#And they were given very cutesy eyes to boot too like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jjkpls · 4 years

Text

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 💜

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ggukienet #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfic #my writing #when posting will stop being so scary lmao

1K notes · View notes

kpoptimeout · 2 years

Text

Top 10 Most Underrated K-pop Songs of 2021 (Artist Edition)

Many wonderful songs by K-Pop artists helped us get through the shit show of 2021.

Continuing with the K-Pop Timeout Tradition (see 2020 Ver) of listing the Top 10 Most Underrated K-Pop Songs because all the other sites are just bothered with the Top 10 that pretty much everyone will have heard of/have fan wars over, below are our top 10 picks of songs that did not rank high (and with MVs just AROUND OR BELOW 1 MILLION VIEWS too) but deserves your attention!

This is the list for artists’ tracks, so the Top 10 underrated non-idol tracks. Click here for the Top 10 underrated idol tracks of 2021.

Some of the non-idol artists have escaped the list in recent years to stardom (for example DPR LIVE, CRUSH and GEMINI) so hopefully, it happens again!

This is in alphabetic order NOT in the order of awesomeness because all of them are awesome.

CHANHYUN - TELEVISION

This song straight-up sounds like a 80s-90s Korean Drama OST jam, with a sexy saxophone intro to boot. Like you can envision this blasting in the background of "Reply 1988" as the leads look lovingly at each other. Given how such OSTs are usually very popular in South Korea, it is surprising that Chanhyun's song with similar vibes and delivered beautifully by him (he completely encapsulated the enunciation of singers of that time period) has LESS THAN 4,000 VIEWS at the time of writing this post. Go check it out if you love 80-90s style K-Pop!

youtube

DAVII “Fever” ft. Blue.D

DAVII truly never misses but South Korea and even many international fans continue to sleep on him like he is a prime memory foam mattress. Back with his signature jazzy and sexy sound, this time he is joined by smoky voice vocalist Blue.D, who was stuck in the YG basement until she escaped to form her label in 2021. And these two underrated crooners delivered one of the best duets of the year...with less than 20,000 views at the time of writing this post. If you love alternative RnB duets, you really need to give this a listen.

youtube

Hoppipolla “Your Ocean”

After a few sexy recommendations, we are slowing it down for a sad boy ballad. Hoppipolla's "Your Ocean" is emotional and pulls at your heart strings because of the simple and empty feeling the clean vocals creates along with the piano, cello and electric guitar create. The winners of JTBC's survival show Superband in 2019, the band name was taken from the Sigur Rós song of the same name meaning “jumping into puddles” in Icelandic. And indeed, listening to this song, you feel yourself jumping into a puddle of feels, like you are a K-Drama lead who just went through a heart-wrenching breakup. This song barely passed 1 million views and deserves more love for this perfect execution. If you want to experience your own K-Drama dramatic heartbreak moment, play this song on a rainy day.

youtube

레인보우노트 (Rainbow note) "얘얘 (YEAH YEAH)"

Okay, there were clearly many retro throwbacks this year and many that caught our eyes and perked our ears because here is another one making our underrated recommendations list. But instead of a more mature romantic mood that CHANHYUN's "TELEVISION" creates, "얘얘 (YEAH YEAH)" screams first love in high school between some clumsy af female lead and some idol type male lead. This has to be one of the cutest 90s energy K-Pop songs of the year. Of recent shows, I can think of this working well in "Hospital Playlist" as a soundtrack, probably for the Ikjun and Seonghwa loveline and during a cute flashback...yet it has less than 12,000 views at the time of writing this post. If you love some cutesy old-school vibes, this is the song for you!

youtube

SUMIN "Love is Strange" ft. Qim Isle

Yo, SUMIN did not produce for BTS, Red Velvet, BoA, EXO and Brown Eyed Girls for you guys to sleep on her like this. LESS THAN 60,000 VIEWS ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Especially when she is making such great quirky and experimental pop music. I don't know how to explain it in more simple terms except call it "alien music that is very lit" (for those into late 90s-2000s electronic music, this gives The Chemical Brothers kind of energy but with a modern K-Pop twist). If you like to listen to something more electronic and different, you have to check out this song.

youtube

Susan “Eros”

This song is a VIBE. It starts off with very simple guitar chords but is joined by classy RnB-style beats and synth loops to create a charming alternative soul track. To be honest, I do not know much about Susan until this track but it makes me want to get to know her and her music a lot more and why she only got less than 35,000 views here. Her super dreamy sound is reminiscent of Syd from the hip-hop collective Odd Future and alternative band The Internet as well as little dashes of early Jorja Smith. If you are into alternative soul and RnB, you would love Susan's "Eros"!

youtube

TAEWOO "hitmeup"

How does this song have LESS THAN 10,000 VIEWS?? This song sounds like a British alt-rock song, due to the electric guitar, drum set loop and the grainy-effect used to process the vocals as well as the melancholy undertone which seems to thread the song from start to finish. People who listen to The Smiths, Keane and more recently Kodaline know what I am talking about. "hitmeup" does not sound exactly like any one of the artists I have just listed but somehow like a combination of all of them - if that makes sense. If you want to listen to some alt-rock sad boy music, this is the song for you!

youtube

VINXEN “DON’ NEED”

There has been many great hip-hop songs this year from South Korea but this is definitely one of the most unique ones. This is a funky hip-hop jam with great use of autotune and the electronic guitar and drum set, sounding like Post Malone-kind of music mixed with Woodie Gochild-style vocals and vibes. Hence, it is odd this song has just around 160,000 views at the time of writing this post. You would have expected more attention on VINXEN, since he did finish as 3rd place in Mnet's High School Rapper Season 2 but it seems like the world is still sleeping on his talent. If you like rock-influenced rap, you would love this song!

youtube

YONGYONG(용용) "HE'S GONE" feat. Jayci Yucca

Rapper YONGYONG collabs with fellow rapper Jayci Yucca in a catchy performance with dashes of 2000s punk-rock energy. This whole song sounds like an OST for a coming of age kind of show like KBS' long-running "School" series - there is longing, there is angst, there is the smooth and edgy alternative sound that young people enjoy. Seriously, why does this collab only have less than 350,000 views at the time of writing this post? Honestly someone get YONGYONG to do an actual OST for a coming of age show because all her past outings sound perfect for these shows. If you like youthful pop and punk-rock, like early Avril Lavigne and Paramore, but with a more K-RnB and hip-hop twist to it, you should really check out this song!

youtube

Youra “MIMI”

Youra just has her OWN SOUND. Like it is dark, yet soft and distant, walking the fine line between something secretly sinister and a relaxing adventure. Her MVs also share the same comforting yet also somewhat discomforting and strange energy. She is like the soft girl version of BIBI - her voice is unique and dark but carefully restrained, mysterious and inviting. Yet most of her songs are underrated and relatively unknown. For example, "MIMI" has only around 500,000 views at the time of writing this post. If you like experimental alternative and indie pop singers like OOHYO with the darker RnB elements of BIBI and Suran, you really need to listen to Youra!

youtube

Which non-idol songs do you think were underrated this year? Leave your thoughts in the comments section below and let the song sharing begin!!!

14 notes · View notes

passionesolja · 3 years

Text

Typically, I wouldn’t have time. But right now, I do. It’s like 4AM near here and I’m listening to some NBA Youngboy. A bitch booted up regardless.

I’m responding piece by piece to @short-wooloo because in the same way they’re biased to the Jedi and Republic, I’m biased to the Sith Species and Sith Empire.

Okay so yes, since the Jedi want to be the moral compass of the galaxy. They put that burden on themselves. You want to be galaxy police force and moral arbiters of the “one true morality”? You commuting a genocide is a permanent scar and discount of that.

Them deciding that they get to morally police what everyone does in the entire Republic means that they have that burden. Do the Sith? No.

When did the Sith ever claim to be the “good side” of the force? Never.

The Sith view the force for what it is, a tool for gaining power. The force is like a sword.

Sorry the Jedi have a blemish on their good guy supreme status.

I got nothing to say, but I’m adding it lol

I’m sorry but when you destroy a random alien species, empire, and drive them to extinction. It is onsite until death. You better be ready to always be taken out.

If some random alien civilization attacked earth, and destroyed us, I would want our spiritual successors to destroy them too. Just saying.

Sorry that this shit ain’t carebears but the Jedi and Republic didn’t just hinder the Sith species. They drove them to extinction. The Sith are gone. Bye bye.

Imagine if Saturn Aliens fought Earth for thousands of years and we lost and thus all of humanity went extinct. Then their religious organization had the gull to act like we ALL deserved annihilation because we weren’t perfect enough for their non-human standards.

Fuck outta here with that bullshit. We all know that mentality is stupid.

The Jedi had slaves.

The clone troopers are literal slaves.

Don’t get it fucked up just because The Clone Wars makes it seem cutesy and fun.

These were FELLOW HUMANS, that the Jedi just willingly and happily accepted. Anakin ain’t even have issues with it.

I ain’t ever hear any Jedi bring up how fucked up it was. They just said “fuck it. We love war and the sith are back let’s gooo”.

He knew damn well those bitches ain’t choose that life. Nor did they get paid. They’re disposable war slaves to the Jedi.

They’re worth less than that because at least slaves have humanity granted to them. At least they still humans.

The Jedi gave no humanity to the clones. Them having cute wartime banter isn’t humanity. Sorry.

After they died they ain’t even bury them. They just left their corpses on the planets and dipped. The clones ain’t even get paid.

How is that any better than the Sith deciding to enslave a planet of non-sith?

You telling me some random aliens’ lives are more important than human flesh droids who just get used, killed, and dumped because the Jedi wanna play “fight the sith” again because life’s been boring since the Ruusan Reform?

The clones didn’t even get a memorial dedicated to their death. They ain’t even get names. They were products in the eyes of the Jedi. The Jedi ain’t give a fuck.

They were literal human droids and the Jedi treated them like that.

Stop making excuses.

Let’s just get to the real shit here. The true core of this conflict.

The Sith were only vilified because they were a threat to the Republic’s power. In the same way the Mandalorians were when they fought the Republic.

If the Sith were some weak, harmless and defenseless empire, the republic wouldn’t have given a fuck about them.

And they certainly wouldn’t be deemed as the all encompassing evil. The Republic would have given that title to another Empire who was a threat.

The Mandalorians were very similar to the Sith, but you ain’t see people in the PT or Pre-PT era scared of them still.

You know why? Because they some docile weaklings.

Straight up lil bitches who choose dishonor over death.

The Sith choose death before dishonor. They real and because of that, the Republic propaganda machine slandered them.

That’s what they do when they can’t beat you, they throw dirt on your name.

The Sith had the same conquering ambitions as the Republic, but unlike the rest the Sith ain’t ever fold. They stayed solid even in extinction, then their spiritual successors started causing problems.

That’s why they were demonized. Because that’s what all governments do to rivals.

This isn’t good and evil. This is two governments beefing and the current prominent one being scared of losing it to an actual rival.

The Jedi just some lil tools who got thrown away like some tools.

Okay so I’m sorry but in what world do you let do you let the extermination of your whole species slide???

In what world does that make sense??? Not to me. Not to nobody with sense in they brain.

You wanna genocide the Sith species? Well I hope you ready for your turn to come. That’s how this shit works.

You—the Republic— and your Jedi goons wipe my species out, bitch we ain’t squashing shit. This beef is on until you’re dead, I’m dead, or we both are.

If you beefing with bitches and they kill your mans, you kill them back. That’s how beefs work. Don’t like it? Don’t beef.

Like bro, as I stated earlier, if someone an alien species wiped out humanity, and we let that slide then the fuck would we be?

This wasn’t some lil “oh our trade routes were destroyed oh no”

This was a genocide.

Sorry that the Sith didn’t just take it and smile like some lil hoes.

I’m sorry the Sith actually stand up for themselves.

I’m sorry the Sith didn’t grovel and beg for the Republic/Jedi’s mercy and blended to their will like other civilizations had.

I’m sorry you’re offended that someone stands up for themselves and stands on their beliefs whether or not some random ass alien species approves or not.

Sorry they stayed ten toes down.

Didn’t know that offended you.

43 notes · View notes

empty-dream · 3 years

Text

86 ep 13 ramblings because I have a lot of feels ( + Light novel comparisons, but nothing that will spoil the plot beyond this episode)

EUGEEENNNEEEE!!! I love that the reveal of Eugene is kind of tense here. For the first time, Shin meets a decent Alba that acts like a normal person with a normal common life. (The only decent ones before were Aldrecht and the Alba priest/guardian for the Nouzens (both exiled to 86), and Lena (from a noble family, whom Shin himself had never met face to face.)) And boy is Eugene very normal. Not only is he friendly and kind, he is also a commoner. The war impacted his life, but Eugene himself has never fought in one, making him less experienced and more optimistic than Shin. (Basically like Lena in 1st cour, minus the privilege.)

There is a part in the novel where Eugene gets scolded by a librarian, who has black hair and green eyes. An Alba getting rebuked by other race is impossible in San Magnolia, and as Shin notes, it's really a foreign concept in a foreign country, which is where he is currently in.

I love the contrast here. Eugene's rugged shoes, showing his poor background vs Shin's polished ones, cuz he now lives in the temporary president's house. Remember when even the poor Alba in San Magnolia is guaranteed to have a better life than 86. Hell, poor is not even a concept for 86, cuz that's a concept for human's life, and 86 isn't considered as one.

I love everytime Shin behaves like an older brother, and a stiff one too boot. Does he ever think like 'Man I hope at least I didn't pull this on Nii-san' lol

Love that neither Shin nor Raiden is immune to Frederica's cutesy act. But whereas Shin begrudgingly grants Frederica's wish, Raiden just shrugs casually and gives her what she wants. Truly a big brother. And that Frederica isn't actually sure and shameless about doing this lol.

I think that’s Touma rather than Kariya cuz the hair’s wavy and no ponytail in sight. Either way,

I was surprised that they change one thing in Anju's dialogue here. In the novel, she says "I thought a lot about what things would be like if Daiya was still with us." which broke me the first time I read it. Given that the anime original scenes are of Anju in cooking class (she and Daiya were in the cooking shift), getting teased about having family, and looking at her new friend's message marveling of her boyfriend, I was really expecting her to mention Daiya. But I think the anime's decision to put two extras who really resemble them behind Anju is quite enough to deliver the same message. (But personally, I still like the novel version of the dialogue better after all.)

... HOHOHOH Raiden in an apron HOHOHOHO.

The part where Ernst off-work is silly is cut. Silly, as in, fighting Frederica over tv channels while Shin and Raiden just tell him to cut it off silly. It's a cute scene and gives more nuance about their dynamics, a bit too bad it didn't make it to anime.

I get Frederica's point about respecting the Shin & co's decision to enter the war again and not force them into a life they don't want no matter if it'd be a 'better' one, lest the Federacy will be just the same as the Republic of San Magnolia. But I do think Ernst's own wish for them to live a safe life is reasonable in itself. I myself am not a fan of the "your (insert dead beloved person here) would want you to do this" persuasion so that one is a no from me. But it isn't as if Ernst is someone not directly involved in wars. Logically speaking, the federacy was created by the uprising against the empire. And if he was chosen as its temporary president, then he should have been an important figure in that uprising.

In the LN, Ernst even thinks and plans the education and future path suited for each of the main 5. There is also the part where Kurena is like 'Why would you care where we'd be in the military like a parent?" and Ernst says "I do. I was a father." I understand why they don't put it in the anime, cuz even without it, it's already apparent that he had a kid (or more), tries to think of the 86 kids not as replacements but as another children of his own, and wished they would live the nice normal life they couldn't have. I just think it's quite personal on Ernst's part.

And I love that he sends them into Special Officer Training School in order to let them explore as many options as possible should they wish for it, instead of just letting them enlist as whatever then throw themselves into the war. 'That way you can plan what to do once the war is over.' It's exactly what Lena said to them back in 1st cour, but back then, they knew they'd die so no point in thinking about next. This time, they lose that certainty and with that, a scary hope appears. It's different kind of 'cruel', but this time there is a wisdom in it.

I like that the story acknowledges these 5 were lucky. Yes they are exceptionally skilled fighters, and so were the Spearhead members who all had personal name. But they happened to have devil's luck to escape death till their final mission. Then they collapsed in the middle of Legion-invested battlefield and were it not for Rei, god knows what the hell his soul is made of, they wouldn't make it.

In the novel, everyone blatantly already deduces who Frederica is before she declares her true identity, from her speech and her sheltered princess lifestyle. (I personally caught on it like, 'man those speech pattern and the content are not what a 10 years old commoner would say' lol). It's not emphasized that much here. But I still love Raiden casually pointing out Frederica was still just a baby when the war broke out, therefore no need for any apology in any fashion.

As for the reason why Shin & co is so hell-bent to go back to war... Well it's complicated but long story short, it's pride. I haven't read it in detail, but the nature of such reason, or any reason for anyone, to dive head first in battle will be explored later. For now, I like Frederica's words on the matter.

I'm guessing they will adapt vol 2 AND 3 in this 2nd cour? I was skimming the vol 3 and it's mainly battle-oriented, which would make more sense if they put it in the 2nd cour to give it a proper closure for the cour. Now I'm thinking if they can do it with a good pacing...

#86 #eighty six #random saying

12 notes · View notes

virgil-writes · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes

9 notes · View notes

amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

My Adoring Fan Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Before he knew it, a week had passed. It was the start of a new school term. As Aurelius rolled out of bed, he shut off the alarm so it wouldn’t go off at its normal time. He didn’t sleep well the night before, not because he was excited to return to his studies but more like he was debating if he should really betray his parents’ trust when it came to meeting with this girl who’d sent him the letter. If he was being honest, the half demon was hoping that the letter was forged.

Ever since he’d met her that night, Aurelius often found his thoughts wandering back to her. He wasn’t lying when he told his sister that he thought she was pretty. No one had ever had this effect on the sixteen-year-old before so why was she so different?

“I don’t have time to think on this any longer.” He sighed. “Maybe some tea will take my mind off things?” The half-demon makes his way out to the kitchen and is only slightly surprised to see his mother in the kitchen already making herself some tea. He doesn’t know why, but he still figured she’d be asleep at four a.m. like a normal person.

“Aurelius, good morning. Why’re you up so early?” Arella asks as she sets the kettle on the stove. “You should go back to sleep for a bit.”

“No, I’m good, Mum. I can’t really sleep all that well anyway. Can I have some tea?”

“Sure. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, I guess that couldn’t hurt...” He lays his arms on the counter as he’s leaning against it, chin resting on top of his arms. “Or maybe this is something I should talk to Dad about? I don’t know...”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was one of those things...”

“No, no, no,” He waves his hands about as a blush covers his cheeks, reaching down to his neck and up to his ears, “It’s not about that kind of thing. More like... relationship advice? Girls in general? I don’t know.” Arella only laughed softly as her son let out a groan. “Please don’t laugh, Mum.”

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart.” Arella sighed as she pulled the kettle off the stove and got two cups down for them, “I wasn’t laughing at you, more like the misunderstanding. If you feel more comfortable talking to Dad about this then that’s fine, but you know you can talk to me about relationships or girls too as well, right? I’ve had more than my fair share of relationships with women as well so I think I can provide some helpful insight too.”

“Yeah... It’s about that girl I met the other day. You know, the one who I can’t be sure sent me that letter?”

“Yes. She hasn’t tried to contact you again, has she?”

“No, but it’s just.... I can’t stop thinking about that little bit of time we interacted. I’ve never really given much thought to anyone I’ve ever met before but she still sticks in my mind for some reason. Is there something wrong with me?”

“No, not at all. It’s perfectly normal to have someone on your mind at this age.”

“So... there was something wrong with me before then?”

“No, that’s not true either. You’re perfectly normal, Son. Some people just aren’t interested in things like that and that’s okay too. What worries me is who this girl is. You don’t know all that much about her and the fact that she may have sent you that letter doesn’t bode very well. It makes me worried for you.”

“If we have classes together at RAD, I’ll have to talk to her since she’ll likely take a seat next to me at some point and I have a reputation to uphold- well more like I don’t want to be rude. And I kind of want to talk to her too. If she was a fan, she pretended not to be and it makes me wonder if she was being considerate since I nearly trampled her trying to get away from ‘Zalea. She was... normal. I’ve never gotten that from someone outside of our family.”

“Well,” Arella slid the teacup toward Aurelius. “I can’t stop you from talking to this girl. You seem rather dead set on it too. But please, for the love of your grandfather, don’t go off with her alone.

“’for the love of my grandfather,’ why do you guys always say that? It’s not just you and dad but my uncles too. What’s with that? I’ve always thought it was a weird saying. And Max says something similar. Are they related?”

“Yeah, they are. You see, your Father and Uncles- save for Uncle Satan- were once angels a long, long time ago. All angels are “created” by God so technically he would be considered your grandfather as everyone in our family still refers to him as ‘Father’.”

Aurelius nods, “Oh, Alright. I always just thought Dad had always been a demon... but wait don’t you have distant heritage from the Celestial Realm too? That’s where you and I get our magic from, right?”

“It’s… messy. Technically, the angel I’m descended from was reincarnated into a human and Angels aren’t actually related by blood to begin with in the way you’re related to your siblings so really, it was anything goes when it came to me- genetically speaking that is.” Arella was skirting around her connection to Lilith as much as she could as they hadn’t yet told any of the kids in the family about this kind of thing. “I really wouldn’t think too hard on it if I were you. It’ll give you a headache.” The boy only nodded as he sipped on his tea. He had never seen his mother trying so hard to skirt around something she didn’t want him to know. “Anywho, are you hungry? I can start on breakfast.

“Yeah, thanks. I can help if you want.”

“Thank you, that sounds lovely.”

“Also... Can I have that letter back...”

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

Getting up and dressed for school was difficult for Persephone. Ever since she’d overheard her dormmates snickering about the letter they’d forged and sent to Aurelius, she’d been dreading the idea of seeing him at school. She wanted to get to know him but now he was probably going to avoid her at all costs. As she looked herself over in the mirror, she hoped he hadn’t put two and two together yet or that the impression she made on him that day would be enough to tip him off that something was wrong.

Instead of having breakfast with her dormmates, the succubus just headed out for school. She was too nervous to actually keep anything down. She kept looking around, Persephone was hoping to spot the object of her affections. And then she saw them, the three girls that he lived with at the House of Lamentation: his sister, cousin, and a sorcerer-in-training that had come to stay with them. But Aurelius was nowhere to be seen.

Persephone moved to trail just behind them, just far enough away to not look like she was eavesdropping but close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“A new term, a new start!” Zulima smiles as she stretches. “It sucks that I’m grounded. What I wouldn’t kill to go out shopping after school for skin care products. There’s a new line I’ve been interested in trying that comes out today.”

“Hey, that’s all on you, Missy!” Azalea grumbled. “And what’s worse ya got my brother booted out of the dorm and grounded too for doin’ your dirty work.”

Zulima squawked at that as she threw her arms around her cousin. “That wasn’t my intention though! I said I was sowwy.”

“Hey, hey, hey none of that cutesy shit, got it? Cut it out.”

Zulima pouted at that as Max laughed softly.

“Come on, Zulima, you have to admit that you were in the wrong even though it all panned out in the end.” The human smiles.

“MAX!”

“Huh? Oh shit- Sorry, Sunshine, it slipped.”

“Wait... Wait did my plan actually work?” The silver-haired girl’s eyes lit up. “It did, didn’t it?! Stars, I have to tell Daddy.” The sixteen-year-old dashed off.

“Zulima stop! Don’t- aaaaand she’s gone...” The half-demon only sighs,” Damn, what are we gonna do with her...? You know we’ve just unleashed a monster, right? She’s gonna tell everyone.”

“Yeah, I mean we could just go public with it ourselves. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“Well, no, under normal circumstances it wouldn’t, but I still have enemies at school. Sure, it's no secret that you’re important ta me but if our classmates knew we were datin’, they’d go after you ta get ta me. I know you’ve been workin’ on improvin’ your magic and Solomon even gave ya that charm that’ll mostly protect ya from most attacks from demons but it still makes me nervous since I take advanced courses while the rest of y’all take regular classes and I can’t be with ya ‘cept for homeroom and lunch. I mean my family can know, that’s all well ‘n good. They all like ya anyway but the reason I didn’t want Zulima knowin’ is that when it comes to secrets, she’s got the loosest set of lips this side of the human world...”

“Aww thanks for being worried about me,” She slung an arm around Azalea as they walked.

The white and black-haired girl stiffened slightly. Even after a year, she still wasn’t really used to someone outside of the family showing her any kind of public displays of affection, platonic or otherwise.

“Sorry, are you uncomfortable?”

“N-no. I like it. Don’t stop. Anyway, love, we should go. Aurelius is waitin’ for us.” The half-demon’s voice was quiet as they kept going.

Watching from a safe distance, Persephone laughed softly. Azalea had a reputation for being an unapproachable tough girl so to see her being so soft with a human was interesting. She wondered if she could manage to get close to his older sister and her girlfriend, she might be able to get close to Aurelius. Was it wrong to use Azalea for her own purposes? Yes, and Persephone knew that but if the letter was still a factor, she had to prove that she didn't mean him any harm.

Hurrying to school, she thought of a way to introduce herself to the girls ahead of her. What she wasn’t expecting was to bump into Azalea and fall on her face.

“Hey, watch where yer goin’!” Azalea growled as she puffed out her chest, that tough girl front making its first appearance for the day. “Ya almost knocked me over.”

“Azalea, be nice. Are you okay, Miss?”

“Sorry, I thought I had more room. I didn’t mean to bump into you and yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for asking.”

“Whatever, just make sure it don’t happen again, got it?” Azalea's blue to gold gradient eyes studied her appearance. “You go to RAD? I ain’t never seen ya around before. You new here?”

“Ah, yes. I just transferred here. Today’s my first day.” Persephone smiled as she held out her hand.

Max reached out to shake her hand and Azalea thought about stopping her but that might not be a good idea. As she regarded Persephone, an eyebrow raised slowly, remembering what her brother told her about the girl he was unsure had sent that letter.

“What’s yer name, girly? I heard about a transfer student from my brother. That you?”

Persephone’s eyes widened. He talked about her? How does she answer? Does she tell the truth or does she lie? Ultimately, the succubus nodded deciding the truth was best.

“Stay away from my brother, got it? Yer gonna regret it if I find out about ya harassin’ him. He already gets enough of that and you don’t need to addin’ to that. He’s already thinkin’ about quittin’ the one thing he loves ‘cuz of crazy fans like you.”

Max could sense that Azalea was getting more and more worked up. Before the situation could get out of hand, she grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and drug her off so she didn’t do something she’d regret later.

Well that option was out. As they walked off, Azalea turned her head back toward Persephone with a warning glare. The former idol knew now she had to set things straight. She knew what it was like to have crazy fans too.

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

Homeroom was the first class of the day, having been dropped off by his mother, Aurelius was able to get prime seating at the back of the class where the teacher could hardly see him and therefore wouldn’t call on him if they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He pulled out that letter, waiting for Persephone to show up. They were all in the same year and there was only one homeroom teacher for their year so every student in their year- advance courses included- had the same homeroom hour.

The teen watches the door with baited breath.

“I hope this is the right room.” She mumbled. When her eyes met his she looked away. They were the only two in the class room.

“Hey again.” He smiled, using his charm to his advantage. “Come here, I’d like to speak with you.” She was a little hesitant to begin with but ultimately, she decided to sit with him. “So...” Aurelius slides the letter over to her. “I want you to tell me the truth. Did you actually lie to me when we met last week? Did you really know who I was all along and still chose to lie to me?”

Persephone stared at the letter with horror. “Y-Yeah. I just didn’t want you to feel bad about knocking over a fan of yours...”

“Thought so, well thanks for thinking of my feelings. That was considerate of you. And by the look on your face, I take it you recognize what on the table.”

“I didn’t send this letter. It was forged by a dormmate of mine.” The former idol panicked about losing her one chance at getting closer to him.

“Mhm... Well, I’d believe it. And I think I know who sent it. Would you like to read it and tell me if anything in it is actually true?”

“Your sister told me you’re getting harassed.... I’m sorry you have to go through that.” she said as she nodded.

“You’ve already run in to ‘Zalea, huh? She didn’t say anything or threaten you, did she?”

“She told me to stay away from you or I’d regret it. Should I move before she gets here?”

“No don’t. I called you over here because I wanted you to sit with me. You’re going to end up with a few of my self-proclaimed ‘super fans’ nipping at your heels though. Just ignore them, alright? And if my sister tries to start anything, let me handle her.”

“Okay, also... this letter is really creepy but a couple things are true... I do have all of your issues of DevilStyle Teen and I am a big fan. But I want to get to know you. I know there’s more to a person than what you see in a magazine. Would that be alright?”

He’s surprised at this, but it was a welcome surprise. “Yeah sure. I’m kind of grounded at the moment, but we can hang out here in the morning and talk. The teacher unlocks it at 6 a.m. so meet me then. After I’m out of punishment, we can hang out outside of school too. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in getting to know you as well. Also, stop trying to charm me. It’s not going to work. Like my mother, charms don’t work on me.”

The succubus blushed as she sputtered apologies and a deep embarrassed blush covered her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was using her powers on him- the same powers that skyrocketed her to fame as an idol.

He only chuckled at that. “If you really want to earn my affections, you’re going to have to put in the hard work.” He teased.

“G-Good to know.” She squeaked as other students began to enter and she and Aurelius began to chat casually.

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

Find more on my masterlist

#obey me next gen #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me oc #arella #aurelius #azalea #max #zulima

8 notes · View notes

davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

RWBY V8E12?

* God that fight was so many different kinds of perfect. The satisfying THWACK on the first kick (after two seasons of bootlicking: the boot comes around on him), Ironwood’s first blow resulting in his unrelenting force being turned against himself, at least 3 or 4 times his tunnel vision brutally costs him, that someone finally did “passes through someone with a sword swipe but actually hit them fifty dozen times faster than the eye can perceive and it takes a few moments for them to react”, the cross-cuts, that it’s overlaid with the Nora song that’s I think at last the first JNPR solo(-ish, bits also apply to Emerald) track, that half of Ironwood’s downfall was that he traded his pistols representing justice for a big dumb Liefeld canon as the ultimate articulation of his mindset...beautiful. Only way it could have been better is if Harriet’s super-speed burst took her within an inch of Robyn and Qrow before she was stopped.

* (Ironwood still did better than I would’ve expected though; with how much trouble a single nerd gave him before I’d assumed he was a so-so combatant whose real value was his military mind, but I guess he’s simply a tank who does better in a brawl than a chase.)

* Last week’s movements for Jaune as he left the room, now Emerald’s afterimages/Winter’s finishing move/Marrow’s eyeline/the gleam in Penny’s eye; it’s really going all-out anime at the last minute in a way that’s usually reserved for the premieres.

* Speaking of Emerald, I’m really curious where things are going with her. She found a breaking point in not wanting the extinction of all life on the planet - including her - and her need for attachment seems to be breaking in a healthier direction now, but while she’s clearly made at least some moral realizations given her line here I don’t think given her priorities and how quickly everything went down she’d reasonably have made a total 180. She was onboard with the idea of a global revolution undoing kingdoms and huntsman academies even if she was mainly there for Cinder, and given “undo the monarchy/borders and stop training kids to be war machines” aren’t exactly unreasonable takes I really hope her arc at least somewhat involves reconciling all that with the rest of the team alongside the rest of her issues, especially since the founder of half those social systems is riding shotgun with the kid who vouched for her.

* I don’t think we’ll get Ironwood suddenly becoming sensible because of his aura being broken and his semblance being deactivated, but if this series felt like making a sudden pivot into pure comedy you could do worse than “I’m gonna be a good guy again, you just have to beat the absolute shit out of me every morning!”. The vibe I’m getting is he’ll die in the next two episodes after some kind of emotional wrap-up, while Jacques lives but is essentially off the table - Ironwood being convicted for war crimes while the kingdom drops on the shitty dad would be more satisfying for my money, but the former seems more narratively appropriate.

* In volume 7 I was adamantly “we’re not gonna see redemption for the Ace-Ops and specifically Marrow’s gonna stay on their side to illustrate the point”, but I think this did his shift really well by not making it a cutesy “well, he was the good one all along!” thing, but rather making clear all of them while complicit had self-doubts and regrets about the whole thing...but once the situation had no remaining arguable justifications, he was the only one who wouldn’t brush them aside anymore. It works for me because it’s done in a way that highlights their guilt as much as his turnaround.

* Ambrosius said himbo rights. God, him vs. Jinn is like a “well, male superheroes are oversexualized too!” meme come to life except he actually is - true equality folks, glad they made this course-correction. And after how happy I was when Nora pointed out a loophole with the vague wording Jinn had used in the past, my autistic ass was delighted that half this episode was about the team being so precise with making sure their genie wishes couldn’t go ironically awry they were using literal schematics.

* I’m seeing speculation that when RWBY and any others inevitably fall they’re going to find themselves in the afterlife, and not only will that be the focus of the briefer volume 9 but it’s how Pyrrha will temporarily come back into play. I can definitely see that broad setup happening, but I think the afterlife journey would mostly be confined to the finale, simply because I don’t see them doing another ‘split the party’ season right after this one. If I’m wrong though and it’s a long-term proposition, even if I’d be very happy if 90% of her role would have nothing to do with him there is the question of Pyrrha comes back for more than a brief vision in the series finale or something but doesn’t STAY back how Jaune would deal with that. He’s already found at least some degree of closure, having him be sad about losing her again would be redundant, and after a season of buildup with RWBY in the afterlife and JNR waiting you couldn’t really get away with “Hey, we ran into your lost Lenore, she says hi!” “Well that’s nice!” Very curious how they’ll thread that needle if this ends up what happens after all.

#RWBY #Emerald Sustrai #Opinion

21 notes · View notes

snowflake-of-destruction · 3 years

Note

Roxas: hey, can you hold onto me for a moment?

Axel: how hard?

Roxas: like I’ll fall off the face of the world if you let go

Axel: can that happen?

Roxas: not if you hold on

Telling a couple to shut up and stop being corny on Valentine's Day reeked of jealous resentment, and that was the last impression Riku wanted to give off. The mere concept of being jealous of either Roxas or Axel made his insides curl. They were on a serious mission, and they shouldn't be stopping every five steps to pick up rocks or pluck flowers and present them to each other, wishing each other a Happy Valentine's Day more than ten times in a single hour, or, especially, stopping at scenic overlooks to watch the sunset. He was just trying to keep his friends professional--and safe. They'd been completely unconcerned about the dangers of turning their backs to any danger creeping out of the tree cover they'd just left and standing right at a cliff edge, until it became time to make cutesy requests to be held.

"I really don't think you could fall," Axel tutted, though his arms were already wrapped around Roxas from behind and his posture bent so he could nuzzle bunny kisses against the hair at the base of Roxas's neck. "Your wings would catch you, angel, and you'd fly back up to heaven where you belong."

"Even if I was a celestial being, I'd have to give my wings up for loving you. No better reason to fall from grace."

"I knew you fell for me from the very first ice cream, but you don't usually lay it on so thick."

Riku was going to plant his boot in the small of Axel's back and kick them both off the side of the mountain. Non-jealously. As an alternative, he made an appeal to any shred of sense they had left between them. He knew they were in the honeymoon stage, but he'd swear he and Sora were never that bad. "Daylight's fading fast. This is going to be a lot harder in the dark--less visibility and all the nocturnal Heartless waking up-- but we all agreed we weren't going to make camp until we got to the valley."

"We'll meet you down there," Roxas offered, voice hazy with distraction that made Riku avert his gaze to the sky on principle.

"I checked the map Goofy made for us, if his scale is accurate, then we could have a few hours left." Riku wasn't petulant, like he wasn't jealous. Honestly, neither Axel or Roxas would have been as gracious if their original Valentine's plans were cancelled because their partner was stuck at home sick and they weren't even allowed to be taking care of them, but had been bullied into taking on a planet patrol--with a couple as backup-- because everyone else had begged off. Either one of them would have started complaining long ago. Riku wasn't complaining.

"You should call Sora. See how he's doing," Axel suggested, making the recommendation a clear dismissal, giving all sign of not having paid attention to a word Riku had said.

It wasn't a bad idea though, all things considered.

"I'll be right over there," Riku gestured to the far side of the clearing. "Try to watch each other's back."

He should have known the response he'd get, vague noises of assent from Roxas and a reassurance from Axel that he was watching Roxas's back very closely, followed by the sharp crack of a smacking sound. There were also mumbles and whispers about "finally driving him off" and criticism of the nickname "angel" that he chose to ignore as he tromped off and dialed Sora's gummi phone.

Sora answered on the third ring, rumpled hair, low light, and bleary eyes on screen and the roughness of his voice as he said, "Hello? Riku?" striking a chord of guilt in the silver-haired keybearer's chest as he surmised he may have woken Sora up. Then again, he didn't have long to debate whether he should apologize when Sora was alert as if struck by lightning and smiling with all the watts of the charge a moment later. "Riku!"

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Sad." Sora squirmed against the pillows, going from beam to put-upon pouting, the picture zooming out as he raised the phone above him at a full arm's length. Riku assumed he was trying to see better, though Riku wasn't sure what the angle was doing for him. "I miss you."

"But are you feeling better?" Riku pressed. He missed Sora too, of course he did. He got anxious being apart from him even at the best of times, much less these circumstances. That was why it was important to know Sora was getting along without him before they lost connection. "Are you still phlegm-y? Any muscle aches? Did the fever break?"

Sora was angling the phone picture again. He'd thrown the bed covers most of the way off his body, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. That didn't say anything good about the fever. He would catch a chill that way. Riku ached to be there to tuck him back in.

"Ri-ku," Sora stretched out his boyfriend's name. "I'm feeling a lot better, but I don't want to talk about that. You talk. Tell me about the survey. Did you run into any nests of Heartless?" They always hoped not to, but the Heartless always came back to worlds left uncleared by a Guardian of Light for too long. "Roxas getting on your nerves?" Sora kept adding on questions without leaving room for answers. He adjusted the camera yet again, which turned frustrating when he somehow cut his face partially out of the shot, which was now largely taken up by his chest. "Or you could just say you miss me too and you wish you were here with me."

"If I could teleport there just by my heart wanting, I'd already be there," Riku said with feeling.

"That's the romance starting to come out." Sora rumbled a laugh. "Tell me what you would do if you were here."

"I'd make you soup."

"Soup?"

"Maybe just heat up some broth. You need to take it slow."

"Make me that soup. You put on an apron and I sneak out of the bedroom to watch you. We'll take it real slow," Sora practically growled. It sounded like he was producing a lot of mucus again.

"I don't need an apron for soup."

"Just...forget about it. Go back to cooking."

"I'll fry up some onions and garlic, and add them to the beef broth with some worcestershire sauce so it's like the soup from Little Chef's bistro. No cheese though. It will clog you up."

"Riku! You want to feed me garlic and onions on Valentine's Day?" Sora's face loomed in close up on the screen again, and for some reason he didn't look pleased.

"Yeah?"

Not far enough away and losing the fight not to eavesdrop--not given much choice when Roxas curling into a shaking ball of silent laughter prevented any more productive use of time--Axel debated putting Riku out of his misery. It was painful to listen to this, and it was ruining four people's chance at salvaging some Valentine's Day mood. "Really," he mused aloud to nobody in particular, "You would think he could be more sensitive to his traveling partners."

#akuorku #soriku #valentine's day ficlets #fanfiction #bleh an attempt was made #Anonymous

26 notes · View notes

cosmicclownboy · 4 years

Text

Malex day 7: AU

If there was a concept Michael could blink out of existence it would be blind dates. Not that there aren't other social constructs that he struggles with he just fails to grasp why this is a thing. Can't he be trusted to find someone through his own volition? It's not like either party usually wants to be there anyway? It's a product of peer pressure and it's just so painfully awkward he ends up nursing a beer at a bar by the end of the evening wondering how in the hell he's going to get out of the next one.

The primary issue is the matchmaker in question because in many ways he is in a rock and a hard place. If he even remotely musters up the courage to tell his sister, Isobel no she's going to become hyper fixated on getting him more dates. And that's the last thing he wants. If he just gets through them maybe Isobelle will realise it's a lost cause and just give up. In the past month alone he’s been on three dates all equally terrible. Lisa who worked in finance drank three margarita's and promptly left their dinner on the sidewalk. Doug, a gym trainer who had the personality of a potato. And Susan an astrologist who despite being career goals just didn't fit. It's almost depressing that his brother who set him up with a coroner for a joke somehow wound up getting him a relationship yet his sister who has a better grasp of him then anyone keeps setting him up with these duds.

By month four he's had it. He cannot do it anymore. "Isobel I love you but if you try to set me up on one more date after this I will Jedi frisby your favourite shoes to the moon" Isobelle has never looked more horrified and scared in her life. "You wouldn't dare not the Dolce with the tulle". "I didn't actually know which were your favourite so thanks for the info drop" He nabs a fry and winks at her leaving her with the mental image of destroyed ankle boots. Hopefully, it means she will stop promptly.

According to her logic, he implied he was open to one last date which in turn creates a loophole that she can have one final try. He agrees only because she shoos away a woman he's spent the last hour flirting with. And if he goes on this last one he can finally know some semblance of peace from his sister. When she calls Alex the man of his dreams and uses the word Adonis as a descriptor he's already planning the ways of which he can fling those Dolce shoes. The last man she said would rock his world gave him the worst orgasm of his life and stole ten dollars from his nightstand. He does not want a repeat of that night. To which she enunciates very proudly that she knows him specifically and if he dares to be an asshole she'll shred his cowboy hat. "When have I ever been an asshole on one of your dates Iz" "Ali" She's got him there but he's still offended. "Ali kept sending back her ravioli because it wasn't hot enough.I'm not sorry I didn't want to stay for another course of oh my god my asparagus is touching my salmon Michael my daddy owns a yacht club Michael". He does his best squeaky imitation of her voice that has Isobel shaking her head grinning. "You know I saw her the other day she was spray painting her poodle, Edguirdia bright pink"

Instead of a gaudy restaurant with an obnoxious french name requiring him to google map the address. He's given one not too far from his apartment. Surprisingly it's in the neck of the village he likes that's quiet and reserved. Michael bites back a small smile when he sees the establishment is quite literally called "a Grillhouse".It's rustic. The chairs look a little battered for wear and the kitchen is so close to the tables that the aroma wafts throughout the restaurant. It's peaceful and the smell alone makes him hungry. If Ali ended up here for a date he's pretty sure the place would wind up condemned within the hour. This Alex Manes already has earned points in his book. The menu has food he'd actually eat at a reasonable price and there's a really old jukebox in the corner that he's itching to get a look at. He drops his jacket at the weathered booth in the corner and it's two steps before he's silently reading each song title in his head.

"There are sixty songs on there. I should warn you that fifteen of them are cutesy bops that his girlfriend likes. Who even pairs ACDC and Foo Fighters with the Jonas Brothers?" The voice appearing out of nowhere takes him by surprise so much so that he jams his foot into the corners of the metal. Whatever curse that was going to fall out of his mouth is quickly gone when he turns to see the face to the voice. God, he hopes this man is his date. Dressed in tight black jeans with a marble looking sweater the man is a vision. He stares a little open mouthed for a minute before he remembers he has to speak.

"He must really love his girlfriend"

"Can't say I relate"

He steps in front of him with a coin and Michael quickly moves curiously wondering at what he'll pick. The first bar of Roxeanne by the Police hangs in the air and he's staring at the man in front of him swaying softly eyes closed and smiling. Beautiful. Adonis beautiful?

"Please tell me your Alex?"

Isobel is so forgiven.

"You're a YouTuber?" He tries not to sound offended or judgy but judging by the smirk and raise of his eyebrows Alex immediately sees through his bullshit.Alex rubs his hands on his jeans slowly debating what to say.

"I got in an accident after I left the air force" He knocks his knee revealing a clank. "At first it was to document the journey and so my buddies overseas could feel like they were with me. But then people really got interested in my life and stuff. I do a lot of different stuff. I show people some of my leg fittings. Do videos with my dogs and sometimes I play music"

"You play?"

"Piano and Guitar"

When Michael winds up pressed to his truck an hour later Alex's hands everywhere and anywhere his mind is blank. He's going to combust or come most likely both. And he's perfectly fine with it if Alex's kissing him like he's the instrument that he wants to play non stop. It's dirty and passionate and soft and oh god maybe he is the man of his dreams.The kisses leave him dizzy but he wants more and more. So he maybe has sex with Alex in the back of the truck multiple times over the weeks. And maybe he falls a little bit in love with him. It does not mean he is willing to give Isobel the satisfaction of knowing she found his person. He refuses. So they keep it sort of on the down-low. Alex is fine with this because the internet tends to hold an opinion on every relationship he's ever had and he wants to have moments for them.

The jig is up after four months when Isobel hears Michael say baby off-camera to Alex in one of his videos to his specialist. He gets an earful mainly I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!! He's not even mad at that point he's just relieved he didn't want her to find out after he's moved in with Alex.And if he's honest he's hated not being able to tell her about him. He thinks Alex feels the same because he's been hassled for the past week in texts from all his friends about mystery guy. First, they release a photo of Michael unboxing his stuff with the hashtag #home and they slowly ease him into being in the videos. Michael's quickly come around to realise it was dumb for him to judge especially when he reads some of the comments in the tags about how much a video affects a person's mental health.

The first video he makes his first on-screen debut is Alex doing weird science experiments with Liz and he spots their dog going for the squirrel. Their second dog, of course, spots the squirrel after he's deferred the first dog and long story short the video ends with all three of them bathing the dogs soaked to the brim.

Maybe blind dates aren’t so bad if it’s Alex Manes.

#malex #malex20

46 notes · View notes

happykawa · 4 years

Text

[ goldfish ] t.k

afsghjkdls ive got some writing juice i gotta use before it expires shdjhskj everyone’s 18+ and in college and this isn’t proofread sorry if its long

You help clean the volleyball court as the rest of the members pack their things. Today had been a fairly good day for training. Everything went smoothly, well, as smooth as things could go in the team.

You say your goodbyes to your seniors before you head the opposite way with Tadashi and Tsukishima.

“Say, y/n-chan,” Tadashi starts and you turn to him.

“Hm?”

“How’s it going with your crush?” Tadashi asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Tsukishima remains nonchalant, though he does turn to you.

You feel your ears turn pink and you look away, afraid your eyes may reveal something clandestine.

“Nothing, still. I haven’t gathered up the courage to confess.” You chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tsukishima look away in disinterest, and you feel your heart break a little. Just a little though.

Tadashi sighs. “Maybe if you just told us we could help you!” He pokes your side with his elbow.

“N-no, no thanks. I feel like that would just make things even more complicated, and I wanna do it on my own terms.” You give Tadashi an apologetic smile, letting your eyes glance over to a certain blond for a split second.

That was an understatement. Telling Tadashi would make things much much more complicated, considering your crush was none other than the snarky blonde on the opposite side of your small group.

“Okay, I can respect that.”

The rest of the walk is silent, and Tadashi eventually branches off to his street, leaving you alone with the one and only Tsukishima.

You could never really pinpoint when you started having a crush on Tsukishima. Next to Tadashi, you’ve known him the longest, so it’s definitely hard to say when it exactly started, given all the time you’ve spent together.

However, if you were asked, you’d probably say sometime before high school. When you realised it, you were terrified to say the least. Falling for the crankiest person you know isn’t exactly ideal.

Furthermore, Tsukki never really showed interest in romance, so for all your years of friendship, you don’t know anything about his preferences or his tells.

Recently, you’ve grown hyper aware of your emotions, due to spending even more time with him as an assistant manager of the volleyball club. It’s quite the miracle that you’re not a tomato now given your close proximity to the him.

“Oi, don’t think too much, you might use your last brain cell.” A cool voice breaks you out of your reverie.

You huff and pout. “Tsukishima, you’re so mean. I have more than one brain cell you know. I can afford to think.”

“I’m surprised you even have one left, with how you were looking earlier with physics.” He snickers.

You slap his arm. “Well not all of us have an unlimited supply, you know. I have to make do with what I have.”

“Two brain cells?” He snickers once again.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, thank you very much.”

“Both working?”

“Okay, now that’s just mean.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help it if one of them decidedly thinks about–my crush.” You quickly save yourself the slip up of nearly saying ‘you’. You give yourself an internal pat on the back.

Seeing as you’ve entered the topic of your ‘crush’, you take the rare opportunity to subtly ask him about it. “Say, Tsukishima, if a girl were to confess to you, how would you want it to go, ideally?”

“I’d want her to make me king of the Japan, before gifting me with an Ankylosaurus army to take over the world with. Maybe a torture chamber for the king and the shrimp.”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous, you can’t even ride an Ankylosaurus, how the hell would you use it to take over the world?”

You hear what you can only think of as a chuckle from Tsukishima. “It’s more plausible than the question you’re asking me. Of all the people, really. Do I look like a person who cares about that stuff?”

“Well, I just thought, you’re a guy, you ought’a know, right? I’m sorry for assuming the best of you.” You huff out again.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s all gonna end the same anyway.”

“How’s that?”

He smiles positively, and your heart is filled with hope, confused hope, but hope nonetheless.

“I’d happily reject them.”

Your face falls. “You really are a horrible person.” You grumble.

“I don’t really care for romance. I think it’s useless and burdening, all that obligation and responsibility and for what? Just so you can feel validated by another person? I can do that for myself, and it’d be cheaper too. Plus, it’ll save me from all that nasty crying once we break up.” He replies coldly, and you feel your heart shatter.

The way he says it doesn’t help. He says it with so much disdain that you can’t help but think about how stupid you are for thinking that that you could ever have a chance with him.

You manage to keep your tears in and your face straight. You can’t look him in the eyes without bursting so you opt for the road ahead of you instead. You feel relief as you catch sight of your house in the distance.

The walk there is filled with nothing but uncomfortable silence. Tsukishima has his headphones on and his face is the same.

‘So that’s how he feels…’ You can’t help but replay his words over and over in your head, and you feel your heart break every time. The only thing keeping the dam together was the embarrassment you now you’d feel if it were to break right now.

With your house only a few paces away, you quicken your steps. “See you tomorrow, Tsukishima.” You manage to say goodbye without stuttering and you don’t dare look back, for fear that he’ll notice the welling tears in your eyes.

‘…useless and burdening…’

‘…it’ll save me from all that nasty crying once we break up…’

You run through the door. Too focused on not sobbing, you don’t notice how Tsukishima’s gaze followed you as you ran, nor the concerned look in his eyes.

Turns out, you may have lied to Tsukishima. You didn’t see him the next day, or the day after that, or the rest of the week for that matter. Well, technically, you did. But you avoided all interaction with him at all costs.

What he said really stung, and while you know it’s not really his fault maybe his parents’ but that’s for another story and it’s not exactly fair to just start ignoring him altogether, it’s also not fair that you fell in love with possibly the world’s most emotionally unavailable man but you aren’t complaining are you? Okay, maybe you are, but that’s besides the point. You’re not ready to face him yet, and you won’t until you are.

The classes you had together were spent with you surrounded by many other people. During volleyball practice, you always arrived when they were deep into training, and you left early as well, with the excuse of having to take care of your brother. You stopped walking home with Tadashi and Tsukishima.

Even during their breaks, you’d be so engrossed in something, be it homework or strategy that they couldn’t even disturb you, which they found strange since you never really were the most diligent student (read: you’re a known lazy ass).

All of the members, save for one particular blonde, tried to talk to you, but you simply waved it off as stress from school. None of them believed you, you know, but they got the message and decided against bothering you for more information.

It’s Saturday and your solid plan of sleeping in is effectively ruined by your phone ringing.

“I swear, I turned off all my alarms, who the fuck calls at–” you glance at your clock, “–six o’clock on a Saturday morning.”

You groan and grab your phone. For a moment you consider throwing it against the wall and going back to sleep.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Devil, how may I help you?” You croak. “Oh, you want to go to hell? Why, stay on this line and you will soon!” You hiss out and look at the caller ID.

SnarKei (+81) 22 37632

Okay, you admit, you feel a certain satisfaction at snarking him. Just a little.

“Aw, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” He replies in a mocking cutesy voice. “Did the inevitable happen? Have you already been rejected?”

That stings you, and you mumble to yourself. “Something of the sort.” You’re not sure if he hears you though, and you really don’t care. Nope. Not. At. All.

You are met with silence, so you assume that he didn’t hear you, or else he most likely would have poked more fun at your still-bleeding wound.

“What do you want, Tsukishima?”

“Of course you’d forget. You have the memory of a goldfish.” Tsukishima comments bluntly. “We have Saturday training today, goldfish.”

“This early in the morning? Why don’t I remember this being announced?” You yawn and get up from bed.

“Yes, this early, because a big match is near. And you’d remember if, aside from your goldfish memory, you’d actually stayed until the end of training to hear announcements.” You can practically feel Tsukishima looming over you with his scary deadpan.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Tell coach I apologise for being late. I’ll be there in–” You yawn once more. “30 minutes.”

“Make sure you shower well. I can smell your stink from here.” Tsukishima’s infamous smirk pops in your mind and you subconsciously sneer.

“You’re just smelling yourself.” You retort and end the call. You feel your heart ache, and sigh. At least it’s been reduced to a dull ache now, however troublesome.

‘I’m sure I’ll get over this. Maybe in a week or two.’ You think to yourself as you enter the shower.

You believe you just lied to yourself.

You hear no sound from the gym, and the lights are off.

You check your watch just to be sure.

7:30 am

‘Okay, what the hell?’ You peek through the windows, maybe they’re practicing with the lights off? That wouldn’t explain the lack of squeaking shoes and balls dropping, though.

“You’re late.”

You jump and turn around. You’re ready to grab the pepper spray in your right boot when you identify the would-be-predator as Tsukishima.

“You scared me.” You breathe out, putting a hand on your racing heart in an attempt to calm it down. It doesn’t stop racing though.

Tsukishima feigns hurt. “What, with my beautiful voice?”

You roll your eyes and fight a smile. “Why’d you tell me there was training?”

“Because otherwise you wouldn’t have come and I wouldn’t find out why you’re avoiding me.” He states it as if he were talking about the weather, rather cheerfully. But you sense the hostility behind that cheerfulness, as any person would.

“I don’t know–” You start talking, but you stop as Tsukihima walks slowly towards you. He stops when he’s only a step away, and you’re suddenly extremely aware of your closeness and his unjust height advantage.

“…what you’re talking about.” You continue in a smaller voice, feeling yourself overwhelmed by Tsukishima’s presence and size.

He continues to loom over and look down on you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You tentatively look into his eyes, and immediately look away. His golden-brown eyes are intense, and you’re scared that if you look for a second more you won’t be able to look away.

“Because I don’t like liars.”

You snort instinctively. “That’s ironic. Part of your role is deceiving.”

He shrugs. “Deceiving and lying are two different things.”

“Lying is deceiving.” You point out. You don’t notice that you are able to meet his eyes as you challenge him.

“But deceiving is not always lying.” He smirks back, and the two of you get into a staring contest.

You stare into his eyes and you feel yourself getting lost. You look away first, afraid of what might happen or what you might say if you don’t. You fail to notice his faltering smirk.

“So, I assume you didn’t just bring me here for semantics?” You cross you arms over your chest. Your previously calmed heart starts racing again.

Tsukishima takes a small step closer, and you instinctually take one back. “I told you, goldfish, I want to find out why you’re avoiding me.”

His gaze never leaves your face, and you’re painfully aware of it, so much so that you will your eyes to look at anything but his. You’re tempted to look back, but you know once you do, all your walls will fall.

‘This is so unfair.’ You think to yourself as you start over-analysing Tsukishima’s shoes.

“Why don’t you look me in the eye? Afraid of what you might say?” He taunts you. He’s testing waters, and by the looks of it, he know he’s hit the bullseye.

“N-no. I’m perfectly confident with my words, thank you.” You reply, swallowing the bile in your throat.

He scoffs. “Prove it. Look at me.”

You feel your ears tingle and you attempt to resist, but your pride doesn’t allow it. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes, and you immediately regret it.

They’re fierce and intense, his golden eyes, even more so than before. Your breath is taken away and you forget what you were about to say.

“Let’s try this one more time,” Tsukishima takes another, larger step forward, and you take one back, or at least, attempt to. Your back hits the wall, and before you know it, you’re cornered. His places his right arm next to your head as he leans over you. You can almost feel his minty breath on your face.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he doesn’t place his left arm on the other side.

‘He’s giving me a way out.’ You think, and you can’t help but internally smile. He doesn’t want to force you into anything you don’t want, but he’s putting pressure on you. You bit your inner cheek in an attempt to ground yourself.

“Why have you been avoiding me since we last walked home together?” His voice is softer this time, but his intensity doesn’t waver. An emotion flashes in his eyes, you’re not sure what it is. Uncertainty? Hurt?

You swallow the bile in your throat. You feel like you just ran a marathon and your face seems to think so too, if the rising heat in your cheeks is anything to go by.

“I–I…” You fumble around for words, unsure of what to say. The golden irises staring into your soul surely isn’t making it any easier.

‘So much for my two working braincells..’ You say to yourself.

Your brain nearly overheats in attempting to make an excuse. Instead, it settles for giving your irrational courage to confess once and for all.

Knowing what you’re going to say, you are unable to look him in the eyes and deflate

“I was hurt…” You whisper softly, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “…by what you said.”

“Why?” He asks, quieter this time.

You sigh defeatedly. There’s no point in delaying it now. You feel all the “healing” you went through in your time away dissipate into thin air. The once dull ache is now a stabbing pain in your chest, but you soldier on.

“Because I like with you. And I idiotically thought that maybe you felt the same way. Yes, it’s dumb. You don’t have to reject me, I know what your answer is, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear about it and–”

You’re interrupted by a pair of lips pressing against yours. It takes a second for it to register. Until it does.

You hear yourself internally screaming as Tsukishima slowly rises from his awkward position and straightens his back, forcing you to turn your head upwards and tip toe.

Tsukishima realises this and smirks. He straightens up even more, just a touch too high for your lips.

You don’t even notice that your eyes are closed until you open them to see Tsukishima’s annoying smug face.

“I never grasped how small you are until now.” He teases, and you feel his cool breath brush against your skin.

You’re too flustered to make a retort, and you’re pretty sure your face is red. You take another moment to let the previous events sink in.

‘Tsukishima…. Kissed… Me…’

He snorts. “Have your two braincells short-circuited?” He gazes down on you, and you see, behind his teasing, is genuine worry.

“You kissed me…” You blink multiple times, and a smile forms on your face as Tsukishima raises a brow. “…first.”

A giddy smile takes over your face, because of the fact that you just stated and the fact that Tsukishima is blushing right now. For once, you aren’t the one avoiding eye contact.

“You kissed me first.” You teased, tipping your toes even more to get a closer look at his blushing face.

“Only because you were putting words in my mouth and you wouldn’t stop.” He mumbles, giving you a sideways glance before looking away as he blushes even more,

You giggle. “Technically, I was putting your words into your mouth. Besides, what was all that ‘I don’t care for romance’ stuff you said?” You poke his warm cheek playfully.

“It’s called lying. And techinically, you confessed first.” It’s your turn to blush and Tsukishima’s to smugly smirk as he pokes your cheek back.

“So, what does this mean? And since when did you figure it out, given this whole set-up?” You mumble, fiddling with the edge of your white shirt with a red “shut up” written on it.

“It means I like you back, even if you have a goldfish brain, goldfish. And you weren’t exactly subtle with the way you got upset last time.” He pokes your cheek once more. His face is back to it’s regular nonchalant state, but you see a twinge of playfulness in his eyes.

You cross your arms over your chest and pout, sneering at him. “I don’t have a goldfish brain. How could I forget something that never existed?”

“You can’t. Who said anything about training not existing?” He raises a brow.

“Didn’t you call me here to get me to confess?” You deadpan at the memory. “Coward.” You mumble under your breath.

Tsukishima smirks. “I did. But there is training, just not for the university.”

As if on cue, you hear a loud bickering noise.

You both turn to the source and find the old Karasuno team, complete with Hinata and Kageyama bickering.

You beam at the sight and turn to Tsukishima. You nearly tackle him into a hug, regardless of how he may feel about hugs.

He looks away with a light blush dusting his features once more. He uses his free hand to pat you on your head.

“Happy birthday, goldfish.”

fagdhefjks;laLKSJH i dont think i captured tsukki well here, and the part feels rushed. sorry for that idk where this went gg

#tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima kei #tsuki #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu tsukki #haikyuu reader #hq imagines #hq #hq tsukishima #hq images #haikyuu headcanons #tsukishima kei x reader

105 notes · View notes

meetmy2dboyfriends · 4 years

Text

Despite Myself (Seven x MC)

Below is a re-imagining of the the day (day 6 or 7?, I believe) that Seven comes to the apartment to work on the Special Security System during his route.

Contains Spoilers for Seven’s route.

We’ve always wondered what Seven was thinking when he was at the apartment working on the Special Security System. What went through his mind when he was pushing us away? Were his feelings true, or was he working against himself?

-----

“How could you do this to me?

I trusted you, Seven.

Why would you purposely put me in danger?”

Seven’s eyes flashed open. He had once again had another bad dream; normally, he was plagued by memories and scenarios from his past. His dreams were the only place he could still see his twin brother Saeran, but as he grew older, his few memories became more twisted and upsetting. He hadn’t seen Saeran since they were both children, but lately, he had been thinking more and more of what his brother was like now and how his life had been. Was he happy? Did he still think of Seven? Did he still look up at the sky with the same wonder in his eyes like when they were kids?

Seven closed his eyes and brought his hands to his face, placing both palms over his eyes in frustration. This morning’s dream, however, had been different. He had dreamt of her, of MC.

It had only been six days since MC had mysteriously wandered into Rika’s apartment and onto the RFA server. How the hacker who had sent her there in the first place had been able to bypass his security measures was still beyond Seven, but regardless, the RFA found themselves in the midst of a new member. Since that day, he had been using the security cameras around Rika’s apartment to monitor MC’s comings and goings. She was beautiful; her long brown hair perfectly framed her face. Her eyes were piercing. Sometimes she would unknowingly look at the camera, and when she did, his heart would stop beating for the briefest moment. When she smiled, he imagined what it would be like to be enveloped by her warmth, by her kindness.

He had only seen video images of MC and pictures of her that he had found on social media, and yet, he knew he felt something for her, more than he had felt for anyone in such a long time. Those feelings alone were dangerous in more ways than one.

Unbeknownst to MC and most of the RFA members, there were secrets concerning both the organization and Rika’s apartment. Rika was the founder of the Rika’s Fundraising Association (RFA), an organization made to hold charity fundraising parties. While she was a wholesome and kind person; she was also very particular and protective of the private and valuable knowledge of the guests that attended these parties. In her efforts to protect this valuable information from hackers, Rika had requested for Seven to install a bomb at her apartment. While Seven was no stranger to risky situations and danger, he was reluctant to acquiesce such a request, even from Rika. Nevertheless, she managed to convince him and promised him that she would not return to the apartment in order to keep the records safe and to avoid creating a situation where she might be harmed by the bomb.

But now, MC was living in Rika’s apartment. She was living in the most dangerous situation possible and had absolutely no idea.

The thought of something happening to her and it being his fault was almost unbearable. This dread, this frustration, this ball of anxiety had been the cause of his nightmare. Not only did Seven fear losing MC through something disastrous, but also an even larger fear loomed on his heart. What will she do when she finds out that he’s been hiding this secret? What will she do when she figures out that this isn’t the only secret he’s been hiding? It was odd that after only six days, MC had enough of a hold on him for him to fear what it would be like without her, for her to reject him.

He finally moved his hands from his eyes and rolled onto his side with a huff. It was hard not to feel frustrated and overwhelmed with his nightmare still so fresh on his mind. It was hard to do anything at all these days with the threat that something might happen to MC. As of late, she had been on his mind more often than not, and it was starting to cause him to lose focus when working.

Ping.

Seven shot up. That was the sound of the messenger going off. Seemed like everyone was finally waking up and jumping into the chatroom. Before he knew it, he was out of bed and sitting in his computer chair. His computer booted up to show the usual data code for the chatroom, and finally the chat layout popped up. He scanned the app, seeing the notification that MC and Yoosung were in the chat. Inadvertently, he smiled and joined the chat.

Minutes later, Yoosung left the chat, claiming he was late to class - something that occurred more often than not with the young college student.

MC: “How’s your day going, Seven?”

707: “Well, I actually just woke up from one of my power naps.

Can’t keep GOD707 down for long! ^^

I have to maintain my status as the Defender of Justice!

MC: “Haha, GOD707 to the rescue!”

707: “Did you have breakfast yet?”

MC: “Yes, I did! I made myself an omelette. How about you?”

707: “No, I haven’t.

I’ll probably have some Honey Buddha Chips and some PhD Pepper.

Fuel for all the mind and soul!”

MC: “Lol, Seven. I don’t think Honey Buddha Chips and PhD Pepper are good for you all the time.

I wish you would take care of yourself too. You can’t defend justice on an empty Stomach! Plus... I worry about you.”

Seven froze for a moment; his heart skipping a beat. She was worried about him? His eyes drifted to the second computer monitor, farther away on his desk. He pressed the ‘On’ button and the screen flashed to life. On it, he saw MC sitting on the couch inside Rika’s apartment, staring at her phone. Staring at her phone. Oh crap.. She was waiting for his reply.

707: “Worry not, MC! GOD707 can handle anything that is thrown at him!

I will always come to you as your knight in shining armor. ^^”

MC: “Oh Seven! My Hero!”

707: “For more cutesy phrases that will make your heart beat faster, please subscribe to our messaging service. For only $9.99 per month, you too can receive daily cutesy phrases. Just reply “Yes Please”, and you will be automatically subscribed”

MC: “Yes Please!”

707: “Thanks for your subscription! We will begin billing our monthly fee in 3... 2...”

Ping.

His eyes searched the screen for the notification. Something was happening with the messenger. It looked like the hacker was making a move once again.

MC: “Seven?” 707: “I’m sorry, MC. Something just came up. I’ll be back later.”

He clicked out of the chatroom and returned to the main screen, searching for traces of the hacker and attempting to undo what was being done.

---

Seven had been working for several hours when finally the hacker’s trace seemed to disappear. He sighed with relief and leaned back in his chair, raising his arms to stretch them. He stood from his chair and looked around the room. “What a mess...” He thought to himself, making a mental note to ask Vanderwood, his ‘maid’, to help him clean up later. Heading toward the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of PhD Pepper. He walked over to the nearest cabinet and took out a bag of Honey Buddha Chips.

Breakfast of champions. He thought with a sigh. It was hard to worry about eating healthy with so much on his mind. He still had no leads on the hacker. He hadn’t been able to find any traces of the hacker. He could only see when something had been messed with in the chatroom but not who had done so nor when the coding had been modified. He let out a frustrated sigh and plopped down in his computer chair. Swiveling in his chair, he faced the largest monitor with all intentions of continuing to track down the hacker. His eyes drifted to his second monitor. MC was once again sitting on the couch, watching television. He leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms and propping his head up to watch the screen intently.

Were feelings like this normal?

The front door opened. Seven jumped up as he heard footsteps approaching his desk.

“Ah, Madam Vanderwood. I see you’ve dropped by to check on me.” He said with a smirk.

“I told you not to call me that. Now, how’s the work coming along? You know how impatient the boss can be.” The man huffed. He crossed his arms with impatience and leaned back on one foot.

“Yeah, yeah. I told you I was working on it.” Seven said calmly, turning his chair back to the monitor.

In truth, he hadn’t been making much, if any, progress with his assignment from the agency. MC and the growing anxiety that came with worrying for her safety had been consuming most of his thoughts. Vanderwood tapped his foot in annoyance.

“Well, you know the deadline is coming up. It’s tomorrow, and we need to be sure this gets done on time. You know what happened to the last agents that were late turning in their work.” Vanderwood stated, then turned on one foot to head towards the kitchen.

“Madam Vanderwood, if you wouldn’t mind. I would appreciate it if you would help me clean up a little.” Seven said, facing toward the monitor. He could hear Vanderwood scoff from the kitchen.

“I don’t know why I put up with you!” Vanderwood shouted from across the house.

Seven grinned and set his focus on continuing his assigned hacking work for the agency. The agency was all Seven had known for so long, and he knew the danger that came with each assignment. Though he volunteered his time providing security for RFA’s online servers and in helping to plan parties, his main source of income came from his career as a hacker. It was hard for him to imagine having any other life at this point; he had given up so much to get where he was. He had always been careful and meticulous about keeping people at arms-length and making sure he had no personal connections. From the outside, it looked like he had wonderful and caring friends in the RFA members, but Seven knew that all of his connections could be and should be able to be easily severed. It was safer for the members if they didn’t know much, if anything, about him and if they thought he was much like the persona he showed them - happy go-lucky 707. In reality though 707’s personality and quirkiness were a part of him, they were a very small portion of who he truly was. Growing up he was Saeyoung. Then he was born again as Luciel. Today, he was Seven. Who would he be tomorrow? This question always hung heavily over his head, and the imminent danger anyone who entered his vicinity took on left him distant and cold in real life interactions. So why, he wondered, was he so drawn to MC. What was so different about her that he would even consider putting her and himself in danger? His eyes drifted to the CCTV footage of the apartment; MC had fallen asleep on the couch. She was so still. He almost imagined he could hear her quiet breathing. He closed his eyes for a moment, pretending he was in the same room with her, that he could take her into his arms and they could fall asleep together.

Error. Error. Error.

His eyes flicked to the RFA’s chat screen. The chatroom screen changed. And an unknown user appeared.

Unknown: “I hope you’re ready for me to make my grand entrance, MC.”

Seven’s breath caught in his throat.

Unknown: “I’ll see you soon. ^^”

Quickly, he began typing on his keyboard, attempting to backtrace the hacker’s connection. No sooner had he started than Unknown left the chatroom. Seven’s heart began to race. What did he mean by that? He would see her soon? On the screen, the coding began to change at a rapid pace.

“No wait. What’s happening? How is he doing this? He’s- He’s trying to hack the special security system.” Seven whispered to himself, watching the hacker’s actions closely. Normally he took solace in the fact that he was one of the best hackers in his agency. His work was constantly requested due to his expertise, so he knew how valuable his skills were and felt a small sense of pride when he thought about it. But this. This hacker was something else. He was fierce and unyielding when it came to what he wanted.

Special Security System Offline. His computer announced with a note of finality

“What? What?!” Seven whispered to himself, searching the screen. How could he have known the hacker would go after the security system? To activate it, Seven had sat in Rika’s apartment for days creating a code that was nearly impenetrable. Any yet, the hacker was able to disable it in minutes from a remote location.

“Oh-,” Seven’s voice caught in his throat; he tried to swallow but the lump of realization in his throat wouldn’t go away. The bomb in Rika’s apartment was set to go off if anyone other than an RFA member entered the room, which both endangered and simultaneously kept MC safe. But if this Unknown was planning to break into the apartment... MC was in danger and had no form of protection. And even worse, she was asleep at the moment with no inkling that danger was looming ahead.

Seven worked to erase Unknown’s messages from the chatroom. He didn’t want MC to find out about Unknown’s threat or about the bomb. He could protect her. No, he would protect her. He just needed to drive over to Rika’s apartment and turn the Special Security System back on. He would fortify the system after he knew the initial danger was gone. Seven jumped out of his chair, and ran to his bedroom, quickly changing into his favorite outfit: jeans, a red tank top, and his favorite black and yellow jacket.

Picking up his phone, he dialed in MC’s number. He would let her know that he was coming there to work on the security system but nothing else; he couldn’t afford to let her know something was up. The phone rang, but MC didn’t pick up. He left her a voicemail to let her know that he would be at the apartment soon.

“Vanderwood!” He shouted as he began packing a bag. He knew he needed his laptop but what else?

“What?” Vanderwood’s annoyed reply came from the other room.

“I’m heading out. I’ll be back.” He grabbed connection cables, his data scrambler. What else? He searched under a nearby pile of clothes. There was one last thing he needed. Keyboard? Mouse? No, he had already grabbed that.. Oh wait, there it was. He crouched down and picked up his crucifix. Putting the necklace on, he grabbed his bag and began to head toward the door.

“Wait, where are you even going? You can’t just leave. We have to finish that work for the boss.” Vanderwood popped his head around the corner.

“I know; I just have to go take care of one thing for the RFA. I’ll be back before the boss notices I’m gone.” He said with a grin, trying to play off the severity of the situation.

“You and I both know that you won’t. Seven, you don’t want to force my hand on this. You know I’ve already been covering for you up until now; I won’t keep making excuses for you, and I won’t put my life in danger for some charity organization.” Vanderwood rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Seven turned toward the door. He knew the position he was putting Vanderwood in, and he knew the situation he was creating for himself. However, he knew that no one could deal with the bomb at Rika’s apartment except him, and realistically, the hacking job would take five or six hours to complete once he sat down and could actually concentrate.

“Vanderwood, I already told you-”

“Seven, I’m serious. If you go, I will report this.”

“Then, do what you have to, Vanderwood. I have to do this; I’m the only one who can.” He said quietly. With that, Seven adjusted the bag on his shoulder and walked out the front door. He stopped for a moment to let out the breath he had been holding in. Now he just needed to make it to Rika’s apartment and deal with the security system. Then, he could stop worrying about the bomb, and maybe he could finally get MC off his mind long enough to work.

---

Seven pulled up in front of Rika’s apartment. After parking the car, he paused to rest his head on the steering wheel. This really wasn’t the time to be dawdling, but he was nervous. This would be the first time seeing MC in person. In his heart, he knew what he wished would happen. He wanted to be the one who would make her smile, who would be there to cook her breakfast in the morning when she woke up, who would comfort her when she was having a hard day. But. He knew these were unrealistic dreams; falling in love and living in domestic bliss were not part of the equation when it came to his life. He knew what he had signed up for when joining the agency. He could have no familial ties. He could never have close friends. He could never fall in love. Everyone he made ties with ran the risk of becoming a casualty. He knew all of this, and yet, here he was contemplating risking it all.

No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Sitting up, he resolved to do what he knew he had to do. He would avoid MC; he would keep his conversations with her to a minimum. He could play everything he said to her in chat rooms and phone calls up until now as being part of a flirty but unserious nature. He wouldn’t acknowledge his feelings; he would even push her away if he had to. Grunting, Seven held onto his head. This was all speculation; maybe he was freaking out over nothing. Maybe MC didn’t even have feelings for him. Maybe she was flirty and unserious about having a connection with him.

“No, I have to stop.” He thought to himself. There was no use in all this. Feelings didn’t and wouldn’t matter.

With that final thought, he got out of the car and began to head upstairs. He stopped in front of the apartment door, his hand raised but hesitating to knock. The door swung open to reveal MC’s face. Surprise registered on her face before turning into a smile.

“Seven! Come in.” She said warmly. He studied her face for a moment. She was even more breathtaking in person.

“MC. Uh, thanks.” He said quietly, shifting his eyes to the floor. He moved into the apartment; everything was the same as it had been when Rika was living here. It gave him an eerie feeling to be back here. Moving toward the living room, he set his bag on the table and began pulling out his equipment. Rika’s living room consisted of two couches facing each other with a small table in the middle. He could still recall sitting and talking with Rika in this exact spot less than a year ago. He watched as MC sat on the couch across from him. He busied himself by turning his attention to his computer.

“I got your voicemail. I didn’t think you would get here so quickly; I was actually getting ready to run to the convenience store. I don’t really have much here for guests to eat.” MC said as she followed behind him. Her voice was soft and comforting and made Seven long to hear her speak more. He watched as MC sat across from him on the opposite couch.

“I won’t be here long. I just need to make some adjustments to the security system.” He said, angling his body away from hers.

“Oh, how long do you think it will take? I was thinking maybe I could make some lunch, and we could eat together.” He didn’t need to look at her to know she was smiling; he could hear the thoughtfulness in her voice.

“No. I can’t. I have other things to do once I’m done.” He said shortly. The more she talked to him, the more his resolve wavered. He needed to keep things short and concise and maybe she would quit trying to initiate conversation.

“Oh, okay-”

“MC, I need to focus. I need to be alone.” He bit his lip, making sure to avert his gaze. He picked up his headphones from the table and placed them around his neck. He hated this already. His heart caught in his throat as he watched her stand up to leave.

“Um, okay. Yeah, sorry. I know you need to concentrate, so I’ll go read in the other room.” MC’s voice was quiet as she walked out of the room.

Seven felt like curling into a ball; this was already emotionally taxing, and he had only been here for all of ten minutes. Despite the gnawing feeling in his gut; he took solace in the idea that he could protect her now that he was here. He no longer needed to watch her through the CCTV. If Unknown was going to show up, Seven would be here to stop him.He slid his headphones on, turned on his favorite playlist, and began working on the coding for the apartment.

---

After about three hours, Seven heard the front door close. He jumped up, nearly knocking his computer off the table. Had she left? Where had she gone? What if that wasn’t her?

“MC?” He called out. The apartment was quiet. He searched for his phone frantically, and dialed her number.

“Seven?” She answered the phone quizzically.

“Where are you? Did you leave the apartment?”

“Yeah, you looked entranced by your work, so I didn’t want to bother you. I’m on the way to the story... I wanted to cook lunch, and I figured maybe if I made something to eat, you might be hungry too.”

“MC, come back to the apartment. It’s not safe for you outside right now.”

“Not safe?”

“Yes, not safe. We still don’t know what the hacker wants with you-”

“Seven.” She laughed. “I’ll be fine. I’ve left the apartment plenty of times. I’ll be back soon.”

“MC.... Okay, please call me if anything happens. Please.” He said reluctantly. He didn’t want to acquiesce; she didn’t know how much danger she was actually in. It made him extremely anxious to think she was out in public by herself right now.

“I will. I’ll be home soon.” She said happily before hanging up. Seven stared at his phone. He needed to work faster; once the security system was up, he would feel better about her being her alone; he could go back to watching her from a distance. And maybe he could finally get her off of his mind. Sighing, he turned his attention back to his computer; his fingers hovered over the keys, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to actually focus on his work until she came back. He leaned back on the couch, pressing his hands to his face in frustration. Sitting up, he grabbed his phone and logged into the RFA chatroom. If he couldn’t focus, maybe he could distract himself.

After about thirty minutes, Seven heard the door to the apartment open and saw MC walk in with three bags in her hands. He resisted the urge to offer assistance, knowing now was the time to get back to work.

“I’m back!” She announced. Seven breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to his computer.

“Welcome back.” He said, pulling his headphones on to give the appearance that he was occupied and uninterested. He did not turn any music on; instead he chose to listen to the sounds of MC in the kitchen. These small moments, he decided, would have to be enough. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Seven began working again to restore the apartment’s coding.

Once he was able to concentrate, the work began to flow, it was easy to zone out and lose track of time. Before he knew it, MC was beside him with a bowl in hand. She leaned over in front of him to place the bowl beside his computer. He was briefly taken aback. MC was so close to him. She was so close that he could reach out and touch her with ease. He could take her hand and enjoy lunch with her; it would be so easy.

“No. No. No.” He stopped himself. These were dangerous thoughts. She turned to look at him and smiled. He saw her mouth something but was too absorbed in fantasy to register what she had said. Snapping back to reality, he realized that inviting conversation would only lead to trouble. He pointed to his headphones and said,

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you. Thank you for the food, but I need to work now.”

He watched MC’s face drop slightly as she smiled again and turned to walk away. Once she was out of earshot, he felt himself breathe out heavily; he hadn’t realized that he had been holding his breath. He looked at the bowl of pasta that she had been kind enough to bring him. He wished he had an appetite, but the current situation left him with a deep pit in his stomach. He needed to focus; he just needed to focus. If he could finish by nightfall, she would be safe, and he could go. Turning his attention back to the system once more, he resolved to work faster.

When Seven looked up again, the sky outside had darkened. He heard footsteps behind him; MC was moving around the house, perhaps looking for something. Over the course of the day, Seven had spread out his things around the living room and the dining room table behind the couch. Notebooks and devices were scattered around, a result of him trying to remember how he had set up the security system in the first place and trying to figure out how to improve it. Behind him, MC had gone quiet. What was she doing? Was she looking through his things? He turned to glance behind him. MC had taken a seat at the dining room table and was looking through one of the books he had brought with him. His heart sank in his chest; it was the storybook he had brought with him, the one that held the floppy disk with the only photos Seven still had of Saeran. He removed his headphones and rose from his seat. He quietly walked up behind MC, and leaning over her, grabbed the book and floppy disk from her hands.

“Do you enjoy going through other people’s things? This isn’t yours.” He said curtly; his emotions were already running high today. Why had he even brought this book with him? He could’ve left it at home, sure. But what if someone broke in and found it. This one singular floppy disk was the only thing in the world that proved he had attachments. Of course, it put Saeran’s life at risk to hold onto it, but Seven had already given up so much in his life; he wasn’t willing to give up this last attachment to his brother.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just curious about what you were doing-” She stuttered out, but he interrupted her.

“You were curious about what I was doing? I told you what I was doing, and I told you to leave me alone.” He watched as MC turned toward him with a hurt look.

“I... I know that. I just - I don’t understand, Seven. You’re different from how you were in the chat rooms. I guess I thought... I don’t know - that maybe you liked me.”

MC’s voice was quiet as she met his eyes. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He was sure his expression mimicked hers. Why was she doing this now? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone like he had requested.

“That I liked you? Why would you think that? Because I talked and joked with you? Did it even occur to you that I was just being friendly because you were a new member of the RFA?”

He watched her eyes as she desperately searched his face for answers, pleading for what he was saying to be different from what he felt. Her gaze weighed on him heavily. He averted his gaze, knowing he couldn’t keep meeting her eyeline if he wanted to maintain his composure. MC’s face scrunched in confusion, and looking up at her, Seven saw tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill over. His heart wrenched at the thought of making her cry. He wanted to be the one who held her when she cried, but instead here he was purposely hurting her with the intent of saving her. It was an ironic concept when he really thought about it. He would hurt her to save her. It seemed so laughable to think of the juxtaposition of how he felt and how he had to act. He turned from her, getting ready to return to the couch and put the final touches on the restoration of the security system.

“Seven, I don’t understand. I don’t believe you; I don’t know what this is or why you’re pushing me away, but I know that you must feel something for me too.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke.

“I’m not feeling anything. I can’t afford to feel anything. I’m a dangerous guy, MC. Anyone who gets close to me is in danger.” His voice was deep and angry; his hands were clenched by his side.

“But Seven-” She stood from where she was sitting. Taking a step, she grabbed his right hand. Seven turned to look at her.

“MC, just leave me alone.” He said shortly, shaking her hand away. He wanted to scream; he wanted to thrash around in frustration. He wanted to run away from everything he had ever known; he wanted to throw away everything for MC, and yet, here he was pushing her away, lying to her. But instead, he forced himself to turn and moved to take a seat on the couch. He slid his headphones back on and unpaused his playlist.

“Finish the task. Finish the task. Finish the task.” He thought to himself; he couldn’t afford to focus on MC’s feelings or his own. Her safety came first, and maybe she would heed his warning and leave him alone. He didn’t deserve her feelings anyway. Maybe now she would realize that.

About thirty minutes later, Seven had finished getting the security system back online. He removed his headphones just in time to hear the system chime:

Special Security System Online.

He stretched his arms above his head, looking at his computer to see the time. It was 11:30 P.M. Where had the day gone? He listened intently to hear if MC might still be awake. But then again, he thought to himself, what did it matter if she was awake. He had been so mean to her earlier; he couldn’t imagine her wanting to speak with him again. No, he would go ahead and pack his things and leave without a word. Gathering the books from the dining room table, he moved to begin packing his bag.

He heard movement in the kitchen and assumed MC was still awake. He thought about going in to see her, maybe to apologize. No, that wasn’t wise. He needed to maintain his boundaries with her. Then, he heard a glass break in the kitchen. A glass? No, that was the sound of a lot of glass breaking. An alarm began to sound in the apartment.

Intruder Alert. Intruder Alert. Identifying Intruders, Non-RFA Member. Bomb Sequence Will Begin in 5 Minutes.

Seven dropped everything and ran toward the kitchen. MC was backed against the wall, her eyes wide in fear. In front of her, he saw a man. The man was standing amongst the broken glass from the window. Seven noted the bleached color of the man’s hair and his piercing blue eyes. He was dressed in black, an intricate tattoo was visible where his jacket fell off his shoulder. How could he have come in here? They were a couple of floors off the ground. Breaking through the window shouldn’t have been possible.

“Are you the hacker?” Seven asked the man.

“Am I the hacker?” The man asked in a mocking voice and then laughed.

“Who are you really? What do you want with MC?” Seven asked more insistently, taking a step forward to position himself between MC and the hacker. At the moment, he was too far to be able to protect her if the hacker acted in an aggressive manner.

“Now MC, you’ll be coming with me.” The hacker, ignoring his question, stepped toward MC brandishing a knife.

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Seven, help me!” She said, stepping back and bumping into the wall behind her. She shot a fearful look toward Seven. He took another slow step, attempting to move without alerting the hacker.

“Not another step, Saeyoung.” The hacker said threateningly. Seven’s eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. How could he know that name? Who could he be to know that name? Seven’s eyes searched the hacker’s face, noting the odd familiarity.

“Seven, do you know him?” MC asked him, but he was frozen. Seven’s eyes were glued to the hacker’s face. He looked familiar, eerily familiar. Could it be? No, of course it couldn’t. Rika had promised that Saeran was safe and living a happy life; she had sent him pictures. There was no way...

“Saeran?” The name fell from his lips before he could think twice. The hacker whirled around toward him.

“Don’t call me that! You don’t deserve to call me that!” Saeran screamed at Seven.

“Oh my God..” Seven’s voice trailed off. How was this happening? How was his brother here? Why was his brother here? His head began spinning.

“Seven!” MC managed to cry out as Saeran grabbed her, placing one arm around her waist and a knife at her throat.

“No wait, please, don’t hurt her. Please.” His mouth was dry. MC was in danger, and his brother was here and was the one responsible for attacking the RFA. What did it mean? His thoughts were interrupted by the security system’s alarm:

Scanning for Intruders. Identifying Intruders, Non-RFA Member. Bomb Sequence Will Begin in 1 Minute.

Seven could see the fear in MC’s eyes. He had to do something. The bomb wasn’t going to scare Saeran away was it. He watched as his brother began to slowly back towards the window with MC in tow.

“Seven! I love you!” MC shouted; it seemed like a final desperate plea. Did she think that he wouldn’t be able to save her and wanted to die with him knowing her true feelings? His head spun. God, MC, now wasn’t the time to profess your love. Not when he had been desperately trying to push her feelings away all day. For the briefest moment, he thought to himself that he loved her too. But he knew now wasn’t the time or place to sort through these mixed emotions. He had to stay in the moment; any hesitation could result in losing MC forever.

“I know.” He replied quietly. Saeran continued to edge toward the window, his eyes darting wildly around the apartment. It appeared that things weren’t exactly going to plan for Saeran. He had probably planned to attack MC while the security system was disabled, so he wouldn’t have to worry about the bomb going off.

“Shit.” Saeran mumbled under his breath. Seven watched as his brother weighed the options. With the timer ticking quickly, did he still take the chance to kidnap MC, knowing there was a possibility that he would die in the process? Did he make his escape with the intention of coming after MC at a different point in time?

“Saeran, listen. You don’t have time to escape with MC. Just let her go. There is less than a minute before the bomb goes off; if you’re still in the apartment when the time is up, we’re all going to die.” Seven said calmly, maintaining eye contact with Saeran.

Frustrated, Saeran grunted and threw MC forward. He moved toward the window and looking over his shoulder said,

“This isn’t over, Saeyoung. I will be back.”

With that ominous threat left hanging in the air, Saeran disappeared out the window. MC stumbled forward, and he caught her in his arms.

Scanning for Intruders. Scanning for Intruders. No Intruders Identified. Bomb Sequence Deactivated.

Seven sighed in relief. His legs felt weak, like he could just collapse from exhaustion right then and there. He brought MC down to the floor with him. His hands cupped her face. His eyes searched hers, looking for an answer.

“Are you alright?” He asked urgently.

“I’m alright. Seven, are you okay?” She asked him. A wave of relief washed over him, and despite himself, he hugged her. She was so close to him now; he breathed in her scent, a mixture of what he could only describe as sunshine and citrus. He closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the warmth of her embrace and the relief that came with knowing she was safe in his arms. She returned the embrace, burying her face into his shoulder, and the two of them sat like that for a few minutes. Seven pulled away first, knowing that there was more that needed to be dealt with; no matter how much he might want to, he couldn’t hide in her arms forever. Moreover, he knew she deserved an explanation. For so long, he had held onto so many secrets, and now with Saeran added into the mix, he felt like he was going to collapse from all the weight on his shoulders.

“Seven...” MC met his eyeline. He resisted the urge to look away. He knew he couldn’t keep the facade up much longer.

“MC, look, I-”

“Seven, I-”

They both began speaking simultaneously, which brought a bit of laughter from the two. Seven gestured for MC to go first, and she was quiet for a moment. She looked at the floor for a moment then back at him, steeling herself.

“Seven, I meant what I said back there. I do love you.”

“MC, I don’t know that I can return your feelings. I told you; I’m a dangerous guy. I work in a field where I have made and continue to make many enemies. Being with me is a massive risk. I can’t put you in harm’s way just because of the way I feel.” His voice trailed off. He looked away from her again; he wouldn’t put her at risk. He couldn’t.

“I can take care of myself, Seven. I know that there are risks that come with being with you, but I know that what I feel for you is worth any risk.” MC’s voice was soft, but he could hear the sincerity in her words.

“I- I don’t know that I deserve such feelings. My life has been a mess thus far, and I have done some terrible things. I’m not worth your time or your love.” His head hung low; MC reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I know for a fact that you are worth my time and my love. I trust you to keep me safe, and I know-”

“MC..” He cut her off; he released her hand and brought both of his up to cup her face. His thumb caressed her cheek, and after a moment, his lips met hers. Her lips were soft against his. He pulled away to make eye contact with her.

“I love you too.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry about my behavior; I-”

“Thank you for apologizing, but I know that you did what you felt like you had to.” MC cut him off mid-apology.

He was taken aback slightly. How could he have gotten so lucky to have met someone who understood his intentions, who was willing to look past the dark spots in his life? He felt both awkward and grateful; this feeling of putting trust in and of giving an intimate part of yourself to someone else left him with an uneasy feeling. But he knew this was what he wanted. Consequences be damned. He would deal with the fallout of everything tomorrow. Standing up, he offered MC his hand to help her up. Once she was on her feet, she wrapped her arms around his neck and caught him in a kiss. Seven turned, so that MC was between him and the wall. This time, he wasn’t willing to pull away so easily. Pushing her against the wall, his lips met hers with a hunger that was unfamiliar to him. He wanted more of her. He had spent so long telling himself that he couldn’t have her, that he wasn’t worthy of love. But in this moment, those feelings didn’t matter. He loved her. He loved her dearly. He broke from her lips to trail kisses slowly down her neck.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He said as he moved between spots. Her soft moans made him smile. She buried her head in his shoulder and giggled.

“What?” He asked coyly.

“Nothing, I’m just so happy. I’m happy that I can be with you like this.” She said, looking up to meet his eyes. She smiled at him, and he returned her smile.

“I’m happy too, but you know what would make me even happier?” He asked with a demure smile on his face.

“What?” He watched her eyes, watched how her eyebrows furrowed when she asked a question. He watched her expression change from moment to moment. Her smiles were cute. Her voice was comforting. She was so beautiful to him. He loved everything about her, and he knew he wanted to remember this moment with her. He would imprint this memory in his mind, so he would have something to look back on if things were different tomorrow.

“This.” He said as he picked her up; MC laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He laid her softly on the bed and crawled over to lay next to her. She snuggled up to him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. For a few minutes, he quietly listened to her breathing next to him; when her breathing dropped off and became slower, he knew she had fallen asleep. His mind still raced with all the prospects of the day. His brother was working as a hacker against the RFA. How had that happened? Wasn’t V supposed to be watching over him? Why hadn’t V said anything to him about his brother’s actions? And then there was the agency. He was now a fugitive from the only job he’d ever known. While he and MC were safe here for now; it wouldn’t take long before the agency found the apartment. Vanderwood was a cruel mistress and wouldn’t show him any mercy. He knew he still had a lot he needed to fill MC in on too, but all of this could wait until tomorrow. Though this really wasn’t the time to be engaging in downtime, he wasn’t going to let this moment go to waste. He pulled MC closer, and she responsively mumbled his name in her sleep. He closed his eyes and focused on her breathing until it eventually lulled him to sleep too.

#707mc #mystic messenger #707 fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

bluepenguinstories · 4 years

Text

Remoras Full Chapter XIV: Magna Mater

I wish I knew how to express my thoughts.

See, I’ve been restless as of late; the usual crowds I’ve come to expect at the airport had dissipated. For reasons that were unknown to me. It wasn’t like my workplace was a very popular one to begin with, far from it: no one (or I should say, very few) who showed up at the airport planned to stay in the area. They were either going to or coming from somewhere. Layover. In transit.

Maybe no one was going on any flights around the area. Sorry. That wasn’t really what I wanted to focus on, either. The restlessness was just a byproduct of not having as much work to do.

Was that what it was?

I found myself sprawled out on the hammock in the back of the airport. I stared at my phone and opened up Disarray, a chat app.

“Hmm...who have I talked to lately?”

There were a few names: Dennys, Kitten, Pien. I had met them on an LGBT server and the four of us became fast friends.

I cycled through the different chat windows, but decided not to message anyone. It had been a few days since either party last talked to each other, so I felt like if I were to start up a new conversation, it would be awkward.

But it was also awkward laying down in silence when it wasn’t even close to being evening. So I mustered up the courage and decided to type to my friend Dennys “hi”.

...And then I hit the backspace key and set my phone back down.

What was it about being alone with my thoughts that made me want to start up something, and then in the middle of starting, go back and erase my work?

Ray should have given me something to do. Or even Sunny. Either one of them could have texted me saying “we’ve got a flight booked for so and so.” I wouldn’t even have to see who I was flying. I’d fly them wherever, I’d serve them with a blindfold if I had to. I just wanted to be back in the air.

I wasn’t sure what had come over me. I couldn’t just chalk it up to restlessness or loneliness alone, as I was used to being alone and with long gaps between flights. There must have been other factors as well. I thought it over, something I already knew was a terrible thing to do.

When was the last time I saw or heard from either of them? About a month ago, right? When that girl came over and tricked me into taking her to New Hampshire? Oh shit.

Right. Those two were probably under a lot of grief. I mean, I guess I would be too, if I knew her better.

She said her name was Tony, but then Ray said it wasn’t. I guess Ray does know a Tony, though. So it’s not like there isn’t someone in the world named Tony. In fact, I think there are many people named Tony. So it’s not like I won’t run into one or two Tony’s one of these days.

There goes my thoughts again. The name isn’t the important part. The fact is, I was naive and fell for her trick, then she ran off. Over a week later, Sunny comes by and we go back. Then Sunny tells me that there’s a wildfire (really, I should have noticed what with all the smoke in the air. Sheesh, what world was I in at the time?) and that the girl had been caught in the middle of it. So yeah.

“It’s been a month,” I muttered as I put on a coat. “I wonder how Sunny’s been holding up. Ray too, for that matter.”

Truth be told, I still blamed myself, even thought Sunny told me I did nothing wrong. Never in my experience did I think I would contribute to someone’s death, indirect or otherwise. Which then led to the thought that maybe I had done so without my knowledge in the past. Oh, how I had a tendency to overthink. Or, to focus on the wrong thoughts. To let those thoughts drift and drift into topics far off from the things I wanted to focus on. How common it was.

Next to the coat was a pair of thermal gloves. Then boots. It wasn’t like I could just wear my typical flight attendant or pilot’s uniform, now could I? Not if I was going to walk several kilometers in the snow to check on my boss.

“How have you been holding up?” I planned to ask Ray. “How’s your restaurant doing?”

As I made my way out of the airport and into the outside world, I was hit by a strong gust of wind.

God, I hope there won’t be a blizzard.

Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if there was. As long as no one else was be caught up in it, I’d be fine.

“I’m used to this,” I told myself, but I knew better. Even the most seasoned of folks could face trouble if they weren’t well equipped. It was like how when I used to live in a city where it often rained and my mom would tell me to bring an umbrella and wear a jacket and I would sigh a theatrical sigh and huff and go, “I don’t need one. I’ll be fine.”

Of course, I got soaked. I’d come home all shivering and my clothes stuck to the rest of me. Didn’t stop me from forgetting to bring my umbrella.

It would be at least an hour before I would arrive at the diner. That meant I would be alone with my thoughts for a while. I could try to focus on the echoes of the wind, or listen for any wildlife, but I knew it wouldn’t do me much good. My mind would wander and I would daydream once more.

Focus on the environment. Focus on how the ground looks like mashed potatoes and how I’m just waiting for the gravy to come down. Wait. What is the gravy? Is it a metaphorical thing? Am I the gravy? No. I’m already doing it. OK. Focus on the destination.

“It’s the journey, not the destination” – That quote soon entered my thoughts. Makes me think of an adventure. When really it’s just going to see your boss. Still, what if Ray was like...a boss? Like the final boss of a game? Or the big bad of a fantasy novel. I think if I was in one of those, I’d want to be an elf. Maybe just for the pointy ears.

There was a great deal of things that sprung off from there and it took a while before I could bring myself back on solid ground. I wanted to go back and erase such thoughts, but then what would take its place? My mind seemed like an endless box of clutter sometime and no matter how much I tried to get rid of or give away the clutter, it kept piling up.

What would Sunny have said to that?

“Just go on an adventure and you won’t think so much!”

What I’m doing right now is the closest thing I’ve had to an adventure and here I am, thinking endlessly.

No. That wasn’t right. If I stretched the truth a little, if I could remember the right things and not focus on the irrelevant things, then the journey leading to meeting Sunny and Ray for the first time could have been considered an adventure in of itself. Maybe it would only be interesting to me, and no one else, but it would at least pass the time.

My earliest memory was of me arriving at the airport in Fairbanks, Alaska. Another chilly place. In some respects, my life wasn’t all that different than what it would eventually become. For starters, I was already a flight attendant, albeit, for a commercial airline. As in, I had to deal with obnoxious passengers on crowded flights. I’d go around with peanuts (and no, I wasn’t sure what the deal with them was) and soda and be all, “eat up, monsters!”

Okay, so, no. I didn’t say that. I couldn’t remember what I said, and I think I would have preferred to say something like that, but I was nice (on my good days). I’d carry around a big ol’ smile and play up a cutesy voice. I really wanted people to think of me as sweet and I thought that if I were nice enough with them, they would exchange the same courtesy. However, it didn’t take that long for me to crack, and it would sometimes be over the simplest of things.

“Thank you, sir,” some old lady would say after I handed her a cup of diet coke. My teeth would grind and most of the time I would ignore it or say, “you’re welcome.”

Sometimes however, it would play out like this:

“I’m not –” I would begin to say, but soon change my tune to. “Never mind. You’re welcome.”

I hated that. Yes, I knew that there was some universal experience (supposedly) that says “we don’t correct people,” but damn it, I felt like a coward when I wouldn’t speak up, and then I grew fearful when I would try. That was another thing: I didn’t even want to look back at those things, but those images and scenes would replay regardless. Why? Because my mind was more of an asshole than most passengers out there.

Yes, later, I would be more recognized for who I was and I would be much happier. Likewise, I was aware that most would rather not be reminded of such moments in their past. Not even I. But those things did happen, and they did affect me.

Whether such things happened the day I arrived in Fairbanks, I didn’t quite remember, but I remembered being rather exhausted. So as I waited for the flight back home, I sat next to the window and read a book about a warrior princess who fought dragons.

I found myself unable to finish the page I was on, so I skimmed down, set a bookmark in, and got up from my seat.

Rather than walk off to wander around the gift shops and kiosks, I became transfixed on the view outside; through the thickets of the trees, I thought I could see a fox scurry about. Snow fell from below and it wasn’t even winter. Outside of the pines and the fox, the land was a flat sheet of white. Ice as far as the eye could see (and even further, surely).

Yes, I must have thought. If I were to live anywhere, I would want to live here.

I couldn’t quite place why I was so enchanted by the view, which in hindsight, was rather minimal. One idea may have been that in the cold, empty space, what I thought I needed was a place to be alone. So it came to be that I would dream of a day where I could get lost in those trees, or burrow under the snow, and in the isolation, I would be at peace.

What shook me out from my dreamy ideals was one of my coworkers. If I tried hard, I could have remembered her name. Valerie, maybe? Macchiato? No. That was my favorite drink.

“Manager wants to see you,” she told me.

“Oh!” I jumped, startled.

“Daydreaming again?” She asked.

“Something like that,” I replied, then made my way to the manager’s office. All the while, thoughts cropped up of what it could have been about.

Did I do something wrong today? Did I snap at a passenger? I feel like I did everything right, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember everything that was in the employee manual and I thought I could just wing it. Ha. Wing it. Like wings of an airplane.

No. I don’t think I have anything to worry about. But if I did, what would I have to worry about? Guess I’ll find out. I could play a game of twenty questions on my way there. Ask myself all the things the manager could want to see me about. Oh, but that would be worse.

Ah, if there was one thing my thoughts were good for, it was to help me forget that my legs took me anywhere. I opened the door to the manager’s office, having how I even got there. Blame it on the jet lag.

“You wanted me?” I asked as trepidation seeped through each syllable.

“Hi. Yeah, have a seat, relax,” my manager motioned to the chair.

Ah, the seat of shame. Some days I wondered if there was a button that would send anyone who sat in that seat flying out into the atmosphere. Considering that I wanted to be a pilot, maybe the chair could eject me right into a pilot’s seat and I would have already had my license, and I could fly away, out into the atmosphere. Somewhere where everything could be still and silent.

“So what did you want me for?” I asked as I sat.

“Well, first off, some of the passengers said you were wonderful today, so whatever you did, keep it up.”

That was a surprise to me. ‘Whatever I did,’ I didn’t even remember what I did. As far as I could recall, I was on autopilot.

“Second, I’ve got a job offer for you,” he continued. “From a very wealthy man known as Mr. Chambers.”

“Is he here right now?” I asked.

Mr. Chambers. Sounds like Mr. Burns. Like an evil old man. And he’s wealthy, which pretty much seals the deal that I’m right to make such a comparison.

He shook his head. “No, his health isn’t the best. But he wanted to know if you were interested in working with him. He owns a private airline, and he’s willing to pay you much more than you’re making here.”

My heart faced turbulence. How was I supposed to react to such a thing?

“Why me?” I asked, choked up. “Why not Betty?” I didn’t remember if I had a coworker named Betty. My brain just filled in the gap, since none of my old coworkers’ names came to mind.

“I don’t know, to be honest. He said something about you giving off this air of innocence and reminding him of his lost love, Jeanne d’Eis.”

“Who?”

My manager shrugged. If that question couldn’t be answered, then…

“But me? Innocent?” I asked instead.

“Look, I never said he wasn’t eccentric, but this could be a good opportunity for you. Just think it over.”

Yeah. That I would do. Though I didn’t think I would. As much as I could use the money, the idea of working for a creepy old man got under my skin. Like a cockroach that decided to use my nostrils to hibernate for the winter.

Needless to say, I accepted the offer. Though not right away. When I took my flight back home (and I use the word “home” loosely; nothing against my mom, I’ve just always been distant around her, and I never really felt comfortable there. Still, it was where I was allowed to be, and it was where I slept, when I didn’t sleep on planes or in airports) I stayed a couple of days in my room.

“How was work?” She asked and I shrugged my shoulders, told her it was OK, then went into my room. There I had a desktop computer, an easel for drawing, two full bookshelves, and a bed filled with stuffed animals. Of course, I ignored all of those other items and fell back onto the bed.

“I wish I had boobs,” I said to myself and smiled. “Not too big, but just to say that I had them.”

You could say that I was a late bloomer. Very late. Being in my mid twenties, it seemed odd to say that they never developed, but...some things I just had to will into existence, and you could say that I was late to realize that I wanted boobs.

Of course, later I would have them, and I learned that they weren’t some perfect squish toys that were attached to you, but I was still glad when I got them, so my thoughts turned to them more often than not.

When it came time to go back to work, I remember how I stood against the door when after telling me bye, my mom added, “is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?”

Such a heavy question. That might have been the trouble I had with her: she could go from casual to heavy in the span of five seconds.

“Well, if I don’t live long, then yes,” I joked.

“Be serious. Wouldn’t you rather do something else?”

“I kind of want to get some poetry collections published,” I told her in earnest. Yes, I wrote poetry. They weren’t any good, but at the time I thought my life mirrored Sylvia Plath enough that I had potential (ha. Someone like me who couldn’t even get through a few courses in community college comparing herself to some misunderstood academic?)

“You can’t make a living off of that,” was my mom’s answer. Because of course it was. What else would she have said?

“I know. Well, I also want to be a pilot someday,” I told her. Again, serious.

“It takes money to get lessons, and you’re not very good at saving money. Not to mention, you have trouble keeping focus, and being a pilot requires a lot of concentration.”

In hindsight, I knew she just wanted me to think things through more, and maybe she thought she was being supportive. But with me, I didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Bye,” I told her.

It felt like whether I wished it to be or not, my life was defined by my mother. Worse yet, I sometimes got the feeling that I was just like her.

When I got back to the airport, I told my manager that I would accept the position. Almost immediately, my manager booked me a trip to the most remote part of the arctic. Within the hour of my arrival, I collapsed on the nearest couch, then when I awoke, I was directed to the office of one Mr. Chambers.

His office was a gloomy looking one filled with grotesque paintings of shadowy figures devouring smaller shadowy figures. There were bookshelves against the walls, but none of the books were ones I recognized. When I thought of someone rich, what came to mind was books on business, money, or something related to their profession. Like maybe books on aircrafts. In this case, however, each book was bound in yellow hardback covers and the titles were in a language I hadn’t seen before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cybele,” Mr. Chambers spoke in a frog-like croak. He was a balding, frail man. Bones that seemed to protrude from his skin and wrinkles layered upon layers of wrinkles, as if some sort of wrinkly birthday cake.

What would a birthday cake made of wrinkles taste like? Skin? Hmm...I don’t think I would want to try one of those. Maybe if it was just really fluffy to the point that it looked like wrinkles. Maybe it could be a carrot cake. That I like. More than actual carrots themselves, in fact.

“Nervous?” He asked.

“Oh! Maybe a little!” I was startled to find that I was still in his office. “First time and all. You know how that can be.”

“Ah, yes, so I do. I was innocent once,” he closed his eyes as he spoke, a slow, cracked whisper. I had to walk closer just to make out most of the words.

Innocent? Me? See, I’m still confused. I guess he’ll find out sooner or later that I’ve had a habit of swearing at customers.

“Um. Yes. Say, what language are those books in?” I asked him. Maybe I thought that in doing so, it would be less awkward.

“Carcosian,” he told me. “A long forgotten language from the long forgotten land of Carcosa.”

“Where is that?” I asked, like a fool, a complete dunce. Less the court jester and more the court clown car. If he said the land was forgotten, how would he know where that was?

“If my memory serves me, it resides in a space between Italy and France, and intersecting Ethiopia. When I lived a more innocent age, I visited there and engorged myself in its kingdom. There, I met a beautiful princess, the mademoiselle Jeanne d’Eis. Oh, how I loved Jeanne d’Eis. I would give anything to see her again, but every time I tell one of my associates that I wish to visit Carcosa, they tell me they haven’t found such a place.”

I blinked. As he told me about this place, I tried to imagine where that would be on a map, but I never was good with geography. One of my online friends, Kitten, lived in France. Maybe I could have asked the kitten where Carcosa was. If she even knew.

Then there was the matter of this person he said he loved. Jeanne d’Eis? She sounded like Jeanne d’Arc, which got me thinking, just how old was Mr. Chambers? Was he old enough to be alive when Jeanne d’Arc was?

Oh, stop that, Cybele! That would make him like 600 years old.

“So what is it that I’ll be doing here?” I mustered up the focus to ask him. In response, he leaned forward and said:

“There are several business partners of mine who fly to and from here. You will accompany them and treat them to exquisite meals and beverages. You will treat them well.”

I gulped. I found myself worried over possible implications.

“When you say treat them well…?”

“Converse. Compliment.”

“Ah,” I let out a sigh of relief.

“If anyone dares to touch you, I will have their hands chopped off and will sew their mouths shut. Rest assured. You will remain innocent.”

Well, as relieved as I was, the ‘innocent’ part still bugged me. Maybe it was the whole idea of purity or something, but it just struck me the wrong way. Especially with how far from the truth that was: I was a jelly bean bag full of flaws.

So that would become my life: I had no true home. When I would stop at an airport, I would rest there. The closest thing I had to one was the airport in which Mr. Chambers resided. When I would stay there, I slept in the break room in the back. There was a hammock set up, and although it could be noisy, and the creaking sounds frightened me, it wasn’t so bad. Really, it was the closest thing to a home that I had.

When I had downtime, I would write poems in my journal. One such poem went something like this:

“I am in ill-repair, yet functional.

A space which permits entry.

Though out of order, you may walk.

Yet you will never go anywhere.

In regards to the past

I am permitted no entry.

Up the stairwell is cracked pavement.

I’m still waiting for that universal experience.

Others claim it exists.

Even in progress, there is discomfort.

In a mix of joy and bewilderment, I wonder:

Have I been an impostor?”

Like I said, they weren’t that good, but at the time I thought I was one hot potato. Like fucking Shakespeare up in this ass, or something. Whatever it was I felt, those poems were the closest I could come to writing a journal entry. I just wasn’t good with being so direct or staying on a single topic. With a poem, I could be more concise, so it was easier to make a snapshot of what I was going through at the time.

So I got all caught up in my work. Then I would catch up on sleep. Time zones were always the trickiest thing, and I wanted so bad to just give up on the concept of time altogether. Then, there were the poems, which also blurred into work, and with my exhaustion, I started to grow less coherent. Case in point:

“Discombobulated sponge bootleg.

Blisters in the back of the boa constrictor.

Bitter taste of kitchen skins.

Saliva in the form of raw dust bunnies.”

Anyway, I’ve tortured myself enough with reciting the words to old poems. The point I wanted to make was that I forgot all about my dream to become a pilot. Then, it happened: Sunny and Ray.

I returned to the barren airport which I called home-adjacent (if it wasn’t a place to call home, then it could at least have been in the realm of it). Right away, I went up the stairs to Mr. Chambers’ office. Except when I got there, the scenery had changed.

The office was near empty. No creepy paintings which I had grown accustomed to. No books that I couldn’t even read if I was allowed to. All that remained was the desk and the swivel chair behind it. Next to the desk was a man in a pinstripe suit with a cane. Next to him was a woman who sat on top of the desk with a tank top on and was chugging down what looked like a bottle of whiskey.

“’Sup?” The woman asked as she leaned her head back. I didn’t know how to answer, but it was clear that my presence was now known. On the other hand, the man took off his glasses and began wiping them down with a cloth rather than acknowledge me.

“Who...who are you two?” My voice shook. “Where is Mr. Chambers?”

While I always found that old man to be creepy, at least I got used to his presence. But those two were unknown and I didn’t know what to make of them. I would soon find out, as the man approached me.

“Ah! Nice to meet you! You must be Cybele! I’ve heard so much about you, haven’t I, Sunny?” He turned back to the woman. She nodded with a grin.

“Sure have, Ray, my partner in crime and in life. And Cybele, I must say! You’re even more adorable than I imagined! I just wanna coddle you!” Sunny added. She sounded like she was joking around, yet at the same time, meant no malice.

“Thanks,” I replied. “But I’m still confused.”

“Oh, Cybele, you poor thing,” Ray spoke. He too, spoke with a mixture; his a combination of concern and trickery. “Mr. Chambers wasn’t who you thought he was. All this time, you’ve been working for someone and had no clue who they really were.”

Well, true, but I didn’t think that would ever be important.

“He changed his name to Mr. Chambers at an old age. Started getting all these ideas in his head about who he was. For months, I befriended him, got to know him a bit, and found out that this place he’s obsessed with? Carcosa? Yeah, it doesn’t exist. It comes from a short story. Fiction, too, mind you. But fiction can be fact enough. All I had to do was convince him that I knew where Carcosa was and he was ready to give up all of his assets to me. Which included his money, this airport, and his private plane. Which is now mine, by the way.”

That was all a lot to take in. Mostly that I would now be working for some crooked couple, but that wasn’t all that important, was it? I mean, rich people tend to be pretty crooked, too, so what did it all matter? Really, as long as I was up in the air, I could disregard every other detail. Even if my head was in the clouds, at least I could make the rest of me be as well.

“Hello?” Ray snapped his fingers in front of me. “Were you paying attention, Cybele? We scammed a billionaire out of his money and made him think he was about to reunite with his lost love. Hey Sunny, was this the first time we’ve stolen from a billionaire?”

Sunny cackled. “First time it was this easy.”

“Did you catch any of that, Cybele?”

“I...I…” I stuttered. “He said he was in love with Jeanne d’Eis.”

“Yeah,” Ray replied. “Jaundice. The man was in love with jaundice.”

Oh. Why hadn’t I seen that sooner? Why was I so ready to accept that he really knew someone by that name? Why didn’t I think to question many of the things Mr. Chambers said further? Oh, why did I bother to ask myself such things when it wasn’t even important anymore?

“Anyway,” Ray went on. “You can rest assured we’re not billionaires. Well, we would be, except we just gave away all his money to hundreds of other people. But don’t worry: you can stay. I always find ways to pay the people I hire.”

I couldn’t figure out what to make of the situation. I collapsed onto the floor and the last thing I heard was Sunny saying, “oh dear, the poor thing fainted.”

That was my first encounter with the scheming couple. Really, they turned out to be great people. Ray let me redesign the office any which way I liked. Instead of buying a proper bed, I just made it into a break room, while the old break room remained my bedroom. Even if I still didn’t sleep on a bed.

Sunny and Ray also funded my flying lessons, and it was thanks to them that I was able to get my pilot’s license. There was only one catch, and it was that Mr. Chambers’ Ray’s private aircraft already ran on autopilot. But it still required help for liftoff and landing. So it was a bit of a compromise.

Really, my life was full of compromises. Like how I managed to get boobs, but then they didn’t end up growing very big.

I recall a poem I had written being about how everything in my life thrived on trade-offs:

“To know ‘thyself’ is an important thing.

If I am a self I am one that is compromised.

My life is defined in the middle of a line;

How I wished to occupy that other side.

If only I could be defined by my own words.

Without it being an autobiography.”

Not my best work, but after years of just using it as a means of journaling, I’ve more or less accepted it as a hobby. My recollections would have to wait before I could paint a more perfect picture of the order of events; I had finally made it to the diner.

When I opened the door, I expected to see customers. Maybe Ray in the kitchen. Or Sunny over the counter, making small talk with Ray. Instead, the lobby was just as barren as the landscape outside of the diner. There were only two people, one of which wasn’t Ray: Sunny, and some tall, dark haired woman with glasses.

Before I could approach Sunny, this little kid with cheddar cheese looking hair ran up to me.

“HEY! WE GOT A CUSTOMER!” The kid yelled at the top of her lungs. I backed away. My ears rang, although they were already ringing before I entered the restaurant, due to the cold.

“Shit! Shit!” I heard a squeaky voice respond. From the back, I noticed the sound of a door open, and then my eyes turned citrus: it was the same wavy green haired girl who I thought had died. She too saw me, and was taken aback as well.

“Uh? Can someone else take her order?” She looked around. “No? No one? Just me?”

She then looked up at me. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, though I was relieved, at the very least.

“Look, I…” She began as she shuffled her feet and looked down at the floor. “I’ve been avoiding the airport so I wouldn’t have to see you, ‘cause I, uh...feel bad about what I did. So yeah. Like, sorry, and stuff.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” I told her.

Once I said that, her expression changed from nervous to excitement as her eyes widened and her voice elevated.

“Really? Wow! Then I’ll be sure to come by again in the future! After all, I’m bound to nearly die again!”

“Maybe dial it back again?” I suggested with nervous laughter. “Besides that, I’d be happy to see you around.”

Would I? Yes, I said that, but was I just saying it to be nice? Not that I thought there was anything wrong with her, aside from tricking me and nearly getting herself killed, that is. Then again, I don’t know the whole story so I’d rather hold back judgment. Like I said, I’m just glad to see her alive. But does that translate to wanting to be friends with someone? Well, not that it was ever suggested. Maybe friendly, yes. As part of my job.

I was reminded of a poem I once wrote:

“One day I told a friend:

‘I don’t mind if you consider yourself unforgivable.’

Followed up by another statement,

‘I will remain beside you.’

But that was a daydream, a hypothetical situation.

Of a friend who didn’t exist.

Of one I wish I had so I could forgive.

Or, if I could be that friend, against all rationale

was forgiven.”

I remembered showing Dennys the poem when I wrote it and his reply was, “it’s a little on the nose, tbh.”

That response was something I would have expected from Kitten, being as blunt as she was, but Dennys was more known for smoking blunts, not being blunt. In turn, I grew defensive and went, “on the nose? Really? You’re saying I suck, then?”

“Nah,” he typed. “But come on. Obvs you feel bad for leaving home and being all alone, but you don’t wanna say it.”

“Then how should I be less ‘on the nose’?” I replied.

“Just be direct,” he responded with. I was puzzled, if I was being honest, but in my defiance, I was like, “fine. How’s this for direct?” And typed up a ‘poem’ on the spot:

“I’m restless.

I feel guilty about leaving things behind.

I’m anxious. I’m trans.

I don’t feel bad about saying it.

I’m uncomfortable in most situations.

That has more to do with anxiety than being trans.

I’m happy.

Also lonely.

I have trouble staying on a single topic.

Also I had an egg salad sandwich for breakfast.”

Then, I sent it to him. His response?

“Dang, that was the best thing you’ve ever written.”

“Fuck you,” I replied. Though I had to admit, I laughed.

“No, really. You should submit it, to, like, a waffle place. They’d probs pin it on their wall.”

“What. Does. That. What?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know. I just had this killer waffle burrito with pecans and maple syrup and it banged. Like, all the way.”

That was as much as I could remember of the conversation, which sucked, because there were probably more important things that were said right after that. Anyway, the first poem, more so than the second, reminded me of the little troublemaker waitress.

“Um? You alright there?” The girl asked me and I jumped.

“Yes, sorry. I spaced out.”

“Cool. So anyway, you gonna order anything?”

I thought it over. I was hungry, but I wasn’t sure what I would want to eat.

“For now, just some hot chocolate would be nice,” I told her.

“Cool, cool. I’ll go tell the manager,” she replied, then ran off into the kitchen.

The manager? Does she mean Ray?

“Hey! Cybele! Come sit down!” Sunny called to me. If she hadn’t, I might have stood in place for hours on end.

I walked over and sat next to Sunny, right across from the serious looking dark haired woman.

“Atta girl! Now sit on my lap!” Sunny patted her knees.

“No thank you,” I muttered. That was Sunny’s vibe: so energetic, so carefree and full of life. But sometimes, just a little too doting for comfort.

Everyone else gave off a different vibe, though they all seemed like they fit in just fine. Me, on the other hand, I knew I was going to be out of place from the moment I stepped in.

This isn’t my domain.

“So what brings you here, Cybele?” Sunny asked, though my focus turned to the person seated across from her. What kind of conversations were they having before I entered? Did I interrupt something? Something important?

“Oh, nothing really,” I replied. “There just haven’t been many people at the airport, so I figured I’d stop by.”

“Well, it’s good to see you!”

Then, the serious looking one extended her hand to me. I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Cybele. My name is Rae Morris. I’m an accountant.”

“Your hand is remarkably warm,” I remarked. I guess. Damn, how I regretted using the word ‘remarkably.’

“No. You’re mistaken. It’s quite cold, actually,” she let go.

“Oh yeah, huh. Maybe you’re right. I was just outside for a while so maybe my hands haven’t quite warmed up yet.”

“Indeed,” she smiled.

“So, an accountant, huh? What are you here for?” I hoped my questioning didn’t come off as rude. My intention was the opposite.

“Ray hired me to manage his finances.”

“Isn’t that usually the manager’s job?” I felt like I dug myself deeper, but to my surprise, she didn’t seem the least bit annoyed.

“The interim manager doesn’t know math,” she explained. That just left me with more questions.

“Interim manager? What happened to Ray?”

“Oh hun,” Sunny put her hand on my shoulder. I really wanted to ask her to let go. “Ray’s in the hospital right now. He had a bit of an injury.”

“Oh…” I didn’t know how to react. I felt my heart sink into my chest. “I hope he gets better.”

“He will! He’s recovering! He’ll be back in no time!” Sunny reassured me.

“Who’s the manager, then?” I asked, and before anyone else could answer me, the green haired girl came up to me and handed me a mug of hot cocoa.

“The manager said this one’s on the house,” she told me.

“Thanks, but, uh –”

“I’m the manager!” Out stormed the cheddar cheese haired girl.

I was taken aback. “This kid?” I pointed.

Sunny giggled. “Ray thought it would be funny to put Tigershark in charge.”

“Tigershark?”

“Me!” The manager slammed her palm into her chest and declared. “The tiger-est! The shark-est! The best chef in the world!”

Well, that sure was something. I took a sip of the hot cocoa and was blown away.

“Do I taste nutmeg? And cinnamon?”

“Yes!” She put her hands on her hips and grinned.

“It’s really good.”

“I’ll go tell the chef! Wait! That’s me!” Tigershark then began to laugh a bellyful as she walked away.

The waitress then turned to Rae.

“I’m still not used to seeing you around,” she sounded like she suspected Rae of something. “And I haven’t seen Remora in days.”

“But Demetria, that is Rem –” Sunny began before Rae interrupted her.

“That is remarkable, indeed, Sunny. While I have no idea where Demetria’s friend may be, I hope that you will see her again soon.”

So Demetria was the troublemaker. Got it. I was getting acclimated now, I could feel it.

“Still,” Rae continued. “It really is a shame what happened to Ray. I heard some bastard shot his hand over some dispute. Now, who would react in such a manner is beyond me, but people these days.”

“But wasn’t the one who shot him y –” Sunny replied, but was cut off once again by Rae.

“Yes, Yukon gold potatoes. That will really do a man in. They’re so delicious, I don’t think even I would be able to resist.”

Ray was shot by potatoes? Gee, just goes to show how little I know. Now that I think of it, Ray...Rae…

“You know, your name is really similar to –” And just like Sunny, I too was interrupted.

“Ray’s, yes. That’s probably why he hired me.”

Yeah, that did sound like Ray, all right. Then again, I was reminded of a couple years ago when Ray came up to me out of the blue. I was in the “office” hanging some model airplanes from the ceiling when Ray barged in.

“Cybele, you won’t believe this!”

Probably not, I thought. Considering it’s from you. But I’ll nod along.

“So some of the regulars at the diner have said that they’ve seen this person around who looks an awful lot like one Ms. Rhea Flection. Now, you’re probably wondering who this mysterious woman is –”

What am I doing right now? What could I be doing right now? Is listening to Ray an effective use of my time, were the thoughts running through my head as he rambled on about some mysterious lady that had nothing to do with me.

“– So even though it’s probably nothing, I have a good feeling about this. Imagine: me meeting a hired killer. What would the odds be, huh? Still, if by some miracle she did exist, think of how good she would be for my restaurant!”

Oh dear. This is jaundice all over again.

Maybe it was something to do with the location that made people all weird. First there was Mr. Chambers, then Ray. At least with Ray, it seemed like he had managed to settle down and I didn’t hear much more from him about this (probably fictional) lady.

“Actually,” I told Rae. “Now that I think of it, there was someone else with a similar name as you that Ray told me about.”

As I said that, I watched Rae clench her fists and grind her teeth. I thought that maybe I had struck a nerve, but then she smiled once more.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said, which sounded like a threat, though I would have rather seen it as a compliment.

“What? Really?” Demetria leaned in. “Yeah, I guess so. But Remora’s still cuter.”

“Demetria, Rae is –” Sunny was once again interrupted.

“Really wondering who this other person Ray told you about,” I watched as Rae’s eyes locked on mine.

“Oh, well, that,” I got all nervous. “I can’t really remember. I think she might have been native here?”

“Ah. Well, that explains it, then. I’m not from here.”

“You’re not?” I was surprised. She did look like someone who could have lived in Nuuk. Maybe it was the dark brown hair.

“I’m from Denmark. I’m just visiting. Hence why I can’t stop shivering here.”

That explained it. I should have realized.

“Hey!” Demetria leaned over and reached her hand out. “Are those my glasses?!”

Rae swiped Demetria’s hand away.

“Yes. But I didn’t steal them. I had Tigershark take them from your room.”

Demetria stood stunned. “It’s all coming together now…” She muttered. “You know, I would be jealous that you called Cybele cute, but after meeting Hera, I don’t even want to think about the word jealousy.”

“Hera?” Rae asked.

“Oh, you didn’t miss anything. She was just some assassin, apparently. She said I could be a janitor, which I guess is like an assassin, but –”

“No,” Rae wouldn’t let her finish. Which came as no surprise to me, given she did the same with Sunny. “I think you’re capable of better than that.”

“I dunno,” I spoke up. “I think custodians go underappreciated.”

“Yes, which is why I think she should find a place where her talents won’t go unnoticed,” Rae replied.

“That’s not the kind of janitors I’m talking about! And I only want to be noticed by you!” Demetria protested. Or argued. I wasn’t sure which, and if I tried to figure out which word was more appropriate, I might have missed a whole other conversation. Even if I had no stake in the whole thing, I figured any conversation they had would be far more interesting than anything I could bring to the table.

“I still can’t get over the fact that your hair isn’t red anymore,” Demetria added, or maybe a new conversation had started. I couldn’t tell which. I didn’t think that I missed anything, but at the same time, I didn’t notice any segue into that.

“Really?” Rae smiled. “But this is closer to my natural hair color and I figured it was time for a change. You know, before I dyed it red, my hair used to be blue.”

“Is that important?”

Good question, Demetria. Was there any significance in making such a comment? None that I could tell. So in my mind, it was just “much ado about hair color.”

“I don’t know. Sunny, do you think that’s important?”

Sunny gave a thumbs up. “It’s only important if you want it to be, dear!”

“Then no. It’s not important.”

“But what IS important is hugging Cybele! Because she’s so precious!”

Sunny then leaned over and wrapped her arms around my stomach with such a tight force. I just about jumped out of my seat and yelped in shock. Needless to say, I wasn’t prepared for something like that.

“Actually…” I spoke up. “I don’t like it when you pat my head or my shoulder or hug me without warning. It makes me uncomfortable,” the words forced their way out of me and I thought I was about to burst into tears.

Sunny let go and sat back up. She blinked and everyone else fell silent. I looked around the room.

“I’m sorry,” I tried to do damage control for myself. Even though I wasn’t quite sure what damage there even was.

“No, it’s okay,” Sunny smiled wide. “I had no idea, but now I know, so I’m sorry that I’ve made you uncomfortable! And we can do other comfortable things instead, right? Like go on a girls night out?”

“Don’t do it,” Demetria whispered my way. “She’ll take you to a volcano and try to sacrifice you there.”

I gulped. Was that true? No, that didn’t seem right.

“What about you, Demetria?” Sunny directed her attention away from me. Good. The less focus there was on me, the better.

“Not unless Remora comes along so I can impress her!”

“That’s between you and Remora,” Rae shook her head and smiled. “I’m Rae right now.”

Right now? I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but just hearing all four of them interact made me think of how quirky they all must have been. What fantastic lives they must have led. They really had that “main character” material. Even Rae.

But I on the other hand exhibited none of that.

There was that old saying, “everyone’s the main character of their own story,” but I never really saw myself that way. Whenever I thought about it, which I had ample time to do so, I couldn’t think of anything interesting about me. The closest thing might have been the interesting people who I met while daydreaming.

There was one day, several years back, when I lived in the city, and I had taken the subway train home. On one particular stop, an old lady got off and left behind a manila envelope. My instinct was to grab it, to try to run out and hand it to her, to tell her that she dropped it. But instead, I thought, “maybe she left it there on purpose? Maybe it has some secret documents that she wants people to find?” There was the possibility that if I were to open it, I would be thrust into a secret web full of conspiracy and espionage. I didn’t think I wanted that. So I ignored it and went home.

That was an odd memory to bring up, but it got me thinking about how often I was alone in that airport and if I really left any sort of impact on anyone.

“If I were to die, how long would it take someone to notice?” I blurted out. Without even thinking about it. Everyone else said nothing to that. Sunny had a worried expression, like maybe I was depressed or something, but I wasn’t. Rae responded:

“Not long. At first you think that no one really knows about you, right? But people start to notice after a while that you’re gone. So people begin to bring you up a lot more often in conversation, and everyone has all these little ideas about you. That said, if you wanted to go unnoticed, I don’t know what the best solution for that would be.”

Um. No. I didn’t expect such an answer. I didn’t even expect to say such a thing out loud.

“Sorry. I do want to be noticed. I just don’t really know where my head goes sometimes.”

That’s what I said, but I didn’t really like having the spotlight on me, either. Maybe there was a good way to describe being noticed without being noticed, but I didn’t know. All I knew is I kept making things uncomfortable for both me and everyone else.

I got up. It was too much to handle being there. Maybe I wasn’t in the right state to see others, and I had rushed it. “Thank you for the cocoa, and it was good to see you all. I’m going to head back now.”

Sunny got up behind me.

“Hey, it’s looking pretty bad out there. Wanna ride on my electric sled?”

That was a new one. I never knew she had one of those.

“Usually people have snowmobiles, but sure,” I let out a little laugh. “Why not?”

Well, I shrugged my shoulders and waved goodbye as Sunny brought out an electric sled and the two of us rode off. The whole trip back to the airport was a total rush. Maybe if nothing else, I could at least enjoy experiences like those.

#remoars full #writing #stories #autobiographical #cybele #flight attendant #fiction #slice of life #average #normal #creative writing

3 notes · View notes