he greets. The man comes to walk beside him, keeping pace, and slaps him on the back.

His mask’s just different enough not to make him too anxious.

“I haven’t seen you around much,” he says. The other shrugs.

“I’ve been doin’ my own thing,” he says. “Where’re you heading? Why’re you hurrying?”

Tommy sighs, shakes his head. “I’m just wandering. Needed to get away from Wilbur.”

MD hums. “I don’t know him well. But people who’ve got that look in their eye… it’s bad news, man.”

He nods, just barely. Purses his lips. “I’m starting to think that too.” An idea pops into his head.

“Hey, do you know if there’s a Prime bell anywhere around here?”

MD tilts his head. “I dunno anything about that. Ask Schlatt?”

His lip curls at the idea of talking to the man again, but he shrugs all the same. “Fine. You know where he is?”

MD points towards the door, waves him that way. “I can lead you!”

Tommy watches him as they walk. He’s so… different than Dream, despite the name. He doesn’t know whether they’re at all connected, though considering Dream killed the guy he doesn’t dare ask.

He doesn’t seem to have changed much since death, which Tommy appreciates more than he can say. It’s nice to have someone he actually fucking likes around.

He feels guilty, saying that, because he’s not sure, yet, what Wilbur’s up to.

He’s scared. Schlatt’s planted hints in his brain, and despite everything Tommy can’t help but see where they lead. He wants to ignore it, but Tommy knows Wilbur better than anyone, and he can see it, can see the whispers of Pogtopia and things and conversations he wants to ignore, wants to hide from.

“Here we are!” MD exclaims, snapping him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how far they’d gone, or the way he’s digging his fingernails into his palms, but he relaxes as much as he can.

Schlatt looks like he’s asleep, lying across several seats in a very uncomfortable-looking position. Tommy snickers, but it’s morbid.

They can’t sleep in the afterlife.

MD pats him on the shoulder and whisks away before he can ask what to do. He starts after him, but the man disappears too quickly.

He sighs loudly and plods forward. He sits on the seat next to Schlatt and pokes his shoulder hard. He doesn’t stir. He pokes harder, then on his cheek, then tugs on a horn.

And the man starts, sits up ramrod straight and lets out a vicious cough. He looks around wildly before his eyes settle on Tommy, and he relaxes, laying back on the seat again and groaning.

“Fuck,” Tommy exclaims, settling back. “You scared me.”

“You fucking scared me,” Schlatt groans, rolling slightly onto his side. He stretched out a hand. “Get me a bottle and then we can talk.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but nonetheless he gets a bottle of beer from the cabinet and hands it to the other.

Schlatt sits up to take a long gulp before laying back down. He lays an arm over his eyes. “Right, what’d the fuck you want?”

“Is there a Prime bell somewhere?” Tommy asks impatiently, tapping a foot.

“Why the fuck would I know? Go ask fuckin’ Wilbur or something.” He sighs. “I haven’t been into that shit for years.”

Tommy pulls his knees to his chest. He lays his head on his knees and, after a few long moments, mumbles, “I think you were right.”

Schlatt makes a sound. “Speak up, son.”

He huffs, but raises his voice all the same. “I think you were right about Wilbur.”

Schlatt sits up at that one. “He do anything to you?”

“Nah,” he insists. “Just being creepy as shit.”

He sits back again the seat and takes a swig. “I fucking told you, you know.”

“I KNOW,” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just help me find the fucking bell, I don’t need to hear your shit right now.”

He tugs Schlatt to his feet. He groans again, blinks as he finally opens his eyes, but eventually he waves Tommy to the door, and they set out.

Schlatt looks terrible. As cheesy as it sounds, the light Tommy saw in his eyes when he first appeared in the afterlife is gone, and he looks just as dead as when they found him in the Camarvan. He’s stumbling more, and he snags a potion bottle and throws it back as they’re walking.

“You need to slow down,” Tommy advises, tugging on it gently. Schlatt sighs but lets him take it.

“Whatever,” Schlatt mutters. “It’s through here.”

He stops short of the doorway, and Tommy peers at him. “Do you wanna go in?”

“Like I said, it’s been years,” Schlatt says, shrugging. He leans against the door. “I’ll be out here.”

Tommy can’t help but smile at that before he heads in.

He hadn’t thought much about Prime since he’d died, but it’s comforting to see the bell again. He’d been devout, at some point, even if his enthusiasm had died a little towards the end.

He moved forward to ring it a few times, murmurs a prayer that maybe has to do a little too much with Wilbur and a little too little with his friends up above.

He doesn’t want to think about them.

True to his word, Schlatt is waiting outside. He’s nodded off standing up, but when Tommy nudges him he starts to attention again.

As they return, he asks more details on Wilbur’s behavior, but Tommy can’t give him much without admitting to his panic earlier. Schlatt peers at him oddly, but he stays tight-lipped.

Wilbur’s waiting for them. Tommy stops short.

“Stealing my little brother?” Wilbur asks casually, leaning against a seat. Schlatt sneers.

“From your bullshit, maybe,” he spits. He’s swaying on his feet, but Tommy can see what Wilbur was trying to do, blocking the seats. He has the upper hand against a man who can barely stand.

“Tommy, come here,” Wilbur says quietly, beckoning with a hand. Tommy bites his lip, stares between the two of them, and stays where he is.

“Tommy, come here.” He’s commanding, now, and everything in Tommy screams for him to follow his orders, but he can’t.

“You didn’t change at all,” he says pleadingly. “I thought you’d changed since you’d died.”

Wilbur barks a laugh. “None of us did, Tommy. That’s the beauty in it.”

“You’re crazy,” he mutters, and pulls Schlatt back the way they came.

“Stop crying, kid,” Schlatt murmurs. Tommy hadn’t even realized, but now he can’t stop.

When Schlatt can’t walk anymore they settle in a few empty seats. Tommy wipes his eyes with his sleeves, but there doesn’t seem to be any end.

He stares at the door as long as he can. He doesn’t think Wilbur followed them, but all the same he can’t shake the paranoia.

They both start when the opposite door opens, whipping around. MD holds up his hands, surprised, himself.

“Woah, what’s up?” he asks, coming to sit beside Tommy. “Why’re you crying?”

Tommy shrugs. “Wilbur.”

MD hums, leaning back in the seat and wrapping an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “It’s not worth worrying about him, ‘kay? He can’t do anything here.”

“I wish it were that easy,” he murmurs, relaxing into MD. “I’m worried about what he’s planning.”

“Hopefully it’s some way for me to die twice, at this point, holy shit,” Schlatt mutters from where he’s collapsed against the other seat. “I don’t wanna deal with his crazy ass for the rest of purgatory.”

Tommy can’t help but laugh. All of a sudden the situation seems more funny than anything. “You know, out of you three I didn’t think it’d be Wilbur I’d have to worry about.”

And they’re laughing, but the anxiety can't dislodge itself from his chest.

[sirsharp-a]

Hellbent  (TEASER) ;

Summary:  Edgar sits down to have a chat with you. Warnings:  Mentions of child predators, sexual assault, murder and torture.

    I am not a good person.

    I’m not telling you this because I rejoice in it.  It isn’t because I aspire to be ‘’The Big Bad’’.  It isn’t because I’m wounded and small, nor is it because I’m secretly fragile with a heart of gold.  I’m telling you this because it’s the truth.  I am not good.  I am not bad.  I toe  the line whenever it suits me, and the rest goes up in flames.

    The more I open up to you, the less you’re going to like me.

    And I don’t care.  I’m not your Messiah.

    There is evil in this world.  True evil.   The moment I came to Earth and began to study its inhabitants, I took note of a trend that was most disturbing:  this realm’s children, in a lot of cases, are treated no better than livestock.  Empty vessels for adults to vent their frustrations on.  Before long, I found myself obsessed, books and case files I’d printed from previously solved cases scattered across the length of my bed like I was some detective from a critically acclaimed drama, a morbid fascination blossoming in my brain like a chrysanthemum beside a tombstone.

    Fathers that beat their children because they had a bad day at work.     Mothers who take care of their addictions instead of feeding their young.     Babysitters that aggressively antagonise babies while their parents slave away.

    The deeper down the rabbit-hole I fell, the more I felt myself coming to terms with feeling.  If there is anything you must know about me, it is that I have the emotional capacity of a goddamn waffle--  or so I’ve been told.  I’d have to agree.  I’ve never felt things… ‘right’.  But by God, as I leafed through those records, I felt angry.  How could somebody do such cruel things to people who have not even lived yet?  Children are tiny, fragile, and weak.  What could you POSSIBLY glean from being horrible to them?  To me, it’s the equivalent of people abusing animals:  they’re so hungry for somebody to notice them that they’ll do even the most asinine, malignant of things for a morsel of sweet, sweet attention.

    Congratulations.  You have my attention now.

    As most unfortunate things go, these things were relatively tame.  Even now, I can’t believe that I’m saying such a thing when children have died at the hands of people like this--  but again, it’s the truth.  The more I read, the more educated I became.  The more educated I became, the more I realised that this realm was not doing enough to protect those that could do nothing to defend themselves.  It made me so hot with rage that I had to leave my research behind for several days.  I’d seen enough.  I didn’t want to witness more.

    Still, it didn’t take long for me to come crawling back.  As if I could forget such heinous displays of depravity.  

    Mothers that burned their children alive in microwaves.     Fathers who buried their children in the backyard after ‘accidentally’ hitting them too hard.

    And then the worst of it.

    Parents that molest their sons and daughters for reasons unknown.     Mothers and fathers that rape their sons and daughters for--

    … for what?  What reason could you POSSIBLY have for laying your hands on a child in that way?  Do you know how small they are--  how much they resemble glass in your large, grubby hands?  Why is that alluring to you?  Why do you need to touch the one thing that no person, monster or God ever should?  Do you think yourself special?  Exempt of the rules?  A person who  DESERVES  it all?

    That was when my plan was first hatched.

    I was bored.  I was angry.  And I will always have forever to fill.

    I began to investigate on my own.  I watched the news like a hawk whenever I came to visit.  Steadily, I filled my head with information and I laid in wait.  I’m not going to spew some bullshit at you;  I’m not going to tell you I heard the children crying out to me, or that their silent pleas lingered in between the lines of every calculated interview, PR meeting and news report.  There was no feeling of subservience to a higher power, no ‘child whispering’ technique I employed--  just the facts, and my fury being fed.  Like a starving animal being tossed scraps from a man that pitied it.

    The first man I murdered was in cold blood.  I found him using nothing but my nose and my brain, recognised him immediately in light of the hours of research I’d been doing.  While the cops ran circles around the breadcrumbs he had left behind, I tore his legs off and beat him to death with them in his bedroom.  I can’t describe the feeling it gave me.  Satisfaction doesn’t describe it  -  and that’s what I’m trying to highlight to you.  I’m not the good guy.  I do this not just for the people in need, but because I’m a self-righteous bastard who can do it.  I know that.  I accept it.  Damn, I embrace it.

    … but I will ask you this:

    If not me, who?

    I know, I know--  what a self-centred, cliche question, no?  But think about it.  Really open your mind and think.  You sit there in your perfect little house with your comfortable amenities and your dazzling future spread ahead of you like a big blue tarpaulin, all while the elites you have funded sit around twiddling their thumbs and doing nothing to aid crises.  Your police forces, in most cases, mean well, but the law smothers their ability to enforce any sort of goodwill.  Who fears a man that bears a gun if he is not allowed to fire it under most circumstances?  There’s nothing that most of them can do unless it’s literally going to cost them their life.  A lifetime in jail--  even with prisoners who do not like them--  is not a fair punishment.  It’s simply what you’ve been told is humane.

    Do you think it’s humane to hold a little girl who’s crying and screaming still while a grown man inserts himself into her?  Do you think it’s humane for an adult woman to humiliate her prepubescent son for the changes his body is going through, touching and probing in places nobody should touch?  Do you not think that kind of abhorrence deserves an equal measure of retaliation?

    They should both be in Hell.  And I have no desire to wait until after death for that to unfold.

    Humans have too many rules, too many laws that mean nothing and too many governmental figures that are content to turn a blind eye to the things wrong with the world.  I don’t want people to get into unnecessary trouble.  I understand why the police can’t unleash an entire clip into a pedophile’s chest because they caught them in the act while going to apprehend them.

    But I’m not the police.  I’m not a government official.  I don’t have a cushy office, or a high-paying job, or a moral compass that prevents me from delivering a hearty blow to the back of a man’s head should he fiddle with small bodies.  I have myself.  I have my principles.  I have my rage.  That’s all…  and perhaps that’s why I enjoy it.  I know I’m doing something cruel, but it’s to people who deserve it, and for that I will never apologise.  People who ruin others for no good reason.  People who tarnish the sanctity of youth for no other purpose than to satisfy their perverted fantasies.

    While ever I feel strongly about this, I’m going to continue my work.  It’s why I come to Earth routinely now;  sit in a darkened apartment in London after having dinner with my wife in another realm completely, sifting through encrypted requests for help in my inbox.

    Do you need help removing a human stain?  Contact E.Strahv for further assistance.

                                                   [ You have (1) new email! ]

                                                      It’s time to get to work.

[minnochu]

Lustrous (pt. 15)

Hybrid!Kook x Fem!Reader AU

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Pt 17 | Pt 18 | Pt 19

Warning: Suicide attempt/thoughts

Note: Hi! A little shorter this week! I didn’t know how to go about writing the beginning so I apologize if it’s a bit of a mess or something! But hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Also, when I find time this week, I’ll try to update links!

..

Jungkook felt sick to his stomach, unable to enjoy the hot porridge without him retching and desiring for something else. Setting the tray back on it’s previous place at the nightstand, he slumped with a loud exhale. To his right, beyond the closed glass panels of the window, he could smell the different creatures residing outside. It didn’t help it when his stomach gurgled for food, and he could practically taste the blood of the unsuspecting deer prancing through the forest at this moment. 

Yoongi had left him alone when he refused to speak, only glare. The pre-teen could smell it on him, another werewolf like him. Or he was. But he was not in any mood to be social with anyone. What he wanted now was his family.

But he couldn’t have that.

Junghyun, he thought along with the images of his parents, before they morphed into his last glance at his family; all dead. His elder brother bleeding from the eyes and mouth, jagged gashes running over his face from the rejection. His parents’ mangled bodies from his own claws. They called to him. Did they blame him? For being the only one to survive? For being the one to ruthlessly murder his parents?

He sucked in a breath, he couldn’t do this. He didn’t ask to be turned into a complete monster. Why didn’t he just die along with his family?

The wolf continued to simmer in his depressive state, mulling over the events at the warehouse, his survival, and his memories of his family back at their home. Where was the point in living anymore? No one was there to care, was there? No. He’d killed them. They were gone. And he was alone. 

The more he sat in that room, glaring at his pink stained fingers, it felt like he was suffocating. It hurt to breathe as the walls of the room seemed to draw closer and closer towards him. He would cover his ears, palms clamping harshly over the sides of his head when he couldn’t stop hearing the shouts of his parents and the cries of his sibling. The indistinct noises turned into morbid shouts of his name, blaming him, criticizing him.

It’s wasn’t that he hated vampires. Sure, there had always been an unspoken rivalry between the two races. It had always made him wonder how mixed societies even survived with different species coexisting. Besides that, this was  not something he wanted. He didn’t ask for this. Moreover the fact that he blamed himself for the death of his parents, he blamed it on him turning in the first place, the vampiric blood multiplying his anger and desire to kill.

The thoughts hit a break point. 

Jungkook would sit in the dark, holed up in that room still, and you had to watch on as the boy extends a single claw from his index finger and run the sharp tip across his forearm experimentally. Time and time again the wound closes immediately after the fact, no matter how deep he attempts.

Figures, he thought glumly, the blood heightened his healing ability. 

And then he experimented further. You screamed, but no sound left your mouth as Jungkook kneeled over the mattress, inhaling and exhaling before he raised his clawed hand. Eyes burning blue and amber, he grunted as he impaled his own chest. Breathing heavily, he gasped at the searing pain, blood pouring from the wound and onto the linen. 

And then fear struck across his once void eyes. 

As his claws grasped at his heart, he knew he’d reached the threshold of life and death. Extracting his heart now would mean instant death and that scared him.

Jungkook didn’t want to die.

Tears fell as he cried in anguish, wanting to end his suffering but also wanting to live.

It was only a matter of time before the other pack members would smell his blood and despair, and soon enough the tell-tale loud thuds of footsteps thundered outside the door before it was blown off its hinges and across the room. The wooden structure hit the wall with a crash, crumbling to the floor in pieces as Yoongi stands at the doorway with three other teens. 

To your surprise, Yoongi clamors silently onto the bed and glares down at him as he looks up through blurry eyes.

“Do it.”

You suck in a breath.

“Do it, you fucking won’t.”

“Min Yoongi!” One of three reprimands, when you look over as he stomps over to yank at the wolf’s shoulder, you recognize him as Hoseok. Those heart shaped lips, gentle mocha eyes, and lean body with the carefree way he carried himself. Although, he seemed frazzled at the situation, face scrunched in alarm and disapproval of Yoongi’s baiting. 

“What?!” The elder hisses, “If he wants to die so bad, then he can just do it.”

“Why are you crying?” He scrutinizes the younger with hardened golden eyes, “Don’t you want to die? Isn’t that why you’ve got your claws nearly tearing out your heart?”

Jungkook shakes his head, body trembling from both pain and fear, “I… I don’t want to die…”

“Then what do you want?” Yoongi asks, “I don’t know what you went through… but I’m sure there has to be something inside you keeping you from wanting to die. You wouldn’t be crying and hesitating now would you?”

“There’s nothing here for me... I’m alone... I have nothing... but I don’t want to die.”

He eventually relents with a sag of his shoulders, letting his heart go and retracting his hand. Kim Seokjin introduces himself before healing the boy with a whispered spell to quicken the rate of his healing ability.

Yoongi heaves a sigh before taking the boy by the back of his head and pushing it towards his chest, “No need to tell us now, but if you need a reason to live. Let us be your reason. Family, am I right?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, his heart warming at the offer, looking up between him, Hoseok’s bright smile, and Seokjin agreeing with a gentle quirk of his lips.

Before he can say anymore, a tall ash blonde boy strides over, interrupting the touching moment between the future pack mates.

“You’ll die if you keep resisting your hunger,” Namjoon says bluntly, tossing the pack of pork blood onto the youth’s lap, “You might hate it now, but this is what you’re going to have to live with. Get used to it.”

The vampire’s taut lips turned up into a slight smile, “Please cherish your life as much as possible. Love yourself, you’re one of us now.”

Mom, Dad, Junghyun. Please watch over me. He thought as his eyes welled up with another round of tears. The boys watched as he tore the corner open and downed the contents before sobbing into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

It’s delicious. And despite the fact that he hated that he enjoyed the deep wine colored liquid, he knew he had to keep living. It would be what they wanted for him, and looking around at the four older boys, he may be able to live a little while longer. 

You watched tearfully as life went on. Jungkook would observe the pack, deeply intrigued by the dynamics and how the group was able to get along like a real family would when the group comprised of a warlock, a vampire, and now three wolves. Not too long after Jungkook had integrated himself into pack life and went back to school, attending the middle school in the suburban town bordering the forest, another wolf and vampire were accepted into the pack. They went by the names of Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung respectively.

The two were balls of pure energy, easily adapting to the mixed environment and soon becoming close friends with Jungkook. And it surprised him. They were merely a group of different races and yet they were nothing short of brothers. Each had their own story leading up to their gathering as a seven-membered pack, and everyone had been accepting. 

So he decided it would be time. 

He told them. When he was comfortable enough, he asked Namjoon to arrange a pack meeting where he would open up about his transition into a hybrid and his murder spree before he had met Yoongi and the pack. The vampires of the group couldn’t blame him for his hatred of his vampiric side. They took the information in with open minds and comforted him with open hearts and grilled lamb skewers, his favorite. 

Later, Jungkook learned to suppress the vampire blood, only letting his wolf gene remain activated with the help of Seokjin. He didn’t crave only blood and he returned to eating like normal with small increments where he had to replenish his desire for blood. A year passed, there was no problems, then eighth grade came around. 

You watched as the hybrid attended his last years of middle school when Jungkook became attracted to a girl. Almost immediately, you recognize her as Hyejin, gasping loudly as Jungkook can’t help but sneak shy glances her way and try anything and everything to impress her. Everything seemed to connect when your world shifted so suddenly, as though someone were yanking you back from the collar of your shirt. 

Dizzy, you fall back, hands releasing the hybrid’s head as you breathe heavily from the exertion of being shoved out of his brain.

“S-sorry…” he sighed with his hand running down his face in exasperation, biting back the pain in his heart at the absence of your touch, “I didn’t mean to show you that...”

The areas on his temples resonate with your lingering heat, his wolf whimpering at your distance between you both.

“When were you planning on telling me then?” You ask, although you were unsure why you were even upset in the first place. In the first place, you already figured that something had gone down in the past if Hyejin was always adamant on staying away from just Jungkook. They had a past, but you didn’t think it was this kind of past. Realizing the bite in your tone, you shake your head and offer an apologetic smile, “Sorry, it’s not my place… whatever happened between you and Hyejin is not my business.”

He doesn’t respond, gazing down at dirt underneath him in tense silence. “Besides that…” You continue stiffly, rubbing your arm in an effort soothe the goosebumps from remembering the rest of what had happened into memories he’d shown you, “I’m so sorry about your brother… and your um…”

“Parents,” He finished with a grimace, “Don’t be… I… er at least you know why my eyes are blue…”

But it did not answer what he was keeping from you about him and Hyejin. In effort to change the subject, you bite your lip and ask, “So… what’s this about a she-wolf? Imprinting and all that?” You offer a meek smile, mentally preparing yourself for his answer. 

Fuck.

“That was something my parents told me… about wolves imprinting on their fated soulmates…”

“Mm… That’s cool… lucky her then right?” What were you saying? You inwardly screamed at yourself as you rose to your full height and turned to go home. By now, noon had gone and passed and the sun was beginning to set in the west, ducking it’s bright rays behind the tall trees of the forest. “It’s getting a little dark… we should go home,” you conclude with a forced smile.

Jungkook felt a painful pang in his chest, as though he’d been stabbed a million times each step you took away. Gasping, he doubled over and wished that you wouldn't leave him.

“What’s the difference between Hyejin and (Y/n)? What sets them apart?”

Yoongi’s “food for thought” has his mind racing, eyes wide.

Hyejin was Hyejin. She was the past. An old flame but not his… his… 

He sucked in a breath.

His soulmate. 

Thinking back to his father’s explanation of his parents’ fated relationship, he knew what you had to be. It was more than just his present. You were his future, and eternity. It was cliche but the moon had chosen for him the perfect match: you. It was widely rare for wolves to imprint on species not their own, and that made the uncertainty of the future even more bleak when other species didn’t understand the way imprinting altered the world for the imprinter, meaning a non-wolf imprintee had the power to reject them or not. Unlike wolves, they did not spatially feel that pull towards the imprinter as full-blown as a wolf would. That fact did not change what you were to him. Fated. Soulmate. Everything. He wanted nothing more than to make you happy and protect you. Fuck the imprinting, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to fall for you fate or not. You were accepting, caring, fucking adorable, and a complete badass. He pushed you away not out of revolt or contempt, only out of fear of hurting you physically and emotionally if he could not control his vampiric urges and if you thought he didn’t really feel something for you genuinely. 

But that’s the thing, he thought. There’s a reason he would be drawn to you. You are his match. He could not find another woman like you, everything is deemed inferior to you. 

Seizing you by your wrist, you jolt with a start and look back at him with furrowed brows. When he meets your gaze, his eyes are shimmering a gorgeous shade of blue. Quickly, he grows shy as he looks away and is unable to meet your eyes anymore. 

“U-um… I… i-it’s not only wolves that we can imprint on…” he stammers as his cheeks burn and his front teeth chew on his bottom lip. An action you find cute before you stand straight and reprimand yourself for staring at his lips. 

“Then what else Jungkook?” You ask, feigning impatience.

“It’s rare, but werewolves are able to imprint on other species as well…”

“And you imprinted on Hyejin?” You blink, frowning at the clench in your chest at the thought.

A pressure on the back of your head pushes you forward, your lips colliding with Jungkook’s, shutting you up effectively with a chaste kiss that has you nearly collapsing right then and there. The world dips below your feet, almost as though the world has disappeared and you’re merely existing in a space with only the two of you. The lines blur and all you can see, feel, and smell is Jeon Jungkook. The way his lips caress your own one last time is nothing short of gentle before he pulls apart with a pained frown. “I imprinted on you, dumbass.”

...At least that’s what he’d like to do, he thought helplessly as you walked away. Most likely fuming over the idea of his past with Hyejin and fated. Lone figure retreating back the way you both came from. 

He just could not do that to himself or you.

A frustrated growl emitted from his chest, ruffling his hair before he sensed it. You must have sensed it too as you turn to look at him for a split second and he’s too late to grab you when large meteor sized balls of dark flames come smashing into the ground in front of you. They crush trees and decimate the ground, debris flying as your body is shot backwards from the impact.

..

Tags:  @twilight-loveer @reinyrei@mistytail@mygukandonlyficrecs@xanny91@unpocodesoledadywisky@xxqueenwxtchxx@lildemonangele@gukworld@sunnyoongles @zamirayinyue13@hannahdearr @serendipity-secrets @ilaria-np @jules-park @treetops68 @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @jeonkooksgirl @coffeeismylife28 @nshitae @bookoffracturedescapes @ellsbells72

@tiredjedi

[lady-divine-writes]

Confession (Rated PG13)

(Written for the anon prompt ‘You’re frightening me!’)

Knock-knock-knock

“A-zira-phale?”

Sitting at his desk, catching up with the newspaper, Aziraphale peers over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Crowley?” he murmurs but he doesn’t get up. No need. If he waits a moment, the locked door will swing open and the demon will let himself inside.

Or it should.

It doesn’t, and the knocking continues.

Knock-knock-knock

“A-zira-phale?” the voice sings through the bolted wood. “Are you in? Are you there? Can you answer the door, please?”

Aziraphale pulls a face, glaring at the locks, silently scolding them for not turning. ‘Why doesn’t he just open the damned door? It’s not that hard. A snap of the fingers will do it.’

Knock-knock-knock

“A---aziraphale? Please? Open the door?”

Aziraphale pushes back from his desk and starts towards the door. “Crowley? What on Earth is wrong with you?”

‘But is it really him?’ a voice inside Aziraphale’s head chimes in. It sounds like him, but not like him, and that makes Aziraphale anxious. He slows his steps but still keeps on despite the warning bells sounding in his brain, summoned by Crowley’s haunting knock and his voice thick with confusion. No, it doesn’t sound like him. Doesn’t sound like him at all. But it feels like him, which is to say Aziraphale senses an aura on the opposite side of the door that supernatural entities possess. This one feels evil, but in a familiar way, so it should be Crowley. If it is him, why doesn’t he miracle his way in like normal? Aziraphale can’t recall the last time Crowley actually knocked on his locked door. It doesn’t make sense for him to be hanging out on Aziraphale’s doorstep, knocking ominously and begging for Aziraphale to let him in - even if he’s drunk, as Aziraphale suspects.

Unless this is a ruse.

That gives Aziraphale a moment’s pause.

If it is, it would explain so much, like why he hasn’t heard from Crowley all day.

Crowley told Aziraphale that he believed Heaven and Hell would only leave them be for a bit, and ever since, Aziraphale has been on edge, waiting for either side to spring a trap. This could definitely be one – Gabriel or Beelzebub ready to whisk him away and force him to face judgment again.

They could be planning to use him as bait to get to Crowley. Or maybe the reverse is true. Maybe they already have Crowley and this is them using him as their puppet to lure Aziraphale out.

The thought hurries Aziraphale’s steps.

Knock-knock-knock

“Aziraphale.”

Knock-knock-knock

“Aziraphale.”

Knock-knock-knock

“Azira---?“

In a knee-jerk decision, Aziraphale opts to miracle the door open before he gets there in case it isn’t Crowley. If it’s not Crowley, he can miracle the offender away without risk of capture.

But no.

After five straight minutes of mounting terror, the doors swing open and there’s Crowley, ten thousand sheets to the wind. Leaning his full weight against the door, he falls forward onto his hands and knees at the angel’s feet, glasses flying off his nose, thoroughly confused when he comes face to face with Aziraphale’s shoes.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snaps, crouching down to help him up. “What are you doing!?”

“Oh, there you are!” Crowley smiles, loopy and bright, but his wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes hint that he’s been crying. “Hello, Aziraphale!”

“Did you drive here like this!?”

“Nah. I walked.”

Aziraphale helps Crowley find his feet, but he immediately topples over again, knocking into a counter and sliding a stack of vintage hardcovers to the floor.

“I find that difficult to believe,” Aziraphale mutters, locking up again with a wave of his hand. “But why walk here? Drunk, of all things!?”

“I needed the fresh air.”

Aziraphale slips underneath Crowley’s arm to shoulder his weight and helps him limp to the back room. “But why?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“There’s something I need.” He nods at Aziraphale in thanks when the angel sets him down on the couch. “Something I’m hoping you can help me with.”

“And what’s that, my dear?”

Crowley slumps forward, hands folded between his knees, looking up at Aziraphale with pleading, yellow eyes.

“I want you to take a confession from me.”

It would be a gross understatement to say that Aziraphale is startled by those words. Out of Crowley’s mouth, they shake him to his core. “I … I don’t think I should.”

“Why?” Crowley sneers. “Because I’m a demon?”

“No, because I’m not a priest!”

“You’re an angel!”

“True, but I’m not sure that makes me qualified!” It’s a bizarre explanation, but it’s honest. Aziraphale doesn’t know how that works. Technically, he should be able to do it. He’s a representative of the Almighty. But the rules about things like confession and Eucharist and ceremonial rites don’t belong to angels. They belong to mortals. “Besides, what have you done that you feel the need to atone for?”

“I … I’ve been keeping secrets from you. Big secrets.”

“That’s not a sin.”

“But it feels like it. It really, really does.”

“Well, what kind of secrets are they? Have you killed anyone?”

“No.”

“Maimed?”

“No.”

“Have you stolen something?”

“No.”

“Kidnapped anymore children?”

“No.”

“Coveted something?”

“Nngh … ye---I …” Crowley closes his mouth and swallows. “You know what? I might be a little too drunk for this. Maybe I should sober up first.”

“Always a good idea.” Aziraphale puts out an empty wine bottle for Crowley to use lest he get alcohol all over the floor. “How much did you drink anyway?”

“A bottle of wine … or four,” Crowley admits.

“A-ha …” Aziraphale casually fetches another empty wine bottle and puts it beside the first, just in case.

Crowley focuses on the tall, green bottle – focuses on filling it – when something Aziraphale does captures his attention. He watches the angel take a matchbook out of his pocket. He opens it, plucks out a single match, and strikes it, preparing to light the candles standing in antique brass holders on the table, precariously positioned alongside stacks of more books, random papers, old clippings and the like. Flashes of fire fill Crowley’s memory – heat so vivid it sears his lungs, black smoke clogging his sinuses. He remembers it like it was yesterday - the walls of Aziraphale’s shop buckling from the heat, the ceiling crumbling over his head, the gramophone grinding out its last, playing a warped, morbid requiem to, of everything, his and Aziraphale’s friendship.

And the paper, like hundreds of tiny insects curling into ash and fluttering around him, setting everything they touched ablaze. That’s how the fire spread – all the damned paper in this place fueling the flames.

And Aziraphale is about to do it all again.

“No. Don’t do that,” Crowley mumbles, getting unsteadily up off the couch. When Aziraphale doesn’t seem to hear, he grabs the match in his bare hand, crushing the flame in his palm. “Don’t do that!”

Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s hand clutching the smoking remains of the match. “What’s wrong with you, Crowley!? What’s going on!? Talk to me! You’re not making sense!”

“I’m not making sense!? You’re the one wat keeps eight dozen candles in a rundown old store filled with books!”

“What are you going on about!? I don’t understand!” Aziraphale takes a step back. His momentum pulls Crowley forward and the demon loses his footing, tripping and falling to the floor. Reaching out for something to support himself, he wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and hugs him tight. But even though he feels Aziraphale, he doesn’t see Aziraphale.

He sees fire.

“Where are you?” Crowley’s eyes look everywhere – left, right, straight at Aziraphale – but he can’t see him. “Are you ‘ere?”

“What do you mean am I here!? You’ve got your arms wrapped around me, you idiot!”

“No. No, I’ve done this before, and I’ve woken up hugging my pillow, and you’d gone. You’d gone, and … when you leave, there’s nothing to hold on to. No you. I need to know …” He starts fumbling with Aziraphale’s clothes, tugging at the buttons to his waistcoat and pulling up his shirt.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasps, but he doesn’t fight him off. “What are you doing?”

“I need to find you!”

“I’m right here, dear boy. Please, stop! I don’t … I don’t know what you’re doing … what you’re searching for! Crowley, you’re … you’re frightening me!”

Like a slap to the face, that makes Crowley stop, makes him roll back on his heels and rise to his feet.

“I’m … I’m sorry. I …” Crowley shakes his head, concentrates harder on sobering up, pushing the alcohol out of his system. His vision starts to clear. Through the smoke and the flames in his memory he can make out glimpses of Aziraphale’s face, but he’s not the calm, ethereal specter from the pub. He’s breathing hard, wide-eyed with concern, and possibly fear, staring at Crowley as if he’s gone mad.

And he’s probably correct.

“I didn’t mean to … I … I’ll go …”

“No!” Aziraphale says. “No, wait! Don’t leave!”

“You said I … I frightened you.”

“I may have misspoke. You caught me off guard. I’m trying my best to understand what’s going on. I didn’t think you were going to hurt me. That’s not what I meant. I’m scared for you, Crowley.”

“I’ll … I’ll be all right. I just have to …” He puts a hand to his pounding temple, pinches his eyes shut, sobers up a sliver more. “I should go.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Aziraphale grabs him by the shoulder, gently but firmly. “Not at this hour, not in this state.”

“I’ll sober up. I won’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Aziraphale sighs. After 6000 years, how come it’s still so difficult to talk to one another? “Come … come here, Crowley. Settle down a moment. We’ll sort things out. I just need a minute to think.”

Crowley acquiesces but he doesn’t sit on the sofa. He sinks back to the floor on his knees, as if sitting might require too much effort. Aziraphale’s sympathetic blue eyes examine every line on his exhausted face. This happens on and off lately, Crowley suffering from nightmares that bring him, in various degrees of drunkenness, to Aziraphale’s door. Nothing to this extent has happened before, but Aziraphale figured it was a matter of time.

Crowley needs help. What’s going on inside his head, he doesn’t open up about, and he’s not handling it well. Aziraphale knows it has something to do with the fire in his bookshop, but that’s as far as he’s gotten Crowley to divulge. Aziraphale also knows that Crowley’s demonic power is linked quite closely to his imagination, ergo he must fear that if he talks about it – talks about the fear he felt, the overwhelming loss, the pain it left in him - he’ll speak it into existence. The fire will have been real, Aziraphale will be gone, and there won’t be any way of getting him back.

Crowley is stuck, and Aziraphale needs to come up with a way to lead him out of the dark.

Aziraphale starts straightening his wrinkled waistcoat, but a moment later, he unbuttons it. He removes his bowtie and slips it safely into his pocket. Then he opens his shirt one button past half way, all under the watchful and curious eyes of his demon. Aziraphale slides off the sofa onto his knees. He puts a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and pulls, brings the demon’s head to his chest, positioning his ear over his heart, the echo of what shouldn’t be there beating steady and strong against his ear.

But Crowley hears it because both angel and demon imagine it to be so.

“Here I am,” Aziraphale whispers, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I’m right here. I haven’t gone. And I haven’t left you.”

The warmth of his skin, a beating heart, the rhythmic ebb and flow of his breathing – they’re real as long as Crowley has faith.

Faith in Aziraphale.

And Crowley falls apart.

“I … I th-thought you’d gone!” he stutters, winding his arms around Aziraphale’s torso and hugging him hard. “I th-thought you’d gone for good! You left me here alone! And I … I didn’t know how to bring you back! I didn’t know what to do without you!”

“There, there, dearest.” Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and rocks him. “It’s all right. I’m here. I promise. I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

[localkatshelter]

Okame’s Underbelly: Humiliation |3rd|

(ShinsoxOC) 

Katsumi’s POV (localvillageidiot#0870) and Shinso’s POV (hecker#8339)

Warning: Contains alcohol consumption, heartbreak, suicidal ideation, emotional manipulation/quirk use

Preview:

| “I feel like she just wants me to disappear...” he said from underneath his arm. “Maybe I’ll give her what she wants.”

He mumbled the last bit to himself, probably not intending for me to hear it, but I did. I felt his sadness morph into something more morbid. Oh shit, he’s taking this really hard. Before I realized what I was doing, a question had already escaped my lips.

“Do you really think that?”

“I don't know...”

I activated my quirk immediately after he responded. |

Beautiful Artwork By: Casentine

1st Chapter - Anticipation 

(Katsumi's POV)

I tapped him on the shoulder. Edgelord grunted, looking over at me through hooded eyes. The physical contact sent a jolt through me as my quirk processed the whirlwind of emotions that were coming from him.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine…” His voice was strained, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I could smell the soju. Oh he’s drunk drunk. I tilted my head to the side in an effort to look him in the eye.

“You sure? You don't seem fine to me.” And my quirk is screaming that you're in pain right now. I’d always hated how I couldn't leave someone once I felt that they were hurting, even when it was a total stranger and none of my business.

He chuckled sourly. “Is that so? Then maybe you’re right…” he slurred, smiling half-heartedly.

“So,” I paused, glancing down towards his feet. There were four bottles of soju on the ground, two totally empty and a third about halfway finished. “What’s the matter?”

“The person that cheated on me took it upon themself and decided we weren’t worth fighting for anymore.” He stated bluntly. He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eye. “Isn’t that crazy?” he asked, laughing bitterly.

“Oh wow, I’m sorry.”

He laughed again and shrugged. “They’re probably fucking as we speak.” he said casually and took another swig of his soju and placed the fourth next to him preemptively.

I could feel his heart crack a little further with every word. I couldn’t help but reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I felt his entire body flinch and tense at my touch. There was a short silence before I heard him speak in a soft, broken tone.

“F-fuck...” His hands gripped the bottle of soju tightly, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

I could feel him struggling not to cry. His anger and pain began to tug at my chest as the desire to take it all away crept up on me. I unconsciously began to rub the back of his shoulder. I could feel him break beneath my hand. He started to cry, letting out short sobbing breaths. He tried to hide his face in the crook of his elbow.

“I fucking hate this crying bullshit…” he choked out while he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve clumsily.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying. Keeping it in ends up hurting you more in the long run.”

He nodded reluctantly, his head still buried in his arm. I kept rubbing small circles on his shoulder as he regained an even breath.

“I feel like she just wants me to disappear...” he said from underneath his arm. “Maybe I’ll give her what she wants.”

He mumbled the last bit to himself, probably not intending for me to hear it, but I did. I felt his sadness morph into something more morbid. Oh shit, he’s taking this really hard. Before I realized what I was doing, a question had already escaped my lips.

“Do you really think that?”

“I don't know...”

I activated my quirk immediately after he responded, pulling at his emotions lightly to make him feel a bit more open towards me. He’s so drunk, manipulating his emotions is too easy. It’s like taking candy from a baby.

“She let me go so easily...” he said softly.

I continued to pull the self-destructiveness from him little by little until I had absorbed it all, leaving him with a duller version of the anguish that had been there before. Once I let go of my hold on him, he seemed to get more of a grip on himself. He straightened up a bit and I removed my hand from his shoulder. I watched him begin to fidget uncomfortably with his soju bottle, now almost empty. He started to eye the last bottle.

“You know, I’m not feeling too great myself either.” I said while casually reached around him to grab the unopened bottle next to him. “Okame not performing anymore kind of bummed me out. I basically only ever came to The Squeaky Wheelhouse to listen to their pieces. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do on Friday nights... Wow, that sounds so lame out loud.”

I laughed at myself, trying to lighten the mood a bit and put him at ease. I could feel his anxiety and embarrassment, likely because he cried in front of me, a perfect stranger. It’s no big deal and totally not his fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine, but he doesn’t need to know that. He seemed to contemplate my dilemma for a moment.

“Fuck that guy.” he concluded with a hiccup.

“Cheers to that.” I laughed a bit as I opened the stolen soju bottle and raised it to him. Our bottles touched and we both took a long swig.

“My name’s Katsumi by the way.”

“Shinso, glad you stumbled upon my sorry ass.” He held his hand out.

I shook his hand, taking note of his firm grip and the roughness that I had admired earlier.

“Speaking of stumbling on you, what are you doing out here anyway?”

“I’ve been waiting for a bus home but it’s been taking fucking forever.”

The bus? I took out my phone to check the time.

“Um... it’s almost 1 a.m. The last bus came, like, an hour ago.”

“No way,” He started to laugh. “I’m an idiot, holy shit”

“Can I call you a cab?”

“No, my parents cannot see me like this.” he said in a lighthearted tone.

“Well you definitely can't stay here...” I trailed off. Am I really about to offer to take a complete stranger back to my apartment? I mean, he seems trustworthy and I don’t get any malicious vibes from him.... “Why don’t you come back with me? You can sleep it off and go home in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I’m just some scary man.” he joked.

“Oh yeah, that mess of lilac hair is absolutely terrifying.” I teased back, getting up.

He laughed, both shocked and amused by my retort. “You’re funny, also fuck you.”

I let out a laugh and motioned for him to get up off the bench and follow me. He tried to stand and stumbled a bit before I caught him by the arm. He steadied himself but I kept an arm behind him to be sure he wouldn’t fall over. We started to walk back to my place together making small talk and joking with each other a bit. It was surprisingly easy to get along with Shinso. We kind of just, clicked. It was actually really nice. Once we got back to my dorm apartment, I grabbed some extra blankets and a pillow to make up the couch for him.

“Just crash here.” I told him, pointing to the makeshift bed. I turned and walked over to the television. “Do you want me to turn this on for you?”

I looked over my shoulder and saw that Shinso was already knocked out. I smiled to myself. He looks almost cute the way he's hugging that pillow. I went into my bedroom, being sure to lock the door behind me. Sure he’s cute and nice, but he’s still a stranger....

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. The only trace he left behind were the blankets, neatly folded on the couch.

(Shinso's POV)

I didn’t remember much of last night and I didn’t really want to. I just remember me feeling like shit, drinking my heart out, and making a fool out of myself in front of a stranger. I remember them being super nice but even so, I dipped out of their apartment as soon as my aching brain drifted into consciousness again. I had to use my phone to see where the hell I was, but once I did, I googled the nearest convenience store. I kept swallowing hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. I felt so much like death that I debated drinking again to feel better. But I reluctantly decided against it and instead did the right thing, which was to chug water, eat something light, and suffer a bit. On the bus home, I tried to stop my mind from wandering towards what had happened last night. I can’t say I was successful. In conclusion, this whole heartbreak thing was not going to be easy.

The rest of the summer went by in a pitiful blur, in result the next semester seemed to approach very quickly.

I shoved the remainder of my belongings into my shitty little car before settling into the front seat for my brief drive to campus. I typically only brought the essentials so one trip sufficed. It probably seemed unnecessary to live on campus when I’m not that far from it, but living on my own was essential for my general sanity. Also, I much preferred living with my close friend Denki. He shed a light on my abyssal self. It was a pleasant contrast, even though I’d never openly admit it to him. It was an inside joke at this point for me to pretend that I was indifferent about his company. It had been that way since the beginning.

When I pulled up, Denki was already waiting outside the dorm building with a stupid grin on his face.

“How’s my shining baby boy?” he beamed.

I shook my head, laughing at his typical ridiculous term of endearment, and put my hazards on before stepping out of the car. He ambushed me with a hug, which I stiffly returned. He pulled back and looked me over.

“You look so handsome right now, I could kiss you.”

I chuckled, playfully pushing him away.

“Help me move my shit inside, will ya?” I ordered jokingly.

“Aye aye, boss. That’s what I’m here for.”

He saluted before hulking a huge bin of my junk over his shoulder. He’s a lot stronger than he looks; I learned that the hard way when we trained together. It was a nice outlet for stress and a way to be active without being too deliberate about exercising. It was also fun to just fuck around with a friend and kick their ass...in a friendly way of course. I won’t lie, there were a few times where I left practice more sore and beat up than he was. By a few times, I mean more than half the time. However, that percentage was slowly tipping in my favor, so there’s no use in prematurely developing an inferiority complex. Well, I already sort of have one, but for a completely separate reason. I have always been told that my quirk left me vulnerable because it heavily relied on trickery, if it failed it would leave me vulnerable physically. Except they usually didn't say it that nicely. It was often intended to be condescending. I tried to not internalize the not-so constructive criticism but when you hear something over and over again…well, it starts to stick. To push back, I started combat training with Denki recreationally. He doesn't need to know the details of why I suddenly sprung the idea on him a little over a year ago.

We lugged one round of my things into our snug room, which Denki already managed to decorate with album covers. Besides his PC and collection of questionable manga, his side wasn’t that much more complex than I predicted mine to be. Messiness was a whole other subject, but as long as he kept his stuff on his side, I couldn’t give a shit. As we returned to my car, a girl in front of the entrance caught my eye. She was staring me down, looking confused. I assumed she was looking at my ridiculous gravity-defying hair like most people do and went back to grabbing more things out of my car. Before I could gather too many items, I heard a pleasant voice call out behind me.

“Hey, Edgelord.” it mocked in a friendly tone.

My brows pinched together in confusion as I turned around to follow the voice. It belonged to the petite brunette girl who was staring at me. I looked over at Denki to see if he recognized her, but he looked just as baffled as I was. Well, maybe baffled wasn’t the word. He was uncontrollably snickering at the nickname the stranger gave me. She’s bold.

“Um, hey?” was all I could come up with.

“Funny running into you here. How’ve you been?” she inquired genuinely, continuing to speak to me as if we were familiar with each other.

Huh? How’ve I been? Where do I know her from?

“Uh, I’ve been good.” I responded, now trying to mask my uncertainty as to not be rude to this person that obviously knew me from somewhere.

“Well that's good to hear. You’ve been feeling okay?” She smiled, her eyes questioning me earnestly.

I began to shift uncomfortably at the intensity of her caring nature towards me. Especially since I honestly had no idea who she was. Shit, does she know me as Okame? That doesn’t make sense because how would she know? Is she a friend of my ex? That would be so fucked if my ex really ruined my anonymity for something I care so much about. I know she’s spiteful, but I didn’t think she could be that malicious. As these questions shot at me in rapid-fire, I studied the girl before me, trying to find any sort of familiarity. Despite having a more circular face, her jawline was decently pronounced. She was of olive complexion with a light peppering of freckles concentrated on her round nose. She had dark, arched, brows which complimented and contrasted her otherwise soft features. Her eyes were upturned, embellished with a set of thick lashes. Her irises were a striking amber shade...wait that’s familiar. That detail pulled at a vague memory in me. Her head tilted with increasing puzzlement. Fuck, how long has it been since she asked the question?

“Y-Yeah, I’ve been feeling fine.” I stammered.

She giggled at my rushed response. I felt Denki’s mischievous glare on me. I glanced back at him only to catch an annoying wiggling brow.

“Oh good. So, do you need any help moving in? I got bullied into volunteering anyway, so I might as well be of some use.” She tugged on the logo of her shirt and rolled her eyes with a scoff.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the idea of a “moving in crew” uniform.

“Nice, but I think w-”

Denki poked me in the side, administering a slight zap. I clenched my jaw, muting a grunt, before throwing a deadly scowl his way.

“What my colleague means to say is that he’s super weak and could really use your help moving in.” Denki interrupted.

I closed my eyes, rolling them behind my lids, while taking a deep breath and accepting his wishes. I learned early on that once Denki made his mind up on something, you’d be wasting your time if you didn’t give in right away.

She chuckled at Denki’s commentary before gesturing to the car.

“You got it. Is this everything?” She grabbed a box and held it against her hip.

I nod in response and we head upstairs. I kept to myself for the most part, still mulling over the mystery of who this girl was. In the meantime, Denki and ? were getting along just fine, surprisingly well for just recently breaking stranger status. She found him hilarious which was concerning because I didn’t need him getting an even bigger head about it.

“Who knew Edgelord would have such cool friends. I honestly thought he was a figment of my imagination until I saw him again today. I mean, who even likes grapefruit soju?” Denki and Mystery Girl cackled in unison.

Grapefruit soju...fuck. I knew she looked familiar. She was the girl from that night where I completely lost it. After ruminating on it the day after, I never really looked back, because I assumed I’d never see her again. She’s seen me at a low point and I was not comfortable with that. Denki noticed me going still for a moment and he gave me a weird look. I took a deep breath to compose myself.

“Yeah, I think me and Denki got the rest.” I interrupted plainly.

She paused, shooting me a baffled look which morphed into annoyance before settling on a neutral expression. I pretended not to notice the myriad of emotions travelling across her face. She clearly understood the intention behind my sudden curtness. I could feel Denki’s glare on the side of my face.

“Oh, okay cool. I’ll be on my way then.” she concluded lightheartedly and turned to Denki. “It was really cool meeting you though! I’m glad we got to talk for a bit. Hopefully I’ll see you around.” She flashed him a bright smile before heading to the door.

“Hold on there, stranger! What’s your name?” Denki called out.

“Oh, right! It’s Katsumi, but you can call me Kat, everybody does.”

“Hi, Kat! I’m Denki, but you can call me anytime.” He topped off the corny line with some finger guns.

She laughed softly to herself. “Okay, you got it.”

She brushed right past me and made her way out the door, disappearing around the corner. After waiting a few seconds, Denki closed the door behind him, leaning his weight on it.

"Dude," he exhaled heavily "What the fuck was that about? You got all weird at the end."

"Did I?" I muttered dismissively while unpacking one of the bins.

"Uh, yeah" he exasperated at this apparently obvious observation. "She obviously knew you from somewhere so there has to be a story. You're a shit story-teller but I'm a whore for tea so my standards are very low."

I moved on to a new box, tuning him out.

"Hellooooo? She clearly cares about you to some extent so there's history." He emphasized the last word. "She's definitely a lot nicer than She-Monster." He casually threw in his charming nickname for my ex.

My body stiffened, and I turned away from him and began to fidget pointlessly with office supplies on my desk. Denki has known me long enough to pick up on my subtle tells no matter how hard I try to suppress them.

"Something happened." He instinctually adjusted his voice to a more solemn tone.

"Yeah…" I sighed, giving in. "I guess I accidentally left that part out about my summer."

"Sure you did." Denki rolled his eyes, already scrolling through our texts. He defeatedly threw his phone on the bed, obviously failing to find any hints as to when it happened.

"But regardless," He hopped on my bed, despite having his own. "I'm all ears." He gave me a warm smile, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

[user64290]

Completely Heartbroken

Putting Lucky down was the hardest thing I had to do. Harder than fighting off urges to cut myself. Harder than overcoming substance abuse. Harder than not being on the right medication. Harder than telling my parents about my childhood trauma. I started to write about Lucky yesterday, but broke down. He was such a sweet and loving boy. I look fondly at our moments together, but I’m overwhelmed by grief because I’ll never get to experience them again. 

A few people who add insult to injury are my parents, brother, and M (who is a best friend, but not an emotionally available one). Sure they share their condolences, but they’re just not privy to communicating empathy, which is jarring while I’m so raw with emotion at this time. 

For example, my dad made small talk about the stimulus package while we waited for the vet tech to bring Lucky out. I’m waiting for our final goodbye and already mourning Lucky and my dad decides to talk about taxes? I don’t understand how someone can behave so casually at a time like that. We weren’t waiting at the DMV or in line for check out. We were putting my dog down. Another moment I found jarring was my mom greeting me in the parking lot by asking how I’ll pay for the vet bill. No “I’m so sorry for your loss” or “It’s ok to be sad. I’m here with you” -just a straight “How are we going to pay for this?”. I found it insulting. Despite this, I know that compassion and warmth are not their forte and didn’t hold it against them in the moment. I focused most on Lucky and the actual goodbye and waited in anticipation to see my boy.

In hindsight, I’m fixating on how utterly alone I feel, and with that creeps darker thoughts. Negative what ifs and perpetual anger over the emotional support my family could never give me. I question if I really did give Lucky a good life, if my parents actually do love me, if anyone truly cares about me beyond niceties you’re supposed to say in the wake of tragedy. I wish I had discernible truth, but I’ll have to muster the will to entertain brighter thoughts to come to a balanced conclusion.

Here are my brighter thoughts. I imagine Lucky’s life through his eyes and can see the many family members he got to play with, the many households he could live in, and the holidays we all spent together. Introducing him to my parents as their grandson when he was a few months old. Giving him a daddy in C. Snuggling in bed and play-fighting until he got tired.

The sad truth is, at the moment, I can’t hold on to these thoughts for too long. I’m left with an all encompassing void, haunted by the places Lucky used to sleep, the idle way we used to play throughout the day. When I was present enough to bask in those moments with him, I savored them knowing our time was limited. This may be a morbid way to experience company with the one you love, but it’s my way of savoring the essence of a relationship. Time is always limited. For me, to acknowledge it while together is the ultimate form of appreciation and true love.

I’m worried about giving up the sadness. In a way it’s all I have left of him. The grief is a reminder of how deeply I loved and cared about him when we were together. The longing to be with him again is so apparent that I physically can’t think of happy memories without crying. His absence is so painfully present.

I feel an unrelenting sadness when I look at Lucky’s things. All the poop bags we’ll never use, his medication that was just delivered Monday, toys sprawled all over the living room floor, his favorite rug, the foot of the bed where he’d sit waiting for us to wake up. I remember him collapsing, passing out, and how dim his eyes looked on our way to the vet. I was in the car yesterday and couldn’t help but replay that traumatizing trip through his eyes  (or at least how I think he saw it). Through this lens, I can internalize his suffering and know I did the right thing by putting him to sleep. I can believe this was the best way possible for him to go. Painless and peacefully and with all the people who loved him so much. This was the most important thing to me, more important than how badly I would miss him. I’m grateful I could give him a peaceful out, surrounded by nothing but love.

Many things seem irrelevant in hindsight. Months prior to his passing, I was worked up over the fleas, annoyed by my parents on our trip to the Philippines, and stifled by the classic BPD triggers that liked to pop up and punch me in the face whenever I wanted to be with friends. If I had known I’d be losing Lucky just two months later, I would have spent more time with him rather than obsessing over these minor inconveniences. Here goes me clinging to self-blame, the minimization of my feelings, and perpetual guilt. I wish being kinder to myself came naturally to me. Even at a time when suffering is at an all time high, I like to tack on more torture. I’ll have to let these undulating waves of guilt pass through me. Underneath it all, I’m only feeling them because I care and want so badly to be with Lucky again. 

I think of how hard it is for me to form strong connections with people and how easy it was to love Lucky, and I understand why it hurts this much to lose him. If it weren’t for C, I’d feel completely alone. Maybe not 100% of the time, but loneliness would be my default. I have to work extra hard to convince my brain that people really do care about me. This is why I’m terrified of loss. Losing the ones who care about me the most leave me with the ones who may or may not. 

Since recovery I’ve strengthened relationships and can even count a handful of people who are great at communicating empathy, but this doesn’t mean I’m always confident that they care. My mind is crazy talented at rationalizing why they don’t and it takes a lot of mental detangling to accept kind and loving words at face value. This inability to receive love may be why loss is my greatest fear. The pain it brings leads me to suicidal ideation, which is confusing and uncomfortable for someone who isn’t necessarily suicidal anymore. I don’t want to kill myself, but I don’t see a point in being here without the people who love me. It would be agony to live a life without my husband and Lucky, and now I have to endure half that battle. 

RIP Lucky.

[quebracabeca]

We meet in Duat

Discord thread with @kaibacorpbros

Seto had done it a million times before. Gone out flying too late, it was a risk to his license ever time, he knew he was risking one of his greatest hobbies like that. And yet, he sill went out anyway. He'd dipped a bit too far below the horizon line while he was approaching to land after an exhilarating acrobatic flight over the sea. And it was just too late to pull out of the decent.

"Mayday--"

No, it was useless. He could take his hands off the yoke and it wouldn't make any difference. And he did, with one, in order to clasp the locket. After all those additions to it, it would be safe.

"Mokuba--"

He was burned to cinders instantly.

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

There was the sensation of falling, panic, and impact. Time didn't quite flow the same in this in-between realm, so no one would have known how long for it to take for his cells start to reform. But they did, slowly. And once his nerves and brain had come back he felt every moment.

Eventually most of his body and flight suit had reformed. He was still missing all his limbs but his his left arm, his skin still raw, burnt, and bleeding, almost like it could fall off. He was screaming, for a long time, but eventually it died off into rasps as his throat ran dry as his flesh was forced back together.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit!

He was counting on death to finally be his end. He supposed his father owed him a 'I told you so'.

Why couldn't he just die? Why couldn't it just be over? Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop--

"Please... w-why..." he coughed, spitting blood. "M-Mokuba... Mokuba!" 

He sensed his death, his arrival from his realm. Could it really be him? It had to, the sudden shift in his mood accompanied by a new sensation... It called for him to venture out of the afterlife's safety.

The other souls noticed the sudden change, in their king's behavior. It was something important, they all could tell that much. This is why no one, tried to stop him when he walked past the palace's walls and headed towards an exit of his realm. Atem wasn't all by himself, Mahad, his trustworthy bodyguard accompanied him even though he wasn't quite sure, what the matter was about. His pharaoh hadn't spoken an word, ever since he began this walk.

In no time they found themselves out of the afterlife, and began wandering into the mysterious Duat.  The place felt like a surreal dream, were they walking on a solid ground? Or were they walking on water?

Regardless of it, the duo eventually found what had brought them here in the first place. His intuitions were right... It was him.

Atem stopped at a relatively safe distance, from the burnt and destroyed flesh... The sight shocked both souls.

Mahad took his time to look for missing pieces, of Kaiba's body. Whereas Atem, stood by and stared at the state of his former rival.

"... Kaiba..." The pharaoh spoke softly, as he approached the mangled body. 

A new voice broke the sound of his own in agony. And if he could, he would have spat and hissed at it if he had the strength, despite things having been better between the two after Kaiba had managed to get Mokuba to come home.

"You," he rasped. "Of course it's bloody you, Atem--"

Seto gets cut off as more waves of pain spread through him. "W-What the hell is this, didn't--didn't I die? Why aren't I gone?"

He was atheist, and not even spiritual. He shouldn't exist. Or be in Hell, paying for old sins. If Atem was here he knew what was likely to happen. The king would try to play savior and try to fix him somehow. That begged the question... what other spirits were here? Seto didn't want to see them.

Let me die.

"I crashed! I should be liquid right now!" 

Atem remained in silence, while still staring down at the mangled remainders of his rival. He was taking his time processing the sight, and the informations he spewed at him. It was a tragic and abrupt death... It really wasn’t how, he hoped the man would have met his death.

At least, he was glad to hear it was quick... Even though, it destroyed his body. And now, he was stuck waiting for it to reform.

“You’re right, you’re dead.” The pharaoh broke his silence in a calm tone, as he dared to get closer to the other man. “Please, try to calm down it will only make the process worse for you.” He added as he found one of Kaiba’s hands beside his foot, then proceeded to gingerly place it in it’s rightful place.

Before he could say anything else, Mahad approached him with what appeared to be a leg. “Thank you, Mahad.” Atem spoke to his priest, as he did the same thing - and placed it in the right place.

“I’ll help put you back together Kaiba, try saving your insults for when the flesh starts reconnecting.” Atem responded in a cheeky- lighthearted teasing tone, despite the morbid situation they were facing.

In theory, the priest should attempt to try and prevent his king from doing this. It would stain his garbs, and he shouldn’t interefere in the process of a soul’s judgement. But as a friend of Atem, he didn’t do anything - instead he assisted them.

He knew how much his king valued the bond he shared with the man, that invaded their palace a long time ago. 

With the two limbs the they found, the flesh started to knit itself together once they were in proximity, ripping another scream from Kaiba's lips as soon as the nerves reconnected with the rest of the system.

"Atem, Atem--" a quiet hoarse, gasping growl came from Kaiba. If his hand weren't raw and sensitive he would have tried to grab the pharaoh by the neck and choke him.

"Stop. I don't know what the hell this place is, but I don't want to be here. Don't you dare start playing savior again, I don't--"

He was fine with it all ending there, in that cockpit. Mokuba was happy, and along in his life. The younger had been in Italy last Seto heard. And he was considered a genius among his field, the work recognizable, and most of all demanded, just as how Mokuba had always deserved. Kaiba, of course had unfinished projects. New invention and game ideas, several children programs he was in the middle of setting up-- things he wished he could have finished, but ultimately weren't a pressing need.

"Don't you get it? I don't want to be here," he hisses, his eyes screwing shut as his leg reattaches. He could almost cry from the pain alone, nonetheless of the gravity of what was happening.

"Don't condemn me to live, Atem. Or I swear I'll kill you myself." 

Atem brushed off Kaiba's threats, and ignored his words at first. Despite their weight, nature and even harshness the pharaoh didn't look bothered at all by them.

The same however, couldn't be said about Mahad who didn't take them all too kindly- those words struck a chord with him. The pharaoh quickly noticed it, and simply gestured for the priest to resume his search for any other pieces of Kaiba's body.

"You're in Duat, Kaiba." Atem began, while he watched over the other's flesh recompose before his eyes. "This is Osiris' kingdom, you are in his domain... The land of the dead, a realm that exists in-between the countless afterlives." The entire time he spoke, he used a calm tone all while trying to be as clear as possible to his acquaintance.

Even in his current state, Atem is almost certain that Kaiba won't listen to him, nor believe in a single thinf he just said... But that didn't seem to hold him back with his explanation.

"I'm not here to save you, Kaiba. And I can't really revive you... But I have come for you, because I have an offer to make you." Atem added, just in time when Mahad returned with another arm and a foot.

"Come with me, to my afterlife Kaiba... After your body is back to normal and you see the light, follow me and Mahad towards it." 

"I don't want to be in any realm," Kaiba spat. Finally, his skin started to heal over, and he forced down more sounds exclamations of pain.

After all of this, everything he'd done... He was tired. Continuing on in any way, whether it be in this limbo or in this afterlife Atem spoke of... it made Seto's voice want to close up in anxiety. What about his--he wanted no chance of running into them. Seto couldn't face them. Wouldn't. It'd be a worse punishment than his body re-stitching than dying over and over again.

"And if I don't? Can I finally stop, huh?" As his limbs solidify back to him he gives them a small stretch as blood clears from his skin.

Kaiba manages to push himself into a sitting position with a grunt. He'd expect that it would take a few moments more to be able to stand. All of which, he saw no point in. Why reform his body if he was dead?

"You realm is one of the people of your time, correct? I don't think a modern person from Japan would do well there anyway. Why would you even want me there? Don't kid yourself."

‘Kaiba, don’t... You don’t know what’s about to come.’

Atem could only think on those words, while watching over the other man return to his former glory. The pharaoh is in silence, hearing to everything that he spoke to him.

His soul’s trial was bound to begin soon... He merely hoped, the other would take this as an opportunity to try adn skip it.

Mahad became noticeably disgruntled, he made small gestures to his king in order to rush him- hurry him up so they could return to their safety. Kaiba would have to face everything, by himself.

“It’s my kingdom after all, Kaiba. But you won’t find any peace, around here... You’ll most likely end up as an wandering soul if you don’t leave this place.” Atem responded, while ignoring his priest’s signals at first so he could buy them some more time. “This isn’t a place for you, Kaiba. Listen to me, and do as I said... Follow us, please.” The entire time he spoke, his eyes never left his rival’s- he was staring deeply into those deep blue eyes.

For a moment, it was all that he could do... He found himself lost, within them... This feeling wasn’t new to Atem, he hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Their peace however, came to an abrupt end when the pharaoh’s once serene- calm gaze shifted into one of fear. “Follow us, Kaiba.” It is all that he could say, before he rushed towards the golden gate that Mahad held open for him.

A bright and warm sunlight bathed Duat’s ground, and Kaiba’s body. Unfortunately, the gates closed without giving the new soul the chance to even attempt to get up. 

Atem still didn't get it. Kaiba didn't want to find peace, wandering would suit him just fine, it would be better than reconnecting with specific souls-- but before he could say so, the two were gone.

With a hiss, Kaiba finally pushed himself to a stand. There were few times he had ever seen fear in Atem's eyes. But he brushed it off, along with the ashes on his flight suit. "So much for the invination," he scoffed. Not that he wanted it, but he didn't stand a chance to make it through that door before he shut.

Might as well start that eternity of wandering now.

But as soon as he took almost three steps, something grabbed him by the ankle, and yanked him right into the ground.

~~~

What occurred after that could only be described as dramatic irony, or some would even argue poetic justice of the highest caliber. Seto had never been so afraid in his life. Or even in his death.

It started with a mob of people with faces he couldn't make out. But they all wanted his blood. He'd managed to defend himself against a few, but quickly became overwhelmed. Blades jabbed into him, and right as he was sure it would be too much, they all seemed to drop into liquid. Almost like oil.

It grouped together, reformed, and took the shape of a beast with too many conflicting features for Seto to classify it. Something akin to a immense frakenstein of deadly features that caught him easily almost ripping off a newly formed leg in the process. He screams. But Seto freezes when the claws grip his throat, all to similar to too many years ago. But still Kaiba digs in his heels, still fights and claws at the monster to no avail as his vision starts to fade. Ever stubborn. If he had to be snuffed out completely, it would be under his own terms. He couldn't just give up.

And yet the more he struggled, the worse it got. Was he on fire? Surely not. But everything burned, burned, burned--! 

Him and this ugly creature of his own making were in deadlock. And then he heard a familiar voice. One that should been long gone. Telling him to give in, to obey.

He wouldn't. Couldn't. Never. Seto would protect himself, for no one else would. Because this was a threat and he needed to eliminate it. A gaping maw threatened to devour him. All he could smell was blood--this would be his end.

No, he didn't want his essence to die to this--thing. Something that had no place here, a remnant of the past.

Blue eyes fly open at the beginnings of a realization. This was something of the past. He may not know all the rules of this realm in between... but something like this couldn't be real. Right?

Some old words of advice came to him.

Let it pass you.

Right as the grotesque creature's teeth were about to clamp down on his head, his hands fall from their struggles. A sense of calm seemed to wash over him.

"You are just memories."

The creature melts into the ground, dropping Seto  a good ten feet in the process, a cry echoing the void as once more the loose leg reforms, the rest of his pale skin still littered with unidentifiable wounds.

"W-What the hell was that?" And was it over now? Or would something else come back again? Could it be over, couldn't he just be done?

‘You can’t intervene in it, nor try to stop it... You must leave him to face those things all by himself.’ Atem had been scolded by his father, and other members of his court as he waited for the chance to return to Duat. Of course he wouldn’t follow him, even if he did it would only be postponing the inevitable. All of this, only caused Atem’s fear and anxiety to brew and grow strong within the back of his mind.

He needed to have faith, and believe that Kaiba would make it through his judgement. The pharaoh felt immense pain on his chest, to a point he could barely breath as he waited. In the meantime, this gave him the opportunity to delve into some of his thoughts, and even questioned himself what was truly making him feel like that.

The pharaoh couldn’t stop thinking of their encounter in Duat, the way his former rival was found and especially those words. ‘Why am I doing this? Why do I refuse to listen to him?’. The man would think on this subject, until the door to Duat opened once again.

Light and warmth return to the realm, the turmoil was over. The afterlife’s door opened, and allowed the pharaoh back into it.

“Kaiba!... Kaiba!”

Atem exclaimed as he dashed into the realm, this time he is all by himself. He could see him, Kaiba made it through- his soul was worthy of peace. The pharaoh immediately felt relieved- like a weight had been liften from him, and happy as well. Tears formed in his eyes as he approached the other man, he only stopped when he pulled the tackled him- wrapped his arms around him into a tight and warm embrace.

“Kaiba, you’ve made it... You did it...” He spoke in a low tone, his voice was cracking as a sobbing noise could be heard coming from him. “Kaiba... I was worried, I... I...”

“I love you, Kaiba.” 

By the time light entered this odd void, Kaiba had struggled back to his feet. Almost in waves his injuries healed over again, but this time with no pain, and much quicker, restoring his body to it's state right before the crash, flecks of gray in his chestnut hair and all. Before he could shield his eyes from the harsh change he was slammed into by another person.

Atem.

What in the world was going on? He was about to ask so, when the pharaoh's last words smacked him in the face like hitting the water from fifty feet.

"You came back..." he managed to say eventually. Why was Atem crying? Why those words? Seto didn't understand.

"What the hell was that thing? Is it gone?" He may not be entirely sure what it was, but it all felt so final. Something in him felt different, or so he thought, but the logical side of his mind knew that could all be in his head. Which then prompted him to ask a different final question. Before it would have been 'Why do you say that? You'd better not be trying to manipulate me into changing my mind.'

Now it was plain and simple, "I don't understand."

Atem's hold onto Kaiba is firm, extremely tight as well while more tears kept running down his cheeks. He fell silent upon hearing the other's words and looked up at him, it was then he noticed how different the man looked from the last time they saw each other.

The white hair was the first thing the pharaoh noticed on him, he aged- he grew older. Whereas Atem, remained the same - not a single thing about him changed. Slowly he picked up on other signs of Kaiba's state, when he died.

It took Atem awhile, until he found his next words to say- in the meantime he could only quietly sulk as he tried to maintain a coherent train of thought due to his emotions. "... I love you..." Atem repeated faintly, as he looked back up at the other. "Your soul has been judged... You were put through a test... And you managed to get rid of your package. Kaiba, you're ready- you can come to the afterlife and find true peace..." The pharaoh tried to explain, but the pain on his chest had returned...

He was happy for Kaiba, but now he feared he wouldn't be reciprocated nor would be followed to his realm.

The look in his eyes, gave out his anxious state and the fear was crystal clear on him. "Kaiba, I..." A knot in his throat formed right there, which prevented him from completing that sentence. The pain that he felt, only caused more tears to form and run down his cheeks. 

It was hard to register the things Atem was saying, and Kaiba's disbelief in any sort of form of judgement and afterlife wasn't helping either. A large part of him thought Atem must be confused due to his near 'second death' or whatever, that it was just something the pharaoh said in the heat of the moment.

There was always this odd connection between them, and Kaiba never doubted it. In fact, Atem was one of the few people he could connect with in life. Since his departure, things had smoothed over the slightest bit, partially from their duel as well as Seto's talks with Yugi, and to Atem through Yugi.

But all that aside...

"'True peace?'" There's a quirk of his lips at that. "I've never thought there's such a thing for me. As I tried to enunciate before--" When he was still in pieces, "--I'm tired, Atem. I can't... keep doing this. I got rid of whatever that thing was, but I wanted my death to be it--for everything to turn to nothing."

His expression seemed to be one of someone twice his age at that moment. He'd thrown everything into life, for that was all he had some control over, the only thing he cared about. He'd used it all up in the mortal realm. Kaiba managed to pull away slightly from the king, now examining the sleeves of his perfectly unsinged flight suit. He hoped he hadn't hit anything important with that crash, or anybody. But there shouldn't have been many people there that late at night anyway. He didn't envy whoever was put in charge of the cleanup though.

"Whatever that creature is may be gone but... who else is on the other side of that light Atem? Because if there is any truth to theological studies there are several I don't want to see--can't see again." He runs a hand through his bangs with a sigh. He'd rather get mauled by that creature than have to face them. 

The knot in his throat was still strong as ever... He knew all too well, how this wouldn’t be easy. But he couldn’t give up on it, not on their bond and his feelings for him.

By now his kohl was in shambles due to the tears that kept running down his face, Atem listened closely to Kaiba’s words. Everything he spoke- that came out of his mouth, was so incredibly painful to listen to. He averted his eyes from the older man, now his gaze landed onto the other’s hands.

They were so much larger than his, on top of looking noticeably rough around the edges. His gaze remained fixated on them for a long and quiet moment, as he tried to muster up the courage- the power to undo the knot in his throat that has been preventing him from voicing - responding to him.

Eventually he reached out for Kaiba’s hands, and dared to hold them firmly. The pharaoh gave them a reassuring light squeeze, as his gaze finally returned to his face. There is a comforting smile on his face, he was trying to convey to the other- how there was nothing for him to be concerned about. That he could trust- believe in him, their connection- bond.

“...You can trust on me, Kaiba...” Atem finally managed to utter out, as his hold onto the other’s hands tightened up. “Beyond that door lies my kingdom...” His voice trailed off softly, he gives another light squeeze. “Please... Come with me, Kaiba... Rest with me, in my world...” 

My kingdom.

Kaiba still tensed at the touch. He'd like to blame it on the fact of only reforming a little while ago, but a deeper part of him knows after all these years and trials there was still lasting damage.

But the main matter was that this beyond was Atem's realm. Ergo, assumedly, his parents couldn't get to it. A realm of existence that was far from unappealing. The look in the pharaoh's eyes was reassuring. But there were still two vital questions Seto wanted to know the answer to before he decided whether or not to go into that light.

"Two things. Just answer two things for me, Atem. One, what happens if I don't? If I stay here do I disappear eventually? Two, what about Mokuba? He's still young, I don't want him waiting all alone if he ends up this void as well eventually. What if he starts looking for me and can't find me?"

At the end of the day, Seto was still a logic-based person. Gods, would Mokuba have even heard of his demise by now? Was he crying? Seto had planned for his untimely death long ago, Mokuba should be getting Seto's last message to his little brother soon.

"Please. I need to know those two before I can decide anything." 

Atem quickly nodded his head- in agreement to answering his following questions, despite everything he felt in that moment- he just can’t give up on Kaiba. All hope isn’t lost... He can do this. The pharaoh tells himself, as he quietly tries to clear his throat before he tries to respond.

Might as well start with the shortest and easiest one, out of the two.

“There’s something you need to understand about this realm... Actually, the same can be said about others. Time flows at a very different pace and speed compared to the one you came from... Does it feel like one a few hours have passed at best, Kaiba?” The pharaoh asked then paused for a moment, but he didn’t give him a window to respond. “I imagine at least a few years in your brother’s life, have already passed... Depending on how long his life turns out to be, he might arrive here at any given moment. Regardless of when or how he arrives, his soul will find his way to you... There’s no doubt about that.”

Another pause came, now it was time to address the most complicated one of the bunch. He could lose everything, if he isn’t careful with his following words.

“... You’ll not vanish, there’s nothing for you here... This isn’t a realm meant to last, it’s only a stage of transition... A connection... If you don’t leave this place, you become a wandering... No, a doomed soul who’ll never find peace or be able to rest... Doomed to wander the nothingness between the countless realms, unable to ever get in them...” Another pause. “... This is the worst thing, that could happen to anyone. It’s worse than failing your soul’s judgement...”

Atem’s hold onto the other tightens once more, as his eyes stare intently into the other’s deep blue ones. “So I beg you, Kaiba... Please, come with me... Everything will be alright, listen to my words... You can trust on me...” 

Years? How could that have possibly... he had only just died! At Atem's explanation, Seto even glanced around, just to ensure he hadn't missed Mokuba in the chaos. Though he breathed a sigh of relief at the king's insistence that his little brother's soul, spirit, or whatever would be okay. He supposed that wasn't proof but... the pharaoh had certainly been existing in the realms beyond for quite a while, and Kaiba had no way to fact check him.

"An endless march through nothingness, huh...." He very much didn't want to go through similar motions of the darkest moments of his life again. If Seto's only two options would have been this Duat or void he would have still taken that over risking seeing the two faces of the people who's disappointment would shatter him. In his mind, that was inevitable if they were to ever meet again. A sarcastic chuckle falls from his lips. "Heh. Somehow being mauled alive still seems like the worst out of the two."

The squeeze prompts him to refocus on his rival again. Kaiba's expression is perfectly neutral as he weighs his options. Begging? Atem didn't beg. No, he only ever fought tooth and nail at each of their clashes for what he believed in. To say it caught Seto off guard would be an understatement. And after such an admission from before, he didn't know what to make of it. To Seto, it seemed largely out of nowhere. But he supposed that must have to do with being a part of another 1% demographic.

But Seto never doubted that Atem was one of the few people that managed to connect with him on some level, when nine out of ten chairs were empty. There wasn't too much Kaiba had left to lose, he died after all. But there was something to gain. He could always seek something else out if he couldn't find some semblance of peace in the kingdom of the pharaoh.

He took a deep breath, and with a whisper,

"Okay... I will. Don't make me regret this, Atem." 

Atem fell silent, his heart is racing at a deafening pace- if he doesn’t pay attention to Kaiba, he might end up missing out on the things he say and responses.

Now it was all in the other’s hands, there is nothing else that he could-- Did he hear that correctly?

The pharaoh’s expression changed on the spot, his eyes shot widely open as he quickly looked up at the other man. He is coming with him- he will follow him. More tears welled up his eyes, but he quickly wiped those out using his arm. A few faint grunts and huffs escaped him, he needed to say something back- utter out anything. But all he finds himself capable of doing in that moment, was to just smile back at him.

His facecheeks were slightly flustered up, he was overjoyed with the answer he had just received. The pharaoh gave him a slight nod with his head, as he stood and led Kaiba towards the afterlife - warm light.

His hold onto the other’s hand doesn’t diminish in the slightest.

“Just walk into the light, Kaiba... Close your eyes if you have to, listen to my voice... I’m here...” 

Kaiba's focus was on following the pharaoh. He certainly didn't want to be left behind to face whatever creatures were in this realm. One foot in front of the other, it was simple right?

And yet there was still this niggling in his gut. He glanced over his shoulder. No Mokuba. Hopefully he'd be okay. Atem, Yugi, and all them seemed to care about him before, he doubted he would just kick his spirit to the side.

Seto had Atem's word. As they stepped into the harsh light, Seto's nerves flared up, but he forced himself forward, not losing his grip on the pharaoh's hand.

And just when it seemed his eyes would be seared inside and out like all those years ago--something washed over him as soon as he stepped past that barrier. All the anxiety that had been bubbling in his gut being soothed. There were two familiar presences. But Seto did not panic like before. The feeling was gentle, not overly neutral, nor positive.

The sound of something heavy falling, and echoing on the ground could almost be heard.

They say nothing, and it's better that way. It was for his sake. They knew this is what he needs, that even appearing and offering to come with them would weigh him down with baggage once more. So they say nothing.

There's a non-existent kiss to his hair, and a hand on his cheek that he could almost swear were real before they were gone.

The message is clear.

When he could see again he was met with Atem's kingdom. He glances around on instinct, but there was never any sign of their presence. His boots sink into the sand, and now he was regretting dying how he did, a flight suit was good for keeping engine fire out, not desert heat.

Seto opens his mouth, as if he were going to comment on what just happened, and then closed it.

"Well... I suppose you should give me the grand tour."

[pyroclaststan]

Heartbreak Panes

So uh, finally posting my first Fallen Hero fic/bit of writing or what have you. Apologies for any mistakes and the sheer clogging length of this nonsense: there’s no readmores on mobile, and the formatting is trash because I copy-pasted from my phone notes for ease of editing. Warnings first then we’ll hop right into it. CW for possible: suicide, suicidal ideation, body horror, blood, graphic depictions of body trauma, gore, self-harm

————————————

It all needed to stop now: just like you stopped Heartbreak.

Your eyes still aim forward, not risking a good look or even a glance at whoever the dying telepath is that you’ve fired upon. You know mind games, you know what telepaths can do if you let them in, and worst of all you know what she’s done here—what she’s still doing. It’s still building around you, drowning out what’s left of everyone still inside. You know that she needs to be stopped here and now or your feelings—

No, her feelings.

—her influence will continue to spread. And so you continue to fire your caster. Over and over and over...

Let it out. Let it in.

You remember the sound of rushing waters.

You remember the weight of your limbs. A familiar weight you’ve fought many times before but you didn’t care to (I do) now. You remember how curious you were suddenly about the energy caster in your hand—about how it felt to be on the receiving end. You remember the morbid curiosity about the material of it: how would it taste?

Would it taste like freedom? Like relief? Like a satisfying sleep, the first in your life? Would it taste like an end to an ever-constant nightmare from which you couldn’t wake?

Didn’t everything always feel like you were dreaming?

Being made—grown—and trained to be a tool... that certainly sounded like a dream sequence. Some kind of sci-fi plot with bad actors and even worse special effects. All of the stone-faced meat-machines of blue and orange around you: no expense spared for the makeup and effects. The symbolism of other, and of danger, and of you’ll never belong.

Falling perfectly into place like a little toy soldier was like a dream: belief in the cause, blind devotion, fervent idealism, and an insatiable... hunger?

Your dry lips twitch, and again the urge to fill your mouth and taste pulses. The pressure building at your temples and the base of your skull like an anxiety attack you can’t shake. Your jaw aches under the strain you apply to clench it.

The dream carries on to freedom. Well, a freedom to any degree or sense you could experience it. You’ll always be followed, watched, touched, experienced, seen. You meet people who will never truly know you and they make you believe that you have a place among them. And sometimes, in bad times, they fulfil their purpose in your life and exit just as swiftly. It is hard to break the habits they’ve instilled in you: this is only a dream.

Like dreams, sometimes it all turned towards the fantastical, the above and beyond: you became a superhero. Like the ones in the vintage comics and shows and movies people—real humans—used to partake in. The classics Anathema would show you of people striving to be more than they’d been before circumstances gave them a taste for something more. A hunger for being more, doing more, going beyond the everyday limitations of others.

A hunger that pools in the stomach, an idea that feeds the brain dreams and passions and even more ideas. You never had a choice in hungers like that—force-fed.

And as dreams do this one darkened. This one crept in so slowly, fell upon you so heavily, and reminded you that even in dreams the hunger of the nightmare lingers.

You remember now that this is real life, always has been, and that reality has never held any favour for you. You will live and die by another’s rules or choices, bound by your limitations. And right now, at this very moment, something across from you is telling you it feels it, too. And it understands that secret you never shared: that you only ever found one decision that was truly for you.

Always running, always crafting a careful exit, always passing through. The only option you ever really had for yourself was leave.

Look at yourself: even in coming here you were carrying on the directive given to you, lying to yourself that it was of your own free-will.

Helping people.

Sounds a lot like what you were made to do: save the ‘right’ people, stop the ‘wrong’ ones. Sure, your definitions changed or broadened and sure, you pick your own targets now, but you were never very good at pushing the boundaries.

It crawls across your mind with a jackhammer. An involuntary inevitability that is swallowing you whole. An inescapable pounding at the door of your mind—the neighbour who will never leave.

What if you pushed this boundary?

What if you made a real exit? Leave the dream?

Taste the metal.

Your hand feels so much lighter when it starts to move up and you realise it’s right. You could truly make a choice for you: one that’s not just a rehashing of what you were made to be. One that’s not just a lie or a dream. A real choice.

It isn’t deciding this for you (it is), it’s just pointing out the obvious: you’ve always wanted to let go.

You’ve always felt the weight of the leash on your chest and the cut of the strings on your heart. You’ll always be someone else’s to order—someone else’s property—and you’ll never ever be safe. You’re not yours: there is no You.

You feel the tightness in your throat, the bile begging to fill your mouth, the hatred of knowing your dream has always been a carefully crafted lie. You have always been a creature, a tool, a science experiment.

An experiment of which you are the variable. The variable this time lifting your gun and your mask. The variable remembering that a tool must always do the job efficiently and to completion, as you turn the dial to its strongest setting. Nothing else will do.

If you were ever a tool of worth to those that made you while you were here, let them mourn you once you’re gone. Let them cry at the loss of their equipment.

Something in the back of your mind is screaming at you but the sound of waters is too loud. Something churns in your stomach and your mind tells you that it’s the hunger.

(It was my everything telling me this was wrong.)

The gun fits into your mouth like it was meant to be there: something in your mind supplies that it always was.

Your morbid curiosity is answered: metal.

It just tastes like metal.

Something in the waters is roaring, your name called out only to be muffled by the tide.

Kingsley, it cries. Your name.

It’s not from your lips, or hers. It’s Ortega, begging you to stop.

He begs on, cries for explanation, tries to make you see but you can only see your exit. You know with the whole of you that something about him should be causing you to stop, but all you can hear are the rapids.

Pull the trigger. End the dream. End this. Die. Let it go. Be free. Stop the game. Cut the leash. Finish this.

The cacophony is scraping against your mind with a pain you can’t imagine but you can’t gather the will to move. Ortega is wrestling your limbs, pulling your arm behind your back almost painfully if not for your dull haze. You need to escape this: the crescendo is maddening. Your body is stone and you need to be free, now, so all you can do is fire.

The flash is green and blinding even in your delirium, but your body is light again. You let go of your escape plan—it’s in Ortega’s hand now—but your mind quickly supplies another.

The window.

Like a moth to flame the light draws you in, every sense screaming at you to go. Your feet move before you can think any further: you need to get to the light, go forth, nothing else. And as Ortega reaches for you, your instincts move you out of the way: you need to be free of this dream. You’ve always been true to your namesake when it matters most.

The hunger for the light overrides the taste for anything else; you don’t know which dream it is you’re escaping or if it’s all of them. You suppose there won’t be dreams anymore, just sleep.

And you are so very tired. It takes so much to try and be real.

Your hands then face collide with glass and momentum carries you forward, shards and edges tearing you from your reverie. Your sharp inhalation slows the world to a crawl as you go, the shrill sound of your name being screamed somewhere behind you is rising in volume and the feeling pooling in your stomach earlier is gathering in your throat. For the first moment in your life you have a perfect clarity; powerful, complete awareness.

The sun is setting over Los Diablos, sparkling off the shards of glass that cascade around you like a waterfall of gems. The air is cool and rushing against you through your coat and the tears in your suit that have yet to seal. Your arms flail in the slowest of motion—you look like a newborn bird trying to take flight in some macabre yet poetic way. Your breath is stolen but in this small moment it feels as if you’ve never needed it. Or you never wanted it.

Is it cruel to find this day so warm, so beautiful?

The streets below you are blessedly empty, the LDPD flittering away—no, flickering away. One by one you feel the terrified and panicked lights extinguish from your mind. A rapturous warmth slides across you as the pressure of each one builds and then silence washes over. A welcome reprieve. The quiet will be coming for you, too, finally.

(I don’t want silence, I don’t want it.)

You feel Steel, somewhere: his worry for Ortega, his desire to finish the mission. Everything in you reaches out for him—you want someone to hear you. Hear your final words, give you some kind of closure with the people whose light you’ve been a shadow to. You always admired Wei’s motivation and now you’ll never be able to tell him that. A small, traitorous part of you screams for him to catch you, notice you, but you know that’s impossible.

Would he have even cared to try?

You search for Ortega but he’s a blind spot as always, and now more than ever you crave the static of his mind missing from your side. You care about him, so goddamn much it hurts, and everything in you claws out for some sort of purchase on his mind to reach him, but you know it won’t. Just one more small thing to die today: your hope.

(So sorry, I am so sorry.)

The hot, uneven pavement of just another Los Diablos street is rising to meet you, its arms open and waiting. Was it always waiting?

Some small, guilty part of you feels so bad for taking so long to reach it; no terminal velocity coming from that height to help you on the way down.

Nevertheless, the dream will all be over soon.

Faster now—your reverie ending—it comes for you, and you brace yourself for an asphalt kiss.

Again comes your morbid curiosity: will this taste like metal, too?

And so you meet it with a symphony of a disgusting thud, an echoing crack of bones, glass and gravel puncturing palms; a muffled scream as the stone clashes forcefully against your teeth and blood fills the spaces in between. Your hands’ instinct was to catch you but they touch down at the same time as your face and the impact reverberates up your limbs as your bones shatter like splinters. Your brain slams against your skull and not fast enough because holy hell you feel all of it. You feel it all and hate yourself because somewhere back there you thought that the end would be sweet and painless.

Before you black out from the torment you make a macabre note: the fifth story isn’t the place to find heaven.

You don’t know when, you don’t know how, but somehow you find consciousness. And you will remember the atrocity of it for the rest of your short, sad life unfortunately.

Your mind is muddled, your vision blurred if not destroyed, and everything screams with more pain than you’d ever experienced in all yours days of infiltration and hero work. Your thoughts feel like they’re in a blender, trying to reach for the solids while it’s still going. If your brain is not completely in tatters your bones have picked up the slack. Who knows how much trauma you’ve caused?

(And not just physically.)

Every part of you feels like fire, your mouth is filled with the taste of metal and bone. It makes you panic and cry and every quickened breath hurts like molten lava and threatens to make you pass out again, if you don’t drown in blood bubbles first. Stab after stab, unable to move: and here at the end, waiting to bleed out, you fall apart.

What tiny speck of consciousness you have is like a banshee scream against the rest of you, and it only sounds out one thing: Ortega.

If you beg and plead, will your calls fall upon the ears of a god who never cared for you? The one Tía spoke so highly of? Who never looked your way? Who never made sense to you? Who never even made you?

Your messy keening is only the answer that breaks the silence. Fitting. You’ve never been stupid enough to believe you’re worth anything that matters.

[aquaminwrites]

Skin Deep: 03

Pairing: Yoongi x Tattoo Artist!Reader (M/F) Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn. Eventual smut. Rating: 18+  Warnings: None Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read the first two instalments of this story! Feedback is always appreciated, I would love to hear what you think so far!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 (links removed due to tumblr issue)

Yoongi can’t sit still. He’s seated at a table by the window of the coffee shop, one a few blocks away from your studio. He’s fidgeting with whatever he can get his hands on—the sugar and sweetener packets in the tiny bowl beside the stir sticks, the hem of his black turtle neck that somehow managed to trap stray pieces of white lint, and his phone, which he can’t stop picking up and putting back down.

He tugs at his leather jacket for the hundredth time, wondering if keeping it on would be better, or if taking it off would make him look a little more casual. Yoongi is just about to take it off when he spots you entering the cafe, wearing an oversized maroon sweater that hangs off one shoulder, hair down, and a pair of jeans that look like they’ve been painted onto your legs.

He gulps. And decides to keep the jacket on.

You peer around the cafe before spotting him. You send him a small wave before pointing at the menu above the counter, signalling that you’re going to quickly order your drink before joining him. He nods in return and focuses back on his own cup, already half drained. His leg bounces under the table at an irregular beat that he can’t control.

After a few minutes, you make your way over and sit across from him at the table. He notices the way you approach with a slight edge of caution, as if you don’t really know what to say to him.

You settle on, “Hi.”

Yoongi notices the slight bounce of your knee under the table as well.

“Hi,” he replies quietly, offering up the tiniest of smiles. You return it, looking down at your mug as the steam rises past the ceramic. It’s quiet for a beat before Yoongi can’t take it anymore. “Look,” he begins. “I’m really sorry for how I acted the other day. It wasn’t fair.”

You nod, your thumb caressing the rim of the cup. You’re not looking at him, not yet, as you gather your thoughts.

“Do you know why it wasn’t fair?” You ask softly. Yoongi doesn’t respond, just waits for you to continue. You finally lift your head, gaze bearing into his. “You not only disrespected me as a person, but you disrespected me as an artist. I don’t give a shit about what people say about my appearance. I got over that a long time ago. But my art is important to me, and what I do is important to me. And you had no right to belittle me in that way.”

“I know, I understand,” Yoongi responds earnestly. “I just…” He swallows. “You make me nervous.”

You fold your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side. “I make you nervous?” You repeat, a little stunned. “Why?”

Yoongi scratches at the back of his head, then tugs lightly on the top of his ear. It’s a habit he developed as a child whenever he was being reprimanded that he never seemed to be able to shake.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he admits. “And not just because you’re a tattoo artist or because you have tattoos. You just…I don’t know. You seem so sure of yourself, and so confident all the time. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but when I get nervous, I tend to put my foot in my mouth a lot.”

The corner of your lips twitch up into a smile. “I hadn’t.”

“Ha,” he deadpans, and you each take sips of your coffee. “But honestly. I’m just…a little more old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like this, you know?”

“I know, and I get it,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture exposes a little more of the peony on your neck, and Yoongi’s eyes trace over it briefly before settling back on your face. “I’m not asking you to change your mind. I’m just asking that you be ten percent less judgmental when it comes to the actual human beings underneath the ink.”

“I’m going to try,” he promises. “I can be kind of dense about this shit sometimes, so it won’t happen overnight. But I’m going to try, I really will.”

You shoot him a thankful smile. “You know, you say you’re scared of people with tattoos, that they’re thugs and criminals. But if I’m being honest, I’m more afraid of people in suits and slicked back hair, the ones that control big companies and entire countries. They’re the ones who do damage on a national—and international—scale.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow with a grin. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re an anarchist or something?”

“Not an anarchist,” you hum. “Just critical of the people who claim to be in charge.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh, a tiny croaky noise that’s barely audible, though his shoulders shake slightly. You send him a strange look, tilting your head to the side in a silent question. Amusement glints in your eyes, and he says, “I’m just realizing now that I don’t really know anything about you.”

Your smile widens, revealing rows of perfect, white teeth. “Would you like to?”

He quirks a brow. “What do you mean?”

You pull out your phone, tapping away until you show him an article on the screen. It reads Deep Questions to Ask A New Friend.

You lower your voice and grin. “Do you want to play a game?”

Yoongi can’t help but roll his eyes. “Alright, big nerd. Noted.”

“Hey!” You reach over and lightly smack his arm. “Come on, Mr. Music Producer. Indulge me. You might be surprised, because I want to get to know you, too.”

Yoongi lets out a snort, but tries to cover it up with a cough. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, who raises an eyebrow at him, almost like a challenge. “Why don’t we just play Truth or Dare, then?” He’s joking, but the glint in your eyes tells him that you’re about two seconds away from taking him up on that offer. So instead, he dials back and says, “Deep questions, then. Okay. Ask away.”

“Alright,” you clap, a smile spreading across your face and lighting up your eyes. “I’ll ask, then you answer. And then I’ll give my answer after.”

Yoongi nods. “Rules seem pretty simple.”

You clear your throat and read out the first question. “What is your idea of a perfect day?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, then debates if he should tell you the truth, or something that makes him seem edgy or exciting. His internal debate lasts maybe ten whole seconds—he’s already wearing his leather jacket, so maybe that would take care of the ‘edginess’ factor he was worried about earlier—before he settles on the truth. He figures that you’d appreciate it more.

“Honestly,” he sheepishly scratches at the back of his head, tugging on his ear gently. “One where I could stay inside and work on music. Without distractions. And maybe a nap or two thrown in there for good measure.”

“Ah, classic workaholic,” you affirm. “I’m like that too, don’t worry. I definitely prefer staying in than going out. Bars and stuff are okay, but clubs are—”

“Way too loud,” Yoongi agrees. “Too many people.”

“How are you supposed to hear anyone talk!” You exclaim, tossing your hands in the air for dramatic effect. “I mean, good for the people that want to dance and get wild, but I have too many lower back problems and I’m too awkward for clubbing. Plus, I can’t dance.”

“So…” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, sounding bemused and also just the tiniest bit hopeful. “Next time we hang out, you want to go clubbing, is that what you’re saying?”

You shoot him a playful glare. “Ha, ha,” you tease. “Very funny. Who knew that Mr. Serious could joke? And let’s just get through the rest of these questions first, before you get ahead of yourself and assume we’re going to hang out again.”

Yoongi straightens in his seat, prepared for the next one. Your tone is light and joking, maybe even a hint of flirtatiousness intermixed, but he still doesn’t want to screw anything up. He’s also pretty sure he’s imagining the flirtatious part, too.

You read the next question aloud. “When was the last time you cried?”

He has to pause to think. Yoongi isn’t good at emotions, processing them or reading them on other people. He also doesn’t cry very often—chalk it up to toxic masculinity or just his general aloofness when it comes to that part of his brain. But the emotion he feels more strongly when he’s upset is anger, not sadness.

“It’s been a while,” he admits. “Maybe…two or three months ago?”

You gape at him. “That long?”

He shrugs, eyes scanning over your face nervously. “I mean, yeah. Why, when did you cry last?”

Your face falls as you carefully fold your hands in your lap and look anywhere but him. In a quiet voice, you admit, “Last week. After I got home from the bar.”

Yoongi feels his heart shattering into a thousand pieces, each shard sinking to the pit of his stomach and haemorrhaging along the way. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you brush past it. “We talked about it already, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to get back into all that again, that wasn’t my intention. I’m not good at emotional stuff, if I’m being honest. I was in therapy for a while, and my therapist told me that I need to express my emotions more. But that…” You shake your head, forcing a smile back on your face. “It doesn’t matter. Next question…”

The two of you go back and forth for the better part of two hours as you go through the list. Some of them are morbid, asking about life after death and the idea of reincarnation, and some are a little more lighthearted, like your weirdest habit and fondest childhood memory.

Yoongi finds himself sinking into the conversation, losing track of time as he leans forward on his elbows. He is completely engrossed in you, hanging off every word you say. He’s never met someone who seems so sure of themselves, so willing to be open and honest without much apprehension. And yet, he senses trepidation still, masked so carefully under the façade of self-assurance that he probably wouldn’t have been able to spot it if the two of you hadn’t been delving into such difficult topics.

“Here’s an interesting question,” You say, scrolling down on your phone. Yoongi raises an eyebrow as he sips his now lukewarm coffee, but you continue. “How did you fall in love for the first time?”

He nearly chokes, sputtering as he attempts to bring the air back into his lungs. “W-what kind of question is that?”

You pretend to act noncommittal, but he can tell that you are rapt with attention. “Just a question.”

“I…”

Yoongi isn’t sure how to answer, if he’s being honest. He was never good with his emotions growing up, and a lot of that translated into a stunted ability to have romantic relationships. He’s been with his fair share of girls, but none of them ever stuck around. They were mostly good for a night, enough to scratch an itch. Maybe one or two of them made him think that a steady relationship was possible, but there hasn’t been anyone he’s wanted to try it out with before.

“I’ve never been in love,” he confesses.

Your face softens into something somewhat sad. “Really? Never?”

“No,” Yoongi shakes his head. “I mean, it sounds nice. And maybe one day I will be. But…no. Never felt that way about anyone before.”

You let out a derisive laugh. For a second, Yoongi thinks you’re laughing at him, but when he glances up he sees that you’re staring absentmindedly out the window. “Probably better off that way,” you admit quietly. “Easier than dealing with heartbreak.”

Yoongi suddenly feels really awkward, unsure of what to do. So he just sits in silence with you for a beat longer, as your eyes grow more and more distant. He sees the hurt etched in your features, and he longs to take it away. To soothe it with a balm, to make sure you never get that look in your eyes again. It’s a foreign feeling that he tries to suppress. He hates how you shrink into your seat, how your shoulders round inward at the memories of the past.

Still, he has to ask. “I take it you’ve been in love, then?”

“Yeah,” you respond, barely above a whisper. He notices the rasp in your voice, how it seems thick like you’re holding back tears. “Once.” You see that he’s eyeing you with caution, looking at you how everyone else does when they find out. You try to divert it by adding, “It’s not all bad, though, you know? Love is beautiful. I’m glad I got to experience it at least once.”

You sigh, tugging at the ends of your hair.

“Sorry for being a bummer. I didn’t mean to put a damper on things. And before you ask, I’m fine, I promise. I meant it, love is beautiful. I hope you get to experience it one day, Yoongi.”

He hesitates, but decides to be bold and ask anyway. “How will I know if I’m in love?”

You suddenly look nostalgic, playing with your fingers a little. “Trust me. You’ll just know. One day it’ll hit you and you won’t be able to imagine who you were before you met them. It’s like falling asleep—slowly, and then all at once.”

Yoongi nods, settling back into the quiet that has made itself comfortable between the two of you. He notices that you’re glancing back at him every few seconds, like you have something to say on the tip of your tongue but don’t know exactly how to phrase it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yoongi is surprised. “Haven’t you been asking me things all afternoon?”

You swat at him genially and then quietly ask, “Why were you so mean to me at the bar that night?”

When Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, you keep going.

“We’ve been talking for a while now, and I actually think you’re really nice. A little guarded, but you’re not a bad person. So why did you come at me like what the other week when were at the bar?”

“I…” He begins, but everything he comes up with in his head sounds like a shitty excuse. He filters through the reasoning in his mind, sorting through the muck of that night to try and reach some sort of conclusion that won’t have you throwing your coffee in his face and walking away. “I can be an asshole when I drink,” Yoongi confesses. “And…I don’t know. We’d already gotten off on the wrong foot, and I was in a shitty mood that day to begin with, and then Hoseok—”

He screws his mouth shut before he can say something incriminating.

You look at Yoongi skeptically. “Hoseok? What does this have to do with him?”

“Nothing.” Except he and Jungkook are both suspicious that I might possible have the teensy, tiniest crush on you. Which is still unproven.

“Really?” You repeat, arms crossed over your chest. “Nothing?”

“Hobi can just be a lot,” Yoongi lies. “He was just doing a lot that day, and I was in a bad mood. And the drinking didn’t help. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be such an ass, I swear. I have a bad habit of fucking things up. And…” His voice gets quieter, as he gets more shy. “I don’t want to fuck things up with you.”

You smile at him gratefully. “At least you’re able to apologize, yeah? I think that’s a good thing. And for the record, I’m sorry too.”

Yoongi can’t help the way his eyebrows fly up into his fringe. Of all the things you could have said, an apology was not what he was expecting. “You’re sorry? What for?”

“I didn’t mean to belittle you like that in front of your friends,” You explain. “I goaded you. And then I kind of…made my point, did a mic drop, threw down double what the bill would be and left.” Sighing, you add, “Jungkook was supposed to have paid that bill. The runt still owes me drinks.”

“If it’s any consolation, he thinks you’re his queen now. That move might have gained you at least one worshipper if you ever decide to start a cult or something.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Sweet kid. But honestly, it was a power move, and I shouldn’t have done it. I should have actually tried to have a conversation with you instead of making you feel like an idiot, especially in front of your friends. It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry.”

Yoongi is stunned. He sits there, gaping like a fish out of water for the umpteenth time today, before he closes it and holds out his hand for you to shake.

“Let’s start over, huh? I’m Min Yoongi, music producer, lamb skewer aficionado, professional napper, and whiskey enthusiast.”

You bite your lip to hold back your grin before taking his hand in yours. The skin of his palm is warm, but not clammy, and his large grip envelopes your hand as you shake it firmly.

“I’m Y/N, tattoo artist, plant mom, bad dancer, and working my way up to becoming a professional napper.”

Yoongi beams at you, his gummy smile making an appearance that you can’t help but find endearing. “We already have so much in common.”

You still haven’t let go of his hand. “Yeah, we do.”

You swear for a second you can feel his thumb gently running across the ridges of your knuckles, but before you can really process it, he’s withdrawing and shifting in his seat as if he’s about to stand.

“Hey,” he asks, nodding his head to the door. “Do you wanna get out of here?

You rise to your feet, gathering your purse. “Where do you have in mind?”

__

After a little wandering, the two of you find yourselves closer to the downtown core. Pedestrians and cars bustles around you as the start of rush hour begins to descend upon the city, and you can’t help but feel thankful that as the cold ebbs away, days grow longer and the sun decides to grace you with its presence for a few hours more.

“We’re here,” Yoongi declares, pointing to a bright fluorescent sign that reads HopeWorld Dance Studio. “Hoseok usually teaches classes in the early afternoon, but he does his own thing after work once the students clear out,” he rambles. “And he’s working on something pretty fun right now for an upcoming showcase. I texted him earlier to see if we could drop by. You seemed interested when Hobi mentioned that he was a dancer, so I just figured—”

You turn to look up at Yoongi, beaming from ear to ear. “Thank you.”

The two of you enter the studio, greeted by the receptionist. He’s seated behind the front desk, tapping away at the computer when he hears the bell on the door chime as it opens. His hair, dyed a light strawberry blond, is pushed back away from his forehead, and he glances up as you walk in. His full lips spread into a wide smile, his eyes turning into crescent moons. It’s so infectious, you can’t help but smile back.

“Yoongi-hyung!” He cheers, rising to his feet and rounding the counter to give Yoongi a hug. He’s shorter than him, just barely, but you can see by the way he moves that underneath his loose t-shirt is a solid, toned dancer’s body. “Hobi-hyung said you would come by! And you must be Y/N,” he greets, turning to you to envelope you in a hug.

Must be a dancer thing, you muse to yourself.

“I’m Jimin,” he introduces, his voice melodic and light. You instantly feel a sort of unabashed affection for the boy, almost akin to how you feel when introduced to a new puppy. “I work the desk while Hobi teaches the classes, but then after hours we mostly mess around and practice.”

“That sounds fun,” you grin. “We’re not interrupting, are we? I don’t want to bother Hoseok if he’s in the middle of teaching a class.”

“He just wrapped up, actually,” Jimin notes, glancing at his watch. “Last class ended about fifteen minutes ago. My guess is that he’s sorting out his music and stretching. Jungkookie is back there too, he was helping with the junior hip hop class today. I just finished closing, follow me!”

The lobby of the studio itself reminds you almost of the way your shop is set up. The front desk has different pamphlets for different types of dance classes ranging from hip hop, jazz, contemporary, and street dance. There is a wall behind the desk that has a splashy mural painted on it with an airplane hovering over a melting cartoon landscape. Bursts of bright colours swim across your vision as you admire the tiny details—the peace signs, tiny plants, a ladder than leads to nowhere. It’s quirky and bright, and is a perfect reflection of Hoseok’s personality.

To the left of the front is a small retail area with silk-screened t-shirts with the HopeWorld logo across the front in varying colours, as well as some enamel pins and HopeWorld baseball hats.

Beyond the wall is a hallway that leads to change rooms—there are three separate ones from what you can see, one for men, one for women, and an all-genders one that makes you smile. There’s a frosted glass door that leads to the actual studio space that seems decently soundproofed, and is confirmed when Jimin pulls open the door and loud EDM assaults your ears.

The room itself is quite large, one wall being entirely composed of mirrors. The caramel-coloured hardwood floor is a little scuffed and has tape marks in certain areas, no doubt to mark off the dancers’ positions for larger choreographed numbers. The walls are white, and a water cooler is placed in the corner, where a yawning Jungkook is fetching himself a drink.

Hoseok sees the three of you in the mirror’s reflection as he stretches his quads, his smile rivalling the sun.

“Y/N! Yoongi-hyung!” He greets enthusiastically, rising to his full height. “Welcome to HopeWorld!”

“Hoseok, your studio is amazing,” you marvel, rushing over to give him a hug. “It’s really gorgeous. Remind me to buy a shirt before I go.”

Hoseok tuts and squeezes you tight. Yoongi tries his best not to scowl, and also reminds himself that he was the one who brought you here. “First off, call me Hobi. Second, you can just grab a shirt, you don’t have to pay. I don’t charge friends and family for merchandise.”

“Hoseok—”

“Hobi,” he corrects.

“Hobi,” you relent with a smile and a shake of your head. “I can’t, that’s not right. I’ll pay, I really don’t mind.”

“Oh,” Jungkook saunters over, wearing a thin white t-shirt, baggy sweats and Timberland boots. His hair is disheveled and pushed away from his forehead, and you think to yourself that if he was maybe five years older, you would consider it less weird to find him so objectively handsome. “You mean like how you didn’t make me pay for my tattoo?”

You open your mouth to protest when Jungkook wraps his arms around you in a bear hug and lifts you clear off the floor. You yelp in surprise and crane your neck over to Yoongi, silently pleading for help. He just shrugs, looking amused, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Okay, okay, we get it, you’re strong,” you wheeze, tapping on his arm weakly. “Let me down before I puke all over you.”

Jungkook sets you down and you straighten out your sweater that had ridden up slightly when the maknae picked you up. Yoongi tries his hardest not to let his eyes linger on the lines of the tattoo on your back that dip just below the waist of your jeans.

“Did you come to watch us dance?” Jungkook asks excitedly as Hoseok scrolls through the music on his phone. “We have a showcase coming up this summer at the performing arts centre uptown with some other dance companies in the city. You should definitely come!”

“I would love to,” you beam as Jimin plops on the ground to stretch out his legs.

“Y/N-noona, do you dance?” Jimin asks innocently, his eyelashes batting as you peer at him suspiciously.

You take a subconscious step closer to Yoongi, caution lacing your tone. “You don’t have to call me noona. And no…why do you ask?”

Jimin shrugs, his infectious smile looking more mischievous than ever. “Would you ever want to learn? I teach here too, part-time, if you ever want a private lesson.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi warns, shooting the younger man a glare that he blatantly ignores.

“Okay, okay,” Hoseok pipes up, having settled on a song. “Let’s just go for a little while longer today. I’m pretty beat. Let’s just run through the choreo a few more times, okay? Yoongi-hyung, Y/N, you can have a seat if you want, we have folding chairs over there by the water cooler.”

Yoongi politely tells you to wait there as he goes to get chairs for the two of you, while Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook enter their starting formation. The music swells, some melodic hip-hop song you’ve never heard before. They get into their starting poses as you and Yoongi take a seat. He may or may not have positioned the chairs so that they are flush to each other, your knee nearly grazing his as you both sit down.

And then they start to dance.

You’d heard from Junghyun that Jungkook was a great dancer—the elder Jeon had humble-bragged enough about his younger sibling when he’d gotten into a prestigious dance program in high school, but seeing him and the others in their element is something truly awe-inspiring.

Hoseok moves like water, fluid as he dances in perfect step with his two friends. He winks at you in the mirror as he hits an eight-count that involves some heavy hip thrusting, and you might have swooned if you were any weaker of a woman. The three of them switch positions every so often so that each of them can have a moment in the spotlight, and you can’t help but notice how perfectly in sync they are with one another. Jimin’s movements are smooth and have almost an emotional weight to them, and you can’t help but wonder if he studied contemporary dance.

“They’re good, huh?” Yoongi’s voice drifts into your ear as he leans in to whisper to you.

You turn to face him, and he’s closer than you expect. But you don’t pull away. “They’re incredible,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from beaming ear to ear. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Yoongi nudges your shoulder with a grin in reply and the two of you go back to watching your friends finesse their way through their routine. Once the music stops, you bounce up onto your feet to give them a standing ovation.

“That was so amazing!” You can’t help but gush as the three boys bow to you. “Watching you guys makes me really wish I could dance.”

“Those private lessons are still up for grabs,” Jimin winks as he runs a hand through his sweaty hair. You know that he’s trying to flirt with you, but you catch the same vibe from him as you do with Hoseok—flirting comes as easy to him as the intake of oxygen, and you’re completely unbothered.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you respond, “Sorry, love. I’ve got two left feet and a man waiting for me at home.”

Those words nearly make Yoongi’s heart stop. Jungkook catches the shift in his demeanour, and before Yoongi can do something stupid like put his foot in his mouth again or storm off in a huff, he quickly states, “Noona, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t,” you clarify immediately. “Sorry, that was misleading. I’m cat-sitting for my neighbour right now. Her little fluff ball, Merlin, is staying with me for a few days.”

Yoongi’s tense shoulders immediately relax, and it seems as if everyone in the room notices except for you.

“Besides,” you add, crossing your arms with a sigh. “I don’t date anyway.”

The tension in Yoongi’s shoulders returns with a vengeance, and he swears he can taste bile at the back of his throat. You launch into an explanation about why that is, something about focusing on your career and not having time to invest in another person, but he barely registers your words. It’s like he’s underwater and your voice is muffled above the surface. He’s drowning, but he doesn’t understand why.

Jungkook and Hoseok share a knowing look.

The five of you linger in the dance studio a while longer, conversation flowing easily as Jimin and Jungkook take teasing jabs at each other. Hoseok shows you some more of his dance moves, specifically his street dancing, as Jungkook attempts to twerk. Jimin somehow finds himself sprawled out with his head on your lap as you sit on the ground. You absentmindedly stroke his hair as if he’s a cat, attempting to braid the longer pieces of his bangs to no avail. Yoongi tries his best not to scowl.

“Oh shit, is that the time?” You suddenly notice how late it is as you look up at the clock on the wall. Jimin whines as you gently nudge him away. “I have to go back and feed Merlin before he pees on my shoes.” Everyone stands up as you gather your things. Turning to the dancers, you give a small bow and say, “Thank you for showing me your dance routine, it was amazing!”

You then turn to Yoongi, who still looks a little out of it. He notices that you’re staring at him, and he blinks hard a few times, eyes focused on you.

“Thank you for today,” you say quietly, and you step forward to wrap your arms around his neck in a loose hug. You figure Yoongi isn’t one for physical affection, so you keep the hug brief before scurrying over to the others to bid them farewell in a similar manner. You say your goodbyes, and then you’re out the door.

The four boys stand in the middle of the practice studio, Yoongi’s eyes trained on the now closed door. The other three blatantly gawk at him until Jimin pipes up.

“Yoongi-hyung’s got it bad.”

“No I don’t,” he says in a rush, ruffling his bangs so that they cover more of his eyes. “Y/N and I are just friends. And barely, at that. We just went for coffee today, that’s it.”

“I don’t know,” Jimin replies pensively. “You did seem pretty upset when she was playing with my hair.”

Yoongi growls. “That’s because you were basically eye-fucking her, Jimin. It was uncomfortable for everyone.”

“You really think everyone is out here eye-fucking your non-girlfriend, huh,” Hoseok jokes. “It’s okay to admit that you like her, hyung. She’s nice, she’s pretty, and she seems to like you back. I don’t see the issue.”

“There’s no issue, because I don’t like her,” Yoongi insists, choosing to ignore the last part of Hoseok’s statement. There’s a pregnant pause that settles between them, and then meekly, he adds, “Besides, even if I was—and I’m not—she just said she doesn’t date. So…there. It’s out of the question.”

“No offence, hyung,” Jungkook declares, flopping onto the ground and spreading his limbs out in a starfish formation, “but both of you are fucking dumb.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon,” Yoongi glowers. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook bats his long eyelashes up at his friend, placing his hands under his head as a makeshift pillow. “Don’t I?” He muses, letting out another yawn. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply. He’s too busy trying to ignore Jungkook’s words, as well as the way his heart rate picks up slightly at the very mention of your name.

[sadheartsongs]

the 1975 • a brief inquiry into online relationships

•  the 1975: step into your skin, i’d rather jump in your bones. // it’s a lovely tradition that they start every one of their records with a self-titled song. which also happens to be the intro of their live shows. a few seconds that always (kinda) sum up the whole record.

• give yourself a try: like friends don’t lie and it all tastes the same in the dark. when your vinyl and coffee collection is a sign of the times. //  the first song of that record that came out. the typical the 1975 sound, which feels like coming home but it sounds new and unknown as well. the lyrics are pretty personal pretty dark. i think we all have a lot we’d love to tell out 16-year olds... but we never told ourselves back then that it’s actually worth giving it a try, right?  ‘and what would you say to your younger self? growing a beart’s quite hard and whiskey never starts to taste nice....’

• tootimetootimetootime: i swear that i only called her one time, maybe it was two times? i don’t think it was three times, can’t be more than four times. // there are so many things about this song, ohmygod. first of all the fact that they incuded ‘me too’ in the title. and have you even lived if you didn’t catch yourself at 3am in the morning singing the lyrics?  the third release of this record and probably the most catchy one. i don’t even need to listen to this song to have an earworm again, haha. and i love how matty said in an interview that this song 'is not necessarily all autobiographical..’ good! and later he said he doesn’t care if tis song is gonna be a hit he only wants us fans to listen. well i guess both things are happening.

• how to draw / petrichor: love yourself like someone you love. don’t take one of my advice // ugh ‘love yourself like someone you love’ is one of the best advices i ever heard but what do i know. at the first listen i didn’t like the song that much, i don’t know. maybe it have to grow on me. but my electro-clubbing-loving heart instantly fell for the beat of this song. this is something i’d like to dance under neon lights with a drink in my hand and not caring about anything at all. oh, and ‘don’t let the internet ruin all of your time’ is another very good advice. surround yourself with good vibes only, online, too.

• love it if we made it: oh fuck your feelings, truth is only hearsay. we’re just left to decay. modernity has failed us. // this is my favorite the 1975 song ever. EVER. okay i said this with ‘somebody else’ from the last record and ‘chocolate’ from the first one buuuut whatever. i just love everything about this song. the beat the lyrics the whole vibe. how it sounds like an old song from the ninetees or something and still so new at the same time. this is the kind of song you need to turn up as loud as possible and it’s still not loud enough. there are references to lil peep and kanye. and i love the ‘modernity has failed us’ line so so much. i think if i’d have to describe this record, the whole band in just one song i’d choose this. sure there are a lot which also would be perfect for this cause but you know. fuck i’m dying to hear this live. announce european tour dates, pretty please. ugh.

matty said about this one at beats one radio: ‘it’s quite outward and it’s me kind of looking out. it’s an interesting one because there’s not a lot of context in a lot of the things that I say in that it’s direct quotes of people or their headlines I’ve read (...) it’s very objective though, this song. i think that’s one of the things i suppose i get to hide behind. a lot of the stuff that you could be upset about in the song, I never said in the first place. ‘

• be my mistake: i shouldn’t have called cause we shouldn’t speak. you do make me hard but she makes me weak // this is supposed to be about guilt and being with someone else to get over / forget the one you actually want i guess. maybe it’s about addiction. the mistake you make over and over again even though you know it’s so wrong. but sometimes you need to make mistakes to realize what you really want and need. this has kinda a therapeutic thing.  i love the acoustic vibe of the song. it doesn’t need much to glow.

• sincerity is scary: why can’t we be friends if we are lovers? cause it always ends with us hating each other. // the fourth song that came out of this, the slowest one and a very deep one, again. i admit it had to grow on me, too. don’t know, the slow songs always take some time on me. ‘if i believe you’ from the last record still does. anyway. i’d love to listen to this at church. you know, the acoustic. that would sound breathtaking. ‘and irony is okay, i suppose, culture is to blame. you try and mask your pain in the most postmodern way.’ this is the most accurate description of the way everyone just put a facade on them which makes others feel like they’re okay nowadays ever. no one would survive without irony but why is everyone so scared of eing real for once?

• i like america & america likes me: i’m scared of dying. no gun required. my skin is desire, so fired. // maybe you wouldn’t expect a political song about gun usuage in america between all those songs and maybe that’s exact what we need at this point. matty said that this song is an hommage on the soundcloud rap - which is pretty big in america i guess - and he first wanted to release it (without or) just mumble lyrics but combining this with lyrics about the biggest problem america have - perfect. i guess this is one of the things that makes this band so special. every song has a deeper meaning, there’s not a single one which only fills a void. i‘m not a big fan of the soundcloud rap stuff and i’m still not friends with that song but it fits in the whole pretty good.

• the man who married a robot: you can tell me anything. i’m your best friend. anything you say to me will stay strictly between you and the internet // the whole song - which isn’t particulary a song - is spoken by the male version of siri. a monologue about a lonely man whose only friend is the internet. he lives in a lonely house. in a lonely world. it sounds so sad but this is actually more real than we can imagine i guess. there are a lot of lonely people in the world who sit alone at home daily with no one to talk. i’m pretty sure it won’t take long until the first human actually marries a robot, haha. this sounds so weird but you know the world we live in is so weird and nothing is impossible anymore... matty said he likes the idea of the next decade being about robots. sounds interesting, count me in.

• inside your mind: maybe you are dreaming that you’re in love with me. the only option left is look and see. // ‘it’s just the idea of sometimes wanting to know what  your partner is thinking so much that you want to smash their head open to look.’ this song is inspired by the movie ‘gone girl’ (i love that movie! if you’ve seen it it makes sense i think) and this whole thing, the thought, the metaphor of this... is kinda morbid but i like that kind of stuff so... the slow beat of this song makes the whole thing even more intense. like you can almost feel the voice, the whole song crawling into you. wow. just wow.

•  it’s not living (if it’s not with you): all i do is sit and drink without you. if i choose than i lose. distract my brain from the terrible news. it’s not living if it’s not without you. // what sounds like a love thing at first - you know, the whole ‘oh my god i can’t live without you’- thing... - is actually about mattys heroine addiction. drug addictions are maybe the even biggerl ove than a person ever could be, sadly. the vibe of the song is so happy and positive like you want to listen to it on a sunny day and sing along and if you listen to the lyrics it’s the complete opposite. he was in rehab for severe weeks and seems to be clean ever since. thank god.

i love how he tries to put the whole thing into songs - like he did on every record - and being open about it. everyone of us has their own truth and sooner or later we need to talk about it i guess.. it helps to see people as they really are. which is important. ‘the problem I have now is that this is my truth, and I feel like I can’t negotiate properly with the world if I can’t tell the truth.’

• surrounded by heads and bodies: she wears it like a dress, a post-traumatic mess // another one about his time in rehab. or better, about a girl he met there and instantly had a connection with. the title is inspired by a book and i guess that’s pretty much how you feel while being in rehab. but i have to admit when i read the title i kinda expected more from this song. shame on me, i know.

• mine: when people said it was raining all the time i see sunshine ‘cause i know that you are mine // god this line is one of the most beautiful love confessions ever, i’d cry if someone said something like this to me. the song has a pretty jazz vibe. this is something different. a song you’d like to hear in a old jazz bar in downtown new york with a huge glass of wine in one hand and the hand of your loved one in the other. (and i want to see matty in a suit performing this, haha.)  nothing you can hear on repeat, but if you listen to it it gets you completely. completely smiling. and a bit sad.

•  i couldn’t be more in love: maybe i’ll rely on all the things that made it right because i’d give you all the years of my life // another big song. with a slow and deep vibe which could be played in the movies. though it’s not a love song, according to matty. ‘it’s about what happens when people don’t care anymore.’ he sang the vocals the day before he went to rehab. it would’ve came out better after but this is what makes this song so special. it’s not perfect, the voice sounds so vunerable. hurt.  hopeless. a song that physically hurts you when you listen to it but you just can’t stop.

• i always wanna die (sometimes): your memories are sceneries for things you said but never really meant // fuck, fuuuuuuuuck. this song always gets me no matter how many times i already listened to this it always feels like the first time. it also sounds like a song which exists since a a long time, like a song you’ve always known. another big one. a cinematic vibe. it’s a summary of the daily online life. the perfect last song for this album.

i’m following them since such a long time, i guess it was when ‘chocolate’ came out. wish it was earlier. and it makes me so happy to see how far they’ve come and how this whole thing grew bigger and bigger with each album. how many memories are made with the songs over the years.  saw them live a few times - always mindblowing. you know i see a lot of concerts of famous bands and small indie ones and this and that but they have that kind of live show which leaves you kinda speechless, so many colors and lighs and beautiful effects and the songs and damn, this wasn’t what i wanted to say when i started the sentence haha. what i actually wanted to say was, that this album, even if you’re not listen to them that much (if someone is doing this) will make you feel like coming home after a long day when you sit down on your couch and pour the wine in the glass. they have their own kind of sound. probably nothing that hasn’t existed before but if you hear the songs you instantly know it’s a 1975 song. this album will make you smile and cry an sing along an think about your life and buy concert tickets because you NEED to see this live for at least once in your lifetie, i promise you. if you’re searching for a good soundtrack for your life, try the 1975.

[taeilm]

song drabbles;

(sicheng) / yellow

A person starts dying the moment he opens his eyes, the moment he draws his first breath, the moment he is born. There isn’t a set point in life where “I’m living” turns into “I’m dying,” because the two are happening concurrently all the damn time and have been since the start.

It takes you eleven months to realize that Sicheng didn’t just start dying at 21 but has in fact always been dying, stumbling towards the end of a timeline seventy years too short. It takes you eleven months to realize that no amount of begging, praying, shouting, crying will save him, stop time, or reverse the unchangeable.

“I’m sorry,” Sicheng says from his hospital bed, disappearing into a pillow twice his size. His eyes look frighteningly big on his pale face, his lips chapped and colorless, his cheekbones too sharp in their attempt to hold up what’s left of his sunken cheeks. “Maybe you shouldn’t come anymore.”

You tell him to shut up. 

He turns his head to look out the bedside window, at the hospital’s sorry excuse of a courtyard full of dead and dying plants, and doesn’t see you wipe an angry hand across your stinging eyes.

“It’d be nice if there were flowers here,” he says one day, quietly and casually, like making a wish knowing it won’t be fulfilled. “The garden would look prettier.”

You make a detour on your way home that night, stepping for the first time into the only flower shop on this side of town.

And never, until now, have you noticed the emotional disparities that exist within this space; the head-on collision of bliss and grief, tangled in an off-balanced waltz, because people can only see the sweet wishes and congratulatory smiles and the flowers that come and go in hearty joy. Because people are blind to tragedies until they’re in one themselves.

You see a man buying roses for a lover, a girl picking carnations for her mother, friends browsing bouquets for someone’s birthday. You're struck with the sudden urge to shove their faces into the leftover thorns and snipped-off stems and make a mess of the shop because damn it, damn it, they don’t deserve these flowers, they have everything they can possibly want or need. The flowers are only ornaments to them, meaningless substitutes and add-ons for perfect lives. You’re inexplicably angry, jealous, sickened by their enthusiasm. 

In the end, you leave without buying anything.

+

You’re always scared when Sicheng closes his eyes these days, for you never know if the momentary slumber might fall into something more dreadful, more permanent.

The fear between not being able to say goodbye and knowing you won’t ever time it right keeps you up from sunrise to moonset, so much that with each passing day, you morph a little more into the pallid skeleton that Sicheng has long since become.

He, of course, notices.

“I don’t want to see you anymore,” he tells you one day out of the blue.

“I’ll come whenever the hell I want.”

“Then I’ll call the nurses on you.” His eyes harden for the briefest second and you can almost, almost see past the emaciation to the sharp intensity they used to hold, the same gaze that has transfixed you countless times before. “Go home and sleep on an actual bed instead of embarrassing yourself on that couch every night. You look ugly as shit and you’re making me sicker than I already am.”

You let out a laugh that sounds half bitter, half derisive.

“You really still think those tactics will work on me. Maybe they’ll drive your pretty little admirers and ex-girlfriends away, but I’ve known you for too fucking long to buy it, Sicheng, so shut up.”

His lips curl into a faint sneer. “You wanna see me die that bad, huh.”

You stand up so quickly from his bedside that you nearly knock your chair over, but he only leans back and meets your glare with half-lidded eyes, unfazed and infuriatingly nonchalant.

“Why are you doing this?”

He begins to twirl with one of the tubes hanging off of him, and gives you that same maddening smile. “I’ve been lying on a hospital bed waiting to die for six months. What would you like me to do? I’ll try my best to oblige.”

You don’t realize how hard you’d been clenching your jaw until you leave the room, leave the hospital.

+

It isn’t until a week later, when you receive a tearful and stuttering call from Sicheng’s sister in the middle of the night and rush over from the other side of the city to arrive breathless and trembling in front of the ER that you fully register to the weight of his timeline, the invisible precariousness that dangles between every second you spend and don’t spend with him, the magnitude of his existence in your life.

“He’s had another seizure,” his sister says, red-eyed and sobbing into a ball of tissues, and you try not to think about the glioblastoma growing in his brain that’s slowly pushing the life out of him or the endless headaches and chemotherapies and the dimming light in his eyes or that every visit you pay him might be the last one ever because no, no, no, he has to live, please, just one more day, one more. Please. God, surely you must know—

—for him I’d do anything.

Yet you stand here in this sterile hallway, heartbeats suspended and helpless, absolutely helpless.

+

On his 22nd birthday, you buy him 22 yellow roses.

He’s reading a book when you enter his room with the bouquet, and laughs for the first time in months. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Happy birthday.”

He watches you intently as you arrange the flowers in the empty vase on his nightstand. “Thanks. I’m surprised I made it this far. It would’ve been poetic to die in the summer.”

By now you’ve gotten good at ignoring these self-deprecating and morbid phrases, but wish he’d stop saying them nonetheless.

“What’s your wish?” you ask him. “I’ll grant it, anything you want. Don’t waste this once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“I want you to forget about me.”

“Sicheng.”

“Fine,” he sighs in resignation, though seems amused by your distress all the same. “Let’s watch the sunrise, then, on that rooftop we used to go to. I miss it.”

You hesitate, knowing that the hospital staff—much less his family—may very well kill you for attempting to sneak him out in his current condition, strung taut over the fine line between life and death, every millisecond pulling him closer to a place where no one can follow.

“Please,” he says, so softly that you can barely hear him, and in the end it’s this one simple word that dissipates all your qualms, impels you to take him through the city and up the stairs of that tall abandoned skyscraper because Sicheng has never begged you in all the years you’ve known him.

He is so skinny that you can feel every rung of his ribcage and his forearm digging into your shoulder as you help him towards the topmost floor. The concrete platform is open on two sides, a half-finished roof hanging over your heads as you sit next to him and watch the stars fade one by one from the sky, looking no different than the countless other nights you’ve spent with him here, when the two of you were happy and more than alive and wholly unplagued by expiration dates.

When the first ray of light begins to peek over the skyline, when a blinding wave of yellow slowly washes across the slumbering buildings, you hear his breath hitch in his throat. You’re unnerved when you turn to see him cover his eyes with a hand, and a tear—then two, then three—gliding like gemstones down his cheeks.

“Hey, what’s wr—”

“I'm scared,” he chokes out, the confession scraping past his throat like wetted sandpaper. “I’m scared. I’m scared. I want to live... I want to live so bad.”

You reach out a hand and grasps his, more tightly than you’ve ever held anything, and feel your chest strain in desperation, despair, wishful thinking that none of this is real, that come dawn you’ll return to the hospital and the doctor will say, He’s okay now, he’ll live. We’ve cured him and all of this is over. 

Instead, you swallow an imminent sob and turn your gaze to the horizon, letting your head fall on his shoulder.

“It’s beautiful, the sunrise,” you say, and Sicheng laughs with his palm still pressed against his eyes, unable to bring himself to watch another day fly off his finite calendar. The heart-wrenching sound claws at your chest; it’s the kind of laugh that only a dying person can produce.

“Yes. The most beautiful one I’ve seen.”