#you’ll never have the joy of seeing them grow and learn how to adapt

[i-am-a-freg]

People would really have you murder babies with disabilities. Mom might grieve after that baby is born, in fact she probably will, especially if it was unexpected. But how much worse to decide that child should die, and never get to learn how to take care of them, to help them grow into a beautiful human, help them learn how to live?

[sophies-junkyard]

Seeing the new PJO content has me thinking way too hard about growing up. Its crazy because it’s like…. I think that chapter of my life is over? Which is a BIZARRE feeling. It’s all pretty stupid to write out but I’m drinking coffee and staring out the window and don’t have class for another 6 hours so lemme scribble some thoughts.

I read the Percy Jackson books when I was the same age as the characters, and so whenever I look back on those stories I sort of… remember them as peers? I remember how much I related to them and looked up to them. It was the first story that ever told me my ADHD could be a gift, and that it made me just like my heroes. It was so, SO important to me. I JOINED TUMBLR for the PJO fandom! I made camp t-shirts and painted necklace beads! I learned to draw because the fanart inspired me. Those books were such an escape for a lonely kid. The characters grew up right alongside me, and eventually got older than me. So when I picture our trio I still picture people… more competent than me? People I would aspire to be. But seeing that trailer and remembering like… holy fuck they were kids. I was a kid. This is a faithful adaptation because they were TWELVE… where did the time go?

It’s just strange because if you scroll back through my tumblr you’ll find a kid who camped out for the release of HOH. Who saved her allowance for a year to get an autographed copy of the Blood of Olympus. Whose eyes would glaze over in euphoria at the idea of my favorite thing in the world coming to screen. At the idea of a new BOOK!! And from Percy’s perspective?? That girl would’ve exploded. This was HER blog! Push a few buttons and you’ll find her!

So how odd is it that… it’s simply not for me anymore. When I saw that the book was set in Percy’s senior year of high school, I had a tiny flash of disappointment. Obviously I can’t relate to an 18 year old, and I felt myself frowning. “Why isn’t Percy for ME anymore?” I wondered. And I immediately felt silly. The answer is because… I don’t need that world anymore.

They’re not making this show for me. They’re bringing it back for the next generation of kids who need those role models and those stories. When I watched the trailer I thought “oh that’s cool” instead of “oh my god I can’t wait!!” Because it just doesn’t make my brain light up like it used to. I’m never going to relate to it like I once did. Ever. And that’s okay because I’m not that kid anymore! Insane.

It’s not like the series doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. There’s a copy of The Lightning Thief on the bookshelf directly across from me. Its smooshed between The Secret History and a level 4000 Spanish textbook. It’s yellowed with age and shredded around the corners. The first sentence has been underlined repeatedly in smudgy mechanical pencil. There are about a thousand folded pages and the back cover is missing. I don’t remember the last time I opened it, but it’s moved with me for years now and I have no intention of letting it go.

Those stories and that fandom shaped me into the person I am today. I wanted to be brave like Percy and smart like Annabeth. I believed it was possible because I saw myself in them, and it turned out to be true. So while it’s sad to know those days are behind me, I’m so SO glad that other kids will get to have that experience. I hope these stories live on for decades to come.

I don’t really know what the point of writing this was. I think I just wanted to have these thoughts written out somewhere. A sort of acceptance that time goes on and things change, ya know? And to clarify: this is NOT meant to discourage ANYBODY from watching the new series or reading the new book. People should absolutely go back to the things that bring them joy, should discover new worlds to escape to, etc. live your life baby! Hell, I’ll probably end up liking everything PJO related that floats across my dash. Nostalgia is a powerful thing. If you read this entire post I hope you have a great day lmao.

[jaw-writes]

I Despise You Darling

I despise everything about you. Your endless void eyes, freakishly long legs, ever smug smile, deceptively soft touch, strangely floral scent. All of it. You attack each of my senses every time you come near me. To think that we were once best friends, I had more faith in you than anyone, whenever I needed advice or a shoulder to cry on, I went to you first. You meant the world to me; it makes me feel sick whenever I remember how the girl I loved was a lie 

You betrayed me, your best friend, in the name of a grotesque experiment where I’m the lab rat. There’s no doubt that you started the fire that continues to burn my life, but I can’t deny that I’ve enjoyed pouring the gasoline. At first, I did my best to avoid becoming obsessed with you, constantly holding myself back knowing it was wrong, but you made it impossible. Your mind is a carefully curated garden brimming with all sorts of life. As each day went by, I wanted to pick another flower from it, feel another blade of grass, and bask in its intrigue. 

I learned so much about you through observation, that I never could as your friend. Last year when I found out that you’d been stalking me, I had no idea why you’d do such a thing, now I understand. If watching me gave you a quarter of the feelings I get from watching you, then I’d almost forgive your actions. Gazing at your life through an analytical lens elicits feelings in me I didn’t know existed. It’s almost impossible to describe the manic rush of joy and power I get. 

Although, I think we enjoy it in different ways based on how we view each other. To you I’m your favorite seed in your garden, you want to watch me grow into your ideal tree. So, you take what you know about how I function, and combine it with your understanding of the world to make a compost for me. As brutal as the water you drown me in and the harsh sun you scorch me with is, it’s all part of your method to make me grow. I am a creation you live to see reach its full potential.  

To me, you’re the opposite, a malicious computer program that I enjoy watching destroy itself. You have never felt an ounce of empathy and have always needed to control any device you encounter. Once you find a target, you infect them with your virus, mining every piece of their data, and adding them to your collection of stolen lives. You successfully did it to me, but unlike the others, you kept going. Focusing on my activity far after you were done stealing from me, constantly coming back to see how I’d adapt to a new trojan horse you threw.  

Soon, I became the only user you engaged with, no other piece of tech mattered unless it was connected to me, and God, did seeing you like that feed my ego. A smile forces its way to my face at your meticulous plans growing in detail and intensity as you can’t focus on anything else. I, a random individual with nothing but a hint of illness to him, is who you put all your resources into. I’m unable to fear you anymore, while I gaze at you practically living for me. In your efforts to crumble and rebuild my life. You’ve made yourself incapable of having your own.  

Both of us have embraced the worst aspects of ourselves through the sick experiments we’ve been running on each other. You may be the greater evil between us, but I’m no longer afraid to admit that I’ve become a devil myself. I mean, I lured you into an abandoned warehouse, called upon one of my allies to help me fight you, and then shot you ceaselessly, making sure it was in areas that would maim, but not kill you. Now why would I do that? To make you paralyzed, of course. I was incredibly particular about where I aimed.  

You’ll be unable to move your limbs for at least four months, which invigorates me. I’ve been watching you and your caretaker. It’s great seeing both your arms and legs in casts. You had already been losing your strength to your fixation on me, but now you’ll be incapable of running away. If you find yourself fearing me right now, know that whatever happens next is your fault. I’m not the Anti-Christ, so I’ll simply enjoy observing your lack of mobility, with no further harm, but prepare yourself because the moment you can walk, I’ll be waiting.  

Unless I’m lying like you always lied to me, and I’ll strike once one of your limbs heal. Maybe I’ll be tracking you even more and will be able to tell if you’re pretending that you haven’t healed so I don’t hurt you sooner. Maybe I won’t even wait for when your body starts recovering, and you’ll wake up to me standing over your bed with my hands on your neck. I know how much you like analyzing and picking out patterns with me, so I’ll make sure you never know what to expect. I could be bluffing, and this is all to scare you off, so I’ll be done with you, you’ll never know. 

Are you starting to regret choosing me for this? Does the thought that you’ve grown a deadly poison plant out of your control kill you? Or are you loving this as much as I am, and you want to rub yourself all over me to get a blistering rash? I think it’s a mix of both for you, but who am I to say, it’s not like I’ve been watching your every move, right? No matter what you feel, just remember, I despise you, darling. 

[kingsonne-zedecks]

It’s not your fault the world ended, you tried your best. And it’s not like you were the best one for the job either. Just some random person who couldn’t stand by and do nothing. You didn’t really have any hope of succeeding anyway —the King’s army, the Grand Mages, the Guilds— all had fallen against the might of the Dark Lord. But doing nothing never really felt like a choice to you or the rest of the ragtag group of strangers that had become your companions.

In a way you were quite proud of yourselves. You had made it farther than you could have ever dreamed, and as your blood stains the cobbled stone floor of the Dark Lords keep, surrounded by the cooling corpses of your unexpected allies, you watch as he hesitates for a moment before completing the ritual that will grant him complete control. Part of you thinks that’s odd, but the rest of you feels very cold, and has a hard time focusing, and you are so so tired, and maybe you’ll just close your eyes for a little bit. If only that light wasn’t glowing so brightly.

You wake up, and the world is still here. Your limbs are all in their proper place and your blood is inside you where it belongs. It’s not quite clear what happened at first, but you catch on quick. After all there are only so many possible explanations for your village to suddenly be unburned and the dead unharmed. Despair and relief fill you as you realize you have time, time to convince the King and the Mages and the Guilds of the danger, time to fix things, time to save the world properly this time. 

The King will not see a lowly peasant such as you, and the Mages scoff that their mighty magic could fail to withstand any enemy. After your third time trying to force your way in to see the Guild heads you are thrown in prison, and there you wait until the world burns. It comes quicker this time, and you wonder if maybe you really had made a difference after all that first time.

You wake up again, and you seek them out, that mismatched collection of strangers bonded by blood and fire. Tears of joy run freely as you come together piece by piece and realize that you all remember. Gods or Fate must have their eyes on you, to give you these chances, and you will not fail them. You are smarter in your approach this time, you know of many of the dangers posed by the Dark Lord and his forces and the risks are lower. You are slaughtered once again, and the world ends. 

Who are you to save the world, a collection of nobodies, peasants and traders, urchins and outcasts. You have time though. Time to grow, to become more than you are. Time and time and time again. You learn to fight, you seek out strange and powerful magics, and you learn with each death to hate the Dark Lord with all your might. 

With each death a new life, and the bonds of blood and fire are surpassed by bonds of trust and true friendship. Your rabble of nobodies become a band of mighty heroes, and you are no longer slaughtered without effect. The Dark Lord’s plans are thwarted, and he adapts. You save the world, only for it to die another way. You fight and you fight, sure in the knowledge that Time is on your side, and one day, sooner or later you will win. Gods and Fate have decreed it.

It has been countless lives. Countless deaths. This time is different, your plan is without flaw, your teamwork without error. You move together as if by one mind. The keep is stormed and the ritual disrupted, and this time, it is the Dark Lord whose blood stains the stones of the keep. He laughs despite the mortal blow and a shiver runs up your spine. He speaks and oh how you hate the sound of his voice. 

“Thank you all so very much.” he says. “I’ve had so much fun.” 

He coughs, and blood stains his chin. 

“You cannot imagine what it felt like to stand on the precipice of victory after years of planning and preparation. To see everything fall into place without fault, every contingency accounted for, every resistance preemptively countered. Success guaranteed.”

He stares into your eyes and you glare back. 

“Empty. It felt so empty. My whole life I dedicated to this fight, to this goal. What would I have once I won? Nothing. And there you were, so young, so foolish, so… unexpected. A fun little diversion, perhaps the most fun I had in the entire ordeal. And why shouldn’t I have a little fun? Victory would always be mine if I wanted it. I had time.

“So let’s play this game again one last time, and please do try your hardest. Make it count.”

You thrust with your sword a second too late, and golden light blinds you.

[helliontherapscallion]

Sweet and Sour (Adrenaline Junkie Part 14)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood, talks of hypothetically dying, bones/teeth 

Word Count: 2,392

(A/N): the next part is currently in the works and probably will be out by tomorrow/late at night tonight 

The days ticked closer and closer until you had only mere hours left until your scheduled departure for the cave. With each passing day, you became more anxious and paranoid, your prosthetic wing constantly malfunctioning until you programmed it to respond solely to your conscious movement and not the random twitching of your muscles. It took you a bit to get used to, but you quickly got the hang of it. It felt closer to having an actual wing on your back again, but not exactly. Nothing beat the feeling of the wind resisting against both wings at the same time. 

You doubted if Philza knew anything, but you did know that he suspected something. He knew you like the back of his hand and vice versa. You both knew each other all too well, he raised you and you spent most of your time with him growing up after all. 

Currently, you are obsessively reading over your will and the book you wrote for Arthur full of redstoning advice and what you’ve learned over the years. After rereading your letters to your family and your will, you decided that this is exactly how you wanted everything to turn out if you ended up not surviving this. Which, the chances of you actually surviving this was slim to none. 

However, you remained hopeful as there were several unknown variables in the equation. How big this thing was, its age, and most importantly what the cave currently looked like. It’s been multiple years and there might’ve been more erosion over the years altering the surface of the stone. From what you remembered, the ceilings were at least a hundred feet tall, so you had plenty of room to hover above it when needed. You had no clue if the ledge was still there, but if it was the being most definitely could snatch you up. You were going to have to be careful. Besides, you had a son you had to live for. You were going to get out of there alive. For Arthur. For Philza. For Wilbur. For Tommy. For Technoblade.

You reread your plans. Plan A consisted of you sneaking in (making sure this time to keep your wings close to your body), planting TNT, and setting it off with a lever as far away from the deepest part of the cave as you could. Plan B, if Plan A failed and the Warden noticed your presence, was to use the portable TNT launcher while flying as high as you could. If that failed, then you were kind of screwed. Plan C consisted of dropping everything and running for your life. You’d admit, they weren’t the most well thought out plans, but it was all you could think of.

You made sure your wing was secured on your back correctly with a full movement test before you slung your bag onto your back stocked full of redstone and TNT and put your portable TNT launcher into the holster on your hip. 

You took a deep breath and gathered your papers before you took one last look at your old workshop. You made sure to scrub it clean of redstone residue and re-sorted the blueprints so that everything was easier to find in the filing cabinets. You were sure that your… unique method of not sorting anything and just knowing where everything was would be very annoying to attempt to sort through. Even Arthur couldn’t figure out your sorting system and he was the smartest kid you knew. 

Oh Arthur… He was probably sleeping right now. Or at least you hoped he would be; it was midnight. With light footing, you walked up the stairs to the second floor and straight to Wilbur’s old room. Your little boy was sleeping peacefully burrowed underneath the covers. You could hear his soft snores exiting his mouth. 

You smiled lightly and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling back the covers to see his face. His mouth was parted slightly with a small amount of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. You reached out to stroke his curly copper hair and smiled wider at the sight of his nose scrunching slightly before he relaxed with a small smile on his face. You leaned down to place a lingering kiss on his forehead before you covered him back up again and started to quietly walk out of the room. 

“Ren?” That was what he started calling you after he gave you the magnets. It was short for ‘parent’. You froze and felt your body warm up at his sleepy tone. You turned around and watched as he rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand and yawned. “Hey Artie, go back to sleep buddy.” You walked over to him and gently pushed him back into the pillows. He nodded and grabbed your sleeve. 

“Can you get me a glass of water please?” He sounded so out of it. “Of course, buddy.” You grabbed your bag and slung it back over your shoulder. You quietly went downstairs and filled up a glass with water. You sat it on the counter and pulled out your papers and the hefty book you had written from your bag. You spread them all out on the dining room table where Philza was sure to see it in the morning. You hopefully should be back before the time he usually woke up so you could just grab them and trash them when you get back.

Before you got back to Arthur’s room, you shed your bag and TNT launcher by the front door. You didn’t know if he saw them before, but he definitely didn’t need to see them now. Inside, Arthur was propped up on his chin desperately fighting against sleep. You walked over to him and gave him his water, scolding him lightly when he didn’t fully sit up so he wouldn’t choke. When he was satisfied, he put the water on the nightstand and laid back down. He looked up at you with sleep dazed eyes, “where are you going?”

You froze and sat on his bed, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He scrunched up his nose and stared at you in annoyance, “no you aren’t, you’re going somewhere.”

You stared at him before you sighed, “I’m just going… to get more redstone. I just need a bit more to finish what I’m working on. I won’t be gone for long, I promise.”

“Can- can you stay here? At least until I fall back asleep?”

“Of course, my little fledgling.”

He looked up at you timidly, “will you always be with me?”

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm soothingly, “I’ll never leave you. Even if I’m away, you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” you grabbed your feather he kept on his nightstand and handed it to him. It was one of your primary feathers you lost in one of your last molts in the house before you left for L’manberg that you found between your bed and your wall. It was an impressive size being about a foot long, but your wings have long since grown bigger alongside your body’s growth. You were about to throw it away one day after doing a deep clean of your old room, but the boy was amazed by the patterns and the size of the feather. So you, being the caring parent you were, gave it to him. Since then, you’ve found him on several instances holding the feather to his chest in his sleep. 

He took the feather and ran his fingers along the vane and stem. You could see him tearing up slightly, so you leaned down and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll always be with you, my little fledgling.” You pulled back after placing a kiss on his forehead and ran your fingers through his curly mop of hair soothingly. You softly sang the song Philza would hum to you as a kid and watched as he drifted off to sleep. 

“Love you Ren,” he slurred out before he was completely out. You softly smiled at his sleeping form, “I love you too, Artie. I love you too.” You sat there for a bit absorbing his every facial feature and felt pride and warmth erupt within you. Arthur Fox was your son, your pride and joy. He certainly had a bright future ahead of him. Sighing, you remembered the task ahead of you. You needed to leave soon. 

Reluctantly, you left the room and started to make your way downstairs. “Did he have a nightmare?” A sleepy quiet voice asked from behind you. You jumped and whipped around with your hand flying to the empty holster on your hip before you relaxed seeing Philza there. He looked like he just crawled out of bed, his blond hair stuck up in multiple places and his blue eyes hazy. 

You put a hand over your heart, “Ender Dad don’t do that, you scared the shit outta me. But yeah, he had a nightmare but he’s fine now.” He tiredly hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into an unexpected hug. “You’re a good parent for him. I’m so proud of you for adapting to the responsibility that adopting a kid takes.” You hugged him back tightly and wrapped your wings around him, careful of keeping the metal one barely pressed against him. You both stood there in the middle of the hallway enjoying each other’s presence before you heard him yawn and felt him pull back. You retracted your wings and stepped back. 

“Why’re you still dressed?” 

Shit, “oh, I was just finishing up something in my workshop.”

He deadpanned at you, “you know how I feel about you staying up this late, even if you’re an adult-”

“‘Even if I’m an adult it’s not healthy to constantly stay up this late’ I know, Dad. I’m almost done, I’ll be in bed in like half an hour tops.” He stared at you for a bit before he nodded and started to walk back to his room, “alright, I trust you. I’m going back to bed and I want you to do the same in a bit. Goodnight, (y/n). Love ya.”

“Love you too, Dad.” You waited until you heard the bed creak before you went back downstairs. You grabbed your stuff before you quietly opened the door and checked to see if there were any mobs around. Luckily for you, the nearest mob was only a single 

enderman. With that, you spread your wings and took off into the clear night sky. The weather was perfect for flying. It would’ve been a pleasant night flight if it weren’t for the current circumstances gnawing and nagging at you in the forefront of your mind.

You lowered yourself to the ground upon getting closer to the cave’s entrance and glided into it landing a ways into the cave to avoid any mobs. The ores around you were plentiful, the occasional glimmering of redstone cutting through the darkness. Old burnt out torches hung from the walls was the only indicator that there were previously other people in the cave prior to now. You could only imagine how Arthur looked at the ores with amazement and curiosity. 

As you ventured deeper, you could feel anxiety gripping at your chest and remembered how innocently and naively you craved exploration two and a half years ago. You shuddered as you wondered if the beast still had your feathers and bones scattered about. The torch in your hands sent flickering light onto the dark cave walls casting all sorts of shadows. You pushed onwards through the inky depths of the cave. Deeper yet deeper you walked placing torches wherever you went. 

Eventually, you arrived at the wide opening of the cave. From where you stood, the opening of the cave was massive making you feel miniscule. Even if you were to fully expand your wings to the side, your seven and a half foot wingspan still wouldn’t come close to touching the sides of the opening. The torch in your hand hardly cut through the abyss of the cave, so you made quick work of placing them around the area so you had a clear view of your surroundings. 

The cave was as you remembered it, but if you looked close enough, there were plenty of stalactites and stalagmites that weren’t there before. You could see faint dark brown stains on the walls and floors in scattered places, the stains of the miners that did not come back. The stench of rot, mildew, and decay emanated from deep parts of the cave, becoming almost unbearable in certain points where you couldn’t find anything out of place. Occasionally, you found cracked and broken shards of bone around some of the bloodstains. You even found a tooth and clumps of auburn hair. You shuddered as you remembered how Arthur told you that Hugh had dark ginger hair.

You have only found one of your feathers so far. It was trapped between a fissure in the wall. Crusted old blood decorated and clumped together some parts of the vane. You moved on to examine different parts of the cave. Sculk blocks littered the floor randomly, the tentacles calmly moving about. Soft squelching noises sounded from them; if you held your torch close to one of them, a soft shine could be seen. It was probably slimey. 

If you stopped to listen past the crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear anything. Besides a slight squelching noise that you suspected was from the sculk blocks and the sound of water droplets dripping, there was nothing. Good, you still could place the TNT. Plan A: commence. 

You made quick work of placing sticks of dynamite between the nooks and crannies of rocks firmly and scattered the TNT along the vast expanse of the cave. Connecting the redstone was tricky though with the amount of TNT placed, but you eventually got everything connected to one and made work of making a trail to the outside. Just as you got started on trailing the redstone towards the mouth of the cave a few hundred feet away, the torches started to flicker. 

It’s here.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[jjkpls]

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question. 

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t. 

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders. 

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point. 

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure. 

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia. 

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would. 

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience. 

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too. 

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors. 

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson. 

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away. 

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies. 

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body. 

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows. 

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?” 

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.” 

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head. 

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting. 

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees. 

A real joy. 

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger. 

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush. 

It’s ridiculous. 

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his. 

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom. 

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning. 

An easy escape you’ve come up with. 

Everyone needs those. 

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is. 

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time. 

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could. 

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit. 

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”. 

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.” 

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not. 

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out. 

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head. 

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now. 

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere. 

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim. 

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected. 

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm. 

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting. 

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him. 

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional. 

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top. 

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's. 

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks. 

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it. 

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp. 

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you. 

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you. 

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered. 

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here. 

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side. 

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them. 

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you. 

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add. 

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses. 

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them. 

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs. 

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see. 

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot. 

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended. 

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused. 

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you. 

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath. 

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!" 

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him. 

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are. 

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond. 

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore. 

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell. 

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come. 

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms. 

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind. 

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed. 

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal. 

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming. 

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck. 

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin. 

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her. 

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade. 

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck. 

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all. 

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip. 

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission. 

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“ 

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets. 

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy. 

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious. 

Therefore you grant him a glance. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin. 

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.” 

“How uncomfortable?” 

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it. 

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely. 

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine. 

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple.  You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach. 

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants. 

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did. 

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about. 

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough. 

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you. 

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again. 

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue. 

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again. 

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too. 

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs. 

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow. 

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.” 

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely. 

Way to ruin the mood. 

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied. 

Obviously. 

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places. 

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart. 

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry. 

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?” 

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets. 

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours. 

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you. 

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time. 

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment. 

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you. 

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

[peachy-inserts]

karasuno boys and commitment

request: n/a

warnings: none

a/n: just something I was thinking about, some pure fluff~

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ʜᴀᴜʟ.

Kageyama settles down. the turbulence within his soul is gone and the crashing waves knocking him over from the inside have finally been pulled in by the tide, and you are his moon, guiding him over the horizon and into safety. he doesn’t feel as if there’s a competition for your love anymore, and is finally more open with his own emotions. he’s willing to let you come to his games now, and cheer him on; he’s not scared anymore.

Tsukishima takes you to his childhood home. he makes sure to plan a visit for when his brother is home as well, secretly excited to show you off to him; he doesn’t need it, but his approval means a lot to him nonetheless. he’s always kept his family and social life separate from one another, so finally letting you meet them is a big step for him. he wants you in all aspects of his life, and is willing to put up with his mother embarrassing for the night. you’re worth it.

Asahi always keeps an extra shampoo in his shower. he wants you to feel at home when you’re with him, to adapt to life living with him so that hopefully you can have a place of your own together some day. he wants to show you how willing he is to provide for you, going out of his way to cultivate his own space into somewhere you’d choose to spend your time, somewhere you may even decorate yourself. he wants to share every aspect of his life with you on a personal level.

Daichi learns to cook with you. he craves domesticity, and almost feels as if he has to prove to you that he’s worth it, that he’d be perfect husband material. he would bring up the idea of children even if you’re still young once he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. he likes to plan your future together, creating the perfect cookie cutter plan of your life as a couple. he daydreams about weddings and simple home life; he can’t wait to grow old with you, and isn’t afraid to express it. he looks forward to everything that you have to offer.

Sugawara lets himself be vulnerable with you. he finally breaks down the exterior he’s built up around himself as everyone else’s support system and shows you how he truly feels, exposing his fears and insecurities and puts them on display. he wears his heart on his sleeve as a test, to see if you’ll stay when you see who he truly is. he swallows the relief of your comfort with a harsh gulp, one that leaves his stomach in knots and his throat burning. he feels safe with you, and establishes a much deeper connection than the one you had before.

Tanaka swears to protect you. this is a vow he makes to you, alone in your room one day after a lazy weekend in; he can’t bear to ever lose you, whether it’s to someone else or worse. he promises to always look out for you, be there for you to cry on, to look up to for support, and to carry you when your legs are weak from the weight of your heart. he doesn’t look at anyone the way he does you, and is your inspiration. he only has eyes for you, and wants to pour his heart out to you. he’s willing to calm down for you, under your spell and hypnotized by the way you smile at his ramblings.

Nishinoya starts taking you out with him when he’s seeing his friends. he wants you to be just as important to them as he is, and visa versa. it’s important to him that you blend in, he loves them dearly and loves you even more, deeply, specially, uniquely. not only does he get to show off, but he establishes your relationship in doing so as something so effortlessly casual, as if it’s meant to be. he puts dedication into your love and wears it proudly, eager to show off. he devotes himself to you and wants to see your joy bleed into every part of his life

Yamaguchi asserts himself. he’s not shy with his emotions anymore and is confident in his feelings, knowing that you love him just as much as he does you. he stands up for himself instead of just for the ones he cares about, and learns just how important communication is. he tries to be strong for you, and although it may be hard, he always has you to fall back on. he won’t let himself be a pushover anymore, because he know how much it hurts you to see him fall. he can stand tall with you by his side.

Hinata teaches you everything he knows about volleyball. it’s consumed his life and given him motivation, kept him going even with dark and moody skies and lifted him higher than he could ever reach on his own, taught him to fly, and now that he’s soaring above the clouds the view below is a picture of the two of you together. he has to share this with you, to show you just how happy this makes him, and you deserve to feel that too. he wants to share with you the roots of his very being and carry you some place you’ll never be afraid.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

OC-tober Day 2: Glass

OC-tober prompts put together by @oc-growth-and-development​! I have to ramble in meta instead of write, because my brain is Mush lately. (I know I’m behind but I have a lot pre-written, I just need to put it into coherent words!)

This one especially can be rambled about at length, because the most important “glass” object in my stories is one I greatly enjoy exploring: Dove’s mindscape mirror!

^ I drew it forever ago; here’s the deviantArt link if you’d like to see the big version! 

https://www.deviantart.com/ravenshiddensoul/art/Dove-s-Keepsakes-Mirror-and-Box-284227087

It’s largely modeled after a bird stretching its wings upwards, with a handle like a tail and certain details are inlaid with Azarathean gold to better channel its magics.

Now, this is where the rambling begins: The mirror’s backstory, and I’ll be exploring one of my favorite things to develop in all of my stories: Dove’s mindscape!

Dove's mirror isn't one of her most prized possessions, nor super incredibly sentimental, but it IS an object touched with her mother's magic, it has flourishes of Azarathean gold (some of the last pieces to exist), and it's useful for introspection and self-soothing, so it does have some value and importance.

Dove struggled with meditating quite a lot as a child, and there was only so much her mother could do to help. Meditation was pretty important to them as both a means of helping Dove control her powers, and as a staple of Azarathean spirituality. As she so often did, Alerina poked around and asked enough questions around the temple that she was told about Raven's mirror, and she decided to replicate it for Dove. She custom ordered a gold-lined wooden hand mirror, and then cast the spells to connect it to Dove's inner world herself. It took a few tries (it's much harder to connect something to someone else's mind than your own, after all), but she was nothing if not determined to help her daughter, and eventually figured it out.

As for its main purpose: Self-reflection! (If you'll pardon the pun.) Dove uses it to meditate, but where Raven uses hers for centering and compartmentalization, Dove uses it more as a blend of escapism and a focusing aid.

Much like Raven's, Dove's mirror acts as a portal to the depths of her mind, and this is where it gets fun!

The vortex that transports the users is usually white and gold, imbued with the same energies that give Dove her powers, at least on her mother's side. It's noticeably touched with black and red in DDD. (Dove's evil side starts taking over her mind, and thus its energies manifest through the mindscape, and Dove's portal into it, hence: black and red energies instead.) It tends to open up like a light tunnel and almost opens the mental world around the user, rather than dragging them in.

Once inside, one can't expect to navigate the same way as Beast Boy and Cyborg did in "Nevermore". Every mind is different, after all! We saw Raven's mindscape divided nearly into emotional sections with a neutral space between them, and the way through each area was preset and linear. While different parts of Dove's internal world manifest in different "areas", they're not so totally divided and separate, and there's no real "neutral" zone except at the very "center". The scenery changes, but it's more of a gradual transition, and though Dove employs thresholds to mark key areas, they're very much just visual aids.

Dove's mindscape is laid out more like a series of rooms and courtyards in a very (very, very, very) large mansion. The ground is generally of crystal, spires and columns decorate the scenery, and the thresholds are modeled after birds with their wings outspread. (While this seems like a play on Dove's namesake, it's actually based on Azarath's architecture, particularly that of George Perez's Azarath in the 1980's New Teen Titans comics.)

Dove's sky shows various stars and often casts moonlight from an uncertain source, particularly when she's introspecting. The ambient temperature varies amongst the locations, chilly in the regions ruled by fear and sadness, uncomfortably warm near her demon's domain, and comfortable and breezy where her peace and contentment reside.

One could easily get lost in her mindscape if they don't know where they're going. The place can shift and change on a whim.

Where Dove spends her time building that peace and contentment, it's very closely modeled after her mother's memories of Azarath (which is where she learned how to find peace, after all): there's marble and gold everywhere, and the stars twinkle with dozens of colors in the sky.

Where Dove retreats when there are feelings of timidity, her excruciating shyness, her grief and doubt, the world becomes shrouded in thick fog. Broken buildings and pale light litter the grounds.

Where she built her love for reading, for history, for creativity and study and learning, it's arranged as rooms with dark marbled tile and a carpeted path, the floor for dozens of feet on either side littered with piles of books.

Dove's inner happy place is an open field on gently rolling hills, where thoughts take the form of birds and somehow the sky holds both the stars and suns. One might find trees, flowers, abstract forms of cottages, and forts loaded with mugs and cozy cushions. If you wander far enough you'll find very tall stone walls surrounding it, because Dove's mind is such that her happiness is one of the few things she really truly believes she needs to protect from the rest of herself.

And then there are the aspects of herself that she shoves the deepest down, secreted far away from the surface: the anger, the hunger for power, the mean streak. (Yes, believe it or not, Dove does have a mean streak! You just have to work especially hard to bring it out. Or trigger her in just the right ways around sadism, violence, war, or death. It's very much Not Recommended; bringing too much of that mean streak out could mean Dove loses control of her powers, or worse: her demonic aspects.)

Those secret forces aren't so much located in one particular space of her mind as they're hidden in every dark corner, coursing through the underside of all the ground, a tantalizing power running through every part of her, only ever set free enough to use the dangerous powers to her own ends.

Her places for Fear and Curiosity in particular will be explored in the upcoming Missing: Raven rewrite. (As they're the strongest things Dove is feeling in that story, that's going to be what Beast Boy and Cyborg encounter.) I also explored the way these things manifest in DDD, and in that same story Dove will focus on rebuilding Peace in the final chapter.

I can't talk about Dove's mindscape without mentioning the "emoticlones". These fun little guys are called by the fanon term given to Raven's "emotion clones", the separate parts of her that express a specific set of traits based on particular aspects of her personality. I had so much fun playing with their voices and thoughts in Dove's head during DDD, you have no freaking idea! I also copied the concept of them having Colored Cloaks from Teen Titans canon, because honestly it's a quick and easy way to identify them, and the fandom's familiar with this system through Raven.

Which colors mean what was more inspired by details from a really old, now-defunct website called Cartoon Orbit that had separate "online trading cards" for each of Raven's emoticlones! On that site, Raven's were labeled as such, and this is what I based Dove's system on, loosely: - Pink: "Raven Happy" - Red: "Raven Rage" - Orange: "Raven Rude" - Yellow: "Raven Smart" - Green: "Raven Brave" - Brown: "Raven Fear" (I'm pretty sure there was a purple one, but I don't recall what it was called. "Love" maybe? That might be from fanon; this site was running like 15 years ago, and I was like 10 years old, so I hardly thought to pay Super Special Attention to it...)

But I digress. The point is, I adapted that system for the key aspects of Dove's unique personality, and came to understand them as follows:

- Pink: Joy, relief, coziness - Red: Cruelty, impulsivity, anger - Orange: Apathy, indifference, disregard - Yellow: Curiosity, study, intrigue - Green: Courage, determination, activity - Blue: Contentedness, pacifism, spirituality - Purple: Compassion, friendship, romanticism - Gray: Sadness, grief, longing. - Brown: Fear, fear, fear!

But for Dove's mind in particular, it's not only HER experiences and personality that form the world! She's a telepath, and though she holds others' privacy in very, very high regard and tries never to read someone's mind without their permission, her sense of receptive telepathy is ever-present. Echoes, lights, shadows, reflections of others' memories and thoughts might affect the very edges of her mind. It's a constant sense, but it only ever causes very ephemeral changes unless something deeply affects her.

Her mindscape also grows and changes as Dove grows and changes, experiences life, learns to cope, and changes how she handles her own emotions.

Most notably, the internal struggle in DDD tore her mind apart. Initially it was due to a breakdown of certainty and confidence, hastened by guilt and grief, but it soon became a deliberate tactic to wage war on the parts of Dove's mind that were trying to resist the evil; eventually her inner demon began intentionally breaking/corrupting everything it could touch.

By chapter 20, that evil is the only strong and stable thing in Dove's mind. Raven's attack to remove the evil in her took away that stability, and strength, and thus took away what was essentially the last support holding Dove's mind together. As it says in the story: "everything collapsed". Dove's mindscape was utterly destroyed, and only the most basic aspects of her remained.

For awhile, that left Dove unable to remember things clearly, or feel emotions without great pain. Rebuilding it to the point where she was able to talk and feel Mostly Normally again took months of meditation.

When Dove is kidnapped and Leyla has distressing dreams about her mother, she, Srentha, and Raven use the mirror to check on Dove by accessing her mindscape. With her powers stripped away, surrounded by people who mock her, and certain Fauni rituals sickening Dove to her soul, naturally her mind is very different: shadowy forms flitted at the edges of vision, the ground wavered, her discomfort was thick in the air and the constant fear made everything so, so cold. "Shadows" of others' thoughts flashed in and out of existence, and Dove's desperation manifests as fleeting voices on the wind. It's uncomfortable to be in her mind while she's so distressed.

It's also worth mentioning that her mindscape changes again, essentially "growing" the part of her that belongs to Love when she finally lets herself love Srentha, and it expands again when Leyla's born and Dove once more finds depths of love she didn't know she could carry.

[tainted-wine]

This ask is referring to this.

(This mini fic feels like it’s all over the place. Just me enjoying some half-assed worldbuilding, I guess. I had to stop it before things got too heated because I promised myself to keep this one sfw and it’s already longer than intended. Like anon suggested, this is a fantasy AU with some Spartan inspiration. I thought it would be amusing if Hawks was the only 300-style warrior, while the rest wore more accurate and convenient armor.)

----------x----------

The avian people.

A winged race known for their impish behavior and irritating ability to swoop in on unfortunate groups and settlements, spreading mischief and fleeing before they can face any consequences. The many troubles they bring has given them a sour reputation among humankind, but the sudden appearance of a lone avian on the outskirts of the country might be enough to change our perspective. Perhaps they are more than devious opportunists…

 The feather moved.

You nearly tripped over your own feet when you noticed the slightest twitch of the red plume attached to the golden chain around your neck, placing a hand on the round curve of your stomach as you tried to balance yourself. Three long months—you prayed to the gods every day for both the life growing in your womb and the safety of its father.

You last saw your husband marching into battle with his head held high along with the rest of his comrades, men that scoffed at his very presence just three years ago, and probably still do, if you were to be honest. But he has earned the entire kingdom’s respect through his recent training, training that you all quickly learned wasn’t necessary.

The soldiers of this country were strong and experienced, there was no doubt about that, but they were also vastly outnumbered by the enemy forces. No matter what the proudest warrior tells you with complete confidence in their skill, numbers do matter in a battle.

The greedy kingdom that sought to rule the strong yet peaceful country you resided in was ruthless—they have taken the heads of several kingdoms’ finest warriors, and the less honorable ones surrendered and now fight under their command. Despite your spouse’s promises and reassurance, despite witnessing his amazing skills in combat firsthand, you still feared that victory was too far out of reach. It shames you to admit that you were already prepared to raise your child by your lonesome.

But then the feather moved again, this time briefly lifting off your chest before falling back down. So you weren’t seeing things.

“Miss! Please be careful!” Your maid rushed into the room when she saw you stumbling, gently holding you up. You were eternally grateful for the work she has put in caring for you and taking up some of your husband’s work. As your child grew and drained more of your energy, an extra pair of hands to take care of the house and errands was greatly appreciated.

You held onto her as you pushed through the sudden pains to reach the door. “He’s here! My necklace! They’ve returned!”

“Ah, finally! Of course they have,” she said calmly now that you weren’t in danger of falling. “I told you there was no need to worry. There are no other warriors in the world like ours,” she paused. “Well, assuming that not all avians are as gifted as your precious Keigo.”

You laughed softly. Keigo did tell you and many others that he was far from the only fighter in his homeland. Even after taking his hand in marriage, he refuses to reveal his reason for leaving his people, choosing to wander a land inhabited by humans who watched him with distrust. You have long since accepted his secretive nature.

Both of you pushed the door open and stepped outside, just in time to hear the bellow of a great horn, the sound traveling outside the city’s walls and up into the hills where your humble house stands. It wasn’t the most convenient location, but Keigo wanted to live on a higher spot, and you didn’t mind catering to his bird-like habits. Besides, waking up to soft breezes and birdsongs was much more pleasant than the bustling city.

Your maid kept a firm hold on your arm as you watched people rush through the streets and toward the gates, ready to welcome the brave men home. Your chest remained tightened. How many survivors were there? ‘It doesn’t matter,’ you selfishly thought. ‘Keigo is there. They won’t admit it, but he was the best out of all of them.’

“Don’t you even think of heading down there,” she was giving you a stern look that a mother would give a naughty child. “You’re still upholding your promise to stay close to home after falling ill so suddenly yesterday. I know you haven’t seen him in three months, but please be patient. You’ll be reunited soon.”

Your brooding may be responsible for the illness and pains that have been striking you more frequently, but frankly, if you were to ever collapse, you’d be more worried about the older woman’s heart than your own wellbeing. “Rest easy, I’m not going anywhere,” you promised her. “Besides, I’m quite certain that he’ll be coming to me very soon.”

“What? What do you mean? They need to answer to the king before they return to their families.”

“Yes, that’s what they’re expected to do...” You trailed off. There was an odd feeling in your gut, and it wasn’t the baby. It looked like everyone in the city has gathered in one giant mass, waiting for their heroes.

And then you saw him.

The gate was slowly opening, but something, someone has launched into the air and over the walls, and your heart lifted just as high. A man with a magnificent pair of crimson wings soared over each and every structure, heading up to the hills.

“Wh-H-He can’t do that! He’s ignoring the royal family’s wishes!” The poor maid was in a panic, but you were too stunned, too elated at the sight of your lover getting closer at an impossible speed.

The people of this kingdom have little exposure to non-human races. The simple sight of him dashing over the city and gracefully landing in front of you never failed to bring stars to your eyes. 

Keigo Takami was already removing his bronze helmet as he approached, shaking out his head of tousled blond locks. You weren’t expecting him to look so presentable upon his return—it looked as if he had time for a decent bath before his final march home.

His bare chest looked mostly unscathed, only a few cuts and small traces of bruises littering his skin. The warriors detested his refusal to wear his chest plate; he claimed that it would only weigh him down during flight. He also rejected their weapons and relied on his own feathers to serve as his spears and swords. They did decide to let him go without a cloak, his wings working well enough as a replacement. The armor on his shins was also added weight, but not enough for him to complain about to the exasperated warriors. He told you himself that the only reason he wears the helmet that obscures his sharp vision, is because he admittedly likes the red crest.

But the one piece of equipment that the small army did not allow Keigo to reject, no matter how many times he whined about its size and weight, was the shield. The shield is his promise to protect not only himself, but the entire line of his fellow comrades in the heat of battle. So he held his tongue and carried the huge monster of bronze and leather, complete with a unique design of a hawk with its wings flared out like a rising phoenix.  

You broke free of the maid’s grasp and rushed over to throw your arms around your beloved wanderer-turned-hero. He dropped his shield and helmet onto the soft earth (you can already hear his comrades screaming in horror) to hug you back gently, mindful of your belly that has grown so much during his time away. You took it all in—his warmth, his scent, the feeling of safety as his wings close around you—how badly you have missed his presence over the months hits you full force when he pulls back to bring you in for a kiss.

Amidst the heat and passion, you can hear the maid’s fumbled words as she excuses herself to head down to the city and welcome the others. You part from him before he steals the last of your breath, gazing into those friendly and playful golden orbs. You wondered how much deadlier those eyes looked when driving his red blades into any unfortunate opponents. His roughened, calloused fingers traced the lone feather hanging on your neck while you caressed his face.

His smooth and silky voice embraced both your ears and heart. “My beautiful bird.”

You never did come up with an affectionate little name for your foreign husband. “Keigo.”

He chuckled. “I hope you weren’t having any doubts while I was gone. No army in the world is going to keep me away from my mate for life.”

Mate. His choice of words was rather…barbarous sometimes. It took some time to adapt to your bed being the nest, or his excited talks of raising his very own flock. “You know that I can’t help but worry.”

“I know you’re strong, love, but don’t let your worry get to our chick,” he reminded you as his wings twitched. There was a serious shift in his face before he knelt down, touching your belly softly as his feathers shook.

Fear began to grip you. “Keigo? Is something wrong with the baby?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, taking another minute to listen carefully before looking up at you with a heartfelt smile. “Babies, love.”

Your eyes narrow…then widen in disbelief. “Twins?”

He nodded along with his flapping wings. “Two tiny hearts...I can feel them. These wings are never wrong.”

You didn’t know it was possible to feel even more joy, but you find yourself pulling him back up for another kiss. Two children to raise with your lover who returned from a war against a seemingly endless army. What did you do to please the gods and receive such a blessing?

“You know,” you said against his lips. “You should be on your way to the castle. The king-”

“Can wait,” he interrupted before attacking your lips with more quick pecks. “I appreciate how much this place has tolerated me. Despite how annoyed you all were the moment I arrived, no one ever forced me out, and I am truly grateful. But don’t think this ‘no good avian’ is going to become some all-noble knight just because he fought a million men to protect his home. I’m just showing my gratitude.”

You laughed into his face. “You really don’t want your reputation as a freeloading trickster to change? The royal family might have an incredible reward for you. For us.”

“Hmm, and what could they have in store for me? Free poultry for as long as I live?”

“Keigo,” you shook your head lightly, trying not to interrupt his lips.

“Too demanding? How about a discount on every purchase for as long as I live? Doesn’t that sound great?” He rubbed your stomach as his kisses trailed down to your jaw. “Don’t you want our chicks to have all the meat they deserve? So that they can grow into powerful birds of prey just like their father?”

His mouth reached your neck, and things were getting more heated than anticipated when his hot mouth closed over the flesh above your pulse. “Ah…” You gasped.

“Want to know what else I’ve been missing?” You can feel the naughty smirk curling against your throat. “I hope your stamina hasn’t lessened, little bird.”

You want to laugh at how he’s thinking about getting intimate already, but the licks against your sensitive skin are making it hard to resist. “Is your crazed lust another avian trait, or is it just you?” Your fingers tangled in his locks, urging him to keep going.

“Mmm, we’re not as anal about suppressing our urges.” A hand cups one of your tender breasts and gives it a soft squeeze. “Before you met me, did you ever expect to fuck your man so many times? Isn’t it liberating?”

The crude word spreads warmth somewhere lower. “We make love, Keigo.”

“Some nights, we do. Those louder and rougher nights, when I have you screaming through those shy hands covering your mouth? We’re fucking.”

Something was poking you down there, and that was your cue to move this indoors. “Clearly you have too much energy left from your glorious battles.” You motioned for him to pick up his gear before walking back to the house. “Now come inside.”

He grinned and licked his lips. “That’s where I always-”

“Keigo.”

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2.7k

TW: Hospitals

Summary: You finally find the courage to confess your love. And then some. 

A/N: Just a note! This is the last part! Thanks so much everyone that’s been along for the ride. Enjoy <3!

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention @eevee0722​ @jessicarabbit09​ @nazifa94​ 

The darkness surrounds you in a comforting blanket as a ray of light shines brightly, compelling you to walk toward it. At this point, you aren’t controlling your body as you’re sucked into the light, finding yourself at the small apartment in Paris that you lived in growing up. Cars beep outside the open windows as the warm summer air blows into the room.

“Mom?” you call out and walk into the living room, seeing your mom sip on a glass of wine by the window.

“Ah, my love. Come sit with me,” she says and you frown, taking a seat across from her.

“Am I dead?” you ask, looking out the window to see the Eiffel Tower shining bright above the city.

“No, you’re just healing. You came close though, it was stupid of you to stray away from that handsome boy of yours,” she winks at you as you turn to take her all in. She is as beautiful as the day she died and you take a sip of water from the other glass on the table.

“Spencer’s not my boy. He’s just a friend,” you state and shake your head.

“Ah, that’s not what I heard when you were on the phone with that tech friend of yours,” she puts down her glass and turns to look at you full on. For a moment, you’re able to imagine that you’re back in college, home for the summer after your Freshman year and enjoying the lovely Parisian summer. 

“If I’m not dead, then why am I here? Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you,” you smile and take her hand the feeling of her touch grounding you in the moment. 

“I’m here because I need to tell you that it’s time to live your life, my dear. Don’t let fear and grief hold you back from loving Spencer to the fullest. He’s just as scared as you are, but the two of you can have a beautiful life together,” she says and you feel tears begin to form in your eyes. You missed this, you missed her. The motherly wisdom that she could always impart on you, you missed everything about her.

“I’m scared,” you mutter, your voice cracking as the tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“I know. But you’re not alone, you’re never alone. Don’t isolate yourself, you deserve more than that,” she takes your hand and places a kiss on the back of it as something begins to beep in the background.

“I love you!” you tell her before everything disappears. But it doesn’t matter. You know she loves you. 

A constant beeping wakes you from your sleep. As you take a deep breath, there is a soreness in your chest but no pain. Opening your eyes, the bright halogen lights blind you for a moment before your pupils adjust. You make out a figure sitting beside you, the familiar view of your father as he writes in his little black notebook. 

“Hi, Dad,” you croak out, your throat dry from the day before.

“Piccolo mio,” he stands up and walks over to your bedside, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Welcome back,” Dr. Kimura says as she walks over to stand in front of your bed. 

“Did you get the guy?” you ask and slowly try to sit up in the bed, your father nodding. “How’s Abby?”

“She’s on the mend. So are the three others. The strain and its cure are getting locked up in containment at Fort Deitrick. With all the other bio-agents people don’t know about,” Dr. Kimura states as you nod, feeling the warmth of your father’s hand in yours.

“I don’t want to know what else they might have locked up in there,” your father states and you shake your head at the thought. After studying toxicology for years, you knew that there were countless harmful substances that the government had to know about. It was inevitable. 

“I’ll leave you to rest. You should be able to be discharged soon once we monitor your progress and ensure you’ll be okay with the antibiotics,” Dr. Kimura smiles and leaves to tend to other patients while you look back at your dad.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask.

“Send him to go take a shower and eat some decent food, he’d stayed all night,” your dad tells you and your heart warms in your chest as the aforementioned person walks through the ICU door. 

“You’re awake!” Spencer’s eyes light up as he sees you and walks over to the other side of your bed, a tray of coffee in hand.

“I’ll let you two talk,” your dad says as he grabs a cup from the tray and walks out, taking a sip.

Spencer gently hands you a cup, the tepid drink helping to warm your hands. Taking a sip, you deeply inhale all the smells and spices in the drink, lighting up when you realize it’s your favorite coffee from the cafe by the bookstore.

“It’s my favorite,” you remark and shyly smile up at Spencer who looks away bashfully.

“I wanted you to have something comforting when you woke up,” he mumbles and takes his own cup, sipping on it. There is a blanket of silence and comfort as your memory surfaces. You were ready to confess your love to Spencer as you were dying, but you were alive and well and he didn’t know. 

You think back to the countless days of eating together at his desk during lunch or traveling around to bookstores all over D.C. to try and find first editions. It wasn’t only these things that made you love him, it was his passion for learning. He was always learning and adapting, his mind working overtime like a computer that never turned off. 

Spencer also had a heart big enough to fill stadiums full of love, he cared so deeply for people even if he didn’t know how to show it. But, even if people don’t understand him, he shows his love in many ways. With this coffee, with the way that he brings treats to his friends when they are under the weather or sharing jokes and facts that make you laugh in a tense moment. There was so much to love about him, his mismatched socks and the fact that he could read several books in a day. The fact that he loves watching all sorts of movies and dresses like an old man but takes his coffee with the sweetness of a child’s palate. He is afraid of germs but doesn’t mind holding your hand when it’s cold or hugging you after you spend a Saturday together. Perhaps it was finally time you cemented your love for him.

“I love you,” you state and look up at his face, taking another sip of your coffee. Spencer freezes in place and your palms begin to sweat. Did you judge him wrong? Maybe he only loved you as a friend.

“Say it again,” he says and puts his coffee down, only to take your hand in his.

“I love you,” a smile grows on your face as he cups your face and places a big kiss on your forehead. A laugh bubbles out of your chest as your heart soars.

“I love you too,” it feels as if a weight lifts from your chest as you wrap your free arm around his waist and hug him tight. It’s a little bit awkward with all the wires attached to you and the nasal cannula, but no ounce of discomfort can match the joy that fills your entire body. 

“Ah, bravo. The two of you finally got past all your pining,” your father enters the room and you blush, hiding your face in Spencer’s chest. “Don’t break her heart because I could kill you and get away with it.”

“Dad!” your eyes widen and you stare at your father in shock as he shakes his head.

“I’m kidding. There is no better match made in heaven than the two of you nerds. Took you long enough, though. I married your mother and divorced her in the timespan that the two of you were dancing around each other,” he says and checks his watch. “I have to get to my reports, but I assume you can take her home when she’s discharged?”

Spencer nods and your father bids the two of you farewell, kissing you on the forehead before leaving. Humming softly, your eyes begin to droop as the medicine continues to course through your veins. 

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Spencer plants another kiss on your forehead as you lie back and succumb to the alluring pull of sleep.

A couple of months later.

Waking up on the morning of your birthday, you try to bite back the disappointment of no messages and no calls. You expected something from your dad at least, an exciting text talking about how he had a bottle of wine with your name on it, but nothing. Shaking your head, you look out to the beautiful D.C. skyline and bottle it all up. You would be mad later. For now, you could enjoy being a year older. 

After grabbing a cup of your favorite drink from the local cafe and getting onto the metro, the day appears to be going alright, if not a bit disheartening. The air was beautifully crisp and your outfit was empowering so it was enough to get a jumpstart on your day. 

When you finally arrive at the Bureau and take the elevator up to your floor, your phone still not buzzing or ringing. It was fine, you had work to do anyway. You work swiftly and quietly to yourself, getting in the zone as you look at some evidence and analyze a couple of things in the lab. Working through reports, you find yourself forgetting about the fact that your genius boyfriend had forgotten your birthday. You guess that even people with eidetic memories can forget sometimes. Even with the distraction of paperwork, there was a small sting in the back of your chest. 

Snacking throughout the day, your stomach growls once you pack up and feel your emotions begin to boil over when your phone is void of any notifications. Birthdays tend to be disappointing mostly because of the expectation associated with them, but you didn’t expect to so disregarded. Just as the tears begin to form in your eyes, you get into the elevator and feel your phone vibrate in your hand.

From Spencer (6:36PM):

I’m waiting in front to pick you up. <3 

As you wipe a few rogue tears from your cheek, you frown and exit the elevator, walking out to the front entrance. Just where he said he would be, Spencer is sitting in his car looking out to you with a goofy grin on his face. You smile slightly and open the car to see a small package waiting on the passenger seat.

“What’s this?” you ask and climb into the car, placing the present on your lap.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” he asks and reaches over to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You take his hand in yours and kiss back, pulling away slightly to look at him for the first time today.

“I mean, I didn’t get any messages,” you mumble and smile a bit sadly.

“Penelope would never forgive me,” he says before turning back forward and beginning to drive. “Now let’s go before we’re late.”

“Where are we going?” you ask and look over at him.

“It’s a surprise,” he states and you shake your head, looking out at the window as you get onto the freeway.

“Can I guess?” 

“Of course you can, but I’m not going to tell you,” he glances over and squeezes your hand before turning back to the road.

“Is it my dad’s house?” you ask and watch as Spencer licks his lips. “It’s totally my dad’s house, you just licked your lips.”

“What?” Spencer lets go of your hand to place both hands on the wheel. “That doesn’t mean yes or no.”

“No, but you’re nervous and that’s what you do when you’re in deep thought, so it’s totally my dad’s house,” you state smugly and readjust yourself in the seat, a huge grin on your face. The rest of the ride is filled with your bickering as the dulcet tones of Beethoven playing in the background. It’s oddly picturesque, but your chest is warm with the idea of this being the rest of your life. Spencer was it for you.

As you drive through your father’s neighborhood and make it to his mansion, you feel nervously excited seeing all the cars in the driveway. You could make out almost everyone’s car, sans JJ. She probably had to go see Will and Henry or was on her way with the two of them.

Stepping out of the car, Spencer’s present in hand, he moves to walk behind you with his hands in front of your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he carefully guides you to the front door. 

“What do you think the radio silence was for? It’s a surprise!” he remarks as the door swings open in front of you.

“Surprise!” several voices ring out as Spencer’s hands wrap around your waist. In front of you is your father, Derek, Penelope, Emily, and Hotch. Your father walks forward and wraps you in a huge hug, squeezing you tight.

“Happy birthday, piccolo!” your chest hurts a little from how tightly he squeezes you but he is quickly replaced with the loving arms of Penelope. Her hugs are the warmest and the tightest so you feel like your lungs might collapse.

“Happy birthday!” she says and you shake your head, looking around.

“Why all the cloak and dagger? I kind of assumed we’d all be spending it together,” you look around at everyone as you and Spencer step into the foyer.

“You’ll see,” Penelope’s eyebrows wiggle as she loops her arm around yours and drags you to the kitchen. There, a whole meal is laid out as well as a beautiful cake and presents on a small table off to the side. Streamers and banners are hanging all over the house, probably courtesy of Penelope, and everyone fills in around the island.

“Bon appetit!” your father announces and everyone begins to dig in and find their way to the table outside in your dad’s backyard. The night was clear and everyone makes small talk as you enjoy your food. 

In the moonlight, Spencer is stunning and you feel your heart skip a beat. He had to have helped orchestrate this entire thing, but you can’t help but wonder why it was all kept a secret. After eating, Derek and Emily bring out the many presents on the table.

Penelope gifts you a beautiful picture frame with a photo of everyone on the night you celebrated your new job and Derek gives you a photo of a bookshelf he built for all the new books you had bought. 

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“You’ll see,” he responds as you open up Hotch’s gift. It’s a larger rug, one that you didn’t need because you had decorated your apartment well. Emily gives you a record player and your father gifts you a wine bottle holder.

“What’s all this for? I don’t have anywhere to put it,” you let out a nervous laugh as your dad points at the small box that is Spencer’s gift.

Glancing over at your boyfriend he smiles nervously back at you as you pick up his present and peel back the brown paper it’s wrapped in. You pull out a beautiful gold key and a little note that says ‘Move in with me?’ As the words process, you are quickly overwhelmed with joy as you wrap Spencer up in your arms.

“Of course I will, you doofus,” you mumble and hug him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck. Pulling back, you press your lips to his sweetly and laugh as everyone claps around you. If fireworks could go off, they would be sparkling behind the two of you as you bask in his embrace. He is your home, the person you looked forward to seeing all the time. 

This would be the first birthday spent with all of your favorite people and the first of many. You wouldn’t isolate yourself any longer. It was time you relished in the love that you deserved. 

[divinaes-bookofsecrets]

can i get a spirit guide reading too? ): ive been dying to find my own..♎

Hi 👋 hello there pleased to meet you ♎

×JaxDessa×IS YOUR SPIRIT GUIDE CURRENTLY🐠🌏🐚

She is female inter-terrestrial Female-Sea Creature who visits middle Earth and thats about as close as she gets to you personal space other than being able to e a essence that communicates or manipulates your current or future circumstances.

As an etheric being, Mermaid is “out of time” even as magic. She can teach you to walk through different worlds safely. There are spaces and places where all time swirls together, opening infinite possibilities.

If Mermaid Spirit had a mantra, it would be “go with the flow.” Give yourself to the ebb and flow of Mermaid’s ties. This provides you with adaptability akin to how water takes on the shape of its container.

Lightworkers, such as myself, 🌐🐚🐠 believe that Mermaids may have come originally from Atlantis as shapeshifters. Afterward, they moved into the Etheric realm; this is the place wherein we can connect with them and learn their wisdom. Mermaid Medicine supports environmental health and the kingdom of the sea. If you are doing workings for the Earth, they are excellent helpmates.

Like the creature of myths, Mermaid Totems are drawn to water. The ocean, in particular, has healing and energizing qualities to it. The Mermaid Mage often works exclusively with the Water Element; and Jaxdessa is no different she happens to be an elite member of the aquatic Water Mystics in her colony in the ethereal realm of existence....

This Mer-Woman has been with you since your birth and will likely be with you until the END of time; but first let's dive fins deep into her bio and see what she's in your life for?

🦋🌏🦋Being female, the symbolism and meaning of the Mermaid ties to the Sacred Feminine, specifically Goddesses like Venus who rules love, and the Sea Goddesses like Calypso. This is not a woman who can be tamed. The fierce individuality among Mermaids is well known – so much so that they may resist settling down in any one spot. Here Mermaid Spirit appears linked heavily to uniqueness and non-conformity.

Are you looking for a way to express yourself? Trying to find clarity in love matters? Mermaid as a Spirit, Totem, and Power Animal can help! Mermaid teaches to find balance between the heart and mind! Delve deeply in Mermaid symbolism and meaning to find out how this animal spirit guide can aid, inspire, and balance you!

Mermaid Symbolism & Meaning

The myths of Mermaids (and mermen) are enchanting. The rich voice of the Mermaid calls out to us with symbolism and meaning that clarifies the role this Fantasy Spirit Guide plays in our lives. Many stories of the Mermaid tell of enticing beauty, raw sensuality, and humans who succumb to their haunting songs; in this, we see where Mermaid becomes an emblem of balancing our heart and head. We need to think clearly even in matters of love and lust. Additionally, there are times in our lives where its ok to dance to a different, magical tune. Individuality and non-conformity are definitely traits of the Mermaid.

Mermaid Omens: Mermaids seem to be fairly lucky in that, if in a generous mind, they might grant a wish. Having said that, sailors consider them a foreboding sign that the proverbial ship may never reach land again.

Etymology: Mermaid comes from the 14th century term mermayde, meaning Maid of the Sea. The Old English word was similar – merwif, or Water Witch.

Being female, the symbolism and meaning of the Mermaid ties to the Sacred Feminine, specifically Goddesses like Venus who rules love, and the Sea Goddesses like Calypso. This is not a woman who can be tamed. The fierce individuality among Mermaids is well known – so much so that they may resist settling down in any one spot. Here Mermaid Spirit appears linked heavily to uniqueness and non-conformity.

Reach out to Mermaid as a Power Animal any time you work with the element of water in ritual, meditations or magic. There are other goals for which Mermaid can help. When you need inspiration, particularly in song, she can release your self-consciousness, so you really sing from your heart. Regarding sexuality, she removes inhibitions that hold you back from true pleasure.

Mermaid represents transition and transmutation. When you face unique changes in your life, she can help steady the waters around you.

Finally, call to Mermaid when you struggle with your emotions or when your intuition seems to have dried up. Mermaid medicine heals broken hearts and discouragement, then goes on supporting your intuitive self so you can avoid the chaos.

Mermaid as a Celtic Animal Symbol

Celtic Tradition has a long-standing relationship with magical water creatures. Sprites and nymphs often lived nearby sacred falls and wells. The Mermaid, however, lives in the sea. In this culture, the symbolism and meaning of Mermaid is that of the feminine element of the Universe. It is powerful and mysterious. The image of the double-tailed Mermaid adorns many churches represents the ultimate Celtic goddess, Sheela-Na-Gig.

Native American Mermaid Symbolic Meanings

One story from the Mi’kmaq tribe tells of a bird who discovers a pond with five lovely women therein. He noted that they didn’t really look totally human, having silvery scaled skin and hair of seaweed. They adorned themselves with gifts of the sea, and the bottom half of their body was that of a fish.

The Passamaquoddy tales recount the story of how two girls became Mermaids (HeNwas). They went swimming in an area prohibited by their parents. They came to a spot where they were surrounded in slime. Their legs became snakes, their hair black and wearing silver bands on their arms and neck.

Sekani legend talks of the marriage between a human and a Mermaid. By the first winter, the Mermaid yearned for her ocean home. She begged for freedom. It wasn’t until the second winter, however, that the man complied so she could hunt for him. Each day she returned dutifully with food. They became happy and had seven children. After the last child, winter returned, and the man sadly broke a hole in the ice so she could return. When she began swimming, she realized her children could not follow her. She tried to work a spell, placing water on their lips and telling them to follow her. Sadly they drown and were never seen again.

Mermaid Dreams

Mermaids in dreams almost always represent femininity with all its lovely attributes. These dreams often reveal clues to your feminine side. This can be a happy omen unless you fear the emotions and insights Mermaid brings.

A Mermaid swimming in water may represent a girth of emotions that threaten to overwhelm. You feel as if you are going under and giving in to the pressures around. Find your life vest and get some help and support.

Far Eastern Mermaid Symbolic Meanings

There are numerous stories of Mermaids in China. Literature depicts her as similar to western Mermaids with the ability to cry pearls, shapeshift, foretell the future and craft magical items.

One story tells of a Mermaid who asked to stay with a human family for many days so she could weave and sell her cloth. In thanks for the human’s hospitality, she cried a container full of pearls and gave it to the family.

Mermaid Symbolic Meanings Key

Adaptability

Awareness

Discretion

Divination

Emotions

Innocence

Non-conformity

Psychic Aptitude

Shapeshifting

Uniqueness

Artists frequently depict Mermaids with a fish bone comb; this illustration came about due to sailors’ beliefs. If you had fish bones on board a ship, one could know what type of weather was coming through divination and take control of a storm to calm the winds. Another tool of the Mermaid is a mirror. This object has long been used for magic as a “looking glass” much like a crystal ball. Mirrors represent the moon and the intuitive self. Wrap these tools into a medicine bag, and you have future-telling abilities, far sight, sensitivity, and psychic aptitude.

WHAT DO MERMAIDS LOOK LIKE ?🧜‍♀️ 🧜‍♀️

Traditional Mermaids have the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a fish. Images of Mermaids appear as early as ancient Babylon. Sailors considered images of Mermaids as a good luck charm, which is why figureheads were carved with Her image.

Being tied to the Water Element, Mermaid may take on the meaning of a source of life, cleansing, and renewal. Water can also be a fierce foe, with crashing waves that threaten to take us under into the unknown. The ancients found themselves inexplicably attracted to the Mermaid, while also being frightened of their powers.

These “Angels of the Sea” appear most frequently at dawn and dusk. These are “in between” times when the veil between worlds grows thin. Some say they only show themselves to people who have pure hearts, giving he Mermaid the symbolism of discretion and awareness.

WHAT DOES JAXDESSA LOOK LIKE?

Here....She is .. 🧜‍♀️ 7:47 PM(look up the numerology or 747 and 757 , 759)

Those are your times you'll be likely to sense her close to you...

When Jaxdessa swims with you, she brings you into the realm of Water, which also speaks of our emotions. You will be challenged to dig deep inside yourself to understand your fears and scars fully. Only by so doing can you truly heal. Throughout this journey, Jaxdessa offers love and support.The Mermaid animal spirit may also bear a message about reconnecting with your inner child and nature. The innocence and joy of the child dances with the beauty of the world. There is a richness in this relationship building process, and Mermaid is your guide...

When working with your Mermaid guide, it is essential that you remain true to yourself: She will not condone facades. Keep it real and be ready to swim.

Those born with Mermaid imprinted on their soul feel at one with nature. They see the wonders of the world with an appreciative eye, but also know that there is much more going on behind the proverbial curtain. The Mermaid constantly interacts and exchanges various feelings with others including joy, peace, and liveliness. The Mermaid’s language of love is an affirmation.

Greed doesn’t really measure in the mind of the Mermaid. They do not seek to possess others, but rather walk with them in mutual goals and dreams. The Mermaid’s inner child is strong and very active.

More...SpiritGuide bio

The Mermaid person has intense psychic abilities. You see spirits, fairies, Devas, Angels, and other Fantasy creatures easily. Some of the gifts you may have include clairvoyance and hypnotic allure

The Mermaid is an amazing empath, but this can also be her undoing. She feels everything. A crowded room can become totally overwhelming. Thankfully with time and practice, she can learn to detach from others feelings and consider them much as one might watch a movie. This protects the Mermaid from psychic overload and burnout. ((YOU MORE THAN LIKELY CSN RELATE TO THIS AND MOST OF THE MERMAID QUALITIES BECAUSE YOU ARE HER SHE IS YOU;; DO YOU SEE THESE SIMILARITIES YET?))

💘 💜 💛 💚 🧡 💘

Regarding relationships JaxDessa people may not settle down, but they certainly enjoy a good lover. There is raw, unbridled sexuality here that begs for attention. Because they are very private people, however, some of these desires go unfulfilled.

Spirit Guides 3 Messages for me today (current date Jan 11th 2021)

First message: #1

ANGEL NUMBER 833

Number 833 is a blend of the vibrations and energies of number 8 and number 3, with number 3 appearing twice, amplifying its influences of 3, and relating the the Master Number 33. Number 8 relates to self-confidence and personal authority, discernment, higher wisdom, achievement and successes, practicality, consideration, giving and receiving, and serving humanity. Number 8 is also the number of karma; the Universal Spiritual Law of Cause and Effect. Number 3 is the number of affability, enthusiasm, assistance and encouragement, communication and self-expression, growth, expansion and the principles of increase, manifesting, broad-minded thinking, talents and skills, and the energies of the Ascended Masters. Master Number 33 (the Master Teacher) relates to the attributes of the ‘healer’, compassion, blessings, the teacher of teachers, inspiration, honesty, discipline, bravery and courage.

Angel Number 833 is a powerful message and sign that you are being fully supported, surrounded and supported by your Spirit Guides ...It indicates that you are successfully manifesting prosperity and abundance in your life by the positive choices you have made and are currently making. Put your personal attributes and talents to good use and be open to receiving your well-earned rewards and blessings. Trust that all is going to Divine plan.  

Angel Number 833 brings a powerful message of love and support, encouragement and guidance, and your SpiritGuide(s) ask that you maintain a positive attitude and outlook to continue manifesting positive abundance into your life. Remember that what you put out to the Universe comes back to you, so ensure that you use your personal power and talents in a positive manner, always.

Angel Number 833 tells you to take ownership of your own life and discover your dreams. Use your personal creativity in constructive and productive ways, and put your skills and talents to work to achieve your heart’s desires. You get what you expect so make sure you radiate positive energies and expect the highest and best in return. Trust that you will find success in your chosen endeavours.

  

Number 833 relates to number 5 (8+3+3=14, 1+4=5) and Angel Number 5.

Now look up # 5 see what it is ? Thats your next mission .🧜‍♀️.

Second Message : WHAT I NEED TO HEAR RIGHT THIS MOMENT ...

If you were to bite into a piece of cake and think it's awful because of certain flavors or a lack of some ingredient, it would not be pleasant in the moment. Even so, the experience could be beneficial to you later on. Suppose you wanted to bake a special cake for someone. The experience you had with the unappetizing cake might inspire you to do things differently. Every bad experience has an upside, Dear Jaxdessas darling, even if it doesn't seem so in the moment. Remember that today if something doesn't seem ideal.

Third Message: 🌟 ⭐ 💫 🌠 🌃 ✨ 🌟 ♎ January 11 - January 17

A project that is in the final stage of development could get a really big boost this week, dear Jaxdessas darling. This may come out of left field, and the help you need may come from someone you least expected and perhaps you don't even like, but don't cut off your nose to spite your face. This is essential assistance, and you should be grateful for it. Success is possible with a work- or money-related venture that didn't seem to be going very well all that long ago. This is due to your persistence and your optimistic attitude, so let this be a lesson for future endeavors. Some venture that you have put a lot of time and energy into may wind up hitting a brick wall very soon. You may want to proceed anyway, and you may want to figure out how many ways there are to get over the wall that stands between you and success. But before you invest that time, think about whether this will be worth the effort in the end. There could be something else coming along that could take its place, and that could be easier and more rewarding in the end.

&&&

A creak you hear in the dark could be the settling of an old house, or it could be a burglar creeping on the stairs. Loud voices you hear coming in through the windows could be your neighbors arguing, or it could be those same neighbors sharing good news. The lamp going out on your nightstand could be a sign that electricity has shut down, or it could mean you need a new bulb. There is often more than one way to interpret something, and usually there's nothing to worry about. Remember that today, Taurus, if you are tempted to follow worrisome thoughts. It's more likely there's nothing to worry about.

FINAL THOUGHTS?.. THE WISE ADVICE FROM YOUR MYSTIC MERMAID 🧜‍♀️

Step 1) Define Your Core Values

Know what is most important to you by determining your values for your professional and personal life.

These are the principles that are the foundation for your priorities, choices, actions, and behaviors.

You can start by looking at this list of values.

Step 2: Practice the habits.

Pick one or two from this list of positive character traits above to practice for several weeks.

Write down the actions you want to take or the behaviors you define that reflect this trait, and implement them in your daily life and interactions.

Wear a rubber band on your wrist or create other reminders to help you practice these good qualities.

Step 3: Find people with good character.

Surround yourself with people who reflect the character traits you want to embrace.

They will inspire and motivate you to build these traits in yourself.

Try to avoid people who have a weak character and make bad decisions.

Step 5: Take some risks.

Start taking small actions toward a goal or value that involves some level of risk.

When you face the possibility of failure and challenge yourself toward success, you become mentally and emotionally stronger and more committed to your principles.

Step 6: Stretch yourself.

Create high standards and big goals for yourself.

Expect the best of yourself and constantly work toward that, even though you will have setbacks and occasional failures.

Every stretch builds your confidence and knowledge that your positive character traits are getting stronger.

Step 7: Commit to self-improvement.

Realize that building your character is a life-long endeavor.

It is something that is practiced both in the minutiae and the defining moments of your life.

There will be times you step up to the character traits you embrace and other times you falter.

Thank You for taking the time to meet your Spirit Guide today have a nice day 😊 ✨ 💛 ☺ 💗

[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 21

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Chapter 21

SHE WAS TRYING to suppress her smile, failing to do as her green eyes remained on an uncharacteristically jittery Calum. He was switching between pacing the exam room to observing the medical poster of a fetus developing stuck on the wall. He seemed almost out of place, acquainting himself with his surroundings, and Aspen kept her attention on him rather than thinking about her full bladder and how she couldn’t wait to use the bathroom after the appointment was over.

Her eyes drew to the way he stood, arms crossed to bring attention to his tattooed arms, but she was more focused on the way his right foot bounced in anticipation, dark eyes intently taking in the poster in front of him. He was almost studying it. Tentatively, fighting the smile threatening to grow as she asked, “Cal, all good?”

“Hmm?” Calum blinked, eyebrows high as he turned to look at her where she sat in the upright exam chair. “Yeah, yeah,” he assured, pulling away to take the few steps towards her. It was early in the morning, both of them in their comfortable sweats, wanting to get into the clinic as early as possible after dropping Luna off at Rich’s house with the vague excuse of having errands to run. No one knew where they were, wanting the absolute confirmation from the experts before telling anyone the life changing news. Calum stood next to her, left hand resting on top of the chair as he smiled down at Aspen. “Just, y’know—” He grinned breathlessly, the light ever present in his eyes. “Excited.”

That only served to widen Aspen’s grin, squeezing his hand. She was excited herself, of course, despite already doing this already. But this time it was with Calum—and before last year, Aspen never thought she would be here again with him. Having his hand to hold this time around brought a different sense of excitement as well as tranquility as opposed the downright fear she had when she found out she was pregnant with Luna. Five years ago, Aspen had been dealing with a breakup she hadn’t entirely saw coming and had her mom and Jodie accompanying her to her doctor appointments.

This time around, the walls of the exam room didn’t feel as though they were closing in, and the ultrasound machine didn’t look terrifying like it had back then. Aspen understood this was a first time experience for Calum, being there right from the beginning from the moment he found out about the pregnancy, but it was also a first for Aspen, too. Because now, the fear of being a single mom wasn’t numbing her. Now, she had her partner right by her side, looking just as elated as she felt. She wasn’t alone, didn’t have to worry about doing this by herself. The past couldn’t be changed, but the future continued to be bright.

“Good morning, Miss Russo.” The two of them turned their heads towards the ultrasound technician entering the room, a smile on her face as she looked towards the couple. “How are we doing today?”

“Great,” Aspen smiled, sitting up slightly as the woman, Dr. Lang, read over her chart on the tablet in her hand. “How’re you?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Dr. Land came over to the side of where the ultrasound machine was stationed, setting the tablet down. Warm brown eyes on them, she continued, “According to your chart, this isn’t your first rodeo.” She was already reaching for the gel as she gestured for Aspen to lay back. “But just a reminder—this’ll be cold.”

Aspen nodded, already aware, as she lifted her loose shirt up so Dr. Lang could squeeze the blue gel onto her abdomen, smiling at Calum as he grasped her hand. She could feel his excitement, nervousness, ever observant eyes watching as Dr. Lang switched on the machine, humming to life, and grabbed the wand before bringing it over to Aspen’s abdomen. “Let’s see how far along you are,” Dr. Land murmured, eyes intently on the black and white warbled screen as she spread the gel around with the wand.

Turning her head, Aspen looked at the familiar screen as well, feeling her heart slowly picking up its pace at the anticipation that buzzed ever cell in her body. She was early along, Aspen knew, not expecting to see anything decently sized quite yet, but any indication of something actually being there was enough. 

She caught Dr. Lang’s lips twitching upwards into a small smile before using her free hand to point at the screen as she said, “There it is.”

Both Aspen and Calum’s eyes followed her finger, and Aspen’s breath caught at the sight of the small, tiny little thing that would grow over the next nine months. It was small, though only a little bigger than when she had her first ultrasound with Luna—that had been at almost five weeks, which was really early, causing Aspen to have a transvaginal ultrasound and finding out she was not a fan of those. This little one, however, seemed somewhat passed five weeks. But it was there, clearly visible, clearly going to eventually become a baby. Her and Calum’s baby.

Aspen turned her head just a bit to look at Calum, to watch his features change as the reality of the situation settled in his head. She watched the way his dark eyes stared at the screen, unable to tear them away even as they began glassing over, lips parting to let out a heavy breath he’d probably been holding in without even knowing. The grasp his hand had on hers grew tighter, as if he was trying to ground himself from getting too lost in the wonder of how his life was once again about to change.

And, yeah, the confirmation of having a second kid was enough to make Aspen cry in its own right, but to see Calum get so emotional over it was what really brought the tears to Aspen’s eyes. To see the utter happiness, wonder, and awe he held so expressively, unapologetically, had her heart soaring as he whispered, “Oh, wow.”

Then, he heard it.

Strong and faint, the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat echoed from the ultrasound machine, and Calum nearly felt his knees give out as the sound reached his ears. His grip on Aspen’s hand grew tighter, if possible, throat drying as he held his breath to focus on nothing but that wonderful, incredible sound. It was warbling and quick, but a heartbeat nonetheless. His baby’s heartbeat. Calum could feel his own racing within his chest, but damn it if he paid it any mind. The only heartbeat that mattered was this baby’s.

“That’s the heartbeat.” Dr. Lang chuckled gently as she leaned just a bit closer to the screen, pressing a few keys on the keyboard. “It looks like you’re about seven weeks along.” A lot further along than Aspen had assumed, and while she worked in a medical clinic, she apparently was shit at listening to her own body when it came to the schedule of her period. Ah, well. “I’m going to need you to hold your breath for a few seconds so I can capture some quick images, alright?”

Aspen nodded, managing to snap out of her reverie of joy, waiting for Dr. Lang’s signal. It didn’t take long, and soon enough the images were captured and Dr. Lang was wiping the gel off Aspen’s abdomen as they were being printed. As Aspen sat up, lowering her shirt, Dr. Lang took the images and handed them over, smiling as she said, “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”

Calum took the sonograms, unable to tear his gaze away from them, the awe heavy in his voice as he absently responded, “Thank you.”

He barely even registered what Dr. Lang was saying, informing Aspen of when her next appointment would be and repeating things Aspen already knew yet she still listened intently. But Calum was too lost in the black and white picture he held in his hand. Calum knew he should be listening to Dr. Lang to be well informed as well, especially given that this was his first time being by his pregnant girlfriend’s side. And he tried, he really did, but he was so fucking elated to focus on anything but the sonogram.

Calum vaguely heard Dr. Lang bid her goodbye, telling them they were good to go, still in a daze until Aspen dangled her legs over the side of the exam table and looked up at Calum. “Hey, Calum—come back.” His eyes met hers and Aspen smiled knowingly, gaze briefly flickering to the sonogram before chuckling breathily, “It’s crazy, right?”

He let out a slow breath, the sound seeming too loud to his own ears as his brown eyes once again looked at Aspen’s. She was watching him quietly, and the drumming of his heart was overwhelming as his throat worked. “Is it stupid of me to say that I feel wholly unprepared to be a dad?”

Aspen’s eyebrows raised at his words, giving a curious tilt of her head as she silently asked him to elaborate. He was a great dad. The best she knew—even if she was a little biased. “I just—” Calum inhaled deeply, glancing down at the images once more before offering a sheepish smile. “I never learned how to change a diaper or—I mean, holding Tahir was the first time I held a baby in, like, I couldn’t even tell you how long.” Aspen’s lips quirked up slightly as she remembered when they’d visited Rich and Laila a few months ago to see Aspen’s new nephew. “I’m just scared, I guess, that I’m gonna be totally useless when the baby comes because I’ll be so damn lost.”

She had to fight the urge from totally cooing at him, wondering if it was inappropriate to find his nervousness so endearing. But Aspen could see how badly Calum wanted this, a second chance to be a dad from the start, and she wanted to desperately ease his fears. “You think you’re the first guy who’s nervous about taking care of a newborn?” she mused, grasping his free hand in hers. “This is all a part of getting ready to have a baby; I’d say you’re on the right track,” she added with a fond chuckle. Aspen squeezed his hand, reassuring, “We’re in this together. You’ll learn and you’ll adapt and I’ll be here to help you.”

The appreciation lightened the weight that had settled in his eyes, rubbing her hand with the back of his thumb as he gave a shake of his head. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one helping you through the pregnancy?”

Aspen smirked, knowing herself too well, knowing if this was anything like the first time around, just how weird and crazy her cravings and mood and everything in between will be. “Don’t worry—you will,” she reassured him knowingly, catching the raise of his eyebrows as she got off the exam table.

As Calum drove, thumb tapping on the steering wheel as he took them to Rich’s place to pick up Luna, he spoke up. “You know, I was serious about us getting a new place,” he said, reminding Aspen of his words from yesterday after hearing the news of her pregnancy. “We don’t have room for a baby in the apartment.”

“I know,” Aspen sighed, leaning back in her seat. Her home had been perfect for when it was just her and Luna. Calum had basically moved in, never spending the night at his own apartment in the city, only venturing to New York when he had business. Other than that, he was at her apartment, which had become his, equipped with almost all of his belongings and Duke. He was right. They were going to need another room for the baby, and while all the planning may seem premature, Aspen would be lying if she said it wasn’t already in the back of her mind, long before since she found out she was pregnant. Moving into a new place, one that was both hers and Calum’s, was something she’d been wanting to do for a while.

She nibbled on her lower lip, a question that swam in her head when she thought about this resurfacing as she glanced at Calum’s profile. “Do you still wanna stay in town?”

Aspen figured he heard the apprehension in her voice by the furrow in his eyebrows as he glanced at her briefly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Aspen mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish for bringing it up. But it needed to be discussed—or clarified, at least. “I mean, I know when you first got here, we talked about custody when it came to co-parenting but obviously that’s not an issue anymore. But are you alright with living in Jersey? Permanently? ‘Cause I know your friends and family are in L.A. and—”

“Stop, Aspen.” Calum let out a soft chuckle, the car stopped at a ted light as he looked at her. There was a gentleness in his eyes that relaxed her, especially as he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Gaze meeting hers, he said, “You, Luna, & this little one are my family. And, honestly, I wouldn’t wanna raise my kids there. Staying here is what I want. It’s perfect.”

Aspen felt her heart practically soar in the confines of her chest, eyebrows raising in mild incredulity as she took in a breath. “Really?” She didn’t want him to feel like he was giving anything up. But one look at him, and Aspen knew it was a ridiculous thought to even consider. 

“Really,” he returned with a smile, having to turn his attention back on the road as the light turned green. “I love it here with you. Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

The smile on Aspen’s face widened, heart drumming happily in her chest as she leaned over to press a kiss to Calum’s cheek. He grinned, leaning into her touch, eyes on the road as she settled back in her seat, back against the door so she could look at Calum, unabashedly admiring him. The smile danced on his lips, left hand on the wheel and right still holding hers, the radio in the background playing a familiar song she didn’t care about. Too busy admiring the man next to her, a warmth settling in the pit of her stomach happily. 

Aspen’s left hand settled on her stomach, rolling her smiling lips into her mouth as she welcomed the thought of their lives changing forever all over again. She was only seven weeks along, but she couldn’t wait to meet this little nugget. 

*****

Keeping their mouths shut for the next few weeks had been unbearable. All Calum had wanted to do was, ridiculously enough, scream from the rooftops that he was having another baby. To share the pure joy that had been consuming him from the moment he had found out. But both he and Aspen had agreed that they wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t tell anyone, until the first trimester was over. Calum followed her lead on it, on everything, really. 

Especially when her cravings kicked in, almost immediately, whether it be for a strange, frankly disgusting, combination of salt and vinegar chips with marshmallow fluff or he had to make a trip to the twenty-four hour McDonalds ten minutes away so she could indulge her Big Mac craving. Her cravings weren’t all of the time, starting a little while after the first ultrasound, but whenever they came up, Calum was quick to accommodate them. And look away when it was a bit too gross for his own stomach.

He also felt guilty when her morning sickness kicked in, typically getting up early in the morning and Calum waking up soon after by the sounds of her throwing up. He’d follow her into the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub with his hand pulling back her hair and the other rubbing at her back and offering whatever support he could. And Calum admired her for just getting right back up after flushing the toilet, only uttering a quiet grunt before brushing her teeth and pulling Calum back to bed. She was a real trooper in Calum’s eyes, and it had only just started.

Calum shut the cabinet that was designated for snacks, having just gone on a grocery run with Luna, stocking up on all of their favorite snacks—plus the list of things Aspen had asked him to get in case her cravings started acting up. A few feet away, he heard her ever so familiar voice call out, “Calum, you home?”

“Yeah,” he responded, walking out of the kitchen to see her toe off her sneakers, still in her scrubs, raising his eyebrows at the excited grin that was on her face. “What?” he asked with an amused chuckle.

She stopped where she stood, turning sideways so her profile was to him, and Calum watched as she lifted the hem of her scrub top and claimed through her grin, “I think it might be time we start telling people.”

Aspen lowered her chin and eyes, and Calum followed her gaze before his eyes widened at the sight before him, heart jumping into his throat as he immediately picked up on what she wanted him to notice. He did, instantly, and it was one of the best sights he’d ever seen.

A bump. A small, beautiful bump that someone like Calum, who was so intimately familiar with Aspen’s body, noticed right away. It sent his heart racing, feeling himself freeze for the briefest moment before he stumbled forward—it seemed like he’d been doing that often, in terms of Aspen and this pregnancy. She caught him every time.

“Stop,” Calum all but gasped, eyes wide as he approached his beaming girlfriend, hands reaching forward to caress the bump. Aspen giggled softly as his hand came in contact with her skin, rubbing it, thinking of the life that’s growing inside of her. The mere thought of it was overwhelming, robbing Calum of his breath in the best way. He couldn’t wait until he was holding the baby in his arms. Wide, awed eyes raising to meet Aspen’s, Calum whispered, “You’re showing.”

“I know,” Aspen responded, an excited squeak in her voice as she bounced on her heels giddily. “I mean, with Luna, I didn’t start until, like, twelve weeks. But this little one already wants to make him—or her—self known.”

Calum let out a slow breath, giving her growing belly some more rubs before bringing her shirt down, not that he really wanted to, and wrapping his arms around her to pull her close. Raising an eyebrow, his brown eyes met Aspen’s green, and Calum asked, “You wanna tell people?”

She nodded, smile ever present. “I mean, yeah.” Her hands were on his biceps, giving them an excited squeeze. Tilting her head, Aspen continued knowingly, “I know you’re dying to tell the boys.”

“Only if you’re ready to tell people,” Calum quickly assured. He didn’t want to somehow pressure her, knowing she had said she’d wanted to wait until the first trimester was over. They still had a few more weeks until then, and Calum was willing to see it through. Even if it did mean holding off on telling the boys.

“Yes, I am,” Aspen answered, smile bright. Beautiful. With a giggle and a squeeze to his arms once more, she added, “Time we spread the joy.”

*****

The boys, of course, didn’t live on the east coast. They had gone back to California a few months back, but that never stopped them from FaceTiming or even hopping on a plane over just because they had the means to and could. And since Ashton’s birthday happened to be coming up, Calum was thrilled to know the birthday man wanted to spend it with his closest friends in New York. 

The day after the boys arrived, just a few days before Ashton’s birthday, the group of them met up for dinner in the city after setting Luna up with a sitter. Aspen wanted for the guys to know through her and Calum telling them, rather than them seeing it, so she made sure to wear a blouse that didn’t fit too tightly, hiding the bump under the loose material. The excitement fluttered around Aspen’s stomach, feeling as though no matter how many people they told it to, the news wouldn’t seem any less exciting.

The two of them had told Aspen’s family, being responded to with thrilled cheers and excitement—some tears on Aspen’s mom’s part as well. Then phone calls had been made to Mali and Calum’s parents, and Aspen would be lying if she said it wasn’t trippy when they were telling Calum’s parents. There had been a twisting in her stomach, kind of nauseous, prompting Aspen to grasp Calum’s hand tightly as they delivered the news. And it was fucking weird, telling them through FaceTime as her own mind flashed with images of when she was in that position years ago. Sitting with Joy, being utterly terrified of being pregnant without it ever being the plan, and then being told to get the hell out of town in a more subdued, patronizing way.

This time around, though, there had been exclaims of happiness and excitement on their end, and while Aspen had briefly felt like she’d been transported into an alternate universe, she acknowledged the relief and joy she felt at their reaction. It was good. It was how everything should have been from the start.

“There they are,” Calum pointed out as they entered the restaurant, catching sight of the guys sitting at a round table towards the middle of the restaurant. Which was a surprise, them being on time for once. 

Aspen saw them easily, too, smiling up at Calum as they made their way over and asked him, “You ready?”

The smile on his face was answer enough.

They greeted the boys with hugs before settling down, picking up their menus and catching up as the waitress came by to take their drink orders. And while the men read off their specific alcoholic drink, Aspen merely smiled at the waitress and said, “Just a water for me, thank you.”

Across from her, Luke scrunched his face up disapprovingly. “Aw, come on, Aspen. You can’t leave us hanging like that—get a real drink.”

Aspen felt the laugh bubble past her, exchanging a brief look with Calum before telling the blonde with a shake of her head, “I can’t.” So what if she wanted to tease it just a tiny bit?

“Nah, none of that,” Michael cut in, shaking his head as well as he sat to her left. “I hear they’ve got good margaritas here; that’s right up your alley.”

She laughed, the amusement bringing the smile onto her face as well as the simmering anticipation of breaking the news. Really, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face even if she tried, especially taking in account how the boys had absolutely no idea. “No, seriously, guys,” Calum spoke up this time, his own knowing smile tilting at his lips as he looked at his best friends, adopting as much of a serious tone as he could allow himself before adding pointedly, “She can’t.”

It didn’t click, not that either of them expected it to. But Aspen did note the furrow in each of their eyebrows, frowning in confusion as they looked between the couple. Aspen desperately wanted to just announce it, but this was Calum’s moment—he would be the one to tell his best friends that he was about to become a father for the second time. Under the table, her hand grasped his, a single squeeze indicating that it was time, and the words spilled out of his mouth before he could even comprehend it.

His grin was wide, the happiness absolutely glowing, as he announced, “Aspen’s pregnant.”

The three men fell into a brief, stupefied silence. Green, blue, and hazel eyes gaped at them, absolutely stunned by the news, processing it through the noise of the buzzing restaurant. Aspen and Calum watched them, waited patiently, hearts drumming and smiles growing as Ashton was the first to break the silence with a dumbfounded, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Aspen laughed, her cheeks beginning to ache from how much she was smiling. “Gonna have another Hood by January.”

Calum looked at her, eyes warm and smile brilliant, giving her hand a squeeze as he said, “Best birthday present I could’ve asked for.”

The boys snapped out of it then, startling the couple with their enthusiastic cheers, earning some looks from other patrons as they got up from their seats to step around the table to hug both Aspen and Calum. They let go of each other’s hands to receive the hugs, Aspen grinning against Luke and then Michael and then Ashton, each voicing their incredulous happiness and excitement for becoming uncles all over again. They didn’t at all care about how loud they were being, their enthusiasm taking over, ignorant to the few looks they had received.

“This is—wow, holy shit,” Michael laughed, green eyes bright and wide as he grinned at his friends. “Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

Calum clicked his tongue, leaning back in the chair as his left arm draped on top of Aspen’s chair. “Not for another few weeks,” he informed them, speaking through his smile as he looked at his friends. “Place your bets, boys.”

“Name ’em after me,” Ashton grinned dimply, earning an amused snort from Aspen as Ashton laughed at her. “What? Ashton for a boy, Ashley for a girl.”

Calum scoffed as Aspen shot the hazel eyed man a smirk, raising her eyebrows at him as she said, “If the baby’s named after you, you’re automatically the one changing the diapers. I don’t make the rules.”

Laughter rounded the table as Ashton scrunched his face up, shaking his head in protest as Calum jumped in. “Oi, no—I’ll be on diaper duty.” Finger poking at Aspen’s shoulder, arm still around the chair, Calum pouted at her, “Don’t be giving my job to someone else.”

Luke shook his head in amusement. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited to change a shitty diaper.”

“You kidding?” Calum’s smile was wide, biting down on his lower lip as his dark eyes met Aspen’s green. The sincerity was present, his following words relevant to both the diapers as well as the excitement that enveloped them. “I can’t wait.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten @loveroflrh @sweetcherrymike @astroashtonio @softforcal @meetashthere @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @madelynerin​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @wildflowergrae​

[miss-choco-chips]

Worshiping at your altar

“He confesses how long he’s looked

for a place to worship

and, oh, you put him on his knees.”

PROFANE by Ashe Vernon

A Paladin and an artificer fall in love.

Or- how Langa learns that worship comes in more than one form.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30430242

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

One of his earliest memories is this:

He sits by his father’s feet. They are in their living room, in his childhood home back in Canada. There’s a fire crackling behind him, the warmth of the flames licking his back even from the distance. His mother’s steps could be heard in the kitchen, but he can barely focus on that, utterly entranced by Dad’s stories, by the hand softly combing his hair back. He feels safe, comfortable and probably the most at peace he’s ever been. 

“A lot of people are going to get hurt tomorrow. All we can do is stand in the way of that and say, 'Not them. Me. If you need to hurt someone, hurt me'”, Dad reads. Langa’s tired eyes look up, eyes tracing the golden letters on the spine of his father’s favorite book, the tale of  ‘How the Paladin Got His Scar’. “Because the alternative is to look at someone else, someone weaker and more vulnerable, and tell them that you want them to be hurt instead of you.”

He squirms a bit in place, and Dad waits, just like every time they reach this part. He’s heard this story hundreds of times, could probably recite it himself from memory alone, but this passage is one that never fails to make him feel off. Weird, uncomfortable. As if he’s failing in some way, because…

“I don’t get it”, he says, like clockwork. Dad’s stopped reading, a single finger keeping the page bookmarked, in preparation for Langa’s usual interruption. Back in the kitchen, his mother’s footsteps fade away, as if she, too, is waiting for her son to ask. “Why do I have to hurt in someone else’s place? I don’t like to be in pain...”

As always, Dad smiles. He’s never mad about Langa’s selfishness, but, again, a five year old can’t really be expected to understand self sacrifice like this, no matter his Class. He never stops patting Langa’s head on his lap.

“It’s not about our pain. It’s about others’ joy.”

There’s usually where it stops, his curiosity sated, and lets Dad go back to his reading and Mom to her cooking. But Langa remembers something else, a new question bubbling up from him. He was in that age, Mom would say, where children stop taking everything their parents say at face value.

“But I thought us paladins were supposed to only serve a God? Why should we care about other people?”

It sounds awfully mean, he knows, but his father only laughs.

“We are not Clerics, son. As much as divine beings love us, we’re not bound to them. That’s why we have our Vow, remember? We can choose. I wasn’t forced to serve the Snow Deities, I wanted to do it. And I never regretted it.”

Langa’s frustration only grows more.

“But I don’t want to do that! To… to give...me-self…”

“Myself”, he remembers Mom calling softly from the doorway, but never how or when she got there. Only his father’s patience as Langa tried again:

“I don’t want to give myself away like that.”

“That’s because you haven't found your Worship yet, Langa. You’ll know, when you do. Because taking your Vow…”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Moving to Okinawa feels strange, in more than one way. 

For starters, it's weird to adore the Snow Deities with no snow in sight. But, to be completely honest (as he tends to be), he hadn’t felt any real pull in his nightly adoration. Not ever since his father died.

(How could he offer sincere praise to the beings that sent dad to his death?)

Still, he kept up with it. As a Paladin with no Vow, he’s taken to adoring the Snow Deities the same way a chronic smoker would use an e-cig.  Not the same, not nearly as invested, but it scratches the itch he can feel building inside him (his divinity begging for release, for reverence, for him to fall to the ground in awe) just well enough that he doesn’t go insane. It’ll be different, once he’s worshipping for real, his mom tells him. He’s not overly enthusiastic about the idea.

Something else that’s different is the quests. Official ones are offered in schools or extracurricular centers, just like back home, but he can’t even begin to imagine himself fighting his way through forests instead of frozen mountaintops. And just what creatures would he even be fighting? Snow Wassets, Kamaitachis, Wendigos… They were all born from ice, and darkness, and cold. Not exactly your native Okinawan monster.

He sighs, head resting against the car window. Watching the trees fly past as mom drives them to their new place, he starts to feel the itch under his skin again. Moving so far away had helped, the deities’ reach weak against the warmth of this land, but still notable enough to demand attention. 

It’s annoying, painful at times, and the last thing he wants to do after losing his dad- but he closes his eyes, spite burning at his core like acid, and adores.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s laying on the floor- no sword in sight, vulnerable, helpless to this person approaching him at high speed, unrelenting- but the pain never comes.

Opening his eyes, he looks up. And time stops, just like it did every time Langa interrupted his father during story time for a question. The world itself holds its breath, waiting for him to catch up.

And he stares at this boy, suspended above him. He sees his red hair, contrast jarring against blue skies. Sees golden eyes, bright and open and full of a life that seems to be avoiding him.

His senses are telling him- he’s a human. There’s no divinity in him, no godliness.

But his heart beats hard, almost pushing his chest open, and he’s breathing the air this boy left behind when he jumped over him. And he feels a spark catching fire behind his eyes, travelling down to his stomach, and nesting there in a way that suggests ‘I’m in no rush to leave’.

And he thinks, briefly- no one ever told me that Fire Deities liked to skate in Okinawa.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He learns the boy’s Class before his name. He’s an artificer, and he’s called Reki.

He thinks it means something, that he introduces himself like that, but Langa isn’t sure what, because all he can hear is an echo of his voice and the afterglow of the smile he shoots his way.

Reki becomes too much, too fast. He shows Langa his favorite invention, a magic skateboard, and he himself feels instantly charmed by the simple genius he exudes. He’s helpless as he follows Reki to the shop he works on, where he finds himself employed as well before he can even catch his bearings. Something about his divinity being harnessed for potions, and protecting the store. He’s not hearing very faithfully, but it sounds good enough that he nods. Without his weekly quests to the mountains, there’s few other ways for him to earn his own money and help support his mother. Though he can’t deny he’ll miss the thrill of it...

Then Reki takes his hand again, and he solves that problem as well.

The S circuit, an illegal quest spot. A rocky mounting, with its surrounding forest littered with abandoned buildings, chock full of all sorts of creatures to hunt, or other adventurers to spar; not for the money, or the honor, but for fun.

Fun is a weird concept for Langa, these days, but he can’t deny the thrill he feels when he burrows Reki’s sword (it's not like the other boy can use it, with his hand hurt as it is) and forces the man that wanted to bring pain to his new friend to the ground. When he’s standing up, looking down at this Rouge, hearing Reki’s excited screams getting closer and closer until the boy is near enough to jump to Langa’s arms, he thinks… that if this is what Dad felt on his quests, it’s no wonder he gave up his life in one of them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s never met an artificer before, and Reki has never encountered a Paladin either. It's an experience for both of them.

Reki seems determined to make Langa a new sword, one that adapts to the training he received back in Canada but that he can use here, in S. It’s a challenge for him, he says, and Langa doesn’t mind the long hours spent in Reki’s workshop, as the boy tries new materials, different welding techniques and a wide variety of spells, exchanging questions back and forth.

Learning about Reki feels a little like when Dad taught him how to fight, everything new, shiny, a little scary but at the same time so safe. He finds out that his friend still hasn’t decided on a specialty, and that choosing one is in a way a little like a Paladin taking a Vow, and at the same time, nothing at all. They focus on a single path, do their best to become masters of it, but once it's perfected, they are free to pursue a different one. He’s secretly enchanted by the idea- the freedom of it. Or maybe it’s just Reki that makes him feel like that.

“I thought you guys just… fought for good? You know, to save people, end wars, stuff like that?”

Langa lays back, weight resting on his arms as he looks up to the stars . They are outside for a change, as Reki is trying to cast a few attack spells on the sword (as in, writes runes and splashes potions over the blade, occasionally cutting himself on it; Langa longs to take it away from him before he loses a finger), and refuses to do so in the relative fragility of indoors. The night sky is very pretty, the company is good, and he feels too comfortable for someone sitting on the ground.

“That’s what’s told in schools and stories, but reality is different”, he answers, eyes dancing between the stars and Reki’s eyes (just as bright, just as pretty). “‘Good’ and ‘bad’ are very subjective terms. What’s alright in some cultures is a sin in others.”

“One man’s heaven is another man’s hell”, Reki murmurs, stopping his motions as he thinks Langa’s words through. 

Langa nods. “Paladins- we do have a connection to the Gods, in a way. So it’s very common for us to give our Vows to them. But, unlinke Clerics, we’re not irredeemably bound, so there’s more of a choice factor. A Paladin can give their Vow once in their life, and then has to commit to it, but that we can decide who or what to Vow to is our form of freedom.”

Reki looks back at Langa then, sword almost forgotten in his lap. They were sitting quite close, now that he thinks about it, barely enough space between them to fill with a whisper. His entire right side felt scalding hot, like when he was a child back home and sat a little too close to the fireplace.

That heat spreads to the rest of his body when Reki throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk, dude!”

Time resumes, the night moves on, Langa walks home. But the warmth never leaves his body.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Reki being an artificer doesn’t stop him from participating in quests and spars. He throws himself into them, headfirst, like he’s desperate to prove something to himself. He only ever seems to take it easy when he takes Langa with him; when he holds his hand as he walks him through the differences and similarities of adventures back home and here. Rattles out information about monsters jumping them in the woods, and statistics about the adventurers they stumble upon. He seems like a never ending fountain of information, and oh is Langa thirsty. 

He doesn't think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Reki speak. And even when he slowly becomes better at it, when the newness of the creatures crawling the forest stops scaring him and he feels comfortable enough to set loose and have fun, he still clutches Reki’s hand in his. And together, they brave whatever the fates throw their way.

It's more fun, that way.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He spends the night over at Reki’s place a lot in the following weeks. They both seemed full of excuses for him to stay, to fall asleep side by side, skin on skin. Reki’s hands, always twitching for his tools to tinker with, slowly stilling, peaceful, when Langa holds them between his.

He doesn’t realize until after many, many nights together like this- that, distracted as he was with his friend, he’d totally forgotten to praise and adore. The itch of murmuring in awe about the Deities has all but vanished from him, and its- it's a freedom he had never known before.

(Reki’s hands are smaller than his, so even when he holds them, folded and sweet, the tips of his fingers meet, like a small roof over Reki’s knuckles.

It looks like he’s praying, and he wonders if that’s why the Snow Deities had left him alone. If it’s because they see these sleeping boys, see the peace in the young Paladin’s resting face, and think- ‘this one is already lost in adoration’.)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This must be what a role reversal feels like, he thinks. Paladins are supposed to be this- this paragon of goodness, righteousness. 

But Reki is the one that, after Langa had defeated the young Sorcerer in combat, offers a hand and a smile. Even when the kid has thrown nothing but insults his way, Reki still stands straight and proud in front of him when a new enemy appears. Challenges this newcomer to a spar, to protect someone he should not be giving a fuck about.

And when the Warlock crushes him to the ground, his artifacts destroyed and blood painting the arena, he still looks Langa’s way with an apology in his eyes. 

Langa remembers when he was younger, when he wondered how someone would choose pain to protect others from it. He still can’t understand the desire to do so for a complete stranger, but for Reki-

He would brave way worse dangers than an obsessed Warlock for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s drowning- 

He’s drowning for days on end. The flame eating at his flesh from the inside has been burning bright ever since his interrupted combat with Adam, the press of his steel armor- Reki’s armor- against his chest worsening the pain. It fills his lungs, his core- doesn’t let him breath. He didn’t know that it was possible to suffocate in fire.

-but it's not until Reki walks away from him under the pouring rain, that he understands that the pain of drowning is nothing compared to the emptiness of death. That the itch to fight Adam pales in comparison to the all-encompassing desperation of his yearning for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He holds Reki’s hands under the stars again, and painful fire becomes soft warmth. It takes him back to his childhood, to sitting by his dad’s feet, head on his lap, hearth at his back, mom moving around in the kitchen.

He’s on his knees in front of Reki, but it’s the other boy the one who whispers words of reverence. He’s looking down at Langa, washed in moonlight and surrounded by divinity, and there’s defeat and victory in his face all at once.

He looks like he’s fallen, but he’s happy about it.

Langa is-

“I’ve decided about my specialization”, Reki confesses. His eyes don’t wander, his hands aren’t twitching. He looks the most secure in himself Langa has ever seen him. It fills his chest with a warm sort of pride. “I’ll become a Battle Smith. They are experts at defending others and repairing both materiel and personnel”, he continues, one hand dislodging itself from within the protective cocoon of Langa’s hold to trace the contours of his face. Langa feels it when he finds the thin scar in his cheek, from his latest spar in S. His fingertips tremble a bit as they touch it.

“Why?” he asks, because he knows Reki longs, too, for the thrill of a quest, for the joy of surviving the dangers thrown his way.

“I can always make my own weapons, there’s no need for me to make a specialty out of it”, he shrugs, as if reading Langa’s mind, “so I’m good to participate in quests myself. But if you’re gonna insist on throwing yourself headfirst into unprecedented danger, the least I can do is make sure you’ll be damn well protected against everything you can’t kill on sight.”

All air leaves Langa’s lungs, but at the same time, it’s like he’s never really breathed before this exact moment. He imagines being a worshipped Deity can’t feel all that different.

And he remembers his Dad again, his words when he first told him about Vows. 

‘Taking your Vow isn't subjecting yourself to a leash; it's not about servitude. To Worship is to feel the highest you've ever been, even while down on your knees’

Kneeling before Reki, holding one of his hands between his, feeling the other one caressing his cheek, looking up at his face outlined by the moon... it’s like he has stars at his fingertips and fire in his veins. He’s flying with it, touching the sky but standing straight and firm as well.

He’s never felt this way. He doesn’t want it to ever stop.

So he bends his head down over Reki’s hand, eyes closing in reverence and lips touching rough, calloused skin. And in the silence of the night, the words of his Vow sound as loud as if he’d shouted them.

Reki’s hand is in his hair now, like benediction, and he thinks- If falling is this sweet, it’s no wonder so many angels changed their wings for horns, their clouds for fire. 

It's just divine luck that he’s now sworn to someone who can give him both.

[soundofseventeen]

When I Grow Up  (Lee Seokmin)

So...Erin snapped me that we hit 1300 followers as I was finishing this!! Thanks my loves for sticking around!!! We try to keep you happy!!! I still have plenty of ideas but no time, but I’m trying!!! I hope it captured the growing theme!!!! 

Credits to the gif owners!!!

Word count: 5607

Inspo: When I Grow Up

Y/N age 12: 

“Did you know chocolate is a vegetable?” You looked up from your homework to stare at the ten-year-old boy you were babysitting and shook your head. “I’m serious,” he continued. He attempted to clean the cookie crumbs off of his mouth, only to smear one of the chocolate chips that had gotten stuck. He laughed at his mistake.

At that, you smiled at him and cleaned his face. “Finish your snack and then we can start your homework. And it’s shower day, so we need to make sure you’re clean when your parents come home.”

“I don’t smell though,” he whined, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. He reached over to grab another cookie and accidentally knocked over his glass of milk. You managed to pick up your worksheet in time but by the time you found a rag, it managed to seep into Seokmin’s shirt and pants. “Oops,” he said sheepishly. “Can I shower right now? Milk smells gross when it’s not cold anymore.”

“Okay. Being me your clothes when you’re done and then I can wash them.” You walked to the kitchen sink to wring out the milk, nearly gagging when you felt it running through your fingertips and washed the cloth thoroughly. You heard the shower running, thankful that he listened to you and threw his soiled outfit in the washer. 

You had been watching Seokmin for a few weeks and you learned how to adapt to his hyperactive personality, which made you proud of yourself. You didn’t force him to stay still or make him do things quietly. Instead, you let him take out all the Hot Wheels he owned and build all the bridges with the VHS cassettes his parents stored away and let him play to his heart’s content. Like many kids his age he would’ve rather done that than start his homework, which was normal. And he liked to bribe his way to have dessert for dinner, which never happened but you commended him (hah! You managed to use a vocabulary word from one of your classes!) for always trying. You’ve met his sister several times but she was currently in that phase where she was embarrassed by her younger brother so you often stepped in with the babysitting. He was a sweet kid and one of your favorites at that.

“Y/N, I’m out,” he called you a few minutes later. He stood in front of the doorway fully changed into his favorite Spongebob pajamas, the water dripping onto the carpet and held out his towel for you to dry his hair. Seokmin’s favorite thing about showers was having someone running the bath towel through his scalp to dry his hair, or anyone just playing with his hair in general. He liked that more than when someone scratched his back when he tried sleeping. 

“Alright, you’re all done. Now get started on your homework. I don’t know what time your parents are getting home today but I know I let you play long enough.”

“Five more minutes?”

“Sorry buddy. We had a deal. Homework now, and then maybe TV later if they’re not here yet.” You checked the time. “I think they left pizza money just in case.” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “I like pizza! With lots and lots of pepperoni and lots and lots of cheese. Can you order pizza Y/N?” He clapped his hands together. “I promise I’ll do all my homework and I won’t say nothing. We never had pizza before.”

You mulled it over a little bit more, not really trusting the child’s word, but when your stomach growled, you agreed. “Fine. Start it now and I’ll call.” You had to admit that it was a comical sight to see Seokmin zoom out of the room and put his backpack back in in record time. 

He pulled out his folder, sending a few loose papers flying in the process and searched through them until he found the one for his reading log. “I don’t like reading so can we do it last?” 

The homework session flew by with moderate amounts of complaints from Seokmin (despite his promise to stay quiet) and almost crying a couple of times because he couldn’t pronounce some of the words right. The pizza arrived before he finished so he ate while he read, getting some of the oil on the paper and you telling him to put his slice down so he can concentrate and by the time the Lees came home, he was grumbling about taking the empty box to the trash and how he could’ve been playing with his cars. But he smiled the whole time and begged his parents to let you sleepover and then to go with his dad to take you home even though you lived across the street.

“You’re coming tomorrow, right?” He asked hopefully before you left.

“Tomorrow and the day after that,” you promised. 

“Y/N, will you still take care of me when I grow up?”

“Ask me in 10 years Seok. You might change your mind and be too old for a babysitter then. Good night.”

Y/N age 13: 

“I can’t believe I’m finally going to your house! You’ve been in my life forever and I never knew what the inside of your house looks like.” Seokmin talked a lot faster when he was excited so all you caught about this conversation was how it was related to you was how his new best friend having a pool at his house and him (the friend) going swimming whenever he wanted, among other things. He stopped talking long enough to watch you unlock your door and he changed the subject. “Is your room messy like mine or does someone make you clean it? Do you have to do chores too? One time my friend got his Xbox taken away because he didn’t wash dishes the other day…”

“Seokmin, I’ve had a long day, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed quiet for two minutes, please.” You flopped on the couch, closing your eyes and hoping to finish the day. A new school was tough enough but it was tougher when you were trying to fit in with the crowds and no one spared you a second glance. It didn’t help that you had developed a fast crush on a boy in one of your classes when he picked up your mechanical pencil and said red was his favorite color. “Do you want something to eat?” When he didn’t answer, you opened your eyes to see Seokmin wiping his own. “Hey are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Do you not like me anymore Y/N?” He sniffed. “You never talked to me like that.”

You let out a big breath, reminding yourself to be patient with the young boy. “Yes Seokmin, I still like you. I just...didn’t have the best day.”

“My mommy says it isn’t good to do things like that.” He stopped the last of his tears, and quietly took out his homework to work on on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” you told him after awhile. “I’ll try harder...but listen, I know the neighbors got a new dog. Do you wanna go see if they’ll let us walk him?”

At that, Seokmin forgot about the pain in his heart and smiled wide enough for all his teeth to show through. “I like dogs! Can we get slushies too?”

“If you want,” you shrugged. “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore. You’re not Seokmin if you’re not smiling.”

“I won’t be sad anymore Y/N! Promise!” He crossed his heart with his finger and beamed at you until you laughed. “Y/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“Do I make you happy? Even when I’m annoying?” 

“You are without a doubt one of my favorite kids.” You found his beanie on the couch and put it on him in case the air had a chilly bite to it, and patted his head fondly. “Then again, you’re the only one I watch most days of the week.” 

“When I grow up, do you think there’ll be someone you’ll love more than me?”

“Ask me in 10 years pal. As of right now, no.” Although you couldn’t help thinking about that guy in your class.

Y/N age 14: 

“I’m too old for a babysitter,” he huffed. 

“Seokmin, the fact that you and your friends had to graffiti a wall when you were unsupervised says otherwise.” You sighed. Truthfully, a 12-year-old had some (or should’ve had) common sense at this point so even you didn’t know why you still watched him. You would’ve rather stayed home curled up somewhere, taking an online quiz about which Big Time Rush boy was your soulmate or memorizing the newest One Direction song and cursing the peak of puberty for the imbalances of your life.

But because the Lees still paid you to watch their son, Seokmin sometimes felt more like the gum under your shoe you couldn’t get rid of no matter how many times you tried scraping it against the pavement instead of a friend due to your closeness in age and all the time you spent together. Sometimes you wanted to talk to him about books or music or something that piqued your interest but he still found joy playing in the mud and throwing bugs in your direction. You scoffed at the simplicity of his life. You already knew how you wanted to live. You wanted out of here, going to the school that offered you the best job skills and working the hours you wanted and still have time for your friends. But for now, even just a concert would suffice. Instead, the sun beat down on you and Seokmin as you waited for his piano teacher to arrive and you didn’t wanna hear him complain about being old enough to be here by himself. He had been growing at a steady rate so it was somewhat of a challenge to ruffle his hair in apology because you agreed with him but you managed.

“Why do I even have to play the piano Y/N? It’s so boring.”

You felt the offense personally, but waved it off. “It could come in handy someday.” You pictured your future love in the form of your idol serenading you with a ballad and sighed dreamily. “The greatest composers are still remembered for playing the piano and you know something? You can control the emotion with just a stroke of the keys.” 

“Still sounds boring.”

“Well, I tried,” you laughed. “I’ll let you in a secret though.” Seokmin’s eyes widened and he leaned in closer to you, eager for you to spill. You lowered your voice, making it seem like it was important that this information be shared with him only, “If you don’t like it, your mom said we can find something else for you to do. But just give it a shot, okay?”

“Okay, I will!” He bounced up and down. “But if I don’t like it, can we go watch movies or go play at the park?”

“Not today, but we will if you don’t like it. We’re just trying to keep you out of trouble.” You ruffled his hair again and kneeled. You pointed to your lap and he raised his left foot so you tie his shoe.

“I don’t cause trouble,” he pouted. “When I grow up, you’ll see that I’m an angel.”

Y/N, age 15:

You were on your feet, giving Seokmin his standing ovation before he even finished hitting the last note, and he stared out at the crowd, finding you easily. The audience followed soon after, most of them standing up as well. He shuffled off his seat, his pudgy hand waving excitedly at everyone. Tears pooled at his eyes from the emotion and a few slipped and he wiped them away just as quickly. Win or lose, you knew he gave his all and that was the most important thing. The host shuffled him backstage, announcing a quick intermission for deliberation and the crowd started voicing their opinions, some louder than others and you had to cover your ears. 

Although you didn’t watch Seokmin anymore, it didn’t mean anything, especially recently. His parents had it let it drop that Seokmin was being bullied at school and he needed all the support he could get while they worked with the administrators to do something about it before they took the law into their own hands. That meant distracting him with whatever he wanted and protecting him when you heard particularly nasty comments about him. (Now you weren’t a fighter by any means, but you didn’t exactly shy away from throwing a couple of punches or books when necessary, regardless of age, gender, or height.)

He found his escape on the piano, pouring out his sentiments onto the keys and playing for several hours and you could often hear the heartbreaking melodies, wanting to console him and find everyone who hurt the precious human who said hello to plants every morning and often stayed wary of the insects. You did pride yourself on finding a couple of them and dragging them by the ear to apologize though it wasn’t a complete loss. 

You could feel Mrs. Lee’s clammy hand wrap around yours as everyone held their breath. Fifth place was announced, followed by the fourth, third, second, the honorable mentions and finally to no one’s surprise, Seokmin’s name was called as he won first place, the host stating that the song choice baffled the judges, especially when his he opened his mouth to sing. He was still crying when he met everyone outside minutes later, holding both his parents and hiccuping whenever he tried composing himself. His sister sprayed him with silly string and offered to treat him to breakfast the next time they hung out. And you merely held out the bouquet of roses to him, showering him with all the compliments you could think of and watching his eyes mist up again from the praise. You stuck a twig full of leaves on his hair to distract him and it worked.

“Y/N, are you always gonna be like this?” He asked, dodging his mom’s kiss as discreetly as possible. 

“Like what?” 

“Being here when I grow up.”

You smiled at him. “Buddy, I think it’d be a crime to not to at this point.” You wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his sweater you were holding.

Y/N, age 16:

“I mean, if you wanna sing, then sing.” You had bumped into a tall and awkward 14-year-old Seokmin at a karaoke night, you with your friends and him with his. Well, you had passed his table and he pulled on your backpack and hid behind the food menu so you shrugged it off and walked away. 

He had the habit of greeting you with an ear-splitting scream because you didn’t see each other as often as you were used to. (High school...what could you do? You wanted to shred your old image ad start a new one, though you weren’t sure how. Your teenage rebellion did give your family a headache so you knew you were doing something right). He told you about the possibility of moving to Seoul City to pursue his new dream of becoming famous. His asset turned out to be his voice which you couldn’t help but grin at the recognition.

“I’m leaving next week so tonight we’re having a night of fun.” He beamed at you. “But we should do a duet like we used to when I was little before we go!” 

Because he was sitting down, he made it easy for you to pat his head and then pull his hoodie over him so he wouldn’t be cold. “If I don’t forget, then yeah. I’ll be-” you searched for your favorite table, cheering silently when you saw it was vacant, “-right over there if you need me. I won’t be as good as you though. You mom tells me you’ve been practicing.”

“I try. Okay Y/N, I’ll pick the song and then I’ll let you know!” He wiped pizza sauce from his mouth, missing a spot. “If they throw food though, at least you won’t have to pay.” He laughed at his own joke before one of his friends dragged him away from you and led him to an air hockey table.

“Doesn’t he use your honorific?” Your friend asked once you were seated.

“He used to when we met, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. I’m not that much older than him.” It never felt weird that Seokmin addressed you so casually just because he felt like a friend now, not someone you used to babysit. “Besides, I’m already used to it, so if he started to do it, I don’t know how I’d feel.”

“Besides old?” You smacked your friend playfully. “I’m just saying. It’s not a bad thing, but I was just curious.”

A couple of hours passed by, and you were sure Seokmin had forgotten about his proposal when he came out of nowhere just as you were starting dessert. He told you he thought long and hard on his decision and he chose a Disney favorite: “If I Didn’t Have You” from Monsters Inc. and you let him take the lead, putting all his emotion into his parts and you trying to match the passion and failing. 

“I hope we can do this in future when we grow up,” he smiled, fanning his face and you nodded in agreement, not telling him it’d be awhile until you went onstage again. You held hands as you as you took the final bow and yelling at him for leaving you up there.

Y/N, age 17:

“Seokmin, this is my boyfriend.” You didn’t expect to run into the boy while you visited the city, but then again, you didn’t expect your parents to let you explore Seoul City with your boyfriend and yet here you were. After window shopping for a large part of the day, you decided to have lunch at a fast food restaurant. And as you were leaving, you held the door open for a handful of rowdy boys and it was only when the last one thanked you that you recognized him.

He had grown taller, obviously and if puberty wasn’t done hitting him yet, it’d continue. He lost a lot of his baby face and weight overall, and you could see he was slowly getting comfortable with that. His eyes still held the naivety which surprised you because you expected a lot of it to be lost (mostly because a lot of 15-year-olds understood the concept of dirty jokes, hormones and the fact that society rejected anyone who didn’t confine to the norm, amongst other things) and his smile was as wide as ever as he grabbed you in a bear hug, and even though you missed seeing the precious boy in your neighborhood, you had to push him away because he reeked of dirty socks and an enclosed space. 

Seokmin waved at him eagerly and continued catching you up on his life as if you weren’t blocking the doorway and there weren't any people trying to get in and out as fast as they could. “I’m here having lunch with my hyungdeul.” He pointed to everyone there saying their names faster than you could keep up. “We have seven boys, one from China and a young one from America and there’s another boy who has the same birthday as me! How exciting! Now we get to have two cakes and double the presents! They want us to debut with 17 boys...isn’t that crazy?!”

“I bet, How are you holding on?”

His smile faltered a bit. “Sometimes I wanna quit because it’s so hard, but there’s a boy named Seungkwan who keeps telling me to go home, but he only makes me wanna try harder. I think I like him but I’m not too sure. There’s another boy named Hoshi who helps me with my dancing so that helps.”

“Dokyeomie,” you heard someone call out and Seokmin turned his head. “Your food’s ready and it’s getting cold. I’m not responsible if someone eats it.”

“Coming hyung!” he called brightly.

You stared at him in confusion. “Dokyeomie?”

“Oh yeah! They call me Dokyeom or DK or whatever! It’s so cool to have a nickname! Can you call me that from now on, now that I’m grown up?”

You tiptoed to remove an insect that had gotten caught on his hair. “I mean I can try. Don’t move. You have a ladybug in your hair.” He froze his tracks so you were able to take it off quickly, and ruffling his hair in farewell. “We’ll see. It was nice seeing you and good luck with your group.” Once you had gotten outside, you made a wish on the ladybug, hoping that Seokmin, err DK would get everything his little heart desired.

Y/N, age 18:

You didn’t expect to see Seokmin at your graduation party so he managed to render you speechless. From what the Lees told you, he’d been working hard and fighting hard for the chance to debut because the company who scouted him couldn’t afford to keep him or any of his members and they preferred to cut their losses. “You’re here!” You managed to say through your shock. You hugged him dumbly, quite sure you were dreaming and you’d wake up soon. Nope...his arms wrapping around you felt too real but even then you weren’t convinced. 

“This is one of the biggest achievements in your life and you think I’d miss it?” Although he was teasing you, you could see the hurt making his way to his face. “I think it’s time for me to be here for you this time don’t you think?”

“Oh please, when you debut it’ll be the same thing as always.” You eyed the gift bag in his hand curiously. “What’s that?”

He hid it behind his back shyly at seeing your boyfriend beside you and kiss your head. “Oh it’s nothing...just something that my friend Mingyu helped me make for you. I’ll leave it on the table.” 

“Oh no. I wanna open it now. Lemme see.” You reached for it, but due to Seokmin’s never-ending growth spurt he easily put it out of your reach and you had to fight him just to get it. “Good to know you’re still a child,” you told him good-naturedly when you failed to reach him and he lowered it enough for you to snatch it from him. You peered inside, frowning at the tissue paper that covered the present. You took it out gently and were met with a card. You opened it, not recognizing the names inside, congratulating you and wishing you well. 

“My bandmates wanted to sign it,” he explained. “I hope that’s okay.” He pointed to each one, explaining who each one was and filling you in on what they were doing that day. “Who knows? Maybe if we debut and we’re famous, they might be worth something.” The unspoken hung in the air and you changed the subject.

You moved onto the actual gift in the form of a shirt. You gave the bag to your boyfriend and unfolded the shirt, doubling over in laughter. “Really?”

“What? My favorite babysitter needs to support her favorite kid and what better way than this?” 

“Yeah Seokmin, but it isn’t it a bold assumption to say you’ll be my bias? How do you know that…” you scanned the names on the card quickly, “the dinosaur won’t be it?”

“I...don't think he’d be your type; he’s still a baby.”

“And you aren’t?” He ducked down to your level to pout and you used the excuse to pull the beanie he was wearing down to his eyes. “See?”

“Excuse me? I already grew up!” He wrapped his arm around your neck, grabbing you in a chokehold and not letting you go until you called him an adult.

“You still have a ways to go, dude,” you smiled at him. “Thanks again for coming.”

“When I grow up more, you’ll do the same for me.”

Y/N, age 19:

With the exception of Seokmin and his family, you weren’t familiar with one person in the room, but your eyes prickled with tears for everyone. It was actually happening. After what felt like an eternity of walking on eggshells, everyone had gotten the news that Seventeen would be debuting, albeit with 13 members. But that was only half the struggle. The other half would be staying afloat with what they had for the time being. You hoped that everything would work out for them in the long run. They’ve worked too hard and sacrificed more than everything to get to this point. The boys hugged each other, their parents, each other's parents and each other again, all while crying and hollering and praising the leader, producer and choreographer (you couldn’t tell who anyone was, but that would change soon, you promised yourself) for their talents and efforts. 

You could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket but you opted to ignore it. Your boyfriend knew you’d be here already and you wouldn’t be home until midnight, the earliest. It’s not that you had been having problems lately, but something felt amiss, like something was fading. You could almost feel the beginning of the end of the relationship, but you were trying to keep it alive. He was too. But there was a small, subconscious part of you that knew that the first love magic was wearing off, not that either of you mentioned it out loud. You felt a little bitter about it, but you were gonna ride it out until the end...no matter how long it was and with no regrets. 

Seokmin running to you from behind and enveloping you in a back hug brought you back to the present moment. You could feel the wetness of his cheeks on your neck and you turned around wipe the tears from his face with your sweater paws. “Are you proud of me Y/N?”

“I’ve been proud of you since you decided to do this. You’ve grown up really fast. I can’t wait to see what else you decide to.” You hugged him again. “I can’t believe just yesterday I was tying your shoes so your laces wouldn’t get stuck to the pedal and now you’re gonna be this big star. It’s amazing.”

“Thank you for believing in me Y/N. I promise I’ll do the best I can as I grow up as an artist.” He bowed. “Aren’t you gonna play with my hair now?”

Y/N, age 20: 

finally split with your boyfriend as 18-year-old Seokmin captured the hearts of fans all over Asia and the world.

Y/N, age 21: 

said goodbye to everyone in Yongin to move to Gangnam with the promise of a good job and college life while Seventeen rose on the charts 

Y/N, age 22: 

finally attended a Seventeen concert. The seats weren’t the best and the shirt he gave you for from graduation was still too big, no matter how many times you tried to shrink it, but you had fun watching him. Your heart flip flopped a little when he smiled at the crowd and you proceeded to drink your water as fast as you could.

Y/N, age 23: moved closer to Seoul City because of a better job offer; Seventeen travelled the world both for work and leisure.

Y/N, age 24: The barista gingerly placed your coffee on the table and back away, unnoticed. You looked up from the laptop when the aroma reached your nose and took a small sip before resuming your typing. It wasn’t everyday that you had a chance to breathe and you took advantage of going out to your favorite coffee shop. From the first moment you stepped in there, it had the otherworldly feel and you just loved the homeliness of it, so whenever you had a moment to breathe, you stopped here. Between work, school, making new friends and looking for a potential relationship, you were still learning how to divide your time but figuring out something had to go. You stirred the cup with the little straw absently with your free hand, keeping a majority of your attention on your email. 

“Y/N?”

You looked up the person who called you, your brain registering it as Seokmin’s voice but not processing it quickly enough because it still surprised you when you saw him. “Oh, hi.” Your eyes widened and you blinked a few times just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Hi!” You stood up to greet him properly, but unsure whether to hug him or bow. He was an idol now, after all. 

He decided for you, reaching for the hug. He grabbed you tightly, wrapping his arms around you as if he didn’t intend to let you go and he sighed deeply. “How are you? What are you doing here? Can I get you something? Wow it’s so good to see you.”

“I’m good. You look good. How are you?” 

“Good. I’m taking a break. Woozi hyung needed some more coffee and he asked me to bring him another cup while I was still out.” He smiled widely. “What brings you here?”

“I live here now. I mean I’ve lived here for the past year. I mean, not here, here but here in Seoul.” 

“That’s so cool! You have to let me show you around sometime! Or we should hangout! Whatever works for you! Wow, it’s so great to see you!” 

You could feel the blush on your cheeks at that. “It’s really great to see you again Seokmin. The years have really good to you and you’ve grown up well.” You straightened the collar on his jacket.

“I dunno about that. SCoups is always threatening to find me a babysitter, so if you’re interested in taking up that job again, feel free to call him.” He scratched the back of his head. “Hey Y/N, do you wanna grab dinner tonight? I know it’s sudden and you have things to do but tonight I’ll be off early and I don’t know when we’ll run into each other again so-”

“Sure.” You held out out your phone to him. “Call your phone from mine and then you can text me the address later.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Seokmin, age 23:

Seokmin had always been a dreamer, but he never expected his childhood crush to be sitting next to him while they watched movies. He watched your intense expression as you focused on the screen, piecing the puzzle together and your eyes widening when you figured it out. Seokmin didn’t know how you did it, but he knew if he asked, you’d gladly share your theory. He saw your bouncing in your seat from keeping quiet, so he paused it and asked you. When you finished, he smiled at you and cupped your cheek, still not quite used to the fact that he could do it freely.

“What?”

“I’m just really happy to have you, you know that?” He closed his eyes when he felt your fingers dust off the crumbs from his face. Some things, he realized, never changed and he had never been more okay with that fact than right now. “I’ve been in love with you for so long and then this happens after a few years of not seeing you.” The old shirt he gave you was still too big but it touched his heart that you kept it in good condition and still wore it to this day.

“You’re still smiling. Share.”

“Do you remember what I told you a long time ago?” He threw his arm around you and brought you closer to him. He kissed your hair and nuzzled you.

“Seok, you told me a lot of things. I can’t remember everything.”

“What did you always tell me?”

“‘Seokmin, stop running with scissors before you hurt yourself?’”

“Every time I asked you a question Jagi,” he giggled. He kissed your forehead this time.

“‘Ask me in 10 years?’ Okay, what about it?”

“It’s been longer than 10 years. I can’t remember everything I asked, but here you are, taking care of me still.”

“The circumstances are different, but still. Why are you asking me all this though?”

He let go of you and fumbled around his pockets until he produced a ring. “Will you take care of me for another 10 years? Maybe more? It’s not an engagement ring because I know we still have a lot to do, but it’s a promise ring. Will you accept that Jagi?”

He slipped it on your finger when you nodded and you stared at him dumbfounded. “Just how long have you been in love with me?”

“Awhile.”

“How long do you plan to stay in love with me?” 

“Always.” He pulled you close him and he could feel you playing with his hair, the way he remembered you doing it millions of times. Your fingers never lost the tender touch and it was one of the times he felt like a kid again. “Maybe when we grow up more, I’ll understand everything.”

“Seokmin?”

“Yes my love?”

“We did grow up.”

He kissed your lips. “But now, we can grow up...together.”

[jawbonejoe]

Hey man, earnest question, might sound a bit loaded. How DO you get to actually feel the screw the world I'm me self-confidence? I try to exercise self-love but mostly it feels forced and fake. Like... how do you reach that. You just keep trying?

So, Anon, since your question two things happened to me. The first happened to the rest of the planet: watching Trump lose the election and thus, the end of a four year nightmare draws nearer. 

The second thing happened to only a handful of people in that same world: a dear friend of mine lost his year long battle with leukemia. I found out via his wife’s posts on fb, and bc I was in the middle of cooking with my family on an otherwise celebratory day there wasn’t much I could do to reach out and console her. 

I already had the bones of your answer figured out by the time both things happened and now I know even more clearly what to tell you. 

You’re on the right path, self care and self love and confidence are absolutely practice and patience and more practice. It will feel fake at first bc you have to be bad at something before you are good at it. But we don’t have a cute saying for nothing ‘fake it till you make it is’ absolutely real. 

But I do think you’re looking at the thing in the wrong light. Self-love and confidence should not come from any ‘screw the world’ doctrine. I can see why you would call it that, especially when asking me because I do have a very ‘screw off’ attitude about things. The difference I want to make clear is that self love and confidence are not about the relationship of the self to the world, but the self to the self. You interact with the world every day as a jumble of information being broadcast through your body by a piece of meat with a little electricity inside it. That information is interpreted into sensation, emotion, memory, thought, and of course it is acted upon by the outside world and then reinterpreted to meet the meat’s needs. Being such a crazy living jumble is insane enough but then you have to go out and deal with other people who are also insane living jumbles of things. 

That’s where confidence comes in, because the world will interpret you as it wants and one of the few ways to inform its decision is to act like you can handle whatever it’s going to do to you. This is a skill that can be taught, and for those who have to self teach it there’s no better way to learn it than by following an example.

Why I need you to know it’s not a you v. world relationship is because we’re all constantly becoming and reinforcing who and what we are. And within that, true confidence comes from being someone you like being and trusting you can keep being that. The work there comes with reflection and practice and I can’t tell you how helpful it is to have people who will push you to be the best version of yourself. 

‘Screw the world’ offers too little to the importance of sharing life with other people. Humans are pack animals, we’re pattern finding machines, and those things together mean that we’re more highly adapted to develop profound bonds with each other than any other animal. 

I learned 80% of my own self love routine from my good friend who had spent much of their early life being denied any agency in who they were and thus developed the most powerful armor of self love I’ve ever seen. For them it came from necessity, their love was the thing they needed to stay alive and flourish. From them I learned that being bold and sure of that self love is one of the best ways to reinforce it and broadcast a similar feeling of the power of pride to others. 

Making the choice to love the self every day is key. So are things like self care, good health habits, finding time for art and hobbies, tricks like evaluating how you use language especially when talking to or about yourself. I make a point to never tell self deprecating jokes or even allude to such things because not only are they not funny but they tell my jumble of neurons the exact opposite of what we’ve worked so hard to know. As a woman I still struggle with using filler language in how I express myself, things like pre-facing my statements with ‘I think’ or ‘Maybe’ or ‘Well if you ask me.’ It seems like a small thing in the grand scheme but really understanding how you use language and how you can better use it to help you feel confident is a good first step and can always be improved as you learn and build your own routine. 

What I can’t understate is how important it is to care. Screw the world is just one way self love and confidence can manifest itself but really it’s bravado because the thing that really matters is wanting to be in the world as someone you like. That feeling of being a peace with who you are, with an eye towards who you want to be, will attract people who like who you are and help you reinforce this idea. I can’t tell you the number of times I felt down and then thought ‘well, I’m best friends with some of the greatest people I’ve ever met, and I know they have great taste so are they wrong for liking me? Hell no!’ Nevermind that having them in my life gives me people I admire that I can look to and say ‘hmm, what would X do in this situation?’ 

Self love is so personal it’s easy to think of it as some unteachable skill that you’re either born with or not. I tell you that couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t misunderstand, you can not make people love themselves when they don’t, and that is sad but at the end of the day there will be people in your life who enjoy making themselves miserable. You should care for other people but never give so much of yourself that you get nothing back. A good friend will give as much joy as they receive from you. 

There is so much to self love that I could go on and on but here’s what I learned from my late friend. As a trans man he made the decision, the painful and scary and hard decision, to be who he was every day of his life. He struggled with it, he fought to understand it, he surrounded himself with people who loved who he was always meant to be even before he could name it himself. He let himself feel the richness of life, he chose to be creative and funny and smart and kind. He was tough when he wanted to be and he showed every quality that a man should have because he chose to be the man he was every single day. 

That’s not to say he never questioned or struggled or even failed in who he was but he always got back up and kept fighting to be the best version of himself. In him I always saw an example of how to be the person you want to be, an example of what every person should be. He laughed the hardest at his own jokes, he loved deliriously, he never denied himself his emotions and their expression, and whenever he wanted something he went out and leapt for it. 

Self love is never you v. the world because that’s how you miss out on all the people who help you realize who you want to be. You live for the world, you are a part of the world knowing itself in every little moment you exist. Those who don’t care about the world will only grow their unhappiness because they’re denying the importance of the love that binds us all together. That love comes in big acts and small, I personally love the earthly pleasures of food and drink and art because they can be enjoyed with just a little practice and skill and can be shared as much as they can be enjoyed solo. 

Every time you choose who you are and who you want to be you perform another act of self love. It may feel like a lot of goofy clown work at first but consider that digging the foundation that stronger and stronger self love will build on. So, long answer to your short question, yes. Keep trying. Look to the world and see its beauty, let yourself feel and learn as much as you can and let other people love you. They will help you be the best you just as much as you help them. And before long the goofy clown work won’t be goofy any more it will just be the truth. You’ll start to look to yourself for the love you need when you need it, and that will enrich the love you continue to feel with others.

[nobodies-png]

I see some poor anon lost their best friend and I lost my mother just recently. May I request some hc's of how the organization members would (at least try to) comfort someone who has lost someone dear? It's okay tho if you don't want to ^^ - M

 awe, sorry to hear that, nonnie ! and sorry for replying to this one so late too, hope 2020 brings you a lotta joy and happiness ! 

Xemnas : 

A part of him can relate to that feeling, even if he doesn’t understand exactly why or how. Nonetheless, Xemnas would simply listen to every word you had to get out of your chest - but if none come out, he’ll gladly stay by your side in absolute comforting silence. Sometimes, peace and quiet to calm the mind can do more than endless words of encouragement. And he’d be too awkward to just go and give you a hug, so the only thing he can do is offer you his company, along with time and a safe space to get your thoughts and feelings in order.

Xigbar :

One would expect Xigbar to take you to some whacky adventures so you can distract yourself from those negative thoughts and feelings - but he’s also dealt with his fair share of loss and he’s found that facing the facts and coming to terms with them helps more than idle and mindless fun. Of course, it takes time to gather the courage and stability to do so - but if you ever need a reality check and some down to earth advice for something this serious, Xigbar’s your guy. Honor the past and cherish the good memories, but dont dwell so much on them. Don’t let them hold you back !

Xaldin : 

Hands down, Xaldin s u c k s at comforting people, specially as a Nobody and his complex relationship with f e e l i n g s. What is he supposed to say in these situations ? Hell, even giving you a pat on the back is hard for him. Like, is it okay for him to do so ? What if you start crying ? ? Because of this, he can only say he’s a good listener, maybe give you some general words of advice here and there. However, he wouldn’t be against cooking something for you - a nice warm meal followed by a good rest is usually what he does whenever he has a bad day. You’re even welcome to steal from the cookie jar and brag about it to Demyx and Axel.

Vexen :

As a scientist, it’s very easy for Vexen to detach himself from emotional situations and come up with a straightforward and cold reply to your loss. It’s the way he deals with things that require a heart, after all. Brain = good. Heart = confusing. Easy peasy. Of course, when he realizes that this method clearly doesn’t work and that you’re about to smack him, Vexen would feel a b i t guilty and offer to help in a different way. It’s very easy to let yourself go after losing someone and accidentally adapt some unhealthy habits - this is where he comes in, helping you make a schedule so you don’t end up oversleeping, skipping meals or avoid being active.

Lexaeus : 

Lexaeus is also a silent listener, it’s just kinda how he rolls. But unlike Xaldin who struggles with it, Lexaeus is good at comforting others without the need of words. Definitely one of the very few people in the organization that would hug and hold you for as long as you need, not caring if you stain his coat with tears. His aura and willingness to protect others can make anyone feel safe with him, so you’re in good hands. Lexaeus would even give you one of his little puzzle toys, in case he can’t be around. They might be small, but they sure help a lot to distract you for a while and remember that he’s got your back. 

Zexion :

Zexion might be emotionally constipated due to his status as a Nobody, but he’s no stranger to the negative emotions of the human psyche. If you reach out to him, he’d be willing to help - but you gotta keep in mind that he’s still a kid at heart and hasn’t found the proper way to cope and deal with his own feelings. Still, Zexion makes up for his lack of knowledge when it comes to comforting with his extense collection of books ! He’d recommend you things to read, both literature you two could discuss as a past time and articles about dealing with loss and grief. He’d also make use of his powers to create illusions you might enjoy if you’ve had a particulary rough day.

Saix : 

Saix doesn’t comfort, at least not so openly like other members. His approach is pretty much the aftermath of Vexen’s idea to give you a schedule - so long story short, Saix is the one who’d enforce and make sure you follow it. Which means he’s gonna be on your ass most of the time and as annoying as that might sound (Demyx feels so bad for you because of this) if you squint really really hard, you’ll notice that he does care about your wellbeing. “You have to keep on moving” he’d say, while sending you into your 6th mission of the day, which simply consists on taking care of a few heartless and some general recon. You’ll also find that most of your reports have been already filled out, but hey, don��t ask him.

Axel : 

Another awkward guy - Axel has trouble comforting friends, but damn if he’s not going to try. The way he speaks is more than enough to cheer you up, or at the very least give you back that passion you had prior your loss, it’s like he sparks a fire in you ! You just gotta go all out, ride all of this out and. Cry, scream, feel everything you gotta feel and then kick back with people you can trust, eat some ice cream with them. Allow yourself to be vulnerable and held. Axel would totally invite you to join him, Xion and Roxas to their whacky adventures around Twilight Town.

Demyx : 

Very obvious, but Demyx would encourage you write a song about it. It’s what he does to sort his feelings out, figure out what feels right in the end. And besides, learning how to play an instrument is always fun - you also got the best (and only) music teacher in the organization ! If that’s not your cup of tea, then you can try any other artistic outlet. Dancing, writing, etc etc. Demyx is fully aware that fortnite dancing at 3 am is not going to fix his problems, but it sure helps him stay grounded and remember that life is not as serious as we make it out to be.

Luxord : 

Luxord is very polite, so he won’t pry into your business - but the second he notices little changes in you like that permanent tired expression or the way you sigh a little too much on a daily basis, he’d invite you over for tea, subtly give you an excuse to talk to him and vent should you need it without being too invasive or forward. If you still can’t or refuse to open up, Luxord would take you for a walk around Wonderland or another colorful and fun world, giving you some advice in the form of his cryptid ramblings. When a door closes, another opens - and if there aren’t any, then you just have to open a window, get some fresh air and a new perspective.

Marluxia :

Marluxia can also relate to that. Surprisingly, he’d be very gentle, asking if you’d like to share some happy memories you have with that someone. Maybe even set up a small makeshift “shrine” in their honour, of course covered with their favorite flowers. He’s just happy to help you, listening to you reminisce and remember them with a smile on your face. It’s very shocking to see this side of him, given how flamboyant and eccentric he can be - but those passing encouraging smiles Marluxia gives you whenever he sees you are a great comfort.

Larxene :

Larxene is… Not the best choice if you want to be comforted. Her method is an extreme version of Xigbar’s, she’ll simply offer a quick “deal with it” and a hard “grow up and accept it”. While she might be impulsive and very emotional Larxene is actually a very logical person with a good understanding of her own feelings. What you can learn from her is that everyone needs to ultimately find their own way of coping and dealing with grief, no one else can tell you how or when to feel a certain way no matter how good their intentions might be. Take the good advice, but don’t depend on others for everything. Your way might be unconventional, but as long as it’s not hamrful for yourself and you’re aware of your limits, it’s good enough.

Roxas :

Roxas doesn’t know what to do, at all. So he’d simply ask about what YOU want to do now. How would you like to deal with these feelings and such. He’ll be there right next to you, even if you just wanna cry and sleep it off or if you want to distract yourself and never speak about it. Roxas is there, holding your hand all the way and making sure you know you’re not alone. Like Marluxia, he might also ask about the person you lost, just out of curiosity. And then maybe internally facepalm because oh shit, what if you don’t want to talk about it. The way Roxas worries about you, stuttering apologies and awkwardly explaining that he simply wants to make you feel better is so endearing that you can’t help but feel safe and sound.

Xion :

Xion would simply take you to Destiny Islands, to watch the waves, feel the sand and the sun on your skin. She wouldn’t ask at all, instead explaining that this is the place she goes to whenever she’s feeling confused, lost or just a little under the weather - and now, she wants to share this with you. You don’t have to say a thing, Xion doesn’t need to know your pain to realize that you just need a friend and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to rely on. The two of you would just spend the afternoon picking up seashells, exploring the island and relaxing. She’ll gladly listen if you have anything to say, but it’s okay, you’ve done enough. Let her take care of you now.