#and we would have to finish books over winter break in order to get a good grade and ??? hello what does the word break mean to you? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckychristwrites · 1 year

Text

The Night We Met | b.b.| os

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Undercover, it's just a normal mission for the Winter Soldier. That is, until he hears a familiar voice from an unfamiliar informant.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: It's angst. There is fluff in there. But it's angst

A/N: This lore comes from the book The Winter Soldier: Cold Front, which is based on the comics, but I based it on the MCU Bucky mostly. :)

Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist | Main Blog

Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.

The clock struck 11, but the night was filled with life.

Piano music filled the tiny bar. A small area was dedicated to dancing, with girls laughing as they were dipped and swung by their male counterparts. The lighting was dim, even more so towards the red mahogany bar. The bartender was busy clearing the tables, occasionally looking up and smiling at the crowded dance floor. A glass was lifted off the wood, leaving a ring of condensation in its place. The sip was a light one, for the drinker wasn’t intending on finishing it. He had a purpose in the bar that very much had nothing to do with the alcohol, drinks or even the beautiful women.

He lowered the glass back to the bar and scanned the room once more. It had only been a half hour since his arrival, but he felt he was wasting time. Undercover work was not his forte, as he was fond of a, one could say, more direct approach. But orders were orders. And while he was very good at a great deal of things, he had one that he was particularly best at. The single word that constantly ran through his head.

Comply.

“They’re late,” He growled in a low voice. A laugh came through the intercom in his ear.

“You have such high expectations,” The familiar Russian accent replied. He rolled his eyes as he took another swig of his drink.

Experiencing the nightlife of London was not how he imagined his evening would go. In fact, he didn’t prefer the loudness or the crowds. It was ideal for his usual kind of missions, sure. Approach from behind. Stab, or maybe shoot with the silencer on. Disappear. Piece of cake. But for undercover work, he would rather be anywhere else. The noise made it hard to focus. And there were so many people, it was hard to pinpoint the target.

But maybe that was the point.

He leaned back in his chair, his right arm draped over the back of the empty one next to him while he looked at the crowd. The music was loud and upbeat. He watched a girl with red curls squeal as her dancing partner swung her through the air, his face matching her euphoria.

He found himself wondering what that was like; the ability to take a cute girl out for a night on the town. Bring flowers to her door. take her to dinner, dance until the lights turned out, get her home at a reasonable hour. Maybe even stay until an unreasonable hour. There must’ve been a time where he had done that, not that he was able to remember. All he remembered was mission after mission after mission. Even when his break from field work came up, he wouldn’t be allowed out to experience any of it for himself. It would be the usual. Stay in his tiny compartment until he gets sent out again.

Focus, he told himself.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he found himself grinding his teeth. 11:17 it read. Where could this person be?

“So impatient are we? Do you have plans to get to?” The voice in his ear quipped. He said nothing, instead rolling his head onto his left shoulder so he could send a glare through the window. He couldn’t pinpoint her exact location, but he knew he could see it through the scope of her sniper rifle.

He was undercover as an M16 agent, waiting for an info drop from an actual M16 agent. There was no way to know what the other person who would like, sound like, be dressed as. All he could hope was that the mission wasn’t compromised so he could expect a good breakfast in the morning.

The bell over the door could just be heard over the music when it swung open. He turned back to face the bar, his body now on high alert. One, two, three footsteps could be made out as they made their way across the wooden floor, and then a figure appeared in his peripheral, sitting two seats away from him. Without moving his head, he glanced over at the company, shocked at what he found.

A woman.

Of course, he had dealt with people of all genders when doing this work, but it was few and far between when he met with anyone but another white man. It still surprised him when he dealt with anything else.

He said nothing while she skimmed the menu, humming a song that he could recall from his distant memory, but could not, for the life of him, place the name.

“Just a water, please,” She said to the barkeep before setting the menu back down. He frowned. She wore an oversized hat, so he could not see her face, but the sound of her voice seemed to awaken something deep in the catacombs of his mind. There was something so deeply familiar about that voice. His eyes furrowed together as it chewed up his insides, stalling out his brain. She spoke in perfect Russian, but her accent did not match the language. She is not from here, he thought to himself. How can he know her?

She sat silently, drinking her water and looking around at the bottles of alcohol on the wall. After a moment, she turned in her seat to watch the crowd of dancers. Her water was still in her hands, the condensation running down her fingers and into her palms, though she didn’t seem concerned about it.

“Beautiful evening for a dance, isn’t it?” She asked, seemingly to no one, but he knew it was towards him. He felt his eye twitch.

Where had he heard that voice?

She took another sip of water before letting out a wistful sigh. Bucky watched her out of the corner of his eye. The elbow of her right arm was on the back of the chair, supporting her head which was resting in her palm. In her left was her water which she swirled around slowly. He had a moment of deja vu.

What the hell is wrong with you? He asked himself.

He wondered if this was part of the façade, her lingering. It was expected that she would drop the information and go, but her loitering made him nervous. Suddenly feeling hot, he tugged at the tie around his neck. She drained her water before turning back to the bar and lightly setting the glass down. In a flash, she was up and walking towards the door. When he turned back to the bar, he found a slip of paper next to him, and a few coins left beside it.

Instinct had him turn back towards the door. The bell rang as it swung shut behind her receding back. A force he couldn’t explain pulled him to his feet, his hand quickly grasping the paper before he began to follow her.

At some point between his arrival and his departure, it had begun to heavily rain outside. Every step on the concrete seemed to be greeted with a loud splash. The rain soaked his hair but he wasn’t concerned. What he was concerned with, though, was the napkin in his hand, which he haphazardly shoved into his pocket.

“Where are you going?” The voice in his ear hissed. “You have the drop. Get to our meeting point.”

“In a minute,” He said through clenched teeth as he continued to pursue the contact. Her trench coat and hat were the only things he could see in the dark city. The voice rang through his comm again, but he didn’t hear a word of it, instead pulling the piece from his ear and smashing it between his metal fingers before letting it drop to the sidewalk.

What is wrong with you? His inner voice asked again. You’re taking this big of a risk over what? A hunch?

But it wasn’t just a hunch. That was the only thing he could say for certain. He knew that voice, though he couldn’t explain how. The social circle he had was pathetically small these days.

Was it from a past life? The one before all of… this?

She rounded a corner, and he mirrored her. Did she know he was following her? For the first time in his career, he seemed to forget all things stealth, for he was awfully close to her, and not making any attempt to be quiet. Maybe the downpour was enough to cover the sound of his footsteps.

She crossed the median and ran across the road through the middle. It caught him off guard. Once he crossed himself, he found her disappearing down an alleyway. He found himself wondering if this was her own meeting point with her superiors. The idea made him slow down, but only for a moment.

I just need to see her, he told himself. I just need to know who she is.

With a sharp inhale and a puff of his chest, he made his way down the alley.

Water dripped from the fire escape to his right. A scraping noise came from the dumpster adjacent to him, and he wondered if it were rats. But the woman he was pursuing was nowhere to be seen. He found his hand hovering over the gun in his waistband, which was hidden by his jacket.

It was the click of a gun behind him that made him freeze.

“Okay, friend,” The voice said behind him, the familiarity of it sending a chill up his spine. “Just turn around slowly. And explain why exactly you’re following me.”

Though he’d had a gun trained on him more often than he could count, he couldn’t quite place why exactly this time made him so anxious. He tried to keep his breathing under control as he turned around, and his eyes fell on the informant’s face for the first time.

Roses.

His mind was instantly filled with visions of roses.

His eyebrows instantly furrowed together.

What?

The barrel of the gun faltered, though it was still raised.

“Bucky?” She whispered.

“What are you doing here?”

The sentence was said in her voice, though her mouth did not move, and it took him a moment to realize that it came from inside his head.

With the gun still up, she approached him. His eyes were locked on her own, while she looked him up and down.

“Oh, Bucky,” She said softly. “What did they do to you?” He shook his head.

“I’m not,” He said, though sounding unsure. “I’m not this- this Bucky.” He realized then that he was speaking English, and that you had been as well. He frowned even more. English was not a language he ever recalled learning. She shook her head, a sad smile on her face.

“You are. I’d know you anywhere.”

“I’m here to take you out,” Bucky told you, a bouquet of a dozen roses in his hands and a lopsided grin on his face. “You did promise me a dance, just this morning.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I don’t recall promising that for tonight,” You told him, though it was no secret that you were trying and failing to bite back a smile. He took a confident step forward.

“You got other plans?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What are you doing to me?” He demanded through gritted teeth as he took two steps backwards. When he opened his eyes again, you were looking at him sadly, gun finally lowered. He realized now that the girl in the flashback was a younger version of the woman in front of him now. You shook your head.

“Nothing, my love. You’re remembering.”

You squealed as the two of you spun across the dance floor, the hall loud and lively. It was like the smile was permanently etched onto Bucky’s face. He quickly dipped you, your leg flying upward with your skirt going with it. In a daring move, he stole a chaste kiss before bringing you back up.

“Bucky!” You shouted with a bright smile. He didn’t answer, instead continuing the dance while laughing. Not a second did he take his eyes off of you. And he found that, for the most part, you didn’t stop looking at him, either.

His hands flew to his temples, palms squeezing his head. This wasn’t him. This was never him. None of it was real. How could it be real? He had never left Russia in his life.

You held a glass of water in your hand, slowly swirling it around the glass as you stared into Bucky’s eyes. The dance hall was still loud, but it was just you and him in the corner, you leaning into the wall while his palm was pressed against it just next to your head, holding him up.

“What do you say, doll?” He asked, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough so no one else could. “Another dance? Or are you ready to go?” You shook your head before downing the water in one swig.

“I could do this all night, Barnes.”

“Make it stop.” A hand pressed against his back. You were knelt down next to him. When did he drop to his knees?

“It’s okay.” Your voice was like honey in his ear, the only thing keeping him from going completely off the rails. “You’re just coming back to me.”

“Bucky… I have to… go…” You were laughing as you spoke between kisses, for Bucky couldn’t for the life of him, stop kissing you. To him, this was a dream come true. He had seen you around, the two of you both living on Camp Lehigh and you working at the local movie theater. He’d fallen for you months ago, yet was never able to muster up the courage to talk to you.

That is, until today.

And now, here he was, making out with you in the front seat of his car, after a long night of dancing and laughter. Your face was cradled between his hands as he pressed his lips to your own.

“Just a few more minutes,” He said into your mouth, making you laugh against his lips.

Your hands were on his cheeks. It was the first tender touch he’d experienced in a long time. As if subconsciously, he covered them with his own. His eyes were wild as he stared into yours.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” You said slowly, firmly. “The people you love call you Bucky.” He shook his head, fighting against your grip, but it never faltered. “Your parents were George and Winifred Barnes. You had a sister named Rebecca. We met on a military base that we lived on with our families when we were 16, and were together until-” You paused, the words catching in your throat. “Until I was informed of your death. After you enlisted.” He shook his head harder now, forcing you to release him.

“I’m not,” He hissed. “I’m NOT!” You didn’t seem bothered by his yelling.

“Will you still love me when I’m an important military man?” His voice was a whisper in the dark as he laid in your bed, you tucked into his side. He had snuck in through your window after your parents were long asleep.

You contemplated this for a long time before finally saying, “Only if you come back home to me.” He brought his chin down to his chest so he could look at you, and even in the dark, he could still see your bright eyes on him.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” You repeated to him, before reminding him of your own name. That piece of information seemed to make it all click for him. It was as if he always knew it, even though he had never once heard it before. Maybe he was born knowing it. He grabbed your shoulders, gripping you tightly in fear.

He looked in the mirror, adjusting his tie. The recruitment uniform fit him perfectly, and he couldn’t stop looking at himself in it. This was it. He, James Barnes, was officially a member of the US Army, shipping out just the following day. His heart swelled with a bittersweet feeling. Sweet, as this was his dream his entire life. Ever since he and his family moved to Camp Lehigh when his father enlisted, he dreamed of following in his footsteps. The bitterness, however, was all he could taste in his mouth, because…

You appeared behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” You mumbled, but he could still feel the words left unsaid, for he felt them too.

“What is wrong with me?” He whispered. “What is happening?” Your eyes were brimming with tears as you stared at him tenderly.

“I can’t explain it,” You told him. “I think they did something to your memories.”

“Please fix it.” Tears fell down his cheeks. “Fix me.”

“I love you,” He said outside of the train station. It was loud due to the other hundreds of men who were setting off along with him, but to him, it was just him and you.

“I love you too,” You said back. He raised his hands and brushed away the tears that streamed down your face, though more replaced them. It was almost two years of you by his side at this point, and he couldn’t imagine going a single day without you. With his hands lingering on your face, you placed one of your own on his left bicep. “Please come back to me.” Instead of letting his own tears fall, he yanked you forward, kissing you with a deep intensity. He had to make it count, for it had to last him for however long he was gone. When he eventually pulled away, he planted another kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t you remember what I said?” He asked as he brought you back into his sight, attempting to sound playful. “I’ll always come back to you. And I mean it.”

A shot rang out, and when he looked over, you were laying on your back, groaning in agony. Before he had a chance to consider what was happening, he heard a whizz passed his ear, and something hit his neck. Slowly, he brought a hand up and yanked it out. A blow dart. Almost immediately, he began to feel very heavy. He collapsed next to you, rolling onto his side so he could face you.

In the moments before his eyes forced themselves shut, he muttered your name over and over. As if he was trying to make sure he did not forget it again.

“Today’s the day, Steve,” Bucky announced as the two of them walked down the sidewalk. Well, Bucky walked, and Steve basically jogged to keep up with him. “I’m going to get her name and ask her out.”

“What makes today different from any other day?” Steve asked. The movie theater was in sight now, making Bucky walk even faster. “You wimped out any other time. It’s been months since we’ve gone to the movies.” Bucky shook his head at his friend’s cynicism.

“Well, be ready to see many a-movie, Steve,” He told him. “In fact, maybe even for free.” Steve rolled his eyes behind Bucky’s back.

“What if she says no?” Steve asked. Bucky, however, didn’t answer, because he didn’t even consider that possibility. After all, he was one of the most sought out sixteen year olds in the town, and it wasn’t hard for him to get any of the other girls he had wanted over the years (which, rest assured, he did not let it get to his head). So why would this one be any different?

In the distance, the ticket booth became clearer and clearer, and inside, he could see those eyes looking at the line of people and moving them along. His heart fluttered as he joined the line, Steve behind him.

“So what, am I just emotional support then?” Steve mumbled to him. Bucky shot him a glare.

“Stuff a sock in it, Rogers.”

The line was moving faster than anticipated, which was increasing Bucky’s nerves. Was this a good idea? Asking a girl out while she was working? Now that he had the time to consider it, he was starting to feel quite pompous. His time to reconsider was cut short when the man in front of him made his way into the theater, and he was left face to face with you. He took a nervous step forward, and when you smiled brightly at him, he pretended like he wasn’t melting in his chest.

“How can I help you?” Your voice was what he imagined a sunset to sound like, and it made him imagine all the ways he could make you laugh, just so he could hear it. He leaned against the counter, using every ounce of energy he had to feign confidence.

“Two tickets to Citizen Kane, and one date with one pretty lady.”

You froze, your eyes jumping back to him. It was obvious your demeanor shifted, and he couldn’t quite place what your face was conveying. He felt the perspiration start to build on his forehead, and he told himself that it was from the summer heat and definitely not from anxiety.

“Does that line work often for you?” At this, he laughed slightly. Your tone was playful, which calmed him.

“You tell me,” He said in earnest. “I’ve never used it before.”

He realized then, when you looked away with a bashful smile on your face, that you were flattered.

“So what do you say?” He asked, his eyes deep in your own. “You wanna go dancing sometime?” You shrugged, trying to play coy.

“I guess one dance couldn’t hurt,” You said playfully. “Especially if a promise of one will get you to let me go back to work.” You nodded behind him, and when he turned, he was greeted by a line of people glaring at him. He turned back and nodded quickly.

“Right, I’ll hold you to that!” He shouted, grabbing Steve’s arm and yanking him out of line before running down the sidewalk.

“Wait!” You called, making him turn. “What’s your name?” He laughed, looking at the sky above before glancing back at you.

“It’s James,” He said. “But everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky, can you piss off!” A lady in line shouted, clearly not impressed with the love story that was unfolding right before her eyes. Bucky ignored her as he continued to look at you.

“What’s yours?” He asked, and when you gave it to him, it was like the skies had opened up and descended upon him. He repeated it back to you before turning and fleeing down the sidewalk.

“What, we’re not even going to see the movie?” Steve shouted angrily at him.

“Nope,” Bucky replied. “I have too much to do! A date to get ready for!” And before Steve could say anything else, he picked up speed and left him behind.

As he made his way to the floral shop near his house, he muttered your name over and over under his breath, as if trying to permanently etch it into his brain.

This time was different, he told himself. He could feel it.

He woke, immediately sitting up and looking around. He was in his compartment, where he stayed when he was off field duty. His books were aligned on the shelf as normal. The fridge in the corner was humming like it always did. Something was off, however, and he couldn’t quite place what.

Your name was still fresh on his lips, the dream he had vivid in his mind, though he knew it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a memory.

Standing hesitantly, he slowly made his way to the door. Before he could put his hand on the knob, he heard a throat being cleared from the other side. He froze.

Guards were at the door.

He felt his entire body run cold as he grabbed for the knob, but it was locked. When he went to grab the knob with his left arm, knowing he could overpower it, nothing happened.

His left arm didn’t move at all.

Fear overcame him, a feeling he was not familiar with.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is-

The door opened and there was Karpov, followed by Rostova, the voice in his ear from the night before. She refused to make eye contact with him, staring at the floor as she leaned against the wall. A nurse walked up to him without a word, ushering him to sit down on the bed while she took his vitals, but he never took his eyes off Karpov.

“What did you do to me?”

Karpov began to pace, lifting his shoulders up in a casual shrug.

“I needed a weapon,” He said simply, his Russian accent thick. “You survived falling off a mountain. A man with that strength was someone I can use.”

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

“I was someone before all this,” He muttered, his voice just a hair above a whisper. “You took everything from me.”

“I gave you a second chance,” Karpov barked in sudden anger. “Do you think you would’ve made it without me? No, you would’ve died in that snow.”

The nurse ripped the blood pressure cuff off him, then trying to place an IV into him, but he ripped his arm away from her.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

“Dying in the snow would’ve been better than this.” Karpov laughed, shaking his head before turning his gaze into his eyes.

“Then you should’ve fucking died before I got to you.”

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

He fought the nurse again as she tried to hold down his arm, and within a moment, his arm was being held down by two guards whom he didn’t even know had entered the room. Fighting with all of his strength, it was no use. The nurse inserted the IV into his arm, and it was then that he noticed the scars all over his arm. IV insertion scars that he had no memory of receiving.

He thought of you, of the dream, of your lips pressed against his. Alarm bells rang in his head.

“Where is she?”

“Ahhhh,” Karpov said, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Your little friend is safe. For now.” As if like clockwork, a scream echoed down the hallway, the sound entering the room. This was the push he needed to break free from the guards' hold. Lunging across the room, he grabbed Karpov and slammed him into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

“You take me to her,” He growled. “NOW!”

A needle plunged into his neck, him yelling out as he released Karpov and stumbled backwards. The effects of the drug started almost immediately. The nurse, with the help from the guards, slowly lowered him to the ground as he hyperventilated.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

“No,” He begged, trying to fight them off with haphazard swipes of his hand. “Please.”

“It must be this way, Soldat,” Karpov said, a twinge of pain in his voice.

Your father’s name is George. Your mother’s name is Winifred. You have a sister named Rebecca.

The nurse hung a bag of medication, the white liquid rushing down into his veins. He began to feel tired, more so than before.

He thought of you again, trying to memorize your features, and tried not to wonder if they were going to kill you. You were strong, that he knew for sure, and he had to believe that you were going to make it out of this alive. There was no other option.

“All will be back to normal in a few minutes,” Karpov said, in a voice that was supposed to reassure him. “Just let yourself go to sleep.” The nurse pushed another syringe into the tubing, another drug added to the mix.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

He fought against the drug, fighting to keep his eyes open for what felt like the second time in one day. His right arm was limp at his side now, just as useless as the left one. Tears fell from the corner of his eyes and into his long hair. His eyes fell forward, looking up at the white ceiling. Little black dots danced their way across his vision.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Your name is James Buchanan. Your name is…

As he succumbed to the medication, his eyes forcing their way closed, he forced his mind to focus on your face until the last possible second, when it evaporated from his memory, his name and your own vanishing along with it, and he went into a dreamless sleep

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

86 notes · View notes

bridenore · 1 year

Text

Author rec : shushu_yaoi_lj

Shushu_yaoi_lj is one of my favorite authors. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order.

Chilly Feet by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [13k]

It all starts with a pair of chilly feet under Harry Potter’s bum.

Constellations on your skin by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [56k]

“I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.

“Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks.

“The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.”

A day in your life by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [48k]

Harry sees it straight away, the white trail of the comet so bright despite the lights of all the buildings surrounding him.

He feels a lump in his throat as he stops and stares at the moonless sky.

Is he supposed to make a wish or a prayer?

He checks that no one is looking his way and then he takes his wand and points it at the bright comet in the sky.

He wishes to feel whole again.

To feel happy and not so bloody lonely all the time.

He wishes for a new life.

Feather by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [35k]

Green eyes greet Draco when he arrives at the school gates, ready to start his new job as a Hogwarts professor after spending ten years in France.

“Hey,” Potter says, waving at him as he approaches. “We weren’t expecting you until the start of term.”

Draco is speechless.

What the fuck is Potter doing at Hogwarts?

Full by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [16k]

The door opens and the bell goes ding.

Draco’s eyes immediately fly to the entrance of his bookshop, his heart beating madly in the hope that it’s him.

Graceless Heart by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [132k]

Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry.

When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook.

Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.

Monster by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [71k]

“Hmm,” Hermione hums, tapping her index finger against her bottom lip and then smiling at Harry. “A broken music box, you say…”

“A cursed one,” Harry corrects her.

“Well, it’s still a music box that is not working properly,” Hermione points out with a very intent grin. “That will give you a chance to see him.”

She wiggles her eyebrows, making him snort.

As if Harry hadn’t thought about it straight away. As if Harry’s mind hadn’t immediately wandered to Draco Malfoy the moment Zabini mentioned a music box.

The Piano by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [37k]

He arrives on a boat during a particularly stormy day.

Harry knew Astoria Greengrass had sent for a husband, someone to keep her company on the particularly dreary and dark winter days on this remote island. Harry didn’t know who it was she had arranged to be sent here. All he knew was that the weather was horrid today, and the Portkeys had never properly worked in this remote corner of the North Sea. The island was special, its magic working in odd and surprising ways.

The last person Harry expects to find on the beach is Draco Malfoy.

The Slytherin Host Club by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [14k]

Harry is simply looking for a quiet place to finish his Potions essay. It’s a pity he ends up at the Slytherin Host Club instead. Or maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, since he’s had a secret crush on Malfoy for a while…

Under the weather by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [15k]

Harry Potter arrives on a Friday afternoon.

The sun is shining outside, and the Hogwarts grounds are covered in purple and white crocuses; the first yellow daffodils peeking timidly from behind the trees.

Spring is beautiful this year, Draco thinks, and yet, there’s a dark grey cloud, rumbling ominously and leaving a big puddle right in the middle of the staffroom.

The cloud appears to be right above Harry Potter’s head.

Verba Volant by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [34k]

The first letter arrives after the Trials.

Harry unfolds the parchment and his eyes open wide when he realises who it’s from.

He soon finds himself waiting for those letters to arrive, staring at the window in search of Malfoy's owl.

He wants to know more.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #author rec

50 notes · View notes

redd956 · 1 year

Text

Things I do to help me focus on my writing, get into the atmosphere, and keep writing!

I often times see fellow writers lamenting over not being able to keep to writing, start a page, or fully become enveloped into their atmospheres

I don't have that problem very often, so I decided to watch my actions when going to write my personal pieces for school and mad self indulgence to see if I have anything that could be of use for my fellows. Here's some ideas to play around with~

Atmospheric Playlist

Atmospheric playlist on YouTube, or self made ones have become a lifesaver when it comes to getting engrossed into the atmospheres I'm writing about. No matter what it is, there's always a playlist or set of video game OST set on loop that can easily help one get engaged with the atmosphere they're writing.

This can go for characters too. Make character playlist, put them on in the background, and write. It's done wonders for me.

Apocalyptic wintery wasteland -> Winter Storm Ambience for 10 Hours

Meeting up in a café during a rainstorm -> Rainy café ambience with jazz playing from a jukebox

Creepy haunted spooky -> horror video game spooky ambience

(P.S. The real world can be just as inspiring)

Distracting Myself Properly

Let's admit it, sometimes we need to be distracted. Whether it be taking breaks, letting the mind wander and breath, or when you just can't help yourself. I find myself usually opening YouTube about three to four paragraphs in, and before I know it I'm now invested in a 4 hour long Minecraft stream despite not even going on to follow on whatever SMP I stumbled across then.

So one day while writing my wintery storm ambience ran out of time, and I was getting frustrated with how to write the threat of the cold, despite knowing it personally myself. So it was distraction time! Then I remembered an old video essay that thoroughly discussed the fear and dangers of the cold.

Instead I watched that, felt renewed with ideas on how to write the threat of the cold, and was able to go right back to writing after I finished it (really even started writing while it played in the background)

So that's what I mean-

Distract yourself properly, and watch things related to the topic and conversation that you happen to be writing about. Pick things that get your inspiration flowing, and the creativity sparking. No one when to stop though. Sometimes and often times real genuine breaks are needed.

Input to Output

In order to output, there needs to be an input. By that means in the fields of creativity, we need to consume content in order to create content.

I had to learn that the hard way. The brain becomes burnt out on creating, and can get burnt out so very quickly. It wants content that isn't made by it sometimes y'know?

So what to do? Consume. Watch a movie, a TV series. Read a new book. Play a new game. Scroll through that web comic you've been wanting to finish. Flip those pages to the manga you promised yourself you would finish.

Go get that input so that you can output

Follow that damned itch

You're sitting in the living room, mindlessly watching a TV show you don't even like, when suddenly it hits you. The itch! Oh the cursed itch to write, and to write a lot. You now suddenly want to write as much as possible. But maybe you should finish this episode that you don't even like-

Wrong! Follow that damned itch when the perfect chance arises. You're not trapped in class, or at work, or anything similar (although the itch doesn't wait for perfect timing always). It's struck you at an amazing time, go get it!

What are you waiting for!? The motivation has hit you! No one knows when it will again. I promise you some very amazing syntax could be waiting you right now as that itch radiates in your palms.

#writing #writing tips and tricks #writing advice #writing advise

2 notes · View notes

wildjuniperjones · 2 years

Text

Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by the lovely @dontjudgemeimawriter (thank you!), and I'll be drawing from my main WIP, Bonds of Trust. My words are suspect, detect, avoid, ignore, & theory.

I'll tag @thatprolificauthor, @sevenpocketsofstarlight, @worldstogetlostin, @winterandwords, and @forthelanterns. Your words are key, age, rule, cold, & order.

Snippets are under the cut and in chronological order!

Theory

“So what got you into Albertus, then? I’m guessing it’s not language.”

“Well, this, actually,” she says, pulling her bag off her shoulder and setting it between them. It looks like just a regular leather purse, but given that she’s some kind of mage, he’d bet there’s more to it than that. “This is an extra-space bag. They’ve been fiendishly difficult to make, but I made this one as my senior project for undergrad.” She reaches inside to demonstrate, reaching past where the floor should be and pulling out a book that should not have fit in that bag. “I theorize that they can be made more simply, by sacrificing some of the interior space. It’s a matter of materials and the high rate of accuracy needed for the sigils used in its creation. Now, normally we can rely on auto-painters for sigil replication, which has sped up production for wards and even moving advertisements. But in the case of the extra-space bags, the space required for the enchanting circle is larger than standard, and requires fine-tuning across the outer rim of runes to account for variance in the materials– I’m sorry, this is probably really boring for you.” She finishes, looking at him sympathetically.

Detect/Find

“Are you listening to me, Miss Nagari? I won’t stand for my students acting like whores here at Albertus! You’re lucky I haven’t found a rule you’ve broken yet or I’d have you expelled on the spot!” Some relief must’ve seeped into her expression, because his fine, pale features contort into a malicious smile. “Oh, you think you’re safe, then? I’ll be speaking with your funders about this over winter break – I believe they have a code of conduct nearly as stringent as my own, and when they see this– this pornography–”

In that moment, Sere does something that would have been unthinkable in the months before she met Leo. She interrupts the professor right back, leaping to her hooves. “And I believe that threats like this can get a professor’s tenure revoked! You can’t unilaterally make a decision like this, you know nothing about what I do–”

Suspect/Suspicion

“It’s kind of awkward, but my advisor found out about my modeling job. Van Irin’s always been pretty conservative, but now he’s threatening to pull funding. And since I’m barely scraping by as it is, that’d be the end of my career.”

“Well shit. How can I help?”

Her golden eyes avoid his gaze and she bites her lip, a slender white fang against dark purple. “He said that it’s one thing if a single woman is acting ‘like a whore’ in front of strangers, but a very different thing if she has a partner behind the camera. A –um– a romantic partner. He also said, and I quote, ‘And I don’t mean that tarty elf you live with.’ So Anya’s out.”

“But they’re your main photographer, I thought?” Suspicion bubbles to the surface, and he can feel his muscles tense in response. This was coming out of nowhere, just like with– No. This is my friend. She’s not like her. But it’s too close for the mantra to be of any comfort.

Ignore

Leo stoops and pulls out the package which clinks beneath his hands. “Where –um– where should I change?” Anya waves dismissively. “Eh, anywhere’s fine. It’s not like I’ve not seen your kinda equipment before–” “Anya! Do you remember the talk we had about modesty?” Sere exclaims, still perched on the pillar. “Yes, and I seem to recall you deciding I had none,” they retort casually, still engrossed in the details of the image. “Leo, ignore them. You should be fine behind these bushes here,” she says, gesturing behind her. He wades back through the water, stopping at Sere’s perch. “You okay there?” he whispers. “Yeah. I’ll want to come down at some point, but–” “I mean with them.” Sere bites her lip, glancing over at Anya. “Yeah… It’s fine.” “It doesn’t have to be fine, chula.” Because she deserves a friend who doesn’t tease her so much when it’s obvious she doesn’t like it. “Go change and we’ll talk after it’s all done, okay?” He nods, and walks off. He rather doubts that they’ll talk about it, but she obviously has a weak spot for the brash elf, and he’s not going to press the issue. Yet.

Avoid

“…Oh! But first we need to meet with Van Irin so I know if I can even stay here or not.” “You’ve said that before; what do you mean?” “I mean, if I can’t afford to go to school here, I’ll have to move back to the California Republic. I’m not technically a resident of Cascadia, that’s why I have to pay higher tuition, too.” Leo looks thoughtful, and sits back down to look at his feystone. “When’s the meeting?” “Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could go clothes shopping–” “No way. If we’re moving in together, I want to save every penny we have, and if there’s even a chance of you having to leave, I’ll–” he cuts himself off, blushing and staring at his ‘stone. “You’ll do what? What is it?” But he only gestures her over to sit beside him so she can see the portal flickering above the crystalline stone.

CASCADIA OFFICE OF THE INTERIOR IMMIGRATION & RESIDENCE Non-residents not engaged in approved education or employment are not permitted to remain in Cascadia, except in the following circumstances:

- The individual is undergoing training toward employment that will lead to their residency approval. - The individual has requested and been granted asylum. - The individual is engaged or married to a Cascadian resident.

“What?” She asks, still confused. “I– I’ll do whatever I have to so that you can stay here, if that’s what you want.” “Of course that’s what I want, but–” and then it hits her. What he’s avoiding saying. That he’s not talking about helping her apply for asylum or finding her a job. That he’s talking about marrying her. Or at least getting engaged to buy time for her to figure out another solution. “How long have you thought about this?”

#my writing #bonds of trust #snippets #bonds of trust vignettes #find the word tag game #find the word tag #tag game #*flails*#i'm so excited about this again!!!#thank you thank you thank you #also #first writing post in a while that *hasn't* been smut #so yay for that?

3 notes · View notes

seaforth · 9 months

Text

Group 8 Scene Recreation - Memories of Murder Production Breakdown

Brainstorming

For the final week of the production workflow module, my group were tasked with recreating a scene of our choice. Bar some budgetary and time concerns, nothing was off the table.

Eventually we settled on the interrogation scene from Bong Joon-Ho's Memories of Murder. I personally had not seen the film but was excited to tackle it based on seeing the director's other work Parasite.

Pre Production

We had plenty of kit to acquire in order to convey an accurate recreation of the scene:

Camera:

Blackmagic Pocket PRO 6K, Samyang Xeen Cinema Lens Kit, Smallrig Tripod

Sound:

Sennheiser 416, Sound Devices MixPre3-Recorder and Mixer, Large Boom Pole, Microphone Stand.

Lighting:

LEDGO LG-B308K 3x 308 light Daylight Reporter LED Lighting Kit, Gloves

Other:

Polyboard (White), Black Flag x3, Floor Cable Cover, Clapper, Sandbag x3

In terms of props we also had to purchase a light from amazon which would replicate the look of the desk light found in the original scene as well as being flexible to being adjusted in order to match different shot compositions. We had also our crew supply shirts and ties for respective actors as well as paper for the process of interrogation.

Aside from kit, scheduling was also CRITICAL and just as important as many groups were filming at the same time. This ended up being a close call as the only time we ended up getting kit that was far enough in advance to leave plenty time for editing conflicted with the premiere of another group project we unfortunately had to miss.

Next we took still frames from each shot in order to plan out lighting:

From there we planned our shotlist:

Along with this we decided on Crew Roles:

Sam Wynne: Director Jack Burns: Producer, Actor, Runner Jake Rae: Director of Photography Jacob Doig: Lighting, Camera Assistant Rushil Deepak: Production Design, Sound

And our actors:

Harry Batkin: Park Hyeon-Gyu Daniel Lee: Seo Tae-Yoon Cameron Mcintyre: Park Doo-Man Jack Burns: Shin Dong-Chul Euan Hunt: Cho Yong-koo

Our chosen filming date the 4th of December 2023.

Filming

While the location of the scene might not seem complex there was lots of shots and respective lighting to match each.

Figuring out framing with the crew/ Practicing lines with actors

We experimented with different angles and setups in the classroom we had booked for the day, and settled on using the corner of the room, which was conveniently near lots of sockets (Useful for our luck of batteries dying).

The classroom booking and the orientation of set placement actually worked out in our favour as we had full view of the room's projector, on which we displayed the original scene allowing both actors and the crew to get a feel for each respective shot as it came and went.

This initial shot we filmed first was actually quite simple compared to the others as we only had one character to worry about, along with just having to light his face, as opposed to later shots with characters blocking part of the framing.

Post Production

I helmed the post production of this project, inheriting the audio and video files onto my macbook. I then edited the film in premiere pro.

FInished Timeline

I attempted to organise individual cuts by colour coding different takes and angles, as the scene ended up being pretty complex to put together.

While not integral to recreating the scene, I thought a nice touch in the post production process would be the inclusion of Korean subtitles, paying homage to original language of the film.

Colour Match Feature

I used premiere pro's colour match feature to try and make some small lighting adjustments based on the original scenes. Admittedly, I don't have much experience with colour correction so I didn't go too in depth past this stage. However, this definitely something I want to learn over the winter break..

0 notes

maleficent-thoughts · 1 year

Text

I know I complain A LOT about my lack of a romantic relationship (as many do on this site) but I have to “Dear Diary” this bs rn.

I guess this whole story starts about 6 year ago when I first joined my all men a cappella group. I came in thinking I was all that (which honestly I still am that bitch) but one guy really stood out to me. We were grouped together frequently in the same vocal part and ended up getting super close. Fast forward a year or so, he comes out to me as bi curious, saying that he would like to explore his sexuality with me (mind you this was over winter break, so we weren’t near each other to talk face to face) Tell me why I get back to campus, and he suddenly has a gf… fast forward another year or so and they break up. Now I think “here’s my shot!” But nothing ever came of it still (we had this old rule that members couldn’t get with each other, which was dumb asf) anyway, he ended up graduating early and I thought that was it. Except we kept in touch and he moved to my town after I left school. We hungout lots of times (group settings and 1 on 1) sometimes alcohol would be involved and I would sleep over at his place. My dumbass thought he would finally make a move, but I found myself sleeping on the couch EACH AND EVERY TIME… now Im in med school more than 3k miles away and he decides to come to my White Coat Ceremony (which I’m soooo appreciative and thankful for the support) but he books and Airbnb??? Like even if none of that history was there, I still feel bad that he felt the need to spend extra just to not stay with me (maybe he thought my fam was staying with me) We had dinner alone together and it was cute, but he brought up the whole “no dating policy” thing and I couldn’t help but feel like it was a Romeo & Juliet type situation. I cant stop thinking about him, and Im sure my brain is just confusing the platonic and romantic, but honestly he’s everything I want in a partner and more. My head is telling me to drop it, but my heart cant seem to let go. I think I might have a problem 🥲

If anyone has some advice, Id love to hear it. I moved across the country, and yet Im still finding myself trapped in these emotions. Maybe he’s waiting for me to finish school, or maybe he’s waiting to get his life in order, but whatever it is, my heart is picking up on the signal and Im not sure what to do. I have more important things to worry and think about, so why tf am I constantly thinking about him??!!?

#Spotify

0 notes

running-freee · 2 years

Text

I Need You Ch. 1

Austin!ElvisxOC Word count: 1.3k Prompt: Beverly Sherman is a young girl who had a military family that was forced to move all over the country. When her Father is sent to Germany for work, her and her family follows along. There she meets Elvis Presley who takes a liking to her. From there the rest is history. TW: none A/N: This is my first ever published fic and I have a lot planned for it. Obviously the story sounds familiar because the OC is based off of Priscilla and her life. Just wanted to have fun coming up with a version of the story we all know! If there are any errors or anything lmk! Have fun reading! I’m having such a fun time writing this y’all… don't even knowwww

💕

Ch 1. A lot of Living to Do

“Hurry up Bev, I don’t wanna be late for the bus again!” My little brother Johnny yelled from the front door of our small German apartment. For a 10 year old he was very on top of things.

“Johnny give me two more seconds!” I screamed back as I grabbed the books that were shuffled across my desk from the night before. Just as I was about to meet my anxious little brother at the front door my mother stopped me.

“Beverly, please tell your brother not to leave his mittens at school again today and don’t forget about tonight! I’ll most likely need your help with the fruit cake before we leave!” She exclaimed from the kitchen. “I’ll try my best, mother!”

I followed Johnny into the crisp winter air of Germany. My family had moved here in the summer last year as my father was in the military, Air Force to be exact. We would relocate often, mainly to other parts of the U.S. but this was new to us. Moving to an entirely different country. Luckily, we lived in an apartment complex that was filled with other people exactly like us, military families. Most of the children went to the same school that we did as well. It was a school designed for American children to go to that had a family member in the military.

It wasn’t all that bad here, just a little lonely at times. I found it more difficult to make friends as I got older. As soon as we got comfortable in whatever city we settled into, it was time to move again. I feared making friends once I got to Germany. We had lived in Texas before coming to Germany for two whole years and I had made friends there in El Paso. Next thing I knew I had to move halfway across the globe for High School and leave my friends behind. I did have a small handful of friends in Germany but never got closer than seeing them at school or running into them at the apartment complex. I mainly stuck to my studies at home. I was really into music and had my prized record collection that I had brought over from the states.

I would sit in my room for hours listening to my records. I would sit in bed and even in class at school and fantasize about my life after I finished High school. I dreamed of going to a college back in the U.S. and meeting a nice boy there. We would settle down in suburbia and live a long life filled with kids and grandkids running around. When I thought about it, I was really only about 3 years closer to my dream than I realized. Winter break of my 9th grade had just passed which meant summer was inching closer even if it was still freezing in the middle of February.

I sighed thinking about my little life plan. It was the one thing getting me through the long days at school and the boring classes. Especially the German lessons.

The bell rang signifying the end of the school day. I stood up grabbing my coat and placing it around my arms and shoulders. I hurried out to find Johnny to remind him of our mothers orders.

“Beverly, wait up!”

I turned to find Judy Moore, one of the girls I was fairly close friends with running towards me. Her father was also friends with my father. We only lived about three doors down from each other so being friends was natural for us.

“Hi Judy!” I smiled at her as she finally caught up to me, catching her breath.

“Are you going to the dinner party as well tonight?” The party. Of course, I almost forgot.

My fathers coworkers took turns hosting dinner parties once a month as a chance for the wives and children to dress up and mingle in a different setting than their own homes. It also gave a chance for the husbands to show off their families to each other.

Sometimes, if Judy and I were lucky, some of the younger lieutenants and soldiers would show up to these dinner parties. It would give them a chance to get out of the base and network with their peers as well as the Officers above them.

For Judy and I, it was a chance to sit together and giggle, gawking at the men almost 10 years your senior.

It was nice to see real men and not just the boys from school. I would go home and fall asleep thinking of my fantasy of getting married but this time a handsome soldier was the man that would come home to me in our beautiful house full of kids running around.

“I’m going, I have to help my mom. I guess she’s bringing a fruit cake.” Judy scrunched her nose in disgust. I giggled.

“Great! I’ll see you there then, I heard a new batch of soldiers are coming tonight as well.” Judy said as we inched closer to the bus. We giggled together in excitement of seeing the young soldiers that had come fresh off the base.

“I can’t wait! Hopefully one of them will snatch me up and take me out of my misery.” I say half joking. Judy just laughed agreeing with me.

“See you tonight then! Wear something…sexy!” She said in a mocking drawl as she laughed at her own joke.

“No promises!”

I walked onto the bus and found Johnny sliding next to him on the seat. As soon as the bus arrived at our apartment complex I rushed inside to find my mother in the kitchen with a fully baked fruit cake.

“Hi sweetie! This doesn’t look too bad now does it?” She was pleased with herself and her baking masterpiece. “Now I need the two of you to get ready and once your father is home we can head out to Officer Jackson's house.”

Officer Jackson’s house was about 45 minutes away from our apartment. His family lived in a lavish town home. Something I wish my family could have instead of this crammed little space. I went to my room and got ready wearing a nice dark blue dress. The next thing I knew my mother was calling out for me and Johnny to make our way to the car.

The car ride was boring, just filled with my parents talking about my fathers day at work. The radio was playing faintly in the background and my brother was trying to annoy me as he usually did. I let out a sigh as we parked near the house, getting out to fix my blue dress. My hair was curled into a near updo as per my mothers request to make us seem like a respectful family.

Stepping foot into the house, my nose was filled with the smell of food and cigar smoke. I saw the crowd of people seated talking amongst themselves as music our parents listened to filled the room. Some were drinking and laughing as they talked about their stories of traveling like any military family.

“Bev!” I saw Judy running towards me with a smile that reached all the way to her eyes “You need to come with me right now!” she said as she caught her breath from running.

I turned to my parents for approval and my father nodded. That was all Judy needed before she took a hold of my arm and pulled me into a side family room.

“I have someone here I want you to meet!”

I gave her a confused look to see the room crowded with young men in uniform and girls who were making conversation with them.

Next thing I know Judy is pulling me through the crowd as she yelled “excuse me, sorry”

A young man is seated on the couch talking to another man next to him.

“Mr. Presley, I'd like you to meet my friend Beverly Sherman.”

#austin butler x reader #elvis presley #elvis film #austin butler elvis #original character #fanfic #i need you

19 notes · View notes

warmblanketwhump · 3 years

Text

safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

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

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

#sickfic #whump #sickfic prompt #whump prompt #cold whump #lol i rewrote this four times #can i just be chill about whump #no #no i cannot #also it’s cooler today #fall means whump weather #I don’t make the rules

275 notes · View notes

perperam · 3 years

Note

Do you have any Harlivy fic recommendations? Preferably something that is already completed?

OH I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

okay okay so quick little tangent fact !! I actually just finished my undergrad degree in "english literature analysis & writing" and reading fics is so fun bc I get to analyze them and break them down and if it's particularly well written the stars align and it's just UGH so good.

ratings are: E (explicit) M (mature) T (teens and up) and G (everyone) anyways here is a HUGE list of my favorite fics to date, their stats/details/plots, reasonings as to why they're on the list to begin with, and a short analysis:

SHORT STORIES (less than 30k words)

for your convenience they’re in order of length bc I’m focusing on this super hard rn

KISS YOUR BEST FRIEND CHALLENGE (T) STATS — 340 words, shenanigans, fluff PLOT — Harley, TikTok and general Social Media queen, decides to do the trending challenge to kiss your best friend. The best friend? Her roommate and the woman she’s been crushing on for fucking ever: Poison Ivy.

AM I TOO CLOSE? (CAUSE YOU FOLD INTO ME LIKE A HEART WITH A BEAT) (G) STATS — 839 words, fluff, shenanigans PLOT — Harley genuinely wasn’t looking for trouble, but it’s hard to just have a day out when you’re one of Gotham’s most wanted. Running into Ivy, she takes drastic measures (and her hoodie into the mix) to distract the police from looking in their direction.

I’M HOME (G) STATS — 892 words, domestic fluff PLOT — After a long and rough day at work, Ivy comes home to Harley. Relaying the details of her day, she basks in the comfort of her girlfriend, who provides gentle questions and is a phenomenal listener. General cuteness.

CONFLICT DIAMONDS (G) STATS — 990 words, wedding shenanigans, banter, humor PLOT — Batman and Renee Montoya respond to a break-in at a jewelry store, except even though the owner is duct-taped to the wall, it isn’t really a break-in; Harley’s just trying to shop for a ring for Ivy, and that’s difficult to do when the owner is screaming in the corner. Batman and Renee both pitch in to help pick something nice for Harley’s girl, resulting in hilarious banter.

OF COURSE (T) STATS — 1.1k words, hurt/comfort (kinda), harley quinn animated tv show centric PLOT — In the aftermath of Ivy’s death, rebirth, and the fall of Joker Tower, Harley collapses onto the ground. Since she never mentioned that her parents are the reason for most of her injuries, Ivy isn’t sure why she’s so out of it.

PERFECT MORNINGS (T) STATS — 1.1k words, domestic fluff/bliss PLOT — Ivy, who usually wakes up early and before Harley, takes a moment to look at the countless muscles, ridges, scars, and tattoos on Harley’s body as she sleeps. General cuteness.

I’D LOVE TO CHECK YOU OUT (T) STATS — 1.7k words, university au, fluff PLOT — Harley visits the library virtually every day, and it’s definitely not because she needs to work on her university courses and homework. She finally works up the courage to speak to the alluring redhead she sees there every day while absentmindedly looking at a book on sharks.

I’LL LOVE YOU IN THE MORNING (NOON, NIGHT) (T) STATS — 2.1k words, angst, hurt/comfort PLOT — A snapshot look into Ivy and how she comes to know, care, and love all the sides of Harley—from psychiatrist to criminal to girlfriend. She loves her throughout it all.

DAY-DREAMING (T) STATS — 2.2k words, shenanigans, psychiatrist Harleen PLOT — Ivy’s falling for her psychiatrist—her humorous, intelligent, caring, and downright gorgeous psychiatrist. It’s difficult, to say the least.

WHAT HAPPENS IN THEMYSCIRA (DOESN’T) STAY IN THEMYSCIRA (T) STATS — 2.3k words, humor, wedding shenanigans, angst with a happy ending PLOT — In a surprise twist of events, Harley and Ivy were drunkenly married at Themyscira. When asked at the wedding if anybody had objections to the union of Ivy and Chuck, Wonder Woman and the Queen of Themyscira herself come to object. Ivy, for lack of a better word, wants to die a little.

NOT A ROCKER CHICK (T) STATS — 3.1k words, rock band au, fluff PLOT — The last thing Ivy wants to do is go to a rock band concert with her best friend, Selina. Despite her best efforts, she can’t help but completely fall into the rhythm of the band and their music, so different than her own norm. And okay, maybe the singer (who Selina was friends with and called “Harley”) was also kinda hot...

A TENDER HEART AMONG THE GREEN (T) STATS — 3.2k words, gotham city sirens raise Lucy au, domestic bliss PLOT — Harley and Selina come back home to the apartment to find Ivy passed out asleep with Lucy cuddling into the crook of her neck and Selina’s cats cuddling her legs. Knowing that Ivy would rather be caught dead than in such a compromising situation (after all, she is the Poison Ivy, who “hates humans”) the two take a photo, since it lasts longer. Shenanigans and cuteness ensue.

BUILDING YOUR GIRL’S SECOND STORY (M) STATS — 3.3k words, university/grad school au, angst with a happy ending PLOT — Snapshots of Harley’s battle with her violent and abusive boyfriend, Jack, and the way in which Bruce, his boyfriend Clark, and her best friend (and potentially lover) Pamela all love Harley and will do anything, anything, to make sure she gets the help, care, and love she needs.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF NORMAL (T) STATS — 3.6k words, coronavirus pandemic/quarantine au, family au PLOT — Ivy is requested by the Justice League to help create and manufacture a vaccine for the COVID-19 virus. As she works on the vaccine, she video calls Harley and their daughter Lucy, both of whom miss her very much.

RABBIT IN THE GARDEN (T) STATS — 4.4k words, implied suicide attempt, hard angst PLOT — Winters are difficult to Ivy. When Harley comes home one day to see her submerged fully in water in the bathtub, the only thing Harley can do is cry and take her out. Ultimately Ivy is alright—but it doesn’t make it any easier.

WE WILL BE (EVERYTHING THAT WE’D EVER NEED) (T) STATS — 5.8k words, high school au, angst, hurt/comfort PLOT — Harley and Ivy are best friends from high school, living in the middle of Arizona. Ivy is absolutely head over heels for Harley, but the latter is in a growing and increasingly abusive relationship with the older “bad-boy” (literally) Jack. Eventually, the two grow together in more ways than one.

WHERE THE RED FERN GROWS (EXCEPT NO DOGS DIE) (M) STATS — 9.7k words, domestic bliss, no powers just botanist & psychiatrist au PLOT — After her abusive ex-boyfriend tries to maniacally tear down the front door of her apartment with an ax as her best friend, Selina, pushes the table against the splintering wood, Bruce recommends that Harley gets a dog. She gets two German Shepard brothers—Bud and Lou—who lead her one day on their walk to the most beautiful flower shop owner Harley’s ever seen. The story of Harley and Ivy, told with Bud and Lou present to witness every moment.

THE MOMENT I AWAKEN GHOSTS (T) STATS — 11.7k words, falling in love, feelings & realizations PLOT — A deep look into Ivy’s feelings and how they evolve from general hatred against Harleen the psychiatrist at Arkham to a blooming, kind and gentle love towards Harley Quinn, the crown jester of crime.

HARLEQUIN’S ISLE (T) STATS — 17.5k words, hurt/comfort, happy ending, shenanigans, humor PLOT — Harley and Ivy decide to go on a vacation on Bruce Wayne’s new eco-friendly plane, but in a surprise twist of events, things go terribly wrong, Ivy falls out of the plane, and the two (as well as all the other rich and wealthy big-name CEOS on the plane) get stranded on an island with someone actively trying to rob the investors. Harley and Ivy will fight them, god damn it, because they deserve this vacation and they will have it.

LONGER STORIES (30k words to 100k words)

YOUR LOVE (DÉJÀ VU) (G) STATS — 33k words, slow burn, mild angst, canon divergence PLOT — A what-if-Harley-found-Ivy-first fic, YOUR LOVE wonderfully illustrates Dr. Harleen Quinzel treating Ivy in a wonderfully humane and kind way, including learning floriography, the language of flowers, in order to better relate to her. Ivy is taken aback by her doctor's genuine care and begins to develop feelings, all the while Harleen falls hard and fast which wholly confuses and frightens her. The one caveat is that while this is happening, Harleen is also treating the Joker as well, who tries (keyword: tries) to manipulate her. Ivy and Harley dance a timid tango around one another as they try to navigate this new playing field of romantic feelings for one another, and things come to a breaking point when Harleen realizes that, perhaps, all of her patients have a point and that the real villains are not the ones inside the asylum, but rather the ones running it. FAVORITE DETAILS — I just love the way this is written. It provides a wonderful and almost skinny-love like romance (except this takes place in an insane asylum) as Harleen and Ivy both try to understand their strong feelings for one another. The way in which the rogues and other inmates/patients all look out for one another was very heartwarming, and Waylon and Eddie's thinly veiled camaraderie with Ivy—and her thinly veiled appreciation for it—were both lovely and created a really warm environment. It really underlined why Harley loved them because you love them too in the process, and see how she reaches her breaking point. CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — Harley, as she is in all of my favorite fics, is depicted as an incredibly intelligent and talented psychiatrist. Her caring nature is wonderfully outlined in this fic as she helps Waylon, Eddie, Ivy, and everybody else in the asylum be treated with genuine respect and care, going as far as to get them personalized gifts. Her psyche fracturing slowly never once makes her seem unintelligent to the reader, even as she actively places a ditz persona in order to fool the rest of the asylum staff (and the Joker). Ivy, on the other hand, is illustrated in a way that perfectly shows how all she genuinely needed was someone to listen. She's sometimes harsh and crass but you can see how she begins to soften as Harley helps her and treats her with: you guessed it, genuine respect. FINAL VERDICT — I would get this tattooed on my ass if I could

NOVEL LENGTH WORKS (100k+ words)

ACROSS THE WAY (M) STATS — 128.7k words, slow-burn, tattoo artist & flower shop owner au PLOT — Botanist and flower shop owner Pamela Isley moves to Gotham from Seattle in search of a new life. Her shop is located directly next to a tattoo shop—one that is incredibly loud and bothersome. Upon walking in to give the shop a piece of her mind, she meets one of the resident artsits, Harley Quinzel, and cannot get her out of her mind. The two become best friends, and feelings slowly start to develop. On a night when Harley is most vulnerable and in need of a place to escape, Pam offers her apartment as a refuge, and from that point on things are never the same again (in the best way possible). FAVORITE DETAILS — The SIT sessions were a wonderful touch and I loved seeing the recovery of both Ivy and Harley, because it was so real. I also loved how once Harley got out, she did everything in her power to protect both herself and Ivy from Jack, and we got to see her and Ivy grow into their wonderful, healthy romance. CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — I love how all of the characters are illustrated; Selina, who is the caring best friend and genuinely does her best to help others around her all the while being her cocky, usual self. Pam, who escaped Seattle and started anew in Gotham and is the crass botanist and also the insanely kind and caring lover. Barbara is the adorable coffee shop owner, Floyd is the caring figure for Harley that she never had, and everyone is just wonderful. FINAL VERDICT — literally go read this rn, what are you even doing

MAD LOVE: THE BEGINNING & MAD LOVE: THE FINAL CHAPTER (M) STATS — nearly 400k words total, angst, canon divergence, domestic fluff, slice of life PLOT — imagine YOUR LOVE except this is much longer, much more heart-wrenching, a whole lot more angsty, and Harleen's break with Harley is a lot more prevalent. Another what-if scenario of Dr. Harleen Quinzel meeting and treating the illusive Poison Ivy instead of the Joker, MAD LOVE shows an interesting depiction of the way they manipulate, hurt, care, and love one another. The entire story is riddled with well placed metaphors, recurring themes, and both Ivy and Harley's characters are illustrated in the most complex and interesting way. All throughout both the initial and the sequel, Ivy and Harleen play a metaphorical chess game in manipulation as a means to gain the upper-hand on the other, which creates a dangerous foundation for their following love story. In the sequel, "The Final Chapter," the story starts with Harley and Ivy—already married near the end of "A New Beginning"—having two kids and the entire piece spans over Harley's lifetime until she's on her deathbed, with Ivy still stuck at 33 years old beside her. I personally stopped reading the story after Harley died (I was too emotionally vulnerable to continue on) but if you continue reading on, you get to see Ivy move on and appreciate Harley's impact on her life as she finds love and happiness again after the loss of her wife. FAVORITE DETAILS — We get insight into both Ivy and Harleen's trauma, and how not everything can be fixed with love. Neither Harleen nor Ivy (or their actions for that matter) are characterized as perfect in any way, and the story never excuses any of their more-than-questionable actions; in fact they make MANY mistakes and manipulate one another throughout the story, and both have power over the other (Harleen is her psychiatrist, but Ivy could easily kill her, so emotional power over someone with immense physical power). CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — Harleen is depicted as an incredibly intelligent and capable psychiatrist, and the story somehow wonderfully mixes Harley's desire for violent chaos with Harleen's desire to help others. v Ivy is illustrated as the epitome of "I hate you and will not be nice unless you're literally either my wife or kids." She is seldom kind to others, is often crass, but an entire softy when it comes to Harleen and their children. She's a hard worker and is heavily involved in her research. Harleen, on the other hand, is equally cunning but more lighthearted, extremely athletic and active, the "fun" mom, and less into power trips (unless it's about Ivy). FINAL VERDICT — definitely the most interesting fics I've ever read in my entire fucking life, it's so complex and wonderful and a literal minefield of analysis worthy literature, I'd also get this tattooed on my ass if I could

#mryanswers #harlivy #jfc #this is a long ass post #please I spent hours on it #literally

165 notes · View notes

absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

Text

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Lessons 13-15

Series Masterlist

Y’all know what’s coming up next, time for some *~buildup~*. So I’ve decided to forgo my usual bullet point system for the next two parts in the series so it’ll just be a full fic chapter style thing. Anyway, enjoy the prelude to the angst!

MC was comfortable.

They were sprawled out on the floor of Lucifer’s study, folding and crinkling old bits of paperwork that their father had damned to the shredder. Bean attempted to swat at the loose paper, only to flop onto his back. MC giggled and scratched behind his ears, the kitten batted at their hand in response.

Lucifer was doing paperwork, though he was getting quite distracted by the antics of his child and the cat.

Finishing up their paper snowflakes, MC unfolded them and hummed to themselves. The snowflakes turned out much better than that line of paper people that they had accidentally decapitated earlier.

“Tadaaaa!” MC chirped, holding up the paper snowflakes.

Lucifer looked at them, then chuckled and shook his head. “MC, I know it’s winter up in the human world, but it’s not down here. Why are you making snow themed decorations?”

“There’s no sun in the Devildom, it’s always a little cold out.” MC replied. “So it’s gotten me in a snowflake-y mood.”

Lucifer smiled slightly as he adjusted the paper orchids on his desk. MC had attributed their skill in paper crafts to their plethora of Mother and Father’s Day gifts they had given to their other parent over the years.

“What are you working on now?” He asked as he continued to absentmindedly work through the mountain of paperwork.

“I need to make something for Beel.” MC sighed. “I made him a pizza slice craft… but he ate it.”

“Perhaps this time you should make him a Fangol ball.”

“Yeah… that might be best.”

MC had offered to help out their father with anything involving the exchange program, any questions or improvements to be made, any issues that needed to be solved, and things that could be done to make future students more comfortable. Things were going well, but not every bit of work Lucifer was doing involved the exchange program, which left MC to play with the cat and the loose paper.

“Do you need help with anything, father?” MC asked, rolling onto their back and holding Bean above them.

“Not yet, MC.” Lucifer replied. “Most of your work here is done anyway.”

“Hmph, that sucks.” MC pouted. “I like helping you.”

They caught the ghost of a smile on Lucifer’s face after they said that.

“It’s nice that someone in this house does.”

They continued to play with the cat, Bean ended up getting his claws stuck in the carpet, MC had to help him out, Bean returned the favour by attacking MC’s poor defenseless hand.

“MC?”

“Yes?” MC looked up from their battle with Bean.

“What was your life like in the human world? I assume it wasn’t common knowledge that you’re half demon.”

MC giggled a bit. “Kind of boring, it’s much more exciting down here. Back in the human world I couldn’t exactly practice my magic without needing to explain to the insurance guy that the reason the windows are broken is because I wanted to move the remote closer to me without getting up.”

“Hm.” Lucifer smirked. “Laziness gets you nowhere.”

“I know. But at least now I can move things without breaking anything I don’t want broken.” MC smiled as they used their magic to move their father’s coffee mug a few inches to the left. Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

MC felt their hair get ruffled and their glasses moved slightly off their nose. “What about you, father? What was life like without me?”

“Well, it wasn’t boring.” Lucifer replied. “Just ever so slightly less chaotic.”

Bean lost interest in the game and rushed out of the room to yowl angrily at one of the vases in the library or hallway. According to Lucifer, those artifacts came with the house and were insanely cursed. Bean appeared to be offended that he wasn’t allowed to knock the objects off of the table.

MC took a quick breath and steeled themselves to ask a question they had asked a dozen times before. “What about the time before that? Like when you were in the Celestial Realm?”

Lucifer stiffened in his seat. “Why do you want to know about that?”

“No one really talks about it, and I want to know.” MC frowned, but did their best to shrug as casually as they could. “I also want to know about Lilith, no one ever talks about her.”

“Just wanting to know isn’t a terribly good reason for digging up the past.”

MC bristled at his dismissive tone, every time they had asked about that time he had avoided answering. They ground their teeth as they responded. “Well, this is my family too, I deserve to be a part of it.”

“What does knowing about the Celestial Realm have anything to do with being a part of the family?”

“Because I’m the only one who doesn’t have any memories of it!” MC finally snapped. “Even Satan has some of your memories and I have nothing! I’m being left out and it’s not fair!”

Lucifer looked up from his paperwork and glared at MC. “Watch your tone.”

They looked away and muttered something under their breath.

“Speak clearly, MC, I don’t have time for mumbling.” Lucifer said, his patience rapidly draining.

“I said you sure keep a lot of secrets!” MC growled, getting to their feet and crossing their arms. “You won’t tell me why the Grimoire is downstairs, you won’t tell me anything about the Celestial Realm or the Celestial War, you won’t tell me why I’m not allowed to go in the attic, you’re keeping so much from me!”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that you don’t need to know about any of those things?”

“I don’t need to but I have a right to!” MC felt every single one of their insecurities rise and bubble in their chest. “You don’t trust me, do you? That’s why you won’t tell me anything!”

“MC, calm down.” Lucifer growled.

“No!” They snarled. “You’ve been keeping me in the dark!”

Lucifer slammed his hands on his desk, cutting them off. MC almost flinched at the sudden noise, the silence that followed was deafening as they stiffened their posture and felt their hands curl into fists.

“Take a walk, MC. You’re being ridiculous.”

MC opened their mouth to speak, to yell, to scream about the unfairness of it all, then closed it. What good would it have done? They turned on their heel and stomped out of the study.

—————

Time heals all wounds, doesn’t it? Not this time considering Lucifer and MC were still upset at how their last chat ended.

Mammon, Asmo, Beel, Satan, Levi, and MC were lounging around in the living room. It was time for the monthly repainting of everyone’s nails, and MC was getting their turn.

“You have to take better care of your nails, MC.” Asmo tutted. “Clean them more often, file them, take those vitamins I recommended,”

When Asmo was lecturing someone, it was always very much a: ‘nod and make random affirming noises every once and a while’ situation. Mammon snickered at MC’s predicament.

“Don’t think you’re exempt!” Asmo held up the nail clippers at Mammon. “Your nails are filthy too!”

The two began to bicker, MC rolled their eyes and moved over, their nails were still half finished. Satan let out an explosive sigh and closed his book.

“Another day in paradise.”

“Paradise Lost, you mean?” MC teased, Satan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The formerly average bickering of the second and fifth borns had slowly begun to escalate to their usual game of ‘who can make the other cry first’, a game which Asmo was defending champion of.

“Would both of you dummies CRAM IT?!” MC turned and snapped, the two ignored them and their shouting only grew in volume. “I don’t even know why I try.”

The two’s fight had shifted from words to throwing things, nail polish bottles, the nail filers, the clippers, pillows, mugs, the coasters, nothing was off limits. A wayward nail polish bottle hit Satan in the head and ended up spilling all over his pants.

“You two…” Satan growled. MC shifted away from Satan and got closer to Beel, Satan had been progressively getting more and more irritated as the day went on, and this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!”

Satan leapt off the couch which resulted in Beel dropping his massive stack of pancakes onto the floor. MC suddenly felt significantly less safe.

“Beel, it’s okay, we can make more really quickly.” MC offered, gently patting him on the shoulder. Beel looked from MC, to his poor pancakes, then let out a mournful sigh.

“I’m hungry…” he mumbled, MC leaned their head against his arm.

“We could order in from Ristorante Six if you want!”

The entire time that conversation was taking place, Satan, Asmo, and Mammon were in the middle of killing each other. Levi rolled his eyes and shifted his position in the armchair, the sounds coming from his 3DS got louder as he tried to drown out the fighting.

“Tsk… stupid normies.”

Finally fed up, MC shot up from their seat. “WOULD YOU IDIOTS SHUT UP?!”

The creaking of the door to the living room opening caused everyone to freeze, Lucifer..? No… not him.

Belphegor pushed open the door.

As casual as could be, he grinned and gave everyone a wave. “My dearest brothers, oh how I’ve missed you…”

Everyone stood in complete and utter silence as Belphie casually strolled into the room, he surveyed the mess and let out a giggle.

“Geez, don’t fall over yourselves to welcome me home.”

“…Belphie?” Beel took a few tentative steps forward, then rushed forward and scooped his twin into a back breakingly tight hug.

“Hello to you too, Beel,” Belphie’s smile could have lit up the entire Devildom as he gave Beel a few light pats on the back with his one free arm. “You guys could learn a thing or two from him.”

“Y-you’re supposed to be up in the human world, what are you doing here?” Asmodeus finally piped up.

“Well, I wasn’t actually in the human world. I was locked in the attic.”

“What?!”

Everyone with the exception of MC expressed their shock with a variety of cursing and confused exclamations. MC looked down at their feet and clasped their hands behind their back.

“I’m out now,” Belphie gestured to himself. “Obviously. And we have MC to thank for that.”

MC was now the centre of attention, they felt their face burn with embarrassment. “I-I u-uhm…”

“Speak up, MC,” Everyone whipped their heads around to see Lucifer standing in the now open doorway, his posture was stiff but his expression was completely murderous. “What exactly is Belphegor talking about?”

Their heart hammered in their chest and their ears began to ring. Shit… shit… this wasn’t supposed to happen this way… MC’s ribs seemed to constrict and tighten with guilt as their heart continued to race.

“Oh fuck off,” Belphie scoffed. “You know full well what I’m talking about. You’re the one who locked me up there!”

“Lucifer…” Beel growled. “Is that true..?”

“Yes!” MC finally found their voice and met their father’s stare. “It is true! I found Belphie stuck in the attic over a month ago.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed dangerously as he shifted his gaze to Belphie. “And the attic is where he’ll stay.”

“Like hell!” Belphie spat. “I’m not going back up there.”

“Do you really think you’re in any place to defy me right now?”

“He’s not going back into the attic, Lucifer.” Beel practically snarled.

The air cackled with tension before MC spoke up again. “Father, can’t we just talk-”

“Stay out of this, MC.”

MC felt the tips of their ears redden as they clenched their fists and stepped up next to Beel and Belphie. “No.”

“MC-”

“No!” MC growled. “Why should I listen to you?! You haven’t told me why you took such bullshit measures to keep your own brother locked up in the attic and lied to everyone about it! What gives you the right to tell me what to do?!”

With one final glare shot over their shoulder, MC, Beel, and Belphie stormed out of the house, leaving the other five brothers behind.

Taking into account Beel’s much larger height and amount of strength, it was a miracle MC was even touching the floor while the trio sped down the street. Belphie was completely elated, taking extra time to walk ahead and point things out.

“Ahh,” Belphie sighed, resting his hands behind his head. “It feels so good to be free…”

“I’ll bet,” Beel smiled softly at his twin and ruffled his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Beel, shush. None of this is your fault.” Belphie tutted.

MC kept their eyes trained on the ground, a ball of guilt beginning to form in their gut. Was this the right thing to do? Run away? What were they going to do..?

“MC?” Beel asked as he suddenly lifted them onto his shoulders, MC squeaked in surprise and scrambled to adjust their balance so they didn’t topple over. “You okay?”

“Ye… yes Beel.” MC took a breath before beginning to giggle. “I’m okay.”

“So uh…” Belphie looked around. “Where are we going to go? I don’t have any money on me.”

“Neither do I,” Beel mumbled. “And I left my DDD back at the house…”

MC thought for a moment, then brightened and pulled out their DDD. “Purgatory Hall! Luke owes me a favour, and there’s no way he’d turn us away.”

“Whose Luke?” Belphie asked.

“MC’s best friend.” Beel replied.

“He’s not my best friend!” MC sputtered, nearly dropping their DDD while in the middle of crafting the text to the angel. “He just owes me a favour after I saved him from those stupid lesser demons…”

“Oh, okay then.” MC felt Beel subtly shake his head to Belphie, who snickered.

Soon, the three were crammed into Luke’s room at Purgatory Hall. MC had been there and stayed over dozens of times before, but the near constant smell of baked goods that permeated throughout the entire dorm hall never failed to make them drool. It seemed that Beel was having an even worse time with the amazing smells, he was staring off into space with a long string of drool dangling out of his mouth.

Luke folded his arms and tapped his foot as he tried to unsuccessfully scowl at the three. The angel had just recently come to terms with MC’s parentage but clearly wasn’t ready to host two full demons in his temporary home.

Simeon on the other hand was quickly looking from Belphie, to Beel, then to MC as if trying to glean the details of the entire situation from their facial expressions and posture alone.

It wasn’t difficult to see that MC wasn’t doing terribly good. The realization had finally fully sunken in and they were anxiously fidgeting in their seat.

Belphie seemed the most calm out of the group, he was leaning back against the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world, if the ottoman were just a little bit closer it looked like he might have kicked his feet up.

“So,” Solomon said, absentmindedly twirling a string of bright purple magic between his fingers. “What’s the story here?”

“Family drama…” MC murmured, their eyes unconsciously flicking to look at Belphegor.

“Family drama that was both caused and solved, by you, MC.” Belphie chirped. “I haven’t thanked you for getting me out of the attic yet, have I?”

MC knitted their eyebrows in confusion. “I never got you out of the attic… I haven’t gone up there in over five days…”

“Then…” Belphie said slowly. “What opened the door?”

Now that was a question that couldn’t be answered by anyone in the room, which left the group in quite the awkward spot. In the end it didn’t end up mattering too much, Belphie was just happy to be out of the attic, and even though the trio were technically in hiding, he was just glad that this was all on his own terms.

Beel and Belphie took some time to catch up while Luke and MC played crazy eights. MC was beating him, but Luke didn’t plan on surrendering any time soon. The half demon continued to fidget and twitch throughout the game, their heart and mind racing despite the complete lack of nearby threats. Luke took notice and also began to fidget.

“I…um…” Luke mumbled and looked away. “Are you… are you and Lucifer okay?”

MC pursed their lips and gave him a half-shrug. Luke hadn’t exactly taken the news that Lucifer was MC’s father very well… for a while he refused to even look at MC properly, and when Lucifer found out about how upset that was making MC… Luke was lucky MC was just sad and not angry.

Even Luke with all his ‘demons are awful and evil’ talk, no one could deny that Lucifer cared about MC a whole lot.

“We’re um… I don’t know.” MC finally replied. “He’s mad at me… I’m mad at him… y’know…”

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, awkwardly giving MC a quick pat on the head. “It’s okay, MC. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Giggling slightly, MC returned the head pat, their spirits rising slightly. “Gasp! A chihuahua petting someone? This is amazing, call the news stations!”

“Hey!”

After silencing Luke’s yapping and agreeing that he was in fact an angel and not a chihuahua, MC found themselves leaning on the doorway to one of Purgatory Hall’s balconies. Belphie stood with his back to MC, leaning on the railing and letting the wind gently ruffle his hair. He had a serene smile spread across his face as he took a deep breath in.

“Belphie?” MC asked, padding over to look over the railing next to the Avatar of Sloth. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just enjoying the fresh air. The attic got really musty after a bit.” Belphie replied, another gust of wind blew past, making MC shiver. “It’s nice…”

“Well, enjoy it all you want, because you’ll never be stuck up there again!” MC chirped, but their cheery demeanour faltered as thoughts of the rest of their family entered their mind.

Belphie opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His eyes narrowed as he stared blankly ahead for a few moments. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his now analytical gaze moved to MC. “You miss them.”

The comment wasn’t framed as a question, more a statement with the slightest tinge of disbelief. MC looked up at him and nodded. “Of course I miss the others. The reason I got you out of the attic was so we could all be together. I didn’t want the reunion to be like… like this…”

A smirk made its way onto Belphie’s face as he held out his arms. “Does someone need a hug? It sounds like you need a hug.”

The teasing tone almost immediately made MC roll their eyes, but they stopped themselves. They really did need a hug… they rushed forward and wrapped their arms around their uncle, the soft cardigan cushioning their face. Belphie slowly patted MC’s back, his hands slowly rising until one rested right between their shoulder blades, he then stiffened. MC felt him suddenly suck in a breath of air, but his arms remained wrapped around MC.

“Belphie..?” The half demon asked again, shifting their head to look up at him. He was staring straight ahead, almost like he didn’t want to even look at them.

“You…” Belphie whispered. “You care about them… don’t you..?”

MC felt the hand resting between their shoulder blades tense ever so slightly as it rose to the back of their neck.

“Of course I do, you guys are my family.”

Belphie stood completely frozen, MC slowly began to unwrap their arms from the hug, but Belphie remained rooted in place, and the hand on the back of their neck prevented them from fully leaving.

“And they…” Belphie gulped. “They really care about you…”

The two stood completely frozen in silence for God knows how long before Belphie let out a shuddering breath and practically collapsed into MC, the hand that was formerly against their neck was now cradling their head as he gave MC a hug so tight and suffocating that MC was worried their back might break.

“I’m sorry MC… damn it I’m so sorry…” Belphie whispered, pain and regret lacing every single word while MC could only knit their eyebrows in confusion and gently pat him on the back.

“I-it’s not your fault, Belphie, everything will be fine, okay?”

MC felt Belphie shake his head as he released them from the hug, his expression was a crude mixture of glassy and downright horrified.

“I don’t know about that, kiddo.” He rasped, he slowly reached a hand out and ruffled MC’s hair, before giving them a half-smile. “But thanks anyway.”

That odd interaction lingered in the back of MC’s mind as the day progressed. The complete radio-silence from the HOL had been the front runner in MC’s growing list of worries. Why hadn’t anyone tried to call them? Or go after them?

Luke being the sweet friend he was, invited MC to bake with him. The delicious smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies didn’t exactly soothe MC’s anxieties, in fact, they only worsened when the sound of shouting made its way into the kitchen.

“What’s going on up there?” MC said as they stared up at the ceiling.

“Maybe it’s-”

The hairs on the back of MC’s neck stood straight up as a massive magical shockwave slammed into the two. This wasn’t any ordinary magic, it was ancient, and much more powerful than anything MC had ever felt before. For the first time in their life the little voice in the back of their head wasn’t screaming at them to fight and prove their superiority, it was begging them to surrender. To run and hide and pray to whatever would listen that whoever set off that magic wouldn’t find them.

Thousands of years worth of demonic instincts went ignored as MC rushed out of the kitchen to go see where and what the source of the magic was. Their blood ran cold when they reached the top of the staircase and saw exactly who was standing there.

He had clearly just shifted out of his demon form a second prior, the golden glow in his eyes had just begun to dull when his gaze landed on MC.

“L-lord Diavolo…” MC stood completely straight and still, they did their best to suppress the shudders that wracked their spine while they were in the presence of the Crown Prince of the Devildom. The very idea of addressing the demon that stood before them with any kind of disrespect or even camaraderie was completely absent from their head.

Diavolo’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but that provided no comfort to MC as every limb in their body seized up.

“MC,” He nodded in greeting. “I’m glad you’re well.”

Feeling slowly began to trickle back into MC’s arms, but they didn’t dare move from their spot. “What are… um… what happened?”

“Well,” Diavolo began. “Belphegor being out of the attic is the main reason I’m here.”

“Y-you knew about that?” MC sputtered.

“Yes, and after someone let Belphegor out of the attic I needed to make sure he didn’t do any damage.”

“Damage..?” MC mumbled. “What do you mean damage?”

Diavolo sighed and took a few steps closer to MC. “I take it you know Belphegor opposed the exchange program, right?”

MC nodded.

“Do you know why?”

MC hesitated, then shook their head. “No. No one told me.”

Diavolo looked away from MC, his forehead creased in thought before he eventually shook his head. “You’ve done a lot for your family, MC, you took on a burden no one asked you to take, and that’s very commendable. But it’s time you let the adults handle things, alright?”

“Alright?!” Any lingering traces of fear completely vanished as MC clenched their fists and stared down Diavolo. “This isn’t fair! Belphie hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“While free, Belphegor poses a threat to more than just the exchange program.” The shift in tone from calm to stern made any retort MC could possibly muster die in their throat. Diavolo smoothly moved past them as he began his descent down the staircase.

He turned to look at them once again, and his voice softened. “One day I hope you’ll understand my reasoning and be able to forgive me, MC.”

After Diavolo left, MC sprinted into Luke’s room where Belphie and Beel were supposed to be, only to find Beel floating midair. He was posed in a way like he was lunging for something, his eyes flashed when he saw MC and he suddenly dropped straight to the ground.

“Diavolo took Belphie.” He rumbled.

“Yeah, I figured.” MC muttered as they helped up Beel. “Listen, we need to do something and I have an idea.”

—————

MC bolted through the hallways of the Demon Lord’s Castle, the memories from the retreat serving them well as they made it to the corridor where the door to Barbatos’ room was.

Beel was doing his part, he gathered his brothers and he was in the main hall distracting Barbatos and Diavolo by pleading their brother’s case. Not that any of them knew it was a distraction. MC’s plan wasn’t their best work, but it was all they had.

They twisted the doorknob and the door opened, revealing the creepy room MC remembered. Hundreds of doors lined the seemingly never ending walls of the room. Staircases twisted and winded around, leading to yet even more hallways. How was MC supposed to find the door they were looking for in there..?

MC shut the door behind them as they walked closer into the room and began to inspect the first sets of doors. Many of them were similar in features, but some had more… distressing things added on.

One of the doors was being held shut by dozens of heavy glowing chains, there was no padlock in sight, but the chains themselves seemed to be at least somewhat alive as they wrapped themselves protectively around the door. From the sudden feeling of intense dread and terror that gripped MC, they decided it would be best to steer clear from doors like that.

The hallways warped and shifted around MC as they continued to search the room for their door. They needed a door to at least a few hours before Belphegor somehow escaped from the attic.

“Down here?”

“This one.”

“Oh no… what have I gotten myself into..?”

Unfamiliar and unseen voices echoed down the never ending hallway, closely followed by the sounds of multiple doors opening and shutting. There were others somewhere in the room…

MC’s listening was brought to an abrupt halt when they passed by a seemingly normal looking door, but something about it yanked at their mind. This was the one. They just knew it. This was it. They were going to fix this. Fix all of it.

They opened the door and stepped in.

—————

Lesson 16’s coming up next folks, beware and be afraid!

#Me: Yeah L!MC and Lucifer have pretty decent communication skills. L!MC and Lucifer:#Obey me #Obey me!#obey me shall we date #Obey me Headcanons #Obey me Fic #obey me! shall we date?#Obey me Lucifer #Obey me MC #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Mammon #Obey me Satan #Obey me Diavolo #Obey me Luke

183 notes · View notes

fireflyinsummer · 3 years

Text

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

“ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem.

“(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

“Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

“Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

“You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

“John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

“Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

“Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

“Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

“Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

“It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

“Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

“Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

“You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

“Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

“Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

“I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

“Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

“Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

||\\

[Fear of the Water, by SYML]

You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.

||\\

“So, how did it go?”

He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

“C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

“Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

“Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

“We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

“Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

“I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

“If you say so.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

“Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

“You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.

“Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

“You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

“Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

“As in bi-curious?”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

||\\

It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

“Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV. “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

“Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

“Okay, then. Be careful!”

“Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

“Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

“Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

“C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

“Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

“Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

“Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

“Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

“Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

“He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

“None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

“Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

“You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

“You better watch out,” he spits.

“Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

He’s lying. You can tell.

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

“Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

He’s angry.

You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

“Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

“Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

“Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

“Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

“Well, there’s not much to know.”

You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.

“What is this, an interrogation?”

You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,�� you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

“I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

“Tell you what?”

“About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

“Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

“Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

“Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

“It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

“Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

“I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

“Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

“Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

“Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

||\\

“(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

“Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

“You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

“It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

“I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

“Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

“Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

“I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

“Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

“Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

“What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

“Do you mind?”

“Uh… No?”

“Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

“Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

“What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

“Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

“So we’re friends now?”

“Pretty much.”

“Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

“You’re bossy today.”

You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

“Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

“I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.

All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

“Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

“I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

“Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

“I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

“Will I, now?”

“Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“You haven’t convinced me yet.”

“Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

“I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

“I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

“Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

“Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

“I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

||\\

You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

“I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

“I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

“Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

“I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

“How can you even say that?” he barked.

“Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

“Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

“Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

“It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

“I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it.

And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close.

Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together. You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

“Hello?”

“Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

“How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

“I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

“You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

“That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

“It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

“You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

“It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

“Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

“Where are you?”

“Home,” you answered without much thought.

“I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

“Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

“I’m going out for a bit.”

She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

“Last time you said that…”

“I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Is your phone charged, young lady?”

“Yep, it is.”

“Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

“Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

“Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

“Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

“You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

“Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

“Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

“I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

“I just… I’ve never done this.”

“What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

“Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

“Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

“I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

“I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

“So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

“I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

“Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

“Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant.

“Yes?”

“Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly.

That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

“For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

“That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

“What about you?”

“Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

“But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

“That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.

You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

Well, shit.

He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

“You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath. You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

“Who is it?”

“It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

“Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

“Sarah? What is it?”

“Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

Your blood ran cold.

“What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

“We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

“Sarah,” you grunted.

“Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

“Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

“Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

||\\

He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

||\\

“What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

“We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

“What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

“Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

“Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

“Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

“Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

“Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

“Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

“He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

“Yoongi, what-“

“Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

“Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

Brother?

“How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

“Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

“Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

“People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

“I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

“Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

“I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

“Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

“Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

“It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

“What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

“Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

“Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.

There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

“How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

“I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

“What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

“Y/N.”

“Yes?!”

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

“Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” you answered straight away.

“Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.

“Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

||\\

“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

No. He promised.

You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

“Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

“When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

“I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

“Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

“I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

“What, now? Y/N-“

“I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

“No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t.”

As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

“Hello, Mr. Newton.”

“Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

“Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

“Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

“Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

“Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

“No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

||\\

The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

“Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

“In the kitchen, honey!”

The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

“Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

“Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

“It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

“You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

“It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

“Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

“Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

“So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

“Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

“Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

“I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

“Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

“What’s changed?”

“You.”

Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

“H-How come?”

He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

“Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

“That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

“Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

“Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

“Then I don’t understand.”

“I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

“It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

“I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

“Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

“If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

“Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

“Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

“Okay,” he deadpanned.

“Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

“Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

“Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

||\\

“Get in.”

“No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

“Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

“No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

“You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

“You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

“I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

“Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

“She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

“Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

“Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

“We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

“Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

“Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

“Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

“I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

“Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

“I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

“Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

“I won’t,” he snorted.

Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

“Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

“Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

“Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

“Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

“Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

“Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

“What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

“Yes. I liked the dragon.”

||\\

His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

“Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

“Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

“Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

“That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

“Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

“Heathcliff? I don’t.”

He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

“Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

“Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

“I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

“Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

“My place.”

Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

“Whatever you want, grandpa.”

“Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.

Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

“Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

“Bedroom,” you commanded.

“Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

“Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

“When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

“A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

“Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

“Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.

“How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

“Father taught me,” he shrugged.

It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

“Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

“Home,” he stated tersely.

“I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

“We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

“Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

“You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

“Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

“I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

“Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

“If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

“I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

“Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

“Me, too.”

“I know. That’s why.”

He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

“May I know the others?”

“No,” you glared.

“Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

“Not even then.”

“How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

“Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

“Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

Alright. Great.

As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

“It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

“I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

“Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

“It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

“Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

“Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

“It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

“This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

“Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

“How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

“Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

“Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

“Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

“Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

“Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

“B-But the protocol-“

“Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

“That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

“If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

“Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

“I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

“W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes.

Fuck, yes.

Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

“Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

“You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

“Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

“An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

“You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

“My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

“Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

“It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

“So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

“Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

“So you rebelled?”

“No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“Not for us, it’s not.”

“Okay. Then what happened?”

“It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

“I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

“Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

“Because of the devil, right?”

“Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

“I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

“I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

“But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

“Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

“I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

“Is your time up?”

His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

“Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

“No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

“Then why?”

“Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

“You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

“War,” he completed.

||\\

“While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

“I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

“I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

“Don’t I have a say in it?”

“Ultimately… no.”

“Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

“I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

“Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

“Okay.”

The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

[Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.

Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

“Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

“Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

“It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

“I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

“You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

“Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

“Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

“Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

“It’s fine, Tae.”

“It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

“Taehyung…” you warned.

“Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

“Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

“I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

“Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

“Can we go home, please?”

The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

“Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

140 notes · View notes