#Risen Shadow/Fallen Sun au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junghelioseok · 4 years

Text

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

6K notes · View notes

sonoftatooine · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021

DAY 1: ‘ALL TRUSSED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO’ - BOUND

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Jabba the Hutt, Grand Inquisitor

Warnings: Slavery, implied assault, attempted mind reading (?)

Summary: AU - The Clone Wars started early, and Anakin was never found by the Jedi on Tatooine. Instead, he was sold to Jabba the Hutt after his success in the Boonta Eve Classic. Years later, the Empire has formed, and its Emperor has set his sights on Tatooine and the Force sensitive slave that has been discovered there.

***

"The mighty Jabba bids you welcome, Grand Inquisitor."

The voice of TC-70, translator droid to Jabba Desilijic Tiure, kadijic lord of Tatooine, sounded clear through the halls of the Hutt's palace amid the echoes of his master's booming chuckle as the pale, yellow-eyed alien that had introduced himself as the Grand Inquisitor, Master of the Inquisitorius of the Galactic Empire bowed his head before the slug's raised dais in a show of respect as false and as manufactured as Jabba's show of welcome. Animosity was thick in the air, so tangible that each and every one of Jabba's slaves could sense it like the crack of a whip across their backs. This too was known to Anakin Skywalker, in the way that things had always been known to him—inexplicably, instinctively, no matter how much another being may try to hide the truth of their feelings—as he knelt on the hard stone at the tip of his master's tail, held down by by the rough grip of two Gamorean guards on his shoulders. He paid it little mind—he doubted he could make the slug any angrier with him, and soon, his opinion would no longer matter. Instead, he tried to focus purely on sensation. Of the pain in his head from the blow he had been struck when he'd tried to run the night before. The taste of the dry, dusty cloth that had been forced into his mouth, and the burn of the rough robes that had been twined tight around his wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding from attempts to escape. Anything not to have to think about the Inquisitor. About why the Inquisitor was here. About what was going to happen next.

"The great Jabba wishes to ask how you found your journey from the Core," TC-70 said courteously. "He expresses concern over whether you faced any complications on your way here."

That, Anakin thought, a little woozily as the wound on his temple throbbed painfully, was a pretty way of translating Jabba's words, which were something closer towards "this Imperial scum had better have a good reason for making me wait" than any true concern towards his guest. But this was a man that, for once, Jabba could neither afford to deride nor intimidate. The Empire's power was reaching ever further into the Outer Rim—ever since it had risen from the ashes of the Republic several years ago, when Anakin was fourteen. Now it had turned its attention to Tatooine, and the continued non-interference with Hutt rule on the planet had a price.

That price, it seemed, was Anakin.

"No complications, Lord Jabba," the Inquisitor replied with a sharp smile, a glint in his eye that said he knew that the Hutt's word had been nowhere near as polite as the droid had made them appear. "But the work of the Empire rests for no one. I am not hear to exchange pleasantries. Shall we get down to business?"

Anakin felt the slug's anger in the back of his mind, but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he let out one of his rumbling, full-bodied laughs, and waved a small, stubby arm towards the place where Anakin was held restrained in a gesture that was almost a shrug.

"If you think I have any intention of allowing you to overstay your welcome, you are a fool as all Outlanders are," he sneered. "Take the little shag and get off my planet."

"Glorious Jabba," TC-70 translated, ever obsequious, "invites you to inspect your purchase."

The Inquisitor's yellow eyes turned slowly towards Anakin, like an anooba that had caught the scent of blood in the air. An overpowering sense of wrongness, of danger shot through him, worse than any he had ever felt before, and he reeled back, tugging against the grip of the two Gamorean guards that held him in place. Two pairs of hands clamped down on him with bruising force, and he was hauled roughly to his feet. The cry of protest that escaped his lips was muffled by the gag, and his bound hands flew up to his chest, desperately trying to shield himself as he was dragged in front of the Inquisitor and held there in an unrelenting grasp. He never stopped struggling—anything to get out of the reach of this man that felt dark and dangerous and whose strange eyes were fixed on him with an unwavering intensity that he could neither understand nor explain—but after the beating he had received last night, and the meal he had been denied that morning, he felt as weak as a newly hatched bonegnawer chick. Small and helpless, fallen from the nest. No one to protect him from the cruel mercies of the desert. Defeated, he slumped in the guards' grip, head lolling down to the floor.

"Look at me, boy," the Inquisitor hissed.

No. Anakin felt the command reverberate in his head, but he refused to obey it. He screwed his eyes shut and held himself stock still, head bowed.

"I said look at me."

The only warning he had was a sense of a strange malevolence filling the air before his head was caught in an intangible yet vice-like grip, like an invisible hand wrenching his chin up to stare into the man's face. Startled and alarmed, his eyes shot open wide, crying out beneath the gag. What—? What was—?

He froze, suddenly choking on a terror so absolute that it stole what little of his voice the cloth forced into his mouth had left him as the malevolence he had sensed surged to supercritical. It whirled around him, stinging raw at the edges of his mind like grit against exposed skin in a sandstorm. Then, it was pushing against his barriers, pushing deep into his head. Even further, into the depths of his heart, where his most precious secrets were kept, scrutinising relentlessly until the hall of the Hutt's palace seemed to melt away in shadows. He had to get away, had to get this man away from him, but he didn't know— He didn't know how—

Consumed by panic, he felt something in him push back. Push and push and push, burning out the darkness like the blazing heat of Tatooine's binary suns. Faintly, like a distant echo across the horizon of the Dune Sea, he heard a shocked yell and an angry roar. The darkness retreated, and he was dragged back into reality by the remorseless tug of a Gamorean fist in his hair. Another fist, he saw as his vision cleared, was poised to strike a blow across his face, but it was held back by the same invisible grip Anakin had been caught in not moments before.

"No." The Grand Inquisitor's voice cut through the tension in the air like a vibroblade. A gesture of one long-fingered hand, and the guard's arm dropped sharply to his side. "No, this is fascinating. Fascinating. Yes, he shall do very nicely indeed."

Even confused and disorientated as he was, not sure what had just been done to him, nor what he had done in turn, it did nothing to stop the wave of horrified nausea that threatened to overcome him at those words. The fear that had been festering in him ever since he had been hauled before Jabba's throne and informed that he had been sold to the karking Emperor of the Galaxy in exchange for the Hutt's undisturbed sovereignty on Tatooine had reached a fever pitch that was on the verge of burning him from the inside out—and anyone else who happened to be in range along with him. He had spent all his life being passed from master to master—from Gardulla, who had seen no use for him except as winnings to throw into a betting pool, to Watto, who had valued his talents but hadn't had the strength to keep him, and finally to Jabba, the champion podracer who had defeated Sebulba another addition to his collection of costly slaves that he surrounded himself with in lieu of rich jewels and lavish furnishings. But this master, this master who wanted him for reasons that were a mystery to him—reasons that he wasn't sure he would have understood even if he were told, who wanted him so much that he was prepared to part with a considerable sum of money and potential territory, however insignificant, on the Outer Rim in order to acquire him... At least he had known why Jabba had torn him away from his mother after he'd won the Boonta Eve Classic. This master, poised to tear him from his homeworld, was an unknown, and one that terrified him beyond anyone or anything he had ever encountered on Tatooine.

"What happened here?" Anakin flinched as he felt the fingertips of the Inquisitor's black-gloved hand brush lightly across his injured temple. He didn't want the man touching him. He didn't want him touching him. But the guard still held him by the hair and he couldn't—

"The boy is defiant," came Jabba's voice from behind him. Ha, defiant. The slug had always called him defiant. Maybe defiant enough that the Emperor wouldn't even want him and—"He tried to run. My guards were forced to subdue him."

The sound of TC-70 dutifully repeating the slug's words in that officious tone of his lit a spark in Anakin's chest that turned his fear into a blazing inferno. Rage and terror, remembered from the previous night, from his flight across the desert under a binary sunset, guided by the whispers on the wind that had led him through the worst of Tatooine's dangers ever since he was a child. Those whispers had been so insistent that he must not under any circumstances fall into his new master's hands that in his desperation to get away, he hadn't even cared that his transmitter chip was still in. He had known, instinctively, that Jabba wouldn't detonate it—not when he still needed him alive. But those whispers had failed him. The guards had caught up to him, knocked him unconscious when he'd tried to fight back, and dragged him, bound, back to the Hutt's palace to be thrown into a cell to await the arrival of the Emperor's representative the next day. The whispers hadn't saved him, just as they had never freed him from a single one of his masters. They had left him to his fate, and he could see no way out of it.

"Is that so?"

The Inquisitor's finger trailed down from his temple to his cheek. Again, Anakin tried—futilely—to jerk away. He would have bared his teeth if he could, but instead he made do with a hot glare and a faint growl behind the gag. Anger wasn't safe for a slave, but he doubted he would ever be safe again now, and anger made him feel far less small than fear.

"Such fury...," the Inquisitor murmured, with a soft chuckle that set Anakin's teeth on edge. He made no move to withdraw his hand from his cheek. "The Emperor will be most pleased."

Your Emperor can choke, Anakin snarled in his head, but he could fast feel himself spiralling back into terror. The Emperor, who had sent this man to fetch him, who would surely rule over his slaves as ruthlessly he ruled over the Galaxy. He wouldn't let him take him. He couldn't— But he was bound, injured, helpless, and the Inquisitor had already proven that he didn't need to lay a finger on him to restrain him.

There was nothing he could do.

"I wonder," Jabba scoffed derisively; though Anakin couldn't see his face, he could easily picture the expression that was on it - bulbous eyes narrowed to slits, "how your Emperor keeps control of the Galaxy if he finds disobedience so appealing in a slave."

Once again, TC-70's translation rang throughout the room. The Inquisitor smiled, sharp and cruel.

"Not disobedience, Lord Jabba."

His smile widened and his eyes, fixed on Anakin, glinted with a promise that chilled him to his core.

"Besides, disobedience can be curbed. Some traits, however... They are more valuable than you could possibly imagine, and I'm afraid those cannot be taught."

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #fandom #fic #slavery #implied assault #mind reading #star wars #star wars fic #star wars au #anakin skywalker #jabba the hutt #grand inquisitor #mine #my fic #sfw

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xiaomoxu · 3 years

Text

West Moon (坠月之宴) Chapter 2 Part.ONE

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

A story from CN server which hasn’t been released in EN server. Contains detailed spoiler from the AU (Alternated Universe) - 坠月之宴 West Moon Story.

Read the previous chapter here

There’s some sub-chapter which full of battle stage so I didn’t put it here.

Stories under the cut-

Chapter 2-1

You are my only dream.

The wind passed through the bamboo forest that day,

I passed by a good dream.

Want to hear the sound

But he strayed into a scene in spring.

It broke the black city.

This time,

Who disturbed whom?

The jade chess piece fell on the chessboard with a crisp sound and broke the silence around.

I opened my eyes in the mist, and the sky light had dimly lit up for unknown time.

The morning breeze brushed over the bamboo leaves, blowing away the mist, and the green lake in the distance also had its starting point ripples.

The stone tables and benches are still the same, but the pavilions surrounded by bamboo shadows make me feel a bit strange.

MC: Strange. Where am I?

At the last moment of my memory, obviously still staying in the backyard of the wine shop.

I propped up and looked down at the table that had just fallen. The magic qin that was originally placed on the stone table was gone, only a criss-cross chessboard.

On the chessboard, black and white pieces are clearly distinguished, and white pieces are surrounded by black pieces.

There was no smell of demons around, I faintly breathed a sigh of relief, and began to wonder if I was in a dream.

The situation in this dream seems to be familiar, as if I have seen it many times in the past.

During the three years of deep sleep, my consciousness has been trapped in long dreams for some reason. The blurry and chaotic dreams are like fragments of colored glaze, which cannot be put together into a complete picture.

Sometimes I traveled in the wilderness, sometimes in the purgatory, every dream, whether absurd or cruel, is a long torment.

But occasionally there will be moments when the breeze comes, like this pavilion.

MC: Will I see that person again this time?

Inexplicably, I have a kind of expectation in my heart that I can't express

There was no one around, so I picked up the white piece on the side of the chessboard and placed it according to the memory in my dream.

The person who played against me doesn't know where it came from

In my dream, the five senses are not working at all times. I don't remember his appearance very much, but I still remember a little voice.

Dreamer: You messed up like this

His voice seemed to sound in my ears again, and I was slightly lost. The chess piece between my fingers had just landed on a corner of the chessboard, and a gust of breeze suddenly passed over the bamboo forest behind me.

??: If you play in such a mess, you will ruin the game.

A gentle voice rang in the ear, as if overlapping with the voice in the memory.

I turned around subconsciously, but a pair of hands came from behind and surrounded me.

The wide sleeves engraved overturned the chess game in front of him, and the black and white chess pieces rolled to the ground, making a jade-like sound.

The temperature that was about to fit behind my back came through the thin clothes. I was shocked, suppressing the exclamation from my mouth.

MC: ... It's you.

With a chuckle in my ear, the temperature that surrounded me left.

Mysterious Man: We meet again.

There is a faint smile on the corners of his lips, and his gradually clear face gradually overlaps with the figure in the dream

MC: It's you who helped me repel those monsters. Who are you?

I squeezed my sleeves tightly and looked calmly at the person sitting opposite.

He didn't explain, letting his sleeves skimmed over the messy chess pieces on the table, he twisted a black piece casually.

Although the hidden energy in his body is strange, but he has no devilish energy in his body, and he does not look like a bad person...

But maybe because of the little bit of familiarity, or maybe because he saved me once, I didn't feel nervous.

MC: Sorry, I didn't mean to play this game of chess...

Mysterious Man: How can you conclude that this game of chess is mine just because I am here?

I was choked by his words, turned around and had to ask again.

MC: Where exactly is this?

Mysterious Man: Don't you know it?

He did not directly affirm my guess, but I still feel that he seems to be suggesting something.

MC: Why... you appear in my dream?

Mysterious Man: How do you know this is your dream, maybe you broke into my dream?

I froze for a moment, and met his dim eyes.

Those eyes were like cold pools with no bottom, but just a moment of looking at each other gave me a suffocating feeling of oppression.

But he casually continued to play with the chess pieces.

Mysterious Man: Or, the owner of the dream is not you and me.

Hearing what he said, I seemed to really feel the prying eyes in the dark.

"Shooㅡ"

The abrupt sound made my whole body tremble, and I turned back abruptly, but only a bamboo leaf fell to the ground.

I breathed a sigh of relief. A thin layer of sweat had formed on my back, but the uncomfortable feeling had not disappeared.

MC: When will this dream end?

I desperately wanted to leave the dream, but the only insider hid the chess pieces and placed them on the messy chessboard.

Mysterious Man: Can you play chess?

MC: .... I understand a little.

He looked up at me with a smile but didn't reveal my clumsy chess skills.

Mysterious Man: There is a way of talking in chess called "raid".

Mysterious Man: Once the catastrophe occurs, the two sides will be trapped in a cycle of incomprehension. Therefore, after the raid, one party can pick up one son, and the other must make another move before the raid can be resolved.

Although I don't know how to play chess, I know a little about these terms, but I don't know why he mentioned this.

Mysterious Man: The catastrophe in this game is you.

I heard it inexplicably, but it seemed that I knew what he was talking about, and looked at him more defensively.

MC: When you will tell me your identity?

He did not answer, playing with the last sunspot on his fingertips. When I looked down, I realized that the previous game had been restored by him, but my white piece was missing.

Mysterious Man: This game of chess cannot be returned.

He sighed softly and threw the black stone between his fingers to the chessboard.

With a light "break" in, something was pierced.

Like a calm lake being broken by flying stones, the ripples in front of my eyes are like dissolving ink and still water.

I can't see his appearance, only the figure blurred by the waves seems to be reflected on the other side of the water.

Mysterious Man: We will meet again soon. By then, you will know who am I.

His voice gradually dissipated, and the cyan layers in front of me faded away. I woke up like a dream. I shook my dizzy head and found that the person before me was gone.

And there was no such splendid bamboo forest and water pool around. Fortunately, I was in the courtyard of the wine shop, and the magic qin was quietly placed on the stone table.

The sun in the sky has just risen, and from time to time we hear the singing of birds and the shouts of the morning vendors in the deep alleys in the distance.

MC: Was it a dream just now?

I rubbed my swollen temples, still echoing what the man said.

What he meant by the robbery in the game...what exactly did he mean?

Before I could think of a reason, a small shouting came from behind me.

When I turned around, the lady boss was looking at me in surprise.

Boss lady: MC, why are you here early in the morning?

Boss lady: ...Did you sit here all night?

Suddenly seeing a real figure appear in front of my eyes, I couldn't help but lose consciousness for a moment, and the lady boss suddenly saw that something was wrong with me.

Boss lady: What happened?

MC: Nothing, I was a little tired recently and fell asleep accidentally.

I shook my head, afraid that she was worried, so I concealed the bizarre dream.

Boss lady: The weather hasn't warmed up yet, what should I do if you catch a cold? Go back to your room and freshen up!

My mind gradually returned to clarity, and I nodded to her.

Whether it is this mysterious dream, fragments, or maybe the puzzles in the magic qin. For me now, they are hard to solve.

I took the magic qin back to the room and locked it, changed my clothes and planned to find the master.

After all, now only the master can tell me how to take out the fragments.

Chapter 2-2

When I walked out of Three Dreams Square, the sky was already bright.

The street is bustling today, and the crowds are rushing in the same direction.

The golden sun shines over the glazed dome on the palace building. The water fell on the tall white platform standing in the far north of the city.

That is the tallest and most sacred building here.

My heart was slightly still, and then I realized that today is the day of sacrifice for the West Moon.

My steps uncontrollably followed the flow of people to the pure white platform, but an indescribable complex emotion surged in my heart.

The worship of West Moon Kingdom has always been presided over by the master. And I will also stand on that high platform during the annual ceremony.

Suddenly, there was a burst of exclamation and noise from the crowd. At the same time, the vigorous bell rang from the northernmost end and awakened the entire city.

Commoners: It's an envoy of God!

My heart jumped suddenly and I raised my head. As expected, there was a man in profound clothes standing on the towering hidden spirit platform.

It's Master!

The lingering sound of the bell dissipated, and everyone's voices fell silent, except for the hunting sound of the dark blue curtain being blown by the wind.

First, the hundred officials, and then all the people at the banquet bowed down and worshiped, toward the direction.

That tall, sacred and inviolable figure is the only person who can communicate with God in this world, and it is also the belief of West Moon Kingdom.

It is the gods who have guarded this country for hundreds of years since the establishment of this country

I looked at the master's back, and my heart shook slightly.

Master... was also the one who saved my life.

The sacrificial ceremony ended in a solemn sound of bells and drums. Seeing the master's figure leave from the high platform, I wrapped my cloak, passed through the crowd, and continued to the hidden spirit platform.

There was a commotion behind him, and there was a rush of horse hooves galloping in this direction.

Passersby: Hey, girl! Be carefulㅡ

I didn't have time to get back to my senses, and there was a scream of horses behind me, and the sound of horses hooves close at hand, as if it was about to hit me in the next second!

I quickly flashed aside, and the tall horse passed me by, and the turbulent wind almost turned the cap on my head.

In a hurry, I had to saw the teenager on the horse.

The teenager who rides by has a handsome face, and his long hair is also raised high, with a strange color in the daylight.

MC: Why is he?!

I was shocked, I quickly held down the veil, turned and flashed into the dark alley, fearing that the little magic star would notice.

Passersby: The second prince is out of the palace again?

This person has always been arrogant. A few years ago, His Majesty controlled him strictly and would not let him out of the palace easily. How can he let him go on the streets now?

Teenager: What's going on today? I will definitely teach you a lesson when I go back!

The sound of horse hooves finally stopped. I hid behind the crowd and heard the familiar voice sternly scolding the restrained horse, but his tone soon softened again.

Teenager: Don't be afraid, I won't use you to make horse meat hot pot.

MC: This person, as expected, is still the same...

The officers and soldiers in the distance had already rushed over, and I quickly lowered the brim of my hat and flashed into the market with my back facing them.

I don't know how long this worry about being discovered will last.

Fortunately, the sacrifice was still going on, there was no one around, and I came to Master's residence with little effort.

Haven't seen it for three years, the layout here is still the same as I remember.

Except for the necessary living utensils, there is nothing else, spotless, still cold and not like the place where people live.

I lifted my foot and walked in.

The warm sunlight flooded into the room through the window, and a new set of clothes was placed in a tray on the table, neatly folded.

I'm not familiar with the patterns on this dress. There was nostalgia in my heart, and I subconsciously stretched out my hand to touch it.

This is the uniform of the Miko. It is also the clothes I used to wear once a year.

In the past three years, I was in a long dream, and the rituals of the hidden secret was forced to shelve for three years.

There are not a few months left before this year's ceremony for the secret ceremony, is there already a new selection of Miko in the middle of the kingdom?

At this moment, there was a muffled noise from the back of the temple, and the ground shook.

My heart shuddered, and I recognized that the abrupt sound came from the backyard.

The backyard has always been a forbidden place for the master, and the master is still presiding over the sacrifice. Who would be there?

Listening to the movement, I had a bad feeling for some reason. Although it is a forbidden area, I haven't broken into it before.

Thinking like this, I stood up and walked towards the door to the backyard

Suddenly there was a door opening behind me, and there was a scream in my heart.

MC: Master is back!

Fortunately, the Master hadn't entered the room yet, so I went back to the room and picked up a book, pretending to look through it.

The familiar sound of footsteps gradually approached, and I lowered the book I opened and couldn't help but go to the door.

It might have been expected that there would be someone in the house, and the master had not even entered the door, and a cold voice had already come in.

Master: You are not allowed to come in without my consent next time.

Chapter 2-3

My heart sank, Master was not so indifferent to me in the past.

The door opened with a "creak", and the master stepped in at the answer, and I quickly raised a smile.

MC: Master, you're back!

Master: Why are you here?

Master seemed a little surprised when he came in and saw me. His previous clothes had been changed, and the sense of distance that he could not reach seemed to fade with it.

MC: There are some things to ask Master for help.

He was startled, and nodded faintly.

MC: Master, I seemed to hear noises in the forbidden area just now, and I don't know if someone broke into it by mistake.

Master sat down opposite me, as if he didn't hear my reminder, and asked directly.

Master: What’s wrong?

MC: .....It's not a very important thing either.

I took a deep breath and started telling stories directly.

MC: Yesterday, when I was in the back of the wine shop, a qin suddenly fell from the sky.

Anyway, no matter what excuses, Master would not believe it. I simply let go of my courage.

MC: Who knew there was a hidden crystal fragment in this qin, It may also be that the hidden crystal fragments in my body have the power to summon.

MC: So I want to ask Master how to take out the fragments.

Master listened to my clumsy lie without saying a word, and there was no wave on his face.

MC: If you don't find the pieces quickly...

I paused and swallowed back the words.

Master: Wait for me here.

The master retracted his hand and walked towards the hall. I looked at his back in a daze.

These three years are just a long dream for me, but for Master, what three years are they?

Soon, Master took out an exquisite and simple black box.

Master: Take this with you and don't lose it.

MC: What is this?

I took the palm-sized black box from him, it heavier than I thought, and there's chilly sensation, as if some kind of energy was attached to it.

Master: This is the box of retreat, which can help you recover the fragments attached to their media.

Master: But before taking it back, the body attached to the fragments must be annihilated.

He motioned to me to open the box. I opened the lid of the box curiously, but found that there was nothing in the box.

I just wanted to ask, suddenly a chill spread across my body, and the spar on my chest actually resonated faintly.

Master: Feel it?

MC: Yes... I feel it.

I nodded, only feeling that my heart was filled with this strange yet familiar energy in the box.

This energy is indeed as sacred and clean as the master, but for some reason, I somehow remembered the power that I felt in Three Dreams Square last night.

That kind of pure and evil power.

Master: What's wrong?

As if he saw me distracted, and frowned slightly. His voice brought me back to my sense.

MC: Nothing, thank you Master.

In any case, Master will never harm me.

Having figured this out, I immediately put aside the worries I had just now.

Master glanced at me, and was about to ask something, suddenly there was a knock on the door.

The visitor was the emperor's attendant, and he was asking Master to go to the palace to discuss matters. Master responded and looked at me again when he got up.

Master: Be careful.

MC: Thank you Master, Master, take care.

Seeing the corner of the black robe disappear behind the door, I carefully put the box of retreat into my arms. I looked around, the voice I heard before was still suspicious

At this glance, I noticed that there were still a few brightly colored red spirit fruits on the table, which seemed to have just been picked off.

I couldn't help but murmur in my heart: Does master like this kind of fruit so much?

I thought about it, grabbed a piece of fruit on the table, and ate it as I went outside, when I suddenly heard a strange noise in the courtyard.

MC: Who?!

I stopped and looked around warily.

I don’t know if it’s my illusion. From the moment I enter the door, I feel like I have a pair of invisible eyes watching in secret.

While I was fully alert, a civet cat suddenly got out of the bushes and shook all the blades of grass.

Those black eyes looked at me, and then ran away quickly.I was relieved, speeded up and walked out.

After walking far away, my heart choked suddenly. Master's courtyard has always been a place where all the beasts are kept away. How come there are civet cats?

I looked back at the ebony gate in the distance. The stone lion head is majestic, but I suddenly feel a little ominous.

Is something wrong with the master?

When hesitating where to go next. Suddenly something was faintly hot in sleeve.

I took out and looked, and found that it was the black feather that fell from the boy in the dark alley yesterday.

The black feather was faintly glowing and deflected in my palm. I moved my palm, and it moved with it.

This is... pointing a direction?

My heart moved, and there was a subtle curiosity that the young man was calling me, or just my intuition?

For some reason, I always feel that the boy who held a sharp knife yesterday will not hurt me. And I even have an urge to see him again.

I thought for a moment and walked in the direction that black feather pointed out.

Chapter 2-5

Following the direction guided by it, I gradually heard the noisy voices not far away.

This strange feather did not lead me to the remote and deep alley as I thought.

MC: Could it be that I was thinking wrong?

Not far away, the people watching the crowds in the city square went inside and outside for several times. I lowered my head and dialed the black potassium in my hand, but it slowly turned back to this direction.

MC: Okay, just let me see what you want to lead me into.

From time to time there was exclamation and applause from the crowd. I stood on tiptoe and looked around for a long time, only to see a golden hair top in the distance.

Looking at this posture, it seems that some strangers are performing some novel tricks.

The city have always been a place where foreign business travelers gather. Ordinary tricks have long been popular. Why is it so lively today?

MC: Excuse me.

I squeezed into the crowd and saw a round table in the open space, there's stood a light blond boy.

His facial features are a bit unreal and delicate, and his friendly and clear smile has narrowed the distance again. No wonder the business is so prosperous.

At this moment, he turned his head to the side of my sight in the crowd.

MC: It's you?!

This boy is clearly the assassin I ran into in the alley that night!

My exclamation stuck in my throat. The boy's eyes seemed to stop on me for a short time, and a trace of surprise flashed in his eyes, and he continued to look away from the crowd.

I confirmed that I didn't mistake the look in his eyes. But is this hearty blond boy really the same person as the silver-haired assassin who raised his sword?

If only the looks are similar, why would that black feather guide me here?

I subconsciously pulled the curtain down, intending to observe again.

The blond boy fetched an empty bowl and quivered back and forth. A stream of clear water poured out of the bowl.

The crowd suddenly cheered, and his fingers tapped the side of the bowl flexibly, and smiled as he spread the water around him like a flower.

I was caught off guard, so I had to lift the half-wet gauze on my hat.

At this time, someone screamed again, and I ignored the water droplets. I was surprised to see a red koi suddenly jump out of the bowl held by the young man.

There is a row of small fish tanks under his feet. As he rotates, the red and gold fish jump into the tank one by one from a high place, splashing clear water.

But the scene did not last. Sudden shouts rang from behind the crowd, interrupting the boy's performance.

I turned my head and looked like everyone else, and saw that the city guards appeared.

Guards: Today, the whole city is under martial law, no one can stay here!

Passerby: Why did the martial law suddenly come?

Passerby: I heard that the second prince was stabbed at the city gate just now, and I don't know if it was because of this...

I hadn't heard it really, the people watching the excitement were quickly scattered, and those who were slow were pushed a few times.

These brave guards do not seem to maintain order, but rather come to add chaos.

I wiped the drops of water on my face, pulled the veil down again, and quickly entered the crowd.

Guards: The one in the hat, stop! Take off the hat!

My heart sank suddenly, pretending not to hear, bowed my head and walked forward quickly.

Guards: I'm talking to you! The one in front, stop for me!

The officers and soldiers behind we shouted, and the curious eyes all around fell on me.

Oh no!

The situation is critical now, and I cannot expose myself in any case.

There was a burst of brisk laughter behind.

The conjurer put down the water bottle, jumped lightly from the stage, and stopped between me and the guards.

MC: ...Get out of here!

I lowered my voice, my anxious heart couldn't hold back and was about to pop out

He bends down deafly, picked up a small white porcelain fish tank, and put it in my hand without any explanation.

I stared blankly at the fish tank in my hand, a small red and white fish swimming slowly in the water.

Mysterious Boy: For you.

He blinked, and before I could reply, he turned to face the guards.

Mysterious Boy: All the adults also join the show, how about my newly learned trick?

Guards: Get out of the way and don't hinder official duties!

The boy was not angry, but smiled and reached into his arms to get something, but after a while he took out a handful of soybeans.

The guards were about to get angry. The corners of the young man’s lips were raised, and his hands were held together. The soybeans thrown high into the sky turned into yellow coins.

Passersby: It's money now! Pick up the money!

People scrambled to pick up the copper coins scattered on the ground, and the streets that had just been evacuated were instantly blocked.

Guards: Hey, don't run!

He grab my hand and ran forward. Seeing that my hood was about to be blown away by the wind, he quickly reached out and pressed my head.

MC: Youㅡ

Guards: Find me that guy!

In a hidden alley, facing this familiar face, I didn't know what to say for a while.

MC: You, you run too fast.

Mysterious Boy: I will lead them away first, and you will wait for me somewhere else.

MC: Somewhere else?

He pointed to the back, and a large tree was far from behind the high wall that was twisted and looped.

MC: You mean, we will meet there later

Before I got a confirmed answer, I was pushed out by him and involuntarily rejoined the crowd.

And he slid in the direction he had come, but turned his head halfway, as if confirming, and glanced at me from a distance.

The guards saw him as the most conspicuous in the crowd at a glance immediately shouted and rushed over.

The young man shook his hand in the air, a burst of golden smoke suddenly exploded in the air, and the lazy smile on his lips was so beautiful and dazzling.

My hand was empty and I lowered my head. The little goldfish disappeared along with the fish tank.

Without thinking about it, I tightened my veil and hurried to the place he said before.

There was no one in the depths of the alley, only an old tree.

There are still some dirty child footprints and messy feathers scattered under the trees.

MC: Strange, has anyone else been here?

With many doubts, I hesitated for a moment, but decided to wait for him.

I don't know if it's because he just offered to help, or the lingering sense of familiarity that always lingers in my heart.

But how could he and the assassin I met in the dark alley be the same person?

There was a sound of footsteps in the quiet alley. I turned around and held my breath nervously.

MC: Youㅡ

However, it was not the boy who appeared in front of me, but a few tall men in black. The leader saw my face and sneered.

Man in black: Finally found it.

I took two steps back quickly. I didn't know where these people came from, but I felt the strong murderous aura in them.

MC: Wait a minute! Did you admit the wrong person?

The man in black didn't listen to my excuse. He raised his hand to his companion behind him, and showed a dark color around his waist without warning.

MC: A Talisman? Are you a Master?!

The black-clothed man's eyes dimmed suddenly, and I realized that I shouldn't be so reckless. He knew that I had discovered his identity and would only want to kill me even more.

MC: We.... Let's talk first, in fact, I am also a master of the hermit, and I just joined yesterday. Everyone is a colleague...

Man in black: Stop talking nonsense, come on!

–

Read Part.TWO here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc west moon #west moon #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translation #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro

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scriptaed · 4 years

Text

bygones of the sun. 06 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 6.7k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

“You’re going out on another date with him tonight?!”

Junghwa’s louder than necessary exasperation renders you speechless. You shoot her a death glare, jaw slacking open to mirror her own gaping mouth; while she gapes at you for your recent absence from your weekly movie nights only to reappear with news of the boy you had been bad-mouthing just a few weeks ago, you glare at her in utter shock over her plans to announce your relations with the infamous player, Jung Hoseok, to the entire class―half of whom you don’t even know. In a panic to cover her tendency to spill even more, both you and Hani turn to hush her while the rest of the class remains unusually―albeit not surprisingly, for nearly everyone is on the brink of failing―fixated on your professor.

“How much louder can you yell?” you hiss, ignoring the pout adorning her lips as she reclines into her seat. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of class?”

“No…” she mumbles and crosses her arms. “But I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about all… this. You and Hoseok, I mean.”

The truth in Junghwa’s remark strikes you to your core. She’s right. It’s been two weeks since you had last spent your Friday nights with your two best friends. After Hoseok had barged into your house to nurse you back to health, your cold had quickly dissipated and that only encouraged Hoseok to take you out even more often to share his favorite pastimes, consequently taking time away from your friends. And you should’ve told them about your recent meetups with Hoseok and why you had to skip out on several movie nights with them for the sake of preventing your friend or pretend boyfriend―you aren’t even sure what to call him―from confronting your friends when he intrudes your house without prior warning, but you knew the day those two opposing worlds clash is the day all hell sets loose.

You wouldn’t even know what to do with Hoseok if your friends were to disapprove of him; it’s not that you don’t want to distance yourself from him, but the more you consider the benefits of your bet, the more you try to convince yourself to take this one last chance to move on from your unresolved crush on the ex-dance captain… or at least that’s what you tell yourself, because the more days that pass by, the fonder you become of the current Hoseok. It’s not that you like him—no, it can’t be that, but there’s something about him that pulls you in, that intrigues you, especially now that you suspect him of remembering exactly who you are.

And while you treasure your friendship over whatever your relations with Hoseok are, you loathe the idea of choosing one over the other.

Hani notices the fallen expression of yours as you slump into your chair in deep thought before interjecting herself, “Junghwa… I’m sure Y/N has a reason for not telling us earlier. Plus, we’re still holding our usual movie nights―just on Thursdays. She hasn’t forgotten about us, right Y/N?”

“Huh,” you utter in response, brows raising at Hani’s watchful gaze, “oh, yeah, for sure. I’d never just toss you guys away like that. I just… I need a few more weeks to figure this all out.”

Figure out whether her remembers exactly who you are in the first place.

“Okay, fine. But what exactly are you figuring out?” Junghwa inquires, leaning in with her head propped in her cupped hands. “I just don’t get it. You despise Hoseok, don't you? You were just complaining to us about how much he's changed! So why are you still hanging out with him? Are you guys even dating?”

Your eyes stay glued to your lap where your hands fidget with the hem of your―or rather, his―sweater, her question echoing your very own which stirs you awake at night. “...no.”

“Usually I’d advise you to ignore Junghwa, but she actually makes a good point,” Hani glances between the two of you and tilts her head in confusion. “You don’t actually like him, do you? Or at least... not who he is now?”

“No, I don’t,” you don’t hesitate to say, eyes glued to your fiddling thumbs when you recall how someone so sweet and dedicated could become the cocky player you know now. It irritates you how quickly and profusely Hoseok would shun his previous reputation as the dance captain, but the one thing that irks you even more is how he had suggested the bet so eagerly―as if he was confident you’d twirl right into the palm of his hands like countless girls had done before. “I’m not that naive.”

“Okay, good,” Junghwa huffs, slumping into her chair and mumbling, “I don’t want to beat up any more boys unless I have to.”

You snort, “you don’t have to beat up any boy.”

“No,” she blurts, bolting to sit upright, “I have to if they hurt my best friend.”

“Aw, I guess our Junghwa really can be sweet sometimes,” you sarcastically quip, eliciting a scoff from Junghwa and a giggle from Hani. Hearing your friends’ abundant support always assured you in times when you doubted yourself, and it warms your heart to know if you really did end up broken hearted by this eerily charming bad boy―something which you tell yourself otherwise every night recently―your friends would still be one step behind to catch you when you fall. Amidst your conversation, every student in the class begins shuffling papers and shoving binders into their bags not even a split second after the professor’s dismissal. Following with the crowd, you begin packing with a reassured smile adorning your lips, “alright, thank you then. I’ll try to keep your warning in mind.”

Slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you grab your cup of coffee for the evening and wave the pouting, puppy-eyed Junghwa goodbye, snickering at her overly concerned expression when Hani calls out to you, “be careful! Don’t blindly believe everything he says!”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh at Hani’s remark, slowly backing away from the cinched brows and frowns plastered all over your friends’ faces.

“You really don’t have to do this. There are plenty of boys out there, Y/N! Just call me and I’ll hook you up in no time, mm?” Hani desperately consoles you last minute.

“You sound like I’m heading off to war or something. And I’m not doing this because I’m a desperate woman,” you snort, scoffing until you wrap your head around the true reason why you’re so allured by this bet of yours with Hoseok. Why are you so entitled to winning this bet? Because you believe in yourself? Because you truly believe there’s no possible way for you to fall for the changed boy you had once been smitten, and consequently crestfallen, over? Why are you so enticed by this bet? Seeing how your two friends raise a brow at you, patiently waiting for the second half of your sentence, or at least an explanation as to why you’re doing this in the first place, you part your lips and utter much softer than you expected, “...I’m doing it because I want to tie up loose ends and finally get over him.”

Junghwa and Hani glance at each other, lips down-turned when they silently decipher whatever you had just uttered before the latter looks up to give you a nod and a warm smile, “alright, just don’t confuse your feelings for the past him with the current him.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “psh, feelings for him? I didn’t even like him that much. I just said he was really cute and sweet… that’s all―”

―you pause when you notice Hani and Junghwa’s deadpanned expressions, brows raised and eyes completely wary of your lies.

“Okay, maybe I did,” you mumble, clutching onto your cup as you avert your head to the empty side of the classroom. “But… I’m over that… or at least almost over that. It’s been a year now. I’m not stupid enough to be all hung up over some guy in my past. He’s changed, and so have I. I just need some closure, that’s it―”

―your phone interjects you with a buzz from the back pocket of your jeans.

Your friends snort at what they claim to be your never ending excuses―something that you have been apparently spewing since they had discovered your crush on the dance captain last year. Biting down on your lips to stop you from defending yourself from such accusations, and thus, furthermore proving their argument, you reach into your pocket to take a quick glimpse at your brightly lit phone screen.

Speak of the devil; just seeing his name on your phone screen renders the skip of your heart.

Hoseok, my beloved [7:35 PM] You haven’t forgotten about our date tonight, have you?

Hoseok, my beloved [7:36 PM] Knowing you, you probably have. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be over in fifteen.

Hoseok, my beloved. Scoffing, you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly he had sneakily changed his contact name on your phone the night he had brought you porridge and discovered said atrocity; and despite the twitch in your hands that itched to playfully, albeit purposely, smack him in the arm like you had gotten used to in the past week, anyone would be a fool not to notice the smile creeping its way onto your lips while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. It’s been awhile since you had felt like this―a year, in that very dance studio, to be precise.

“What what what?” Hani blurts out, her worries overflowing as they tumble from her lips. “Who is it? Is it that damn player again?”

“Alright, I have to go,” you chuckle, whirling around to skip towards the classroom door, “I’ll see you later!”

“Hey!” Junghwa yells after you. “Remember, don’t fall for him or you’re losing the bet and you’ll never find out why he quit!”

Laughing to yourself and figuring the main intent behind Junghwa’s remark is linked with her wariness regarding Hoseok, you wave your hands without a glance back over your shoulders.

“I won’t fall for him, don’t worry,” you chortle before muttering to yourself and shaking your head, “...at least not for who he is now.”

Usually, you’d let bygones be bygones, but when you’re dealing with boys like him, boys like Jung Hoseok, you know even the smallest of details can end up in the worst heartbreaks possible. This is the boy whom had supposedly used you for his own advances on his unreciprocated crush on Keiko. This isn’t the boy you had once fallen for. You just have to remind yourself of that every so often, and you won’t have to worry over falling for that deceiving, albeit nearly identical, mask of his bygones.

In fifteen, he said.

Rolling onto your right side, you pull the collar of his hoodie over your lips as you lie in bed and pull out your phone.

8:15 PM―he’s nearly half an hour late; he's the one intruding your private time and inviting himself over to your house more than once, and he dares to make you wait this long? And why does each passing second elicit such an impatient groan from you, each tick of the clock tugging at your heart, when you supposedly don't even want him here? So why are you still wrapped up in your blankets, face buried and body enveloped in his sweater, and consciously waiting for him to march through your front door like he always does?

A buzz comes rippling through the bed, your head pressed against the vibrating mattress, and you nearly fall to the ground when you scramble to your side to grab your phone, expecting a certain someone's name only to be disappointed once again.

Jung Hoseok just posted a photo for the first time in a while.

jung_hoesuck: night vibes.

Your jaw drops when the notification pops onto your screen only to slack open even wider when your thumb instinctively taps the appalling update; and surely, there he is, dressed up in skinny black jeans, belt half done, white muscle top peeking underneath a black bomber, and what appears to be a lighter colored snapback and sneakers underneath the black and white filter. A scoff leaves your lips as your hands grip your phone tighter than ever and your eyes nearly bore into the screen itself for staring at the photo with such intensity.

First, he invites himself over to your house without any reasonable prior notice, and now, he’s taking his time to update his social media when you rushed over here, delayed your night out with the girls, and waited for his more than late arrival. But as much as you’d like to slander Hoseok and his update appearance on his long abandoned social media, you can’t help but find the signature smug look of his half smirk as he bites his bottom lip, glimpsing dimly into his phone screen which captures him in the mirror from head to toe, more than enticing. You mentally slap yourself and begin mumbling words of disatisfaction when you catch yourself checking him out through the post he had leisurely taken at the expense of his delayed arrival and your bated breath.

God, the boy may have mouth-watering looks and fawn worthy charms, but your dedication to remind yourself of the truth remains unwavered. You repeatedly remind yourself: that’s all he has going for him. While the past him was humble, admirable, and charming in his own ways as the sweetheart of the school, the pull of your heartstrings between now and then differs. You don’t feel the least bit attracted to Hoseok, you tell yourself, and even if you do, it’s all based upon lust and a desire to find the boy from within.

Sooner or later, you find yourself scrolling through his page. It wasn’t until tonight’s notification―which you’re more than relieved popped up before Hoseok arrives, if he arrives, that is―that you recall having followed his public account back a year ago when you felt obliged to check in every once or so often to keep your promise to yourself and admire the dance captain from afar, afraid to dive in head first with the mess of your insecurities regarding the all so perfect Keiko.

But ever since then, you’ve forgotten how drastically he’s changed, all which is reflected his scroll of pictures. While most of his current theme retains a sense of mystery, black and dark with descriptions as vague and brief as possible, his past page would be filled with pictures of the dance studio, worn out sneakers, new and sheepish members whom you’re sure was only there for the boy standing in between the two, and lengthy paragraphs to express his thanks for those who supported him in the most recent dance showcase. But now, all of that has changed. You find yourself staring at the end of his page, crestfallen as your stomach drops when you notice he had deleted every single picture since his days in the club―no behind the scenes, no smiles, no gym bag, no nothing. Everything had changed including his atrocious username, and even if you wanted to revisit the old days as an escape from the current troublemaker, you can’t. And the very fact that the boy you’re in search for is completely wiped off seemingly the entire school’s minds and shunned by the own beholder scares you.

Are you the only one who remembers?

And now that you’re on this topic, how are you going to convince him to attend dance camp? Should you ask him about what he had said that one night? Does he still recall who you are from back in the studio at night, a night you thought was special enough to remain unforgotten for the both of you? What about his relations to Keiko now? And then? Are you really just a pawn, a strategy for him to obtain his true desires for Keiko? With all these questions in mind, there really is no doubt you must consistently remind yourself to be wary of such a boy clouded by unknown motives and not wear your heart on your sleeve like you did for the past him―

“Y/N, baby, are you home?”

Your eyes snap wide open when you hear the familiar voice of Hoseok’s singing in the distance. Great, now you’re even hallucinating about him… or so you think. Because when the shuffles of his footsteps thumps closer and closer to your bedroom, a strife of panic strikes you to pull the bed sheets over your head and your unmade hair thrown messily into a bun. It’s not that you’re afraid to show him you in your natural state, rather, it’s the sweater―his sweater―that you’re wearing which you had totally forgotten about; just imagining the smug look on his face when he sees you wrapped up in his clothes in bed is enough to coerce you into locking yourself away from society for the rest of eternity.

The door squeaks open and you can hear him snort. You can’t quite see him, but you can hear him clearly. His soft, yet slightly heavier breathing than most, his siffling clothes as he adjusts his weight from one leg to the other, and his mere presence enough to send your heart racing and your cheeks burning.

“We’re not playing this game again, are we?” he laughs. “Mind telling me why you’re all buried underneath blankets again?”

“Well, mind telling me why you’re nearly an hour late?” you retort, popping your head out just enough to meet his concerned yet baffled grin. Scanning him up and down, you find him decked out in a gray beanie, baggy white tee, and slim fitting gray sweatpants―completely different outfit than what you were just goggling at earlier. “So you even took the time to change out of your outfit before coming here.”

“What?” he quirks a brow before sudden realization flickers through his eyes. “Ohh, you saw my post? You were so worried that you even checked my page? Aw, babe, if you missed me that much, you should’ve just texted me!”

Your jaw slacks open in disbelief as you scoff, “I did not miss you. In fact, I was even hoping you would bail me tonight.”

“Then why’d you check my IG?”

“I didn’t. I got a notification you updated.”

He smirks, one brow raising as he buries his hands into his pockets, “oh, so you follow me?”

A breath gets caught in your knotted throat. Damn, he really is perceptive.

“...fuck off,” you mumble, plopping your head back into the blankets. “I can’t believe you left me waiting here for an hour. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t show up at all.”

“Oh c’mon, babe,” Hoseok coos. “I’m sorry for being late, but I was busy getting something.”

He takes a step forward, and the beat of your heart hammers once against your chest before you roll farther away until you’re wrapped in your blankets like a burrito on the other side of your bed.

Ignoring his soft chuckle, you take a deep breath in a vain attempt to slow down your pulse. “Yeah? What were you busy getting?”

“Wow, do you really not trust me?” he chortles, sighing before rustling what sounds like a plastic bag. “I was out buying you some heat pads, but I didn’t realize how long it would take. Your hands are always cold and you’re always shivering when we go out, so I figured I’d be a good, dutiful boyfriend and care for my ungrateful wifey.”

Damn, he’s a smooth talker too. But can you really trust him? After everything he’s said and done? After knowing there’s a high possibility he had only asked you out for the sake of invoking jealousy upon Keiko’s half?

“...I don’t believe you,” you mumble, heart nearly stopping and lungs failing to expand when you hear Hoseok climbing onto your bed and you feel his knees sinking into the mattress along with you. You’re just barely able to squeak, “...then how’d you take that photo?”

“If it helps, I took that photo weeks ago. You can even check on my phone,” he chortles, continuing when you fail to respond. “I hadn’t updated in awhile. My follower count was falling, and I wasn’t getting as many DMs as usual.”

You scoff in disbelief, “actually, that doesn’t help. I could’ve gone without that last part.”

“Ooh, my girl’s a jealous one. I can delete it if you want,” he suggests, light-heartedly laughing when you roll farther into the bed. “Hey, I’m the one who keeps reaching out to you. You’re the one who rejects my offers.”

“No, I’m not jealous. And I’ve never rejected any of your offers.”

“Really? So can I stay the night?”

“No.”

“See,” he chuckles. “Now, let’s get my baby out of those blankets before she suffocates to death, alright?”

“Just wait in the living room and I’ll be out in a minute,” you clutch a fistful of his sweater, your chest nearly exploding any second now.

“No… I don’t think so. It’s pretty easy to spot liars, Y/N, and quite obviously, you’re hiding something from me,” he sing-songs. Bulls-eye. He practically knows you like the back of his hand. He places a hand on your waist and your eyes widens… in shock? Excitement? Annoyance? You’re not quite sure, but there’s no way of denying the fluttering butterflies in your stomach. “C’mon, what is it? Are you naked under there or something? Did I walk in on a private session?”

“W-What?” you nearly yell at his implications.

“Hm, guess not then,” he hums, and the tension within silence ensues for a few seconds before he quips, “but I am interested in what’s underneath this.”

And without another second to waste, he begins unrolling you from the depths of your blanket. Everything happens in a blur, and the next thing you know you’re staring up at Hoseok with wide, doe-like eyes. And he stares back at you. Hair just barely sweeping his forehead as he peers down at you from above, hands beside either side of your head, sun-kissed skin and tips of his brown hair glowing in the light hanging from the ceiling like an eclipse dawning upon you before your very eyes. The smug smirk adorning his lips only worsens the skip of your heart.

His warm hands wrap around what he had correctly predicted to be your cold hands, pulling you up onto the ground as you stumble forward into his equally snug chest.

“Hm… not exactly what I had hoped, but I guess seeing you in my sweater again isn’t too bad at all,” he lowly observes. With your eyes shut tight and your head on his chest, the thumping of his heart making itself known on your forehead, you push him away before storming out of the room. “What? Is it my scent? Do you really like the sweater? Or do you just really miss me when I’m gone?”

“None!” you exasperate, marching into your kitchen. “I already washed the sweater.”

And you don’t know if it’s just you and your wild imaginations, however, his scent still manages to remain latched onto the sweater akin to how the memories of that night remains etched into the back of your mind… you just chose to leave that part out.

“Then do you want my t-shirt this time?” he cackles, following closely behind.

“No! We’re not going over this again!” you’re baffled by his constant remarks, confused as to whether they’re his attempts at flirting or his desire to tease you. Whirling around, he nearly bumps right into you when you stop in the midst of your tracks. He raises a brow at your sudden change of pace. “So where do you want to go tonight?”

“We’re going out tonight?” he questions.

“I mean, don’t we always? You always drag me out for your wild shenanigans,” you retort, knitting your brows when you see the quizzical look on his face. Glancing yourself up and down, you suddenly feel more self conscious than ever―something you only experience around him lately, not necessarily in the bad way, but in a way which you wish you could impress him when you’re competing against all those girls fawning over the bad boy around school. “What? Do I look like a mess?”

“No,” he quickly denies. “I was only worried about my presentation. You look fine. Great, even.”

“You?” you snort. “Doesn’t matter even if you just got out of bed, girls would still faint in your path.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, looking away to walk past you and grab some pots from your cabinet―knowing your house inside and out after countless visits. “But they aren’t used to seeing me like this. They only like seeing me dressed up and poised like how my reputation goes.”

Frowning, you cross your arms, “...and is that the real you? Which boy are you really? The one standing before me now or the one notorious bad boy in school?”

Hoseok fills the pot halfway before placing it on the stove and turning his head to peer down at you. A good ten seconds of silence passes prior to his calculated response.

“The former.”

The… former? Such a particular yet general term that you even find yourself questioning the clarity of his answer. When he says former, does he mean the former persona you had crushed on or does he mean―

“―who you see right now, that’s who I really am,” he says, examining your state of confusion before turning back to grab two packs of ramen out from his plastic bag. “Do you like who I am right now?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like who I really am?” he questions without looking up at you.

Something tells you to answer carefully, as if this question weighs more than it appears upfront. But your stubbornness to see the old Hoseok, the crush you have yet to let go, overshadows your reluctance when the words slip from your lips, “...no.”

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less,” he says softly, chuckling.

“Hey, Hoseok…” you subconsciously call out for him, his dark eyes lifting to gaze into yours. “Do you remember me from somewhere else?”

He simply quirks a brow. It’s now or never, even if you’re risking your dignity to fulfill your curiosity. You have to know what you mean, or rather, meant to him.

“I mean, a while ago you mentioned something about me looking familiar―”

“―I don’t quite recall that,” he chortles. Without giving you a chance to follow up, he turns and leans against the kitchen counter with his signature smirk, “now, let me cook up some mean, authentic, gourmet ramen for us tonight.”

It’s quite odd how relieved you are when he switches the topic. Do you question his validity of his answer? A part of you tells you there’s something off about him tonight, but you don’t dare question it. You’d rather blindly believe in him than hurt yourself further by indulging in the irreplaceable past akin to the dimming light at the end of the tunnel. Sighing and rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shrug, “alright, Chef Jung. Do show me how much better you can cook every college student’s basic dish.”

He turns his head and frowns at you before tossing the bags at your head, toppling them to the floor as you stand there bewildered. “I was just joking,” he scoffs. “You think I, Chef Jung, would cook you some lame dish anyone can make? I only bought these because I saw you were running low on food.”

“How’d… you know…?” you barely manage to say.

“I come here every few days, how would I not know?” he chuckles, grabbing some more groceries from his bag. “I’d cook you something healthy every day if I could, but I think you’d start getting annoyed by me. At least eat something when I’m gone, even if it’s junk.”

“You know how to cook…?”

“Yeah,” he briefly answers.

Cocking your head, you decide to investigate further, “how?”

“Back then, I had to cook myself meals for dance practice every day,” he equivocates. You can’t tell if he’s reminiscing out of force or out of bittersweet nostalgia. He glimpses at you through the corner of his eyes, “hey, can you grab me an egg or two? I think I saw a few left in your fridge.”

“Hm? Yeah,” you mumble, turning around to walk towards the fridge.

There most definitely is something off about him tonight. You’ve only really known him for a month, but that’s longer than you’ve ever known the ex dance captain and that’s enough for you to know that something is up. Is tonight the right time to ask? While your remaining questions regarding his relations to Keiko are questions you intend to ask when you’re fully prepared for its repercussions, there really is no time left until boot camp begins next week. As much as you’re irked by the three musketeers and their persistence to bring their dance captain back, you did indeed make a promise.

“Hey, Hoseok…”

“Yeah?”

You take a deep breath and sigh, “are you really not going to attend the boot camp?”

He pauses in the midst of preparing the ingredients sprawled across the tabletop. “Is there a certain reason why you want me to?”

“I just…” you gulp. If you really want to convince him against his own will, then you should at the very least be truthful. “I just want to see you dance again.”

Damn it, Y/N, stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s too dangerous around boys like him.

“Well,” he carefully contemplates, “are you going?”

Looking up and turning your back on the fridge door, you lock eyes with his peering ones―ones void of any signs of emotion other than the motive to amass more information for his advantage, something he does quite well―and shake your head, “no, I can’t dance.”

He snorts, “then how are you going to see me dance? Cause I don’t plan on dancing again after camp.”

“I’ll go if you go.”

“And what do I get from this?” Hoseok bargains with his usual give-and-take virtues.

“Fine, then let’s just end this bet now,” you say out of frustration.

You don’t mean it, but the words slip before you’re able to retrieve them once again. Maybe this is for the better anyways. Based on this conversation and the last few night’s with him alone, only someone dense would deny the fact that you’re teetering between the edge of a cliff and sanity. If you delve in any further, you know you’d fall in too deep. The only reason you started this bet in the first place is to obtain closure and move on from the past, and yet before you knew it, you find yourself already treading in dangerous waters.

But the boy only raises a brow.

“You said we don’t need any time constraints to our bet, right?” you state, breath shaking and lips quivering. He cocks his head and knits his brows in concentration as you continue, “well, if you’re not going to attend the camp, then I’d like to end the bet here.”

“And how is that fair?” he deadpans―no sort of emotion detected in the rasp of his voice.

“Nothing’s fair, Hoseok. Some things just don’t make sense,” you say, recalling the irrational behavior of your panicking pulse and your wrenching chest at this very moment. “I don’t like you right now, so I guess that means I win the bet. So why did you quit―”

“―but you’re not considering my side of the bet. How do you know how I feel for you?” he firmly states.

And your heart nearly stops.

“W-What?” you stammer, eyes widening and blood running cold. “It doesn’t matter, because either way―”

“―yes, either way I have to tell you, but judging by the look on your face right now,” he smirks, “what you said before doesn’t hold the whole truth. So no, we can’t end the bet here unless it’s clear how we feel for each other.”

You scoff, “I do not like you. I’m telling the complete truth.”

Had you ticked him off? Or did he tick you off? The fiery within you grows each second he proves you wrong, because even you can’t deny the validity of his remark. You hate yourself for dancing right into the palm of his hands. But as long as you acknowledge it, you can always alter your course. You won’t fall for him just yet… or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Right, grab me the eggs, will you?” he says before turning around to gather his ingredients once more.

Mumbling to yourself in frustration, you open the fridge and glance through the brightly lit storage. Scanning through the shelves, you find nearly everything empty―just as he had claimed―and your feet begin to freeze as the rush of cold air brushes against your bare legs. Without turning around, you call out to him, “I don’t think I see any eggs―”

―your words halt when a pair of warm hands place themselves on your waist.

Air gets caught in your knotted throat, and you swear your heart nearly leaps out from within, especially when you feel the warmth of his chest radiating against your back.

“You said you couldn’t dance, right?” he whispers, his lips grazing your heated earlobes. “I highly doubt that. You just don’t want to go with Jimin and them. You don’t want to go with anyone but me, do you?”

“That’s stupid…” you’re barely able to say under your breath.

“Alright, prove it to me then,” he then whirls you around until your eyes are met with his own mischievous ones.

Wrapping one arm around your waist, he pulls your hips right against his and closes the distance between the two of you, while the other hand entangles with your right―tight and snug like two missing puzzle pieces. He then sways you side to side, humming to the beat of an old yet romantically classic tune.

Burying your head into his chest, you can feel his heart pacing in syncopation with yours. But it doesn’t resonate of the same panic, the same thrill, the same fear as yours. It’s calm and poetic and indecipherable, like a perfect mix between the old dance captain and the new mysterious boy of this demeanor they call Jung Hoseok.

Your cheeks burn bright red. You can’t feel anything other than your trembling hands he holds tightly onto, your knees go weak and threaten to buckle right underneath, and your eyes can’t see anything other than his white tee, his sweatpants, and the two pairs of feet rocking underneath.

“Can you stop hum―”

―but then he takes a step back, holds your hand high above your head, and twirls you.

Your feet scramble to catch up, your mind spins, your vision blurs, and the whole world turns upside down. Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his arm wrapped firmly on the small of your back until all you can see is his face hovering dangerously over yours.

“See? You can dance,” he says, a corner of his lips lifting into a lopsided grin. Pulling you back upright, you hold his hands for a few more seconds to stabilize yourself to the new center of gravity. You’re just about to scold him for his antics when he interjects, “fine, I’ll lead dance camp, but only under one condition.”

Glancing up from the ground, you find him staring right back at you. “What is it?”

“I’ll go... if you kiss me,” he smirks.

“Are you kidding me?” you gape. “First you nearly drop me when I said I can’t dance, and now you’re telling me to kiss you?”

“Just one,” he offers.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s pleas echo in the back of your mind as you glare at Hoseok, eyes subconsciously trailing to his smooth, tempting lips before flickering back to the glimmer in his dark chocolate orbs.

“...fine,” you mutter, kissing your two fingers―index and middle―and smacking it onto his own lips.

“Really? Is this how virgins kiss or something?” he states in lack of enthusiasm, removing your fingers from his lips. He then takes a step towards you, thus forcing you to take one back. “Do you really want me to show you how it’s done, Y/N?”

Another step forward, another step back.

Before you know it, your back hits the kitchen counter. Hoseok gently places both hands on either side of you, trapping you between him and the counter and leaving you with nowhere to escape to. He leans in, his mint scented breath tickling your skin as his nose brushes your tip and his lips just barely graze against your own. And through it all, you know he’s watching you through those lidded, intent eyes of his. If you really want him to attend dance camp, then maybe you should give in. Maybe this isn’t too bad anyways. It’s just one kiss. It’s not exactly like you don’t want it after all.

So you close your eyes.

And the second the boy before your eyes turns from the sun, the moon, and the mystical eclipse, and all you can see is black, the warmth on every inch of your body dissipates into the thin air.

“You see, Y/N, there really are only two tips I can give you in regards to kissing,” Hoseok says, his voice more distant than expected. Peeping one eye open, your heart drops when you find him standing back upright instead of towering over you. What is this feeling of disappointment? Shouldn’t you be glad? “One, you have to have consent. A kiss isn’t fun if it’s forced.”

“And…?” you utter, heart pounding so fast you think you might faint any minute now.

“And I can check that off my list,” he remarks, a smug smile tugging on one corner of his lips as he takes one step back and turns his back on you.

Was he talking about how you closed your eyes?

Your hands grip on the counter behind you when your knees nearly collapse onto the floor. Your cheeks blaze a flush of bright red, sheer embarrassment plastered on your face. Knitting your brows, you―or rather, your body―decides you need more. No, you want more.

“And second…?”

“Second,” he pauses, each tick of the clock agonizingly slow, “is the element of surprise.”

Then he turns on his heels. His hand cups your left cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and his other rests on the nape of your neck. His lips hover an inch over yours, waiting for your eyes to flutter close―which they do―before smirking once again and crashing his lips into yours.

He’s warm, plush, and most certainly an experienced kisser. He pushes with just the right pressure, he tells you he wants more and yet he’s willing to play hard for it through gestures absent of words, and his caressing hands and the stroke of his thumb across your cheek signify his gentle and caring way to handle his girl. No, he doesn’t need to stick his tongue down your throat or groan like man in desperate need to tame his hormones. No, all he needs is the simple touch of his tender lips and soft hands to melt you into a puddle of emotions.

Placing his hands on your hips, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter until your back and head presses up against the wall and the both of you are so out of breath that you’re coerced into parting from his tempting lips.

The both of you struggle to breathe, chests heaving and lungs gasping for air when he removes his beanie and puts it snugly over your head―something you would’ve rebelled against if it weren’t for how dazed and breath taken you were by what had just taken place before you. Running a hand through his freed, bronze hair, he peers down and grins at you from above.

“Now that’s what I call a kiss,” Hoseok chuckles. “Alright, deal. I’ll go.”

Shit, what was the deal again?

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years

Note

I love all your writing. You have a gorgeous way with words and a very well-thought-out approach to AUs. That being said, my favourite of your works has to be the "WWX is raised by another Sect." If you wanted to write something about WWX being raised by Baoshen Sanren, I would be all over it. ♡

Plus a similar prompt from @sabeanybabe!

I know you explore the bloodline of Sanren a lot, but I would like to see more fics where everyone gets super freaked about wwx bc of this. Maybe in this world he grows up on the immortal mountain, and leaves briefly (I like fics where he can go back to the mountain bc hes family, esp. bc he might not have the Jiangs). I'd love to see the reactions of when comes to the classes w/o invitation bc his grandma, the immortal, sent him. wwx disrupts CR in a different and new way

Posted to Ao3: wander the edges of light

“Stand up straight,” Lan Qiren hissed at a fidgeting disciple. Lan Wangji did not turn around, busy watching the path with Lan Xichen at his side and half the sect gathered somewhat restlessly behind them.

Not even the famous Lan composure could withstand a meeting with the legendary Baoshan Sanren, it seemed.

His could, he thought with some disdain. And xiongzhang was as poised as ever. But curiosity was contagious, and their disciples were on edge from the sudden dissipation of their wards and the ensuing announcement that Baoshan Sanren would be visiting to assist them with repairs.

Without warning, Lan Yi had fallen into a frozen sleep in the Cold Pond Cave that few knew existed. Her strength had been the only thing keeping a certain dangerous item hidden, and their defensive wards had faltered without her for some unknown reason.

The Cloud Recesses was left vulnerable with war looming on the horizon-- without their wards, they were open to attack, and they had few options that would let them repair the wards and still be prepared to fight.

Instead of risking the sect further, Lan Qiren had sent a messenger to the foot of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain. A stroke of luck had one of her disciples notice the courier and agree to carry it to their master. The response was swift and brief: Baoshan Sanren would come to the Cloud Recesses for her former friend, and to protect their sect until Lan Yi was well again.

If she woke again. Lan Wangji had his doubts; he’d seen his ancestor’s place of rest, a stasis of some sort that kept her suspended in unconsciousness.

A sudden warm wind ruffled the trees and sent a shower of leaves raining down on the path, concealing the bend just outside of the gates where the sect disciples waited. They spun in a loose whirlwind made up of a myriad of reds and oranges and yellows that marked the change of season.

The breeze died down, releasing the leaves with a sigh so they spread into a carpet of color along the wide dirt trail. And in their place a soft golden light glowed as though the sun itself had risen in the curve of the path, ascending solely to deliver the woman who stepped out of the light.

Two tall, slender shadows flanked her, gliding serenely out of the light as though it were perfectly normal for nature to bend itself to their master. Lan Wangji focused on Baoshan Sanren but studied her companions-- disciples, perhaps?-- out of the corner of his eye.

The man on the left wore white robes and a lovely, glittering sword on his back. He was very handsome, Lan Wangji thought uncomfortably, and turned his attention instead to the other disciple, who wore all black with little flares of red at his waist, his hair.

A dizi was shoved haphazardly in his belt and his sword gripped loosely in one hand. Lan Wangji let his gaze travel from the disciple’s waist to his shoulder and finally his face, and felt his stomach drop to his feet.

This disciple-- this boy-- was as beautiful as the other, only this one was grinning widely at him as their respective master and sect leader exchanged greetings.

“--two of my disciples,” Baoshan Sanren was saying, and Lan Wangji tore his eyes away from the boy and tuned back into the conversation before he missed something important. “Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian bounced in place on his toes, seemingly unable to hold still. He peered curiously around and Lan Zhan had to resist the urge to tell him not to touch when he leaned in to inspect the temporary wards they’d erected.

“Shifu,” Wei Wuxian said after a moment. Baoshan Sanren paused her interrogation about Lan Yi’s unexpected collapse and turned to him, eyebrows raised in question. He gestured to their perfectly functional wards and made a face. His master only nodded once in response, like they’d exchanged a dozen words instead of one.

Lan Wangji wanted to wipe the look off his face. His brother eyed him from the corner of his eye, probably the only one who noticed him bristling in reaction. It was enough to remind Lan Wangji to settle, to keep his composure even when this stupid, pretty boy whipped a small knife from his boot and started carving on their sect’s stone gate like a disrespectful heathen.

His uncle remained silent, though he also scowled minutely at the faint scratching noises.

“Wei Wuxian is especially talented with wards,” Xiao Xingchen said smoothly, stepping forward to draw their attention away from his sect brother. “He is adding to yours so that when we add our own power, it will ensure the Cloud Recesses is wholly protected until we can revive your ancestor.”

“Lan Yi must have tied herself to the external wards somehow,” Baoshan Sanren said, peering over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder as he worked. She sighed. “She never did know when to quit.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Why would she do such a thing? It took all of her power to contain the…” he paused, and turned to shoo his disciples up the hill. He waited until the last one was out of sight to continue. “The Iron.”

“My guess? It was either an accident, or something made her try to expand her protection past the cave. Speaking of which…”

“We will take you,” Lan Xichen said with a smile, holding out his arm as if to help her up the steep hill.

“Such a polite young man,” Baoshan Sanren said, patting him on the arm. ”A-Xian, pay attention, you could learn a thing or two from these Twin Jades.”

“Hey!”

Baoshan Sanren ignored him. “Zewu-Jun, is it? You are far too young and handsome to be stuck with an old woman.” She sent a sideways look at Xiao Xingchen, a wicked grin of amusement passing across her face almost too fast to track. “But perhaps my disciple would appreciate a tour?”

Xiao Xingchen, Lan Wangji noticed, flushed pink to the roots of his hair and said nothing until a bemused Lan Xichen turned to him instead. He hurriedly schooled his expression and gave a regal nod of agreement, allowing Lan Xichen to lead him into the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Wuxian snickered under his breath, right up until his master added, “Lan Wangji, would you mind assisting my remaining disciple? He is somewhat of a trouble magnet.”

“Shifu!” Wei Wuxian said indignantly.

Lan Wangji very much minded, but he doubted there was a cultivator alive who could say no to Baoshan Sanren. “Of course, daozhang.” He saluted, careful not to let his resentment show. He didn’t want to be stuck with a troublemaking guest disciple with sparkling gray eyes and a teasing grin, but perhaps it was better that someone kept an eye on him.

“Good boy.” Lan Wangji blinked, surprised at the warmth her praise brought. “Now, Lan Qiren, why don’t you take me to my old friend? It’s time we had another talk about her reckless behavior.”

Lan Wangji frowned after them.

“Don’t take her seriously,” Wei Wuxian said without looking up, the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked diligently on the wards. “She and Lan Yi were like… together all those years back. Or almost together; none of us can get a straight answer out of her, no matter how much we hound her about it.”

Now Lan Wangji frowned down at him. “You should not annoy your Master.”

“Why not?” Wei Wuxian chirped. “It’s fun.”

“Fun,” Lan Wangji repeated, appalled.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Sometimes she just threatens to toss us off the top of the mountain, but occasionally we can badger her into sharing a story or two.”

Lan Wangji had no idea what to say to that. He settled for vaguely disapproving silence to cover up his complete bafflement. Baoshan Sanren was nothing like he’d expected, her disciples even less so.

“There,” Wei Wuxian said, satisfied, and stood gracefully. Lan Wangji felt the sudden hum of increased spiritual energy from whatever changes he’d made.

“Did you add your own power to the wards?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Not yet. Shifu wants to determine whether we should focus our own power on defending the cave; otherwise we might be too spread thin, in case something were to happen.” Wei Wuxian twirled around to face him, head cocked with curious eyes. “Do you think something will happen?”

Lan Wangji paused. He knew, obviously, that Baoshan Sanren and her disciples were secluded on their mountain. They were removed from mortal, earthly affairs, so of course they didn’t know of Wen Ruohan’s bloodstained rise to power.

And yet it still took him by surprise that they weren’t aware of the monster in the west, the armies he was amassing or the awful tension of waiting for the storm to break. But they had nothing to fear. Nothing to lose. Wen Ruohan couldn’t touch them, couldn’t break them the way he could the other great sects.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji admitted. He’d been included in enough discussions with his brother and uncle to know that war was only a matter of time.

“I guess it’s a good thing we came, then!” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “Hey, do you have any of that Emperor’s Smile here? We passed it on the way up the mountain; I’m thirsty after all that work!”

Lan Wangji frowned deeply at him and pointed to the wall of Lan Sect rules. Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. “Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.”

“Aiya, what’s not forbidden in the Cloud Recesses?” He asked, hands on his hips as he leaned back to find the top of the wall, so playfully theatrical about it he nearly toppled over backwards.

“Silence,” Lan Wangji said stiffly. “Thinking before you speak.” He gave Wei Wuxian a pointed look, and despaired when it only made him throw back his head and laugh.

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” Lan Wangji doubted that very much. “Let’s go find the others before all these rules make me break out in hives.” Wei Wuxian shuddered dramatically and eyed the wall of rules like they were contagious.

Lan Wangji could think of several that would improve Wei Wuxian’s personality. Most of them were the ones about silence and not touching things that did not belong to you. Such as other people.

He turned on his heel and started up the path with Wei Wuxian on his heels. Lan Wangji’s gaze caught on Do not lust after others, and he looked away quickly, pretending he couldn't feel the burning heat in his ears.

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Worshipers of the Stars

Part of the Worshipers Series

➜ Words: 9.4k

➜ Genres: 90% Angst, 10% Fluff, God!AU

➜ Summary: The universe was created with four gods to rule and watch over it. But when you take the crown and become the god of all gods, what the future holds is something you never wanted to know.

The universe was once created by a woman who was awoken by her lonesome — a miracle in itself. It was an explosion that happened suddenly when all the things were slotted in the right places at the right time, a one in a billion chance encounter. But it happened and she was the first of her kind to open her eyes. She had awareness and recognition of the empty oblivion in front of her, so in an attempt to lessen her loneliness, she created a home — a sanctuary that could watch over all other places, a Heaven. And in that Heaven, she created the gods to keep her company and care for the things she made once she passes. First, she made Seokjin, God of the Sun. “That’s me!” the god exclaims with cherub cheeks and bright eyes, stirring in the woman’s arms as she reads from her large storybook. “That’s right,” she confirms with a matronly smile that exudes warmth in itself. “The one who helps nourish the living realm, who helps count the days that pass so that no one takes it for granted, that spreads the light for all to see. Also the one who is mischievous and likes to make trouble when no one’s watching.” “I don’t make that much trouble,” the child whines with a pout, making the woman laugh heartily. “Shush, Jin! Let her keep reading the story!” “Fine.” The woman continues on as her children gather closer together. “Then, the woman created Miyin, the Goddess of Dreams, to ensure her children would be able to rest well when they could, so they would not have to be restless and could have a place of peace in the chaos of the universe.” The girl in question giggles when her name is mentioned, blushing from the attention bestowed upon her. The Creator softly smiles and affectionately brushes the long strands of her dark hair away from her face before she continues reading. “With her and to help light the night when The God of Sun is asleep and unable to protect those below, the God of the Moon, Yoongi was born. He who sheds light in the darkness, to help lead those astray back to their homes…” She turns to the boy sitting across from her, a quiet expression but thoughtful underneath those cat-like eyes, and her smile only grows. “What next? What next?!” Miyin rushes, unable to handle the suspense despite having heard this same story for years now. “Be patient,” you murmur. “Then, the most important god was created.” Her voice drops into a whisper, “Y/N, Goddess of Light and Life. The source of the God of Sun and Moon’s power. The force that makes the Goddess of Dreams’ dreams come alive. The mirror of the creator, the Ruler of all Rulers, the God of all. She would someday create more gods and help the world become a prettier, better place.” This was your favourite part of the story. You loved to see the painted pictures on your page and know that you get to protect everyone else. It was an important job, one that you’re excited for, but Jin would say that it was your favourite part because it talked about you…. And that’s only a little true. “Together, the four of them would be trusted to rule. They would live forever to look after the universe that was created by the woman who was no longer so lonely…” “Live forever?” Seokjin pipes up, probably because he knows the story is ending and is trying to buy more time so he doesn’t have to sleep. Jin lolls his head back to your shoulder, looking up at the woman with the fond gaze. “Won’t that get boring?” “Well, you’ll be reborn every once in a while, so you can start fresh and learn the meaning of what time is. Being able to die makes you learn what death is. And being reborn means you won’t take things for granted. Everyone must die someday, even I have to. Gods are no exception.” “Then...when will we die?” you ask, blinking up at her. “Not for a very long time,” she assures in a murmur, caressing your hair. Then she exhales and sits up straighter. “Alright, time for bed everyone! Everyone has to sleep too! No time like the present!” “Awww,” Miyin whimpers and pouts. “Do I have to?! I’m not even tired!” “Someday, you will wish you get to sleep as much as you do now.” The Creator peels back the covers of the bed as the sky becomes darkened, sun long fallen from the horizon — something Jin does each day before story time. “What about Yoongi?” Miyin continues to sulk despite getting in right in the middle of you and Seokjin, three lumps inside the wool blanket and against the pillows. “He just woke up! That’s not fair!” “He has to sleep too. Just at a different time,” she says gently and Miyin relents. The Creator kisses the top of all your heads, wishing you a good night and she walks hand-in-hand with Yoongi, leaving the room and shutting the door. Despite Miyin’s protests, she’s snoring within the next minute. While Seokjin tries to resist the urge of slumber with you, afraid that Miyin will mess with his dreams again and make him lift a bright pink sun, he, too, soon succumbs to the urge. You, on the other hand, are still wide awake. Your eyes pin out the glass windows and terrace doors, watching the silver moon slowly lift up and how its milky luminescence billows into the room. It lights up the entire world in the darkness. If there was something that you liked more than your part in the storybook, it was the moon. Quietly, you crawl out of the covers, away from Seokjin and Miyin who don’t even stir. Once your feet touch the soft carpet of the bedroom, you’re already creeping outside, shutting the door silently. As you swiftly run along, your shadow follows you along the corridor walls. You know where he is, where he sits as he keeps the moon on the horizon. He could always leave, do other things like Jin does once the sun is already risen, but Yoongi once told you that there was nothing to do in the middle of the night, so that’s why he just sits in one spot, staring and waiting.... You sneak around the pillars of the palace, feet cold on the terrace floors, but you peek around the corner to see Yoongi bathed in the soft light. He’s glowing, skin luminous and shining. It’s moments like these you’re amazed at how pretty he is. Or what’s the word that the Creator once used? That word she used to describe the four of you…..beautiful. You’re unable to stare at Yoongi for long. Not when a little moth lands on your nose. It’s tiny, brown wings flapping and fluttering, tickling against your skin as if it were trying to kiss you. And you giggle, watching it float around your head and unable to be caught no matter how many times you jump and try to catch the creature in your hands— “You’re supposed to be in bed.” There’s a low timbre that vibrates in your ear and a grin spreads into your face. Oops. You’ve been caught. “Are you going to tell on me?” You approach with your arms behind your back, knowing full well that Yoongi would never. Seokjin and Miyin would be happy to get you in trouble, but never Yoongi. “I just wanted to keep you company. You’re lonely, right?” “No, I’m not,” he murmurs and looks away. You plop down beside him on the cold tile floor, shoulders and knees brushing, and you look out at the moon together. It made you sad that you don’t get to play with Yoongi much. The only times you get to see him are two hours after dawn and two hours after dusk — right before he goes to bed and right after he’s woken up and it’s your turn to sleep. You wish you got to spend more time with Yoongi or was awake when he was. Sometimes you wonder if he’s sad that everyone else is asleep. You’d be sad if you were him, if you didn’t have Jin or Miyin with you. Yoongi might be quieter than they are, but you like him more. You like him the best. “It’s pretty,” you whisper as you stare at the light with the pretty patterns, putting your head on his shoulder and feeling a bit sleepy. The corner of Yoongi’s mouth pulls into a smile. “It’s because of you.” “That’s not true. I need you to lift it. That’s the only way I can make it shine. Without you, there would be no moon, Yoongi.” It’s the moon that you could look at — it doesn’t burn your eyes like the sun does. The moon is simpler, quieter than the blazing sunlight — but you think it deserves just as much recognition, if not more. And it’s a little different every time you look at it. You love the moon. You love Yoongi. “You do?” he asks after you tell him all the things you love about the moon, leaving out the last little part about loving him. You told Miyin, Jin and the Creator you love them all the time. You’ve even told Yoongi before. But somehow, telling Yoongi when it’s just you and him here feels a bit different. “Yeah! The sun’s always the same and it hurts to look at.” You quickly add, “Don’t tell Jin that.” Yoongi giggles and turns to look at you resting on his shoulder. “I can change it, if you’d like.” Your eyes widen, head lifting and the Child of the Moon blinks several times towards the horizon. Suddenly, the giant sphere in front of you shifts and morphs. The luminescence is almost blinding and the moonlight wash alters, becoming golden rather than milky and pale. You gasp, sitting straight, wide awake again. “It looks like the sun now!” A giant, gummy grin spreads into Yoongi’s face and he laughs at the way your jaw has dropped in amazement. In front of the two of you, the moon shines even brighter. It sparkles in the night. // The life you’ve lived so far is short — especially if the Creator tells you that you’re going to be reborn forever. And apparently forever is a really long time. But right now, you’re really happy to know what you’re supposed to do in this chaotic universe. You’ve learnt that there are so many things, so many people you want to protect and it makes you’re glad that you have the power to. That one day you’re going to watch over everyone else. When that time comes, you’re going to make sure no one hurts Jin or Miyin or Yoongi. You’ll do your best. “And that’s all that’s important,” the Creator tells you as the two of you walk alongside each other down the hall. Her robes sweep the floor and you wonder if one day you will be as pretty and liked. “Someday you will rule all of Heaven and the universe and guide the other gods into a beautiful world.” “You will also create many more gods and goddesses,” she hums. “Perhaps a Goddess of the Sky.” Your brows furrow and your lips become lopsided. “What’s a sky?” “Why, a place where Seokjin can truly shine and help the people that will be below.” The woman smiles as her mind begins to conjure up new ideas, and you wonder if someday you will be able to be as creative as she is. “Perhaps a God for the Seasons, so the Earth may prosper, change, and alter to keep them from being bored. We should also give them more water too, so they have a way to quench their thirst. And maybe a God of the Underworld, so once people pass, they have a place of peace to stay at.” She sighs wistfully. “There are many gods yet to be created. Too little time for me.” You look up at her, feeling scared at the thought of her gone. “What happens when I don’t know what to do or who to make?” “You will know,” she tells you with such assurance. It comforts your worries and eases your fear. “When the time comes, you will know. And Seokjin, Miyin and Yoongi will always be at your side to help.” “Always?” “Always.” She smiles and stops, crouching down to delicately push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Someday, Miyin will accompany your side. Your right hand will be Seokjin, and Yoongi will be your husband. It is my plan and I plan to never leave you by your lonesome as I had been.” At your young age, you don’t truly understand what each word means, but you can comprehend the feeling of warmth she conveys. A smile spreads into your face and you nod. Right then and there, there is a sharp call of your name. You whirl your head over to see the three of them at the end of the hall, Seokjin waving you over with Miyin calling you again to come play with them. Yoongi stands by them, wearing the brightest of grins and it makes the inside of your chest tickle. You glance over your shoulder and the Creator gestures the permission you need to run off. She watches with a smile as the four of you sprint, giggles filling the spaces of Heaven. Her optimism and certainty of a beautiful world relieves the burden of her own worries. She feels at peace, knowing that you will take care of her creations.

When the world was built, four gods were made with it. They were contrived to watch over the lands and protect one another, and for the first two decades of their first lifetime, the universe was truly wonderful. It was simple, happiness spreading across the world with the innocence of the gods untainted. They had yet to learn about greed and pride, wrath and envy. Yet it was not a golden age — not when many gods were yet to be born, when Heaven was still empty and merely a foundation of what it was to become. But it was paradise. A dreamland. Only, dreams never lasted long.

There had been a shift, a change. One you knew you didn’t feel alone. The sunlight dimmed and then the moon was lifting, covering it completely — something you would one day learn to know as a solar eclipse. But it was the first time in history that the horizon was blackened during day, where you felt the light within you tremble and the universe bled with darkness. The fabric of the world was being swept from underneath you, consciousness vibrating around your mind. Time was finally running out. “What’s going on?!” Miyin’s footsteps quicken down the hall, her robes hanging loose from her frame and fluttering behind her. There was a thin ring of light from outside, an outline of where the sun wasn’t covered by the moon, but it barely provided any light. “It’s happening,” you tell her, forming an orb of light within your hands and flicking them towards the candles on the walls. They flare and gleam, dimmer than you’ve ever seen. “Get Yoongi and Seokjin.” “I’m already here.” The husky voice you’ve been waiting for sounds behind you and you find the young god already striding over with a firm gaze. His orbs are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, fluffy strands contrasting against his sharp features, cat-like eyes staring back at yours. His black robes swish behind him along with your servant girl at his heels, fear taking hold of her expression. “I didn’t lift the moon,” he says. You nod. “I know.” The two of you immediately turn down the hall towards the largest room while Miyin sprints in the other direction to call Seokjin. You dismiss the young servant girl and she takes a bow, staying behind when this was a matter pertaining to the gods alone. Once you push the doors open, you find the Creator lying in her bed. The covers are pushed to her waist as she lays with her head on her pillow, eyes barely open. Immediately, you rush to her side and grab hold of her hand. “You are unwell.” “I have been unwell for a while, child,” she wheezes with heavy breath, clasping your hand back in a weak grasp. Yet, the corner of her mouth still lifts. Her hair had gotten gray, colour lost in her features, wrinkles lined around her face. In your naiveté, you had not paid attention to these things, not when it was so gradual. “My ti..me is end...ing….” “There must be something we can do.” The doors slam open and the room fills with immediate warmth. But Seokjin’s hair isn’t as vibrantly gold as what you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t glisten and his pink lips are losing its hue. “There has to be something you can do,” Seokjin declares in distress as Miyin quickly follows behind him and shuts the doors. “You are the Goddess of Light and Life—” “I know what I am,” you snap back at him. “You need not remind me.” “Is there something you can do?” A calm voice cuts through the panic and you find Yoongi seated next to the Creator, placing a hand on her shoulder to perhaps comfort her. “I can feel her life force leaving her. I might be able to gather it and contain it with her being again, but I don’t know how much time that’ll give.” “It’s still better than nothing,” Miyin cries out, but then suddenly the Creator shakes her head and the four of you quiet down to listen to her croaking murmurs. “N...o...don’t do that and don’t argue.” Miyin sobs, her tears streaking down her face. “But—” “Death is inevitable. I provide nothing for you now and if I lived another day, I would provide nothing then. My time….is over.” She looks over to each of you gathered around her, the gods she had manifested carefully and a soft smile graces her features. “You are all grown and ….will...survive….this world will...prosper...I feel comforted over that.” Her chest heaves and she gasps shallowly. “Y/N’s...coronation will happen tomorrow—” “No,” you spit, unable to bear the thought of ruling over Heaven immediately after her death without mourning beforehand. “I can’t do something like that.” “You will,” she whispers in reassurance. “You will do as I say. Heaven...cannot be without a ruler….and Yoongi…�� “Yes?” He comes closer as her gaze flickers over to him. “You will marry...Y/N...Seokjin will become the...right hand...and Miyin by her side….it is my plan,” she says, the dying wish put on her lips — one she had spoken about many times. But you know this is the last. The Goddess of Dreams beside you begins to sob harder, Seokjin looking away and unable to bear the moment. Yoongi remains in his place and your hand on her tightens, feeling her life fading. The Creator smiles for the final time. “I...harbour no...regrets…” You can see it — her soul is white. It shimmers, brighter than what you’ve ever witnessed before. More so than the sun itself or what you’ve ever manifested in your hands. It fills the room, blinding your eyes and you know you’re the only one who can see it. It floats as choked sobs break through your throat, her hand slipping out of yours. Around you, Seokjin’s warmth ceases, Yoongi’s skin doesn’t shine and Miyin’s wailing becomes deafening. Then her soul fades above her body. You don’t try to grab it — don’t try anything that was against her last will. You watch as it dissolves, vanishing after a moment like it was never there. Suddenly, a force brushes against your cheeks, kissing through your hair and robes, like a breeze manifested from nowhere. It swells throughout the universe. Seokjin’s warmth returns, his hair golden once more and lips pink. Yoongi’s skin shines again and the moon on the horizon falls, allowing the sunlight to spread across the lands once more. Your own strength restores itself, but what you’re still left with is devastation and grief. Miyin sobs within her hands. Yoongi slumps and Seokjin cries with you. It will never be the same again — and that knowledge lay heavy on your shoulders. // The sun has fallen early today, an hour or so, and you cannot blame Seokjin. But that meant Yoongi had to lift the moon over the horizon earlier. You stare out your glass window to find the moon smaller than usual, dimmer than what you’ve always known to be a bright glow. Perhaps some nights, the moon might not be needed outside — it will have to be something you discuss with Yoongi after your coronation tomorrow. “Your Highness, be at ease. The Creator always said she was happy,” your servant says as she gently brushes through your hair at the vanity. She is pretty, long hair and soft smile, even with her eyes and nose reddened from crying. She has been at your side for years now, to aid you in small matters, but she has always proven helpful and her sincerity is touching. Despite being innocent and young, her tender nurturing reminds you of the Creator. “Yes, she did.” You manage a smile, finding appreciation in her attempts to console you. “Don’t worry. I won’t grieve for long. There are many things that need to be done and I out of all the gods must remain strong. I must protect them now.” You stand on your feet and she follows you, helping you untuck the covers of your bed. “Are you worried about your coronation tomorrow?” she asks in a murmur. You hesitate, not sure if honesty is warranted. But you decide not to confide in her. You must remain steadfast and firm. You are to become the god of all gods, rulers of all rulers. There should not be a weakness within you. The foundation of the world lies in your hands and you must be strong if you are to allow this universe to prosper. “Nonsense. This is my purpose. My responsibility. Why would I fear something that I was created for.” She nods and bows her head once you’ve gotten settled. “You are wise and courageous, Your Highness. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. Is there anything else you would like from me?” You are about to dismiss her, but then your eyes stray out the windows. There is a pull within you, a childlike urge to go see Yoongi and keep him company. But you are exhausted, grieving, and unlike your words, you do not have the strength to find him. Yet, you cannot bear the thought of Yoongi being alone on the cold terrace. “Please, go see the God of the Moon. Make sure….he is well. Keep him company.” “I understand.” She dips her head again, a promise to obey your word. Then you are left in silence, succumbing to a moment of peace through slumber with the terror of what it means to wear the crown of Heaven. And in your sleep, you are ignorant to how the moon begins to glimmer moments later and becomes that much brighter. // The preparations are finished. It was faster than you had thought was possible and now the moment has arrived. The servants and advisors are gathered in the throne room, waiting patiently for your arrival. But you linger at the entrance, unable to garner the courage that is needed to step forward. “You look stunning.” You turn around, grabbing fistfuls of your golden and white layered robes that ruffle out with sparkles that catch the sunlight high on the horizon. Your hair is fixed into place by tens of pins at the back of your hair, but still spilled over into curls. “I look better than usual, don’t I?” “You don’t look bad on the usual day.” Yoongi smiles softly, sleepiness hinted in his features. He’s dressed in black robes that fades into a milky shade at the hem that reminds you of the moon’s luminescence itself. His black hair is ruffled, shagging over his forehead. As dignified as the two of you look, it’s still a bittersweet moment knowing that this attire is only worn on such an occasion. You grin, lifting your arms with much effort. The sleeves drag with every movement. “It’s heavy.” “The ceremony won’t last long,” he promises and his voice quiets, expression becoming more solemn. “Are you nervous?” “Why would I be?” Your chin lifts and your back straightens. “I’m the Great Goddess of Light and Life. This is my sole purpose and all I’ve ever wanted.” But instead of the respect that you expect to gain, Yoongi is visibly amused. He’s silent and you quirk a brow until he finally murmurs— “You know you don’t have to lie to me.” Part of you wants to object to his claim. A Goddess like you doesn’t need to make up lies to feign bravery, but he knows you too well for you to scrape by with yet another fib. The pair of you have been together your entire lives after all. So you concede, allowing him into your mind. “None of us have had time to grieve yet. I…..don’t know what to do, Yoongi.” “I don’t know how to guide and protect everyone and rule this place. The Creator had a plan for us, but I don’t know how to follow through with it.” You turn around, unable to bear looking at his expression if it will be one of disappointment. Of all gods, you were the one who was supposed to know what to do next. You are what everyone looks to. But you are utterly lost. “You will.” A tender hand squeezes comfortingly at your shoulder and you twirl around to meet Yoongi’s earnest gaze searching yours. “We’ll be there with you, Y/N. Seokjin, Miyin and I. You aren’t alone.” “I know.” If there was one thing you were glad for, it was the fact that you aren’t by yourself and Yoongi being here at this moment was proof of that. “Thank you.” You take his arm and the God of the Moon guides you to the throne room. The two of you walk together and when the servants catch sight of you, they dip their heads and open the doors. The room is decorated for celebration, golden ribbons wrapping the marble pillars and the carpet beneath your feet rolled out. The servants are gathered together, reverent in their posture while the advisor of the late Creator, an old dwarf, is in the middle. Seokjin smiles, standing on the right side of the throne in his own golden robes and his hands folded together. Miyin is to the left, the corner of her reddened lips gently quirked at the sight of you and her brother. Rather than the rowdiness that filled the palace when the four of you were still children, the ceremony is silent, many faces watching and staring at you. You keep your head held high, eyes pinned forward, breath steady in your chest. This is what you’ve practiced for, what your sole purpose is. It is your right and your responsibility. You will serve and protect until the end of eternity itself. This universe will prosper till its dawn. Yoongi lets you go once you’ve made it to the end of the path and he moves beside his sister while you kneel. All the other servants follow suit, bowing as you are. It will be the only time a god ever kneels. “Goddess of Light and Life, mirror of the Creator who stitched this universe together and created the Sun and the Moon. Y/N, the very source of our birth and warmth, you have come today to accept the throne, to become the god among all gods, the queen among all queens, ruler of all rulers. You will protect everything beneath and above Heaven, and watch over the sinners and blessed. Do you swear to take this oath?” “I swear.” The old dwarf continues reading from the scroll. “Will you solemnly promise to never abandon your people and to the utmost of your power maintain the strength and foundation of Heaven?” “I solemnly promise to do so.” “Then with this power, you will be blessed with the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition,” he reads. It is the last present the Creator has given to you, one you had not expected. “You will take these endowments to become the carrier of all knowledge, to know past, present, and future. You will know all, what has become and what will become. Do you vow to take this and use the knowledge for your best judgment in the protection of all living creations?” “I vow to do so.” “Then stand and accept your place in this chaotic universe.” You rise to your feet, glancing at Yoongi who smiles warmly. A breath leaves your lungs and you approach the throne, swiftly turning and brushing out your robes. You take a seat and grasp the armrests — the chair is colder than you expected, but you don’t dwell. You’re close. One second more and the ceremony will be over. The aged dwarf approaches with the crown, dainty and golden. It is simple, but brightly shimmers like the sunlight yet somehow softly glows like the moonlight too. He smiles and you take it from his hands to place on your own head. And the moment it lays there, when the metal finds its place on top of your crown, the crowd erupt into cheers and song, rejoicing for their benevolent leader. But you do not hear them. Your eyes become blinded. Your breath hitches. The gifts of clairvoyance and precognition strikes you, rendering you breathless. Fire. You can see fire, hear the shrieks of mortals crying out for their families and loved ones. It is deafening — the screams of men beseeching mercy, only to be slaughtered, the sobbing of children who have their mothers assaulted in front of them. It is overwhelming. The intense smell of iron, the scent of blood. The burnt land that you stand in, the homes reduced to ash, the gray clouds covering the sun and sky and bring upon the darkness you cannot dispel away. “No, please, let me go!” — “Stop!” — “Mommy! Where are you?!” You see a boy’s head decapitated, another relishing in the death. A baby that cries until it’s silenced when a spear punctures through them. Lovers ripped apart and mutilated. The wonderful world you have sworn to protect — the green grass and flowers, rivers and rolling hills, the laughter and giggles. It doesn’t exist. You have failed. And there is nothing that can change it. The world is on fire. You see more flashes — within one millisecond, you have known past, present, and future. You see a paradise of smiles and warmth. But you also see an empty Heaven, a desolate place that has become darkened with gods who have abandoned their people. You see the people at peace and prosperity, but also see ruin and cruelty, those who are vicious without remorse. And you see an explosion. A man’s irises glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. Specks of shimmer all around him as he wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart. You cry aloud. Seokjin, Yoongi and Miyin at once turn at the sound and they witness you fall off your throne. // There’s a roaring crash. The servant girl pulls herself away from the God of the Moon once she hears the commotion, her eyes swimming with surprise and worry. The god is also alarmed and the two of them don’t hesitate to rush down the hall, pushing your doors open. “Y-Your Majesty!” Your servant cries out, running towards you, but you shove her away and she winces when the back of her head slams against the wall. Yoongi grabs hold of her, making sure she is uninjured, and you pay no mind to the pair of them. Objects on your vanity are shoved to the floor with the sweep of your arms, the chair thrown over on the ground, your bedroom is wrecked as you pull on the curtains. “Don’t touch me!” you scream wildly at the top of your lungs. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” “Get out!” you repeat when they remain there, blood-curdling at the back of your throat. You never once look at Yoongi in the eyes. Fire. Destruction. Crashing and burning. “What’s going on?!” A stern voice calls out at the ruckus. Miyin stands at the doorway motionlessly, eyes laying on how you’re losing your mind and she watches in horror. An explosion. Splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam. A love never returned. The Goddess of Dreams approaches within three strides, swiftly moving past her brother. Her expression is rigid and authoritative, but her embrace is gentle when she takes you in her arms. You protest, whimpering and sputtering, but Miyin never lets you go and with one squeeze, a mesmerizing incantation leaving her lips, you are falling asleep in her arms, rescued from your own madness. It goes quiet and she turns around, distress evident in her features. “Call Seokjin.” // They are murmuring silently as you are fast asleep in your bed, but you are not ignorant to their conversation when you know past, present, and future. Your current unconsciousness is merely a fleeting sanctuary, a place of temporary peace in the land of dreams that Miyin has stitched together. “I saw it.” Miyin muffles her sobbing behind her hand. “I saw her dreams and they were — awful. Atrocious. I….” “And these are visions of the future?” Seokjin asks, concern taking hold of him. “I don’t know.” The Goddess of Dreams shrugs hopelessly. “They might be.” “Then what did you see?” the God of Sun persists, both curious and anxious. She shakes her head. “Fire. Screaming. A—And people dying….I can’t….” Yoongi puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “You don’t have to say anymore.” He looks towards Seokjin. “We have more pressing issues than whatever may happen in the future.” “We need to know if this...destruction can be prevented or if it’s inevitable.” “How can you still concern yourself with that?!” Miyin’s voice is shrill, distressed. “When Y/N is going mad, the future is what your worries are about?” “Without Y/N, Heaven will fall before the destruction even comes,” he says, glancing at you in deep slumber. “It’s still forming. New gods are being created. We can’t put Y/N to sleep at every moment.” “Then what do we do?” She asks the two gods, at a complete loss. It’s clear that you are being tormented and she doesn’t know how to help. But suddenly a thought comes across her mind and she turns to her brother. “Talk to her, Yoongi,” Miyin pleads, knowing full well that you have always been closest to him. “She’s always listened to you.” “She hasn’t spoken a word to me since her coronation,” he reveals in a murmur, making the other two even more troubled at the change. It goes silent. The gods are helpless. // Their efforts are futile — akin to a tree that provides shade during a violent thunderstorm or a single blanket given during a vicious blizzard. The comfortings given do little for you, not when they are ignorant and you are cursed with this knowledge. Words do not solve wars, they only prevent them. And you cannot prevent what is to come. But there are still things you must say before time becomes too late — before you completely succumb to hysteria, so you gather yourself with your last remnants of sanity. And the door opens before Miyin can knock on it. You knew she was coming. You were waiting for her. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” The Goddess smiles at the sight of you up and about, but you can tell it is forced. The friend she has made long ago is different from the god she sees in front of her. “I wanted to ask if—” “You don’t need to tread carefully with me, Miyin.” Her parted lips close and you shut the door after she enters. “Your room is still a mess,” she quips with a smile, perhaps to lighten the tension lingering in the atmosphere that is suffocating. “Do you need me to call the servant later?” “No. I do not want to see her.” You take your seat, motioning for her to do the same. “You don’t need to preface yourself, Miyin. You came to speak to me, so do so without your hesitation.” The Goddess of Dreams swallows hard and takes your hand. “I cannot say I understand what you are going through, but I have seen it. I have seen your dreams and I have seen the horrors the universe will be put through. But there is nothing that you, Seokjin, Yoongi and I can’t overcome” “There are many things,” you murmur. “You just don’t know them yet.” “Then tell us about it and we….we will shoulder your burdens.” “If I told you, that would only bring forth more devastation. Trying to prevent the inevitable only causes the repercussions to be stronger.” “Surely there is nothing out of the power of the Goddess of Light and Life, of the God of Sun, of the God of Moon, of the Goddess of Dreams. We are meant to rule over all—” You withdraw your hand away from her, diverting your vision elsewhere. “I let you in here not for you to console me, Miyin, but for me to warn you.” “Warn me?” She is taken aback, eyes widened. “We are sisters, not my blood but by bond, so I owe you at least this much. The Creator had spoken about forging a God where those humans can lay to rest.” Your words are a prophecy, one she takes for granted. “He will come to exist someday soon. Human souls cannot wander the land forever, they must have a place to rest, but it will cost your happiness.” “Let him be born.” A tiny smile graces her features, gaze sympathetic and not at all terrified. But you already knew this would be her reaction. She’s oblivious to what will come. If she knew, she would not be so courageous. “I will survive.” “He will damn you into eternal darkness.” “Then let him,” Miyin says. “If this was the Creator’s plans, then I will follow.” “None of this was her plan,” you bitterly mutter. “She didn’t know the future, not like I do. If she did….she would’ve never made any of this. She would’ve made it all vanish with her death.” “Y/N….” “Even if I tried to avoid it, it will happen. I am helpless. As are you.” You look into her eyes. “This is my warning to you.” “I am not afraid,” Miyin tells you sternly. “Even if you tell me an unborn god will bring darkness upon me, I will not live in fear. No god should ever live in fear.” You remain silent. It makes her distressed, knowing her words have little effect. But you know that righteousness and pride will only serve the purpose of the inevitable destruction. // The God of Sun is childish, playful, and argumentative. He sulks and whines, doesn’t like to share and is haughty over petty matters. Seokjin retains his youth and a lighthearted demeanor that others are unsure if they can take sincerely. The golden-haired man in his extravagant robes enjoys making mischief, finds amusement in using his wit to underhand others, but it is never out of malice as it is for his entertainment. Out of the four of you, it seemed like Seokjin has grown up the least. Yet, you know now that underneath his immature and childlike disposition is marble yet to be sculpted. Jin is perceptive and the underestimation of others only serves to his advantage. His greed to maintain the glory of Heaven will someday be the strength to uphold it. He is intelligent, especially because he does not flaunt it and would prefer to use narcissism to hide intentions. Seokjin is many things, but he is not foolish. You come to him before he seeks you out. “Yoongi will be upset if you make the sun fall sooner than it is supposed to.” “Y/N.” He whirls around, coy smile playing at his features. Of all entities, Jin was the only one who did not treat you any differently. It reminds you of a time long ago when you did not wear the crown, when you did not know what you do now. A time of ignorance you impossibly wish you could return to. “But of course, you know that. You won’t be the one waking him up after all. You’ll call a servant.” “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed resting?” he asks, halting the movement of his hands that was bringing the sun down. “I thought I would save you the walk of having to come to me. Miyin has insisted that you spoke to me, correct?” Seokjin grins boyishly. “You really are the all knowing god now, aren’t you?” The nonchalance is a front. You know Seokjin worries silently, that his doubts lie between his sentences. He is merely persuading you to be at ease rather than confronting you directly about his numerous questions. He consoles you through indifference, as if nothing has changed. “To know isn’t to understand, Seokjin. I wouldn’t wish this upon you or anyone. You should never want to be an all knowing god.” His lips fall into a straight line and he approaches with his arms behind him, the sun piercing through his backside. The light shines but it is hardly warm. “What will happen to Heaven, Y/N?” “It will recover as all things do, but not without facing calamity and making sacrifices.” “And what will happen to you?” he asks in a softer tone, brows furrowing. “It doesn’t matter.” “Tell me what happens, Y/N.” The God of Sun’s voice is firm and demanding. “Miyin told us that there was fire and destruction. It’s a war, isn’t it? Between the mortals? Where are the gods then? Tell me everything that you know.” “If I tell you, Heaven will never find prosperity. There will never be a golden age. Not only will the mortals cease to exist, but the gods will no longer have their place in this universe.” You shake your head. “I cannot tell you what you truly want to know.” “How can that be? We are the Great Gods of this world. Nothing….nothing could destroy us.” You gaze at him, your eyes connected. You’re aware that he knows — that beneath the nonsensical dignity, it is possible. It’s possible that Heaven will be saved. “You would make a better ruler than I would,” you murmur, much to his astonishment. “Someday, you will become very wise and mature.” “I do not wish to be the ruler,” Seokjin says immediately and his face scrunches, finding the thought of responsibilities burdensome and distasteful. For the first time in a while, the corner of your mouth quirks. You reach out to him, sleeves falling back until your palms cradle his cheeks. Your touch is tender and you guide him forward until your foreheads are pressed together. Your eyes flutter shut. “With my name known, allow your soul to take this blessing of mine.” It is a symbolic gesture, one made with endearment that you both know well after the Creator has given you many blessings during her lifetime. After you draw away from him, Jin gazes at you. “What did you bless me with?” “The stars.” His plump lips become lopsided, brows knitting together into a frown. “What are the stars?” “They are suns, like you, but farther away. Glimmering specks that fill the night to keep the moon company. They cannot be reached or touched, but they can still watch over you, always.” “They sound beautiful,” he murmurs, entranced. “Will they be your first creation?” “Yes.” You look towards the sky. “They will be.” // The moon hangs in the sky, shedding light in the darkness to help lead those astray back to their homes. The silver colour lights up the entire world that is blanketed in darkness. You know you’re foolish for still cherishing this sight, for savouring this temporary serenity. But still, you wrap your arms around you and step out onto the cold terrace to bathe in the soft light. A moth with tiny, brown wings descends towards you. It flaps and flutters, tickling against your skin before floating around, right out of reach. You watch for a moment and then you feel his presence behind you. If you turned around, you would see him glow in his milky moonlight. He would be ethereal with his soft and sleepy features, ruffled black hair. His eyes would stare back into yours and you would come to realize again just how beautiful Yoongi is. But you are too scared to face him. “Don’t come.” Yoongi stops. He comes to a stand still. You don’t turn around, merely allowing a sigh to leave your lips. “Will I ever be able to look at the moon without you coming to me? Or better yet….perhaps it would be better if some nights there were no moon at all.” “Why have you been pushing me away?” His husky timbre cuts through the air, a question that you have too many answers to, but ones you never wanted to say. Still, you know what the future holds. You know you’ll have to say it, to provide him the explanation that will end up burdening him forevermore. So you shut your eyes and brace yourself, gathering the courage to turn around to face the god who has long owned your heart. “You don’t love me.” Yoongi is taken aback, eyes pierced into yours. His mouth parts, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You already know. “You will never love me. You’ve given your affection to my servant girl and you are a fool for it, Yoongi. She will not be reborn. She will only live with you for a blink in the lifetimes we have left, but you have chosen her.” The God of the Moon does not utter a word. He is unable to deny these accusations. “But even with her gone, you will never love me while for the rest of eternity, I will.” You can see past, present, future — a responsibility you must bear. But of all the devastation you have witnessed, of all the pain you have felt, what still hurts most is knowing that your feelings for Yoongi will never be returned. The moment you were crowned and the gifts were given to you, you saw your eternity in an instant. The knowledge came barrelling at you without remorse, striking your very being. You have seen your fate and his. From this lifetime to the next — now and in twenty millenniums, even if Yoongi marries you and becomes your husband, he will see you as a companion. He will see you as a friend. And you will always want him as a lover. You will never have all of Yoongi no matter how much you wish. No matter how powerful you become. No matter what title you hold. You are eternally lonely. A mirror of the lonely Creator, but unable to fill the void that collapses your soul. You will have Yoongi’s presence, but never his mind and soul. “I still care about you.” His tone is low, calm and collected. “You are important to me, Y/N. You always will be.” “But it will never be enough!” The god doesn’t know what to say. He simply wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart, one you have seen in visions, one you have grown to detest. And tears begin to shed down your cheeks. The droplets are golden lights, shimmering like beads of liquid gold or fireflies falling. They are not as bright as the moon but more numerous and they drip onto the terrace, lighting up the night. The words hiss out of you, ugly and revolting. “I will never be enough for you.” “Y/N….” Yoongi calls out and approaches. “It would be better if no one knew the future,” your voice booms across the land, wrapping around the God of the Moon, your betrothed, and your unrequited love. “It would be better if no one knew like I knew.” Your skin gleams brightly, glittering like the sunlight and glowing like the moon. The wind suddenly brushes through Yoongi’s hair and the sheer force pulls him back from getting to you. “Y/N!” You gaze at him with softened eyes, relishing in this sight. Your voice ricochets throughout the universe. “Stay on the moon, Yoongi. Be in solitude. Feel the loneliness that I would have felt for an eternity that never ends.” The man’s irises are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. You stare at him and then to the darkened horizon, knowing the days that are yet to come, the years of misery and where the world will turn to ruin, the helplessness that will drive you insane. And you succumb to weakness. The lights seem to spill from inside of you. It pierces through your skin. It tears it apart. It overflows at the seams. “Y/N!” Yoongi screams in terror and a smile lifts on your features. You are not Y/N, the Goddess of Light and Life, ruler of all rulers, god of all gods. You are Y/N, the Goddess of Stars and Loneliness. “Please,” the god begs, head shaking, hands trembling — he is the God of Moon you will always adore and keep close to your heart. “Don’t go.” “Let me go,” you murmur gently and begin disintegrating into specks of lights that shimmer all around him. Yoongi falls onto his knees, grasping at the small particles to no avail. Seokjin and Miyin run out from inside, awoken by the shaking of the ground, by the stirring they feel inside of them. But they can’t look at you. The night is seared with light as if the sun itself had risen. “Take the crown, Seokjin.” You smile at him and look towards the sky, taking the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition with you to spare those from the future. Your power of life begins to bleed into the world as well, morphing into a natural force. “I do not wish to be reborn.” “Y/N!” The God of Sun shields his eyes away. The Goddess of Dreams is sobbing, trying to reach you. And Yoongi stays in his spot motionlessly, on his knees, ignoring the pain of your radiant aura. His eyes connect to yours and you smile at him before imploding into a million lights. Yoongi watches as the lights float upwards, becoming splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam.

[Present Day] He looks up at the sky — it’s a clear night where he can see the infinite void of darkness and wonder. But while the inky canopy is an endless abyss, it is decorated with tiny freckles of sparkles. The longer he stares, the more that appears. They are twinkling pinpricks of light in the sky, some golden and others silver. They cannot be reached or touched, but always watch over the rest of the universe. The stars accompany the moon, so that it isn’t so lonely. The man with dark hair and obsidian eyes leans against the terrace railings of his empty palace. His pupils connect the constellations together, drawing lines between them to see the shapes. But then a little moth serves as his distraction. It’s a tiny thing with brown wings flapping and fluttering. It floats in front of him and he watches before extending his arms to capture the creature in his hand. But then the God of the Moon uncurls his fingers, letting it go. “What do the stars say today?” A familiar voice sounds behind him, one he has known for eleven lifetimes now. A smooth timbre that has made many decisions and spoken to many great beings. Seokjin joins his side, looking out at the sky with a small smile. His question is still unanswered, but it is not uncommon for the God of Sun to ask him about this. After all, in the entire universe, Yoongi has become the best at reading the stars. “The constellations are shifting. There will be challenges ahead.” Yoongi continues, “The stars are always melancholic. History doesn’t repeat but it rhymes. There will always be pain and suffering.” “But there is also hope.” Seokjin stares at his old friend’s profile, lips graced with a small smile. “And the sun always rises after the night.” There have been many changes since the birth of the four original gods. More gods have come about and the mortals have multiplied even more so. The world is still chaotic — the fire and destruction you had spoken about, like a prophecy, had been fulfilled. The calamity was indeed brought upon Heaven but it had survived. He’s not sure how long peace will be kept, but Yoongi has learnt that it is within the moment that matters most. The two of them have gotten old, or at least it feels that way. But Yoongi is glad he is able to be reborn and refresh himself, allowing sorrow and wrath to fade away in cycles. And while you have become a distant memory for him after nearly a millennium, Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever forget about you. Not the way you used to hold his hand when you kept him company on nights he brought the moon out. Not the way you always took to his side. Not the warmth that you gave to him. Yoongi lets the guilt sit upon his shoulders. The bittersweet memories of you keep him grounded. “Do you think she’s watching us?” “Yeah.” Seokjin sighs wistfully. “I do.” The corners of his mouth quirk. “She must think we’re still idiots, huh?” The warm god chuckles, hands behind his back. “Probably. I don’t think she’s ever stopped watching over us, Yoongi.” The two gods smile, bantering back and forth noisily. It’s the loudest Yoongi’s palace ever gets considering the God of Sun is always rowdy and boisterous. He often ruins the calm atmosphere that the God of the Moon creates, but the occasional company isn’t undesired. It reminds Yoongi of the olden days, during simpler times. Except they have become more mature and wise, just like you have said. Seokjin yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He bids farewell and turns to return to his extravagant palace. But Yoongi stops him before he can vanish back to Heaven. “Do you think...she knows?” Yoongi asks while staring out at the stars, wondering if you know about his regret. His remorse, about how he still cares, about how he remembers you the most out of the three of them that are left. The God of Sun smiles. “I do.” Yoongi is left at his lonesome, gazing at the constellations. The moth floats and flutters in front of him. After a moment, it lies on his cheek as if it were giving a soft kiss and then it flies away into the bright night.

#bts fanfic #bts angst #bts scenario #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction

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avengersassemble-fics · 4 years

Text

New Perspective

Modern AU! Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Life seems to be falling apart around you as your husband of three years suddenly reveals an affair, and seeks a divorce. Your perfect life is flipped upside down with his revelation and you have to learn how to be you again. An unforeseen friendship starts to bloom between you and your neighbors new lover, but will these late night rooftop rambles be enough to keep you from going completely batshit crazy in the turmoil of your life?

part 01/?? “no sunshine”

word count 4.2k

an: hehehehe...... this is vastly different than anything i’ve ever written. lemme know what you think ok :) also this is the song mentioned in the story. its beautiful. please listen to it. this song got me through some wicked times. but it sets the tone for where someones mind is at in this.

The only thing people dreaded more in the morning then running late, missing their bus, or possibly anything that could go wrong that early in the day is the sound of the alarm that rings through your phone. It’s scientifically proven that 53% of people feel absolute dread when the incesstuous beeping that comes out of the tiny device startles them awake. But there are people who wake up before it even starts, already anticipating that god awful sound to start their day. You were one of those people as of late.

Before the sun had risen over the building around you and peeked into your bedroom, you were awake. You honestly couldn’t say if you had fallen asleep or not. Your eyes felt exceptionally dry but that could have been from the crying rather than the lack of sleep. But still, you watched your screen illuminate the room and ring loudly to let you know it was 7 am. You had to drag your hand to cancel it, and laid on your side for a few moments after.

You weren’t ready to “conquer the day”. You wanted it to disappear and you along with it. Unfortunately, life wasn’t as graceful to you as you hoped. Or else none of this would even be happening. You wouldn’t be lying here in the dark having to accept the fact your husband of three years was having strangers come and move all his stuff out. You wouldn’t have to be living with the fact that he wants a divorce and instead wants to be with the woman he cheated on you with. No, life was a piece of shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You pushed yourself up and rubbed at your face to try and get any kind of feeling back into it, or maybe just back into you. You threw the cover off your body to get out of bed, and fixed it right back to where it was perfectly neat. You hovered for a moment, your eyes going over the unslept side of the bed that he used to sleep in. It was perfectly intact, his dent almost completely faded away by now. It broke your heart to look at so you got dressed as fast as you could and went to the living room.

His boxes littered every square inch of the apartment, it was like climbing mountains for you to reach the small kitchen to get some kind of caffeine in you. But when you finally popped that K-Cup into the machine and it made you a steaming hot cup of coffee, you let it warm every inch of your body. By the time you finished the cup of coffee there was a knock on your door, and you knew it was the movers. You placed the empty mug down into the sink and then trampled over a few more lines of boxes before you could throw the door open.

There stood about three men, and one handed you something to sign, and you did. Almost immediately after handing them back the clipboard they came in and got to work. You watch in silence as they take load after load of the boxes around the room, and out the door to the van outside. Each trip makes your heart break a little more, because the room gets more and more empty as they go. He had a lot more possessions than you thought. It was making the apartment look sad and empty. Not like the home it once was.

They went room by room until they made it to the bedroom. All there was in the boxes was his clothes, every last one of them. With each mountain of boxes that left, you saw the last and final one, with your wedding album sticking out the very top one. At least he was taking that with him. Maybe . . . Maybe he would look at it and just remember what you two had.

You watched them load that stack onto a dolly and felt prompted to follow them out. Though they took the elevator and you went for the stairs, you nearly met face to face near the entrance to the building. You trailed after the men and noticed the rain that was pouring outside, and then one of them suddenly stopped in front of you.

“He told us to make sure you held onto this,” the man said, and before you knew it he was shoving the wedding album in your arms. You grabbed it quickly since the man was pushing the dolly out into the rain. Your feet only brought you as far as the threshold, and you leaned against the doorway and watched them quickly back up those last few boxes. You felt your hand shaking before you, and tightened your grip on the album in your arms, watching as they loaded themselves in and drove away with the last remnants of your marriage.

You listened to the patter on the rain on the street as it sunk in for you that that was it. He didn’t want to work on it, he just wanted out. And now he was out. Gone. And you were alone. You peeled yourself off the doorway and took a step back into the building, and closed the door shut. Closed yourself in from the world. With the wedding album in your hand, you walked back up the stairs and to your apartment, letting the door close behind you.

Oh god it was so empty. The walls looked stripped without the photos that once decorated them; you could see the shadows that were once there. The couch that was in the living room looked lonely without the armchair he took with him, but it was so . . . just so barren.

You looked at the time on the microwave. 10:05. God, not even a lot of time passed by. What were you going to do all day? You couldn’t stay here. That was definitely not the answer. You walked back to your room and snatched your phone from the bedside table and dialed the only number you knew by heart (besides his), and it rang a few times. But once you heard the voice on the other end you relaxed your shoulders.

“I was wondering when you were going to call,” Natasha’s voice rang in your ear. You smiled a bit, though you were actively fighting tears back. “Did they leave already?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah they’re gone. Everythings gone.”

“Did he-”

“No,” you cut her off, already knowing her question. “No, he didn't come.”

“Bastard,” she mumbled, and you rubbed your hand on your pants, “Well, Wanda and I were meeting for brunch. Want to meet us?”

“God yes,” you pleaded, already up and grabbing a jacket to wear. “Cafeteria?”

“Always,” Natasha answered and said her goodbyes and you were out the door. As you were locking your apartment you spun around and hit a body.

“Geez, I’m sorry-” you trailed off as you were met with the stare from your neighbor, Sharon.

“No worries,” she moved around you with an awful amount of bags, and seemed to struggle with her keys.

“Do you need help . . .?” You asked and she sighed but nodded her head. You quickly hopped over and grabbed her keys from her fingers, and jimmied her door open, and she was in quicker than you could pull the keys out. As she set her groceries down, she let out an exasperated sigh.

“Thanks,” she said and walked back over to her door.

“Yeah no-” before you could finish her door shut in your face and you blinked a couple times, -problem.”

Sharon and you didn’t necessarily get along, but who really did with their neighbors? She was a lot better than the old tenants who left their garbage out in the hallway. So you couldn’t really complain, right? You didn’t ponder too much about it as you were headed down the stairs and into the rain.

Cafeteria was one of the more bustling restaurants to meet for brunch in Chelsea. Lucky for your girl group, you had another friend who managed it. Getting a taxi in the rain was probably the hardest part of your journey, ignoring your life crisis of course, and luckily you were into the building fast enough that you weren’t completely soaked. You looked over the brunch crowd before spotting your friends and made your way over. Wanda was the first to see you as she sipped away on her mimosa, but let out a hum when you got closer to signal to Natasha, who stood to hug you.

You all exchanged heys as you settled into your chair and pushed your damp jacket off your arms. Natasha leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, and watched you pensively.

“I’m surprised you aren’t weeping buckets of tears in your apartment right now,” Natasha said before leaning back in her chair and sipping on her drink. “Good for you though.”

“I’m so glad I can count on you for support, Nat,” you said, opting for water right now. You felt dehydrated with all the crying you’ve been doing recently . . . Last night . . . In the cab.

“He’s a sack of shit,” Nat said, earning a nod from Wanda. “I know you love him but holy fuck.”

“Nat,” you warned, but it only prompted her to set her drink down and move forward again, pointing at you and Wanda.

“No, don’t “Nat” me, okay. He is a sack of shit, and I can’t believe he’s doing this all because-”

“Nat,” you warned, a little more forceful this time. “Please. I know.”

She grumbled, sitting back in her chair like a pouting child. Wanada raised her brows, having been sipping on her drink during Natasha’s little tyraid.

“While I agree that he’s a sack of shit, I’m glad you came,” she said, placing a hand over yours. “It wouldn’t have been the same.”

“Thanks,” you managed with a forced smile.

“I should’ve known it was you three when they said I had friends needing a table,” Clint’s voice rang from behind. “Never come just to see me.”

Clint was the one running this joint for the last few years, and he was exceptionally good at it. He liked to brag about the fact that the service stayed “spectacular” even with the boost in numbers they were doing every week. Clint was the embodiment of a true business man, maybe that’s why him and Natasha got along so well. Even dressed for the part, he side hugged each woman at the table and saved you for last, engulfing you in his arms like he could protect you from everything in the world.

“Hey,” he murmured while placing a kiss on your head. You swatted him away and Clint chuckled, whacking you with the towel he had placed over his shoulder.

“This is technically coming to see you,” Natasha said, reaching for her menu. “But we might as well eat too while we’re at it.”

“Yeah whatever you freeloaders,” he joked, earning chuckles from everyone but you, the least you could offer was a smile. “Are we wanting our usuals?”

Each woman said yes and handed him their menu, and Clint was gone in a flash. Wanda and Natasha started talking about something you weren’t paying too much attention to, and your mind began to drift to the day your life started to fall to pieces.

Your marriage wasn’t horrible, in fact to you it had been perfect. You two never really fought, and it was as if the honeymoon phase never ended. He brought you flowers all the time, and when you were working he’d manage to sneak into your office and wrap his arms around you from behind. He always took great detail in the little things, and that’s why you were so fucking in love with him. And the sex? That was otherworldly too. He was otherworldly.

He got home a little late that night. Late enough to where you were already cooking dinner, and he came in fairly quietly. You remembered calling out to him but was only met with silence and the echo of his feet to the living room. The lack of response is what made you look over your shoulder at him and see him staring at a picture that was hung on the wall. A picture of the both of you. He held his tie in his fists and looked like he had seen a ghost.

That’s how he told you he had had an affair. In the middle of your home with you mid stir of the pot of food, he blurted it out so casually you could have missed it. Or well maybe not, not something that grand, that devastating.

“Here we go,” Clint’s voice brought you back to reality as he set food down in front of everyone.

Wanda sat up in her chair exceptionally giddy at the food before her, and Natasha had just finished her second mimosa. Clint told everyone to enjoy and was off again to do who knows what. The smell before you was deliciously pungent, and you realized you haven’t had a proper meal in days. Thank god for these people in your life.

“You zoned out there,” Natasha noted in between bitefuls. “You’re not thinking of him again, are you?”

“No, I’m thinking about how scary you look trying to fit all that in your mouth at once,” you joked. Natasha glared at you which only made you smile a bit. “I can’t help it Nat. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Wanda chimed in, motioning around her plate with her fork. “To remind you he’s a sack of shit.”

“Exactly,” Natasha pointed to her friend before looking back at you. “And to get you to come out and forget about all of it.”

She wagged her eyebrow at you and you shook your head. “I don’t think I’m in a partying mood right now.”

“Well when you’re ready, we’ll gladly take you out for a night on the town,” Wanda smiled. “Like the old days.”

Like the old days.

Wanda’s words stuck with you for the rest of the day. You weren’t sure if that’s what made you finally crack with the realization that not only were you about to be divorced, but a whole chapter of your life was pretty much thrown out the goddamn window. Eight years of your life to be exact. Your college years all had traces of him in your memories, then the year you got engaged, and then the three years of marriage. He was all you knew for nearly a decade now. Oh this was officially all fucked.

Another thing that was fucked? Your neighbor. Apparently.

Here you were trying to drown yourself in vodka and sleep, and your neighbor was getting fucked. Literally. Even with the amount of alcohol you consumed and the fact it made your head whirl wasn’t enough to block out the incessant banging next door. You were suddenly very aware of the fact her bedroom lined perfectly up with yours. Uncomfortably aware. You blinked at your ceiling wondering if this is how she felt when your husband and you--

No. You quickly deleted that thought from your mind. No more talk of him.

With that you pushed your blanket off and stumbled out of bed. Wow, you had more than you thought tonight, but the fact only made you giggle humorously. You haven’t been this tipsy since. . . Hm. You couldn’t even remember when. How funny!

You carefully threw on your thin robe, spinning in a circle as you tried to push your arm through the other hole. Once covered you exited your bedroom and walked down the hall to the closed door that led to the roof. You could definitely make it up those stairs. So you padded over to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of vodka you were working on earlier and went towards the door, stumbling over your feet only just a little.

This was one of the reasons you fell in love with this place. The access to the rooftop made your heart fill with something and your husband (should you call him that anymore?) could not talk you out of it. He said, and you quote this very accurately, “Anything for you.”

Haha! What a sack of shit. Just like Nat said.

You pushed the heavy metal door open and were met with the cool evening breeze. The chill sobered you up a bit for you to see the scene before you. As the heavy door shut behind you, you looked over the candles that were still burning and the food left out near your neighbor, Sharon’s, skylight entry. Hm, so that’s what all her groceries were for. Eh, whatever. You practically stumbled over to one of the patio sets and crawled on to an egg like daybed and settled in against the cushions. With your back against the cover you pulled out your phone from the pocket of your robe (thank you sober Y/N) and scrolled through your music.

You hummed and pushed play on one song and tossed the phone beside you, letting the piano melody and horns float through the air. You closed your eyes when the voice started to sing low to you. Just to you.

There’s no sunshine

This impossible year

Only black days, and sky grey

And clouds full of fear, and storms full of sorrow

That won’t disappear

Just typhoons and monsoons this impossible year

There’s no good times, this impossible year

Just a beachfront of bad blood

And a coast that’s unclear

All the guests at the party, they’re so insincere

They just intrude and extrude

This impossible year

There’s no you and me

This impossible year

Only heartache and heartbreak

And gin made of tears

The bitter pill I swallow

The scars souvenir

That tattoo, your last bruise

This impossible year

There’s never air to breathe, there’s never in-betweens

These nightmares always hang on past the dream

There’s no sunshine..

There’s no you and me..

There’s no good times..

This impossible year

You took another hard hit of the bottle and shook your head at the end of the song. The tears that had fallen you were quick to wipe away when the song changed to something more upbeat, but you couldn’t pay attention to the lyrics. Not anymore. There was a sound behind you, it sounded like glass had broken and you blinked to re-evaluate where you were. It didn’t come from the street below, so you carefully crawled to peer around the dome covering your spot, and your eyes landed on a casually dressed man. Definitely not familiar. It looked like he had picked up something from whatever your neighbor had left out, and then he looked up and noticed you.

You met his eyes only for a second before you retreated back under the dome and nestled the bottle of vodka in your lap. You tried to focus on the music playing through your tiny speakers and ignore the approaching footsteps. But- oh god his form came into view. He walked past your place but glanced you over, and then looked over the edge to the street.

“You aren’t planning on jumping, are you?” He asked.

You scoffed, “Nope.”

He turned around and leaned back against the siding of the roof, motioning to the bottle in your hand. “Whatcha got there?”

“None of your business, that’s what,” you practically slurred and took another sip of the alcohol. You didn’t even grimace at the taste before motioning to him with the half full bottle. “Who’re you?”

He watched you in amusement, a smile gracing his face as he took a step off the wall. “I’m Steve. Who’re you?”

“Are you Sharon’s boyfriend?” You asked instead. He was noticeably defensive, throwing his hands up.

“No no no. Nothing like that.” He motioned for a spot near the edge. “Can I join you?”

“Okay, Steve.” You shrugged. Steve took a seat on the edge of the cushions, relaxing his arms on his legs. He watched as you stared blankly at the next building, and took another swig from the bottle.

“Are you the neighbor Sharon was telling me about?” He asked nonchalantly. You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips.

“Oh that’s rich,” you mumbled and shrugged your shoulders. “Guess that’s me.”

“Did you move in recently?” He asked next and you blinked a couple times.

“Wha?”

“When she brought me up, I saw some empty moving boxes outside your door for grabs,” Steve explained and your gaze went back out to the sky. “Figured you must be new here. I just moved from-”

“I’m not new,” you blurted out, and Steve raised a brow at you. “No, no. I’ve been here two years? Maybe? I dunno.”

Steve slowly nodded and you took another sip from the bottle he could assume held vodka in it. “Well then whoever left those out-”

“My husband moved out today,” you mumbled. Steve’s mouth fell closed and watched as you smiled a bit to yourself and swished your bottle around. “Er, well he hasn’t lived here in a month. His stuff moved out today.”

Steve nodded a bit before motioning to the bottle in your hands. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Well,” you laughed a bit to yourself. “Maybe 90% him. 10% you guys keeping me up.”

Steve laughed this time. It was low and hearty, but it shook your position on the cushions. You blinked a bit as your vision struggled to level out. That’s when you saw him move closer and you straightened up a bit when his large hands grabbed the bottle and cap from your hands.

“Alright crazy let’s put the bottle down for a second,” he said, screwing the cap back on. You whimpered a bit reaching back for your bottle and he turned his back to you to close the cap full and put the bottle somewhere out of your reach.

“Hey that’s mine,” you said and Steve turned back to you, grabbing your hands and putting them to your side.

“Yeah I know angel,” he said and you chuckled.

“Angel,” you laughed again. “What the fuck is that?”

“Well you never shared your name,” Steve said as he forced you to sit back against the cushions once more. “So what should I call you?”

You pondered his question. “Mmm . . . (Y/N).”

You offered your hand for him and Steve glanced between you and your hand. You wiggled your fingers a bit at him and he laughed again before taking your hand in his and shaking it, though you felt like your whole arm shook with it.

“You’re drunk (Y/N),” he said while shaking your hand. Once he finally released your hand you sighed, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“I know,” you said and then shrugged your shoulders at him. “I wanted to be.”

Steve nodded. “Y’know a buddy of mine is going through a divorce-”

“Did he want it?” You asked him shortly.

“Well yeah-” Steve started and your face fell.

“I didn’t.”

It was a short and simple statement. The silence that filled the air was awkward and heavy, but Steve rubbed his hands together and nodded his head like he was actually curious to hear you speak.

“Were there problems?”

“I didn’t think so.” You scooted up to the edge and rested your hand on the cushion to steady yourself. “We never fought. He acted like he was completely devoted to me! He was perfect. We were perfect.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders, “Was he being fulfilled-”

“Sex was not a problem,” you cut him off, and ignored the glance of his eyes over you. “We had sex everyday-”

“Everyday?” Steve exclaimed and you nodded your head furiously at him.

“Oh yeah. More than once a day,” you confirmed.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, one of his hands on his knee and his close hand rested over yours. “What a fucking loser, then.”

“Sack of shit,” you corrected. “We call him a sack of shit.”

Steve threw his arms up in defense. “My bad. What a fucking sack of shit then.”

You both laughed a bit and when silence enveloped you again you took Steve’s appearance in. This stranger was fairly attractive, you couldn’t argue that. He was tall and built like a perfect man. Even his beard looked perfect. You were suddenly reminded of the sounds you heard from your neighbor’s room and his attractiveness went right out the window, as you shot up from your place and swayed a bit. Too fast, too furious. Steve was up and steadied you with his hands on your waist.

“Careful there, angel,” he warned as you regained your composure.

“(Y/N),” you reminded him. Steve smiled and removed his hands from your waist.

“I know,” he said with the same smile on his face. You studied him for a moment before you shook your head and patted his chest.

“Goodbye, Steve,” you said. You stepped around him and made your way back to the door to your apartment. Your hand went to tug on it when Steve spoke again, from the same spot.

“I’ll see you around, angel,” he said. You pulled your door open and looked at him, standing by the patio daybed with a wicked smile on his face. You squinted a bit and finally descended down your private stairs, letting the rooftop door close on Steve and your night.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #captain america #captain america fic #modern au steve #steve rogers fic

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