#T my friend T from life preferred warmth on eyes instead of cold so that's an individual kinda thing

[hajihiko]

HOW DOES FUYUHIKO DEAL WITH MIGRAINES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 09 |  Trivia: 01001100 | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 08: After a night that left your head spinning, your best friend confessed his feelings for you. Now that you’ve admitted the same, everything is different.... but is it?

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 17K

Series: Love Bytes (9/9)

Genre: Friends to lovers, IDIOTS to LOVERS, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, angst, pining, sexual tension, SMUT, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, IT/Nerd!Reader

CW& Other Tags: corny humor, nipple play, an absurd amount of kissing, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, hair pulling, sexual instruction, let’s play just the tip, cunnilingus, blowjob, protected sex, sexual roleplay, unprotected sex, adoring boyfriendJoonie, suave Joonie, supportive friendships, love talk, dorks in love

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

Posted January 2021 by stutterfly & cross-posted to ao3. Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’ve crossed the line you’ve been so afraid of only to discover there really isn’t anything to fear at all. Namjoon has already made you a totally non-burnt breakfast and told you about the success of his student following the release of the poetry program. When he brings up the poem he wrote as an example, you beg him to read it for you.

He apologizes again for that day when you clicked on the document containing the draft, with dozens and dozens of half-thoughts and scribbled words placed within. He wasn't ready to show you then. He settles on the couch and opens his laptop. You look over his shoulder as he clicks a vaguely familiar document labeled: Trivia_L_Final. Unable to sate your curiosity, your eyes scan through the first few lines but he quickly flips the screen down.

“Patience."

"Ugh," you complain. "But you said I could see."

"I said I was gonna share," he clarifies with a snort. "That doesn't mean I want your speed-reading ass going through it at lightspeed without understanding any of it."

"Fair." You cross your arms but stare at him expectantly, trying your best to be patient.

“Is this love?”

He pauses to spare a glance up from the screen and freezes when his eyes meet yours. Even after everything you’ve shared he still finds himself sweating through the thin tank top he’s put on. Although he’s sure he’s masked his apprehension behind a wall of stone, all it takes is your soft, reassuring smile to break through. A wave of serenity quickly douses the anxiety. It crashes against his wall, and erodes its harsh edges until all that’s left is a familiar longing to kiss your lips.

“Is this love?” he repeats with emphasis. “Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t.”

He can’t stop grinning at the way your smitten gaze matches his own. It’s a difficult decision, but ultimately he chooses to ignore the urge to pull you in for the hundredth kiss of the morning and continues on instead. You sit and listen, hanging on every word you know was painstakingly thought out and written for you.

You're my person. You're my desire. You're my pride.

You're my love. One and only love.

The closing words are left echoing in your head. It’s so easy for you to forget that Namjoon is as smart as he is. Right now you feel too stupid to respond. Nothing can possibly match the perfection of his poem.

“Please say something.” He quickly closes his laptop and sets it aside. “Actually, wait, don't. It was too much wasn’t it?” He reaches over and places a large palm over your forehead and begins lightly rubbing. “Delete it from your brain.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Wiping your hard drive.”

His response has you cackling. Did he really just make such a lame joke all on his own? You grab his wrist and pull him close while a big cheesy grin graces your features. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

He groans as he leans in and pauses before kissing you. “You are.”

His hand gently cups the back of your neck as he slips his tongue inside your mouth. You lose yourself to the rhythm of your tongues rolling across one another, hungry to keep tasting and feeling. It takes every ounce of self control you have to pull away long enough to breathe out a compliment.

“You’re incredible. Your poem is so good.”

“I had a good muse.” He smiles and moves in for another kiss but you press a finger to his lips.

“I mean it. I love what you wrote. I don’t think anyone’s ever written anything so beautiful with me in mind.”

To spare himself from the embarrassment tingling in his belly, he presses his lips to the pad of your finger with a few light, teasing kisses before moving to repeat the motion against your neck. Goosebumps immediately prickle at your flesh and you can’t help the way your hands travel along the warmth of his body, seeking to consume his heat to assuage the chill in yours.

“You make it easy,” he mumbles, kissing a line up to your ear.

“Do I? I thought I made it harder.” Your smile grows impossibly bigger as you reach down to palm him through his basketball shorts and find exactly what you’d been hoping to.

A breathy sigh warms the shell of your ear. “Fuck. You know you do.” He drags the lobe through his teeth and exhales another sigh at the way you tease his shaft. “Wanna practice?”

He whispers the words against your ear like they’re some secret he’s almost too shy to reveal and you deliver your response with equal timidity. “Please?”

Warm fingers press into the skin at your stomach and travel upward. The action disregards the flimsy white fabric of your borrowed shirt, which slides up with the rising of his arm. You think he's about to cup your breast when he suddenly changes direction and slides his fingers around your ribs to tickle you.

"Na-Namjoon!"

You're a little offended that he would do you dirty like this when you basically just begged him to fuck you for the second time today. But, if you're being honest you're also incredibly grateful. He knows how to take the nerves out of everything with such ease that you almost forget how new this aspect of your relationship is.

You grab at his hand, effectively pulling him down into a kiss brimming with laughter between the pair of you. When you try to retaliate he grabs your wrists to keep your cold fingers at bay. As his tongue dips into your mouth again, he slowly guides your hands above your head. You shift beneath him, spreading your legs so he can slot a knee between them and get even closer. It feels like it's always been this way. Nothing's going to change. This is just you guys. It's always been you guys.

At the heart of your friendship, it's always been about you being dorks together and having each other's backs. You'd never considered the possibility of adding even more physicality to it before but now you don't want to imagine life without it because it feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right.

Instead of bearing his weight down on you, he drags your bottom lip through his teeth and lets it snap back. He hums a satisfied sound as he rises, pulling you to your feet with him. Your head feels light and for a moment it feels like you might float away, but his arms are strong and they ground you in a tight embrace. He begins walking you backwards and peppers your neck with light kisses.

“Trying to get me back into your bed, huh?” you tease.

He brushes his nose against your neck and inhales deeply, taking in your scent before expelling an airy, audible sigh. “Ah… You see right through me. I mean we could do it on the couch if you prefer. I just thought it might be a little more comfortable, you know, somewhere where I can lay you down so you don’t get a leg cramp or anything.”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “How considerate.”

“Yeah, you know, ‘cause I plan on being between your legs as long as it takes.”

“Oh?” You feign ignorance. As he spins you towards him you’re glad he’s holding you steady because it feels like you’re about to faint. “As long as it takes for what?”

The tone of his voice drops low as he leans against your ear. “To make you cum.”

You stiffen in his embrace, frozen by interwoven fears of inability and inadequacy.

“Is that okay?” he asks, guiding your stiff form towards the bed.

The large, borrowed t-shirt bunches up around your thighs as you sit on the edge. It seems like every few days he’s telling himself he’s never seen you look so beautiful. Maybe you’re really to blame for the increased frequency. Now you’re looking at him in a similar light to the way he’s always seen you, and it’s added a new layer to everything.

“Yeah.” You nod, pausing to chew on your lip. “Just… don’t expect too much, okay?”

“Hey, no pressure. I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”

You pull him into a kiss before wiggling backwards up the bed. He follows your lead, slotting a knee between your legs as he climbs over you in an attempt to chase your lips.

“You do make me feel good. All the time.”

He assails your neck with kisses until he’s hovering above your lips. “Really good, though. Like right now. Right here.”

He takes a moment to meet your eyes as he ghosts his fingertips over your stomach, traveling down towards your mound. Almost as if he second guesses himself he stops and moves his hand back up to rest just above your navel.

“Can I try again?”

An embarrassed smile creeps across your face. “You really want to, huh?”

“Of course.” He pauses and his voice drops to a low whisper. “Will you show me how you like it?”

Your palms slide up your cheeks until your fingers cover your eyes. You purse your lips and try to keep your brain from short-circuiting. “Joooon.”

“What?” He shakes his head and offers a small laugh. “Why are you so shy now?”

“Because,” you murmur.

“Because...?” he prods when you leave the explanation unsaid.

“I’m embarrassed.” The words tumble out in a whisper but he seems to catch them regardless.

Hot, sweaty palms encircle your wrists and push them aside. It doesn’t take much effort to separate your hands from your face and when he does he slides his hands up to meet yours. In perfect sync, the pair of you weave your fingers together like you have a thousand times before.

The truth is that you want him. You want him so badly that your cheeks are on fire and all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. Despite seeing his mouth in motion, every nerve ending in your body is preparing for his touch. Anticipation overrides every other command in the forefront of your mind as your knuckles press into the pillows beside your head.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Your body is perfect. I could spend all day exploring it, exploring you. I wanna learn what feels good for you. Teach me. Teach me how to make you cum.”

In a stupor you blink slowly and gape at him in wonder, offering a tiny wordless nod. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to instruct him with much success. It’s not like you’re a teacher in any sense of the word and it’s definitely not something you’ve ever tried to talk through with a partner. But his eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light and the sight floods you with the determination to try, even if you don’t know how to begin.

Luckily Namjoon has an idea to assist with comfortability. He carefully positions himself beside you and runs his fingers down your chest, basking in the sight of your areola, which are perfectly visible through the faded fabric.

“You look so hot in my shirt.”

Your ears flush with heat at the compliment. Massaging light circles around the nipple he’s chosen to tease, he watches in wonder as it grows rigid. He experiments, alternating featherlight touches with a tiny pinch between his fingers.

“Do you like this?”

Words seem to escape you at the moment so you nod and mirror his actions on your other nipple. The barrier between his fingers frustrates your growing desire for skin on skin contact. You slowly hike up the shirt past your stomach to expose your breast. His eyes widen and guiltily dart away.

You pull the shirt back down abruptly and sit up with hot embers of embarrassment heating your cheeks. Maybe he's having second thoughts now that he's seeing you up close again. Before your mind can spiral too far he places his hand over yours.

"Sorry. It's not that. I just— Promise me you won't ask me to forget? I want to remember how you look, how you feel, how you taste.”

Relief cools the fire in your face and you half-heartedly chuckle as you climb over his lap. Cupping the side of his face, he Instinctively he leans into your touch.

"Joonie, I don’t think I could ever do that now. There's not a single restore point we could go back to, and I don't want there to be. I never want to pretend like I don't love you with my whole heart ever again. Because the moment you kissed me it's like this weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything I'd been locking away in my heart finally broke free. And it felt… incredible. It felt right. There's not a doubt in my mind. You're my person. You're my light. You're my pride."

"My one and only love," he adds with a kiss to your palm.

You smile and nod, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes with a joke. "Are you gonna change your mind now?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smiles at you softly, watching you struggle to regain your composure as you sit back on his abdomen.

"Good. 'Cause it's like a totally binding thing now."

"Oh, okay," he laughs and lifts himself with his elbows to get a better look at you. "You gonna type up those terms and conditions for me? I'll sign, Geeksquad. Get me those papers."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me write a draft right now.” You press him back against the bed and lean over his chest, splaying your fingers out for a moment before pretending they're tapping away at a keyboard.

"Under this agreement, I, Y/N, agree to the following conditions..."

"God, you're a dork."

"We have fun. We have lots of…" you stop to giggle and wiggle your eyebrows, "you know, sex when we both want it."

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling so big his cheeks hurt. "You're so corny and I'm here for it."

"And…" you pause and meet his eyes as you fake-type the next condition. "We don't ever feel bad about loving each other. I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste another minute of my life acting like I feel any other way."

He looks down at his chest. Your fingers have stopped moving. "Is all that going in the, uh, love contract? It's a binding thing, you know."

"Yes, yes," you agree, pretending to catch up on typing. "If something doesn't work, we will talk about it. Deal?"

He doesn’t even stop to think about it before he answers, looking down at your fingers like they'll show him an invisible dotted line. "Okay where do I sign?”

"See I'm typing on your heart because that's how this works. So..."

You bite your lip and lift your shirt over your head, watching his eyes struggle to stay focused on your face. You really don't deserve him.

"You type and sign right here." Your fingers lure his gaze down to the valley between your breasts and then slightly to the left. "Right on my heart.”

He ghosts his fingers over the area you’ve pointed to and licks his lips, trying to hide his smirk. “Actually your heart is a little bit lower and a little bit…” He massages his fingers against your breast. “Here.”

“Hmm. Educational and strategic. What a combo.”

"Do I gotta type the whole thing up before I sign?"

You roll your eyes. "Depends. You gonna type as shitty as you usually do?"

He tongues his cheek as he starts tapping away at your breast with his two pointer fingers. It’s too true to reality. “Under this agreement I, Kim Namjoon--”

“Nevermind this is taking too long,” you complain, wiggling over his lap. He quickly drums his fingers over your chest. “--Agree to everything you just said. Signed... Namjoon...” His fingertips trace his name along your breast. “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, okay.” You laugh and reciprocate. “If you break it I'll probably cry and Jennie will beat you up."

“Like I would ever…” he mumbles.

With a rut of his hips he cups your breasts in his hands and resumes gently working his fingers over your nipples. Following the slow rhythm he sets, you grind yourself down and thumb at the band to his basketball shorts, pulling them down just enough to reveal that sliver of dark hair leading below. A loud groan escapes with his breath. His heart aches to feel you against him again, without barriers.

He sits up and heaves his shirt over his head with reckless abandon. His arms are immediately wrapping around your waist, fingernails digging into the skin of your back with the hope feeling your body can assuage the ache in his chest. The heat of his mouth envelops your nipple before you can comment on his earnest behavior and you whimper instead. His rough embrace draws you closer, and his sinful tongue batters your nipple as you loop an arm around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

The suction of his mouth makes you throw your head back. “Fuck, Joon.”

He moans and skims his lips across your chest to show your other breast love. Despite his adoration for the current position of his face, it’s not enough. Greed overtakes him. He holds you tight and musters the strength to flip you onto your back. The tiny squeal you make in response makes his dick twitch. You make such wonderful sounds.

As you draw him into a kiss, the barrier of silky basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his hardness. It makes you crazy. You want to feel his dick glide against your folds again. When you raise your hips to grind your clit against him he meets your motion with equal enthusiasm.

“Take them off,” you mumble. “Put it in me, Namjoon. Please.”

It’s hard to say no when every fantastical thought about you he’s ever had is now coming to fruition. How long has he yearned to hear those words? He thinks of earlier. He thinks of the disappointment he holds for his own performance, how he squandered his opportunity to make you feel the way you deserve.

“But I wanna go down on you,” he insists, slowly making his way down your torso. He plants deep kisses as he goes, working a trail of tiny dark marks into the surface of your skin.

“Joon…”  Your fingers claw at his back as he descends.

“Show me how you like it. I’m a good student. I promise.”

The ever present flames in your chest burn hotter, searing a path to your cheeks. He kisses along your hip and pauses to inspect the bruise from your earlier slip. He carefully creeps past it, and instead focuses on the skin of your inner thigh. Taking your hand in his, he positions it over your cunt. He rests his cheek against your thigh to watch the way your fingers settle in place.

“Are you gonna be looking at me like that the entire time?” You laugh, covering as much of your sex as you can with your hand.

“I’m a quick learner,” he assures you. “Plus…” He leans in and laps at the glistening slick in the space between your fingers. “I could taste you all day.”

“It’s after noon,” you mumble, drawing your fingers away to allow him greater access to your folds.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, letting his tongue explore every crevice of your labia. “You want me to keep going?”

Your head falls back against the pillow and you lift your hips with a whimper. “Yes.”

“How?”

Pulling his mouth back just enough to allow your finger to creep back into place, he offers a blissful sigh as you work light circles against your clit. He places a finger over yours and follows the movement, listening to your quiet breathing. He cocks his head to the side and repositions, sliding his finger beneath yours to take control.

“Like this, baby?”

It’s been so long. You’d forgotten just how good it feels to have someone else touch you, to not have to put the work in yourself to attain the reward. It feels so good. Maybe you will be able to let go.

“A little more pressure.”

You guide him again by pressing down over his finger and moving him towards the peak of your clit. He immediately gives in to the change of pace. After a little while he finds his own rhythm and you move your fingers to the back of his head where you tangle them in his hair.

“Yes, like that.”

Confident in his ability to hit that spot again, he glides his fingers down to tease your entrance and brings his lips to your clit. Your entire core tingles as he presses down and creates suction around the tiny bud. As your hips lift in ecstasy he wraps an arm around your thigh and slips two fingers into your slick cunt. Much to his delight you moan in tandem with your desperate exhale.

A proud grin spreads his lips apart and he does his best to hide it by battering his tongue over your clit instead. How many fantasies has he indulged in? How is it that they all pale in comparison to your true taste and sounds? Determined to keep himself on task, he focuses on the spot you seemed to favor and presses his lips back down while rolling his tongue along you. His fingers curl up and search for the promised sweet spot within your cunt.

You tense and clench around his fingers, body desperate to draw him deeper, to take more of him inside of you in any way that you can. Then you feel it: the unmistakable pleasurable pressure steadily rising within. You don’t want to let it slip away this time. With the pads of his fingers pressing as close to your g-spot as he can, the area of your clit you need him to hit with his tongue seems to shift.

Palms shaking, you pull on Namjoon’s hair to guide him to your newest point of pleasure. “Right there. Right there.”

He moans and expels shaky breaths through his nose. Immediately feeling guilty for being rough, you soften your grip and lovingly smooth back his hair. Disheveled, sweat-slicked strands fall against his forehead, rebelling against your touch.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cradling the sides of his face, trying to draw him up from his position. “Did I hurt you?”

He doesn’t budge. Dark brown eyes flicker upwards. The electric tingle in your heart steals your breath as you’re caught in his lurid gaze. He digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and the energy contained in your chest bursts. Shockwaves of internal chills scatter throughout your body.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispers. “Pull me however you want, baby.”

His voice is so low and soft that it barely registers to your ears. Your brain doesn’t have time to process the words before he drags his nose over your clit and sucks on your labia. You gasp out his name as he moves back to tongue your clit. He keeps his eyes on you as he plunges his fingers into you with a renewed sense of urgency, desperate to make you say it again. It doesn’t take long for a stuttered verse of his name to sputter from your pretty lips.

Another shockwave of excitement pulses through your gut. He makes it so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure he offers. Any shame and anxiety falls to the wayside, making way for your impending orgasm. You gasp out a pitiful sound and grind your pelvis towards his soft, plush lips to create even more pressure where you need it most. There’s no doubt he feels the way you clench around his fingers and because he reaches as far as he can in search of your g-spot and looks to your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead he finds you looking back through half lidded eyes that threaten to close any moment. With your eyebrows knitted together and quivering lips parted, he knows you’re on the brink of coming undone.

You reach for the back of his head as you lift your hips and cry out. You might not make those exaggerated pornstar moans, but yours are infinitely better. It’s better than anything he could have imagined. His name spills from your lips again, tired and quiet as you come down. There’s no need for you to tell him to stop or push him away this time. His softened lips are already crashing down against your mouth.

As you glide your tongue along his, the tang of your own juices fills your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. If anything it spurs you on to wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer. You tug on his shorts again. This time he raises no argument. He inhales a shaky breath as he goes in for another kiss and works the clothing down his legs until he’s steadying himself over you and clumsily struggling to kick them off.

You take his face in your hands while he gracelessly fights the fabric caught around his ankle and he smiles at you. Another jolt of electric butterflies pulse in your gut, frazzling your senses as they travel outward from their point of origin. By the time the sensation reaches your brain, it carries along the weight of your feelings. You reflect on how he cares for you, how he’s always cared for you. Navigating the key pleasure points mapped to your body is just one more way he can show it. You’re so incredibly lucky to have someone in your life so attentive and considerate of your needs. It makes you wonder how you meandered through life without a guiding light like Namjoon to lean on for support. Meditating on that thought threatens you with torrid tears.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Before he can respond with you draw him into a deep kiss, crossing your legs behind his waist to pull him closer. His shaft presses against your sensitive clit as he grinds himself down. While your body reacts with a twitch, you still roll your hips up to meet him. His bottom lip quivers and you suck it between your teeth, slowly drawing it away from him. When it snaps back to him he chases your mouth and presses you down into the pillows.

He follows the enticing motion of your hips with a loud groan. The slippery nature of your folds promises to make his entrance effortless. Each pass his cock makes over your cunt is another strike against his willpower, but god if it doesn’t feel amazing. It would be so easy to slip in, just a little bit, just enough to satisfy the aching need of the tip that inches closer and closer to your cunt. The way you lift it for him only serves as a greater invitation.

He rolls himself through your slick folds, floating on the high of the pleasure, encouraged by the moans you breathe into his mouth. He ruts into you, coasting into your entrance just enough to make him break the kiss with a whispered expletive. You whimper as he retreats and try to beckon him back with another gentle roll of your hips. He sighs, allowing himself to rock back into you enough to coat the tip of his dick with your warmth. Your cunt pulses against him, seeking to lure him further inside.

Again he surrenders to your salacious advance, sheathing the head of his cock in its entirety within your heat. You gasp and moan at the welcome intrusion, pulling on his hair as though it will move him closer than he already is.

“Please,” you whisper. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Desperate to feel the stretch of his cock diving deep inside, you make your best attempt to raise your hips higher to take more of him in. He moans into your mouth, gently rocking himself further into your cunt and then slowly pulling back out.

Playing this game is dangerous. He knows that. But with each gasp and moan he pulls from you, the stakes rise. He tells himself he’s allowed to drive another moan from you with his teasing. Just one more time. One more sound. He tests his own resolve with each shallow thrust, never sinking deeper than before.

“Joonie,” you whine as he pulls back again. “Please. Stop teasing. I want your cock in me.”

His stomach does a somersault and it snaps him back to reality before his hips can snap forward instead. He leaves the comfort of your sweet cunt to lean over you and fish for the packet in the drawer of his nightstand. It should be right on top, but it’s not. Where the fuck is it?

The sticky wet head of his cock slips against your belly while he frantically rummages through the drawer. You shudder and reach down to take him in your palm, earning you a breathy curse in response. He spares a glance towards your mischievous eyes before looking down at the way you gather the moisture from the peak of his cock and pump it down to the base. His eyes roll back in delight for a moment and he drops onto the weight of his arm. The drawer rolls out farther than it should and promptly clatters off its track and onto the carpet below.

“I can fix that,” he announces.

“Are you okay?” You laugh, trying to sit up to help.

“Fine,” he murmurs, leading you back to the pillows with a kiss. “You just got me a little...”

His eyes wander to the nightstand. Perched on its surface are the remaining foil packets he’d been searching for in the drawer with its contents now spilled on the floor.

“Oh my god.” He sighs.

“Yes?” you press with a smile. “You good?”

“Mhm.”

He quickly snatches one up, fumbling it in his hands for a second before he recklessly rips it open. He leans back on his knees to roll the condom on, but about halfway down his shaft the rubber splits and snaps against his fingers. He vents a frustrated sound from his throat and scolds himself internally for being too excited, too eager. He wasted another one in his haste.

“I’m sorry,” he says in defeat. “Hold on.”

You’re already carefully opening the last packet while he rises to discard the bits of ruined rubber. “It’s okay. Come here. I got you.”

As he approaches the bed you reach out and begin to slowly roll the new condom down his shaft. He watches your hands roam over his cock with wonder. You seem much more confident now that he’s made a complete fool of himself for the millionth time today. Maybe you won’t think of him as so much of a saint now. He’s just as much of a mess as you are.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” you say with a slow pump of your hand over his cock. “I always have that five dollars, you know?”

It’s difficult to take your eyes off of the perfect shape of his dark cock. It’s veiny and thick in your palm, and long enough to make you wonder how it might feel hitting the back of your throat.  You manage to shift your gaze to his face and beam at him.

His worried expression melts into a dimpled smile. “Geeksquad saves the day again, huh.”

“Yeah. Pretty great, right? So, come here.” Despite feigned confidence, your jaw trembles with anxiety as you settle against the pillows once more. Nerves set your body alight with excited anticipation. “And put your cock in me.”

He slots himself between your thighs and cups your cheek, catching the subtle shiver of your body.

“Cold, baby?”

“Excited,” you admit, grazing your fingers over the expanse of his back until they’re nestled in the hair behind his neck. You kiss him.

It doesn’t matter how much time he’s had to recuperate. As soon as your lips are on his and he’s teasing himself into you, he knows he’s in trouble. You’re so tight. How is he supposed to last? Inch by slow inch you take him in, then out again. Your fingers twirl around strands of his hair until you’re sure it can’t be twisted any further.

“Oh fuck.”

Your jaw drops and you gasp a stuttered slew of nonsense as he bottoms out. He remains there, unmoving as your body adjusts to the stretch of his cock. Every executable file in your brain stops working as you lie beneath him with your mouth agape, eyes wide, and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Need a minute?” he asks, peppering kisses along your bottom lip and lightly working it between his teeth.

Finally you find the command in your brain to resume all processes. You moan into his kiss and purposefully clench around him.  “Do you?”

“Evil,” he murmurs as he begins setting a slow, steady pace with his hips. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, exposing your neck for his mouth to latch onto. Your hands explore the muscles of his back, digging into the sculpted flesh with your nails. He grunts against you, sucking a mark into the crook of your neck to muffle the sound. Taking time to follow the creases dividing the defined muscles of his triceps, your palms drift further down to curl around the pillars of his forearms. Without disrupting his pace, he reaches up to lace his fingers with yours.

The back of your palms press into the soft pillows beside your head. You’re connected as deeply and as literally as two people can be and still you crave more. When you moan his name into the open air he trails a line of sloppy open-mouthed kisses to meet your lips. You meet each slow thrust with a roll of your hips and a desperate need to keep him inside of you forever. Frenzied panting fills the space between you as you break the kiss.

Dark eyes full of adoration peer down at you, focused on the way the force of his accelerated thrusts shake every part of your body but leaves your gaze untouched. It’s insane just how much he cares for you. By now you must be sick of hearing his declarations of love, but he wants to say it all the same. He wishes he could make you cum for him like this. He would do anything to make you cum a second time before he does. Maybe with more practice he’ll learn your body well enough to make it happen. For now he’ll settle for making you feel good. You’re enjoying yourself at the very least.

A smile spreads across your face and a sweet laugh slips out. “What?”

“What?” he echoes, lost in the sight of you beneath him like this.

It’s like his head goes empty when you laugh like that, when you look at him like you’re shy and infatuated at the same time.

“Looks like you wanna say something.”

The serious expression plastered on his features matches the intensity of his whisper, “Yeah. Maybe I do. You wanna know what it is?”

Every muscle in your cunt contracts around him. He purses his lips, takes a slow breath through his nose and relaxes his pace.

He leans next to your ear and whispers in a quiet tone, “You’re just so fucking sexy.”

You’re so flattered that all the embarrassment resting on the tip of your tongue dissipates the moment you open your mouth. Flustered words form and then decompose the moment they’re to be spoken into existence. All that comes out is a broken sound of uncertainty.

It’s like the lights dance in his eyes as he takes a moment to straighten up and regard your features. His lips press against your forehead, then your nose and he pauses over your lips.

“I love you.”

The words fall from your mouth easier than ever. “I love you too.”

He kisses you like it’s the first time: passionate, desperate, and needy. You break off to rest your forehead against his.

“So are you gonna cum inside me or what?” You can barely conceal the smile that breaks through your pursed lips.

“Wow. So am I just a piece of meat to you, Geeksquad?” he jokes.

“I mean… Protein right?” You make a ‘yikes’ face at him and start to laugh.

He shakes his head but he’s grinning like a fool. “Well if it’s what you want…”

Just like that he calls your half-bluff. He ducks his face into the crook of your neck and begins to suck another mark over the fading mark from his earlier endeavors. Your laughter quickly turns into a string of moans as he resumes the previous tempo of his thrusts. A surge of adrenalin flips your stomach on itself and excitement pulses through your body at the thought of his cum slowly dripping out of your cunt.

“I do.”

You squeeze his hands and shimmy him away from your neck so you can sink your teeth into his shoulder to hide the shame of your desire. A broken moan rattles its way up his throat as he entertains the fantasy you’ve conjured in his mind.

“You want me to fill you, hmm?” he whispers in a breathy tone between shallow breaths.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he feels the way your cunt tenses at his words to offer a wordless answer, but you also offer a muffled hum of affirmation.

“You want me to fuck my cum into you just like this, baby?” His words are followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass at a new feverish pace.

“Yes,” you whimper and bring your lips to his, high off the sensation of his dick plowing into you.

“Gonna take it all for me?”

“Mhm. Cum for me,” you plead between sloppy kisses. “Cum inside me.”

“Oh shit, baby,” he gasps.

You don’t get another opportunity to coax him into letting go because he’s already slamming his hips into you and crushing his mouth over yours. He’s buried deep inside of you when his hips still but you wiggle beneath him and purposefully clench to give him the tiniest overdose of pleasure. He sighs as he leans back, finally releasing his death grip on your sweaty palms.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Good lay too.”

He rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “Likewise.”

When he pulls out to rise and dispose of the condom you already miss his shape, but the unmistakable ache starts to set in: the ache of a pussy pounded too well after a long hiatus. You clamp your legs together and roll onto your side to expose the skin of your sweaty back to the cold air of the room, closing your eyes as you listen to the patter of raindrops against the window.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmm.” You don’t bother opening your eyes. “I seriously need another shower. Sorry about your bed.”

He kneels on the floor next to the edge of the bed and carefully moves the hair from your face. “You can soak my sheets any time.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds gross though. Definitely don’t wanna lay in the puddle behind me.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna sleep right there?”

“No.”

You’re such a liar.

He lets a few seconds of silence pass before he speaks again. “How about shower and movie?”

You peek at him from beneath one eyelid. “What movie?”

“Thinking The Kick, unless you have something else in mind.”

“No, that’s— Wait, what time do we have to be at Tae’s?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and he rubs the back of his neck. “Later… Uh, about that. Are we— I mean on one hand I don’t wanna make a big deal about it but…”

You bolt upright. “Oh no. They’re gonna make such a thing out of it. Nevermind. I’m never seeing them again.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Won’t it? Oh my god, if I show up in your clothes…”

“Geeksquad.” He grabs your face.

“Joonie.”  

You reciprocate the action and squish his cheeks towards the center of his face, causing his lips to pucker. He quickly takes your hands into his own.

“Hey. Look at me,” he pauses to make sure you meet his eyes before he continues. “You’re fine. Stay. We’ll figure it out when we get there and we’ll do it together.”

“Okay,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Be my ride?” He flashes you his wide dimpled smile.

“Only if you’re mine later.” You wink and draw him into a chaste kiss.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"Geeksquad."

His voice sounds distant and soft while reminding you you’re home. In this moment, you’re safe, you’re warm, and you’re loved. It’s too comforting to move away right now, too comforting to bring your eyes to open, so you cling to the heat of his body.

“Hey,” he tries again, gently nudging your shoulder. “Geeksquad, wake up.”

You make sure that your distaste is apparent with a loud grumble. You nuzzle against his chest with your cheek and hum like it will drown him out. He laughs softly as the sound fades away. He briefly lets silence fill the space, which allots you the precious seconds needed to hit the imaginary snooze button and doze off again. It seems he isn't having it when he lets out a loud sigh.

“You missed the end and it’s already five,” he tries to reason. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to let you sleep too long? Unless…” He carefully snakes his fingertips down to your side, hoping to remain undetected. “...You changed your mind about going home to get all cute because you finally realize you are cute, you know, without trying."

You groan against his chest and that seems to be enough to keep him quiet. Just as he feels your head begin to drop down he starts talking loudly.

"Oh, I see. You just really wanna be out flaunting how good you look wearing my clothes. That’s it, right?"

You lightly smack your hand against his chest but don’t allow yourself to let your guard down until you’re certain he's given up.

"That must be it," he continues. "Not you... Being a pain in the ass to wake up. At all.”

With your head pressed against his chest, you find it difficult to drift back off with every loud word dropping from his mouth and vibrating straight into your eardrum. Still you rock your forehead against him and try to ignore his booming voice. When his fingers dig into your side to tickle you, your body jolts up straight and you can’t help but laugh.

“Wow. She speaks,” he jokes. “...Kinda.”

You wiggle against his grip, thrusting your chest up while dipping your head back. You attempt to scold him with his name between a fit of giggles. “Stop,” you wheeze.

“But I love the way you laugh.” His fingers relax despite his words. He leans in to press his lips to your perfectly exposed neck.

Your breathless laughter quickly transforms into a subtle slew of whimpers. He swathes his tongue across a particularly sensitive spot and your breath hitches. You grab his arm and pull down like you want him to crush you like a bug. He doesn’t. Instead he smirks against your neck when he feels your nails dig into his bicep.

“Joonie…” you whine.

He offers his inquiry in the form of a hum that radiates vibrations from the point of contact with your skin.

You’re embarrassed to admit the million things you want to ask him to do right now in place of complaining about his teasing. “Come closer.”

“Closer how?” he murmurs before kissing that spot again.

You take the hand at your side and slip it beneath the worn fabric of your shirt. You don’t have to lead him very far until he’s molding the flesh of your breast with his hand and you’re panting shallow breaths into the air around you. The sweet kiss at your neck turns into a sinful demonstration. The things he could do to you, for you. Do you truly know?

You know you never want him to leave. The heat from his mouth seems to sear a path of lava straight to your core. Your fingers glide through his hair and settle at his jaw. It takes all of your self control to gently push him away from that delightful spot he’s found so that you can plant a soft kiss against his jaw.

You draw out a groan as you pull away. “Maybe we should just cancel.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me. You know I will,” he murmurs, chasing after your lips.

You lean back just a bit further, a grin plastered on your face as you allow him to press his mouth against yours just one more time.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The rain has been reduced to a light patter against your windshield now. You’re grateful that visibility is decent as you pull up to the familiar curb in front of Namjoon’s building. Already waiting just within the building’s entrance, he sprints out at the sight of your headlights. He eagerly hops into the passenger seat and you do your best not to look over at him. Suddenly, you’re nervous. Have your palms ever secreted this much sweat in your life? Still you keep your hands planted on the steering wheel, staring ahead like you’re playing the role of a first-time chauffeur.

Sensing a lingering apprehension, he clears his throat as his seatbelt clicks into place. “Everything okay?”

Keeping the car in park, you allow yourself to look over at him. He smells good. He looks incredible, even in a simple black tee and jeans. And he’s looking at you like all he wants to do is kiss your lips for the millionth time today. It’s like you can feel the anxiety melt from your face.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, shaking out your hands as though that will clear the sweat from them.  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Your sheepish laugh causes him to reach out for your sweaty palm. To your surprise his hand is just as hot and moist as yours. Regardless of how uncomfortable it is, he holds on tight and laces his fingers between yours.

“It’s okay. Me too.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, just smiling and trying to think of what you were going to say before promptly getting lost in one another’s eyes. How is it you’ve never noticed the softness in his features when he looks at you like this? It still feels kind of surreal. But your heart skips a beat and you allow yourself to acknowledge the way heat radiates from your cheeks. You want to kiss him, to reassure him you’re not going to waffle on him again, but you’re too entranced by the infatuation smeared across every aspect of his face.

When you finally speak, he starts at the same time and you both have to pause and laugh. Silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. It’s shy. It’s excited. He bites his lip and drags it through his teeth as his eyes rake over any part of you they can.

“You look beautiful.”

You lick your lips and your smile grows larger in response. “I- Thank you. I’m. We-- I mean, you look…” A nervous laugh slips into the breath between your words. “Hi.”

He leans across the armrest and plants a soft kiss against your lips. The moment you reciprocate his tongue dips into your mouth and glides against yours. It takes all of your willpower to keep the car running instead of plucking the keys out and dragging him back into his apartment to fuck him stupid. Still you rely on him to break the kiss.

“Hi,” he whispers, dragging a thumb across your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Still nervous?”

You nod. “My stomach hurts.”

“Hey, they’re our friends. It’ll be okay.”

“I know. You’re right.” You sit back against your seat and stare blankly out the foggy windshield. “I haven’t answered Jennie all day. She’s asking and I… I don’t want to answer.”

His heart sinks. It sounds like you want to keep things a secret, even though he knows you’re a terrible liar. No wonder you’re so nervous. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but if you asked he would attempt to cover for the both of you. He sincerely hopes you don’t ask.

“It’s just… I don’t want it to be a text. I mean, do we go in holding hands?” you ask, instantly allaying his fears. “Do we just announce it?”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Geeksquad, come on. Pretend like nothing’s changed. Things are basically the same right?”

You nod, but your expression casts uncertainty over the action. “Right, right. We can just say it like that, right? I mean, we still work at the same place. We still like to hang out together. Watch movies,It’s just a little more… intimate. You know, the kind of time you spend with someone that you care about and like… make out and have bomb sex and—”

“I’ll tell them we’re together,” he interrupts. “You’re my girlfriend. You signed the love contract.”

“Okay but you’re not going to tell them about the contract right?”

“Mmm. Maybe. Didn’t see anything about it in the terms and conditions.” He laughs.

“Uh, the fine print says you’re sworn to secrecy of its existence. You know, like fight club.”

“Must have missed that. Didn’t have my glasses on, you know?”

“Oh, here.” The lightbulb in your head flickers on. You rummage through the compartment beneath the armrest, presenting Namjoon with the glasses you’d been meaning to return for some time now. “Maybe these will help. You left them at my place.”

“Shit. I thought I lost those.” He sighs, taking them from you. “Wish I hadn’t ordered another pair.”

“Sorry, I kept forgetting to give them to you,” you admit.

He smiles. “Did you forget, or were you pining over me? Be real with me, Geeksquad.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m gonna start driving before I push you out of this car.”

“Sniffing them because they remind you of me?” he teases.

“Yeah. They smell like avocados.” You laugh as you turn your attention to the road. “You’re lucky hipster glasses are in.”

“Alright, baby.”

He hums in amusement, sparing a glance out the window beside him. It seems like the barrage of rainy days may be coming to an end soon. At least he hopes so. There’s not much he wouldn’t give to take you to his favorite hiking spots, have a picnic with you under clear blue skies, or lay on a sandy beach with you by his side.

“You keep calling me baby,” you point out quietly, pulling him from his reverie.

“Wha— I’m sorry. It was heat of the moment and it felt really natural when we were fucking you know? But if it’s weird now, I-I can stop. I’ll stick with tried and true Geeksquad.” He stumbles through his embarrassment in true Namjoon fashion.

“No, I like it. I just wanted to tell you it... makes me feel good. Way better than Geeksquad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You smirk and reach for his hand and he gives you a tight squeeze, driving the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Holding his hand is enough to keep you distracted from all the noise in your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Knock-knockknock—-knock-knock.

The answer to your knock is the resounding pound of Hobi’s fist through the barrier of the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

The door swings open and Hoseok’s smiling face greets you. Namjoon’s hand falls from around your shoulder on instinct. Although Hoseok’s eyes briefly drop to Namjoon’s twitching fingers he draws no further attention to the reaction, stepping aside and gesturing for the pair of you to enter. Seokjin’s incoherent shouting carries from the other room, nearly drowning out your greetings.

“It’s about time.” Hoseok tips a bottle to his lips and the majority of the liquid sloshes back down as he makes a face and runs to shove it against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Yuck.”

Yoongi takes a hearty swig without so much as a glance away from the kitchen. The unmistakable bounce of a ping pong ball springs from the unseen room and you lean back to attempt to see around the blockade Yoongi and Hoseok’s bodies have created between you and whatever is happening in there.

“They started playing while we were waiting for you. Should be done soon,” Hobi says, walking back towards you. “Jimin and Tae put up a good fight but Jungkookie is too good.”

“You didn’t have to wait. We could have met you there,” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck and stealing a sideways glance at you.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow and smirks, his eyes following Namjoon’s to you. His bony finger pokes your spine and you instantly tense and straighten your posture.

“I think we all wanted to wait.”

He knows. Even as you spin towards him you feel it. Despite the words left unspoken, somehow he already knows.

Yup. It’s time. Just get it over with. Easier thought than done.

“Why?” you blurt.

“Well...” Hoseok begins, ghosting his fingers over your shoulder as he walks towards the couch to put his shoes on. “We wanted to see you guys. Had a feeling we might not see too much of you as the night goes on. Figured you might want some,” he pauses to finish knotting his shoelace, grinning at you as he stands, “hmm, alone time?”

“I— Pssfht. What?” The unexpected shrillness of your voice cuts through the space between you. You clear your throat and do your best to dampen your anxiety. “I mean, like, why would we—? We’re—We, uh, whew… Is it hot in here?”

Words are no good right now. Anything else you say will just be another unnecessary embarrassment to endure. Your heartbeat resides in your ears as your flight response kicks in. Namjoon must hear it too because drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards the comforting mass of his chest.

Your fingers fidget with your keys even though you know you won’t need them tonight. You consider tossing them in the bowl Tae keeps on the counter, but that would require walking past the rest of your friends and abandoning Namjoon. You agreed you would face them together.

Namjoon smiles softly and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re good, man.”

“Are you?” The look on Hoseok’s face tells you he’s hoping you’ll expand on Namjoon’s short answer. “How are you doing, Y/N? Has that douche tried to contact you?”

You almost forgot about Jihoon. It seems like such a distant memory now. The sting of his words echo in the darkest corner of your mind, but not for long. A smile forces those thoughts to scatter as you look to Namjoon for support. You take a breath and exhale a relieved sigh.

“Nope. He’s gone for good, I think.” You reach for Namjoon’s hand, using the courage his touch instills to fuel your confession. “If he comes back around I’m sure my boyfriend will try to kick his ass.”

“Wait. It’s finally happening?” Hoseok’s eyes go wide and he springs from the couch in an instant to poke his fingers against your sides. He didn’t expect to be totally correct in his assumptions, but he hoped for it. “For really real?”

You said it first. Out loud. Namjoon’s stomach churns in excitement as he looks at you. You’re grinning like a dork and nodding even though he knows you’re embarrassed as hell. Yeah. He’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with your goofy ass smile. Hoseok covers your entwined fingers with both of his hands and practically drags you both towards the kitchen.

“Guys, guys! It’s official!”

The ball leaves Jungkook’s fingertips, launches across the table and circles the rim of the final cup as his opponents turn away. The room goes quiet, save for the airy spin of the ball slowly decelerating into the contents of the cup. Namjoon adjusts his glasses and you swallow hard under the burning spotlight of your friends’ eyes.

“Drumroll, please!” Hoseok demands with a smile, rolling his tongue to begin the buildup. “Bdrdrdrrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdr--”

Yoongi presses his lips together to hold back a smile and begins drumming his fingers on the wall beside him. Not willing to be outdone, Seokjin and Jungkook join in, pounding their fists on the table, followed by the light tap of Jimin’s hands against his thighs, and the smack of Taehyung’s palms against his face.

“I present to you the moment we’ve all been waiting for…” Hoseok ducks behind the pair of you and lifts your arms like you’ve just tied for victory in a boxing match. “Joonsquad!”

The inflection at the end of his tone makes you cringe almost as hard as the nickname.

“Nope. No. We’re not calling it that.”

“Joonsquad? Really?”

The combined cheers from your friends drown out your objections.

Jimin’s arms are the first to wrap you both into a tight bear hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

The statement seems genuine, but you’re flooded with the embarrassing memory of drunkenly slobbering over his face. Namjoon had always reminded you that Jimin was used to keeping things casual but still you find yourself ashamed for going there. Harmless flirting and games of chicken ruled your friendship with Jimin for so long. You used to fantasize about his lips exploring your body, but it seems so preposterous now. You’re not sure when it happened, but things changed.

Despite your mind’s acknowledgement of his beauty there is no worry accompanying it, no butterflies wreaking havoc on your senses. Your simple crush has faded into surface appreciation. It seems easy to recognize that now that you’ve stopped trying to push down the feelings you have for your best friend. Any lingering affections you bear resemble nothing more than a strengthened friendship, much like the one you’ve shared with Jennie for years.

Even with all the back slaps and fistbumps, Namjoon’s eyes are trained on you in a smitten stupor. Embarrassment does nothing to steal the light in your eyes or the joy in your laugh. All of the congratulations in the world can’t reach his ears when you’re looking at him like that.

“I knew it!” Jennie comes running from around the corner, pushing past all the men in her path to throw her arms around you. “No wonder you’ve been dodging my texts. I wanna know everything.” She attempts a whisper, but softness doesn’t translate through the liquor already clouding her voice. “In detail.”

Namjoon clears his throat loudly to combat the redness spreading along his ears. “Where are we headed? Seesaw?”

Everyone looks at one another like they hadn’t really thought about it.

“Sure. Your first drink is on me.” Yoongi throws an arm around Namjoon.

Hoseok weaves his arm beneath Yoongi’s from Namjoon’s other side, beginning to walk them towards the door. “It’s a dancing night, don’t you think?”

“How about we hit up the strip club after?” Jungkook suggests, already tugging his sneakers on and stumbling towards the door.

Seokjin rolls his eyes and claps a hand around the youngest’s neck. “Do you really want to break up a couple so soon?”

“What? They can look together, right? Wings doesn’t discriminate. It’s like a bonding thing. You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re not going there.” Seokjin turns back to Jungkook to whisper, “Not every celebration needs to be at a strip club.”

“I’ll remember that on your birthday,” Jungkook mutters, already on his way out the door.

The others begin to follow suit but before you can get too far, Taehyung latches onto your elbow. “Keys.”

“Right.” You produce a tangled mess of keychains and keys. Namjoon hangs back to wait with you, leaning against the doorframe as Tae disappears.

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Tae offers as your keys clang against the others in the bowl.

Namjoon chews on his lip and looks to you. As long as you’ll lay next to him he doesn’t care where he sleeps tonight.

“Depends how drunk we get,” you reply with a smile, lacing your fingers with Namjoon’s to lead him out of the apartment. “Thanks, Tae.”

He grins and pats Namjoon’s shoulder after locking the door. “Don’t worry, Jungkook washed all the sheets yesterday.”

You flip up the hood of your sweater and tighten the strings to cover your face. You’re definitely not coming back here tonight.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

You’ve done your best to balance your attention between your friends throughout the night, sharing food, drinking and laughing together. But as the night continues you feel your energy draining with each attempt to remain social and engaged in conversation. You’re grateful when Namjoon steers the conversation away from you, leading most of the table towards the bar to collect more drinks for everyone. Only Hoseok and Yoongi are left to hold down the table with you. You’re pretty sure Namjoon is counting on the majority of the group getting distracted and splitting off. At least you’re hoping that’s what he’s playing at because you’d really like to get away from all the questions and stories.

When you yawn Yoongi nudges your elbow out from under you, forcing you to catch yourself before your chin slams against the table.

“Tired?” he asks with a smirk, eyes focused elsewhere.

“Mmm,” you agree with a nod. “I guess I should get up before they come back or I’ll be stuck here forever, huh?”

“You know, you’re not being rude if you want to head out. You don’t have to stay and prove anything. We’ve all been rooting for you to get together. If you wanna slip away for some privacy, you should.”

It’s funny how well your friends know you. You can’t even remember what life was like before they came along.

“A break from questions would be nice,” you admit with a stretch of your arms.

Hoseok, who’s been nursing the same drink all night, brings the glass to his lips and gulps down a rather large sip and scrunches his features together. “Blegh. Ooooor you can come dance with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows for good measure.

You stare him down, tonguing the straw to your tequila sunrise and trying to steal the last sip of the drink from the ice that remains in your glass. Is he trying to fuck with you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.” He laughs, offering you his hand. “Namjoonie’s not much of a dancer, but I think he’d be willing to learn from you more than me. Think I can teach you something to show him before he gets back?”

“Hobi, I know how to dance,” you say with a laugh, although you’re already taking his hand.

“Mmm, do you though?” Hoseok flitters his free hand back and forth. “Ehhhh.”

With a roll of your eyes, you spare Yoongi a glance. “You coming?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat with a shake of his head. He casually pops a fry into his mouth.“Go on. I’ll send Namjoon your way so Hobi will keep his hands above your waist.”

“That’s just rude,” Hoseok scoffs, pulling you towards the dance floor.

He’s true to his word, dancing as respectably as someone with hips like Hoseok can. He guides your hips with his hands as he sways behind you.

“You’re perfect for him,” he says.

“What?” Your rhythm falters and you lose your sense of balance, stepping on his foot as you try to keep yourself from falling. “Sorry.”

He laughs, tickling your sides. “See? That’s what I mean. Took you dummies long enough to realize it.”

“It’s my fault. I was too scared and stupid to see what was right in front of me this entire time.” You sigh and lean back, surprised to find his chest a decent distance away. “I still think he’s too good for me.”

“Oh, pffft. Stop it,” Hoseok chides in your ear.

“I hope— Ugh, nevermind.”

“What?”

A small chuckle escapes with a held breath. “It’s dumb.”

“So?”

“I just— I hope my love is good enough for him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His hands hug around your stomach and push you closer to him, but the way they subtly tremble as they descend to rest on your hips feels different. When Hoseok steps around and hands still clasp you from behind, your heart soars. If not for the familiarity of the stiff chest at your back and the loving embrace enveloping your form, you might be nervous.

Namjoon’s lips caress your ear as he whispers, “You know it is.”

Even your best attempt to hide your embarrassed smile would fail, so it’s a good thing you’re not even trying. Hoseok wears a satisfied grin as he watches you turn towards Namjoon for a shy kiss. He thinks about leaving you with dancing advice, but instead he decides to slink away wordlessly. There isn’t anything he could say right now that the two of you would hear, not when you’re in a world of your own like this.

It’s easy to lose track of time as you grind against him, teasing him with every swaying motion of your hips. Every sigh against your ear spurs you on to press him further. Even with all the layers between you, the hard length grinding against your ass is ever-present and obvious enough to make you want to bend over so he can take you right here.

Instead you dance and feel his body move against yours until exhaustion starts to set in. Tae and Jennie are already waiting for a ride by the time you step outside. Your cheeks ache from smiling so much and every muscle in your face is too tired to speak. She looks just as tired as you but she gives you a small greeting.

It’s funny how you don’t find anything odd about the way she leans into Tae as they sit near one another, or the way Tae is absentmindedly stroking her hair. You feel like it should be odd, but the world is so far away that you can’t hold the details in your brain long enough to make a connection. Between the haze of alcohol and sleep, you’re too far gone to think too much about it.

Namjoon keeps his arm around you as he talks to Tae, but you don’t catch much of their conversation. Sleep threatens to take you where you stand. You count yourself lucky that Namjoon cares for you so well. You close your eyes to rest for a moment, but when you open them again he’s unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out of the lyft. You shuffle past the threshold of Tae’s home.

Namjoon leads you down the hall to the guest room and pulls on the dangling chain on the lamp  near the bed. A soft yellow glow fills the room as you start to sleepily yank the clothing from your body. Namjoon quickly goes for the open door, but Tae is already in the doorway averting his gaze with one hand and holding a small quilt in the other.

“Thanks. She, uh, gets really cold,” Namjoon says, blocking your body with his frame as you bend at the waist to untie the shoes you now realize are blocking your pants from sliding over your feet.

“Sorry. Let me know if you need anything else,” Tae mumbles, clearly embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Namjoon murmurs back, clutching the quilt as he softly closes the door and turns to you. “Baby.”

“Hmm.”

Your foot is stuck in your shoe but you can’t get your foot out because your shoe is stuck in your jeans. This is a conundrum.

“Baby, you’re gonna fall. Sit down. I’ll help you.”

“I can do it,” you mumble, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” he says, already on his knees before you.

He frees your legs and gives you a kiss as he helps you wiggle below the bedspread, setting the quilt on top of your side.

“It’s hot,” you mumble.

“I know.”

“Too hot for blankets.”

“I know. How about the sheet?” he asks, rolling everything back except for the topsheet. He knows you. You’ll want them again soon enough.

“Mm. Come here.” You reach your grabby hands out for him as he flicks the light off.

“I’m coming.” He laughs and slides beside you. “So needy.”

Although you know he can’t see you pout, he pulls you toward his chest anyway and it turns into a smirk against his warm skin.

“It’s ‘cause I needy--you” you slur with a giggle, planting your lips against his chest in a drawn out kiss.

“You’re a hot mess and I love you,” he says, shaking his head.

“Love you, too.”

It’s clear you’re already falling asleep but he gently strokes your arm until the world around you begins to cool and fall away. When you roll away with a shiver, he carefully secures your body in a cocoon of blankets and drapes his arm and leg over you. Not even overheating could keep him from your touch. A wave of calm overtakes him.

This time he knows: this is love.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Months into your relationship,you’ve have prepared for the end of the semester by planning a little vacation for just the two of you. Namjoon struggles to get through his last day of work, daydreaming about staying at Tae’s summer home and laying on the beach with you. His favorite hiking spot isn’t too far from there and he’s been dying to take you and show you the clearing of wildflowers he loves so much. Hopefully they’ve bloomed beautifully.

He yawns and stretches out, flipping the binder on his desk. It’s been a long day, commemorating the end of a long week. He’s exhausted, but he’s graded every last paper and is in good shape to submit final scores by the deadline. His phone buzzes against the dark wood in the only spot bereft of errant papers. He flips the screen around, finally allowing himself to check the time and give in to distractions.

You: Still working bae

He smiles, thumb gliding over the screen effortlessly while attempting to organize the mess on his desk.

Namjoon: Just finishing up. You: 😏 You: can I You: come before you finish You: it’s only fair

He halts his efforts to stare at his phone.

Namjoon: … You: yes?? Namjoon: 🤦‍♂️ You: what? I’m serious You: 😈😈😈 Namjoon: You on campus? You: I mean... You: who else is gonna be your ride 😘

He shakes his head, smile growing wider as he glances up at the monitor before him. He definitely doesn’t miss running to catch the last bus on late nights. He’s nearly done logging final comments. He’ll be done sooner than you can get here, but this might be as good a time as any to make the reveal.

Namjoon hits the icon to call you, swooning at the familiar image of you stealing his drink. He straightens his glasses and types away at the keyboard while trapping the phone between his ear and shoulder. It doesn’t ring for very long.

“Joonie?”

“Hey, I gotta upload these grades but I’m having trouble.”

You sigh. The last thing you want to do tonight is work, especially not with what you had planned. “What kind of trouble?”

Even as he types away on the keyboard, his mind searches for a term, some kind of red alert to get you off the phone and into his office so he can tell you in person.

“Uh… blue screen.”

“Blue screen of death?” You rub your temple. “What does it say?”

“Uh,” he swallows, pausing to proofread the comment along with the grade he’s about to submit. “It just restarted.”

“On its own?”

Submit.

“Yeah.”

“Is this the first time it’s doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, see if it starts up okay. We can always come back before we go on vacation.”

“Baby, I really want to get these done tonight. I was so close to being done so we can start tonight.”

You sigh heavily and check your makeup in the rearview mirror. “Is it starting up?”

“No, it’s beeping.”

Even straining your ears doesn’t help you pick up on the sound.  “Are you sure?”

“Can you come here? Please?”

Your heart melts. “I’ll be right there.”

You turn the car off and grab one of Namjoon’s oversized hoodies from the backseat. You slip it over your skimpy outfit and carefully make your way to the library, tugging on the hem like it will somehow magically cover all the exposed flesh down to your knees. No such luck. Regardless of how many times you’ve practiced wearing these awful heels, it’s not like you expected to be walking up several flights of stairs in them.

There’s no security guard at the station across the quad. You don’t know if you should feel as happy as you do about that. Despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to get in your car and demand an escort to his office, embarrassment outweighs any fear for safety and you push on. Only a familiar yellow cardigan draped over a chair greets you at the receptionist’s desk, its occupant long gone for the night.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you climb the stairs, passing stack after stack of dimly lit bookshelves until you’re standing outside of the only office still illuminated. Thankfully the door is propped open and you power walk as fast as you can towards it. The faster you can fix it, the faster you can head home and celebrate the end of the semester the way you originally planned.

He nearly tips the chair as he stands. It hits the back wall of his office with a graceless bang. “Y/N? Are those heels? Did you drive here in those?”

It’s difficult to keep your lips as they are when he adorns that expression, features battling between where they might settle: aroused or awestruck. You’d rather not screw up the perfect lipstick application you worked so hard to achieve— not yet at least. The plan is to be on your knees when that happens.

“You look—” he pauses as his traveling eyes try to glean any information they can. His voice lowers to a whisper and he quickly attempts to sate his curiosity with a wandering hand up your thigh. “Are-Are you not wearing anything under there?”

Before you can answer his fingers find the pleated fabric hidden beneath the hoodie and a new, eager question fumbles from his lips. “What are... you wearing?”

As much as you’d like for him to keep exploring, you muster enough willpower to smack his hands away. It’s only fair that he has to wait while you work.

“Computer first. You said it was beeping. Did it ever start back up?”

He swallows hard as you round the desk and start troubleshooting. It’s hard to think when all the blood in his brain is quickly evacuating in favor of inhabiting a far less intelligent location. He’s supposed to say something. He knows that much. But you look so beautiful he forgets how to say it. Your brows furrow in frustration and you sigh his name.

You’ve done your makeup, your hair is down for the first time in a long time, and you even put on a cute outfit as far as he can gather. But here you are in his hoodie, donning a pair of blue-light blocking glasses, rolling up the baggy sleeves, and tying your hair into a tight ponytail as you start to go into full on geeksquad mode. Even with your hunched shoulders and irritated tongue clicking, you’re trying to help him, still beautiful in the way he loves.

Underneath all that skin-deep beauty that fades with time, within the wrinkles that have already begun to crease the edges of your eyes and the corners of your mouth, you shine. You shine brighter than any star he’s ever seen. Months of reflecting your light haven’t been enough to show you the true glow of your soul, but he’s confident that one day you’ll see it.

He’s pulled back to reality as your scowl settles on him. Repeatedly pressing the power button with your finger won’t change the fact that he’s purposefully unplugged it, a fact it seems you’ve come to realize when you reach for the VGA cable and there’s nothing there.

A charming, dimpled smile graces his features and he picks up the monitor with ease. “I, uh, think maybe something fell off before you got here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your computer, is there?” You lean back in the chair and sigh as he stands there like a fool on the opposite side of the desk, cradling his LCD screen like a bouquet.

“No,” he says sheepishly. He gently lowers the monitor to the floor and sighs. “I planned on presenting this better, but you distracted me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a while now.”

Your stomach is spinning and you take in a deep breath. Oh fuck. Is he really going to break up with you? No, he can’t be. He wouldn’t be smiling about that. Would he?

“Nothing bad,” he quickly adds, circling behind the desk and your chair in one large stride. His thumbs dive into the fabric of your hoodie to rub circles into your shoulders.  “At least I don’t think you’ll think it’s bad…” Terror strikes at his belly and he adds, “Unless you do...”

“Joon. Please. You’re stressing me out. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

He spins the chair around and squats down onto one knee. He straightens his tie and reaches for your hand, sending your stomach on another rollercoaster ride, only this one is running in the complete opposite direction and you’re equally as unprepared. You’re not really a marriage kind of person. Well, maybe you are, but you’re not sure. It’s too soon to know! You’re more of a limbless amoeba at this point, stuffed into heels and floating with the other protozoa in the petri dish of the universe, unthinking, just existing.

The world stops as he reaches into his coat pocket and you find yourself too petrified to speak. You close your eyes and slump into the chair like you’ve become a being comprised solely of pudding. Your skirt rides up as you sink and your panties shrink into the world’s thinnest thong. Have you ever held a breath for this long? Maybe you’ll melt through the mesh seat and evaporate into the cheap carpet below. It takes him too long to realize his latest mistake.

It was probably the pudding hand that tipped him off.

“Oh. Shit. Okay. No, look at me. I’m not—” He laughs and sets something in your palm, closing your fingers around it and holding them there. “Look.”

You finally settle on the floor before him and squeeze the item in your palm. It feels unremarkable, like a basic wire or plastic cap. The most remarkable part about it is that it is definitely not a ring.

Relief washes over you with the breath you exhale. “Joon. You’re killing me. Please.”

“Here’s the thing.”

He releases your hand so you can look at this unremarkable thing that has caused you so much panic. It’s the plastic head of a CAT5 plug, pins and all. You tilt your head to one side and inspect it with childlike curiosity and bewilderment.

“I’m not that bad with computers. I mean, I’m not like you-level, but I’m not as bad as you think.”

Things begin to click into place. This isn’t just any ethernet plug. It’s the first one, the one you couldn’t fathom disappearing like it did, leaving a mess of wires in its wake. Namjoon just seemed so clueless that you naturally blamed drunken students vandalizing campus property for shits and giggles. It never crossed your mind that the sweet, quiet professor could have staged the whole thing.

“Before I knew you, I wanted to know you. But I felt like I needed an excuse to talk to you so I…” He reaches into his pocket and adds various bits of broken plastic and screws to your cupped hand. “...did this.”

You blink stupidly at the pile in your palm, watching busted pieces of plastic slide off the side of the tiny heap of junk and fall onto the floor beside your knees. “Oh my god. You…?”

“Breaking things seemed like the easiest way to spend time with you,” he admits. “At least at first. I started doing less destructive things after a while. Deleting empty documents. Unplugging my keyboard. Turning off bluetooth. Moving my email shortcuts. I mean, damn. I thought you caught me more than once. I kept waiting for you to call me out. I dreaded it. I hoped for it.”

A cackle bubbles in the back of your throat but you suppress it with a snort. “So you held onto these? This whole time?”

“I didn’t know if I should like, recycle them or not and it’s not like I could ask you. And I mean googling that just seems suspicious. I’m not about to land myself on a watch list or something. But like, for real, you should definitely tell me if I can recycle them though because I have more and I would really like to clean out my drawer.”

Laughter breaches your lips in full force. “You faked being bad at stuff this whole time? Joonie, are you serious? I can’t believe I fell for the way — the way you type!” You cough and wheeze, trying to catch your breath between laughs. “With two fingers! I should have known. Only dads type like that. Oh my god. “

He offers a sheepish smile. “Actually, I really type like that. Something about the keys.”

“Oh.” Your laughter dies. “Sorry. I mean that like… mmm. You know what, I meant what I said. Kinda crazy, considering you text faster than me.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Okay. Texting is different.”

You cross your arms, burying the broken pieces in your clenched fist. “Have you ever needed my help? Should even come running anymore?”

“Hey, sometimes I really do. I’m still clumsy. Plus, it’s out there now. I have no reason to waste your time... unless you want me to. I won’t stop you from climbing under my desk in those hot pants you wear with all the little pockets.”

You furrow your brows and scoff, an incredulous grin spreading across your face. “My cargo pants? Those pockets are huge.”

“Not compared to your ass.” He shakes his head with a smile, holds up his hands like he’s cupping your ass and pretends to squeeze it a couple times.

“Why are you like this?” You laugh with a roll of your eyes.

“Excuse me, who’s the one getting so drunk she’s going on thinking it’s hot to talk about making guacamole with my avocado dick?”

“Vaguely remember that. Smeared it all over me though, didn’t you?” You grin and wiggle your eyebrows.

He purses his lips and takes a breath. “If you mean watched you drink too fast on an empty stomach while we waited for takeout, sat with you while you dry-heaved for 20 minutes untiI I carried you to the couch and held your hand till you drank enough water to fall asleep, then yeah. Smeared it good.”

“And that’s why… I love you.”

You lean in and stop short of his lips, sitting back enough to narrow your eyes at him.

”Wait a minute. Projector.”

If you’ve been living on a ramen and cereal diet for two years because of a man’s inability to properly express romantic interest, you’re going to be pissed, regardless of how much you love said man now.

“Oh, hey, no. Hold up. The projector was a real accident. I cried,” he reminds you. “I will proclaim you as my goddess and savior for all time on that one.”

“Goddess, huh?” you smirk and close your fist around the busted pieces, leaning in for a kiss. “You gonna call me that instead now? I think I like that better than Geeksquad.”

He hums disagreement against your lips, “Mmm-mmm.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Promise me you won’t purposefully break anything else going forward.”

“I promise. That includes your heart,” he whispers, cupping your chin and pressing his lips against your cheek.

“You are so corny.” You pull at his tie, grinning as you lure him to your lips again. “And I’m so here for it. Now are you gonna help me up so we can start our vacation? Or are you gonna sit there with a hard dick and pretend like you still have work to do?”

He clicks his tongue and rises to his feet to extend a hand to you. As you attempt to pull yourself up, he reaches for your sides and lifts you with ease until you’re perched on the edge of his desk. He didn’t ask you to part your legs yet they spread for him anyway, wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Are you gonna make me guess what all this is about?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving your crude ponytail a soft tug.

You smirk, staring at the red streaks of your lipstick circling his mouth while you try to ignore the heat between your legs that begs you to take him right here. You’ve imagined fucking on this desk thousands of times, but at least you still have enough sense to realize the risk in playing out that fantasy. He’s got a perfectly good desk at his place anyway.

“Take me home and maybe you’ll get to find out,” you say, pulling your keys from the hoodie pocket and letting them hang from your finger.

He groans as he takes them from you. “You know I can’t do highways.”

“Backroads are fine.”

“It’s gonna take forever,” he complains, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“It’s a good time to practice. Come on.” You pat his back a couple times and hop down from the desk, making sure to grind yourself against his erection. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

As soon as you’re in his apartment, you remove the hoodie to reveal your very crude surprise: a slutty schoolgirl costume. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he stops loosening his tie to imitate a lifeless statue of a drooling neanderthal.

“Y/N, what is… Why?”

“Because,” you begin in a low, sultry tone as you drag your fingers over the soft silk still in his hand. “I want you to teach me a lesson.”

His soft exhale fills the space between you and he stumbles to form a response. He laughs nervously, unable to compose himself. “What?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling stupidly uncertain. “You… watch this porn all the time, don’t you? At least I thought you did. Oh. Oh god. This is stupid. Sorry.”

He grips your shoulders to keep you from running towards the bedroom. His eyelids flutter for a

second as he struggles to compose his thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I’m all for roleplay. I’m just... I’m not into the teacher-student trope.”

You frown and reach into the hard-drive files of your brain for any porn you’ve seen on his computer. He’s lying and he knows you know it. He wilts under your puzzled gaze.

“I’m not that into it. Like a lot. I’ve seen some, but only when the story is there.”

“Oh, the story?” You hold back a giggle.

Is he really trying to tell you he’s watching porn for the plot to cover for some terrible porno choices? He should know by now that you don’t care about that. You’ve watched more than your fair share of terrible videos just to get off and immediately hated yourself after. It shouldn’t come as a surprise considering he pretended to be a total idiot with technology for years to cover up his feelings.

“What? I’m serious. I think it’s great when the woman is the teacher and the guy is her equal, you know? She definitely makes as much as he does, if not more because she does it in tight clothes because of the dress code, you know? And he comes in one day after hours and is like how does all this work, anyway? And she starts explaining but you know a button snaps and there’s tension. Baby, you know I’m a feminist. I would never—”

“Joonie. I’m not judging you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t into it myself. I thought it might be fun. And I mean… I really wanted an excuse to have you bend me over your desk, but if you’re not interested I can just—” As soon as you start to work at the buttons of your blouse, he reaches out to stop you.

“We can try it,” he says, bashfully taking a step back and tapping his fingertips against yours. “I’d like to, if you’re down.”

You see an opportunity to break the tension and put him at ease, donning your best valley-girl accent. “Oh em gee, Professor Kim! You are, like, my favorite teacher. Is there some way I can get some extra credit? Puhleeeaase.”

“Nope, none of that,” he says with a laugh, twining his fingers with yours. “As a rule you cannot use that voice.”

“Fair enough.” You lead him towards the desk and gesture to the chair nearby. “How about I’m the teacher since you like that plot point so much?”

He chews his lip to hold back a toothy grin and watches with eager eyes as you bend at the waist to inspect the desk before him, giving a clear view of your ass and panties as your skirt rises. You relocate anything valuable to the nearby bookshelf and work on gathering the papers strewn about the surface.

“Sorry just let me gather up all my extra paychecks,” you mumble.

Once the desk is clear you perch yourself on its edge. Namjoon is already holding out a hair tie and a pair of glasses.

“You forgot these at the staff meeting.”

You roll your eyes and grin, working your hair into a messy bun and resting the glasses atop your head. “Thank you, Professor Kim.”

“Professor Kim is my father. Call me Namjoon.”

You purse your lips and try your best not to laugh, uncrossing and recrossing your legs purposefully. “I suppose you can call me Y/N, then.”

He makes no attempt to hide his lurid gaze, but his eyes travel to your face and he smiles. “Can I call you beautiful, instead?”

“Very smooth, Joonie,” you chuckle, breaking character for a moment.

“Joonie. Hmm. I like the way that sounds in your mouth.”

“I think there’s something else you’d like in my mouth. Maybe you’d like to put it in?”

Namjoon straightens in his seat as you approach, chest heaving in anticipation as he spreads his legs further so you might slot yourself between them. He dips his tongue into your mouth and you work his belt off, slowly sinking to your knees as you try to will yourself to break away from his kiss. He’s eager to unzip his pants and free his cock for you. It stands at attention, eagerly awaiting your touch.

Your breath warms the tip as you skim your lips across him, teasing him just enough to have him twitching, aching to thrust into that pretty mouth. He bites his lip as he looks down at you and inhales sharply through his nose the moment you grip his shaft. The moan that follows is like music to your ears and you grant him the flat of your tongue to reward such a sound.

He combs his fingers through his hair and clutches your shoulder as you take him into your mouth. The dark swollen head of his shaft is thick enough to make your jaw ache, but the sound of him cursing and losing all sense of coherence makes it worth it. As he sinks further into your mouth, he tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy.

You take him as deep as you can, allowing your spit to coat his cock. He likes it when it’s sloppy, when you’re drooling over yourself while he fills your mouth and you’re more than happy to oblige. Your eyes water as he flirts with the back of your throat with a soft, shallow thrust. When you choke his head snaps up to focus on you but you wave his concerned look away and grip his shaft tightly.

A thin string of precum and spit still connects your mouth to him as you lean back for just a second to compose yourself.

“Hope you don’t have any other meetings planned.”

“Why’s that?” His palm gently cups the back of your head, waiting for the moment you’re ready to take him again.

“I’m gonna make a mess of you.”

“Good.”

You meet his eyes and gather as much spit in your mouth as you can, allowing it to dribble down his cock before pumping your fist over him. He doesn’t have time to guide your head back down because you’re already on him again, working him over with your hand any place the warmth of your mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out an expletive and buries a hand in your hair, taking in the sight of your perfect mouth offering the bliss he craves. “You take me so well.”

You bob on his cock until he snakes his fingers down to undo the first button of your blouse, granting him access to a sliver of cleavage. He’s eager to see more of you, to feel more of you. Even after months of being with you, it doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. He won’t last much longer if you keep going, but he’ll be damned if he blows his load in your mouth before even getting an opportunity to touch you.

“I wanna feel you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to coax you away from his cock and back to his lips.

The moment you press your lips against his he reaches for your waist to help you stand. He’s about to follow suit when you surprise him, straddling his lap and grasping at his tie to pull him towards your chest. His cock throbs as it grinds against the slick barrier of your soaked panties, begging for entrance as he buries his face in the splendor of your cleavage. A roll of your hips tempts him to push your panties aside and plunge into you like this. His fingers work as quickly as they can to pop open a few more buttons before slipping down to grip the meat of your ass.

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself down.

His arms tense and before you can entice him further he stands with a grunt, hoisting you onto the desk. You barely have time to react as he yanks your panties down and plunges a finger into your dripping cunt. Planting an arm behind you and keeping the other clasped around the back of his neck, you weakly attempt to keep yourself somewhat upright.

“How about you make a mess for me instead,” he whispers, leaving your cunt in favor of rubbing quick circles against your clit. “And then I’ll fill you up. Walk you out of here past everyone so they can see my cum dripping from your thighs. Everyone will know what a filthy slut you are for me, won’t they, beautiful?”

The way your muscles tense up nearly gives you a cramp. You bite your lip and nod with a pathetic fucked out grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt, continuing to rub against your clit. Your elbow wobbles and you frantically grasp at his shirt instead, balling the material into your fist, desperate to undo the buttons but too close to nirvana to remember how to perform such a simple task. Your legs shake against the surface of the desk, and while the steady rhythm of his finger against your clit is heavenly, you’re ready to cry when his fingers leave your hole empty and aching to be filled.

“Joon, please.”

As soon as the desperate plea leaves your mouth, the tip of his cock teases your entrance, providing small, shallow thrusts that send you soaring past the threshold of your release. He can’t help but smile against your kiss as you drag his bottom lip through your teeth and melt into his form. Your walls spasm wildly around him and he gradually lets the pressure off your clit, instead increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. He fucks you through the shockwaves of pleasure that follow your orgasm, stilling only when your eyelids stop fluttering and you’re able to meet his gaze with a fatigued satisfaction.

“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, lazily opening the buttons on his shirt. Pert brown nipples poke out from beneath the soft fabric, with the silky tie still swaying between them.

He watches you with a smile for a moment before pursuing the last few buttons of your blouse. Quickly working it off your shoulders, you give him the opportunity to reach for the clasp of your bra. It doesn’t take long for him to sweep you into a deep kiss, entranced by the way your skin feels against him while he’s still buried inside of you.

“Bend over this desk for me, baby. Show me that sexy ass.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock but do as he asks, knowing you’ll soon be full again. He lifts your skirt, takes both cheeks in his hands and squeezes before giving one side a slap. The moan that escapes you is embarrassing and it spurs him to repeat the action.

“Fuck,” he whispers, finally allowing his cock to press against cunt once more. “So fucking wet.”

Your own juices coat the expanse of your thighs, slowly trailing down them. Without warning he slams into you hard and fast. Wet slapping sounds fill the room as he holds your hips, driving them back to meet his thrusts.

“So fucking tight.”

You grip the opposing edge of the desk and moan. “You’re so deep, baby.”

“Fuck...” The word is exhaled through a shaky breath.

“So deep you could read me poetry,” you whisper, unable to stop the joke even though you know he’s on the cusp of cumming.

He huffs out a strained puff of air as he tries his hardest not to laugh. He gives in to the laughter after you begin to giggle. Unable to save himself, he leans into the joke that threatens to ruin his orgasm. “You’re my person. You’re my desire. You’re my pride...”

His thrusts are sloppy, his legs tense. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s not mad. It must be your own grin that is contagious because he’s smiling even though he’s shaking his head at you.

“You’re my love. One and only love,” you recite for him, reaching back for his hand and pushing your hips back into him with force.

His grip on your hip tightens and he squeezes your hand. He slams into you a final time with a moan, ensuring he’s as deep as he can be before filling you with his seed. The pleasure amplifies every time you try to wiggle back for some sort of movement and he moves his hand to your ass, digging his fingernails in like it will keep him grounded. He leans over your form, kissing any bit of skin on your back his lips can reach.

Regardless of the sensitivity he keeps himself buried in you, hoping by some miracle he’ll stay hard enough to fuck you a second time. He can’t tell what’s his mess and what’s yours anymore as it drips down his balls to his thighs. As he finally slips out, you turn to face him with a sweet smile on your lips.

Your fingers glide through his hair and trail down to cradle his cheek. “I love you.”

Namjoon leans into your touch, pressing his lips to the inside of your palm. “I love you too.”

Maybe it’s the endorphins, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable and happy with another person, someone he can be so unapologetically himself with. He’s completely certain that he’s bound to you by fate. The love you share is destiny, a gift from the universe he never intends to take for granted.

No matter what the future holds, he knows he wants you by his side through it all: his one and only love.

[forever-rogue]

Green Thumb

A/N: So this was totally unprompted, but I really liked the idea of it! This is based off the idea from @softboiipascal​ that Frankie likes to garden and has a green thumb. I totally and fully support this hc and it’s the sweetest thing. Just some fluff! Enjoy!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You'd never met your neighbor. Not really anyway; you'd exchanged pleasantries upon your move into the neighborhood a few months ago but that was about it. Nothing more than a friendly 'welcome to the neighborhood, I'm Francisco Morales -  Frankie.'

He'd been nice - polite - just like the rest of your new compatriots in the small, quiet neighborhood. There wasn't really much to tell about him otherwise. He presented an enigma; perhaps you'd just never taken the time to notice more about him. Francisco Morales was handsome in a conventionally unconventional way: tall and fairly fit with dark hair that curled at the ends, gentle brown eyes, and a sweet smile, but the nose is what got you. While it wasn't a typically classical nose, it was Aquiline in nature and suited him perfectly. Combined with the sultry baritone you'd heard for only a few seconds, it presented a wonderful picture. He was easy on the eyes and ears. 

But that was about as far as you'd gotten with him. You'd noticed his pattern of coming and going was fairly typical with a standard work day. Occasionally you'd spied a friend or two that would stop over, or he left the house for extended periods of time, usually on weekends. Gods, you felt like a stalker just knowing his comings and going. But really they weren't hard to pick up on. He seemed to prefer a solitary, quiet life and you wondered if it was by choice or circumstances. 

Whatever it was, there was something comforting about knowing that Francisco Morales lived right next to you.

It was a particularly nice late morning when you finally decided to get out of bed and do something. Maybe you would take a walk and treat yourself to brunch at your favorite little spot. That seemed like a good idea. You even decided you'd dress up, just because you felt like - what more reason was needed than that? You'd set out your favorite sundress and shoes by the bed, determined to slip them on after a hot, relaxing shower. 

But on this particular day, fate seemed to have conspired against you. Halfway through your shower, while you were still lathered in soft scented bubbles from head to toe, the water went from hot and relaxing to frigid. Almost jumping back from the sudden stream of iciness, you groaned in annoyance at the sudden interruption. Maybe it was just...a moment or two of coldness? Maybe you’d used up all the hot water? Maybe...it would be fine. 

So you stood there, naked and freezing, waiting for the water to warm back up. But then...nothing happened. At all. If possible, the water grew even colder. 

As you saw it, you had two options: get out and remain soaped up, or you could brace it and quickly rinse yourself off. Quickly opting for the latter, you braced yourself as you stepped back into the stream and washed off the soap and everything as quickly as humanly possible. 

By the time you were done, you were freezing, and trying to keep your lips from trembling too much. Wrapping yourself up in your biggest, and fuzziest, towel, you quickly worked to warm yourself up before getting dressed. If you hadn’t been awake before you certainly were now. 

This wasn’t how you’d planned your day off. Wrapping the towel around your head, you quickly dressed and threw open your windows and curtains to let the warmth of the spring sun into your bedroom. It had to be something with the water heater; you had no clue what else it could suddenly be. If you were being totally honest, you had no clue what it would be with the water heater.You’d have to call the landlord or some maintenance person as soon as possible to get this resolved. 

Trudging down the hall and into the garage, you examined the offending object but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But that’s when an idea crossed into your head. Frankie. You didn’t know him well, but you thought you knew him well to garner that he would have some sort of knowledge about this type of stuff. 

Besides that, it would be the perfect excuse to talk to him. You’d be kidding yourself if you said the mystery of your neighbor wasn’t intriguing. 

That settled it. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You slipped on some new sandals as you trudged over to your neighbor’s house, glad to see that his car was in the driveway. For some reason, an odd bundle of nerves had settled into your stomach as you approached his front door. Why, why, why? This was just Frankie and it was just for a quick favor. Hell, if nothing else, you’d even offer to pay him for his time. Pushing away your worries and swallowing down your fears, you held up your hand and knocked on his door, loud enough to make sure he’d hear, but not too loud to be rude.

Standing back, you rocked on your heels as you waited for him to answer. But after a few minutes of silence, you wondered if he was actually home. Maybe you’d been mistaken and he was actually gone...deciding to head back to your own place, you paused when you’d heard some sounds from the backyard. Curious, you mused to yourself, very curious. 

Stepping off the porch, you walked around to the gate that led to the backyard and noticed that it was unlocked. Something compelled you to let yourself in, and slowly you did so, “hello? Frankie?”

Still not hearing anything, you walked all the way around the back but stopped suddenly in your tracks as you noticed his garden. You weren’t sure how you had never noticed it before, but it was - simply put - beautiful. 

Filled with rows of freshly grown vegetables, lined with fruit trees, and bordered by beautiful, stunning flowers. It was like a little oasis in the middle of suburbia. Whatever Frankie possessed, a green thumb was definitely in his arsenal. 

And that’s where you found him. Kneeling on the ground as he trimmed and gathered up some of his fresh vegetables. He was singing softly to himself as  music played from the small speaker on the porch. No wonder he hadn’t heard you; in some way you felt like you should just turn around and leave. It was like you had walked into a private moment; a man in his personal sanctuary.

But as soon as you’d resolved to leave, Frankie must have sensed your presence as he turned around and spotted you. A small smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he brushed off his dirty hands on his jeans and stood up. Had he always been this handsome? Sweat trickled down his glorious neck and soaked into the collar of his t-shirt, and you had to struggle not to stare.

“H-hi Frankie,” you held up your hand a pathetic little wave, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I knocked but you didn’t answer and then I heard some noise and yeah...sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he was effortless and easy as he walked over to the speaker and turned it down before grabbing his glass of water and chugging half of it down in one go, “is everything alright?”

“I, ummm, this seems really silly,” you scratched at the back of your neck awkwardly and Frankie did his utmost best as he tried not to stare at you in that pretty sundress. He’d seen you in it, just around, and always thought it was beautiful - you were beautiful. Instead, he keep his gaze trained pointedly at your face; in all honesty, that was just as much of a struggle, you were easily the most gorgeous being he had ever seen. But you quickly snapped him back into reality, “but my hot water stopped worked mid shower this morning, and I-I had no clue about how any of this works, and I was wondering if you did? I should probably just have called the...someone. I just…”

“I can come and take a look,” he offered up the sweet smile, displaying the singular dimple you’d never noticed until now, “it just so happens that your hunch was right and I happen to know about these kinds of things.”

“I...thank you, Frankie,” your shoulders seemed to unwind with relief, and you knew you were in good, capable hands, “I really appreciate it. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…”

“Not at all,” he promised, “I was just finished up. My vegetables have been doing very well this spring and have been growing like crazy. Would you...you like some?”

“Have you done all of this by yourself?” you were in awe as he shyly nodded. Taking a few steps closer, you admired some of the blooms and blossoms that were near you, “everything is beautiful. It’s impressive - I could never.”

“It’s not that hard,” he admitted as he reached for the basket he had been filling up, “it’s just about taking the time to do it and be thorough. It’s a hobby I picked up after...after I left the military. Occupies the hands and mind and results in something useful.”

Military. You had no clue he was a veteran. But then again, you quickly realized, you had a lot to learn about him still. 

“It’s turned into a beautiful hobby,” you gestured to the lush garden, “and you’ve obviously got some knack for it, Frankie. I’ll just have to come over to you whenever I need some fresh fruit and veggies.”

“You’re more than welcome any time,” he promised as he tucked the basket under his arm and stepped over to you, “come on, I’ll take a look at your water heater now, and then maybe we can do something else this afternoon…”

“I was planning on taking myself out to brunch,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, “perhaps you’d like to join me?”

“I’d like that...I’d like that a lot,” he agreed with a grin as bright as the golden sun, “what’s your favorite flower, by the way? Just curious…”

“Daisies,” you told him as he nodded and committed that to memory, “daisies.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Frankie?” you walked into Frankie’s house, arms filled with groceries for the barbecue the two of you were throwing over the weekend. The whole house smelled like pie, and you were sure that Frankie must have been up to some baking with his fresh apples while you were out. Just as you walked into the kitchen and set the bags on the counter, your suspicions were confirmed when you spied the two pies sitting on the counter and cooling down. 

“Hi honey,” he poked his head in from the backyard as soon as he’d heard you, happiness seeping into his features and his bones when he realized it was you, “didn’t realize you were buying half of the grocery store! I could have come and helped.” 

“It’s alright,” you promised, “a single trip and two bags. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ve got everything for the barbecue this weekend. I wanted to make sure we had everything.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” he came over behind you, easily wrapping his arms around your waist as  he pressed a few gentle, delicate kisses to your shoulder. Barely able to contain the ticklish giggles that escaped your lips, you turned your head to offer him a proper kiss, “missed you, baby.”

“You saw me this morning,” you teased at his little pout, “can’t have missed me that much! I see you’ve kept busy. How much baking did you get done?”

“Still missed you,” he insisted with a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help but grin at his soft little display of affection, “and I only made the two pies...but I did start on attempting to make some fruit preserves. Who knows if they’ll even turn out good at all!”

“If you’re making them, I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” you reassured him. The man really did have a knack for not only gardening, but also baking and cooking. You’d really lucked out with Francisco Morales; you were more than thankful you’d asked him to come and look at your water heater on that fateful day almost six months ago. You never thought it would lead to all of this - but you were more than happy it did. 

“You’re just saying that,” he joked as you huffed in jest before wrapping your arms around him and engulfing him in a giant, tight hug, “fine, fine, fine, you win.”

‘I know,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “now help me unpack and then we can figure out dinner. Maybe take out tonight?”

“Sounds good to me...there’s just...one thing,” the man you loved suddenly seemed to turn shy as he stared at his feet, “just...stay here for a moment, okay?”

“Sure,” you arched a brow as you suddenly worried about him. Gods, you hoped everything was okay, “Frankie, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, “just close your eyes.”

You did as you were told and listened to the sound of his eager footsteps race from the kitchen and...back outside? Shrugging lightly to yourself, you kept your eyes closed as you leaned against the counter in anticipation. 

It was indeed only a few moments before he bounded back and you could feel his body heat in front of you, “Frankie?”

“Alright, sweet girl,” he whispered, “you can open your eyes.”

Slowly opening your curious eyes, you were quickly met with the sight of a bouquet of the most beautiful daisies you had ever seen. They were soft, and delicate, in various shades of brilliant sunset colors. Your jaw dropped as you looked between them and the man holding them. 

“Francisco…” it was all you could manage to choke out as you looked at them, tears already pricking the backs of your eyes, “these are absolutely beautiful.”

“They’re for you,” he insisted, almost appearing nervous, “you said they were your favorite.”

“They are,” you took them and delicately thumbed over some of the petals, “where did you…”

“I grew them,” he admitted proudly and you were sure your heart was about to burst with happiness and love, “I planted them the day after your water heater incident and they’re finally all ready for you.”

“You grew them for me?” a single tear rolled down your cheek, which he gently wiped away, “how have I never noticed them before?”

“Of course, I did,” he grinned, “I planted them where they would be a little hidden, so you could only really see them if you were looking for them. D-do you like them, sweet girl?”

“I love them,” you reassured him with a soft kiss, “they’re absolutely beautiful. I love you, Francisco. More than words could ever convey. Thank you, my love.”

“Anything for you,” he put his arm around you and pulled you in for a hug, careful not to crush the flowers, “I love you.”

Maybe you were thankful for that stupid old water heater after all.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[myelocin]

Cradle | Sakusa Kiyoomi, Iwaizumi Hajime

Synopsis: First is love; in the forms over the years you come to know. Then second is grief and loss; and how the struggle that comes with it defines and reshapes you. And finally third is acceptance, where you realize that the awakening to love and life’s questions have always just been in the palm of your hand.

This story is for those who shielded themselves from love before it could even hit them. 

Characters/Pairings: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader x Iwaizumi Hajime | Seijoh 3rd years (friendship)

Genre/Tags/Warnings: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Seijoh4!Friendship, Cellist!Sakusa, Musician!Reader, Hajime lmao, Mutual Pining, Love Triangle, Happy Ending!!, Character death, mentions of spiraling

WC: 17.5k

a/n: a month long wip! this one is all for you, mom. i broke my heart writing down these memories, but i hope you read this on the other side. + big thank you to @introvertedfangirlpower for the cello facts! really helped me :)

playlist: Message to Myself - Roo Panes

ko-fi | commissions

For you, love began in the unknown.

You say unknown because you don’t remember much of your childhood other than the flashes of residual warmth that came with the memory of your mother. For as long as you can remember, she always felt like that: warm and familiar—like home.

Her presence like the warmth that stays on your coffee mug long after you’ve consumed your drink. Warmth like sitting in front of a fireplace as you watch the last bits of firewood extinguish in the flames.

And your fondest memory perhaps—warm like the hands that cup your face and kiss your forehead every morning before you left for school.

The early years in your life meant days spent in planted gardens outside of a kitchen window where the pink and yellow flowers bloom in the spring, and jumping in the fallen leaves raked in a pile centered in the backyard in the late autumn.

Then in the winters, when it became too cold to lay in blankets in the backyard stargazing for constellations—you’d spend the Christmas nights listening to bedtime stories about her time traveling the world you have yet to explore. “You’ll fall in love with seeing what’s out there,” you recall her saying as she tucks you in bed with the green blanket she knitted for you when you were a baby.

Though you suppose even if you loved the winter months with her the best—you could never go wrong with sipping the iced tea she’d leave for you on the porch in the afternoons you spent outside in the summers. The iced tea she made was always the best: never too sweet, and never too bland either.

And for the most part of your childhood, your father was absent. You didn’t really care; his absent never lingered. So even when the bratty kid from the classroom next to yours would brag about the brand new jacket her papa bought her from a trip overseas—you didn’t care. The jacket you wore was still the same one from last year, and the scarf wrapped around you was the one she knitted two winters ago, but the way she wrapped you up and kissed your nose made the taunting escape your mind.

Your mother would tell you stories about the times when you were a baby and of how she’d tuck you in nice and snug in your blanket whenever she felt the room was too cold and then fan you out when the temperature rose. Apparently, when you were a baby you never cried too much so she was left to guess whether you felt comfortable enough with the room’s temperature or not. She always finished the story by saying you smiled at her either way so she supposes she guessed right every time.

You don’t question it because she guesses right every time.

During father daughter dances that were annually held in your school, your mother always made sure to take the day off of work early so the two of you would have dinner some place nice instead. Her jokes were better than the ones your dad halfheartedly chucked your way when he did come to visit anyway, so you didn’t mind.

Your father ringing you up three hours before the dance with the last minute classic excuse of “sudden meeting today, I’m sorry.” didn’t bother you as much as you think it should have when your mom was right next to you ready to tell you another story from her younger days.

Her “younger days” as she liked to call it was always a favorite topic of hers that she always returned to from time to time. At eight years old, it felt like there was so much of the world still to explore and despite her telling you to live your childhood to the fullest, you didn’t ask what it meant and requested to hear an encore of the story she just finished telling.

She’d smile and you’d hear her tell you that no, and that you should have listened, but you know during the “father daughter” dinners shared between the two of you, she was extra soft and that it would take nothing more than pleading eyes and one more “please” before she’d relent and tell the story again.

She was always enough; every second with her felt just right—and if there’s something you never regret during your childhood, it’s those times where you’d ignore the teasing of having “no dad to dance with” from your childhood bullies because you were more than content with the superwoman who raised you anyway.

-

If there was someone in your childhood other than your mom who never hesitated to hold your hands—it was the boy who lived right down the street: Iwaizumi Hajime.

“He looks a little scruffy,” your mom used to tell you and you’d shrug at her words because to ten year old you, she did have a point. Boys were icky.

His family didn’t move in your street until you turned ten years old, but according to the Oikawa family who lived next door—the Iwaizumi family had already been one of their long term friends. Tooru, the pretty boy who was your next door neighbor and often brought you the Christmas cookies you’ve come to love every December didn’t hesitate to knock on your door and ask your mom for permission to bring you out and play.

Tooru was okay, you thought; he had nice hair and a pretty smile even though he wore alien t-shirts every chance he could get. But, he was always kind enough to remember that you preferred almonds in your cookies instead of the cashews the recipe called for. So when your mother looked at you for your answer, you nodded shyly before running to your room to grab the jacket and scarf she reminded you to wear. The chill from autumn’s air has been settling in the region lately, so you let her wrap the scarf around you tightly before you left.

She did the same for both Tooru and his mystery friend, and you could only nod proudly when Tooru introduced his friend to your mother with, “This is (l/n)-san, she’s the nicest auntie here!”

You don’t notice the boy who walks quietly beside Tooru until the three of you reach the park. When you do finally notice him, you subconsciously find yourself moving a little closer to Tooru, your puffy cheeks hidden in the layers your scarf buried you in.

“Oh!” Tooru suddenly exclaims like he just had an epiphany.

“(Y/n),” he says as he turns to you and grabs the sleeve of your jacket, “—this is Iwa-chan. My bestest friend!”

Iwa-chan, the boy introduced to you peeks at you from Tooru’s left side and puffs his cheeks, “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, nice to meet you.”

“Hello, I’m (y/n),” you reply and tentatively hold your hand out as an offer for him to shake, “nice to meet you Iwaizumi-san.”

His cheeks turn red at your words and you fight the urge to laugh at how silly it looks with his pout when he says, “You can call me Hajime. Nice to meet you too.”

Beside you, Tooru must have thought that his friend was taking too long to respond because he sighs loudly and grabs Hajime’s hand and clasps it on yours. “Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to shake her hand! Not stare.”

The red tinting his cheeks turn into a couple shades darker as he shakes your hand and turns his head to the side after muttering something along the lines of, “Baka-kawa.”

You smile at him when he faces you, and then smile even wider when the blush on his cheeks turn even redder. Maybe it’s just the cold air, you think, but none the less it suited him.

His hair was a little scruffy and he liked to wear Godzilla t-shirts under his jackets, but his cheeks blushed a pretty shade of red when you smiled at him so when your mom asks how your day with Tooru and the new neighbor went, you smile at her and say, “Mama I made a new friend!”

Hajime seemed nice, you suppose.

-

And you’re right because Hajime was always kind; he smiled in a way that had you smiling along with him in mere seconds. Though he was a little rougher with Tooru, Hajime always made it his mission to make sure he held your hand—if you needed it—when you needed to jump down a big step; the ever present blush on his cheeks when you’d beam at him stayed regardless of whatever season so you suppose you can’t blame it on the cold air anymore.

During your summer breaks, the three of you would spend the afternoons in your mother’s backyard sipping iced tea and catching cicadas. Tooru, along with you, would whine about how gross bugs were but you’d sooner relent than him when a pout began to form on Hajime’s face.

“You don’t have to,” Hajime says and takes a seat next to you on the swing next to the rosebushes. Tooru, from a far would yell triumphantly before tossing the volleyball he’d brought with him from home again. You, on the other hand could never have it in you to see Hajime upset so you’d pick up one of the three nets he’d brought with him and nod towards the garden.

“It’s okay!” you say and offer him a sweet smile when he’d look up, “as long as you keep the worms away from me then it’s okay!”

“I’ll keep them away,” he replies suddenly looking excited. Hajime jumps from the swings to grab another net and tugs at your hand to run towards the garden; he chooses to ignore the look on Tooru’s face when the latter shoots him a knowing smirk.

Bugs were never your thing and there was also never a day where you thought you’d be out in the garden running hand in hand with a boy trying to catch cicadas on a summer afternoon—when you’d much prefer to be sitting in a picnic blanket with the family dog who always nudged your hand for belly rubs. But then again, when you see Hajime, the kind boy with the infectious smile who always held your hand when you crossed the street or jumped from big steps, beam at you with his laughs ringing in the air—you conclude that it can’t be so bad after all.

When the sun would set and the three of you would let go of all the cicadas you caught, your mom would sit the three of you down for dinner and talk about your days.

“Ah, youth,” your mother would comment and you’d nod along, smiling because if this is what she meant by the beauty of youth—then you don’t ever want to let this go. If youth meant summer afternoons spent catching cicadas, festivals in the autumn, hot cocoas in winter, and picnics in the spring with Hajime and Tooru then you decided you really don’t want to let it go.

You think that especially when you look at the table across you as you smile at Tooru shoveling his dinner down and smiling at your mom because she was the bestest cook ever and laugh when Hajime’s always the one offering to pass the salt or the dish your mother asked for.

“Haji is really smart, mama,” you say looking up at the woman seated next to you and Tooru would whole heartedly agree then mutter something about “Iwa-chan” being really good at arm wrestling. Hajime would flush with the familiar shade of red you’ve grown accustomed to at Tooru’s comment but tell your mother a polite thank you when she’d clap her hands together and agree with Tooru’s compliment.

That night when your mother tucked you in for the night and moved to turn off the lights in the bedroom, she tells you that Hajime and Tooru are nice boys and that she’s glad you befriended the both of them.

You tell her goodnight and smile into your covers, feeling warm at the thought of your mother’s words, Tooru’s laughter, and Hajime’s kind smile.

-

High school was a strange time for the three of you.

Strange, in the sense that even though the three of you maintained the closeness of the friendship you’ve shared since childhood—certain things factored in the evident shift in some relationships.

Tooru was one example.

You would give up an arm for him in a heartbeat if it meant it would save his life, but at the same time, there are some moments where you wouldn’t hesitate to rip off his arm just to get him to shut up.

He’s always been perceptive, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he came to your house one day, plopped himself on the beanbag he claimed to be “his spot” at the corner of your desk, look you dead in the eye, and declare, “You have the hots for Iwa-chan don’t you?”

Internally, you wince at the statement but outwardly maintain the air of nonchalance you’ve mastered over the years. Tapping your pen on Tooru’s forehead, you click your tongue, “If you don’t finish your essay by today, I’m not gonna edit it for you.”

“You’re changing the topic, (y/n),” Tooru quips and if the conversation was about something different, you’d smile at the sing-song tone he was using.

“Changing what?” You ask.

“(Y/n),” Tooru replies, dragging out the last syllable of your name, “—you’re so obvious, even Makki and Mattsun could tell.”

“Could tell what?” comes Hajime’s voice from the doorway.

You let out a sigh because in a way you’re thankful for Hajime’s impeccable timing in entering your room. You turn your head and glance at him from your desk, offering him a lazy wave as a greeting.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru exclaims and scrambles on the beanbag to sit up properly. “How much have you heard?”

“Were you talking about something important?” Hajime asks with a flat tone as he sits on your bed and pulls out his laptop.

“Your mom asked me and Oikawa to stay for dinner tonight, by the way. That cool with you?” he asks.

You look at him, the expression on your face quizzical, “Haji, you guys always stay for dinner. Mama and I love having you two around.”

From your peripheral vision, you could see Tooru look between you and Hajime back and forth and for once you’re glad he chose to stay silent.

But then when a familiar tinge of red falls on Hajime’s cheeks and you smile fondly at him, Tooru suddenly hollers, “(Y/n), that’s what I mean. You totally have the hots for Iwa-chan!”

Hajime’s eyes widen as you slap a hand over your face.

Today was one of the days where you decide you want to rip Tooru’s arm off.

-

Dinner later that night was, to put it bluntly, awkward.

You figured your mom must have already read the atmosphere by now but as of the moment all you could really do was shoot glares towards Tooru from across the table. Usually, the seating arrangement would be like this: you sat next to your mom, Tooru right across you, and Hajime diagonal from you.

Tonight, Tooru decided that it was time to “switch things up” and traded seats with Hajime.

“Ahh, this feels nice,” he says as he sits in the chair inches away from the chair where he sat for years.

“Boys,” your mother begins, “I heard you both got into the volleyball team.”

Tooru beams at her through a mouthful of pasta. “Yeth!” he chimes and Hajime elbows him on the side reminding him to eat properly before responding. You, along with your mother give a soft laugh at their interaction.

“How are you three liking high school so far? I expect the two of you to get rid of any boys who have bad intentions towards (y/n),” your mother says as she sips on her wine. Internally, you groan, because this was a conversation you would much prefer to not have. Especially in front of Tooru, you decide when he grins with an undertone of something you could only guess was anything but good. You shoot him a warning look; Tooru decides it’s a good day to ignore you.

Over the years, you made your appreciation known towards Hajime’s amazing timing. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to either you, Tooru, or the both of you simultaneously. He had always managed to round the corner right as the passing university boys would spot you alone by the convenience store, catch Tooru before he did anything too drastic whenever he blamed himself a little too harshly for a loss from a particularly bad game, or like earlier that night—walk into a room interrupting a conversation you would rather avoid altogether.

This current situation was not one of those times.

Hajime took a bite. Your eyes were still locked on Tooru who did everything but look in your direction.

“I don’t think that’s a problem, (L/n)-san,” he said and leaned forward. Your mother next to you raised an eyebrow in question and muttered an, “oh?”

Hajime took another bite, still oblivious to the current conversation. You still looked at Tooru who smiled at you in a way that had you gripping the fork in your hand a little tighter.

“No scary boys around (y/n), at all! Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?” Tooru exclaims and looks at his best friend next to him who was still engrossed in his plate of food. You hold your breath looking at Hajime as you wait for his response.

“Huh? Yeah. Anyway, this new recipe is really good (l/n)-san,” he finally says and nods towards your mother. Tooru clasps his hands together, smiling.

“Personally,” Tooru begins, “I think Iwa-chan and (y/n) would be the most perfect couple!”

You run your hands over your face, already feeling the heat crawling up your neck. Feeling your mother’s stare you let out a sigh and face her. “Mom-“

“Hajime! That’s great! I was wondering when the two of you would get together, it’s literally been years.”

You stare at her. Hajime stares at her; pasta sauce is smeared on the corner of his lips.

“I know, imagine being the third wheel this whole time!” Tooru comments.

-

“Hajime’s a nice boy,” your mother tells you as you join her in the living room after Tooru and Hajime returned home.

“We’re not, a thing, mom,” you say despite her laughing at your tone.

“I didn’t say you two were a thing.”

You open your mouth, but eventually close it when you come short of a response. She had a point.

“Mom,” you groan, “Haji is nice. Tooru is nice. Both of them are nice.”

“I know that, (y/n), you’re just being defensive now,” she laughs and you can’t find a retort so you huff in response.

When the room is dips into silence, you grab the familiar green blanket folded on the corner of the couch and take a seat next to her. She looks at you when you lean against her shoulder and drape the blanket over the two of you.

“(Y/n),” your mother says softly.

“Yeah?” you respond, looking up to catch her gaze—the kind where it’s steady and soft.

“Never lose yourself if you decide to give your heart to someone. I raised you well enough and no boy should ever make you feel like you’re taking two steps back,” you know she doesn’t say it to spite Hajime, but the message and advice in her words reach you anyway.

“Never in a million years.”

-

You know your mother means well because everything she’s done so far was because it was for your sake. Her credit of being a good mom was well deserved: a full time nurse and a full time mother wasn’t an easy feat but she did it—and not a day goes by where you felt like you had to fight for her time.

And because of that, you knew in your heart that Hajime knew the both of you enough to understand the dynamic you had with her; for that, you were always thankful.

True to Tooru’s words, it only took the both of you six more months of back and forth bickering in your room before you eventually built up enough courage to stand in front of Hajime with your confession written neatly in jet black ink on paper tucked inside the pink envelope Tooru had demanded you to use.

He was quiet, and staring at you long enough for your cheeks to turn as pink as the envelope you were holding that it had you beginning to wrack your brain for excuses to turn and walk in the opposite direction. Only, when you looked up, cheeks flushed and the “Sorry I think I have to be home early to put my fish to sleep,” at the tip of your tongue—you stop because Hajime’s looking at anywhere but you and because his entire face is red.

You still have the envelope awkwardly stretched out towards him so when you move in attempt to retract it, his hands are suddenly clasped over your wrists and he’s looking at you, red face and all, saying, “W-wait—“

The both of you must have been quite the spectacle for the way you’re staring at each other, red faced, and waiting for the other to begin speaking because you could definitely make out Takahiro and Issei’s snorting from some feet away.

“—shit,” Hajime continues and the way he’s still staying silent and going back to avoiding your gaze has you tugging your wrists out of his hold and sheepishly telling him, “Sorry, this is a little awkward isn’t it?”

You’re standing in front of Hajime with your hands holding the letter behind your back and an awkward smile on your face.

“(Y/n), this is really weird—“ he begins and you’re shaking your head automatically at his attempt to soften the blow by waving your arms—and the letter—in front of him saying, “Haji! No! It’s okay you don’t have to say anything, this was a really bad idea—“

“No, I mean—“ he cuts you off then pauses as he’s sifting through the contents of his bag and pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope, the color a disturbingly identical to your own.

You look at Hajime. Hajime looks at you, at his envelope, then towards yours that paused with your hand midair. Issei and Takahiro’s laughter can be heard even louder from the background when Hajime runs his hands over his face and exclaims,

“Oikawa you son of a bitch.”

-

Two years and some months ago, Oikawa Tooru—the self-proclaimed “love guru” between you and Hajime had declared to have pulled off his “greatest plan.”

Apparently, the original plan called for only you to confess to Hajime via the classic love letter—but Issei and Takahiro had thought that the shits and giggles were worth to have both of you confess to each other at the same time instead.

Tooru always retells the story in the fashion where he leaves out Issei and Hiro’s names out of the credits. On the contrary, you and Hajime don’t have in in you to react much.

In the beginning, Hajime the friend held your hand through many of your highs and lows.

From age ten, he’d always make sure to hold your hand when you’re jumping from steps a little too far for your liking. At twelve, he’s holding your hand as he leads you away from the worms that found its way near the picnic blanket. At fifteen, when the two of you accidentally confessed to each other thanks to your friends’ schemes, he held your hand as he pulled you in the direction opposite of Tooru yelling, “Iwa-chan, don’t forget I’m the best wingman!”

Hajime, the boyfriend, had continued to hold your hand as well as share a multitude of your first throughout the years.

Your first date where he’d always let you walk on the correct side of the sidewalk, and make sure to squeeze your hand whenever the two of you would pass by a group of boys who let their stare linger. Your first kiss—a quick peck after a game where he’d rushed to you, lifting you up and planting a kiss on your lips before either of you could even process what was happening.

A reassuring hand on your back in the train ride during rush hour, kisses on your knuckles when he thought no one was around in quiet libraries, and your favorite: the feel of his thumbs tracing idle circles on the back of your hand when you’re watching him review the game you recorded earlier.

You were each other’s first “I love you,” when you’re seventeen, which was said in the hours between the day and night on your walk home down a quiet street you’ve skipped, ran, and biked across countless of times. You heard it break the silence before you said it with your own lips, because the way Hajime said it was like he was just talking about the weather that day.

When the two of you stop in front of your house and Hajime’s facing you, he’s smiling in the way that has you blushing instead of him this time and he’s looping your scarf even snugger around your neck after muttering some comment about how cold it was that day.

“Haji, did you just tell me you love me?” you ask him when he’s zipped up your jacket and you’re peeking at him under the various layers of the scarf he secured around you.

“Yeah, of course, I love you.”

“This is the first time you’re telling me that,” you say with an almost bashful expression and your eyes are cast down so you don’t end up seeing Hajime’s eyes widen at the realization dawning on him.

“(Y/n), shit—“

“I love you too, Haji,” you cut him off and even if the expression in his face is still a little apologetic at the lack of climax of your first exchange of I love yous, he’s holding your hands and pulling you flush against him in an embrace, his proclamation of more “I love yous” fluttering against your ear in warm breaths.

You think about it sometime later when you’re clearing up the plates on the table from dinner and you ask your mom, “how do you know when it’s right to tell someone I love you?” and she looks at you with an expression that says she knows exactly what you’re talking about but humors your attempt at nonchalance as she replies with, “It just slips out as if you’re talking about the weather.”

And the way she says it has the second thoughts just automatically leaving your head. You tell her “I love you,” in the mornings before she leaves for work and you don’t really think about it—not because it’s a passing comment, but because you just simply love her.

The feeling’s there because what you feel in the moment is as genuine as it can get, so when you think about Hajime from seven years ago who blushed red when you shook his hand and the Hajime seven hours ago who told you he loved you like he was talking about the weather—everything dawns on you in the way that feels right. No second thoughts, deep analysis, or euphoric moment.

>> to hajibug:

>> 23:50: i love you

-

In college you decided to pursue music as a career choice. Music was one of the many things you and your mother had bonded over but watching you play in first chair always gave you the best view of her beaming from the audience.

Whenever somebody asked you why you decided to pursue a career in the field as vague and competitive as music—for a long time you fumbled with your words as you struggled to piece together a coherent enough sentence that would make it seem like you were chasing something for a “deeper” reason. Though, the truth is—you just happen to enjoy it.

The way the shoulder rest snapped perfectly in place with the violin, the weight of the bow in your hand, the smell of rosin during practice, the tuning before the concert started before hearing the eventual mess mold together into one harmony—you loved every second of it.

On the final concert of your first year in college, a week before Hajime’s move to California you stood in the orchestra room reading a text from your mother saying that she couldn’t make it this time because of a doctor’s appointment running later than usual.

You still sat in the first chair of the first violins section and even though you would have loved nothing more than to see her smile at you from the crowd—it was in the coda of the final song where  your eye finally catches Hajime watching you from her seat. When the violins put their instruments down in the measures of rests, you glance over to look at Hajime while your toe continued to tap the counts remaining until you’d play again.

You bite back a smile because he looked a little uncomfortable from the high collar of the suit he put on. Tooru’s probably the mastermind, your thoughts chime in as you smile and tuck the violin back in between your chin and shoulder, your rosin covered bow hovering over the E string.

And when the final count of the rests came and went, you could only smile as you see Hajime physically hold his breath as the violins amplified the crescendo of the climax.

-

It was later that night when you finally made it home that you realize that perhaps your favorite part of the song was when you felt the emphasis of the dynamics in the pieces you played.

The moment of absolute silence as the conductor draws everyone’s attention to the tip of the baton.

“(Y/n),” your mother starts and your eyes lock on the slight tremble in her hands.

The seemingly collective sharp breath everyone takes when the tip of the baton begins to signal the final counts until the start. Your fingers pressed on the first note as your bow hovers over the string.

“What’s wrong?” you ask but you let your fingers only ghost on her hands when she holds her silence, refusing to meet your eyes.

Sometimes it begins with a quiet note—and you smile at those because it sounds like a whisper despite it ringing in the auditorium.

“I’m sick,” she says and what she says doesn’t register in your head.

Other times, the first note comes in forte and leaves everyone in a resonating silence while the following notes interlace and begin to tell the story.

“I have cancer, (y/n),” she tells you again, louder this time and her sobs echo so loud in the silence of the house that it suddenly makes you want to throw your hands over your ears.

The conductor is waving the baton; you’re closing your eyes as you mold yourself with the music and focus on nothing but your fingers flying across the fingerboard and making sure the timing of your bow matches the tap of the rhythm set.

“Mom, you’ll be fine right?” comes your assurance in question and she’s not answering because she’s crying harder.

First position to third, then fourth, then something else you don’t quite remember as the pressure from your bow presses harder and harder on the strings to climb with the crescendo the orchestra is rising to.

She looks at you, glassy eyes and trembling lips, then holds your face in between warm hands as she presses her forehead against yours.

Then as the baton drops and the crescendo overflows—the air around the room instantly changes. The shoulders relax and the movement of the bow shift from staccato to legato as the music continues to flow.

“I’m scared to leave you alone,” she finally admits and you finally break down and cry with her because you realize you have no one but each other.

You cry because she’s crying at the thought of leaving you alone when she never cried at all the times your father chose another family over her.

And as the music decrescendos into the whispers of pianissimo, you close your eyes as the gentle sway eventually lulls to a stop.

It’s half past ten and you’re still in your formal wear, but your mom’s fast asleep on the couch. The air from the AC brings you to a light shiver so you shuffle closer and pull the blankets tighter around her frame.

The last note drops and resonates in an almost infinite echo. Your eyes snap back open you feel yourself exhale.

For a moment the auditorium is in silence.

You sit on the floor next to her and listen to the sounds of steady breathing. You could pretend it was just another movie night where she fell asleep on the couch, but the telltale tracks of tears are on her cheeks and you hear her sniffling from time to time so you sigh instead.

Then, the audience erupts in an applause.

In your room, you put your palm over your mouth and begin to cry again.

-

“I love you so much,” is what Hajime said two years down the road when he decided to move to California to finish his studies.

First, he’d made a stop at your home and sat with your mother over breakfast as she wished him well on his new adventure. By the time he was at the door, it was the first time you saw Hajime cry for and with her when she wraps him in a scarf she knitted just for him. You watch softly, as he wraps her in a hug and parts with a promise to always take care of you despite the distance and wishes for her healing.

You’re standing at the border of the gate only Hajime can cross where he’s wrapped you in a hug with his chin resting on your head.

“I love you so much,” he says and you nod your head against his chest. He’s saying it as naturally as he always has and your reply is as immediate and natural when you say, “I love you too, Haji. So much.”

“(Y/n),” he starts when he pulls away from you and looks you in the eye; he’s suddenly serious and you’re afraid.

“If you ever feel like you don’t want to keep doing this, then we can take a break.”

Your brows pinch together as you reply, “Why would I want to break up with you?”

“I’m not saying we will, I just don’t want you to shoulder too much because I know how much you’re hurting right now,” Hajime explains, and his eyes are as genuine as the tone of his voice.

“Haji—“

“I believe in you, though, just—“ he pauses and his eyes soften before he continues, “take things one day at a time and remember that I’m here loving you every day, okay?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he finishes and you only nod at his words because the fact that you’re going to miss him really begins to hit you. Hajime’s looking at you in the tender way where you know he knows you’re about to cry because he pulls you in another embrace before kissing the top of your head as he murmurs his parting I love you in the quiet tone only you can hear.

When Hajime crosses the gate and turns the corner, you can’t help but bite your lip to keep from crying. Only a couple more years. You could take it.

-

It’s in the next eight months where you realize that while Iwaizumi Hajime shared your first love—he was also your first heartbreak.

They always said that long distance was difficult and the fact that you and Hajime were even trying was commendable enough. But that was the problem—commendable sounded like you were in the relationship for the sake of a prize. Like you were suffering through the now for a prize. Like the good part was only a one-time thing reserved at the end.

It felt wrong, and looking back at it now—perhaps that’s where the downfall began.

As time passed, your mom’s illness worsened. Cancer was ugly and it let itself be known in as many ways as it could. Time and time again, you’d watch her hair fall in strands, then clumps, until she eventually decided to shave it off for good. She smiled at you and you don’t hear her tell you, “It’s okay,” over the buzz of the razor. You don’t think you have the heart to listen to the quiver of her voice that you know is present with her words, so you suppose the loud buzz worked out in the end.

What broke your heart the most was seeing her excitement when her hair grew back after a pause in her treatment—only for her to sit down and tell you that she’s “okay” when you’re shaving off sections of her hair again.

You didn’t let her see you cry because you wanted to be as strong as she was in this; because you knew the both of you broke down within enclosed walls away from each other. Though every time you were face to face—the front was always back up. And the front was flawless; like the edges of a chipped sword finally smoothened back into a blade. But at the same time, flawed; because like the sword—the sharpness always kills.

It was unconventional, but it worked. The momentary sigh of relief was still moments of relief at the end of the day.

Hajime, on the other hand thought differently though. The second you’d answer his call request on particularly off days, he’d tell you to cry. And you would; fat drops of tears rolling down almost as soon as he finished his sentence.

Then only a year of loving each other through a computer screen passed before you realized he became your pillar at the same time you began hardening.

“Never lose yourself in the pursuit of someone or something,” are the words from your mother you consciously make an effort to tell yourself everyday even as you sit in with your phone in hand waiting for the call Hajime promised you early this morning.

And you’re well aware you’ve developed an unhealthy habit as you’re lying in bed, fighting sleep with the time on the clock nearing 4am still waiting for Hajime’s call. It wasn’t the first time he missed a promised phone call—and you weren’t mad because you understand that he has as much of a schedule as you do and that time difference was a wedge the two of  you needed to work with.

But still, you think, then sigh when you put your arm over your eyes as the clock clicks to 04:07AM beside you, this fucking sucks.

You know Hajime will text you an apology when it’s seven am for you and late at night for him, but you put your phone’s ringer on silent to convince yourself that you’re fine and you’re not dependent on his presence at all. That you’re handling yourself just fine and that the anxiety you have every time your mother comes back home from a checkup is something you can deal with by yourself.  

You shut your eyes when the dull ache in your chest begins to grow sharper as your thoughts shift from school, to your mom’s illness, to Hajime, and to the fact that you want to cry at the heaviness of everything.

And the frustration is eating you alive because you hate feeling this helpless. Not when your mother taught you nothing but how to be strong your whole life. Not when all you should know is how to stand on your own two feet despite whatever the situation life throws at you.

So when the morning comes and you wake up to a plethora of Hajime’s missed calls and frantic texts asking if you’re okay—you text him an assurance that you’re fine and that he shouldn’t worry about it.

You face the day with everything you feel pushed to the back of your mind. You face the mirror and tell yourself that you’re fine.

-

Hanamaki’s a good friend, and a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

It didn’t fly past him when you left for phone on silent or chose to spend your break with him or Mattsun when you usually would utilize that time for Hajime. But at the same time, he noticed you spacing out in conversations a little more than usual, reject any plans they invited you in, and his least favorite—see you break down in the practice room when you thought no one was around.

Neither he nor Issei chose to tell Hajime or you about it; he could never understand what you were going through—but he understood that the way someone heals differs from person to person.

It took about a few more months of Hajime’s schedule piling up and your silent breakdowns for the both of you to finally snap and confront one another.

It started with Hajime telling you a round of an apology, “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll call you on time—I just,”

“—shit everything’s just crazy. I’m sorry, babe.”

Then you nod and absent mindedly twirl one strand of your hand as you force his apology in one ear and out the other. You were fine. You’re handling things well. You didn’t need Hajime as a support system, so you reply, “It’s fine. I got this.”

And you like to think it was going well, but he asks, “How’s your mom doing?” and your hands are suddenly gripping the edge of the table (where you know he can’t see) tight. You didn’t tell him that she cried from the results when she came home earlier and waved you off when you stood up to help her balance herself. That thirty minutes ago you could hear her yell at your father over the phone about something she didn’t tell you about and that at the moment, you’re thankful for the way your fingers were digging into your skin because it’s helping you re shift your focus into anything but what was going on.

Hajime’s not looking at you because he’s looking at the report he was typing on his laptop instead. So first, you hype yourself up by thinking about how you don’t need anyone to push you through things and that how you’re handling yourself and the situation was more than fine, then, you answer,

“She’s okay, too.”

You try to ignore how gritty it sounded; Hajime doesn’t seem to notice either.

You’re quiet after that and Hajime must have thought it was odd because he pauses his work to look at you and ask, “Are you okay?”

And he says it with such a gentle tone that you suddenly want to crumble and tell him about the heaviness that hasn’t left you since the day your mom began slipping. But a knock from Hajime’s door and a distant call of his name snaps you out of those thoughts. Hajime, on the other hand, ignores them and asks you the question again, which you wave off this time with a quick, “It’s okay you can call me when you’re done.”

He’s hesitant when he leaves and he shoots you a text seconds after his face leaves the screen but you don’t reply; you spend the rest of the night with your face pressed against the pillow while you will yourself to believe that you, alone, have everything under control.

And, really, you should have left it to end like that.

But you don’t; because when morning comes and you wake up feeling heavy, you’re left in a haze where everything feels muddled. And the feeling of screaming hits you so fast and so hard that the dam just breaks.

It’s seven am and you’re crying for reasons you can’t find a starting point to. The kind of cry where every heave hurts and makes you ball your fists because of an unsourced anger. It’s disorienting and frustrating because you’re not mad at specifically anything—but at the same time, everything feels like its swallowing you whole again. You wish you could blank out like the time she told you she was sick—even if it meant moving through your day hyper aware of your movements. But you can’t, because it’s one of those days where the heaviness just sits on your chest and forces you to face the fact that it hurts.

And you always say “it” because you don’t know where to begin. Because you never began; never sat down and looked at your reflection in the eye and asked yourself, “what was wrong?”

Because you’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

It’s still fine because when your phone is ringing, you answer with a fresh face and a smooth, hello.

Hajime greets you like usual, but then settles into a background that isn’t.

You don’t really care.

He asks you how you’ve slept, and you nod once as a reply. He’s chuckling and says something about you looking cute cuddled up in bed, still half asleep so you nod again to go along with his story. Underneath the sheets, you’re fisting the blankets as you count each breath you’ve inhaled and exhaled as Hajime begins to talk about his day.

Then someone, who you can’t recall you know, sits next to him with an arm casually draped over his shoulder and pushes her face near his as she waves a hello. Usually, you’re not much of the jealous type so something like that shouldn’t even be a red flag for you. Hajime was a friendly person all around, and time and time again he’s explained how different the American culture was from home.

Given that fact, on a normal situation it would have been fine. Understandable, even.

But before you could even begin smooth your thoughts back to rationality, you explode. Hajime’s facing away from you in a conversation where he can’t see, so you suppose that could have been a good thing.

Then, your anger comes out.

First, it trickles; you stay silent and opt to stare at him, seething when he finally begins a conversation. Hajime’s eyebrows shoot up just like that and he bids his friend a quick goodbye before rushing into an empty room.

Second, it pools. You tell him a series of things you don’t even think makes sense, but from the way his face morphs into a grimace—it wouldn’t take much to conclude that what you said was something ugly.

Third, you’re wading in waist deep. You’re sitting up and pointing at him, bringing up a photo you saw of him with his arms hung over someone’s shoulder. A classmate, you concluded last week; a lover, you accuse him of having in the moment.

Fourth, Hajime rushes to keep you from going in further. He doesn’t feed into your anger and instead tells you to take a deep breath before talking to him. And for a second, you relent and listen. He explains that she’s a classmate from his biology class and that you’re just overreacting over something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

Fifth, comes the struggle. Your anger flares at his words and everything you’ve felt and pushed underwater suddenly bobs to the surface. Hajime wasn’t at fault, and you know that, but he’s huffing in a way that tells you he’s inches past exhausted and it does nothing to quell your outburst.

“Maybe what you should do is listen to yourself and calm the fuck down,” is what he tells you as you flinch at his tone.

“Well, I’m sorry, for just wanting to talk to you Hajime,” is what you say as retaliation. Hajime’s hand that instantly flies up to soothe his temple doesn’t fly past you.

“We are talking, (y/n). Why are you trying to make me apologize for something I didn’t even do?”

“Why can’t you understand my point? This is exhausting, Hajime.”

“I told you from the beginning. If you didn’t want to keep doing this then we stop,” he retorts, anger steadily rising.

“You’re making it sound like you’re the one wanting to stop this,” you bite back.

“I don’t. But it’s like every time we talk nowadays it’s like you’re being too much, this doesn’t seem like you anymore,” Hajime finishes.

And as the silence settles, everything clicks. You’ve been too dependent, and he feels the same way. He’s right, this isn’t you at all. You shouldn’t need to cling to him to for crumbs of healing; because you’re more than fine.

Have been more than fine, really; so you blank and reply, “You’re right, sorry about that.”

He looks at you, confused, before the silence envelops the two of you again. You allow it to stay this time.

“Maybe we should take a break, (y/n). Just some time to cool off; I feel like we’re just too overloaded right now.”

“We should,” you reply, expression unfazed as you cut the call.

The sixth, is where you allow the anger to stay instead of recede. Your mother asks you how you’re feeling and you’re quick to answer that you’re okay.

Hajime doesn’t text you until an hour later, wanting to talk. You set your phone to silent.

“What made you decide to not get back together with dad?” you ask her when she’s quiet in front of you. Your mother looks at you for a while before she pieces the red eyes and silent phone together, then tells you, “I loved myself more.”

You nod, conflicted. Her eyes were as red as yours and you heard her weeping his name just the night before and she knows you’re aware. Your phone vibrates on the table again and you miss the way her eyes flicker to the device momentarily before focusing them back at you.

Both of you know, but neither of you ask.

“Never lose yourself, right?” you say quietly and she gives you a solid nod as she pours you a cup of coffee.

You never really liked coffee; then again, you never really liked the reality either.

But you take the mug and gulp in the bitterness anyway.

Then finally, the seventh is where you succumb under its waves. Hajime calls you later that night and you answer, expression honed into an almost natural state of indifference. He looks a little worse than you, but you ignore that.

“Is this it?” he asks and you nod curtly once, your fingernails already digging into your palms under the table.

“Are we going to hate each other?” Hajime asks you again and you sigh.

“I don’t have it in me to ever hate you, Haji,” you answer, truthfully and he gives you a halfhearted smile.

“I love you,” he says like he’s just talking about the weather, and stays on the line for a few seconds more before he eventually takes your silence as a response.

“I love you, too,” is what almost comes out of your mouth like second nature, but you bite your tongue anyway.  

He can’t hurt you first this way.

-

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t really root himself in your life until nine months after your break up with Hajime. Graduation came and went like the unfurling of a leaf, and before you knew it, you’re suddenly in the real world.

Before that, you only knew him as the first chair cellist who you always accidentally locked eyes with in every concert you managed to snag the first chair spot in the first violin’s section.

Bumping into him during morning practice first led to string quartets, then duets during concerts, shared practice rooms—until eventually, he asked you out on a date.

He inserted the question in the conversation so naturally, too. After putting away the music stands, then shoving (in contrast to him neatly arranging) the sheet music into your folder—you were halfway done with loosening your bow when he asked, “Do you wanna get dinner later?” out of the blue.

To others who may have listened in to the conversation, it sounded like a natural invitation between friends, and Kiyoomi must have realized that because he was quick to face you after zipping up the case of his cello, and add, “—I meant dinner with me.”

You were still holding your bow and staring at him stare at you, so he filled the silence with, “Like a date. I’m asking you out on a date, (y/n).”

The two of you never really initiated anything outside the relationship between music partners, and the occasional friendly outing—but it had always been with others. Looking at him, you admit Sakusa Kiyoomi was a man who mastered hygiene. Which was always a bonus in your book. But you think back to Hajime for a second, then click your tongue quietly because you realize you shouldn’t be thinking about him when someone else was asking you out.

But you sigh and still offer him a smile when you reply, “Sorry I gotta watch my mom tonight. She’s not feeling well.”

Kiyoomi nods, and his eyebrows shoot up like he remembered something. “I heard your mom was sick? I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

You nod sharply once before internally groaning then thinking about how to steer the conversation away from the oncoming “I’m sorrys”, “It must be so tough,” or any sympathetic comments of the like.

But Kiyoomi only nods in understanding, briefly turning back to loop his arms through the case, then looking back at you again saying, “Ah. Understandable. My grandmother had cancer and my mom made her this soup that helped with the aching; I can give you the recipe for it.”

Your eyes shoot up at his response and the rehearsed response of, “I have no choice but to be tough for her. It’s okay, though,” dies in your mouth so you close it again and only nod a yes.

Kiyoomi turns to open the door once you had your own violin set inside and stands by the opening of the door to let you out first. You smile; he was mostly reserved, but still a gentleman.

“(Y/n),” he begins when the two of you walk side by side in the quiet morning hallway. “I know you don’t want to hear the pity comments, but I just wanna put it out there that you’re doing well.”

Your steps halt with his when you reach the end of the hallway where the flooring splits into two different directions but you face him, the thrumming of your heart feeling making you a little more choked up than you expected and tell him an honest thank you.

He lifts his right hand as a goodbye while he shoves the other in his pocket after he settles his mask in place, then turns to walk on the opposite direction.

“Sakusa-san!” you call out and he stops a few meters in front of you to turn back in your direction again.

“Dinner!” you call out again, “this weekend!”

You know your cheeks are a little more red than you would have liked and you’re more than aware of how white your knuckles must be from grasping the straps of your case, but you ignore that and add anyway, “As a date.”

The mask covering the lower half of his face obscures the expression he has but you notice the miniscule crinkle on the corner of his eyes when he laughs and replies, “Can you say that a little louder? I can’t hear.”

You huff and action to turn around because the heat on your face was getting a little too uncomfortable, but you hear him say, “It’s a date!” so you nod awkwardly in confirmation before turning your back and walking the opposite way.

You can imagine the look he has on his face and just how much amusement he’s gotten from the interaction but before you walk too far you hear, “Just call me Kiyoomi,” from him behind you.

You smile and feel as if you’re flipping into the first page of a new chapter.

-

In contrast to the push and pull energy you felt with Hajime, after almost being in a relationship with Kiyoomi for a year, things felt easy.

Communication between the two of you didn’t feel like unraveling codes; plus, being in the same department also meant your schedules mostly linked up. Though, personally, your favorite part was that he was never too pushy with the things you wanted to deal with alone.

He knew not to pry when you walked in the practice hall with bags under your eyes holding a cup of coffee you swore to heaven and back you detested drinking; you always saw a parcel of your comfort snack with a note laid beside your violin case in the locker room, though.

And when he ate dinner at your house, he also kept his comments to himself and never let his eyes wander to the amount of pills you had to help your mother count out when the little alarm in your phone rang. Then again, you never needed to question his intentions when he showed up the next day with a thermos filled with the soup your mom said she enjoyed once as a passing comment.

He’s always been one to remember the smaller details.

Along with preferring to stay in his personal space, Kiyoomi wasn’t one to smile too bashfully, but you can’t help but notice that when she laid her hands on his as a thank you and asked him to take care of you—the smile that graced his face looked warm.

She said that Kiyoomi seemed like a nice boy, and you agreed instantly—because he is.

He never pushed past the boundary you kept around yourself despite entering into a new relationship. There was a mutual air of respect—and neither of you expressed the desire to breech it.

Being with Kiyoomi felt as natural and in order to the flow as it does when your hands move to automatically loosen your bow when it came to packing up, or beginning with the A string when the conductor motioned for you to begin tuning.

You liked to think you fit quite well together. Like the duet that an audience listens to and clap at as if they were the whole orchestra. Like the blend of the high and low notes written on a score that collides in perfect harmony.

And it feels like it too.

Every time you’re seated across each other on the stage and you’re staring straight at one another to climb with the crescendo then descend into silence—you know that your heart, along with his, are beating in the same rhythm, with the same frequency. You’ve always found that break from the real world when you picked up an instrument and you’re glad that Kiyoomi’s the one you’re entering into that dimension with.

The ten minutes on stage feels timeless. The rush from the music still resonates in an infinite echo—your fingers twitching, craving, to fly across the notes in an encore. You’re smiling because when you stare at him—he’s smiling too. Unabashed and sparkling where you have no doubt in your mind that even without the stage lights he’d gleam the same.

And even as the crowd’s still cheering as you stand hand in hand and bow next to each other, you don’t hear anything. When reality begins to trickle into your senses and the rush of intoxication wears off, you let your smile mellow into a soft curve. You face the front row and look at the seat that’s a little towards the left and try not to notice your mother’s absence. You know she was admitted to the hospital three weeks ago and she hasn’t been doing too well. Kiyoomi squeezes your hand and whispers a, “you did well,” which you nod at.

He’s still smiling even as you exit the stage and pack up your instruments so you decide not to tell him that the boy sitting in that specific seat reminded you of Hajime.

-

Hajime, on the other hand became the contact on your inbox that got pushed down further and further when the holidays passed. You meant it when you said that you could never hate him—because you know you never really could.

He still showed up on your Instagram feed posting photos about his weekend road trips to Malibu or the spontaneous trips to Vegas his new friends looped him into—and you were happy to see him glowing. More times than not, your finger would hover over the like or send button to the comment you always end up deleting and you know it shouldn’t be that way. But reality reminds you that it is.

Your reality reminds you that Iwaizumi Hajime is someone who was witness to your growth and decline and that he was someone you chose to leave in the past.

But at the same time, his passing hellos were never left unheard. Kiyoomi knew, and like always, respected that. You would think this is the part where he should be reacting a little more aggressively, but you knew him to be above petty actions. He was secure, and he let that security be known in the grip of his hand that remained steady against yours when either Hanamaki’s or Issei’s eyes would stare a bit too long. They too, let their hesitations be known when you first introduced Kiyoomi to the both of them.

Issei opened his mouth with what looked to be the beginnings of a retaliation, but Hanamaki cut him off swiftly with a resounding, “We’re happy for you,” that promptly ended the conversation at that.

Then again, it didn’t change the fact that it was after that night where Hajime’s texts to you eventually dwindled to the seasonal greetings.

You tell yourself you don’t mind.

Because you don’t.

Because you’re fine.

-

Your mother isn’t fine.

Even though she’s been hospitalized for the past four weeks now, the past week has been specifically the most difficult. In and out of consciousness where different tubes were stuck and different needles prodded at her skin every day. It killed you because the second you heard her cry from when she thought you were still asleep rang in your ears over and over again throughout the day that resulted in you missing rehearsals for that entire week.

Kiyoomi drops by after school along with Hanamaki and Issei to check up on the both of you, but eventually leave when visiting hours end.

Kiyoomi usually stays a while longer, though; sitting outside the hospital parking lot and talking over a cup of coffee became a temporary permanent for the both of you during those weeks.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, then scoots closer to you on the bench when you exhale a sigh and lean forward. When your elbows settle into a rest on your thighs, you turn to him, offering a smile. It looked more like a sad quirk of the lip but Kiyoomi must have appreciated it more than he let on because his posture relaxes with you as he exhales.

“It’s weird, Omi,” you begin. “I mean she’s been at the hospital for treatments and checkups before but this is weird.”

Beside you, he stays quiet, and despite the distant noise of traffic in the background your voice sounds a little more amplified than you would have liked. None the less, you continued, “I’ve always known she hasn’t been fine but the past week just happened so fast.”

Puffing out another breath, you watch as it leaves you in a cloud before bringing the rim of the coffee cup to your lips. You don’t take a sip. Coffee was never your favorite anyway.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks you and turns his body completely to face you.

You think about it, then sigh. You don’t; at least, not yet.

“It’s okay, she’s strong,” you tell him and raise your cup as you shoot him another smile.

“So are you,” he offers as a reply, then knocks his cup against yours softly, chuckling when your face grimaces at the taste.

“Why do you always order coffee when you hate it?” he asks as he watches you take another sip.

You laugh, then scoot closer to lean your head on his shoulder. “It’s just practical,” you answer. “It helps me stay up so even if I’d rather get the peach tea, I know that one will knock me out within an hour from all the sugar.”

Kiyoomi laughs at your reply before looping his arm through yours and threading your fingers together.

“You can loosen up time to time, you know,” he tells you and you smile a smile that strains both the muscles on your face and feeling in your chest.

“I wish I could,” you answer.

-

“Are you happy?” your mother asks you later that night.

The question catches you off guard and you take a seat on her bed next to her. You don’t look at each other and instead look at the wall that’s in front of you, so, tentatively, you reply, “Of course I am.”

And she’s quiet after that so you return her silence and continue to sit next to her.

The clock hanging above the door of her hospital room ticks slowly and for a while you’re comfortable. At this point you aren’t sure whether you wanted time to move faster or slower—because you knew the moments you spend with her are granted through borrowed time.

Time that’s borrowed from the prayers you kneel and voice out every night, the needles and tubes that poke and prod at her skin every day, and from the pills you help count out every time your alarm rings.

She began slipping the minute she told you she was sick—and along the years you knew she let herself slide along the current more carelessly every time she told you she was tired.

You’re looking at her when she touches your hand and you try not to flinch at how cold her skin’s gotten. She’s smiling when you face her and it makes you inhale in a way that hurts because the look on her face practically just tells you she’s tired.

But like the two of you had always done: you stay silent and mirror your smiles instead.

“I’m proud of you,” she says and your heart breaks as you will yourself to not cry. It occurs to you that she isn’t crying when she says it because her voice is resolute as it is soft. You want to ask her why she’s proud of you but you don’t because you realize when this becomes a memory you just want to leave it at that.

You want to leave it as a moment where a mother is telling a child that she’s proud of her.

So instead, you ask her, “Are you coming to see the concert with me and Kiyoomi in a few weeks?” just to make sure. That she’s still there; that she will still be there.

Her silence is your answer before she’s reaching out between the two of you and squeezing your hands instead.

-

On a Tuesday morning the next week she passes away at 3:08 PM with her eyes closed and face serene. The nurses tell you she opened her eyes to look at the world once more before she closed them and exhaled her last breath.

She was probably looking for you, they mean to say, but you bow your head in thanks when the medical staff offer their heartfelt condolence. You aren’t sure if you wanted to see her close her eyes for her last breath, but at the same time—you wonder if that thought was too selfish on your part.

When you’re in the car in the parking lot of the hospital grounds, you smell her perfume—lilac, so you close your eyes and tell her soul rest easy and I love you.

You text Kiyoomi to meet you in the practice room to go over the score once more after you gave yourself a few more moments to pull yourself together.

He texts you back with an, “are you sure?” so you sigh because he must have already realized what happened. Your fingers hover over the keypad of your phone as you think of an excuse to cancel plans last minute but Kiyoomi’s contact photo on your phone interrupts your thoughts in a call.

Despite your hesitation, your finger press the green to answer the call almost immediately.

“(Y/n?)”

“Hey,” you respond.

“Want me to come get you?” Kiyoomi asks and you notice how much softer his tone is.

“I can still drive, it’s okay—“

“—Are you okay?” he cuts you off and you nod your head frantically. It felt too automatic, and that thought didn’t fly by you, so you sigh.

Kiyoomi notices your silence over the line but he stays and for that you’re grateful. He isn’t really pushing you and you feel a sense of gratitude again because you don’t exactly know what to say either.

Before you could reassure him that you’re in a sense, “okay,” his voice breaks the silence over the line again.

“No one else is here, so I’ll wait for you if you’re coming.”

The smile that breaks on your face is one of relief, or at least you think it is, because your eyes are stinging and you hear yourself sniffle when you tell him a quiet okay, and thank you.

“I love you,” is what you think you hear Kiyoomi say as you cut the call and put the car in reverse.

-

“Sakusa Kiyoomi present here?” you call out with a slight chuckle as you push open the door and peek in the room.

His head snaps towards you immediately so you offer him a sheepish smile at best when you finally arrive in front of him. Kiyoomi’s eyes are softening in the way that has your heart constricting automatically so you cast your gaze down and immediately fidget with the zipper on your violin case. The steps he takes are heavy and audible in the wooden flooring so your heart hammers even more when you hear him cross the distance between the two of you.

“(Y/n),” he starts and you look up when his hands are on your shoulder. They feel warm, you think, much like the look you see in his eyes when he steadies his gaze towards you.

Kiyoomi joins you in your silence when you choose to remain in it and respond to him by only stitching on another smile. The palm of his hand is still warm on your shoulder but you try to focus on anything but the waves of his sympathy and presence because you know the second you step back in reality, you’ll break—again.

So when his hand squeezes your shoulder and he parts his lips to say the condolence you don’t know when you’re ever going to be ready for, you cut him off.

“Please don’t,” you tell him, and it’s said with a tone that’s clipped tight and with lips pulled into a straight smile—the kind where you can already feel the edges crack with every second that passes.

Kiyoomi sighs and stares at you, but backs down when he feels your body tense.

“I’m right here,” he reassures, as you cast your gaze to the side when you feel the sting in your eyes threaten to overpower you.  

“I know,” you reply and with that he turns and takes his seat again.

The two of you are facing each other when you have your fingers on your respective positions and bow hovered over the string. The metronome in the background ticks and you close your eyes desperate to slip out and slip in to focus. The disconnection almost happens automatically because as soon as you hear yourself verbally count to start, your hand with the bow twitches and—

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi cuts off and your movements automatically halt. The tone of his voice is solid and just like that you feel yourself begin to crumble; still, you try to harden, anyway.

“What’s up?” you say and open your eyes to look at him. The cello you thought was resting between his legs is set down next to his chair and his bow is on the music stand; he looks at you—intention transparent at this point.

“I love you,” he says. “Please talk to me—“he pleads, but you cut him off.

“Omi,” you begin. “I know what you want to tell me and I know you mean well, because you always do. But please—“you pause and look at him with as much intensity as you could muster before continuing, “—let me pretend like today is just a day where we’re practicing for the concert she could have finally gone to.”

Across you, his body leans forward before eventually halting at the sight of you tightening your grip on your bow.

“Just let me pretend this is a normal practice and I’ll be home later with someone still waiting inside the house,” you continue, volume rising but resolve shaking.

“Please,” you finish before tucking the violin back between your chin and shoulder and raising your bow to signal the start. Kiyoomi relents with a sigh and picks up his cello and bow before looking at you.

“Ready?” he asks when his bow is positioned above the string.

“Always am,” you reply and close your eyes as you slip back in focus and feel the bow glide into the first note.

The first note is an A, so you place your fourth finger on the D string and slip into your empty realm with a vibrato.

A memory flashes; you’re in the sixth grade again. It’s September, and you finally make it home with your new violin case in hand. Your mom comes home from work and smiles at you as you point at the strings and name them in the order your orchestra teacher had you memorize earlier.

“This one’s the A string,” you say and you see her smile like she’s proud of you.

The next note makes you climb to the third position, and you could recall that the dynamic changes around this measure, so along with Kiyoomi you’re pressing a little harder.

“We learned the third position today!” you hear your own voice say. It’s your second year playing and you’ve made it to the honors orchestra. Your mom sits in the living room, watching you with a twinkle in her eye that tells you she’s more than proud as you show her the arpeggio practice you learned earlier that day.

The next few notes fly across the fingerboard as the familiar crescendo builds. The depth of Kiyoomi’s strings blends with the octave you’re playing at as you feel yourself being swallowed and wading in your thoughts deeper and deeper until—

You stop.

Because with your eyes still closed, you suddenly see her from the night before. Your mother with the glimmering eyes and fragile hands, wearing the red beanie she said was her favorite ever since her hair fell out. And your eyes are still closed when you hear her tell you that she’s proud of you, her voice bringing you back to that night where you wanted to do nothing more but let your defenses down.

So involuntarily you do; your eyes are still closed when you begin to weep, but you can hear movement from the background before you eventually hear Kiyoomi call, “(Y/n),”

“I’m sorry,” you say and frantically wipe away at the tears and cough out the cries threatening to overflow and spill.

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi says again and you look up.

His chair is turned so that he sits facing away from you. Your forehead scrunches with the peculiarity.

“Kiyo-“

“Just let it out,” he says then picks up his cello and continues playing from the measure you stopped at.

Then you do.

Like a thread snapping, a cry rips its way out of your throat as you finally, finally allow yourself to feel the heaviness that’s long settled in your chest. Your violin along with your bow set on the floor as you crouch down and press the heels of your palms against your eyes.

It hurts, you realize, when every time you close your eyes you still see her. You still hear her tell you her goodnight stories, affirmations, and reassurances.

It hurts, because you’re tired. Tired of living in the world trying to be the adult you know you aren’t just yet. You’re tired of going home and smiling with her when you could tell the reason why she has tear tracks on her cheeks was because of the call with your father you overheard from the night before.

Because you’re angry, you think. You’re angry at her illness. At your father for leaving and giving the weight of being a parent and provider at the same time. At the fact that neither of you were ever vulnerable enough to even cry in front of each other, and angry at yourself for never having the courage to tell her that it’s okay.

Because all this time you’re been struggling. Struggling to try to always be an adult when you never closed the chapter of your childhood. That you’ve always struggled to push past every affirmation that you’re okay and every single one of those moments were just bouts of false confidence. And it’s exhausting to put up a front to your own reflection.

Even when nothing has really been okay. You’re hurting even more when you realize that so you clutch your chest and cry harder.

This must be the consequence of pride, is the thought that comes to your head. You could build the strongest walls and wrap yourself in the most intricate barriers just to act tough but in time, you will break.

Like now; you’re sobbing into your palms for the years’ worth of pain you let pride push away while Kiyoomi is climbing even higher than the strongest dynamic you know the piece calls for.

You know he wants to let you know that it’s okay, and that you’re safe. His message resonates in pure clarity as he pushes on the strings harder and harder to swallow the sounds of your cries.

His back remains turned as you look at him, still crying, while your thanks bubbles out as incoherent as your cries.

It hurts, because you the only person you’ve cradled in your hands to heavens far higher than the ones you’ve known is gone.  

You’re still crying and the pain in your chest is still stinging much like the pain from a reopened wound does, but you let him come to you as he lets you come to him in an embrace.

“Let it out,” he murmurs in your hair as you wrap your hands around his middle and cry into the fabric of his shirt. He’s probably a little uncomfortable at you sniffling right into his shirt, but the way his hands are rubbing circles on your back reassures you otherwise.

“You’re okay,” Kiyoomi says again and you cry harder because you want to believe him.

Five missed calls and seven texts messages all coming from Hajime lays unopened on your phone at 6:17PM.

-

“She asked me if I was happy,” is what you tell Kiyoomi as the two of you stand side by side peering over her casket some days later.

“Are you?” he asks and you smile at him in a way that tells him that at the moment you’re not.

“Will you be happy?” comes the question after that and you shrug.

The lines on her face are like always, and the mole between her brows look the same. Your mother lays still in the casket, cheeks pink from the blush they put on her and lips red. You think your mother’s friends told the funeral workers to paint them her usual color, so you’re thankful for that. She looks like she’s just asleep—and you don’t know how to feel.

You want to reach out and hold her hand but you know the skin will be stiff and cold; you don’t want to remember her touch like that.

To you, she’s still alive.

She always will be alive.

Kiyoomi’s hand grasps yours in a way that’s as gentle as his presence has always been. When you look up then right to meet his eyes: looking like warmth despite the depth that it has words rolling out of your lips before you could comprehend the situation.

“I will be.”

Kiyoomi smiles and you look back down without bothering to further explain your answer.

You know he always believes you. The sentiment is one you appreciate, but at the same time, you’re not sure if you even believe yourself at the moment. You have to be strong, you think.

And just like that your defenses climb back up.

-

Takahiro along with Issei make it to the funeral along with Tooru and Hajime skyping in from overseas. It wasn’t as awkward like you expected it to be, and you’re glad.

Tooru’s crying along with Hajime and the rest of you as you watch her return to the opened earth.

You’ve dried your tears by the time you face Tooru and Hajime on the laptop screen, the grief on their faces similar to the one on yours.

“(Y/n),” Hajime starts, and you nod, waiting for him to continue. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” you respond, gaze focused to the left side of the screen—Tooru’s side.

Even though all you could see was Tooru’s expression on the screen tearing up with yours, you ignore the telltale scrunch of Hajime’s forehead where you know confirms his disbelief over your words.

“I’m coming home next week. Got a job offer there,” Hajime’s voice cuts again and before you could respond Tooru’s voice thrums over the speaker as you feel Kiyoomi’s hand settle on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks you when you look up at him. Nodding your head, you shoot him a smile before turning back to the screen, one hand resting on top of Kiyoomi’s.

“This is Kiyoomi,” you introduce and feel yourself unintentionally holding in a breath as you sit and watch for Hajime’s reaction. He’s quiet; eyes steeled over and form rigid. Probably just a trick of the camera, you tell yourself, so you open your mouth hoping to find an excuse and end the call early but Tooru’s voice overlaps yours for the second time that day.

“Ahh! The boyfriend?” He asks and you smile as you see him leaning closer to his laptop’s camera. You had to hand it to him; you know that look. Tooru was someone who could craft a mask and uphold it for as long as he needs and every time it was flawless.

Which was why when Kiyoomi bows his head in a greeting and greets, “It’s nice to meet you,” in the tone he used with your mother, you know he hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was facing a façade.

“Likewise,” Hajime’s voice cuts through and you try to not shiver at the intensity of it.

“Let’s catch up when I get home?” he says again; this time, softer and you nod before you could think of a response.

“Take care,” is the last thing you hear from him before the camera on his side of the screen blinks back to black and Tooru’s face magnified and centered.

“He’s finally coming home, (y/n)-chan,” Tooru smiles and at the sincerity of his voice you smile along with him.

“He finally is.”

-

Hajime had always been, and always will be your first love. You found yourself choked up the second you see him wave at you from the arrival’s gate and you swore in that moment hugging him felt like coming home.

Which was because of nostalgia, you told yourself. There had been so many firsts and memories shared with him that you know just because you moved forward with your life—that didn’t mean you’d buried what you had with him in the past.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi?” he asks when you’ve settled in the grass next to your mother’s tombstone with him across you.

“Yeah, he actually played for Itachiyama back in high school,” you say.

“Volleyball player turned classical musician?” he asks and you nod with a resonating yup, your hand trailing down to the grass to pick on the blades aimlessly.

“He made it to nationals too,” you comment.

“Are you trying to just rub it in?” he asks and tosses some ripped grass your way. You move to the side and stick your tongue out at him which he laughs at. Hajime’s laugh reminds you of the summer afternoons in your childhood home where you’d chase cicadas and write memories in polaroids and you’re suddenly feeling nostalgic.

“Nah,” you say and smile as you look up at him. He’s facing his right and letting his eyes glaze over the gold paint of your mother’s name on the cement.

“I miss her,” Hajime whispers and you nod, your heart squeezing.

“I do too,” you reply and when he looks at you and meets your eyes, you catch yourself smiling because he has tears threatening to spill over the waterline too. “Every day,” you continue.

“You’re making me cry,” Hajime huffs and leans back facing the front after he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Your fault for still being soft,” you laugh. Unlike you, he’s always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime begins after the moments of recollection passes. You look at him and smile, not really sure whether you even have the desire to push through with the conversation or not. “Why are you even sorry?” is what you want to ask him, but you hear yourself say, “it’s okay, Haji,” instead.

“We could have made it,” he says again, his voice cracking as he looks at you.

“Could have,” you repeat and offer him a halfhearted smile at best.

“Do you regret us?” Hajime asks and he seems hesitant with his answer; like he doesn’t want to know your answer. You shake your head no as soon as you meet his eyes and reach your hands out in the space between you.

“Never,” you say and squeeze his hands when he takes yours into his own.

“You’re going to make me cry, again. Shit,” he laughs and this time, you laugh along with him.

The afternoon, despite the September air feels warm. Almost like the summer afternoons back home. So when you close your eyes, you let your defenses down as you imagine sitting in the garden: the one with the yellow and pink flowers, shouting promises in the air with Hajime and Tooru as the three of you let the wonder of childhood guide your idea of reality.

You decide that for just a while longer, you’ll keep those same defenses down as you feel Hajime pull you to stand up with him and face the open field behind the cross of her name.

“Wanna see if we can find cicadas?” he grins and you laugh, replying, “What are we, twelve?” as you follow him and break out into a run anyway.

It was in that afternoon that you realize, Hajime’s always felt like home. His presence always meant that your thoughts jumped back to the days where you watched his hair spike and grow like flowers from a garden blooming and wilting. To the days where talks of the future were shared over a dinner rolls and laughter. To the days where telling someone “I love you,” felt as natural as if you were just talking about the weather.

Hajime reminded you of losing yourself in the kind of love that felt unabashed and boundless. Like running on fields where the sun remained in the golden hour indefinitely. He was the first love you’ve cradled with a heart that was still a stranger to the ways of the reality.

“Are you happy?” he asks you when the sun above breathes the beginnings of a goodbye. You recognize the question your mother asked you before she passed and in that moment you close your eyes and envision yourself in a different year.  

“I am,” you whisper back earnestly and your heart flutters with every corner of the wall that crumbles down as you stare back at him.

He looks at you like he wants to ask a question but the thought of Kiyoomi flashes in your mind. Your eyes scan the flecks of emerald in Hajime’s as you close your eyes and feel yourself retreat along with the setting sun. The warmth in your chest remains as you think of Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi who told you to let it out and let it go. Kiyoomi with the midnight eyes who spoke of the answers to the questions you have yet to discover.

“I have to be happy,” is what you tell Hajime again and the smile he gives you is soft. Like he wants to dive down your thoughts more but instead chooses to remain anchored outside your walls.

But you still lean into his embrace as he pats your shoulder when you tell your mother goodbye.

She must be happy, you think to yourself. Because today was an afternoon spent in the sun like she was alive again.

A text from Kiyoomi to you and one from Issei to his brings you back to the present. You wave goodbye to the photograph of her on the tombstone while Hajime leaves a yellow flower he picked under the sun by her name.

He smiles and you hear him say he’ll walk you home.

Your heart thrums; it’s almost like he never left.

-

Hajime won’t leave.

Despite your intention for him to not show up to your house being extremely blunt in your text message, he shows up thirty minutes after Kiyoomi’s parked into your driveway.

“Hajime,” he grins, introducing himself with a hand stretched out in greeting as Kiyoomi looks at it in contemplation. You watch the two of them, three feet away and anxious at their first time face to face interaction.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” your boyfriend says and reaches out to shake his hand. You could practically feel yourself sigh in relief.

“Haji, you didn’t have to come,” you say and shoot him a tight lipped smile. “Omi and I can handle the boxes, plus there’s not much left to pack up anyway.”

“So,” Hajime begins, turning around and blatantly ignoring what you just said. “Makki says there’s some heavier stuff in the attic? I can help you with that.”

Kiyoomi looks at you as you eventually sigh and nod at him to follow Hajime up into the attic.

-

For the rest of the day it went on like that. At every hint you dropped in regards to the lack of necessity for Hajime’s presence—he’s suddenly tuning out and changing the topic. It was like he couldn’t hear. You huff when Kiyoomi shoots you a look that hints his amusement towards your predicament.

Hajime’s time in California surely must have rubbed off on him.

“You two shared a lot of memories,” Kiyoomi comments after he sees Hajime point at a trinket and recall a story.

“We grew up together,” you reply and Hajime nods along with you, smiling.

“I knew she was gonna be a real one when she didn’t chicken out from catching cicadas with me,” Hajime laughs across you.

“You used to catch cicadas?” Kiyoomi questions, eyebrow quirking up. You had to fight the urge to smile at the way his two moles scrunched together.

“Used to,” you answer and grip the photo album in your hand before placing it into the box. It was one of your favorites, you remember. You spent your summer nights pasting stickers and writing captions into the photos your mom took of you, Hajime, Tooru and your dog. There were probably a few in there that were with her, but you decide you can put off the nostalgic trip for later as you shut the book and tuck it into a corner of the box.

“Sakusa,” Hajime initiates when the three of you stand back up, stretching then facing each other: Kiyoomi to your left and Hajime across the two of you. “Take care of her will you?”

“I plan to,” Kiyoomi replies beside you and you reach to squeeze his hand as you watch him offer Hajime a sincere smile.

“Can you give us a moment?” you ask Kiyoomi and he’s quick to nod.

“Thanks,” you say and lean into his kiss on your forehead before watching him grab the remaining box and make his way out the door.

Hajime stands in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He’s a good guy,” he tells you and you smile gently, head nodding in agreement to his words.

“One of the best,” you reply, smiling.

“You’re happy right?” Hajime says more than asks, but before you could answer, he speaks again.

“I’m here for you, always,” he confesses quietly and you swallow thickly because you could already decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Who’s going to pull your scarf to remind you that it’s cold?” Hajime declares softly and you knit your eyebrows together as you tell him that you can do it yourself.

“I know you can,” he laughs and walks closer to you as he tugs off his own scarf and wraps it around your neck.

“I just like doing it for you.”

-

“Earlier,” Kiyoomi begins after he’s settled in the couch of your new apartment’s living room. You turn to face him, attention in focus then wait for him to continue.

“When we were upstairs Iwaizumi-san asked where you were moving.”

“Oh yeah? I forgot I didn’t tell him my new address, thanks for remi—“

“He asked again if we were going to be moving in together and I didn’t answer,” he swiftly cuts you off. You stare back at him, confused, then nod your head urging him to continue.

“I didn’t answer him at first because I wanted to see how he’d react.”

“Omi—“

“(Y/n),” he sighs. You blink back, confused.

“He still loves you.”

Kiyoomi says this like he’s just talking about the weather and because of that you’re suddenly aware of fast the room dipped into the newfound silence. Your heart hammers in your chest while you feel your hands curl into a familiar fist; fingernails automatically moving to dig into the flesh of your palms.

“Of course he does, I do too—“you reason, but his expression shifting has you revising your choice of words.

“I will always love him, Omi. Haji was my friend before he became anyone else,” you explain, softly, and reach out to take his hand in yours. He smiles at you and you mirror it, appreciating the way he didn’t pull out of your touch.

“Is that it?” he asks before you look at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“What else is there?” you laugh and shift your focus to his hand on yours.

“Are you really happy?”

“With this?” he questions again and sits up, taking both of your hands in his. Kiyoomi stares with baited breath, so when the silence buzzes in your ear even louder, you nod.

“With us?” Kiyoomi whispers and the echo it delivers rings loud. You hear his question ricochet from the walls to your ears over and over again while you stare straight into the plethora of questions he chooses not to vocalize manifesting themselves in his eyes.

Then, almost slowly, you nod. Because you are happy, though more so thankful. But that’s still happiness, the voice in your head reasons, so you relent and cup his face.

“You’re my blessing, Kiyoomi,” is the truth that’s spoken from your lips as you watch something living unfold in his.

“I love you,” is what he says and you nod, speechless, as he presses his forehead against yours because you feel everything in his words.

“Are you happy?” he asks again when you part and you smile, remembering your mother and Hajime’s words. The sentiment in his question is one of honesty, that in that moment, it suddenly fills you with newfound warmth.

“She asked me the same thing,” you answer, vulnerable. Kiyoomi always had a way that made it okay to feel vulnerable.

“Because I think she knows your answer,” he tells you quietly and what he says makes you think of his words.

“I’ll get there,” is what you planned to answer but before you could get the words out you’re suddenly widening your eyes as you see Kiyoomi shift and bend down on one knee in front of you, a ring in his hand.

-

Three years later | Italics in flashback

For the first time in your life everything felt connected.

From the pin that held your veil together, to the yellow and pink roses that bloomed along an aisle of white.

Everything felt like it was finally in place as Tooru took one look at you from behind the doors and teared up.

“Please don’t make me cry,” you tell him and smile as you loop your arm through his.

“This is payback for making me cry when you asked if I could give you away,” he laughed before dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you, Tooru,” you whisper as he gives you one final look. The browns of his eyes reminded you that you are loved.

“Your mom would be so happy now,” is his reply as the doors open.

She would be happy, you think as you take one, two, then four steps forward as you grip your bouquet tighter. The pendant with her photo is surrounded in gold plating, and you find yourself thinking that nothing suited her better than gold.

To and for you, she had always been golden.

You feel Tooru part with you midway as he lets you walk the final stretch alone. It was supposed to be the other way around, Issei commented before, but Takahiro was quick to side with you and say it was fitting. Even if Tooru stood in your parent’s place to symbolize giving you away, a parent’s job is really just to walk with you to the halfway mark in life and let you walk the rest of the way alone.

You find yourself smiling at the memory.

The engagement ring on your left finger catches the light from the photographer’s flash as the first notes of a cello play.

“I would ask you to marry me but I know you’re going to tell me no,” Kiyoomi tells you.

“I don’t know you, yet, (y/n). But I know you just enough to know there’s some things you are choosing to not let go of.”

You watch him stare at you, eyes soft and understanding you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to cry again.

From the aisle, your eyes catch Kiyoomi’s as he stares back at you, beautiful and iridescent in the light. He’s always looked the most beautiful when he felt connected with music, you think. Much like now, as he presses harder on the strings and close his eyes to slip into the element.

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi soothes, and reaches forward to wipe the tear sliding down your cheek.

“I don’t think I got to know you, just yet. I only saw bits of who you were under that exterior and neither of us know if we could work as well then if we lay ourselves bare now,” he continues and you nod, understanding his point.

“I love how resilient you are, (y/n),” Kiyoomi whispers and you smile because his voice isn’t cracking. He’s okay with this, and somehow, that lifts the heaviness in your chest. “I love how you never break despite the situation, but I’ve only known that side of you so far.”

“You deserve someone who’s seen you from the start. I can stay and we can work this out, but I don’t know if I’ll love you then. Iwaizumi loved you then and now, and I think you still do too. I could never take you away from that.”

“I don’t want to ask you who you are yet,” he says and you nod telling him you’re still getting to know yourself too.

“She’ll be proud of you regardless,” Kiyoomi finishes and with that you sob.

Kiyoomi opens his eyes and looks at you with a smile while he continues to play. Thank you, you mouth telling him, and he smiles as he plays harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you begin. “I know,” Kiyoomi finishes and the smile on his face is as sincere as his words. “Our time will always be a part in history that will be ours.”

You inhale, smile, and then cup his face in your hands. “It will always be priceless,” you add.

This was a piece you recognized from years ago, you recall with a smile. If you had your violin with you, it wouldn’t take much for you to remember the score and slip into a duet with him. The dynamics, you recognized too—and the way Kiyoomi’s playing only tells you he’s playing even louder.

Three years ago he played the same piece you would have played for the concert your mom would have finally made it to. The same day she died you sat in a practice room with Kiyoomi, crying your heart out as the he plays the same melody you’re walking to now.

Let it out, is what he told you and you did just that.

Let it go, is what he also wants you to know and you did that too.

All your life you’ve thought of love and thought it was lost when you lost her. Kiyoomi, you realize, is the love you were just beginning to learn. The love you’ve parted with before you tangled yourself in too deep; and perhaps in another lifetime you could chase each other bare bones and all, but in this life you know Hajime is the love you thought you closed the door to despite leaving it ajar.

One last look at Kiyoomi lets you see that he closes his eyes as you turn away and face forward.

And when you do, you see colors.

Green from his eyes, like the leaves on your bouquet and the grass outside your childhood home. A yellow flower pinned on his breast pocket; the color from the petals of a flower your mother loved to grow the most. Pink; like the color his cheeks turned into when you first shook his hand.

Then when he smiles at you—you feel a sense of home. When you see him begin to cry, you feel a sense of love that washes over you like the soft waves of the shallow end.

Steady, constant, and safe.

Love, like the words your mother wrote to you in a letter you discovered in an old journal. Where she wrote that even if she never had your father to love, she found her love in you. To be cradled in you so that was enough for her.

That she knew she was strong, but even more so because her strength was drawn from being with you.

Love, like the words from a friend as you remember Kiyoomi’s reminder that it’s okay to take that hand that just wants to pull you out of the deep end.

Love, like the awakening from the depth and seeing that Hajime is the hand that’s been there all along and you have yet to take.

Love, you remember like your mother’s voice.

Love, like the one that has been with you since the beginning. Because you were loved from the very start.

And Hajime—whose name spoke of beginnings.

for my mother whose love cradled me from the beginning. may you rest where the flowers bloom the most beautiful. i love you.

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha takes you on a date and decides how the night will end.

Warnings: dark themes, stalking, digital hacking, drugging, sexual content (all consensual!!!)

A/N: this is the closest thing I’ve ever written to smut so I hope it didn’t turn out to be complete trash! I’d like to try going further in the future but I’m just doing what fits for the story for now! anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Previous part

-

Natasha could barely sleep that night, the images of you swimming through her mind constantly. She’d stared at the pictures in her phone long enough to memorize every inch of you left uncovered. How she wished to be the one to undress you at night, maybe with your wrists tied together above your head or your ankles forced to separate with a bar between them. The possibilities were endless.

She took a cold shower the next morning after waking up in a sweat because of you, and she knew she had to see you again. Not through a window but in person, face to face. She already missed holding a finger to the pulse point in your wrist, feeling the pace quicken as you lost yourself in her intense gaze. It was thrilling.

Your shift today ended at 6, which is why Natasha strolled into the bookstore just after 5:45. She began feigning interest in a shelf of biographies until she heard your kind voice again, and god, could she come undone at the sound of it.

“You’re back.”

She closed the book she was flipping through with a smile, turning to you, and what a sight you were. Your light t-shirt clung to your torso and was tucked inside of dark pants that loosely covered your waist and legs, hugging your ankles. Your hands were tucked in the pockets, and she wondered what was the easiest way to pull them into hers instead.

“I am.” The book closed with a sharp snap as she stepped closer to you. “I was hoping you were here.”

“Why didn’t you look for me then?”

“Got a little nervous.” She shrugs and you find it endearing.

“You hide it well.” Your hands leave your pocket as she gives you the book. “So what can I do for you, Natasha?”

You noticed her eyes widened slightly when her name left your lips, and you wondered whether or not that was a good reaction. The smirk that followed answered your silent question.

“Call me crazy, but I wondered if you’d have dinner with me. Nothing fancy, just want to get to know a kind soul such as yourself a little deeper.”

“Well, I’m very honored that an Avenger is interested in a boring civilian like me.” You offer her a teasing grin and she laughs in response.

“You know who I am, then.”

“A face like yours isn’t easy to forget.” You step around her to place the book back on the shelf, trying not to focus on the warmth that radiates from her body in such close contact. “I just need to clock out and grab my purse from my locker, and then I’ll be ready for dinner.”

“I’ll be outside,” she promised, watching you until the doors to the back hid you from sight before heading out of the bookstore. She listened carefully for your footsteps as she set up the program on the new cellphone, giving you a smile when you appeared that told nothing of what she was doing.

“Ready when you are.”

Natasha held out her arm to you, unable to contain her grin when you looped yours through the space she left and rested your other hand on her incredibly toned bicep. The warmth of your forearm against hers and your palm through her sleeve made her long for more, but she decided not to rush, knowing she had all the time in the world. As far as she was concerned, you weren’t going anywhere.

You arrived at a quiet restaurant in the middle of casual and fancy, seated at a table in the corner per Natasha’s request. The reasoning given to you was her desire to have eyes on the entire room because “you can never be too careful”, but the phone in her lap told a different story. She was an expert at holding your gaze or keeping your attention while the device downloaded your information, tucking it away in her pocket when finished.

It was halfway through dinner when Natasha found herself wanting to touch you more than the high school hand holding you’d done so far. She noticed a bit of pasta sauce that dribbled onto the corner of your mouth and before you could react, it was swiped away onto the pad of her thumb that was now positioned in front of your lips.

“Open,” she commanded, gleefully watching you obey her with wide and innocent eyes. A shiver went down her spine when your warm tongue cleaned her thumb, smirking as she slowly pulled away from your lips with a pop. And then she was back to her own meal as if nothing happened, while you were left squirming in your seat.

“Would you like to come to my place for wine?” you finally get out when your heart stops making its home in your throat.

“I would love that.”

-

The two of you walked hand in hand to your apartment in a comfortable silence, a bubbly feeling spreading through you every time that damn thumb swiped over your knuckles. You turned on the living room light as you entered, locking the door behind her and offering apologies for a mess that didn’t exist.

“Stop worrying, printsessa. You have a lovely home.”

The bubbles returned at the sound of the Russian nickname. “I’m glad you like it. Have a seat on the couch while I run to the bathroom, and then I’ll pour the wine for us.”

Natasha waited a few seconds after you closed the door before sprinting down the hall to where she could only assume your bedroom was. A bug was placed in your bedside lamp, a camera hidden in the plant on your dresser and your window was unlocked. By the time you stepped out with an empty bladder and clean hands, her back was against the armrest of the couch.

“Do you prefer white or red?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

She followed you to the kitchen, resting her elbows on the island that separated tile from carpet as she watched you place two glasses in front of her. You poured the deep red liquid with a smile, and as you returned the bottle to the fridge, she unscrewed the tiny vial from her necklace and emptied it into one glass. She claimed the other one as you faced her, clinking it to yours and moving to the couch.

“You know, I’ve answered your questions all night but I would love to know more about you,” you told her after a long sip, and she smiled at you over the transparent rim of her drink.

“Anything in particular?”

“Just...something that the media hasn’t broadcasted anywhere. Like, how do you manage not to fall into a deep depression with everything that you deal with as an Avenger?”

“It’s the little things.” She leans forward a bit, her fingertips resting on your knee. “The team and I do pretty normal things when we’re not on missions. Movie nights, eating meals together, being honest with each other when we feel down and doing whatever we can to improve our moods. It helps to have a good support system with these things, or in my case, a best friend that’s a literal ball of sunshine. I’m very lucky to have people like them in my life.”

“I think they’re very lucky to have you, too.” 

A few gulps of the bitter liquid gave you the courage you needed to close the gap and press your lips to hers, and part of you wasn’t surprised at how easily she was able to slip her tongue in your mouth seconds later. A low groan spilled from her lips past yours, and it vibrated within the deepest parts of you as you wrapped an arm around her neck, the other joining after your nearly empty glass was taken away. 

Her hands held onto your waist, squeezing harder as the kiss deepened, and she used the tight grip to guide your back toward the couch cushions. Your fingers slid into her hair when her mouth separated from yours to trail wet kisses down your jaw to the base of your neck, her warm breath leaving goosebumps on your sensitive skin. You slid a hand down to your jeans, about to unbutton them when she let go of one of your hips to stop you.

“Patience, printsessa,” she mumbled into the space between your neck and shoulder. “We have time.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position and you followed, embarrassed when a yawn unexpectedly pushed out of you. 

“I’m sorry.” You chuckled shyly. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay. You got up pretty early, yeah?” You nodded. “I figured. Let me just take your number and then I’ll get out of your hair. I can always come back tomorrow.”

She winked as she handed you the phone that wasn’t an exact copy of yours, and you made sure to include your address in the contact you created. When you handed it back, Natasha erased your name and replaced it with your newly given nickname.

She left your apartment after a much more innocent kiss at the door, immediately taking the alley back to your fire escape when she was sure there were no witnesses. A smile shaped her lips as she watched you stumble tiredly through your nightly routine, eventually collapsing on the bed and falling unconscious before you could pull the blanket over your exposed legs.

Once you were asleep for a few minutes, she popped the screen off and set it to the side as she raised the window and climbed in.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @fayhar @muted-stoneheart @witchxaf @sakurat123 @bebe404 @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se 

[maplecornia]

Chapter 3

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.06K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: everytime I upload a chapter my tags increase LMAO i hope you guys are enjoying the story so far ^^ BTW when they're speaking and their words are bolded that means they're speaking in English just a heads up ;)

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne

What is he doing here?

And whose clothes do those belong to?

You mouth his name, and in his eyes, you can see the surprise turn to shame.

The sick feeling in your stomach grows bigger.

You pray that you're wrong. That for the first time in your life, your intuition isn't correct. That what you think happened was merely a misunderstanding. That he didn't do what you think he did.

You want to reassure yourself that you didn't give up your heart in vain.

That he still loves you.

But everything points to the signs.

The fact that he only wears boxers, his smooth muscled skin shining in the soft moonlight.

The pile of mixed clothes on the floor.

The look in his eyes and the ruffled mess of his hair.

Everything tells you what you already know.

"What's going on?" you ask, your voice shaking. He doesn't meet your eyes.

The sick feeling grows deeper in your chest.

"What's going on?" you repeat, your voice stronger and more severe.

Even if your heart can't stand strong, at least you can.

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead, you hear a woman's voice from the bedroom.

Your bedroom.

"Babe, who is that?" you can't seem to look away from the door that it materialized from, as he looks between it and you, unsure of what to do. As though he were the one trapped. As though he were the one who was in pain. As though he were the victim here.

Instead of the murderer.

As she comes into view in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and running her hands through her hair, you can't move. You're frozen, and the world completely disappears, a roar of static noise rising in your ears.

No.

No.

NO.

This can't be happening. Not to you. You were so careful. You were so sure. So sure that he felt the same. So sure that he was yours and yours alone. So sure that nothing would be able to break what you shared. That you had finally found the one.

However, as she looks at you, her green eyes spark with realization. Then as they quickly turn to shame, she avoids your gaze as well.

You know.

This is happening.

It's real.

And there's no turning back from it.

You can't feel yourself as you start to cry.

In the shower, the hot water clings to your skin, mixing with the tears. You lean against the tiled wall, squeezing your eyes shut, you cling to yourself. Nails digging into your flesh, you bite your lip, shaking violently.

Mixed images of his face flash through your mind unwillingly.

Hiding alone, the steam surrounding you in a thick veil of deception, you give in to the pain.

You allow the tears to come.

You allow his face to stare into yours once more. You paint the same hazelnut gaze of his eyes. You try to recall the safety you once felt when he held you in his arms. You pull pieces of the same warmth that rose in your cold body flushing your face when he smiled at you, out of the depths of your mind. You look for the tenderness reflecting in his eyes when he whispered that he loved you. You sigh as you remember the way his curly hair had felt on your skin as you ran your hands through it. You picture his perfectly sculpted face, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes. The strong jaw and full lips. The curve of his throat and the touch of his body.

The mirage holds you in its embrace, makes you forget everything, all the pain, all the hurt, the betrayal that tore your soul apart for his pleasure.

However, when it leans in to kiss you, your eyes fly open to reality, and you find yourself hugging your body, the shower still running.

Shaking your head, you proceed to clean yourself, hoping that perhaps the water could wash away the pain.

Some things weren't enough. Some things are not good to dwell over. Some things are better left locked away.

In the end, it wasn't real.

None of it was real.

Done with the shower, you turn the water off, strands of hair falling in your face, and droplets of water dripping off of your body.

Was any part you enough to keep him?

Was this body?

Was it enough to have him wait for you?

Looking down at yourself, you press your fingers against your stomach, pulling at the flesh and skin as though it would change anything.

Were you enough?

Shaking the thought out of your mind, you reach for your towel as you open the shower curtain and step out into the steamy bathroom. Flipping on the fan switch, you dry yourself off, avoiding the reflection in the mirror. You lotion your body down, before pulling on your bra and underwear. Ignoring the drips from your hair, you tug on a loose T-shirt and shorts, and shake out your head, water falling everywhere as though you were a wet dog.

Sighing, you turn to the mirror, where fog from the shower is fading, water droplets trailing down like rain and making pathways. You follow them with your eyes for a moment before, in a sudden urge, you swipe your hand across the screen, destroying their peaceful journey. What's left of your reflection.

Staring into your eyes, you can see just how tired you look. Just how worn down you are. Touching just below your eye, the dark circles under your eyes from restless nights of tears and loss of sleep stand out like a stain on your skin.

What has he done to you?

This isn't you, this isn't who you are.

What has he turned you into?

Sighing, you turn away from the mirror and pull on your robe.

Drying your hair off with your towel, you pull open the door and walk outside, your wet feet slapping on the crisp wood floor as you make your way into the living room.

You look around for any sign of Jae or Miji, but they are nowhere to be seen. Glancing over at the kitchen island, you spot a small piece of paper. Taking it into your fingers, you read the neat block letters of Jaejin's handwriting. His Korean alphabet is so structured, so neat and so straight as though it were the writing of a computer. It reads:

“Hey, I’m sorry we left, but Mijeong prepared a surprise birthday dinner for me tonight, we’ll be back later so help yourself to make dinner or whatever. Remember this is your home now too, I love you!!”

You smile at the thoughtful letter and pocket it in your robe.

You had prepared a gift for Jae today yourself, but you'd reckon you'd just give it to him later.

Turning to the room you take a deep breath before beginning to explore.

The living room is very spacious, which you prefer. The TV is elevated on the left wall from the kitchen, the couch positioned against the right wall across from the screen. In the middle of the room, there is a cute small glass coffee table with forgotten magazines and books laying on top of it. Underneath the TV there are many different bookshelves with movies, books, and magazines shelved on them. All around the apartment, there are potted plants, cute decorations, and some photographs.

Stepping onto the carpet, you dig your feet into it as though it were the warm sand on the beach.

"I would have been fine sleeping on this floor, you know. This is like heaven." You murmur to yourself, closing your eyes in content. You wait there for a moment before the soft plinks of rain begin outside, knocking you out of your stupor.

Opening your eyes, you turn to the balcony's clear screen door and press your hand against it. Gazing outside, you smile at the sight of rain against the lights of the city. Opening the door a crack, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

After a moment, you step back inside and shut the screen door, turning to the kitchen. You pull out a pot and fill it with water before setting it on the ceramic stove and heating it. As you wait for it to boil, you pull out your phone and turn the notifications off from vibration. As soon as you do, you click on your Instagram and into the group chat you share with your friends.

Looking through, you can't help but feel a bit conflicted.

Biting your lip, your finger hovers over the message box before you quickly pull away and place your phone on the counter. Letting out a shaky breath, you swallow the lump rising dangerously in your throat before looking away.

You're sensitive today.

You knew it was going to be like this.

When you moved in the middle of high school back home, it was the same. Their lives carried on without you. They still had fun, they still had other things to do, they still had a life outside of you. Outside of you being there.

Things were different.

They were still your friends, they'll always be your friends, but they weren't the same.

Will they ever be the same?

When you hear the crackling of the boiling water, your head snaps up and you pocket the phone once more. You pull the pot off the stove and grab a mug out of one of the many cabinets in Jae's kitchen. As you set it beside the cooling water on the counter, you search his pantry for a cocoa mix. Normally you would have tea, but right after the sight of the rain, you're in the mood for something to warm you from the inside out.

Something to remind you of home.

On cold, rainy days after you and your friends would practice at the dance studio, or finish having a meal together or anything simple like that; you would hurry home and with your group, you would make them cocoa. You would start a fire and would sit with each other spending the time together, happy and complete.

The nostalgia and sadness growing too much, you are relieved when you find the hot cocoa packets. You let out a little shout of happiness and accomplishment before walking out of the pantry and dumping the contents into the cup. Setting the packet aside, you take the pot of water and carefully pour it into the cup as well. While the powder and water slowly swirl together, you rummage for a spoon before mixing it. Once you're satisfied, you sip it carefully and...

...almost burn your tongue off.

Coughing violently, you set it down and focus on putting away everything you brought out, giving it time to cool off. Once everything is done and put away, you pick up your mug, holding it to your face as you softly blow on it. Even now the smell and the warmth of it is getting rid of the chill you feel whenever you're alone.

Settling yourself amongst the blankets and pillows on the couch, you take the TV remote off of the coffee table and turn on the TV. Netflix pops up and you search for a K- drama you were watching before you left. When you find it, you press play, leaving off captions so that you can practice your Korean a bit more.

As the intro starts, you hum along to it, setting up a sort of bed so you can watch comfortably. Once it's done, you lay down, your head sinking into a pillow comfortably, and a soft gray blanket pulled over your body. You're in a position so that you can still lounge but won't spill your cocoa.

As the show begins, you mouth the words along with them. When you can't catch what they say, you're quick to rewind it and try it again until you understand. You laugh with the show, cry with it, finding yourself on an emotional roller coaster.

You've always been like this, too emotional, too easily attached, too naive. Always careful to keep yourself at a reasonable distance from anyone who could hurt you. From anyone who you couldn't handle if they left you. It takes a while for you to open yourself up to someone, and when you do, you're wholly and completely theirs.

It's a lose-lose situation.

A lose-lose way of life.

Before you know it, the cocoa is gone and the episode is almost over. Setting the mug on the coffee table, you settle back into the pillow. As you watch, your eyes grow heavy, and you drift further and further away. The last thing you see before you close them is their touching kiss before they flutter shut and you fall into a restless sleep.

Hours pass as you lie there on the couch, sleeping. The show continues to play until the question "are you still watching?" shows up on the screen as it often does when you've been watching for a while without much activity.

Once the show is off, the apartment goes silent and it seems almost empty. In the far background, there are the sounds of cars honking, the screech of tires on the pavement, even the sound of music from the billboards and clubs.

This is like home, these sounds are familiar. These are the reasons why you sleep so soundly, hugging the pillow as though it were your lifeline.

You do not wake when Mijeong and Jaejin enter the apartment. They are laughing, but as soon as they see you on the couch, fast asleep, they fall quiet, each one of them smiling softly.

They hold unimaginable compassion for you and deep love.

Mijeong immediately sets down her stuff, sliding out of her shoes and walking towards you. Tenderly, she brushes back your hair as though she were your mother taking care of you.

“She’s sound asleep.” She whispers, just as Jaejin joins her side.

“That’s not like her. She’s such a light sleeper, she would have woken up when we came home.” He replies worry reflected in his eyes. Mijeong’s smile, at his statement, fades away and she nods.

“She must be in so much pain that she wants to drown out the world around her,” Mijeong says sadly before standing up and clearing her throat.

“Let's take her to her room.” When Jaejin doesn't move, she gives him an expectant look and he jolts to attention. She hits him softly on his arm and he lets out a slight joking yelp.

"I was going to do it, I just wasn't ready yet." He whines, and she chuckles before leading the way to your room as Jaejin picks you up with strong, sure arms. Cradled in his arms as though you were a baby, he looks down at you with a tender look. He hates that he can't help you.

No one can.

He smiles how sound asleep you are now, cradled in his arms, your head resting against the crook of his neck. Mijeong, watching the encounter, smiles as well. He notices her look and his attention changes immediately from you to her in a second.

“What is it?” he asks, and she shakes her head, opening the door to your newly acclaimed bedroom.

“Nothing.” She says but a sly smile is playing at her lips, as though she’s concealing a secret. Which she is. A secret that, at that moment, she thought he would make a great father. A secret that at that moment, she wanted things with him that were far off in the future, but very real to her now.

As they walk into your room, Mijeong pulls back the covers, and Jaejin sets you down softly on the bed. Once you are out of his arms, and Mijeong pulls the covers up over your body, you settle instinctively into the soft mattress, and immediately curl up into a ball, holding tightly to one of the many pillows on your bed. They smile as they watch over you, and Jaejin presses a soft kiss on your forehead. Mijeong does the same, brushing back strands of hair on your forehead. Turning around, they share a tender look before walking out of the room and cracking the door shut behind them.

“Are you sure that she’ll be okay?” Mijeong asks as soon as the door is shut. Jaejin looks at her a bit surprised.

“Of course. Why, are you having second thoughts?” he asks before heading into the living room, Mijeong not far behind.

"No. I'm not, I just....I wish we could tell her before we do anything. She's going to wake up and we'll be gone." Mijeong explains, following him and settling on the counter. Jaejin pauses from setting the living room in order and turns to her. He takes her hand in his own and kisses her softly on the forehead before pressing his forehead to hers tenderly.

"I love you, and I wish we could have told her before we leave tomorrow, but she will be okay. She'll have the apartment, and my job at Big Hit to take over. Everything will be okay." He reassures her. Mijeong hesitates before nodding her head in agreement. Jaejin smiles, before pulling away and turning off the TV. "Besides, I'll leave her a note just like we did tonight before we take off in the morning. This is just too much of an amazing opportunity for you and for me to waste."

"I know." Mijeong answers, rocking on the counter as she swings her legs back and forth. "Not every model gets a chance to appear at Fashion Week, but Jae....she'll be all alone."

Done with ordering the room, he chuckles as he begins to make his way back to her.

"She is a grown-up you know. It’s only a few months, she can take care of herself." He says, pulling her off the counter and spinning around in the air before setting her down as she giggles and leans on him, a little dizzy.

"Don't worry," he reassures her once more before heading into their room, his voice fading as he closes the door behind him.

"Yen will be okay. She always is."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: thanks to everyone who read! so why do you think miss Yen moved to Korea?

+

I'm going to be updating my mutuals list (because I never had it to begin with ;-;) on my navigation so if you want to be added, pls ask me ^^ thankssss

chapter 4 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[seok-jinnies]

one | myg

min yoongi x reader, jeon jungkook x reader ;

angst, light fluff ; wc : ~2.6k

warnings: some swearing

in all his years of existing, min yoongi doesn’t think he has ever loved someone as much as he loves you. after all, he knows, deep in his soul, that you’re the one for him.

however, jeon jeongguk also thinks that you are the one for him, so yoongi might have more than a few problems with that.

Just like that, Yoongi thinks, you’re slipping through his fingers once again. He wants to throw up. Or pass out. Or straight up die. One of the three would be preferable.  

He hadn’t meant to overhear… he had just wanted to come see you. Maybe surprise you with burgers from your favorite diner two blocks away. You had mentioned that you weren’t feeling well at all, and that you were in dire need of a pick me up. Yoongi doesn’t know why he immediately hauled ass to that diner you loved so much just to get you a burger and some fries, especially when you had a boyfriend who could do it for you.

Said boyfriend went by the name of Jeon Jeongguk, an irritating photographer who happened to have a knack for literally everything in the world. It’s almost a bit unfair, how good he was at everything, but at least he treated you well, so at least there was that.

On second thought, it wasn’t just a bit unfair, it was really fucking unfair. Jeongguk had loved you for what? Two, three years? And here he was, living the life of Yoongi’s dreams. Waking up with you, making breakfast with you, just being with you in general. Yoongi almost wants to cry at the thought.

Going back to the matter at hand, Yoongi recalls with startling clarity the moment he had heard Jeongguk’s voice. He was just about to round the corner to yours and Jeongguk’s shared apartment when he heard it. 

“...listen, she can’t know, alright? Whatever happens, (Y/N) cannot find out.” Jeongguk’s voice was hushed, and warning flags were raising at the back of Yoongi’s mind. Was he cheating on you? Pissed, he stopped in his tracks, listening intently. 

“...what?” Jeongguk continues. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got the ring ready. Am I…? Of course I am. I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. She’s the one, hyung. She’s the one.”

Oh, Yoongi thinks. Oh.

The burger and fries are left on the stairwell.

-

The first time Min Yoongi meets you is on his birthday. Winter was on its last breaths, and he was grateful. No one told him that twenty-five was the age when all your joints started to ache like a grandpa, and he hated it severely. The cold wasn’t helping him much with joint pain either.

It was snowing too, so Yoongi had to make sure to actually wear a coat. It looked like his days of wearing a t-shirt and ripped jeans out in the snow were long gone.

There was nothing special about the day he met you. Perhaps, it was so that you could stand out even more. Not that you needed help standing out; you were already breathtaking on your own. With cosmic assistance? You were absolutely lethal.

He had a camera that day, if only to humor his friend, Jimin, who was devastated that he was spending his birthday alone. You have to at least take pictures, okay? He had insisted through a very static-y phone call the night before. Prove to me that you went out for your birthday. Treat yo self! Jimin squealed. Yoongi had to pull his headphones off at that.

You were sitting on a bench, talking on the phone. You were laughing, and for one cliche moment, Yoongi’s heart stopped. Maybe it was the sunlight hitting you just right, or maybe it was your (frankly contagious) laughter, but he was pretty sure you were almost too pretty to exist. 

His hands moved before he could think too much of it, and before he knew it he had taken a picture of you.

There was no sign that you had noticed, and Yoongi almost felt ashamed at the action. He decided to approach you, show you the picture and then ask if he could keep it. However, you stood up the moment he took a step forward. You left, never to be seen again.

Well, not really.

You were a friend of a friend who then introduced the two of you to each other. He was overjoyed of course, but as much as Yoongi wanted to convince himself that it had nothing to do with how pretty you were and everything to do with showing you the picture, it was definitely because he was so smitten with you that he actually forgot his name when you introduced yourself.

(And that day, Yoongi decided that it was love at first sight. Or second. Whatever. He was in love, anyways.)

-

It’s at your birthday party when he decides. He’s going to tell you. He’s going to confess.

Maybe not now, not tonight, but someday.

You look stunning, he decides. You were wearing this red off-shoulder dress which fell to your knees, and some heels which Yoongi knew must be hell on earth for you. You never did like heels.

Your apartment was filled with your friends, some from college and some from work, he deducts, as he meets eyes with a couple of strangers. He smiles awkwardly and turns back to his drink, searching for a familiar face when⁠—

“Yoongi!” You call out happily. The stiff excuse for a smile he had plastered on his face melted into something more genuine as he faced you. “Hello, flower.”

Your already rosy cheeks flush more from the endearment and Yoongi chuckles. He used to tease you about your love for plants and wanted to give you a nickname related to it. Unfortunately, calling you ‘cactus’ just didn’t have that air of lovesickness that he was aiming for, so ‘flower’ would have to do.

You pull him into a hug and he grumbles for a moment, pretending to hate it. You know that he loves hugs, though, and you just laugh and hold him tighter. He can only hope you can’t tell how hard his heart was pounding.

When you pull away, he misses your warmth almost immediately. “How are you?” You grin. “Enjoying the party so far?”

He lets out a small laugh. “You know, I should be the one asking you that, birthday girl. Although, I am surprised you went for a party this year instead of the usual dinner.”

“Actually…” you pause, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t want a party either. Jeongguk just thought it would be nice since it could double as a little celebration for my promotion as well.”

Ah. The promotion. Yoongi remembers when you had just graduated college, desperately trying to get into the industry you wanted. You used to cry over every rejection email, but now…  You were doing great, and he couldn’t be more proud of you. Regardless, he grins at your admission.

“Knew it.” He teases, and you mock grumble at him before smiling again, looking away. Meanwhile, Yoongi couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He could only pray that no one could tell he was giving you heart eyes.

“Babe!” Jeongguk’s voice cuts through the comfortable silence between you two. Yoongi can’t tell if it’s just his personal bias against the guy, but he was really fucking irritating. Add that to the fact that you used to call Yoongi ‘babe’ before Jeongguk started calling you that, and Yoongi was starting to get more than a little pissed. Another thing to add to the list of things Jeongguk had stolen from him.

But were you ever his to begin with? A voice in Yoongi’s mind whispers.

Shut up, he hisses back.

“Cake time!” Jeongguk calls out again, and you shoot Yoongi an apologetic grin as you leave his side and approach your golden retriever of a boyfriend.

People begin to gather around you as Jeongguk holds the cake for you with the candles lit up. You’re grinning, and while Yoongi doesn’t sing along, he is staring at you with the most lovesick look in his eyes that he’s sure if anyone were to see him, they would know.

His mind begins to drift as he imagines a world where he’s the one holding your cake. Maybe you would smear some icing on his cheek after blowing the candles out. Would you two be the absolutely cheesy couple everyone pretended to hate but were actually jealous of? Maybe. And you know what, Yoongi would actually love that. He would⁠—

He hears Jeongguk say your name, and when he focuses, Jeongguk is down on one knee and his heart falls.

“...you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You don’t just make me a better person, you make me want to be a better person for me. For you. I wake up in the morning and I want to cry because I feel so goddamn lucky that you chose me. Out of all the people in this universe, you chose me. You saw me, and you took care of me, and you loved me. You gave me the world, (Y/N), but I want to give you the universe.” Jeongguk pauses, and even from a distance, Yoongi can see that the younger man has tears in his eyes.

So does Yoongi. His ears are ringing, and all he can do is watch as Jeongguk asks the million dollar question:

“(Y/N), will you marry me?”

SIlence, and then:

“Yes!”

His heart shatters into a million pieces.

-

Min Yoongi was a coward, that much he knew. 

After five years of loving you silently (and multiple times of flirting with each other), he was done. Time to move on. It’s been half a decade, and he was never sure if you felt the same way. Maybe you did, but he didn’t want to risk losing you.

So he did the thing most people would do after deciding to move on: get absolutely shitfaced at the nearest bar.

Truth be told, even now, three and a half years later, he did not remember what happened that night. He assumes he had a one night stand, if the woman he woke up to was any evidence. 

What he did not expect was you barging into his apartment, demanding to see him because you needed to tell him⁠—

What you wanted to tell him, Yoongi would never know, because when you asked if the girl in the bathroom was his girlfriend, he had the stupid idea to lie and tell you that yes, she is my girlfriend. Just made it official last night.

He was too damn proud of himself being able to “move on” from you to see you deflate. In a span of seconds, you went from excited to the verge of tears. When you heard the bathroom door open, you hurriedly excused yourself and booked it out of his apartment.

What Yoongi didn’t know was that you were going to confess.

But as you power walk out of his apartment complex, you come to the conclusion, that maybe, just maybe, he’s just not into you. And you were merely boo boo the fool.

After that, texts between you and Yoongi were sparse. You stopped hanging out. You stopped sending each other memes at three in the morning. You just stopped… seeing each other.

By the time Yoongi pulled his head out of his ass and sucked it up, it had been a year, and you had a sparkly new boyfriend named Jeon Jeongguk.

-

Yoongi decided that this was, quite possibly, the worst year of his life. Nothing like watching the love of your life get engaged to someone else, and then be forced to watch her marry someone else months afterwards to really rub the salt in.

But then again, you aren’t Mrs. Jeon. Yet, anyways, Yoongi thinks bitterly. In less than twenty four hours, he will truly have lost you, and this time, there’s no getting you back.

And so, like the genius that he was, he decides to call you. In the middle of the night. To the local park. Why? Honestly, Yoongi had no idea. He just wanted, needed to see you one last time.

When you arrive, the park is silent. You look adorable, Yoongi thinks fondly, but even that innocent thought was enough to make tears well up in his eyes. God, he was so in love with you it hurt.

“(Y/N),” he begins once you’re close enough to hear. “I need to tell you something⁠—”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. You look pained, he notes.”Don’t⁠—”

“Don’t what?” He cuts you off, scoffing. The tears begin to fall. “Don’t say it? You don’t want me to tell you about how I’ve been in love with you my whole life? You don’t want me to tell you how much I wish it was me you’re marrying tomorrow?” He wipes at his tears angrily. “What do you want me to do?” 

He breathes in raggedly, looking up to the sky in desperation. When he looks back at you, your heart breaks for him.

“Flower, I can’t.” He begs. “I can’t let you go. I can’t lose you. Not again. Please⁠—” A sob tears through his throat. “I love you.”

He feels your hands cup his face, wiping at the wetness on his skin. He’s almost grateful that he can’t see you through his tears, because he knows you’re crying too. He hated seeing you cry.

“Yoongi,” you say softly. “I love you too, but we can’t. We’ve been dancing around this for almost a decade, babe. Our time has passed, Yoongi⁠⁠.” Your hands have moved, one on his waist and another on the back of his neck. When he sees your tears, he finally breaks. He collapses into your arms, sobbing, grasping at you desperately. 

When you speak next, your voice is muffled as you comb through his hair with one hand and pull him closer with the other. “I will always love you, Yoongi. Always.” You say fiercely, surely, and Yoongi almost wants to believe you. “But I love Jeongguk too. He…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “He’s the one for me.” You admit, and Yoongi hates it so much because you were the one for him. 

The two of you slowly sink onto the ground, with your arms still around him as he cries. For losing you, for being too late, and for what could have been. His sobs echo in the empty park and you cry with him.

When his sobs die down and his breathing gets calmer, he pulls away from your embrace. When your arms fall to the sides, he moves closer to you, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes closed. “I love you,” he whispers, and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your face. “I will always love you.”

When your eyes flutter open, his eyes meet yours. 

Around you, the snow begins to fall. 

“I…” You breathe out. “I should go. Jeongguk’s waiting for me at home.”

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Get home safely.”

You nod and stand up, offering a hand. He shakes his head and stands up on his own.

No words are said.

You nod, and turn to leave. When your figure disappears into the night, Yoongi lets his tears fall once more.

“Goodbye, flower,” he whispers into the night. The wind blows.

I love you.

[ddarker-dreams]

Can I request head-cannons for Dabi, Shigaraki and Overhaul when their Darling escapes and ends up at an old friends house? Like the friend and the Darling had feelings for each other but never new until now and the Yandere finds them kissing? Idk lol just an idea. Sorry for wasting your time.

i found this idea so interesting that i went ahead and wrote mini scenarios for it!! yall get to watch shin suffer three different times LMAOO

click here to check out my commissions ! 

TW: for death, torture, mutilation

Shigaraki: 

Comfort and security have been rare in your life for the past few hellish months. Even now, as you sit with a blanket wrapped around your shivering frame; you can’t relish in your small victory over Shigaraki. It’s only been a matter of hours since you managed to escape him, and you can only imagine how desperately he’s searching. 

“[First], are you sure we shouldn’t go to the police?” Shin eyes you with concern, his lips frowning at your shivering form. Shaking your head, you take a sip of the tea he had given you earlier. The bitter flavor brings you no comfort, but the scorching warmth steels you in reality. 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I really don’t know,” you murmur to your friend, who takes a seat next to you on the couch. “I just need to… I need to get a hold of myself first. I can’t think straight.” 

Shin offers a reassuring smile, his hand reaching out. You flinch slightly as he places it on top of your free hand, being mindful of your fearful form. The pad of his thumb soothingly rubs circles into your skin, temporarily taking your mind off everything.

“I was surprised when you came to me,” Shin confesses, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if I’m being out of line. I’m just glad you thought of me. That you know that you can rely on me.” 

Your breath hitches, and you look away from his face. The blush lining his cheeks says it all; but you’re unsure of what to do with it. Before Shigaraki had come into your life, Shin had been someone you adored wholeheartedly. His charisma and friendliness attracted you, he was someone that was always so well put together.

“T-thank you again for helping me.” 

All you’re able to offer is your genuine gratitude. At this, Shin shifts in his seat. 

“Of course,” Shin graciously accepts your words, moving closer to you. Your eyes widen when soft fingers delicately touch your chin, prompting you to look at him. “I would do anything for you.” 

“Shin–” 

His lips softly press against your own, muffling the squeak you let out. Apart of you feels uncertain of what to make of this, but the other part doesn’t care anymore. Why should you deny yourself any comfort you could get after the nightmares you’ve endured? 

Fluttering your eyes shut, you shyly return the affection being bestowed upon you. For a few blissful seconds, your mind is relieved of your previous woes. 

That is, until you hear a crumbling noise in the direction of Shin’s apartment entrance. 

Pulling back at the alarming noise, Shin furrows his eyebrows at a figure that makes your blood freeze. 

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” Shin goes to stand from his position next to you, only for you to put your arm out in front of him. Bloodshot eyes look from your form to Shin’s, Shigaraki’s form hunched over. You hear his labored breathing, as he stalks towards the couch with a sense of urgency.

At this point, a part of you knows there’s nothing you can say to convince Shigaraki to stop what he’s doing, but it’s not enough to stop you from trying.

“Shigaraki, please, don’t do anything–!” 

It’s too late.

His hand extends out towards Shin’s, wrapping viciously around the young male’s neck. Before Shin could even let out a scream at the sensation of being chocked, his skin turns an inhumanly gray pigment. Shrieking in horror, you spring up from your position as Shin’s body turns to a pile of dust. 

“N-no…” your voice is weak, eyes blurred by tears. 

Shigaraki turns his head towards you, pupils dilated and chest heaving. He watches as you press your knees to your chest, bottom lip quivering from anxiety.

“Come,” Shigaraki beckons, voice devoid of any humanity. “I’m tired of this little side quest.” 

Dabi: 

“Got room for one more?” 

The intrusive, lighthearted words are accompanied by a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Dabi begins snickering as you instinctively pull back from Shin, eyes wide as saucers. Shin grimaces in disgust at Dabi, immediately putting two and two together.

“So you must be the fucker who’s been harasser her,” Shin growls, reaching into his pocket to reveal a switchblade. “Get the fuck out, or I’ll call the police.” 

The small blade gleams threateningly, pointed in an accusatory stance towards Dabi. Dabi’s hands remain in his pockets, not even so much as blinking at the threat presented before him. He all but ignores it, preferring to look over at your shaking form. 

“You gave me quite a shock, doll. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Dabi tilts his head, voice lowering with intent. “But enough’s enough. Come right over here princess, and I’ll give some thought to forgiving you.” 

After the time you’ve spent with Dabi, you’ve been able to pick up on the subtlest of nuances in his body language. To the untrained eye somewhat might mistake Dabi’s disposition for carefree, but you know better. He’s toying with you purposefully – there’s a concealed fury in his eyes from your string of betrayals. 

His patience with you is gone. 

“A-alright,” you pathetically concede, eyes stinging with tears. On unsteady legs you stand up, earning a look of confusion from Shin. “I’ll do what you say. But please don’t hurt him. I-I dragged him into this, he has nothing to do with it.” 

The pleading tone doesn’t garner a strong reaction, Dabi instead shrugging his shoulders at your heartfelt request. 

He waves off your feeble concern, “Sorry to say sweetheart, but you’re in no position to be making demands of me.”

“I’ve heard enough of this!” Shin abruptly stands up, firmly steeling himself next to you. Dabi’s eyes follow his every movement carefully, undoubtedly assessing if you’ll get caught up in a blast of fire from his quirk. In a protective reflex, you fling yourself in front of Shin; arms reaching out on each side. 

Dabi clicks his tongue at your interference. “What a bad girl you’ve been.” 

With that, he suddenly charges forward, your eyes barely processing the events unfolding in front of you. Dabi moves to your left abruptly, causing you to swirl on your heels. Before Shin has the chance to plunge his knife forward, Dabi’s hands grab Shin’s shoulder and wrist respectively.

A sickening snap reverberates in the air, accompanied by a hellish scream of pain. What is most likely to be Shin’s ulna erupts from the skin of his forearm, blood gushing out alongside it. Shin drops to the ground, clutching his mutilated arm while tears leave his eyes. 

A string of curses leave his lips, but Dabi responds by kicking him onto his back. Jaw agape, you lunge forward to assist your friend; only for Dabi’s hand to grip harshly onto your wrist. Hissing at the pressure, you twist your wrist around in hopes of freeing yourself. The movement only serves to bring you greater pain, so you stop momentarily. 

Shin’s cries continue on in the background as Dabi forcefully shoots you a chilling smile. The hand that isn’t holding yours flickers with blue flames, revealing Dabi’s malicious intentions. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be so eager to watch. Let’s see, what part of him should I break next? If you tell me, I’ll put ‘im out of his misery faster,” Dabi offers, making certain you had a front seat to the events that were about to unfold. “Probably, that is.”

Overhaul: 

“Please stop! This isn’t right, he has nothing to do with this!” 

Cold amber eyes glare through your soul, showing no sign of softening with compassion at your incessant begging. Kai’s lifeless gaze moves from you to your struggling companion, who currently has his arms twisted behind his back by Kurono. 

“What should we do with him, boss?” 

“If I recall correctly,” Kai begins, stepping forward to minimize the distance between himself and Shin. “One of our subjects recently passed from the stress of testing. This one will serve as a replacement.” 

“Go… to hell, you... monster,” Shin wheezes out, struggling to lift his bruised face to meet Kai’s stony stare. “[First] will always hate you.” 

The room goes silent, save for Shin’s labored breathing and your own rapidly beating heart. All the struggling in the world isn’t enough to remove you from Mimic’s tight grip, but it’s not enough to stop you from trying. The sudden emergence of the Shie Hassaikai was hell on earth, but one you were eventually expecting. 

Kai had acted faster than you thought he would, finding you after your escape in only a few hours. With his expansive number of contacts and manpower all it took was a few phone calls and orders, and here they were. 

Kai’s exchanged no words with you, ever since he and his subordinates walked in on Shin kissing you. You can’t begin to comprehend the volume of his vexation towards you, but whatever he’s feeling he’s keen on not showing it.

You wince at Shin’s words, realizing that the combination would make his fate even more painful than it would’ve been before. Kai suddenly holds one of his gloved hands up, in the direction a few other subordinates were standing.

“Knife.” 

The order is simple and to the point, and a masked individual brings him the item he requests. With the glistening weapon in hand, Kai moves it closer to Shin’s face. Before you can even let out a scream, Kai begins to steadily move the sharp end of the knife against the skin of Shin’s lower lip.

A bloodcurdling shriek leaves him, as he desperately struggles against Kurono to no avail. Kurono moves a hand to steady his face, effectively allowing for Kai to continue with the task he had started. As Kai continues his cruel task of flaying the skin off Shin’s lips, all you can think to do is close your eyes and pray it’ll all be over soon.

There’s not much more you can take of this nightmare. 

A few more excruciatingly slow seconds pass, before Kai moves back, scrunching his nose at a drop of blood that marred his white gloves. 

“Filthy,” Kai murmurs underneath his breath, a frown set on his face. “Treat him before he goes into shock. I don’t want him dying anytime soon.”

For the first time in a while, Kai’s attention returns back to you. Noting the puffiness of your eyes, it’s difficult to mask the irritation he feels at your compassion for this cesspool of trash. He begins to walk towards the door, you being prompted to follow suit alongside the other members of the Shie Hassaikai. 

“We’ll discuss your punishment in detail later.” 

All you can do is nod, feeling numb to the world as you return back to your hell. 

[yuzukult]

candy stars || baekhyun & reader

title: candy stars pairing: reader x baekhyun genre: romance, soulmate!au words: ~5k+ prompt: soulmates unlock one of the five senses for people, some finally get the opportunity to feel, to see, to taste, to hear, or to smell. but what if you never find yours? notes: i decided i would make a soulmate story for each member of exo!! all stemming from a similar universe as city lights & under the moonlight. :) 

The wind that hits your face is brisk, the trademark characteristic for the November air, tinting your cheeks pink, pink like the juices of strawberries that you bite into, dripping onto your palms and sliding down your arms. But the pinks don’t signify the same thing— your cheeks are stained like a winter heather, growing in the colder months and bringing the only color in a garden with a white blanket that drapes over, and the strawberries are just a reminder of the warmer days, something that seems so out of reach.

Someone without a soulmate might lack this quality— to be able to see these shades or feel the changes of weather. But those senses weren’t absent from your life, but rather the taste of the strawberry, the sweetness that it spews and bursts on your tongue. Instead, there’s nothing. Emptiness is what fills you, without the understanding of what sugar is and what people mean when they crave the treats or when there’s a comparison to a love that’s like confectionery.

Cups filled with hot chocolate steams out from the covers, the scent saturating your nose. You knew what it smelled like, the sweetness, but once bringing the warm liquid to your lips, the expectations for the taste dissipates.

“You sure you don’t want to try some?” Chanyeol asks, lifting up the styrofoam cup in his hand, offering some of the delicious goodness to you. “It tastes good.”

“I assume that it tastes good. Did you already forget? I don’t know what sweet is, Chanyeol.” Rolling your eyes at the older male, you stuff your hands into the pockets of your puffy jacket. “You only have one younger sister and you don’t even remember what qualities she’s lacking?”

“Other than the fact you have no soul and you’re lacking the quality of being a decently nice person—“

You shove your older sibling as he winces, hand trying to stabilize the drink but fails, some spilling out. “Hey!”

“If you maybe weren’t so rude—“

“Are you two really fighting again?” A familiar voice chimes in, snapping both of your heads in the direction of the melodic sound.

There he stands, handsome as ever, with his amber locks flowing in the route of the breeze. Hearing his voice again brought chills down your spine, warming your claimed cold heart, causing you to swallow. “Baekhyun, you’re back.” He’s gifting you with his soft smiles, so beautiful that if it were awarded for the impact it brings into a room, he’d win.

“As per requested by two out of the three Park siblings, I am here. You wanted me in Seoul and you got me, so, what did the two of you have in store for me?”

Baekhyun was always Chanyeol’s best friend, from beginning to end, hopefully. They’d have each other’s backs like the friendship between two main characters of a sitcom, constantly glued at each other’s sides until University hit. Baekhyun decided to go out of his comfort zone, residing somewhere in the outskirts of the countryside. Chanyeol stayed near home, or your difficult mother would be left alone with you after your eldest sister eloped with her now husband.

There was always something inside of you that had crushed on Baekhyun, but you knew that being Chanyeol’s little sister meant it was off limits. Nonetheless, you kept your focus on finding your soulmate instead, eager to find sweetness on your tongue.

“Should we head out for a quick bite?” Baekhyun suggests, nuzzling his nose into the scarf that wraps around his neck cozily. “We can catch up and plan everything there.”

The two of you agree, following Baekhyun whilst he raves about a cafe that he encountered over yelp and instagram one day. He states, “it’ll make you rethink what desserts you actually like,” and you want to remind him that you can’t taste sweets, but the eager expression on his face halts you from doing so.

Entering in the cafe, the bell rings simultaneously as the door opens in invitation. The aroma of the baked goods inundated your sense of smell to that point you can almost feel yourself relishing in the flavors until you come back to reality, recollecting that it doesn’t exist for you. Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s expressions were opposite from yours, inhibiting pure bliss.

“Ah, I totally forgot. My little sister here, the party pooper, doesn’t have a sense of taste.” Chanyeol glances over at you, nose and cheeks red from the harsh winter weather, gaze hinting for desperate approval. “Are you okay with eating here?”

“Well, we’re already here, aren’t we?”

“We could always go for something else, if you want. Is it just taste in general or a flavor?” Baekhyun jumps in, eyes wary. “There’s a pizza place next door if you’d prefer.”

“No,” You shake your head in response, bouncing on the balls of your feet in order to gain some warmth. “We can eat here. I can’t taste sugary things. You guys seem like you want to try it, and I want to enjoy the looks on your faces.”

“What’d you order?” You and Chanyeol are seated beside each other, previously waiting patiently for Baekhyun to bring the tray of drinks and pastries. Your mouth waters at how beautifully crafted they are and the pleasant odor that fills the room.

“I got the famous strawberry smoothies for the both of us,” He says, sitting across from the two of you, placing the glass cups onto the table. “And for you,” he then gestures at the dark iced liquid that drips in condensation in your view, “iced americano. It’s bitter, but I figured you’d at least be able to enjoy something rather than... nothing.”

On the tray sits several different types of pastries, over salivating the mouths to those who have a sweet tooth. In the midst of the conversation, Chanyeol and Baekhyun discussed the ideas of where to go for their annual winter trip, and you couldn’t help but trail your eyes all over Baekhyun.

He’s aged since you’ve last seen him— he’s grown into those baby cheeks of his, well, kind of, but he has upgraded from cute to handsome. After he’d slip off his thick camel trench coat and hangs it over the back of his chair, you’d become aware of how even a plain black t-shirt is snug on his frame and the sight of him makes you breathless. Baekhyun was the epitome of a character in a film where he’s the main character’s brother’s best friend that is just a little too old for you, yet a guy everyone falls for.

In this film— he’s your brother’s best friend who’s overly kind, shooting warm smiles your way, and for some odd reason, always there whenever you need him the most. Baekhyun was a dream, a dream that would never come true, and you knew this because being near him never unlocked your sense of sweetness. There was a bit of disappointment when you came to that recognition but nonetheless, he was the candy on the highest shelf you’d come to admire, desiring it but knowing it was out of reach.

“What do you think of the raspberry croissant?”

“Who would’ve thought that people would put raspberry and croissant together? This is... truly an art.”

A light hearted laugh escapes from Baekhyun’s grin, shaking his head at your brother’s response. “Dude, it’s just raspberry jam and a croissant, I’m sure plenty of places have it. I’m talking about how they made this— like, how soft yet crispy it is and the jam alone is just...” fingers pointed and pressed together in his hands, he gives it a chef’s kiss, “... perfection.”

Tearing a piece of the pastry off from Chanyeol’s hand as your brother reacts with a whimper, he holds it by your mouth with his own open, gesturing you to do the same. “Open up.”

“Why?” You question, raising a brow. “Because, even though you can’t taste it doesn’t mean it hurts to try. Open wide.”

You think it’s pointless, Baekhyun’s pursuit, but you can never say no to him so you comply, mouth slightly agape as he pushes the pastry in between your lips.

And for a moment, you almost thought you tasted something new.

Your taste buds tingle, sparking something within before the sweetness disappeared, causing your heart to race. The two men watched you in complexity as you grabbed Chanyeol’s drink, attempting to regain that feeling again.

“What’s wrong?” Baekhyun asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “Did it have a funny taste?”

Sipping the smoothie through the straw, your expectations disappeared once again when the only outcome of it was the cold liquid going down your throat. “I... swore I was able to taste the sweetness.”

“How do you know that it was sweet?”

“It’s the only flavor I’ve never had before.”

“Oh please,” Chanyeol interjects, cheeks full of the pastry. “If you could taste that sense right now, that would mean Baekhyun is your soulmate. That could never happen!”

Walking down the streets of Seoul, Chanyeol stops by a shop, actively looking for a gift for his lovely girlfriend, leaving you and Baekhyun standing by the exit of the store, waiting patiently.

“Speaking of... I never knew what quality you lacked for not meeting your soulmate. What is it, Baek?” He hums for a moment, playing with some of the knick knacks that sit on the shop shelves. “I can’t smell.”

“Wait— you can’t smell? At all?”

He shakes his head, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his trench coat. “Nope, nothing. That’s why I wear a shit ton of deodorant and try to go easy on the cologne. I can’t tell what’s too much.” How could Baekhyun not be able to smell? He loved food— always moaning at what you assumed was the pleasant aromas that filled the room, but now when you think about it, you never noticed how he never talked about the scent of things.

“But... you always smell so good,” You blurt, cheeks flushing crimson when you realize what you said. “I mean... you smell good whenever you walk by and I get a whiff of you.”

He chuckles, voice smooth and thick like honey, music to your ears. “Do I? I never knew what ‘natural smell’ I had. I heard people have it but I’ve never been able to actually... you know, experience that.”

Your brother had a majorly contrasting experience compared to you and Baekhyun— he didn’t lack any of his senses. In fact, he’s part of the portion of the population that possessed a marking, resembling one that his own soulmate has. 

Chanyeol and Baekhyun were a textbook example of the outcomes of finding your soulmate. Chanyeol got to meet his, and despite the fact he rejected the belief that she truly was his mate, he eventually caved and fell in love with her. However, he never lacked anything. He just had a marking in resemblance to hers— the only identification he had to determine if she was his soulmate. But Baekhyun was the same age as your brother and hadn’t even gone close to meeting his. There were people who never got to meet their ‘the one’ but found love elsewhere, close in comparison. It wasn’t impossible to fall in love with someone who isn’t your mate, but who wouldn’t want to meet their soulmate?

“We found your soulmate.”

“What?”

You think, maybe it was a good idea you signed up for that research group on the flier that hung in the public bathroom stall of your university with a link to their website. If this was legitimately your soulmate, a session on the toilet was the beginning of how you found the true love of your life.

“Park...” The worker on the other line hesitated, reading what you assume is on the piece of paper resting in front of her before she says your name. “We are about 95% sure this person is your soulmate. But the problem is... he’s on his deathbed.”

“Excuse me?” Death bed? What did she mean? You’d just found out that someone knows who your soulmate is and they’re already telling you that he’s dying? “He’s... sick?”

“Yes,” she says, voice filled with concern and empathy. “It’s actually how we found out. His medical records are in the system, and we tried to match it to what was in your DNA from the research study you signed up for, and the soulmate component matched.”

You’re quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond with so much information being thrown at you. It was difficult to absorb. “So... now what? I lose a soulmate?”

“Well... we suggest you to at least meet him. Spend his last moments with him, and get to know who he is. He lacks the sense of taste for sweetness too, you know. Maybe... you both can get to experience it for the first and last time.”

First and last. All your life, you thought meeting your soulmate would lead you to the direction of feeling fulfilled— filled with awakened taste buds, traveling the world and being able to eat foods that you’d never been able to have before.

But that’s gone. All of that is gone. Your soulmate apparently only has 2 months left to live. You’d have to come to terms that once those two months are up, you really won’t be able to do those things again.

“How are you feeling?” Baekhyun asks, sitting on the stool by your kitchen island, fingers tapping anxiously against the granite top. He never fails to hop on the first train back to Seoul when you needed someone by your side. “You’re supposed to go meet him at the hospital this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, drinking the tea that Chanyeol had finished brewing for you, deciding that he would be gentler with you today after finding out the news. “I was told he was on the verge of death the other day, but they were able to pull him out before they lost him. But after that, he told the doctors and nurses he didn’t want to be saved anymore. So... he has two months left.”

“Even when they told him they found his soulmate?” You nod slowly, tiredness evident in your eyes. “I guess it isn’t worth fighting anymore. How can I blame him though? He’s been sick for years. I can only imagine the pain and suffering he has been through.”

“Uh, hi.” You choke up after knocking on the window of the door quietly. “I’m.. uh,”

“My soulmate,” The man finishes, voice hoarse. He sounds gentle and kind, but his face shone exhaustion and ache. “I’m happy you decided you wanted to meet me, in spite of the selfish decision I made.”

“It’s okay to be selfish,” You retort, gifts in hand as you approach to the side of his bed. “You’ve been suffering for so long.”

“If only I met you sooner,” He says with a soft smile, and just the sight alone made it feel like all your worries had gone away. He’s beautiful, regardless of the state he’s in, and you could only imagine what he looked like when he was up and going. Skin pale as ice and lips chapped from the treatments, he looks cold and frozen, but right when he tugged the edges of his mouth upwards for you, you’re the one who melts. “Then there would’ve been something worth fighting for. Right now, it’s too unbearable. I hope you forgive me—“

“Don’t say that,” you quickly interject, taking the seat next to him. “I could never hate you. You’re my soulmate, how could I?”

“You won’t get to taste the sweetness again when I go.” He says shakily, eyes tearing up as you lean over to swipe your thumb against the skin of his cheek, the wetness smearing away, “It’s okay. I get to try it just for a little bit, and that’s all that matters. I got to see you, I got to taste the flavor that people describe good things as. When you are finally at peace, I go back to where I was before, yes, but I got to meet you and that makes it all worthwhile.”

You two of you spent almost everyday together. Eventually, he officially introduces himself as Cha Eunwoo, just a year older than yourself. He shares stories about how he used to be a rock climber, hands full of calluses to prove it, before he learns he has leukemia. He mentions how he developed the symptoms about a year ago, when the thing he loved the most became a chore— bones weak and tired, constantly getting chills and fevers occurring. He’d occasionally go climbing, despite his fatigue, and he’d find himself bruising easily compared to initially. Deciding to finally go to the doctor, albeit his efforts to avoid them by ditching his yearly visits, he’d been diagnosed with the cancer, his future deteriorating before his eyes.

You’d bring sweets for him almost daily, along with a meal. Whether lunch or dinner, you made sure your presence was known. Eunwoo deserved the best few months of his life, and knowing him for just a week made you realized how much of an impact he had on your life.

More than the first time the both of you try sweets.

“Let’s try it at the same time.”

“On the count of three?”

Both holding a cupcake in hand, wax paper already peeled off, you eye each other mischievously, ready to take your first bites of the dessert.

“One,” He says teasingly, waiting for you to continue.

“Two,” You continue onto his antics, a grin stretched across your face.

“Three!” With that and mouths open wide, as a couple, you chomp on the delight, eyes almost rolling to the back of your heads.

Chocolate cupcake with buttercream frosting— a classic that Chanyeol suggested— pretty much sparking inner fireworks on your tongue. You’d never experienced this feeling before; it had been a different kind of bliss, one you never knew you were missing out on. You finally understand why Chanyeol and Baekhyun were raving about the café you visited the other day; your brother texting his group chat of friends that they have to come here next time. With such a feeling from eating a cupcake from a franchise grocery store and obtaining this deep of a sensation— you could only imagine trying that café again.

“Holy fuck,” Eunwoo curses, bulging eyes and remains of the baked good on his face that exasperates a laugh from you. “That shit... is fucking good.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes that you catch, and your heart clenches at the sight.

You get why people compare their loved ones to sweets. How when old couples call their significant others “sweetheart” or “sweetie.” Or when Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s faces lit up in glee at the thought of inhaling those baked goods at that café a couple months ago, mouths watering at the thought of their tongues tasting the sweetness of the desserts. It was a feeling you never thought you’d long for until now.

Eunwoo was sweet, you think to yourself. His hair is dark as the chocolate in the cupcake, and his voice sounds as sugary and smooth as the frosting. The first bite of the common baked good is a reminder of how addicting being with Eunwoo is, like the taste of the cupcake and how you can’t seem to get enough of it. Your eyes trail to his lips— so plump and pink, just like strawberries and you’re suddenly curious on what the fruit tastes like, but your mind is flooded with the thought of how his lips tasted like. 

Bold is what you’re feeling today. You figure that if this was your last shot to make a move on him, you’d regret it later. And life... Well life is always full of regrets, but you didn’t want this to be one of them.

Seated on the edge of his hospital bed, his brows are raised questioning at the shift of atmosphere. “What is it?”

“I just... don’t move.” Pushing your weight on your arm that rests by his leg, you lean in, eyes fluttering shut since pressing your lips gingerly onto his.

Eunwoo didn’t just taste sweet, Eunwoo was sweet. 

Reality hits hard, even if you already know what the future holds. 

Your soulmate passes peacefully in his sleep a month ago, and the thought of him disappearing from your life is a constant indication that the nightmare was your reality. The memories of Eunwoo are embedded into your head, his face reoccurring in your dreams only made you mourn harder.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Your drink is melting.” A voice interrupts your thoughts.

Baekhyun invites you out for coffee, ordering you an iced americano like he did last time. It’s just the two of you for this occasion, and you don’t question the absence of your older brother from your mind being fogged up of the loss of Eunwoo.

“I’m... holding up. I’ll be okay later,” You assure the older male, attempting to pull the edges of your mouth into a smile. It’s harder to showcase your jubilance lately but thankfully Baekhyun doesn’t probe you to. “Thanks for getting this for me, by the way. I guess I’m still trying to get used to the fact I can’t enjoy dessert beverages anymore.”

He shrugs slightly in response, opening the plastic packaging off his blueberry muffin. “I know you’re going through a lot, Eunwoo sounded like a nice guy and I wish I could’ve met him. But... he’d want you to keep living your life. Don’t stop yourself from doing the things you want to do because you met him and he’s gone now.”

“It just feels... so wrong to do things without him because he’s my soulmate.”

“Well, I can almost guarantee that Eunwoo would be pissed if you weren’t at least trying to put yourself in a good mood.”

He... wasn’t wrong, but you’d never tell Baekhyun that he was right about anything. Maybe you’d try— just a little more for Eunwoo. You got to meet him, learn who he was as a person, and even though Baekhyun never met the guy, his observation and assumption of him was spot on. Straightening your slouching back in the seat, you lean over to take a sip of your drink, eyeing his selection off the menu.

Changing the topic at the sight of his drink, you burst out, “What... the hell did you even order?”

Baekhyun hums for a moment, lips pursed in thought. “I think this is a vanilla, caramel, java chip frap.”

“What?” He laughs at your distorted facial expression, peeling the plastic off the straw fore poking it into the top of the drink. Peculiarly, he brings the cup to your lips. “Try it yourself.”

“Baekhyun, what’s the point of trying—“

“I said try it, Park. Give it a shot.” Watching him doubtfully as you tilt your body toward his offering, your mouth opens in invitation as he brings the drink closer to you. Sucking on the straw for a brief moment, it hits.

It hits. 

The drink wasn’t only cold— it was sweet. 

“Is this— but how? This is so sweet, Baekhyun!” Taking a moment to let the taste sink in, your face winces in realization at how sweet it is. “Baek, why is this so sweet, I swear that just that one sip alone could give me diabetes.”

He watches you attentively, placing the cup back onto the table. “You taste it, right? You actually taste it?”

“Yeah, I do. But how? When Eunwoo passed, the taste disappeared. I thought I’d never experienced it again... unless...”

There’s silence between the two of you. Thoughts started to flood your head; what did this mean? Why did you suddenly get the taste back? Eunwoo was gone, and you were absolutely sure of it because you attended his open casket funeral. And why was Baekhyun so persistent with you trying sweets?

“I know this sounds weird, but there’s a theory.” Reclining in his seat, he takes in a deep breath before wiping his hands on a nearby napkin. “I’ve read somewhere that there are more than one soulmates to a person, and that possibly when one passes, it means the opportunity to meet your next one is... well, possible.” You don’t say anything but gesture your head for him to continue.

“My soulmate passed too. I never got to meet her but I found out that she passed because I joined that research group when you told me about it. They informed me that they found her in the system, but she had gotten into a car accident when she was young. I honestly thought I’d never get to smell anything— ever.” Pausing for a moment, he tightens his lips at the memory of a couple months ago. “Then... remember when we were here last time and you thought you could taste that raspberry croissant? That same exact moment, I actually... smelled that. My sense of smell was so strong in fact that I could smell Chanyeol’s fart that he passed moments after.”

“What are you saying?” You blurt.

“I’m saying, that moment we got our senses might be that very moment Eunwoo almost died.”

You recall the conversation you had with the woman on the other line when she delivered the news that they had found your soulmate. How Eunwoo was barely holding on, and days before he was on the verge of death before the nurses were able to save him. 

“It’s crazy, I know. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And honestly, I couldn’t even stop thinking about you. Hearing Chanyeol constantly tell me about how you’re with Eunwoo almost everyday pretty much broke me, but I know that he’s biologically your soulmate, so what am I supposed to do?”

Did... Baekhyun just confess?

Unsure of what to say to his words, you abruptly grab his drink again, startling him as you slurp aggressively. Sweet, cold, sweet. It was disgusting, you had to admit, with all these flavors in one drink, but there was no denying how in awe you were that you could even taste it. 

“Baekhyun, this is disgusting.”

“I honestly only picked that drink because I wanted to test the waters.”

And with that, he was able to bring your lips into a beaming smile for the first time since Eunwoo’s death.

The thought of your brother’s cool best friend falling in love with you sounds like a cliche, something you never thought yourself could be reality. After meeting Eunwoo, it felt like the end, something that most people who lose the love of their lives feel, as though there isn’t a purpose anymore. But hearing Baekhyun pour his heart out to you, even knowing he had to suck up his feelings for you when he finds out you’ve met your soulmate, makes you believe again. Believe that there’s more to life, even when your mate is gone, and it’s worthwhile to keep exploring.

And although your wishes were to explore with Eunwoo, exploring with Baekhyun sounded just as good. 

Baekhyun wouldn’t replace Eunwoo, is what you learn. He’d occupy another part of your heart, loving you the way that Eunwoo would have, and honoring his previous role in your life.

“Chanyeol, you put way too much sugar in that.”

“I’m starting to miss when you didn’t meet your soulmate.” Your brother grimaces, swatting you away with his spatula. He was attempting to recreate your mom’s kimchi jjigae, which you tried to tell him that she doesn’t even put sugar in it, to which he argues that you’re not a professional in tasting things. “I also miss when Baekhyun was mine.”

You fail to notice Baekhyun’s feelings for you over time— his effort to travel from the countryside to come see you on occasion during his college years and incessantly telling Chanyeol to invite his little sister when he really didn’t want to. Even attending family gatherings as Chanyeol’s guest, when really he wanted to charm your parents in case he’d ever get the chance to win your heart one day. Chanyeol wasn’t supportive of Baekhyun’s feelings for you only because he didn’t want him to interfere with the opportunity to meet your soulmate— only late to find out that Baekhyun is your soulmate.

“Baekhyun is still yours, you idiot, or else we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Are you telling me that you don’t want to spend time with your only brother?”

“Honestly, Yeol, I rather not—“

“Whoa whoa whoa, what’s going on here? Are the Park siblings fighting yet again?” As usual, Baekhyun enters into the kitchen, handsome as ever dressed in a simple basic t-shirt still hitches your breath. He slides his arm underneath yours, snaking it around your waist to pull into his embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I thought we discussed not having a fist fight with Chanyeol this weekend and trying to be civil.”

Squinting your eyes at the taller male, you scrunch your nose despite softening in the warmth of Baekhyun. “I’m trying. But Yeol here isn’t great at compromising.”

“I told you. All you have to do is return Baek to me and we’re all good.”

“You have a girlfriend! Why are you trying to steal my boyfriend from me? Don’t you get enough love from her?”

“I want Baek’s love.”

“There’s enough love to go around, stop fighting!” In contempt of his tone, he was amused. His ego must be inflating that very moment. Chanyeol frowns, turning away to the sink to dispose of his utensils.

Precipitously, Baekhyun swings his head to face you, a mischievous smirk on his face. “What?” You furrow your brows questioningly before he surprisingly plants a kiss on your lips.

“Nothing... you just smell really good.”

And Baekhyun... tasted sweet like honey. 

Baekhyun is sweet.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.VIII: These Paths We Walk

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, light Fluff, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, gore and blood, some satanic themes, etc. 

word count: 7,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

Necromancy is a form of spiritual divination in which the executioner acts in the summoning of and communication with the lost souls of the dead. Its origins date back to the ancient Greeks, as the word necromancy is composed of Greek terms νεκρός (nekrós), "dead," and μαντεία (manteía), "divination." During the European Middle Ages, necromancy grew to be associated with black magic by traditional witches. As a result, its practice became strictly forbidden due to its disruption in the balance of nature. History recalls only one powerful witch ever held the ability to raise the dead at will—

“Still doing research for that special project?” Your mind snaps back to reality at the sudden inquiry. Tearing your gaze from the textbook, you look up to find none other than your favorite student in front of your desk. Hyunjin offers his usual crooked smile at your newfound attention and raises a questioning eyebrow. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes before answering, “You know the point of a study period is to—I don’t know—study? Preferably by yourself?”

He snickers. “I have a question that requires your extensive mastery in the literary arts, Ms. (L/N).”

“I’m sure you do.” You release a heavy sigh, not bothering to voice your annoyance at the use of your surname. Instead, you deliver Hyunjin a shake of your head before gesturing his continuance with a wave of your hand.

“I’m a little confused by the ending of The Grapes of Wrath,” Hyunjin pauses, “okay—a lot confused. I mean, why would Rose of Sharon breastfeed a stranger she literally just met? It’s weird…” 

You chuckle at his scrunched expression. “You’re right. It is pretty weird.” 

“So why’d she do it?” 

“Well, Rose of Sharon knew the stranger was starving to death,” You begin, leaning back in your chair to better hold Hyunjin’s gaze, “so you could say she wanted to give him a second chance.” 

“But why? She doesn’t even know him.” 

“Maybe not, but if you had the ability to save another person’s life—be it a stranger—wouldn’t you?” 

“But even after all her and her family went through, I don’t understand how she was able to find it in herself to do that. Especially after the loss of her baby.” 

“Humanity is a complicated, yet beautiful force, Hyunjin.” You hum gently, “Even among all the cruelty, hatred and hopelessness, it still manages to find a way to prevail—that ending is proof that against all odds, humanity will always win.”  

“I never thought about it like that…” Hyunjin shakes his head in disbelief, “Thanks, (Y/N)...” 

“It’s what I do, kiddo.” 

While the student grows silent to scribble down his realizations, you take the time to skim over your own notes—or lack-there-of, that is. 

After Youngjae agreed, albeit rather reluctantly, to assist you in your mission to return Jackson Wang to the land of the living, you spent the past few days cornering the bookstore and mausoleum’s supply of resources about raising the dead. But just your luck, every text thus far has proven to be less than helpful. According to the siphoner, necromancy is one of the more rare magical arts that is only practiced by specialized, powerful witches, which, unfortunately, also means there is limited access to such information. Neither you nor Youngjae have been able to find a spell or ritual that can guarantee Jackson’s resurrection without some kind of dire consequence. 

Who knew magic could be so complicated? 

“You know, you’ve been out for the past week…” You lift your head to meet Hyunjin’s gaze once again. “Is… Is everything okay? I don’t mean to pry, but it’s just so unlike you to miss any classes…” 

The typical university student probably wouldn’t give a damn about a missing professor, much less an absent TA. Hyunjin’s visual apparent concern spreads warmth throughout your chest—you are powerless to hold back the small smile that stretches across your lips. 

“A couple of my roommate’s friends disappeared out of the blue last week, so I just needed a few days to help her out.” You raise a playful eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you missed me?” 

“What? No way.” Hyunjin scoffs, “Though I did have to use Sparknotes for the past few reading assignments and barely passed Wednesday's quiz—” You burst into laughter, reeling your companion into the same fit only seconds later. After a brief moment, Hyunjin manages to collect his composure and finish, “—I am glad everything is okay… and that you’re back.” 

You nod with a smile. “I appreciate that.”

Aside from the daily meetings with Youngjae and nightly cry-piles with Sana, the past few days have proven to be quite uneventful. Jackson has not appeared in your bedroom since that first night, and true to your word, you haven’t told Mark about your quest for his revival. God knows what kind of Hell would break loose if that were to happen. You also haven’t visited the Prime residence since the day you caught Jaebeom with his drop dead—mind the pun—gorgeous vampire conquest. You’ve been meaning to call Jinyoung, but between your hours pilfering through useless research texts, comforting your distraught roommate and attempting to track down your M.I.A. best friend, you haven’t quite found the time. 

And though you’d never admit it to anyone, you needed some time alone—to think.

A rather obnoxious bout of laughter tears you from your thoughts, which is quickly followed by a scold from Professor Park. In an attempt to find the source, you peer past Hyunjin’s form and the sea of other students to the very back of the classroom where a group of young girls are utilizing the period as social hour. Amongst the familiar faces sits a pretty female student you don’t quite recognize, having never encountered her around campus before.

And although you can barely see her, something about her demeanor seems… off. 

“Hyunjin? Who’s that girl back there?” 

Hyunjin turns to examine the subject of interest before returning with a shrug, “According to my sister, she’s some exchange student from Taiwan. I haven’t met her, but I think Yeji said her name is Tzuyu.”

“And she transferred here this week?” 

He shakes his head. “Actually, today is the first day anyone has seen her.”

You go to inquire further, but the booming call of Professor Park announcing the end of class beats you to it. Hyunjin bids you one final thank you and a goodbye before sprinting off to meet his friends at the classroom exit. It is not until him, Professor Park and the remainder of the students are long out the door do you return to your research. However, the moment you manage to relocate your place, a sugary-sweet voice commands your attention once again:

“If I could bother you for a moment, Ms. (L/N), I need your help…” 

“Of course.” You mask your annoyance with as genuine a smile as you can muster and turn your gaze to the student. “What can I do for…” Your smile immediately falters at the sight of the young woman from earlier in front of your desk—only in this instance, you can definitely recognize her… 

It’s none other than Miss Aphrodisiac herself from the Project Estate. 

She offers a radiant smile, but the feature seems less than friendly. 

“Hello again, (Y/N). I don’t believe we properly met during our last meeting… I’m Tzuyu.” 

“Yeah, um, I-I wasn’t expecting to see you in my class…” You chuckle nervously, cautiously sliding your notes inside your book before closing the cover. “What… What are you doing here exactly?” 

“With how much the student body rants and raves about their newest teaching assistant, how could I pass up the opportunity to see you in action?” Tzuyu elegantly takes a seat on the edge of your desk before running her fingers through her flawless, auburn locks. Something about the dexterity of her fingers sends goosebumps budding across your skin. “Plus, it’s not everyday I meet one of Jaebeom’s… human companions.” 

“It’s not like that.” You insist, “Jaebeom and I barely know each other—”

“Ah. Right.” She giggles, “You’re close with the other brother. My mistake.” 

You bite your tongue, holding back the snide comment that would likely lead to the dismembering of your head from your body. Instead, you swallow what little remains of your pride, rise from your seat and ask stiffly, “You said you needed help with something?...” 

“You’ve read Macbeth, haven’t you?” Filled with both anxiety and confusion, you watch as Tzuyu takes a pencil from the container of writing tools perched on the surface of your desk. She twirls the utensil between delicate fingertips, gazing at it as if it is the most interesting object on the planet. You don’t need your gut to remind you something is most definitely off with her behavior.

“There’s this one piece of advice that Lady Macbeth tells her husband before he goes off to commit murder: ‘Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t’... ” She pauses, “Tell me, Ms. (L/N)... What exactly could that mean?” 

Your blood runs cold when she fixes her dark gaze on you. No longer interested in the pencil. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to ground the frantic beating of your heart before it literally leaps from your chest and into the palms of your company. Out of instinct, you chance a quick glance at the door—you may not have a mug, but a nine-hundred page, hardcover book to the face might make a pretty good distraction. 

“Hm, I suppose you’re more of an expert with prose.” Tzuyu says, lowering the pencil into her lap before hopping to her own feet. “Let’s try a bit of Frankenstein then…” 

She begins to stalk toward you, her eyes still locked onto yours like a vice. Your body immediately shuffles backward, attempting to keep as much distance between yours forms as possible. You only get so far—your back meeting the surface of the wall behind you as Tzuyu centers herself a few mere inches away. You can feel her crisp breath on your face as she murmurs:  

“‘I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, then I will indulge the other’...” 

“What are you—” 

Before you can finish your thought, a searing pain paints your vision white. The agony spreads through your veins like wildfire, stealing every ounce of oxygen from your lungs and rendering your knees weak. With a trembling hand, you’re able to save your form from buckling completely to the floor—but not before catching a glimpse of the same pencil impaled in the side of your waist. 

“Poetry is much more tasteful, in my opinion.” Tzuyu sighs, licking the blood from her nails as she backs away. You want to say something—scream and call her a plethora of less than appropriate names—but your mind is literal mush between the shock and the excruciating pain. You collapse to the floor with a breathy gasp, cupping your bleeding side with your opposite hand.

The vampire saunters toward the exit. Just as she makes it to the doorway, she whirls around to throw one final innocent smile in your direction: “Do us both a favor and stay away from Jaebeom… I wouldn’t want to scar that pretty face.” 

With that, she’s completely gone. If it weren’t for the pencil in your midriff and the blood seeping through your clothes, you would have thought you’d dreamt up the entire encounter. 

“Shit…” You gasp, attempting to dislodge the wood from your flesh. It doesn’t budge, deeply embedded between what you assume to be your ribcage. A pained wheeze spills from your throat as you reach for your bag, paying little mind to the bloodied prints your fingers leave in the fabric. After numerous attempts and anguished movements, you manage to fish your cell phone from its pocket. Crimson smears across the screen as you pull up the first contact you can think of. 

You really should have taken the rest of the week off.

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

From his perch behind a tree, Jinyoung silently stalks the movement of a burly stag as it parades across the forest floor. The creature, unknowing of the predator that hunts from a far, approaches a wild berry bush and begins to feast off its bearings—unknowing that its end is fast approaching. 

Jinyoung usually does not like to draw out these moments and would have killed the deer by now. Whether it is due to the absence of his physical strength or the tornado of thoughts tearing through his mind, he simply cannot bring himself to end the animal’s life just yet. There’s something so pure about watching the stag go about its existence, he realizes—he must allow its innocence to prevail a little while longer.

It’s been days since his recovery from the huntress’s attack, but he can still sense the weakness lingering in his bones. While Jaebeom’s blood chased away the fever of the wolf venom, it was not enough to regenerate his body to its full power. If he were to do so, he would need human blood… but that can never happen again. Not in this lifetime.

Animal blood keeps him mobile, and that is more than enough.  

A loud snap of breaking branches returns Jinyoung to reality in time to watch the stag tear off into the trees. He makes no move to chase after it, not desiring to waste his strength. After one final glance to his escaped meal, Jinyoung turns and greets the approaching figure with a tight frown:

“I already told you, hyung. I have no interest in accompanying you on a hunt into town.” 

“You know, it would be a hell of a lot easier than tracking down food out here…” Jaebeom snickers, “Not to mention, one human equals a dozen squirrels.” 

“And as I said, I much prefer the squirrels.” Jinyoung meets Jaebeom’s gaze with a heavy sigh, “I am perfectly fine, hyung.” 

“You’re a shitty liar.” Jaebeom shakes his head. “You need human blood.” 

“What I need is to find a new fare.” Jinyoung pushes off of his perch to traipse deeper into the forest, but the appearance of a hand on his shoulders halts his pace. He allows Jaebeom to maneuver his form back against the trunk of a tree, welcoming the slight relief the support brings to his muscles. He makes sure to keep his expression blank to mask his instability. But like always, Jaebeom sees straight through him. 

“You’re weak, Jinyoung…” 

“Nothing a nice rabbit can’t fix.”

Jaebeom purses his lips. “You can’t deny it forever. At least try a blood bag—”

“Why did you give me your blood?” Jinyoung interrupts his companion’s lecture, peering at Jaebeom with unwavering, unblinking eyes. “I thought you wished to punish me?”

“I was going to—I mean, I wanted to…” Jinyoung watches Jaebeom very carefully, noting the frivolous nature of his typically cocky features and hidden message behind his gaze. If he knew any better, Jinyoung would actually believe there to be some shred of humanity left behind those dark irises. 

“But you couldn’t.” He finishes.

“Don’t think it means you’re off the hook for working with Tuan.” Jaebeom huffs while taking a few paces backward. Jinyoung opens his mouth to respond, but the hybrid’s hushed murmur emerges instead, “(Y/N) came by last week… to see you.” 

Jinyoung holds back a smile. “Did she now?... I suppose you told her about your change of heart then.” 

Jaebeom remains silent. 

“Jaebeom-hyung…” Jinyoung’s eyes flutter shut as an audible exhale blows past his lips, “You need to tell her.” 

“It won’t change anything.” Jaebeom says with a frown, “She made it very clear that she already hates me.” 

“(Y/N) is much different than others, hyung—” 

“What do I care anyway?” The hybrid tsks, his sullen expression transitioning into one of indifference. “She can hate me as much as she wants. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Hyung, please—”   

The shrill ring of a cell phone introduces a bout of silence. Jinyoung has never been so annoyed by modern technology since now, grabbing his phone with a less than pleased sigh. He eyes Jaebeom while lifting the device to his ear, wordlessly communicating that the conversation is far from over.

“Hello?”

“Jinyoung?... H-Hey, it’s me.” 

“(Y/N)?” Jinyoung’s annoyance completely dissipates at the sound of your quivering voice. He notices how Jaebeom also reacts to your audible presence through the stiffening of his broad shoulders. He shakes it off as unease from your previous encounter and focuses back onto you, “Are… you alright? You seem a bit stressed.” 

“Yeah, you can c-call it that…” Your inhale picks up over the line, and Jinyoung cannot help but grow concerned by its unusual heaviness. “You are not going to believe the shitty day I’ve had.” 

“What happened?” 

“Well, the barista at my campus cafe accidentally made my usual decaf, my boss is seeking revenge for my time off through hundreds of ungraded essays… and I was stabbed… with a pencil.” 

Jinyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “I apologize, but I don’t think I understand…” 

“Long story short, Jaebeom’s scary, yet incredibly sexy girlfriend paid me a visit and literally stabbed me with a fucking pencil—” Your explanation cuts out into a yelp, which is followed by an array of stuttered curses, “And it—shit—hurts like hell.” 

“I’m on my way right now” Jinyoung, heart racing and head spinning, forces himself to his feet and hurries back toward the manor—Jaebeom hightailing close behind, having picked up the entire conversation. 

Before Jinyoung can inquire more about your condition, Jaebeom snatches the phone from his grasp and lifts it to his own, “Where did she stab you?” 

“Jaebeom?... My-My side… The pencil is wedged between my ribs, I can’t get it out…” 

“Don’t worry about removing it. Just try to control the bleeding as best you can.” Jaebeom explains, “Jinyoung and I will be there soon.” 

“Wait! Why are you—” Your voice cuts out as Jaebeom ends the call. Jinyoung notices the whiteness of the hybrid’s knuckles as he silently returns his phone. If it were any other situation, Jinyoung would have brought up their chat from earlier, but your wellbeing is on the line.  He delivers his companion a dark glare. To his surprise though, Jaebeom’s expression mirrors that of pure, unadulterated anger. 

Jinyoung pinches the bridge of his nose before releasing a sigh, “Do I even wish to know why your mistress attacked (Y/N)?” 

“I’d like to know too,” Jaebeom scoffs, running a hand through his jet black locks, “considering I told her that (Y/N) was off limits.” 

“You find out then.” Jinyoung hisses, “Or I will deal with her myself, and I won’t be as kind.” 

“Oh, trust me.” Jinyoung can practically sense the murderous lust spilling from Jaebeom’s pitch black irises—far from the light of humanity. “Kindness is the last thing on my list right now, Jinyoungie.”  

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“—and then she just acts all innocent! As if she did absolutely nothing wrong! I mean, what kind of self-serving, sadistic bitch does she think she is—Mark? Are you there?” 

“Huh?” Mark flutters his eyes open at the sound of his name. He blinks at his surroundings in confusion, still dazed from his abrupt wake-up call, before remembering his phone and the person currently speaking on the line: 

“Mark? Don’t tell me I put you to sleep?” 

“Nope, nope. I’m here.” Mark replies hurriedly, wiping the remnants of his nap from his eyes. “Luna’s a complete and total bitch, I got you.” 

Lia sighs, “Yuna, Mark. Not Luna.” 

With a silent yawn, he lifts his arms over his head and expels the kinks from his shoulders. Once his muscles are taunt and stretched, Mark releases a heavy exhale and murmurs, “I’m sorry, Lia. It’s just… been a long week.” 

“I get it, Mark.” She hums softly, “But I wish you wouldn’t stress so much about this. Minho made his choice, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

“I don’t believe that.” Mark rises from his chair before pacing across the room to the mausoleum’s lone window. He pulls the curtain aside, peering out at the vacant hills of the graveyard. “If he would just talk to me, then I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

Hundreds of phone calls later, and he still hasn’t spoken with Minho since the night he claimed to be leaving the coven. No one has. Not even Jisung. And Mark can’t figure out what’s bothering him more: the fact that Minho won’t pick up his phone, or that you have been purposely avoiding him for the last week. 

He’s trying to give both you and the young witch time—truly—but Mark can’t help but feel as if something is off. 

“Minho needs to figure out what he wants himself.” He forces himself away from the window, receding across the room to lean against the lectern as Lia goes on, “You can’t be there to hold his hand every time he goes through one of his moods. It’s not good for him or for you.” 

“What am I supposed to do then?” 

“Nothing, Mark. You do nothing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You know I can’t do that.” 

“Just give Minho some more time to get it together.” Lia says, “He’ll come around eventually.” 

“I hope so.” Mark goes to grab his coffee mug from a nearby table, but accidentally knocks his elbow against the corner of the lectern. A mass of papers and books slide from its surface, crashing to the floor in a rather vocal descent. He releases a quiet curse, tucking his phone against his shoulder before lowering to the floor to begin tidying the mess. 

…How long does he have to wait until you come around?  

Lia continues to speak as he gathers the escaped pages, “Have you talked to Yugyeom lately? I heard that one of their wolves just up and disappeared.” 

“Yeah. That kid, Changbin.” He says, “Gyeom thinks he probably took off after our fight with the huntress. Remind you of someone?” 

“In this town? A lot of someones.” 

Mark goes to respond, but the title of a particular document clears the thoughts from his mind. Pushing aside a couple other pages, he grabs the flimsy packet before raising it into better view. At first, Mark is confused, unsure why this type of reference would be out and about. But as he surveys the other fallen objects, his confusion gradually shifts to realization… 

Then rage. 

He doesn’t bother to look up as the door opens, nor does he spare the puzzled newcomer a glance. Still clutching the document, Mark rises to his feet and takes the phone from his shoulder with his free hand. He pays his companion no mind as he quietly murmurs: 

“Do you mind if I call you later?” 

“Not at all. Just try to think about what I said.” 

Mark bids a final farewell to Lia before disconnecting the line. He takes a moment to drag a hand down his face before turning to a wide-eyed Youngjae. As soon as Mark raises the document into view, his expression immediately shifts to a panic. 

“So…” Mark tilts his head with a tight frown, “You want to explain why the hell you’re looking up resurrection spells?...” 

Youngjae shakes his head, “Hyung—”

“Explanation, Youngjae.” Mark watches the siphoner’s face shift through a rainbow of emotions. From terror, to anxiety, to dread, before finally settling on guilt. Keeping his gaze to the floor, Youngjae eventually delivers a shrug and whispers: 

“...To try to bring Jackson back.” 

Mark’s heart practically splits open. 

He stares at the younger witch with incredulous eyes. “Are you fucking stupid, Youngjae!?”  

“It looks bad, I know—” Youngjae hurries forward to stand in front of Mark and lifts his hand in good faith, “—but I’ve been doing a lot of research and experimenting with a couple spells and I really think that we can—”

“You aren’t thinking shit.” Mark spits, rounding toward the siphoner until their noses are a mere inch apart. “We don’t screw around with necromancy, Youngjae… It’s dark magic.” 

“We just have to find the right spell! (Y/N) and I are searching—” 

“(Y/N)? What does (Y/N) have to do with this?” 

Youngjae immediately closes his mouth, his eyes growing glassy in the evening light. 

It takes a second for the puzzle pieces to fit together—your inquiries about Jackson, Youngjae’s daily trips to the bookstore, your evasion—but once the realization hits, Mark feels his entire body go numb. 

Youngjae rushes forward to grab Mark’s arm, “Hyung, I’m so, so sorry! (Y/N) thought it would be better not to tell you, so I just—” 

Mark shrugs his hand away, refusing to meet Youngjae’s pleading gaze. “Get out.” 

“Just let me explain—”

“Get the fuck out!” A loud crash echoes throughout the mausoleum as Mark flings his mug across the room, causing the object to meet the opposite wall before shattering to a million tiny pieces. Youngjae doesn’t persist, grabbing his bag and beelining straight out the door. Mark pushes the sounds of the younger’s sobs from his mind as he goes, unable to see past the anger boiling inside his body. But even against all the rage, a sense of sadness remains at the forefront of his mind. 

His best friend betrayed him—again.

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“You find and take care of (Y/N).” Jaebeom commands, slamming his car door shut with a little more force than necessary. Then again, he can’t seem to bring himself to care above the red-hot fury coursing through his veins like venom. He ignores the curious stares of a nearby group of female students and proceeds to move around the car, “I’ll catch up with you later.” 

“And where exactly are you going?” Jaebeom bites back a glare as Jinyoung halts his movements. His entire body thrums, as if physically yearning for vengeance, but he masks his temper with a sharp inhale and a promise to release his frustrations out later. 

He nods at his companion, “I’m going to do what I should have done before.” 

Jinyoung merely stares at him for a moment, and Jaebeom can only hope he can’t see past the bloodlust in his gaze. Fortunately, Jinyoung doesn’t question him further. He releases Jaebeom’s shoulder and delivers one final nod before turning in the direction of what both can only assume is your classroom. Jaebeom allows himself a moment to watch Jinyoung—his noble brother—sprint off to save the day—to save you. Again. 

Jaebeom swallows the bitterness accumulating in his chest and heads in his own direction. It won’t be hard to track her. He can already smell her Chanel perfume—she’s close by, he realizes. 

She wants him to find her. 

Sure enough, Jaebeom recognizes her silken auburn hair and Louis Vuitton coat beside a towering oak tree, staring down at her phone. He doesn’t bother to check if those students are still watching him and speeds over to his target’s perch. Even when he’s a mere few inches away, she continues to mindlessly scroll through her phone. Jaebeom’s anger grows when he notices the amused smirk etched across her pink lips. 

“It’s about time you showed up.” Tzuyu says, “You know how much I hate to wait.” 

“Give me one good reason not to rip your fucking head off right now.”

“Not even a ‘hello’?” 

Jaebeom growls, “You think this is a game?”

“Perhaps.” She raises her calm gaze to his own before offering a sultry smile. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” 

Her flirtations only add fuel to the outrage raging through his body. He speeds forward again, snatches her wrists and slams her smaller figure against the trunk of the tree behind them. Tzuyu winces at his aggressive movements, but Jaebeom feels no sympathy. Your trembling voice and pained breathing echoes in his ears like a siren, tempting him closer to the point of no return. 

It would be so easy to plunge his hand into her chest, to squeeze her heart until it's nothing but bloody ash. Or maybe he should tear her limbs off one by one, make her suffer until she’s begging him to end her—

“You really do care about her, don’t you?” Jaebeom awakens from his imaginary rampage at the question. Her usual smirk is no longer along her face, but instead replaced with a thoughtful frown. 

He growls, pressing her wrists further into the bark of the tree. “I told you to stay away from her. You said you wouldn’t touch her.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day the big, bad hybrid, Im Jaebeom falls for a human.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His tone is quiet—murderous. “I’ll kill you.” 

“No. You won’t.” 

“Yes. I will.” 

“No, Jaebeom.” She shakes her head with a sigh, “If you kill me, (Y/N) will never forgive you.” 

As if she had taken a red hot iron and plunged it through his heart, Jaebeom lets go of the vampire and stumbles backward. He barely catches himself before he collapses to the ground, and even then, his legs feel like they’ll give out at any moment. 

Tzuyu, still leaning against the tree, tilts her head with a hum, “She’s a good one, Beom. I feel it… that aura that carries around her.” 

“Stop it—” 

“And it’s because she’s good that she’ll never belong to you.” She murmurs, “But you already know that… don’t you?” 

“You’re fucking sick.” Jaebeom hisses. 

To his surprise, Tzuyu’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Jaebeom.” 

There’s too many emotions swirling through his mind. He can’t think—can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s caving in on itself, and his hands won’t stop shaking. He can’t get your face out of his head—your beautiful eyes looking at him with such betrayal and hatred. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why won’t his hands stop fucking shaking? It’s too much. It’s all too much—

He can’t help it… He has to turn it off. 

A switch flips inside of his soul, immediately locking out every ounce of pain. His lungs inhale each new breath smoothly, and his limbs remain as still as a cat. With a clear head, Jaebeom returns his eyes to Tzuyu, who is still gazing at him with such tenderness and understanding. For a moment, the warmth of her gaze reminds him of you. 

Tzuyu cautiously takes a step forward, “Jaebeom…?” 

“You’re right.” He nods, “I’m not gonna kill you.”

“What are you—ah!” Her inquiry elevates into a scream as Jaebeom whirls forward and sinks his teeth into her shoulder. His fangs plunge through the fabric of her expensive coat before piercing deep into her flesh. She attempts to struggle, but he is stronger… and the damage has already been done.   

He pulls away, licking the blood from his lips as Tzuyu collapses to the ground. She clutches her wounded shoulder, staring up at him with eyes of betrayal, confusion and fright. 

“You… You bit me.” 

Jaebeom smirks, “I suggest you spend the next day or so wisely… it’s going to be your last.” 

Tzuyu’s expression turns rabid. She scrambles to her feet before sneering at the hybrid, “The sooner you learn to accept your fate, Jaebeom, the sooner you’ll find peace—” 

“Meh. Fate’s overrated.” 

“Just remember this—” The vampire growls, “—after you turned me, you murdered the love of my life… at least I had the kindness to keep yours alive.” 

He snickers, turning to leave. However, just before he takes a step, Jaebeom throws one final comment over his shoulder, “Thanks for all the sex.” 

With that, Jaebeom smirks to himself and saunters off into the glow of the setting sun. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung rushes down the hallway, careful not to speed for fear of running into a professor or student working after hours. The fragrance of your blood builds with each step, and he can’t help but grow more concerned with that knowledge. At the very least, he can still hear the faint beating of your heart. 

He follows the scent past a couple corners and down another long corridor to a massive, dim lecture room. Fearing the worst, Jinyoung quickly steps through the doorway before immediately spotting your incapacitated form through the darkness propped up against the opposite wall. He doesn’t hesitate to speed across the room and kneel in front of you. You’re unconscious, he realizes, but breathing—that’s enough to lift the heavy weight from his chest. 

“(Y/N)?” He calls gently, lifting his hands to cradle your face in his palms. “Come back to me, my dear… Please.” 

“Jinyoung?...” He’s never been more grateful to hear the sound of his name until now. Your eyes flutter open and dart around the area before drowsily settling on Jinyoung. The vampire in question breathes a sigh of relief, caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb. 

“There you are.” He murmurs, “How do you feel?” 

“Like I was stabbed…” You raise an eyebrow before peering down at the pencil protruding from your abdomen, “Well, would you look at that.” 

Jinyoung holds back a smile at your sarcasm, appreciating that even wounded, you still manage to bear your usual fiery charm. His own eyes turn down to the object jabbed within your waist. He carefully analyzes the damage, determining the best possible solution to its extraction. As you said on the call, the pencil itself is trapped inside your ribcage. Jinyoung will have to be careful not to accidentally fracture your bones. 

He bites the inside of his cheek before returning his attention back to you. “I need to remove it, but it’s going to be painful. Very painful.” 

You roll your eyes, “It will also hurt a lot less when it’s out. I can handle it.” 

“I know you can.” 

Jinyoung keeps his gaze connected to yours as he wraps his fingers around the wood of the pencil, taking extra care not to brush against the swollen skin of the lesion. Your expression remains fatigued, yet indifferent during his preparation. He waits for your nod before he continues. 

In order to prevent as much further damage and to make it as painless as possible, Jinyoung removes the pencil as quickly as he can. Your furrowed brow and teary eyes slice at his soul, but he doesn’t stop until the object is completely taken out. Once it's free, Jinyoung tosses the pencil into a nearby trash can, pulls the sweater from his body and utilizes the garment to cover your slightly bleeding wound. He ignores the crimson of your blood staining his fingers, instead lifting his clean arm to his mouth before biting down. 

“What… are you doing?” 

“My blood will heal you.” Jinyoung answers, offering forth his bloody wrist. “It’s how I saved you after your assault in the alleyway.” 

“If I die with your blood in my system, won’t I become a vampire?” 

“You aren’t going to die.” 

You shake your head, pushing away his wrist. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not risk anything.” 

“At least allow me to bring you to the hospital then.” He insists, “You’ve lost quite enough blood for one day.” 

Jinyoung curses at the mischievous smirk that spreads along your lips. “You have got to stop saving my life.” 

“Stop putting yourself in danger, and there would be no need for me to.” 

“Last I checked, I had no idea Vampire Victoria Secret was gonna show up and stab me with a fucking writing utensil.” You snort, gesturing over to your desk, “Grab my stuff before we go, please.” 

Just as you requested, Jinyoung goes about gathering your laptop and assorted belongings before sliding them into your bag. One book, however, catches his attention. For a moment, he pauses to stare at the title, then flips open the cover. His mouth runs dry when he discovers numerous pages of notes in your handwriting. 

Jinyoung closes the book before turning back to you, who is struggling to climb to your feet. He moves to help you, stabilizing your body against the wall while asking, “Why are you researching necromancy?” 

“It’s a long story.” You inhale deeply, “But to keep it short… Youngjae and I are going to try to resurrect Jackson Wang.”

At the mention of the alpha werewolf, Jinyoung’s muscles grow stiff. He stares at your face, attempting to read the stars in your dreary irises. After what seems like a long moment of silence, he eventually speaks, albeit quietly, “You understand resurrecting someone from the dead is no simple task… Why would you even attempt such a thing?” 

Your expression softens. “Because Jackson didn’t deserve to die, Jinyoung. The pack lost their leader—Mark lost his best friend.” 

“Resurrection is a dangerous craft, (Y/N).”

“Not if we find the right spell.” You argue, throwing your bag over your shoulder with a sharp inhale. “I know it sounds bat-shit crazy, but I have to try, Jinyoung. For Jackson and for Mark.”

Jinyoung inhales a heavy gust, before releasing an even heavier breath. He curses himself at being so affected by the hope in your eyes. Your determination is too alluring—you are too alluring. 

“I have a collection of grimoires kept by a coven of Dutch witches who specialized in necromancy back in the 15th century.” He finally says, “I will gift them to you as long as you grant me one request.”

Your eyes immediately brighten. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” 

Jinyoung grabs your hands. “I want you to forgive my brother.” 

“Jinyoung—“

“After you left, Jaebeom fed me his blood.” He explains, “He cured the werewolf venom, so I wouldn’t have to suffer.”

Your face first contorts to confusion, then to Jinyoung’s surprise, guilt. “He didn’t tell me…” 

“As I told you, Jaebeom has a good heart.” His lips upturn into a sad smile, “He just… has difficulty revealing that side of himself to others.” 

With that, Jinyoung carefully gathers your body into his arms. He manages to cover your soiled clothes with your jacket before heading for the door. 

“It is your choice. I will give you the grimoires no matter what you decide.” 

Jinyoung’s heart leaps when your head collapses against his chest, right over where his heart proceeds to race. Judging by your silence, he expects your mind to have descended into unconsciousness once more, but is pleasantly surprised when your slurred voice reaches his ears, “Hey, Jinyoung?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thanks for saving me. Again.” 

Jinyoung smiles, “It was my pleasure, (Y/N).”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Such a fucking idiot!...” Youngjae hisses, stomping his way past gravestones and monuments through the light of the setting sun. Usually, he would stop to appreciate such a beautiful moment in nature, but his mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of remorse and anger. 

Youngjae knew better than to keep something like this from Mark. His heart immediately drops when he thinks back to the older witch’s furious outburst—Youngjae hasn’t seen him that angry in a long time. Not since Jackson was alive.

He shakes the thought from mind. He should have never agreed to your idea in the first place. Jackson Wang is dead. And he can’t be brought back. End of story. 

A faint murmur of voices awakens Youngjae from his self-loathing. He hadn’t realized how deep he has traveled into the forest until now, so deep that he’s very close to the shore of the bay. His curiosity expands when he notices a strange light emitting from behind a group of closely placed trees. Against his better judgement, Youngjae decides to investigate. 

The nearer he approaches the site, the louder the voices grow. With a closer view, Youngjae can barely make out two figures conversing in front of a large bonfire. Due to the shadows of tree cover, he can’t recognize their faces, but something about their voices seems familiar to him… 

“You’re sure this is going to work?” 

“I’ve been planning this for years. There’s no way it won’t.” 

“Doesn’t this spell need a crazy amount of power?” 

“There will be a blood moon tomorrow night.” Youngjae watches as one of the figures retreats to the opposite side of the fire. If he is a bit closer, he might be able to catch a glimpse of his face. “I will have more than enough power to complete the transformation.” 

“And it won’t kill me? The transformation?” 

“You sound like you’re having second thoughts…” 

“I’m not!” The second figure insists, “The Primes deserve to pay for what they’ve done.” 

“And pay they will.” Youngjae’s blood runs cold as he finally gains sight of one of the figures. “The Primes and Mark Tuan.” 

“Holy shit—” Youngjae moves to make a mad dash back through the forest, but just as he takes a step backwards, his foot catches a large divot in the earth. He crashes to the ground with a faint yelp, cursing the new ache in his ankle. Panic skyrockets through his veins at the sound of approaching footsteps. Even against the slight pain, Youngjae manages to force himself to his feet, ready to make a break for it, but a broad chest halts his movements. 

Youngjae’s heart stops when he meets the gaze of Changbin, the temperamental omega from the werewolf pack. 

He smirks, “Your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” 

Youngjae hisses, “Screw you.” 

Changbin remains unbothered. “What should we do with him?” 

“Well… we can’t have him warning anyone of our plans.” Minho comes into view, wearing a similar smirk to that of the werewolf. “And besides, he might turn out to be pretty useful to us.” 

“Why are you doing this!?” Youngjae demands as Changbin shoves him back to the ground. “Are you that desperate for revenge that you’d actually kill Mark-hyung!?” 

Minho shakes his head, “I’m not gonna kill him. That special gift is reserved for the Primes.” He chuckles, before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just gonna take back what I rightfully deserve…” 

Youngjae sneers at the witch, “You’re a fucking traitor! A sick, selfish—” 

The siphoner immediately grows silent when Changbin lands a harsh hit against his cheek. At the heavy impact, Youngjae goes flying to the earth and doesn’t rise again. 

Changbin glances at Minho, “You sure about all this?” 

Minho only smirks. 

“I’m dead sure.”

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

[x-reader-theater]

Doubt {8}

Relationship: Lucifer Morningstar x Non-Binary!Reader

Summary: Earth. Home. The people around you, your family, the man you love, the city you now live in. What could be better?

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Body Horror, Lucifer being a Bastard

Word Count: 2043 words

A/N:  Wow. Thank you all for coming on such an amazing journey with me this past week. It's been incredible and I think you for joining me, coming along with me for the ride. This has been a special project of mine and I couldn't have done it without the help of my editor, @mystic-writes​. Please reblog the series and I can't wait to show you all more of my work in the future. Thank you <3 Also, someone recently put together a playlist for this story, which you can use here. I didn't want to share it until the rest of the fic was out, but it has all the songs from this fic there if you want to listen to it as a playlist. (And yes, they got an early look at the chapter's songs so they could put the new songs on there). I will be updating the first chapters with this playlist so anyone who's just now reading it can use it to listen while they read. 

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here, but please still reblog and share.

[Prev.] <= [First] 

Chapter 8: The Rise

[Now Playing: Break my Heart by Dua Lipa]

You stand on the second floor of Lux, overlooking the rest of the club, a drink in your hand. You glance over to your right and see a woman looking at you, smirking, and you smile back. She moves her way over to you, the air shifting around her and a chill goes down your arms. The simple white t-shirt you're wearing with your blue jeans aren't exactly the warmest clothes, but in Lux, it's hard to be cold with all the bodies packed so tightly, and as the woman leans up against you, you feel warmth radiating from her. 

"What are you doing in a place like this?" She asks, her voice low and sultry. 

You smile when you feel a body press up behind yours and a familiar voice say, "Sorry. They're not available."

The woman nods tersely and walks away, and you turn around, kissing Lucifer. He pushes you against the railing, and you smile into the kiss. 

"We shouldn't do this here…" you whisper with a smile and Lucifer groans.

"But I want to show that you're mine," he says. 

You smile and glance around at the people who are looking at you. "I don't think that's a problem, Lucifer."

He smiles and kisses you again, before pulling away and grabbing your hand. He drags you to the elevator, pushing everyone else out of his way, before hitting the button to go up, and the doors close behind you. Lucifer pushes you up against the elevator wall, moving his lips down your neck, and you groan with a smile, running your fingers through his hair and pulling. 

"You're enjoying… that aren't you?" He asks between kisses and you lean into him more. 

"It's a new feature I'm excited to explore," you say with a smirk, and Lucifer pulls away from your neck to look at you for a moment, before kissing you. 

The bell rings and the doors open on Lucifer's penthouse. He pulls away and drags you into the large room, where you see Maze, her ligamented face smiling back at you. 

You raise your eyebrows when she quirks a wry smile your way, and you catch what she tosses at you. 

"Here," she says as you watch the silver, glinting handcuffs. "You'll need these." 

You grin and pull Lucifer into his bedroom, your wings already extended. 

[Now Playing: Never Knew Love Like This Before by Stephanie Mills]

"I think I'm actually really good," you say in Linda's office, sitting across from her. 

"Oh, well I'm happy to hear that," she says, leaning back. "Why do you think you're feeling so good right now?"

You shrug. "I'm in a… relationship, well, as much of a relationship as you can have with Lucifer. I have friends, Chloe and I are… talking, and that's a start, and I got answers," you list, and Linda is smiling at you. Actually, genuinely smiling at you. 

"I'm so happy for you, [Y/N]. You sound like you've really found yourself," she says, and you nod. "Now, that doesn't mean I want you to stop seeing me…" she says, putting a hand out, and you nod. 

"I know," you tell her simply, and she leans back, a surprised and impressed look on her face. 

"Oh! Oh, okay. Good," she says, nodding, and you smile. 

"Thank you, Linda. Without you, I don't think I could have done half as well as I have," you say, and Linda smiles. 

"You're welcome. Now, tell me more about this relationship with Lucifer?" Linda asks and you laugh. 

"Well, I told him I loved him a few nights ago…" 

[Now Playing: Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin]

You walk into Lux, making your way to the bar where you know Maze is. You're surprised, however, to see Lucifer and Chloe there as well. 

"Ah! Angel!" Lucifer exclaims, waving you over. You smile and sit next to them at the bar. "How are you?" 

You smile and nod. "I'm… good. I'm really, good," you respond. 

Lucifer grins and grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. You smile, but look around him at Chloe, who's sipping her alcohol, trying not to look like she's watching the two of you. She's failing miserably at it. 

"How are you, Chloe?" You ask, and she looks up at you. 

"Huh? Oh! I'm-I'm good. Sorry, I'm a little distracted. There's a lot going on with work right now," she says, taking another sip. 

You smile. "No worries. I understand that." 

She smiles at you, and Lucifer says, "Yes, there's quite a bit to catch you up on." 

You smile and accept the drink Maze offers you, repaying her with a nod, which she returns. 

And you sit and listen to everything Chloe and Lucifer did in the past week. 

[Now Playing: Laughing With by Regina Spektor]

You look around as you walk down the street, watching people pass you by, on their phones, their hands on their purses and backpacks, talking to one another, or walking alone. You smile at the church where you met Father Lawrence for the first, and last time. Lucifer told you what happened. 

You see a woman sitting on the steps, her head in her hands and her knees pulled up to her chest. You see her shoulders shaking. She's crying. 

You walk up to her, sitting down next to her, and she looks up suddenly, wiping underneath her eyes. "What do you want?" She asks, snapping at you. 

"Why are you crying?" You ask, and she glares at you. 

"Why do you want to know?" She asks, frustrated. 

You put your hands up and say, "I'm just curious. I mean, a woman crying in front of a church all alone. Not exactly a common occurrence." 

She looks at you, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, before she sighs and looks away. "It's dumb," she says, wiping her eyes again. 

You shake your head and smile. "I'm sure it's not."

She scoffs, but bites her lip, looking down at her hands. "In the middle of our sermon, I asked if heaven was really that good," she says, and your eyebrows shoot up. She looks up at you and scoffs, saying as she starts to stand up, "I knew you'd think it's stupid." 

"No!" You exclaim quickly, and she stops. "I don't think it's stupid. It just surprised me. Because I have those exact same doubts."

Now it's her turn for her eyebrows to shoot up, and she slowly starts sitting down again. "Really?" 

You nod. "Yup. I mean, what's so great about staying in one place for the rest of eternity? At least here on earth, there's things to do! Most stuff is banned in heaven. No music, except for gospel, no touching, no sex," you say and her cheeks darken. 

"You sound like you know what it's like up there," she says, and you just stare at her. She laughs you off, waving her hand, like she's trying to dispel the thought. 

You smile at her and place a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to stick with these doubts. Ask questions. And whatever you do, never doubt yourself," you say to her seriously. "No matter what people try and tell you, trust yourself." She nods, in shock slightly, and you smile, standing up. "It was nice meeting you…" 

"Evie!" She says, and you smile. 

"It was nice meeting you Evie. You take care now," you say, and you walk away from her, smiling to yourself. Proud of yourself. 

[Now Playing: Angel Down by Lady Gaga]

You walk into the penthouse, peeling your hoodie off, and placing it on the coat rack next to the elevator. You smile at the familiar sight of the place you call home, the fully stocked bar, the living room with the very comfortable couches, the archway that leads into the bedroom. But you don't go towards any of them. Instead, you walk toward the balcony overlooking Los Angeles. The City of Angels. You laugh at that. An Angel, a Devil, and a Fallen Angel all walk into a city and wreak havoc, fall in love, and soar on feathered wings. What a bad joke. 

But you can't help but laugh. Because, what a joke your life has been so far. At least it's funny, filled with irony and ridiculous situations. 

You lean on the glass railing, the cool night air blowing across your face makes you smile. It's been hot these past few days. Never lower than 95 degrees. The cool air feels nice. 

You extend your wings from your back, spreading them out to catch the wind, feeling the cool air blow through your feathers. 

You think back to that first day you arrived, when your feathers molted off you violently and with a lot of screaming. You think of the bones, of your once beautiful white wings, of the scraping and clacking they made, and of what they've become, the white fading to black, doubt personified. 

You think about Lucifer, his reluctance to help you, to take you in, before ultimately giving up and having fun with it. And you did have a lot of fun with Lucifer, as well as Maze. They taught you a lot. 

You smile, happiness flooding your chest as you think of Linda, your hesitation when you first met her, and then your last session, where you thanked her for pushing you the way she did. 

You think of Chloe, of the jealousy you felt towards her like she did about you, the two of you fighting over something you didn't need to fight over. You may not be friends, but at least she's talking to you now. And that's a start. 

You remember Father Laurence, and your conversation that led him to Lucifer. You remember Detective Dan Espinoza, and planting those seeds of doubt in his head, which you and Lucifer laughed about later. You remember the woman and man who left you at the bar, all because Lucifer was there. You remember your parents, who Lucifer helped you stand up to. It all leads back to Lucifer, him being there when you needed him most, whether that be for a good laugh or a favour, for sex, or even just a good hug after a long day. He's always there for you. 

And you love him so much for that. 

You feel hands on your back, and you jump, but relax when you hear who it is. "Shh… it's only me, Angel," Lucifer says softly, running his hands around the base of your wings before wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chest to your back. "What are you thinking about?" 

You smile and fold your wings in as you turn around to face Lucifer, before extending them again. "You. Me. How I was when I first arrived," you say, and Lucifer smiles. 

"Yes, that was a… frustrating time, but I think I handled it quite well," he says and you roll your eyes. 

"I think I recall you calling me 'practically a child'," you say and he scoffs. 

"Excuse you, I distinctly remember calling you hot as well," he says and you laugh, leaning forward so your head is on his chest. 

"It feels like so long ago," you say, looking up into his brown eyes. "And yet, it feels like no time has passed at all."

He smiles and kisses you lightly. "That's a perk of immortality, angel," he says, and you kiss him again. 

He presses you up against the railing, but his kisses don't feel feverish, they're not lustful. Because while his body is pinning yours against the glass, he's kissing you slowly, deliberately, as if he's afraid he's going to lose you if he stops. You pull away, taking a deep breath in, and you smile at Lucifer, running your fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck, around his shoulder, before your thumb rests against his lips. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, and you smile. 

"You saved a fallen angel, Lucifer," you whisper. "What do you want to do with them?" 

He smiles and says plainly, "Everything."

[The End]

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 26: The Deathday Party

Frank lay there for several moments before the screeching noise finally roused him from the stone cold floor. Shivering with every twitch of hands, he pushed himself into a sitting position and lethargically looked around to see who was being tortured. They turned out to be musical saws, and Frank counted his blessings when he banged his head on something and uttered a curse on the far side of the room, rather than being in the younger Black's condition of landing right next to these still going while no one was playing. Considering this only mild compensation for the way he'd acted in the last room, Frank rolled himself out from under the table just for the movement, as he was sure he was already turning blue from the cold, but stopped in surprise when he saw the papers he'd been holding from Lockhart's office had come along.

Eager and always willing to go find her, he hurried over to Alice's side, who was huddled up next to the door with a very put out expression in place. "Normally I love the cold," she happily told him. "'S my favorite time of year, with the beautiful snow and warm mugs, but I think I can pass on whatever this place is."

"A Deathday Party," Potter informed them, having not landed too far away, rubbing his hands together for warmth as well but looking quite pleased with himself as he quickly snatched up the book. "This is brilliant, can't believe Harry's going to one of these!"

"Must be Nick's, he usually makes a thing out of his," the more tolerable Black for now agreed as he came wondering over, hardly looking as if the cold was bothering him at all.

Potter was already flipping through pages to find his place as the two went near their other friends, while Frank eagerly turned to Alice and explained what he found.

"It's a good thing you weren't made Prefect," she couldn't help but laugh when he was done. "Going through a teacher's desk like that, what's come over you!" She happily teased.

"Don't let my mother hear you saying that," he tragically informed her. "She wouldn't stop going on about it all summer, rest of my life most likely."

Alice's smile lit up the whole room as far as he was concerned, hardly even noticing the puffs of air still visible for the warmth of her smile. "So you finally mention her, and that's what you come up with. We've been dating nearly ten months now, how is that the first time you've mentioned your family to me? I've all but introduced you to mine."

Frank just shrugged without comment for now, and as always Alice happily stepped off the topic with good grace. "Well, our theory of objects going into motion with us seems confirmed then, you keep hold of these papers and maybe when we finally stop spinning through this kids life they might just come back with us all together."

"You think that's possible?" He asked eagerly, looking around again and thinking of several advantages they could have of this. It would be quite something to find magic beyond their years, even books not even published yet, and take them back to the past of all things!

"I don't see why not at this rate, with all we've done," she sighed, looking far less encouraging to the idea, her mind clearly on whose timeline they could erase in all this.

Frank frowned in acknowledgment of that, and quickly kept on track. "Right then, I'll leave them in here when we leave and hopefully they'll go back to him."

"Best hurry up and let me read them then," she agreed, holding out her hand. Potter was already up to the explanation of why Harry was going to this Deathday Party, though neither of them had given much care at all for Filch haranguing another student about filth in the castle.

Lily had paused in surprise of hearing Filch was a Squibb, but apparently she'd been the only one not to be enlightened of this news. Must be a mudblood thing, her mind scathingly informed her as she went back to braiding her hair and pacing restlessly along the black crepe paper nearest the instruments. It wasn't at all pleasant, the sound harming her eardrums so much she hardly caught a word of what Potter was now saying in regards to Harry's own dissent coming down here. It was still better than the rest of the room. That younger Black had moved away from this area at once and had instead located over to the rotting food table with a blanket look of disgust, as well he deserved, she hoped the smell was atrocious. The Marauders were all located more in the center of the room, as if hoping to avoid all repellent things around them, while Alice and Frank stayed near the door and continued whatever they were chatting about. She had no wish to join them this time, she just wanted to be alone.

That wasn't even true though, she wanted Severus. Alice's defense for her had been heartwarming, she'd even grudgingly acknowledge under duress she admired the extreme reaction from Potter in his shout she be apologized to. At the very least though both were just pacing acquaintances in all this, at most Alice was turning into a genuine friend and Potter slightly more tolerable if he could stop bothering to hex the one person missing. She wanted her best friend here for her, to have him be the one to tell Regulus off for that, to offer her to tag-team the little whelp in retaliation for that remark. She could so easily envision what Sev would have done for her in that moment of need of a true friend she was almost smiling despite the circumstances.

"-Prongs, would you bloody pay attention! You'd be done by now if you'd quit gawking at her every other line," Sirius groused beside him.

"Eh?" He muttered, turning to him in surprise, before Sirius was proven right the very next second by his eyes again flickering to her. He loved it when she played with that long red hair, though he preferred it down than the tight braid she was putting it in. He could almost imagine it, that long mane sweeping around them between the pearly figures that should have been surrounding this place, possibly passing through several without a care, eyes only for each other. They'd sway to the tune of this awful music around them, but it wouldn't be so awful with her in his arms, the two keeping each other warm in this freezing room.

"J-J-James! I am b-b-begging you t-t-to-" Peter couldn't even get the full sentence out he was stuttering so bad from the cold, and Remus wasn't even trying, pressing himself so close to Sirius he looked like he was trying to jump right into his arms for any warmth. James released a gusting sigh, yet more visible air puffing out of him, as he grudgingly turned back once more to his lad having a miserable time at this party. He did suppose those two weren't as used to the cold, they didn't have to go out in Quidditch practices during it but instead spent their times up in the warm fires while he and Sirius became accustomed to this. Course on nights during these weathers they all had fur coats, so that wasn't a problem either.

"Oh yes, alright," he huffed as he went back to seeing Peeves taunt Myrtle, that was nothing new. He honestly would have skipped right past the Headless Hunt being such ponces to Nick, as they were every time he invited them. They'd only heard of his Deathday Parties once before, tried to sneak down here last year but been caught, but from what he'd heard inside the room before then had been similar. This bit was turning out to be nothing of interest at all, and his mind was just starting to wander back to clever ways he was sure he could convince Evans to just have one dance with him in here when Harry finally excused himself from this place, and heard it again.

His breath caught in his throat, he swore his friends even stopped shivering in surprise and went for their wands with nothing but a steady hand as they all again strained to hear a thing, but it was just too noisy in this room with that horrid background sound. He wasn't even sure if he'd caught anyone else's attention besides his friends, but he certainly did when he swore at the top of his lungs.

"What do you mean Harry went after that voice!" Sirius agreed while looking faint. "Prongs, I think your kid may well have a death wish!"

James did not disagree, reading on in a complete panic Harry would catch up to whomever this was!

Regulus was quite grateful he didn't, not even he wanted to hear of the murder of a twelve year old, but he did come across something just as intriguing as an icy voice in Hogwarts.

"Chamber of Secrets?" Alice murmured for herself. "I've heard of that, I think my cousin Flora mentioned it, but I hardly listen to a thing she ever says." She already wished she could go back to reading more pages of that strange interview Lockhart had given a man regarding a werewolf attack, it had certainly been better reading material than this tale.

"Me mum might have mentioned it once as well, more like an old wives tale surrounding Hogwarts and when it was founded," Frank agreed, scratching at the back of his neck as he tried to recall.

"Twice in one day, I'm flattered," she happily told him.

"Don't get used to it," he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her to draw her in as her shivers continued to increase.

The two froze, almost literally in these conditions, and it wasn't all for the cold anymore. "What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" She whispered so quietly beside him it was as if she feared whatever, or whomever, had done that were in here now.

Frank had no answer. Of all the things he'd seen the kids in this school do to each other, maiming a cat like that still ranked pretty high on his list.

Even now that the voice had gone, Potter clearly wasn't in any better of a mood. He seemed genuinely distraught at the arrival of someone, only to deliver another insult. No one got a chance to react again to that word being spoken as they were pulled once more from this room.

[starlightsearches]

A New Life Pt. 4

Whoops, I said that there would be no more of the Kylo Ren soulmate AU but apparently I lied! This came to me earlier today and I had to write it. Hope you like it! 

(Here’s the first part, second part, and third part if you missed them)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 4

AN: Some language, and it’s vaguely NSFW towards the end! 

Ren never touched you first. Not in private, and certainly not in public. It was a compromise of some kind, you assumed, that he had made with himself. You knew he worried about it, even now—the ridiculous notion that he would somehow scare you off, that he would hurt you. So you initiated all contact, and you were gentle, and you let him be gentle. You weren’t too bothered by it. After all, there were exceptions to every rule.

When the general was around, Ren was always touching you. Holding you by the waist, resting a hand on your shoulder, at the back of your neck: if General Hux was in the room, you were never out of Ren’s reach. This was true now, too, his hand solidly on your back at your waist as you board the transport, headed to Ryyn with Phasma and the general.

It’s exciting, to finally go somewhere, to have the opportunity to be somewhere besides the Finalizer. Ren left the ship fairly often and the time you spent by yourself—sometimes for weeks on end—was . . . boring. Lonely. When he had mentioned that he would be going off base again after only returning a few days ago, you had been crushed, a feeling that had been immediately replaced with joy when he had asked if you would like to join him.

The general had grumbled, of course, when he saw that you would also be coming but you paid him no mind. He was always complaining about something, making snide remarks when you were there, and even though it drove Ren crazy, you could see through the act; the man was very obviously lonely. He tried to hide it, and did hide it successfully, from Ren and the captain. But not from you.

Against your better judgement, you liked the general, or at least, you found him interesting. He may have been rude and judgemental, but it was hard for you to take him seriously. He reminded you sometimes of the zeefas your family had kept for milk and meat back home—grumpy old animals, but harmless enough. You had a knack for working with livestock like that; it never took long before even the most stubborn of them were eating out of the palm of your hand. Apparently your charms were limited to farm life; despite the concerted effort you had put into being as inoffensive as possible, the general showed no signs of warming up to you in the slightest. Which was too bad, because part of you believed that—if he gave you a chance—you might be friends. And you’d really like to have a friend.

You take your seat on the transport, strapping in, and Ren sits beside you, only letting go of you for a moment to secure his own restraints before replacing his hand on your knee. Hux rolls his eyes, finding a seat on the other side and Phasma joins him. The anticipation in your chest only grows more potent as the pilot prepares for launch, and you can hardly wait for what was in store. You were going to Ryyn—a place you had only heard about in wild stories—to the capital city Cearrau; you would be staying in the palace there. You would meet the queen and attend the ball she would hold in honor of the First Order guests. You would wear the dress you had picked out especially for the event, blood-red and beautiful, and you would be on Ren’s arm the entire night. It was sure to be incredible.

“I still don’t see why you’re coming,” Hux says, leveling a glare in your direction, and Ren’s grip tightens on your knee. He’s ready to spit out some retort, you can tell, but you stop him with a hand gently rested on his arm.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, and he relaxes minutely before you address the general, “I’m actually very excited for the trip, General. I think it will be interesting.” Hux scoffs in response and opens up his data pad, choosing to ignore you.

Everyone settles into their seats as the ship launches and you decide to distract yourself, pulling out your sketchpad and a stylus, tapping the end of it against your mouth, deep in thought. You could draw Ren, of course, but you had plenty of drawings of him, stacks and stacks of them—enough to cover the walls of your quarters if you wanted. You didn’t even need a reference anymore, the exact shape of his nose and the planes of his cheeks appearing easily to you from memory. You need something new, some kind of a challenge.

The general was obviously out of the question, for a number of reasons. For one, he isn’t sitting still enough for you to complete a proper sketch, shifting from one position to the next every few minutes, engrossed in something on his data pad. Plus, you’re afraid of what would happen if he caught you, what insult he would come up with that would send Ren into a rage. Not worth the risk. The captain, on the other hand, might work. 

She is lounging, her helmet resting on the wall behind her, maybe sleeping—it’s difficult to tell with the mask on, but her pose is dynamic and the reflection of the lights in her chromium armor adds depth and shadows where there are none. Your hand begins to move across the flimsi without your direction, working to capture the cool authority she always seems to emanate.

Ren dozes next to you, occasionally rolling his head to the side to check your progress, drumming his fingers lightly against your thigh in approval. The likeness is pretty good, although it’s lacking something in your opinion. You wish that you had brought your paints with you; maybe you’d have better luck communicating the shine of her armor in a different medium.

“What are you doing?” General Hux says, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze on you, although you don’t return it, still focused on the captain.

“Sketching,” you respond, adding a little depth in the background, “but I can stop if it’s bothering you.” 

“Sketching?” he asks, and for the first time since you’d met him, there is no trace of disdain in his voice. In fact, he sounds intrigued. You place the stylus behind your ear, passing him the sketchbook, and he reaches for it skeptically. You watch him closely as he studies the drawing, waiting anxiously to see how he’d react. 

“Hmm,” Hux says after a long moment, returning the book to you and studying you with his eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to read something from a distance, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Home,” you say, trying your hardest not to seem too eager now that he had initiated a conversation, “my father was an artist.”

“I thought both of your parents were farmers,” the disdain is back, but cracking a little, a glimmer of genuine interest showing through, and you laugh gently to show that you’re not offended.

“We’re all farmers where I’m from, but he spends his free time drawing. Painting, too. I usually prefer paints, but they’re difficult to transport.” You stop yourself, looking at your drawing again, afraid that you’re rambling, and the general sits in silence for a moment, his eyes still on your sketchbook.

“I could paint you,” you venture, not wanting to lose the tenuous connection you had created,” if you want, when we get back to the Finalizer? You have such striking features; I think they’d translate well to the page.” You’re laying on the praise very thick, you know, and you’re worried it will come off as too much, but the general flushes pink, and you smile, the thrill of victory sharp in your veins. Was this all it would take to endear the general to you? To make him stop hating you? You wish you had known that weeks ago.

“That would be fine,” Hux responds, with a small cough, guarding his expression against your obvious cheer, but your spirits cannot be dampened by his apparent indifference. Pleased, you go back to sketching, another one of Ren this time, happy with the progress you’ve made with Hux. Happy, that is, until you notice that Ren had pulled away from you, releasing his grip on your leg.

The ship drops out of light speed and begins to make its approach, but you take no notice, a coldness settling beneath your skin. You nudge him gently with your knee, but there’s no response. He’s motionless, quiet, staring forward with an obstinate amount of determination, and he stays this way, avoiding you as the four of you make your way out of the transport. You can’t help but notice that Ryyn is beautiful, the warmth and the wind greeting you as you step out onto the palace grounds, but the heat the sun offers refuses to clear away any the chill you feel.

After parting with Hux and Phasma, you and Ren are led by a servant to your guest quarters, and you prattle nonsensically as you walk hoping to put the man at ease—and hoping to release some of your own nerves as well. Ren says nothing, silent as a shadow, and you watch as the palace’s other inhabitants steal glances from around corners as you pass, eager to get a glimpse of the infamous Jedi Killer.

The room is lovely—and enormous—with large, open windows and an even larger balcony, overlooking the valley below. You move tentatively towards the view, but Ren doesn’t join you, choosing instead to stand ominously in the center of the room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting on the bed and running your hand over the covers. There’s distance between you, not only physical, and you want to address it now before it grows. Was he really so mad that you had spoken to Hux?

“It’s nothing,” he says, but he’s still wearing the mask, and you assume it’s to keep you out. This is the first time you’ve seen him like this, and it’s beginning to scare you. This was how he acted with other people, not with you.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you say, standing from the bed but moving no closer, “please? I know you’re angry with me. I want to make it right.” He faces away from you, his powerful shoulders rolling as he moves to lift the helmet from his head, discarding it on the floor with a thud. The sound makes you jump, and you watch him perceptively, hoping to read the answer to your question in his expression, but he still guards his face from you. “Why don’t you go find the general?” he says harshly, and you catch the barest glimpse of his profile as he looks over his shoulder, “since you find him so interesting.” Your jaw drops in shock.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, and he doesn’t respond, but you can tell that you’re right. Despite the tension, a smile threatens its way onto your face and you smother it with your hand.

“It’s not funny,” he says, picking up thoughts but still avoiding your eyes.

“I know it’s not,” you respond, back in control of your mind and your expression, “I’m just surprised.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it, a short, angry sound that bounces back at you off of the polished walls. 

“I just don’t want him to hate me, that’s all,” you say, quietly. You’ve seen Ren angry before, but never like this. Never at you. But there’s something else besides anger, and that’s what scares you more. You can feel it roll off of him, see it clearly in his posture; he’s doubting your love for him.

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right? I could never want someone else the way I want you.” His shoulders relax slightly, and you’re able to breathe again, now that he’s listening to you. It’s difficult to see him this way, catching brief glimpses of his fears. He thinks you’ll leave him, but that would never happen. You repeat yourself once again, hoping that this time he’ll finally believe what you’re saying. “I only want you.”

Those words work like magic, or maybe it’s the feeling behind them, but either way the doubt is gone, and he’s facing you with a look in his eyes like pure sin, his anger transformed into something else. You hold his gaze and the intensity of it goes straight to the space between your legs, weakening you at the knees.

“How?” he asks, stalking towards you, impossibly large and your heart beats loudly in your chest. You feel for a moment in some wild part of you that you should run, but you're frozen in place, and you like it. A lot. Now this is a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“How what?” you ask; your voice shakes when you speak. He laughs, low and deep and through his teeth as he bites one glove off and then the other, a warm hand finding its way to your waist and gripping the fabric of your dress tightly, pulling you closer. The first point of contact.

“Tell me how you want me,” he whispers, staring you down with his unfathomable eyes, his tongue darting out over full, pink lips. There are no thoughts in your head now, your mind is completely empty and for a moment you try to remember how you landed yourself in this particular situation. Maybe, if you remember, you’ll be able to work him up like this again.

He steps closer, his body like a brick wall against yours and you stumble backwards, falling onto the bed with a light bounce, propped up on your elbows, still in shock that he’s acting this way, and that you don’t want him to stop. He smirks, gripping both of your knees with burning fingers, sliding his hands under the hem of your dress and climbing up your thighs, leaning in close over you to whisper in your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he says again, and the feeling of his mouth on your ear sends vibrations through your whole body; your eyes roll back with anticipation.

“Fuck,” it’s the only word that you can think of right now, your mind wholy preoccupied by the feeling of his thumb as it traces small circles over the skin your inner thigh, inching ever higher.

“That’s what I thought,” he kisses you hard, hard enough to bruise and you moan, open-mouthed, a deep, desperate sound you had never made before.

“Shit,” you mumble, and he doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s moving, his mouth working down your jaw and to your chest with hot, harsh kisses. You try to relax into it, into the work of his hands, still below your skirt, but he draws a yelp from you when you least expect it, biting at the skin just above your breast. He looks up at you, anger from before gone and replaced with a strident need, daring you to beg for more.

“Someone might hear,” you say quietly, your voice hitching slightly with the movement of his fingers. The windows are open after all, and with the way he’s acting, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet.

“I hope they do,” he says, nudging a space between your knees with his shoulders, finding a place between your legs. “I hope they all hear you begging for me, and I hope that by the end of it everyone on this damn planet knows that you’re mine.”

[remvsjohn]

@redemptioninterlude​ [[five times touched]]

send a 🖐️ emoji ( or just ‘ 5 ′ ) for five times our muses touched .

in sanctuary

the smell of books etched into his hair, his clothes, the same way dark ink stained his finger tips from accidental brushing against still damp parchment, a few ruined pages tossed aside only to be redone. they were spared the harsh glares from madame pince as they’d become a quiet fixture, sweet and unobtrusive and as expected as the desks and chairs; near finals any and everyone new just to pop into the library if you needed remus or marlene, unless of course they found sanctuary in the ravenclaw common room when the gryffindors were in need of more attention than the pair was willing to give. their favorite table boasted a small etching, a few initials just to immortalize the many hours spent huddled around it. 

the harsh ege of the bookshelf dug into remus’ back, barely managing to keep him awake. it reminded him that his bones were bones, hard but brittle, human or not. the night prior the moon had been full, and though he was holed up in his bed all day, the exhaustion was still settled deep into his bones. luckily, marlene didn’t complain when he moved himself to the floor sat next to a pile of books he still needed to annotate. the quiet swish of her clothes brought a small smile to his lips, knowing she’d just sat down next to him in camaraderie. 

his head began to dip, sight blurring. he had already made himself as small as possible - curling lanky limbs into himself. his sweater - two sizes too large, a relic from a weekend at the potter’s that left the shirt he’d been wearing in ashes - blanketed him in softness and warmth, the fabric pooling in his palms. gravity and desperate sleepiness soon pulled him toward the floor. softly, not trying to disturb her progress his head of loose, shaggy curls found refuge on her lap as he cuddled his potions book into his chest. he couldn’t tell if it was his near dream state or reality when he felt the slightest of brushes against his hair, or the light pressure of a hand coming to rest against his shoulder.

in celebration

the ravenclaw and hufflepuff flags hung ‘round the pitch. yellow gleamed sunlight and cheer, accenting opposing bronze. remus’ shoulders proudly bore his father’s vintage practice jersey, and he wasn’t the only gryffindor displaying the ravenclaw colors in the stands. he could see several friends in the badger seats, more than a few in extravagant costumes to show support. 

the points were neck and neck, each team’s keepers and chasers were fighting hard to maintain an edge. the assumption that gryffindor and slytherin were the most competitive in the school was simply biased propaganda - from his seat, remus’ eye glinted with mischievous anticipation. the chasers were taunting one another, and he watched, smirking, the almost undetectable signaling of the ravenclaw chasers to the beaters. nerves couldn’t help but bubble up knowing that a blow from a bludger could prove to be fatal, but he did so enjoy a well fought match. 

things were getting i n t e r e s t i n g.

he only realized the pressure of fingernails digging into his palms when his mesmer was broken upon the sharp turn of the ravenclaw chaser. the snitch had been seen! remus was swept up in the small sea of students surrounding him who immediately fled the bleachers to head down to the pitch. the twenty point lead brought wild cheers from the ravenclaw stands - once the snitch was in hand, the match would be over with a blue and bronze win. 

he was still on the stairs when the screaming started, signaling it had, in fact, been caught. once his feet touched grass eyes quickly sought the score and -

he and the rest of the ravenclaw supporters rushed out onto the field where the players began landing. he found marlene, currently celebrating alongside her housemates, and remus’ arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lifting and spinning her around in a celebratory hug before offering high fives to the rest of the team. 

in comfort

winter break, seventh year. the tinsel on the evergreen boughs and warm light of the fire only exacerbated the lonely ache resonating through his veins. most of the students had already fled the grounds in favor of their family homes, and remus wasn’t meant to be far behind them. he only had to stay behind until after the full moon since his father’s house could no longer contain the beast he became during transformation. his footsteps carried him throughout the castle, up and down hallways, across stretching staircases, in some kind of hope to get mindlessly lost - perhaps as lost as he felt, letter clutched in his left hand. it was fruitless, though. remus had memorized nearly every centimeter of the school and no turn could keep his mind busy, nor keep his tears from falling quietly to the stone.

he wasn’t expecting to come across marlene, though. not like this. she saw the grief etched in his features immediately, and of course she asked what he was doing, where he was going. it was sweet to know she didn’t immediately pry, though perhaps it was alarming to actually see the sadness in full form, rather than veiled behind his eyes or tucked behind a smile.

“ the owlery. i’ve got to send james a note - i was meant to spend christmas with him - godric i haven’t even got paper though. “ what had he been intending, to send his father’s letter along? he’d only decided vaguely to let james know but was for once totally and completely unprepared for the task. it needed to be a letter, though. he didn’t know if he could say it. “ my mum’s just - she -” his body threatened to collapse in on itself, but marlene read the words unspoken and rushed in to hold him close. he sank down into her touch - his eyes closed, fingertips let the letter fall to the stone. his cheek came to rest against her hair, her arms up over his shoulders. her warmth spread through his jumper, a slow rising tide against the aching emptiness that filled him. his mum was gone. just like that. gone with the flick of a wand, with the stroke of a pen.

in diffidence

" you know that broom cupboard everyone claims people go to snog? “ remus brought their strides to a slow amble. the sixth floor was mostly deserted - his preference, as a prefect. how he’d been given the position he’d never know. he’d never given a detention in his life and didn’t intend to start. instead he preferred to gently scold students for being caught with the assurance that if it became habit the conversation would be approached differently.  there were a few instances where remus had to intervene more directly - students tended to endanger themselves and others a bit more frequently than their parents knew - and he’d rushed a student to hospital more than once. maybe that was the reason, afterall. being a member of the more mischievous group of students, he instinctively knew where to look when students were in trouble. remus was happy to boast that since his appointment they’d not had a first year spend the night lost in the halls.

when marlene began to prod, teasingly, as to why he was bringing up the cupboard, a rosy warmth blushed over his features. it wasn’t often he felt embarrassed, but when he was it radiated through his body. he couldn’t quite rid himself of the small smile though he found himself raising a hand to the back of his head, gaze turned down as they walked. he would’ve walked straight into the wall and hid his face there for the next 30 minutes if she’d let him.

“ no, listen - it’s right ‘round the corner, yeah? they say ‘oh, the sixth floor cupboard,’ and all that, yeah? “

marlene’s reaction made him turn around immediately and start walking right in the other direction, only stopped by the soft tug against the hem of his long sleeve, righting his course back on track. the smile simply wouldn’t leave his face and he hung his head low, trying to hide it, stuffing his hands into his pockets. of course it sounded like he was making a move on her. merlin knew it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility! but of course that wasn’t what he had in mind at the time. the truth? remus had a theory, and who better to test the theory with than his sharp-witted friend? he did his best to focus his intentions and as they rounded the corner, there it was. a door that looked just like any other closet. they approached, and remus leaned his back against the door. his hand reached out, shyly, gently taking hold of marlene’s. 

“ what i’m saying is, i don’t think this room is what we think it is. “ his eyes shone the color of stone in the candlelight, peeking out through hair that had gotten just a bit too long in his face. the blush on his cheeks faded in favor of mischievous excitement. though, to be honest, the thought that she might truly think he’d brought her here for a snog and she was playing along, approaching him just then, wasn’t a thought he’d find himself readily able to get rid of. perhaps part of him really did hope it was just a closet.

remus’ eyes fell shut and he focused, hard. a room. a room to hide in. a room for rest. his free hand found the door knob, and with a quick glance around the hall he opened it behind him. he stole the first look in, and the excitement that bubbled up extended through his fingers while he squeezed her hand and opened the door wider.

“ i don’t know what this is, but it’s not a broom cupboard! “

in memoriam

there was a dampness to the air, sticking his clothes against his frame, frosting the ends of his hair in cold droplets. his feet moved mechanically, autopilot directing him to the door. faint knocks resounded in his familiar pattern - one. one, two. one - but this time when he entered the rented room he wasn’t filled with the relief that usually flooded over him, seeing her silhouette. he didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, as his body found hers on the divan and he sat down beside her. usually these calls were a welcoming hello and respite from all the war was taking from the pair of them. this time, goodbye hung in the air, sparking against each crackle of the fire. 

his hand entwined with hers, turning it slightly before opening marlene’s palm upwards. remus couldn’t bare to look into her eyes, so instead his found the cracks in the floor, the soft folds of the fabric of her sleeve.

“ a wedding present...” he muttered, doing all he could to keep bitterness from rising into his words. no, it needed to stay down in his stomach, burning holes in all that was once a righteous feeling of right and wrong. gently, he dropped the gift into her palm. the small opal locket shone against the dim light - moonstone opal, though very few would notice the specificity. “ i’m going north. “ north. fenrir’s pack. at dumbledore’s behest, of course, but the way sirius looked him in the eyes the morning prior remus couldn’t help but wonder just how farr dumbledore would let him fall. the people he loved most? their trust in him was waning, though he’d sworn to the headmaster he’d keep this secret from them. too risky, he thought. the knowledge alone could get someone killed, himself included, and he used to doubt his friends would allow him on this journey alone if they did know. as the weeks and months passed, though... he was less and less sure he’d ever have anything to come back to.

“i won’t be back before your wedding, so i just...” there it was. cutting the short amount of time between then and the nuptials short meant this was goodbye for good. no, once marlene was married, they’d likely not see each other again. not until, or unless, they may be looking down their wands at one another.

his fingers closed around her hand, sealing the necklace into her palm, holding on for just one more moment. then he stood, no longer able to bear the buzzing ache spreading through him. the emptiness that devoured.

“ if it turns black, have a drink for me. ”