#from that he was inexplicably found in swimming clothes

[daydreamerdrew]

Whiz Comics (1940) #2

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline Part 3 ~

Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle

You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you... Warnings: frank discussion about sex & pregnancy, sorta nsfw

<----Part 1 Part 2 chapter map

-You go to a natural pool in the back of the estate, the stones of the dam hand-laid by your ancestors generations ago. The moon is high, and no one else is here, too busy celebrating. “It’s beautiful,” says Paul, filled with wonder. “Everything here is so beautiful.” He is looking at you, when he says the last, and you don’t know what you’ve done to deserve the admiration in his eyes. 

You jump in head first, clothes and all. Everything needs a rinse. When you surface the moon is bright enough that you can see his earnest expression, his powerful body poised to plunge in after you to save you. You alarmed him. It’s so endearing, and you feel a little guilty. 

“It feels wonderful,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He relaxes a little, gives that boyish smile that ties your heartstrings up in knots. He kicks off his shoes first, before diving in. You are treading water, but he finds a rock with his long legs on which to stand. You cling to his shoulders, smiling like a fool. 

“I feel like I found a mermaid,” he says, holding you close. The water is cool, and the line of his body heat against yours is wonderful. 

“You’d better hope not,” you tease. “Don’t sirens try to drown sailors after luring them in?”

“Hmm.” He pulls you closer with that gentle smile. “You seem pretty sweet to me.”

You sigh at hearing that. “Oh Paul…” You kiss again, a slow, lingering press of lips that curls your toes, and makes you wrap your legs around him in the water. “Y/n?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I wouldn’t mind, you know, if we really were married.” 

With a sigh you rest your chin in the bend of his neck. You feel like you can tell this man anything, and he won’t get mad, and yet part of you just wants to protect him. Most of all, from yourself. 

“You don’t want me. Not really.” 

“That’s news to me.” You can tell he’s smiling as he says this. It makes you smile too. 

“Maybe you want to make love to me.”

He laughs shyly; you feel like your bones are filled with sunshine. “Yes.” You can feel the evidence of this, his hard, large bulge poking against your center. It fills you with stupifying want all over again.

You kiss him behind the ear. “You can.” Another kiss, your lips dragging across his cheek. “Just…don’t finish inside me.” He laughs again, quieter, completely self-deprecating, as though you’ve suggested the impossible. 

“Sure. Says the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Riiight.” You roll your eyes, drawing back to look at him. He’s beautiful like this, his dark hair slicked back, water droplets silver on his eyelashes. 

“I mean it. You are, to me.”

“Paul…” You toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, your heart so full it physically aches.

“I would take care of you,” he tells you gently. “If…we made a baby.” 

You believe him, too. It moves you, every cell in your body straining for this man, and inexplicably that makes you angry, mostly at yourself. 

It sounds like such an easy thing, like baking a cake. Mix the ingredients, put it in the oven, pull out a sweet little bundle of joy. Make a baby. But you know it is truly a bloody and dangerous business, for a woman. You’ve seen it first hand. And bringing the thing into the world is only the start.

“I don’t want to be a mother, and I don’t want to be taken care of,” you tell him, knowing you sound petulant, unable to stop. You let go of him, pushing off to swim across the pool. Now the water feels unbearably cold, without him. 

However, somehow, he still isn’t angry. He just watches you across the water, with those sad soulful eyes. “What do you want, y/n?” 

You think he’s the only man who’s ever really asked you that. 

“I want…freedom,” you admit, and once you start you can’t stop. “I want to live on my own terms, rather than someone else’s. I want to just be responsible for myself, instead of having to run after children and men who act like children and constantly cleaning up someone else’s mess. I want a room of my own, with a window overlooking the Bay, with an Underwood typewriter. I want to write books. I want to travel. I want…” You look at him, smiling winsomely across the quicksilver waters at you, and your next words ball up in your throat. 

I want you.   

All the things you named before, seem stupid, utterly pointless, without that last keystone to hold it all together. 

You don’t know how to tell him that, without utterly signing yourself away to him.

He nods, to himself as much as you. “I hope you get those things, y/n. I hope you get everything you want.” 

“I hope you do too,” you say, and mean it. “I hope you get your house, your family, and your dog.” You can’t see how you fit anywhere in that picture. 

He shrugs, looking down at the water, making ripples beneath the surface with his big hands. “It was just…an abstract idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“The things we want can change, with the people we meet.” 

“Paul…”

“What if…I just want you?”

“You don’t.”

“Yes I do.” He says it sweetly with a shrug, just so matter of fact. 

“I would hurt you.”

“Maybe. But maybe…it would be worth it, to try. I think I love you, y/n.” 

You freeze treading water, and almost choke on a mouthful as you sink. 

What have you done? 

 Before you can think of anything to say, or swim to him again to kiss him silly, a hair-raising scream splits the air in the distance. You know that sound, and your blood runs cold. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Gato monte.”

“A what?”

“Lion. Mountain lion. Time to go. Vamos!”

Don Juan was a hunter, and he had a rug made of one in his den. Maybe you would show Paul–if you made it back to the house alive. You run back to the hacienda together soaking wet, hand in hand. He left his shoes behind in your haste. As soon as you make it back to the flood of torchlight by the house you feel safe. Only then do you laugh together, leaning on the stone wall. 

“The devil have you two been up to?” demands a familiar voice filled with disdain. 

You gravitate into Paul’s arms without even looking. 

“Swimming, señor,” you answer, short of breath. We heard–a mountain lion.”

Don Juan emerges from the shadows, smirks, pleased for some reason, and you wonder if maybe the sound you heard was not the leon, but a man. 

“The two of you should be careful. So many bad fates could befall a man, out in the mountains.” 

He is looking at Paul as he says it, and your heart drops like a stone. You know that look from when you were children, and you're afraid don Juan is up to something bad.

TBC...

[swallowedbymadness]

*.·:·.✧ forever, you and i ✧.·:·.*

Pairing: yeosang x chubby!fem!reader

Genre: dreamy smut/fantasy? yeah, we’ll go with that.

Summary: Lost in his own desires, you were everything Yeosang ever dreamed of, and he longed for a forever filled with you in it.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: hi friends! I am back with another smut filled read for you all. This fic came to me randomly while at work when “Like Crazy” by Jimin came on, so now you get some Kang Yeosang love because my brain is hopelessly romantic like that. I’m reeeeally hoping y’all don’t come for me with this one lol anywhooo…18+ content, so please, minors DNI. Enjoy! ✨

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, some fluff sprinkled in there, angst? (Idk I’ll let you decide on that last one.)

Proofread: Yeah, but you know the drill. If you see a mistake, no you don’t.

There was something familiar about the scene Yeosang found himself surrounded by. Ivory sheets and an angelic glow were all that came into view once the blur of his surroundings started to fade.

Yeosang had been here before, but for some reason, it all seemed new to him in the current moment. Something in his heart told him this wasn’t the first time he’d been here, though. He caught blurred glimpses of someone, their small giggles filling the air around him as their full figure approached the bed he found himself sat on. He recognized the warmth his chest felt as his pulse quickened at the sight before him, his eyes now able to focus on the figure causing his breath to hitch. He tried to focus on their face, but everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. A melodic hum of a song he wasn’t sure he knew filled the air around him, teasing him with a familiarity he couldn’t quite understand. It was like a sheer fabric was moving around him, his vision seeming to be in slow motion, like he was drowning underneath the metaphorical cloth that acted as a veil over his eyes as he saw glimpses of the silhouette move closer to him. He finally caught his breath, like breaking the surface of the deepest ocean as the fabric fell out of view, sending him back into the pillows behind him, revealing the figure before him, a gasp falling from his lips.

You.

You fell into view as your body now hovered over his, your hair framing your face beautifully, your body bare and even more radiant than he ever could have imagined. Once your eyes met, it was like a tidal wave rushing forward, stealing his breath from his lungs once again as he felt the love he had for you pour from his fingertips. They itched to touch you, feel you, remember the way you felt under his skin.

This was perfect.

You were perfect.

Yeosang had absolutely no idea what any of this meant. The only thing he was sure of were the emotions flowing through his veins currently as you held his gaze firmly, nothing but affection and adoration swimming in your irises. You leaned down and pressed your lips to the shell of his ear, your breath sending a shiver down Yeosang’s spine.

“I think that we could last forever…” you whispered, voice quiet and promising. You felt his strong hands grab onto you and pull you down on top of him. His heart began to erratically beat from within his chest as his eyes looked down to see your figure splayed out against his bare skin, sending a heat rush through his veins.

He wasn’t acquainted with the feeling of love, yet he was so sure that this was the closest thing he’d ever felt regarding the emotion. Everything about you was inexplicably divine, and he didn’t question it. He didn’t need to, because he just felt it.

This felt right — you underneath him like this, with nothing but raw emotion to bare to one another.

“I’m afraid that everything will disappear,” he admitted, playing with your fingers, eventually lacing yours with his and bringing the back of your hand up to his lips. Something about you, this moment, the atmosphere, everything surrounding you two was just so familiar, like he had seen it all before. The answers seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. When you looked up into his doe eyes, you could see the worry swirling in his dark eyes.

“Just trust me.” You sighed into his soft skin, peppering kisses into his chest. There was a hint of knowing laced between your words, unbeknownst to him. His eyes closed, another gasp leaving his lips as your mouth continued to praise his flesh without words. Your mouth trailed down his abdomen, your lips nipping at the sensitive skin on his hip bone. He didn’t feel an ounce of shyness when a pleasure soaked groan slipped from his lips. You suckled the delicate skin, leaving a beautiful purple blotch to freely bloom against his porcelain skin.

You wondered if it would be there in the morning. Would he be able to see it? Would he even remember if it wasn’t there?

You let the thought quickly drift away as you kept kissing all the way down, down, down, until you reached his rosy tip that was leaking, and aching for your attention. You looked up at him, a smirk on your lips as you took his length into your mouth slowly, jaw locking as you inched his girthy member closer to the back of your throat. You rested him flat on your tongue, letting yourself get used to the weight of him. You closed your lips around him, rolling your tongue along his shaft and slowly dragged along his dick with a satisfying pop once he was completely out of your mouth. You swirled your tongue along the slit, your free hand cradling his balls as you took him in between your lips once more, sucking a little harder this time to pull a moan straight out of him. You looked up at his godly figure as it began to sparkle in the light with a light sweat beginning to break out along his chest as it heaved euphorically above you. There was a moment where he looked down daringly and saw the twinkle in your eyes, tear soaked lashes fluttering as you took him so well. His eyes rolled back, his hand going to your scalp as he guided your head to bob back and forth along him, your drool dripping from the corners of your mouth. You groaned against him, the vibrations around his cock sending him into overdrive. He tilted his head back, a long sigh leaving him as he felt himself pulsate inside your mouth, your tongue dancing around him like a sacred ritual.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, a wave of arousal moving through him. He shivered, the warmth beginning to pool in his abdomen, catching him off guard. He refused to let this moment end so soon. “not yet.”

He sat up and spread his legs, eyes staring into your bare figure with his arms reached out as an invitation. You smirked, eyes hooded as you got on your knees, your legs on either side of his hips and your wet core hovering over his leaking dick. He looks down between the two of you, taking your figure in completely, his fingers rubbing lightly up from your knees, your thighs, and over your sides. You felt a goosebumps form under his touch, his hands secured on your back now. His eyes locked with yours once more, completely awestruck at the sight before him.

“You’re…everything to me.” He confessed under his breath. He wasted no time before putting his lips back onto yours, the heated kiss taking over his senses completely. “This is gonna break me,” He sighed into your mouth, his tongue brushing against yours as his hands squeezed your love handles his fingers relishing in the way your body dipped and curved in all the right ways, so beautifully created by the heavens, he was sure of it. “Isn’t it?”

You didn’t dare answer him, but you weren’t sure if that question was truly meant for you or not. You felt the pang in your heart, knowing what came next, but you needed to play along, for him.

“Please, just let me feel your love tonight. I need to taste it, breathe it, drown in it.” You felt your chest swell with affection for the man before you, the arousal pooling between your legs from his words, the throbbing in your core beginning to make your mind hazy. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your chest at his eye level, but his irises only looked up into yours.

“Always,” you vowed, his lips dancing against the delicate skin between your breasts, tracing a path with his tongue. He held onto you firmly, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you sink down onto his throbbing member slowly. The stretch caused a gasp to leave your lips as your walls enveloped him perfectly. You leaned back into his strong embrace, his biceps flexing at the weight but he made it seem so effortless to hold you right where he needed you to make you feel like you were floating as he began to thrust lovingly into you. Your head leaned back, mouth falling slack as you freely allowed the pleasure to fall from your swollen lips in the form of drawn out sighs and whines.

“Yeosang,” You weren’t even sure what words fell from your mouth besides his name, completely lost in pure ecstasy that his cock was pumping into you, your orgasm beginning to brew in your abdomen. You saw stars dancing across the ceiling, lost in the lights as he moaned into your skin, your name slipping from his tongue as he desperately loved you like he asked to do. “Yeosang, please,” you begged, words spilling into the air surrounding you both. Your body was limp in his embrace as he held you in place. “I-I need more.” He took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and pulling on the erect bud as he pounded into you harder. Your figure bounced within his tight grip, the sheen of sweat shining beautifully against your sticky skin.

“Oh,” his voice barely above a whisper as his breath hitched at how stunning you were unraveling right in front of him. The sight before him was breathtaking, your eyes shut and head tilted back towards the sky, pleasure dripping from your lips as he slammed into your soaked pussy, the lewd sounds your hips made while smacking together filled his ears and made his cock twitch within your rigid walls. You started moving your hips to match his violent pace that you had asked for, the buildup in your core becoming too much as you felt yourself about to burst.

“I’m gonna-” you didn’t even get to finish your sentence before you were cumming on his dick as it continued to assault your hole, his pace not slowing even as you screamed his name so loud you swore the neighbors would be pounding on the door any minute now. As he still chased his high, you knew he wasn’t done with you. He was close though, his thrusts became sloppy and rushed. His eyebrows furrowed, his bottom lip now sucked between his teeth as he grunted under his breath. He was so desperate to get there with you, his balls aching to empty into you.

“Fuck! Please…oh gods, please.” He chanted, his hands running up to grab a fistful of hair and the back of your neck to keep you in place, needing a grip on reality, onto something real. He ran the hand from your hair to grab yours. He put two of your fingers in his mouth, running the pad of his tongue around them before placing them between your folds, moving them to massage your swollen clit. “Come for me again, angel. I want you to spill all over this cock.” He growled, eyes glazed over and lost in the pleasure. You winced at the overstimulation, but you did as he asked of you. He leaned forward and crashed your lips together, your moans mixing into a beautiful symphony as you both came, the mixture of your fluids hot and sticky against both of you. He pulled out of your used pussy, leaving you to clench around nothing now as he fell forward into you, your chests coming together as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You held one another there for who knows how long, coming back down from your high and feeling the exhaustion settle into your muscles. Your cheek rested against his shoulder, every once in a while you placed barely there kisses to his porcelain skin, allowing the remnants of his perfume to fill your senses.

“Forever,” you ran your fingertips up his back, feeling the goosebumps form along his glowing skin “You and I...” you kissed up to his lips, yours pecking at each corner of his mouth before devouring his own once more. You held onto his face, the desperation leaking front the way your mouths moved fervently in sync. “But you have to wake up now…” you choked out, feeling the sting of fresh tears forming in your eyes. Yeosang pulled back and looked at you confused.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeosang, this isn’t real…” You confessed, killing the illusion and watching the realization wash over his face. That’s why everything seemed familiar. That’s why all of this made so much sense but no sense at all, all at once. His pulse quickened, the fear from earlier returning to the forefront of his mind as he realized he was becoming aware that he was dreaming, that you would not be there when he woke up.

No…

No, this couldn’t happen.

Not again.

“No, wait! Please. Don’t make me go back.” He pleaded, now understanding what this was. This wasn’t real, none of it was. It never was. But somehow, it felt like the realest thing he’s ever known.

“We will meet again soon, I promise.” You had a sad smile displayed across your features, reliving this moment every time. The agony of watching him come to and break from the spell broke you more and more each time. You knew this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him, but you never knew when the next time would be.

You wondered how many cracks it could endure until it shattered.

“You always find me,” You stated, wishing you could break the illusion, change something in the cosmos, anything that would allow you two to be together forever. But, just like every other time before, your throat had formed a painful lump as a tear finally rolled down your cheek, the all too familiar pain in your chest growing as you noticed the tell tale signs that it was his time to go. He glanced into your eyes, not sure how to save himself from slipping back into the real world and far far away from his dreamscape. Before he could question it, the scene before him was pulling further and further away from his vision, black engulfing his peripherals. “Until next time, my love.” You muttered, accepting that fate had decided you would be star crossed lovers, existing on two different planes, but somehow brought together through your dreams. He reached for you, but you just sat there with a defeated look in your eyes, always hoping he would return again sooner than the last time. As you were ripped away from him, he realized why this felt all too familiar. This wasn’t the first time this has happened.

The simple tune sounded from his phone then, filling the room with complete dread. Yeosang sighed heavily, the ache in his heart growing when his eyes looked at the offending phone that ripped him from his desired reality. He pushed the snooze button on his alarm before rolling over onto his side, pushing his golden strands back and out of his eyes. He stared out of his window, eyes still a bit blurry from sleep. He felt tears on his waterline threaten to fall at any moment as he tried to get his brain to catch up to what was happening.

As the dawn began to wake up the earth, the morning doves singing their daily song and the plants dewy from the still morning, he closed his eyes once more to try and force his way back to you. When minutes passed and he couldn’t fall back into the reality that held you in it, he pulled the blankets up to his nose, allowing the tears to finally fall, ignoring the way his half hard member beneath the sheets ached for you, taunting him in the most cruel way while filling him with an all too familiar emptiness in his chest.

“Alone again...what’s the point?”

[green4allseasons]

Memories

- Excerpt from The Bird and The Hood -

Tim felt like a fish swimming upstream as he walked back to the dorms of Mount Justice. Many having already prepped and changed, the other teens excitedly walked past him the opposite direction. They didn’t question Tim. They were aware of the unusual and inexplicable rules that applied to Robin as opposed to them. Nightwing used the excuse that Tim was still too young, but they all knew better.

Tim’s only consolation was that Beast Boy would be staying behind as well, however that was only a small comfort considering the shape shifter had only been a part of The Team for a few months as opposed to Tim’s two years.

Tim stared at the floor as he walked by, thankful that his domino mask at least offered some anonymity. No one could see the storm that was brewing in his eyes.

“Hey Robin.” Tim lifted his head at M’Gann’s gravelly voice. She offered a sympathetic smile.

Tim tried to crush the ugly feeling that welled in his gut at the sight of her pity. He appreciated her, truly. But that sad but reassuring smile was the last thing he wanted to see in that moment. M’Gann gave Tim’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll talk to him,” she promised, “You know it’s not you, right?”

All Tim could do was nod. It was the fastest way to exit the conversation that he’d already heard a hundred times. While he was sure that the older members of The Team were talking to Nightwing, none of their interventions had seemed to help thus far.

M’Gann at least seemed to understand that Tim wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she left it at that and walked in the opposite direction.

Finally, the halls of Mt. Justice quieted. Tim’s footsteps were the only thing that echoed along the walls as he walked to his room.

His room was neat and tidy. Some of the team members liked to tease him about it, good-naturedly pointing out how it was the perfect emulation of his personality. Tim certainly hoped that wasn’t true because he personally found his room to be rather dull. Everything was a mix of muted tones and dark colors, black being the most common of them all. The only shock of color came from the red hoodie that laid wrinkled and sprawled over his made bed.

Tim ignored it as he wandered over to his dresser to change. On his way over, his attention turned to his reflection in the nearby mirror. His suit was new, meticulously crafted and personalized to his fighting style. A black cape cascaded over his shoulders and gold buttons glittered over the front of his chest. A golden R was embroidered over his chest, right over his heart.

Crack!

Suddenly the reflection of the R was distorted by fissures in the mirror, Tim’s bare fist covering the offensive crest. Shattered glass fell to the floor at his feet.

Tim’s knuckles burned as he pulled his hand from the mirror and cradled it in his chest. He studied tiny of rivulets of blood that trailed down his wrist and fingers. He’d have to wrap it up before everyone got back or else people would start asking questions. They all sparred so much that it wasn’t unusual to see each other put together with ace wraps. But they certainly would wonder what he’d done to tear up the skin of his knuckles so good in the first place.

Tim turned away from the mirror and grabbed a left-over training towel from his dresser. Tenderly he pressed the cloth to his knuckles, waiting for the bleeding to stanch. Inwardly he tried to criticize himself for his outburst, but it was a loosing battle to the anger that flared in his chest.

The worst part of his benching was that it didn’t make rational sense, and everyone knew it. In the two years that Tim had been there, he’d trained hard to be worthy of The Team… and he’d earned it. Even Batman, who’d also been hesitant to continue Tim’s training for nearly a year in the aftermath of his predecessor’s death had eventually warmed to the idea. In the last year Tim had joined him on countless missions in Gotham City. He’d earned Bruce Wayne’s respect and if he wanted to, he could probably return to Wayne Manor and continue his career there.

But Gotham had never quite been the home that Mount Justice was. For as long it had been founded, Tim had wanted nothing more to be a member of the Young Justice Team. It was there that he’d met the infectious laughter of the Boy Wonder Dick Grayson, the sage mentorship of Kaldur’ahm, the teasing antics of Kid Flash (much to the annoyance of his girlfriend Artemis), and the cool eyes of a boy who had everything that Tim ever wanted.

Dick didn’t laugh as much these days, Kaldur’ahm had abandoned them, both Flash and Artemis permanently resigned from the team for college, and the boy…

Tim carefully threw on the red hoodie over his training clothes. He was cautious with the fabric, avoiding the not yet dry blood over his knuckles as he wormed his arms through the sleeves. The thing was starting to show signs of age and only the other day he’d managed to poke its first hole through one of the seams in the sleeves.

Before Tim could rationalize what he was doing, his feet were already carrying him to the Grotto.

As Tim descended the stairs, he listened to the tinkling sound of water that ran down the rock walls. The walls were smooth as marble, cool to the touch as he ran his bruising fingers against its surface. At the base of the stairs, the grotto opened into a large cavern, like the one they sparred in, though on a much smaller scale. At the base, fresh water surrounded two landings. It was runoff from the mountain that gathered into a crystalline pool before disappearing underground to eventually make it to the ocean.

In the middle of the cavern was also a small wooden bridge connecting one landing to another. It allowed access to more empty space that would hopefully never need to be used.

Sighing, Tim sat down at the edge of the bridge. He leaned his back against the wooden rails and dropped his right hand behind him. The bridge was just shallow enough that his knuckles dipped into the cool water.

For being so deep in the underground with no lighting, the room was just bright enough thanks to the two glowing projection memorials that emitted an eerie blue light that cast shadows across the cavern walls. Tim looked up at the projection of Jason Todd that frozenly stared back at him with disdain.

“That looks like it hurts.”

Tim startled at the sudden voice, pulling his wounded hand into his lap. He relaxed a bit when he saw that it was only Connor Kent making his way down the stairs. Tim slowly dipped his knuckles back into the still water. Having already been outed by Super Boy’s microscopic vision, it wasn’t much use hiding his injury from him anyways.

Tim shrugged, opting for nonchalance, “It’s not so bad, I tripped on my way over here.”

Connor chuckled, “That right?” his eyes were bright and knowing as he approached. “Yeah… I’ve tripped into a few walls on some of my bad days as well,” he winked.

“That’s—” Tim stuttered but ultimately stopped, it was no use denying it anyways. He looked up at the older boy. He wore his signature black t-shirt with a dark red S emblazoned on the front and his classic baggy blue jeans with combat boots.  “You’re not going with the rest of the team?” Tim asked as the other boy sat down right beside him.

“Nah,” Connor chuckled, “Icicle Jr. tends to get amped up when I’m around. Thought it’d be best if I hang back this time. You looked like you might’ve needed someone to talk to back at the ring… and I happened to overhear you tripping into the wall… or mirror”

Tim winced. He was usually so good about hiding his angry outbursts. Whenever he felt ready to burst, he always ventured to a secluded beach that was on the far side of Mount Justice. It was the best he could do to be away from prying eyes and ears.

Not that Connor could help it. It wasn’t his fault that he had super hearing. But still, Tim was embarrassed.

“They made him look so angry; don’t you think?” Connor changed the subject, nodding towards the glowing memorial of Jason Todd. The projection’s eyes were pinched into a scowl. His mouth was curled down. It was the face he always made before his mouth curled up into a sneer and spouted some unkind words.

“It suits him,” Tim answered, remembering being on the receiving end of those insults.

Connor’s eyebrow shot up and looked at the memorial again, more pensively. “You think so?” he asked genuinely.

No. Tim didn’t think so. Tim thought there had been so much more to Jason Todd and that this memorial quite literally projected only a fraction of the person he’d been. But he didn’t like to think about those other aspects of Jason. Thinking about that brought him dangerously close to how he’d felt during the dark year, and that was a stone better left settled behind him.

Connor was apparently perfectly happy carrying on the conversation by himself. “I was surprised to see you down here,” he swallowed thickly. “You used to stop by so often… but I haven’t seen you down here in a while.”

Tim swiveled his head towards the boy who, despite being closer to twenty now, still didn’t look a day over sixteen. In a few short years Tim would certainly overtake him.

Tim wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t seen Connor Kent in the Grotto before. In his opinion, grieving was something best left done privately, and Tim wasn’t sure how he’d feel about others knowing about just how frequently he used to visit. Silently he was thankful that Connor had been kind enough to give him that privacy.

Tim also wasn’t exactly surprised to find out that apparently Super Boy had visited the Grotto just as frequently as he did. While Tim could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d had with Connor Kent, and most of those being cursory at best, Jason had shared a much closer relationship with Connor when he’d been alive.

Connor had a habit of taking the designated “angry” ones under his wing. It wasn’t anything official, no mentorship bullshit or anything like that. But for some reason Connor, someone who once had his fair share of angry days but had significantly mellowed out over the years, felt safe to them. There was just something about him that made you feel calm. And so, Connor collected his little angry vigilantes like honeybees to a flower.

Tim had always felt that inexplicable peace around Connor Kent too but hadn’t wanted to pursue more than the friendship he’d already been given. Connor had been Jason’s closest friend and to encroach on that just felt like another thing he was replacing… and Tim hated that.

But still, Tim couldn’t help the way his body minutely leaned towards Connor, as if he too were just an angry little bee looking for a place to finally rest.

“I think he looks a bit constipated,” Tim finally spoke.

Surprised, Connor laughed heartily beside him. “Ah man, he’d deck you if he ever heard you say that.”

Tim huffed, a little defensive, “He could try.” Tim was stronger now… bigger (just a little bit)… and certainly wouldn’t have made it easy for him.

Connor hummed appreciatively, like he knew what Tim was getting at. “That’s true. You’re not the same little tyke that you were when you first joined, are you.” A statement, not a question.

“I just don’t get it,” Tim slapped his hand in the water, “I’m right around the same age when he started,” he said, referring to Dick, “He’s being totally irrational about it.” Tim looked over at Conner, who was listening intently.

Connor loosely pulled his knees to his chest, resting his arms over them. “I don’t think there often is a rational explanation for how we choose to grieve.”

Tim knew that was true. There was no rational explanation for why Tim had religiously visited the memorial of a boy who’d hated him.  In the past, Tim had tried to dissect his motivations… but that usually just left him with a headache and an inevitable trip to that secluded beach where he could throw some things.

Tim sighed, his head hanging low. “I just feel like everything is changing but I’m still stuck where I was two years ago… before he…” Tim didn’t say his name out loud. He never said his name out loud anymore.

“I get that,” Connor agreed. He too had been experiencing some changes. At first Tim had thought M’Gann and his relationship had only been going through one of their rough patches, as they were well known for. But lately M’Gann was hanging around La’gaan, one of their newest recruits from Atlantis, and Tim couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was one of the more permanent changes…

Tim hated that.

“You gotta know, kid,” Connor continued, “Deep down Dick knows that you’re ready. You’ve been ready for awhile now… but,” This was tricky, because while Connor was consoling Tim right now, he was one of Dick’s closest friends and couldn’t say too much.

Tim let him off the hook by cutting in. “He shouldn’t blame himself. It wasn’t his fault.” He looked over at the memorial. The mechanisms of the projector hummed unnervingly.

“Being a leader is hard,” Connor acquiesced, “You carry the weight of the team on your shoulders and when things go south, especially the way things did… it’s hard not to blame yourself.” He shuddered dramatically, “I don’t envy his job. I wouldn’t wanna do it. And I think especially for the Boy Wonders, who all have this habit of being perfectionists,” he nudged Tim in the ribs, “they seem to forget they’re still human.”

Tim lightly tapped his head against the rail of the bridge. His fingers had long since grown numb, so he pulled them out of the icy water into his lap. His hand tingled from the temperature change.

“I just want to be worthy of it,” Tim finally mumbled.

The R on his chest, the suit that he wore, the mentorship he’d been offered, the warm home he’d been freely given, the team who trusted him…

Connor reached up and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You already are, kid,” he chuckled. “Dick’ll come around. He’s gonna have too. We’ve got a new member joining and she’s the same age as you,” he said, still chuckling, “You can bet that Nightwing would get an earful from Diana if her protégé got sidelined too.”

Totally unwillingly Tim started blushing, the warmth spreading from his cheeks all the way to his ears.

Cassie Sandsmark.

Tim had seen her trailing behind Diana around a couple of times during Bruce’s meetings with the Justice League. She was… pretty. And fiery too. And whip smart. And always said what was on her mind in a way that Tim was too scared to and—

“There we are,” Connor razzed, once again nudging Tim in the ribs, but this time with a sly grin on his face. His blue eyes twinkled with humor.

Tim couldn’t help it when his lips curled up in a closed mouth smile. Blushing even harder, he buried his head between his knees.

“You know,” Conner said, still smiling. “We could talk more often like this. Doesn’t have to be down here, it’s kinda bleak. But just anytime… if you want.”

And there it was, the offer Tim hadn’t realized he so desperately needed. It wasn’t as if Tim was aching to have these touchy feely talks all the time. But Dick and Bruce weren’t exactly paragons of sharing their feelings. They were more often to settle conflict over a game of basketball than anything else… and that just wasn’t Tim.

In Connor’s friendship, Tim felt like he’d finally, finally, been offered a place to rest. And while guilt scratched at his skin, considering he was sitting in the glowering eyes of his predecessor, for once Tim decided to ignore it. For once he decided to take something for himself, not caring if he was being selfish about it.

He nodded his head, “I’d like that.”

[heartoftheloathsome]

the absurd allured

Just when you thought the hidden village was a myth, you stumble upon it. Quite literally. It’s been carved out of a massive pit in the earth and turned into a giant greenhouse through the use of magic. The inside is like a jungle, humid and warm all year round, with plentiful fruits and vegetables and other flora. The people, too, are just as warm, and– come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen any of the villagers frown since they welcomed you inside, no questions asked. You even think you recognize a face you once saw around the monastery, except she looks a little different in the colorful hemp tunic and straw hat that all the other villagers wear. When you talk to her, she has a sort of dreamy look in her voice and eyes, but insists firmly that she’ll never go back to the monastery or a battlefield for the rest of her life. Stay awhile though, she says, and you’ll soon open your eyes to “it,” too.

starter for @cursedbluebird

Hubert usually would not be found dead in a blind, confounded stupor. But as he looks ahead of him, he can’t quite seem to find the right words to enunciate his bewilderment. The village before him is lush with tropical vegetation, be it climbing palm trees, bushes of hibiscus, or clusters of caladiums. The aroma  perfuming the air overwhelms Hubert with its sweetness. He feels as if he can taste the fruit growing in the trees—and he doesn’t like it.

Hubert shivers, despite the soft warmth of the gentle breeze. He looks to his side to observe his mission partner, Marianne, wondering if she feels the same inexplicable anxiety as him. Either way, he’s pulled from his thoughts as a peculiar individual approaches him and Marianne with a disconcerting smile plastered on her face and an intent to monologue. Hubert shares the quickest glance with Marianne, but they communicate more than enough to one another through furrowed eyebrows and sheltered postures.

“Welcome, dear friends! Welcome, welcome,” she greets, with an enthusiastic but drawled tone. She places a hand on Hubert’s shoulder—he winces, struggling to keep the corners of his mouth forced up into a polite grin. As she stares into Hubert’s eyes, he studies her own. Perhaps it is the overall uncanny absurdity of their situation contributing to his perception, but Hubert doesn’t believe he’s ever seen an eye color quite like hers before. It is so blue so as to almost appear violet; vibrant, swimming, but opaque all the same. He swallows; diverting his eyes, he responds at last.

“Thank you,” Hubert forces out.

“I see you are new here. Let me show you around the village! I think you would find it quite lovely.” She pauses, vivid eyes seeming to scrutinize the clothes of the students before her. The perfect crescent of her smile flickers away for just a second, yet it’s so unusual that Hubert can’t help but notice. It comes back, though with a different air to it as she states, “Much lovelier than life back there.”

[comeon-harry]

Spent part of my day off re-reading harry profiles and these were some of the things that struck me:

- he really loves to take reporters cold water swimming

- he must have so much clothing and bags and everything like I’d pay good money to see his wardrobe/ where they’re all kept

- this quote  “ You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."  (BHG)  And yet he just seems to still be getting bigger.

- he really does revert back to the same images and phrases like “bowling with the bumpers up” it’s no surprise he did the same things when he was lost for words at the grammys

- it’s kind of insane the amount of details about people that he remembers considering he must meet so many people all the time and it really is a sign that he pays attention to people, he cares about the interactions

- lol at his curiosity to just learn, even if it’s about how magazine deadlines work

-  “ He thinks hard about love, shame, honesty, and the importance of kindness and therapy. And he worries. He worries about how he can be one of the biggest pop stars in the world, the kind who can be everything for his fans while also being a great son, brother, friend, and partner to the people standing beside him.” (RS)

- I LOVE HIS CURIOUSITY AND DESIRE TO LEARN EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING AND ABOUT HIMSELF

-  “Styles is not the most online person — he uses Instagram to look at plants and architecture posts, has never had the TikTok app, and calls Twitter “a shitstorm of people trying to be awful to people” (RS) — but he’s still aware of how those small, toxic corners of the internet are treating the people closest to him.” all of this! I want to know what plants he likes, what plant pages does he follow, what kind of architecture does he like, i want to hear him say the words shitstorm, how difficult it must be to have this group of people who have allowed you to do this job you adore but it comes with having a portion of this group be downright cruel to the people you love most around you

-  “It’s obviously a difficult feeling to feel like being close to me means you’re at the ransom of a corner of Twitter or something,” (RS)

-  “ He thought about going completely off the grid while making it: maybe get a flip phone, stop making music. “The reality is you get there on the first day and wait around for 75 percent of it,” he says. “And it’s like, ‘Actually I’m going to text my mate.’ ” (RS) - so relatable lol this is me. the desire to be kind of artsy and cut off from the world but the reality is it’s kind of a pain and kind of boring

- he’s so funny wearing those beat up shoes with the heels squashed down in all the pictures along with all these fancy clothes like how do those conversations go 

- he had the whole my policeman part memorised before the audition

- i’d love to see him play the piano on stage. i’d love to see how much he’s improved

- someone who is “inexplicably difficult to casually enjoy” that sounds right

- he watches love island which idk why this surprised me like we know he watches the RHOBH and i want to hear all of his thoughts

[writemekpop]

Teach Me | Jung Sungchan

5K Follower Series Ep. 21

Summary: Kissing your hot student Sungchan is forbidden. But when you're alone, you just can't resist...

Genre: Student!Sungchan x teacher!Y/n, suggestive 

Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt: “It reminded me of you” & “Please don’t make me do this.” 

It was a blazing hot day, the hottest of the summer. You were a high school maths teacher, who tutored your student, Sungchan, on the weekends, in a little café near his house. 

Today, it was much too hot for the cafe. You were in the park, lying in the shade of a great oak tree. Flies buzzed around the hair covering Sungchan’s ears. 

“Sungchan, what question are you on?” you asked, leaning your back on the oak.  

Sungchan was staring intensely at his textbook – but not at the questions, you realized, at a tiny red ant that he was trying to blow off the page. 

He was wearing just a pair of swim trunks, it being too hot for clothes. You could tell why every teacher giggled about him in the staff room. He was well built for his age, lean muscle roping his tall, smooth body. Brown hair fell lazily in his eyes. So what if these Saturdays gave you a little eye candy, too? It was just a game you liked to play. Nothing serious. 

“Sungchan, you’re meant to be focusing!” you scolded, though playfully. Why could you never be mad at him?

He rolled onto his back, his tan skin gleaming in the sun. “Too hot to work.” He pouted. “And you still haven’t told me your favourite genre of music.”

You twisted your lip. “Fine. How about you answer one of my questions, and I’ll answer one of yours?”

He pricked up at that, a puppy grin covering his pink lips. “Alright.”

“What is the discriminant-“ you started.  

Instantly, he replied, “B squared minus four A C. Why does your hair smell different since Monday?”

You blinked fast, self-consciously touching your hair. “You noticed?” 

It’s true, you had changed your shampoo. Last weekend, Sungchan mentioned how much he liked peaches, and then you spotted peach shampoo at the supermarket. A mere coincidence. 

“Don’t you… like it?” you asked, your heart racing inexplicably.  

He bit his lip. “Not really. I liked the strawberry better. I was used to the strawberry.”  

“When the discriminant is more than zero, what do you…” 

“There are two solutions.” He said, cutting you off. “Why don’t you wear your wedding ring anymore?” 

He had shuffled closer to you, and you found yourself cringing back from his intense dark gaze. Sungchan had a peculiar way of always knowing what questions you didn’t want to answer. 

“Pass.”

He shuffled closer. “Hey! We never agreed that!”

Sucking in a breath, you said, “Well, I’m the teacher. I make the rules.”

But your chest was tight, because you had had a massive argument with your husband Doyoung last week – big enough that you were considering divorcing him. Wearing the ring felt wrong. Like it was a tiny handcuff. 

“Wh-“ you forgot what you were going to ask. The tiny mole on Sungchan’s lip distracted you. 

Sungchan interrupted you, saying, “Seeing as you passed, I get an extra question, right? Why don’t you like your husband?” 

You sucked in a sharp breath. You’d been asking yourself this question for weeks. “I guess… I get the feeling he… enjoys seeing me sad, or hurt. I was crying once, and when he saw me, he kind of… smiled.” 

Sungchan bit his plump pink lip. “Maybe it makes him feel better about himself. Because he’s not the only one hurting.”

You nodded slowly. That made so much sense.  

Sungchan was staring at you with a beautiful kind of seriousness, like your problems were the most pressing concerns in the world today. You had to admit, it felt good. You fought the urge to brush his unruly fringe out of his eyes.  

“You know just about everything, don’t you?” you asked, marveling at his wisdom. 

Sungchan shook his head. “I know absolutely nothing.” His face reddened now, uncharacteristically. He didn’t often blush. “Not about the things that matter.”  

A thrill of excitement jumped through your chest. “And what are those?”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

Of course, you knew what he meant. He meant the kind of knowledge that was acquired in the backseats of cars at night and in strangers’ bedrooms. Not the kind you got at school.  

You suddenly realized that you had let this go way too far. It was all Sungchan’s fault. He lived in a world where boundaries didn’t exist. It was so easy to get drawn into his fantasy. Those dark, crushed-rose-coloured lips didn’t help, either. 

You shook your head rapidly, moving back so your back pressed against the trunk of the oak tree. “Please don’t make me do this. I’m sorry, but you can’t… talk to me about this stuff. It’s wrong.” Sungchan’s naked chest, that seemed so unremarkable before, now made you nervous. “It would hurt us both. I’m sorry, Sungchan.” 

In that moment, such a look of utter, genuine sorrow clouded his face that it took you by surprise. You could have sworn all of human history was visible in his eyes.  

With his pain, came an inexplicable need to make things better. You couldn’t stand Sungchan being upset, even for a second. “Tell me what you’re thinking…” you begged.

He shook his head. The shadow on his face darkened, and his poor lip seemed like it would be bitten bloody.  

You begged again. 

“I’m thinking about us,” he finally admitted, and his smooth face seemed like it would break from sadness. 

Feeling nothing except the urge to make it better, you clasped his soft cheek and kissed him on the mouth. You kissed him so slowly, barely letting his bottom lip go, so you could savour all of its softness, all of its delicious freshness. The kiss was so much sweeter because you’d been unconsciously waiting for it all these months. 

You pulled back, still massaging his hair with one hand, letting it slip over your fingers. “Does that make it better?”

He nodded, grinning ear to ear despite his best efforts not to. The look on Sungchan’s face, you could have sworn he was a dying man you’d just granted an extra year to live. 

Chewing his lip and smiling at the same time, Sungchan squeezed your shoulder, massaging it. “Took you long enough.”

It was your turn to blush now. “Only because I knew how dangerous this was. Is.” 

“So it wasn’t because… you didn’t want to?”

You grinned, lowering your voice. “Sungchan, I’ve wanted to ever since the day you walked into my Maths classroom with your tracksuit bottoms halfway down your ass.”

He looked a little shocked. 

“Oh god. That was too much, wasn’t it? Sorry, I forget how young you are…” you blurted out. “You’ve only just turned eighteen!” 

Sungchan shook his head, pulling your palm to his lips and kissing it slowly, wetly, never breaking your gaze. “Actually, it wasn’t enough. Want to go again?”

You smirked. “How about one kiss for each quadratic equation?”

He practically pounced on his books. “You’re on.”  

 —

5K MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

TAGLIST: @nominsgirl @heyychannie @anonjyxd @theficblog @dazaiosmooooo @kpoploverxx-12 @johleeh-blog @legbouk @silent-potato23-blog @nctdom @gigilame @bubutaeyongie @unknownnctizen @minaamhh @hii-yongseul @xxxx-23nct @joepomonerof @jypeee @duchesskaren @lolalee24 @luvlyjaemin @laylasbunbunny​ 

[snowstark]

counting to 100. 🍒

For @tonystarkbingo | Fill: Peter Parker/Spider-Man For @peterparkerbingo | Fill: Villain Redemption The one where the Superior Iron Man finds himself having a soft spot for Little!Peter who regresses after a stressful day as Spider-Man. READ ON AO3

The first time Peter saw him, it was when he was out on patrol.

He remembered hiding behind the line of hedges on the penthouse rooftop, stilling his breath like he was terrified that he could hear him. He remembered letting out a little gasp when the— the thing—armour?—wrapped around his body, enveloping him like a snake slithering up his torso, and remembered the way his blue gaze had snapped to his hiding spot. He’d known he’d given himself away that night.

But the Superior hadn’t done anything; his gaze lingered on Peter for a few moments before he disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust as he shot off.

The second time Peter saw him, it was when he was sitting on the curbside of the empty playground, humming under his breath as he traced the alphabet into the sand. He’d had a rough day, and he could feel the familiar haze of warmth and safety and softness approaching him when he was interrupted by a set of sharp, clean black shoes at the corner of his vision. He jumped to his feet and stared with wide eyes. It was 4 in the morning; no one ever came to this area by now.

But this was the Superior, and he played by his own rules.

Peter’s chest tightened with fear and he stammered, “I— ‘m not—”

“You’re young,” the Superior noted, and Peter fell silent, wringing his mask in his hands.

Then, he looked down and gasped. His mask! He was— he wasn’t supposed to let anyone see— he tried to yank it back onto his face but a silver tendril shot out and wrapped around his wrist, making him choke on another gasp. “Please,” Peter whimpered.

“So fearful, little one. What scares you this way?”

And that— that was just a ridiculous question. The Superior was scaring Peter, and there was no way he didn’t know that. Peter knew who the Superior was, knew what he could do, but he was little right now, and fear only made him feel smaller by the second.

“I don’t—” A pitiful noise escaped Peter’s throat again, and the tendril retreated to hover over the letters scrawled into the sand. Peter followed the movement with his gaze. He’d stopped at ‘P.’

Then, the Superior wrote, slowly: ‘Q.’

Peter’s lips parted in surprise.

“What comes next, little one?”

Peter’s gaze jumped back to his face, and the armour melted away like a melting snowman. The Superior raised his eyebrows, and Peter bit his lip, then said softly, “R.”

The Superior’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That’s correct. Smart thing, aren’t you?”

Peter felt his cheeks tinting with warmth, and he ducked his head. The warm, fuzzy feeling was approaching his vision again, strong this time, even though deep down, somewhere in his brain, he knew he should be making an excuse, should be trying to put some distance between them, and get home safely.

But thoughts were hard. It was like trying to swim in mud. Fuzzy mud. And Peter wasn’t a caterpillar.

So, he looked down at the sand, bent down, and wrote ‘R.’ Then, he looked up at the Superior, who nodded, and he wrote ‘S,’ then ‘T’ and ‘U.’ He continued until he reached ‘Z,’ where he ended it off by drawing a little heart.

“‘m done,” he said softly, looking up at the Superior.

The man had his hands tucked into his pockets, and he gave Peter an impressed look, drawling, “Look how smart you are. Now can you count to 100?”

Peter blinked, and said uncertainly, “‘s— ‘s a big number.”

The Superior’s lips tugged into a smile, eyes crinkling the slightest bit. “It is, isn’t it?” Then, he turned his head, like he was concentrating on something far away, and Peter got on his tip-toes to try to see too. Except he didn’t see anything but the dark, black sky.

Then, the Superior said, “Practice your numbers, little one,” before the armour covered him in a shimmering case of silver. He was gone within moments, leaving Peter standing there with nothing but the English alphabet etched into the sand.

--- --- ---

For some inexplicable reason, Peter found himself back at the playground again the next day. Someone had erased the alphabet, but he wasn’t upset. He could start again.

The weather was getting colder now. He’d have to bring a jacket or something to wear over his suit when he was done patrolling. He always got a little more chilly when he was slipping into that safe space too, like he was being poked by icicles.

He was sitting on the swings when the Superior arrived, as if they’d planned a rendezvous.

He looked up, surprised. The first day had been a coincidence, this was not.

The Superior was silent as the armour melted away, and Peter fidgeted nervously before squeaking out, “Hi.”

The Superior lifted a poised eyebrow. “You’re out late again.”

“Um, I patrol.” Peter lifted his mask up, blinking uncertainly up at him. “‘s my break time right now. And ‘m hungry.”

“Patrol, huh?” A coil of metal reached out to flick Peter under the chin, making him jump. “Brave boy, keeping this place safe.”

“Sometimes,” Peter said softly. “Because sometimes I see bad things on TV at school ‘n I have to go fix it.”

“Oh, do you? Is that why you can’t count to 100? Been skipping class too much, little dove?”

Peter’s lips formed a small pout before he could help himself. “I can count,” he protested, affronted. “‘s just a little bit hard, sometimes.”

“Well, that’s okay. You can always ask for help, can’t you?” The Superior approached him, watched his feet skitter nervously on the sand of the playground.

Peter nodded timidly, then asked, “What’s a dove?”

The Superior’s lips twitched. “You’re a dove.”

Peter looked down at himself, confused, then back up at him. “‘m not! ‘m just— ‘m just Peter.”

The Superior didn’t say anything, just watched him fidget some more on the swing before he murmured, “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

The Superior gave a slight nod.

“I like surprises,” Peter admitted softly.

“Well, then, you’re a lucky boy.” The Superior extended a silver tendril behind the bushes to draw something out.

Peter slid off the swing, eyes wide. Then, when the object was close enough for him to make out what it was, he gasped. “For me?”

The Superior nodded again, pressing the white teddy bear into his chest.

Peter grabbed it immediately, pressing his fingers into the fur. It was softer than anything else he’d ever touched; it didn’t feel like a cheap dollar-store purchase, but more like the type you would see on display at fancy clothing stores, sitting on the counter. He pressed his face to it, rubbing his cheek against it as he let out happy noises.

“What do you say?”

Peter’s gaze jerked up to meet the Superior’s expectant gaze. “Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “I love her.”

The Superior looked smug. “I knew you would.” Then, he turned around again, just like he’d done last night, staring at what only he could see, and Peter clutched the bear closer to him.

“Um— Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?” The Superior didn’t turn his head.

“Can I— she’s mine?”

“She is.” With that, the silver armour began to ghost over his body again, and Peter almost watched with an air of desperation as his face disappeared from view.

“Mr. Superior?” he blurted out in a rush before he could leave.

The Superior waited.

“Um— thank you. Can I have 100 bears?” The words left without Peter realizing it and he gasped, mortified that he’d even asked such a thing. He sounded spoiled.

But the Superior just chuckled. “Maybe if you learn how to count, sure.”

“And um— will you— will you be here tomorrow, maybe?” Peter bit his cheeks, flushing.

The Superior tilted his head. “Do you want me to be?”

Peter ducked his head, shuffling his feet.

When he didn’t respond, the Superior told him, “I’ll be here,” before he turned and left the playground.

Peter watched him disappear, then looked down at the bear in his hands for a long time before heading home.

--- --- ---

The Superior met him every night after that, and that was just incomprehensible to Peter. He knew the man had better things to do. Maybe he was just interested in him because he knew he was Spider-Man.

But even that didn’t make sense, because the Superior never brought it up, nor did he try to hurt him. In fact, Peter found that the urge to go on patrol and be New York’s brave superhero was lessening in favour of being small with the Superior.

The Superior was nice to him. Nicer than anything he could’ve ever imagined. He always brought Peter nice gifts, like a snack, or a warm hoodie for him to wear, and even some hot chocolate.

He always said nice things to Peter too, like you’re a smart boy and such sweet manners, little one, I’m impressed.

But then, one night, for the first time, the Superior was upset with him.

Peter was terrified, and had nearly started sobbing as he collapsed into the swing, the meat of his palms pressed to his eyes.

“What did you say to me?” the Superior demanded, and Peter had never heard his voice like that before.

“I don’t— ‘m sorry—” he whimpered, breath quickening when he felt a tendril of metal wrap around his wrists, pulling them down from his face. “Just— just don’t wanna keep takin’ gifts, M-Mr. Superior, don’t want anymore—”

“Oh, no, no,” the Superior interrupted, his ice-cold gaze burning into Peter, and that didn’t make sense either, because ice was supposed to be cold, not hot. “That’s not your choice to make. It’s always the same thing with you little ants. Never happy, never grateful, only little brats.”

“‘m sorry!” Peter cried again, sniffling.

The Superior was quiet for a few moments, and all Peter could hear was the sound of the man’s harsh breathing in the space between them before it gradually deepened into its regular soothing rhythm. Then— “You’re a sweet boy.”

The words made Peter’s eyes fly open in confusion, and he asked tearfully, “I am?”

The Superior nodded. His gaze was more gentle now. Not soft like it usually was, but gentle. “And that’s why I keep bringing you gifts, little one. It’s rude to deny them when I’m being generous. I’m not always a generous man.”

“Just to me,” Peter sniffled.

“That’s right,” the Superior crooned. “Smart boy, always learning so fast. C’mere, little one, let your Superior teach you how to repent properly.”

Peter stumbled forward, scrunching his face as he mumbled, “I dunno what that word means, Mr. Superior.”

“It means you show me how sorry you are.” The Superior cupped his chin with a hand, tipping his face up. “Because you were rude, weren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter hiccuped. “‘m sorry.”

The Superior’s thumb stroked over his cheek. Then, he said, “No more tears, little one. I can tell how sorry you are. Had a bit of a scare, didn’t you, poor thing?”

And that was confusing too, because the Superior was comforting him like he’d just woken up from a nightmare when he was the nightmare. But Peter just pressed into the touch and mumbled again, “‘m sorry.”

“I know, little one. But you’re going to be so much more well-behaved now, I know it. You’re a good boy.”

Peter nodded timidly.

For the rest of the night, the Superior watched Peter struggle to complete the hopscotch he’d drawn for him in the sand before leaving.

--- --- ---

Peter was considerably meeker the next day, and he knew that the Superior knew. But he couldn’t help it; he just wanted to be good.

Eventually, the Superior said, “Want to do something fun, little one?”

“Fun?” Peter blinked, then asked softly, “What kinda fun?”

“Mmm.” The Superior tilted his head, eyes glinting. They almost looked like the moon in the sky, glimmering with light. Like a night-light, almost. “Do you want to fly, little one?”

“Fly?” Peter gasped, eyes wide. “I— I can kind of fly.” He held his wrists out in demonstration of his web shooters.

The Superior chuckled, reaching out—with his hand, for once—to gently grip his wrist and tug it back down. “Oh, sweet thing, that’s not true flight. I can show you how to really fly. I promise it’ll be fun. A reward for being so good today.” He crouched down now, eye-level with Peter sitting on the ground. “Do you trust me?”

Peter stared at him, breath shallow in his chest. He wrapped a hand around the Superior’s finger, looked down at it, then back up at his face. “Yes,” he whispered.

The Superior reached out and picked him up, and Peter let him. “Good boy. Hang on tight.”

“Yes, Mr. Superior.” Peter did exactly as he was told, clinging to the Superior’s arms as they stood with his back to the Superior’s front. He could feel the familiar shift as the armour wreathed over the Superior’s body, but it didn’t cover him.

“Are you ready, little one?” The words were spoken in a low voice, quiet enough that Peter had to strain to listen to him.

“Uh-huh.” Peter tightened his grip, heart beginning to pound. He knew he’d be fine. The Superior hadn’t hurt him yet, and he wouldn’t now. And if he fell, well, he had his webs. He might be a little more clumsy with how small he was feeling, but he could do it.

Or maybe the Superior would be the one to catch him.

“Good.” With that, the Superior lifted off the ground, making Peter inhale sharply.

They went up, up, and up, until Peter was convinced that they could touch the sky. Then they were going forward, picking up speed, and Peter gradually found himself relaxing as fear left him, replaced by pure delight at the sight of the twinkling buildings illuminated against the night sky.

The wind was cold against his face as the Superior let them swoop down. Peter let out a thrilled yelp and let his arms fly out, the Superior’s grip on him the only thing keeping him held and safe.

There was a chuckle from above. “Little dove, flying through the air, hm? Daddy taught you how to fly?”

Peter grinned and twisted in his grip, and the Superior held tight. “‘m flying!” he shouted, feet kicking before he could help himself.

Another laugh, and the Superior didn’t say anything else.

Peter kept his arms extended as they shot through the sky, and the Superior even did a loop-de-loop when he begged him enough. Then, Peter pointed at a little apartment building that they zoomed by and squealed, “‘s where I live!”

“Is it?” the Superior murmured, sounding interested. “Do you want me to drop you off at home, little one? Is it bedtime for you yet?”

Peter shook his head adamantly, pouting. “Nooo, I wanna stay with you.” He glanced up, craning his neck, and found the Superior looking down at him.

“Always saying the right things, little dove.”

Peter smiled. He was being good, and now he got to fly with the Superior, and he’d ask if they could do the same thing tomorrow night, too. He was sure he’d get a yes in return.

He turned his attention back to the buildings they shot past, then gasped. “What’s that?” he pointed at the large tower standing tall and proud amongst all the other buildings.

“That’s my tower.”

“Yours?” Peter gasped, eyes wide. “You live there? ‘s so big!”

The Superior nodded, speed picking up the slightest bit. “Do you want to see it?”

Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yes! Please!”

The Superior chuckled. “Well, only because you asked so nicely. I do have a weak spot for pretty words.” With that, he held onto Peter tighter before shooting off towards the tower.

Peter squealed, covering his face with his hands. “Can’t breathe!” he proclaimed dramatically, hearing the wind whip past his ears.

The Superior laughed above him. “Don’t be ridiculous, little one. You’re perfectly fine.”

Peter gave a little wriggle, but he didn’t voice any more protests as they neared the tower.

It was even more grand up close, with big fat letters that said “STARK” and windows that reflected the moonlight that shone down on them. Peter squirmed to get down, and when their feet landed on the platform, their shadows painted streaks across the floor.

“Wow,” Peter breathed, craning his neck to stare up at the sky. They were so close to the moon, he could feel it. He wondered what the moon would feel like in his hand. Cold and heavy, maybe. “Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?”

“Can you get the moon for me?” Peter turned big, pleading eyes to the Superior.

The Superior chuckled. “Perhaps one day, little one.” He outstretched a hand, and Peter took it, obediently scampering by his heel like an excited puppy as they walked towards the open door.

The Superior led him inside, then let go of his hand. Peter immediately ran to the large windows and pressed his nose against it. “‘s so pretty.”

“Do you like the view?”

Peter nodded without turning to look at him.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly to get his attention. Peter looked up and met a pair of pale blue eyes. “You see that, little one?” Peter followed the Superior’s finger to stare out of the window and at the sparkling city before him. “This is my world. This is my universe. I own it all. And if you’re good, I can give you some of it too.”

“For me?” Peter’s eyes widened. “But— but I dunno how to own it.” He could barely keep track of where he left his stuffies, never mind buildings.

The Superior chuckled. “Well, it’s why you have me. You can always ask for help.” He ran a soothing hand through Peter’s wind-tousled hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Mhm.” Peter blinked up pleadingly. “Pizza.”

The Superior rolled his eyes. “You always want pizza.”

“‘cause it’s good!” Peter pouted.

“Fine. But only one with veggies on it.”

Peter pulled a face, but he knew he’d already lost the fight. Maybe he could pick them off when the pizza came. He followed the Superior towards the kitchen, counting the number of windows they passed by. Then— “Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?” The Superior looked down at him.

“Can you— can you help me? Um, to count to 100?” Peter asked softly.

The Superior appraised him, then smiled. “Oh, little one, you most definitely asked the right person.”

Peter smiled, biting his bottom lip happily, then got up onto his tip-toes to plant a quick, shy kiss to the Superior’s cheek. “Thank you.”

He knew he could always ask the Superior for help.

part 2?? maybe?? tagging: @vaguekiwi @carelessannie @starkentrprises @thegreenmetblue @professional-benaddict

[junghelioseok]

covenant.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s going to rain.

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

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

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

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

“Hey. You made it.”

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I should go.”

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

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

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

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

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

Jin nods. “See you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut up, Bast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

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

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want, Hobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

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

“Really.”

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

“Do you have to head back?”

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, {Name}.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it?

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

What do you need?

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

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

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

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

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

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

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

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

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

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

It will, you hiss. It has to.

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

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

And then you step through.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

[aminiatureworld]

Melusine

Characters: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,221

Warnings: Brief depiction of pseudo-drowning

Premise: In which the reader’s somewhat inexplicable fear of water prompts questioning

Author’s Note: This prompt reminded me of the book (and series) The Tail of Emily Windsnap, which, if you haven’t read at least the first book, you totally should read as it’s just really a wonderful read. The descriptions of the ocean are especially atmospheric. Anyways, as for the prompt, I had a lot of fun. I tried to write a mermaid story in middle school and while it didn’t go that well I have a lot of nostalgia for the mermaid genre. Though this was more about the discovery than actually being a mermaid.

Also the title is a pseudo-historical reference.

Albedo

The first time it had happened Albedo had brushed off the whole incident as completely explainable. After all, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t explained what had happened.

You two had been sitting on one of the craggy hills of the Whispering Woods, you sprawled on the grass, Albedo attempting to paint a landscape of Mondstadt, one of the more ambitious paintings in his current portfolio. Especially since he had traded his more opaque oils for the gentler tones of watercolors. At one point he must have made some sort of noise of frustration, for you lifted yourself out of the shade and made your way over to the canvas.

“That looks absolutely lovely Albedo!” Your smile had always had a calming affect on the alchemist, and this time was no different. Albedo could feel the tension slowly leeching away from his shoulders.

“Do you think so? I’m afraid that I still can’t handle all the odd shadows the buildings cast.”

“The buildings look perfect to me! Though if you feel that way, maybe you could lighten the side facing the sun a little more instead of darkening the area over here? So the shade doesn’t become too muddy.”

“You have a wonderful eye, you know,” Albedo replied, smiling at the way your mind had immediately jumped to the conclusion that he had drawn as well. Reaching for the bowl of water next to him Albedo went to water his brush a little more before trying again.

Unfortunately that’s when things appeared to have taken a turn for the wrong. Instead of reaching over the bowl Albedo’s elbow collided with the glass. Though the grass was soft and close enough to prevent any damage, that didn’t stop all the muddied water from spilling out over the brim and right over you. You let out a sort of squeak, and for a moment Albedo though it was just the initial shock, but then the expression on your face came into view and Albedo could immediately sense you were seconds away from panic.

“Is something wrong?”

“I, I don’t like water very much,” you let out a strained laugh. “I just, I don’t know. I really, really don’t like water.”

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo immediately replied.

Taking off his coat he did his best to dry you off, wiping off your arms and attempting a valiant effort with your now sopping clothes. Though you assured him that it would be alright the alchemist could sense those were only platitudes, and it wasn’t until you seemed significantly calmer that Albedo turned to pick up the bowl and refill it in Cider Lake. And though a part of his mind wished to delve deeper into what had happened he pulled himself back, figuring it wouldn’t help you if he was suddenly enquiring over something you were afraid of.

Now perhaps that should have been the long and the short of it, but the revelation had begun to make Albedo see water everywhere and, more importantly, see how much it appeared to affect you every time you appeared to come in close contact with it.

Thankfully you didn’t seem to have trouble with water in glasses, at least as long as someone was actively drinking it. If not however you would glance at the glass every so often, as if it were your mortal enemy, waiting to catch you off guard to it might tip its contents all over your clothes. Other things, like obsessively drying your wands after washing them and draping layers of towels over your shoulders when you washed your hair, also became apparent. Suddenly Albedo couldn’t stop noticing your discomfort, and the more he noticed the more he wished he could do something about it.

“Exposure therapy?”

“Yes.”

You were sitting on Albedo’s desk, leaning slightly over your partner, a slightly bemused look on your face. It had been about three weeks since the incident, and finally Albedo thought he might have found some sort of solution to your problem. Now he eagerly pressed forward, figuring you’d understand once he’d explained everything fully.

“I know that it might seem counterproductive to subject you to what gets a frightened reaction out of you, but if you subject a person to something they’re afraid of in very small doses over a long period of time, usually they begin to feel a little less afraid of the thing in question. It’s sort of like how you can sometimes make allergies less serious by slowly exposing the patient to more and more of the allergen.”

“I understand where your line of thought is coming from Albedo, but I’m really not sure if this is the best idea for me.”

“I know that it might seem daunting at first. I would not bring up the topic if you didn’t seem so miserable sometimes. I worry that you might become so unhappy by your fear that it will become debilitating eventually. That is why I decided to bring up the option.”

“I really appreciate you going out of your way to think about me Albedo. I really do. I think what you’re trying to do is very kind and noble of you. But in all honesty I don’t think that’s going to work. You see, the way my fear works, I just don’t think that exposure is going to make it go away.”

“Are you sure?” Albedo pressed on, still hoping that you might see the benefit in what he was suggesting. “It won’t start with something drastic I promise. And at the end of the day, I think that it will help a lot.”

“I understand that, I really do, but like I said my fear doesn’t work that way.” You paused, as if sensing the sinking of your partner’s heart, before smiling slightly. “If it makes you feel any better I promise to give it some more thought. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Albedo replied, though in his mind he knew that you thinking about it probably wouldn’t change anything.

Thus the cycle continued, with Albedo growing more and more uneasy. He didn’t bring it up with you again, sensing it would be walking over some invisible line, but still his mind whirled in trying to understand what you meant. If your fear wasn’t simply irrational, then surely something must have happened once. Though the alchemist didn’t pry, surely if you wanted him to know you would tell him in your own time, he had to admit that sometimes his brain went off on various daydreams, as if trying to decide for itself what might have happened.

As it turned out, Albedo didn’t have to speculate for long. Nor did the truth come out the way that he had expected.

You two were on the very small dock at Cider Lake, checking the rafts were tied down properly before the beginning of the stormy season that wreaked havoc through Mondstadt once every year. Though normally you probably would have never done such a thing the Guild was spread thin, preparing for storms, though not nearly as fierce as Dvalin’s winds, that would blow shingles off roofs and destabilize the occasional out of place rock on the wall. As of such the task of shielding the boats used to carry supplies from the City to the larger Mondstadt region had fallen to you. Albedo had tagged along, knowing how uncomfortable the experience might make you feel, and unwilling to leave you alone in a state of anxiety.

“These remaining boats are the ones we need to tie down. They’re too big to be stored in the sheds inside the City.”

“I see,” Albedo replied, already moving to nail the tarp down on one of them as you secured the roping. Already the air seemed alive with the fresh smell of impending rain.

“It’s too bad really, we can’t guarantee these boats’ safety the way we can the others. Thankfully these ones are mostly insured by the Knights. Though really maybe we should build a larger shed,” you mused to yourself, keeping up the tell-tale stream of conversation that Albedo knew you used to distract yourself.

“Perhaps you can make a query via the Guild?”

“Perhaps,” you mused. “Or I might be able to ask Amber.”

Albedo replied that would be a good idea, turning to put another temporary nail onto the top of the longboat. All seemed alright for a moment, then there was a shriek and a terrific splashing sound. Whirling around Albedo had just enough time to find your head in the water before you seemed to seize up and your head dipped below the still crystal-clear waves.

Immediately Albedo stripped himself of his coat and dove in. Though no amazing swimmer himself the alchemist was hardly the worst at staying afloat, and even if he only knew a select few amount of swim strokes that paled in comparison to the idea of you drowning. Making his way over to you he fought the panic rising up inside of him, the part of his brain that said it would be much more difficult to rescue someone terrified of water.

However almost as soon as Albedo approached you he noticed that something was distinctly off. Firstly you didn’t seem like you were drowning, in fact you appeared quite graceful in the water, swishing softly back and forth. Secondly the reason for said grace quickly became apparent to Albedo. For in the spot where your legs should have been, indeed in the spot where your legs had been mere moment ago was something long and slightly shimmery and distinctly fish-like.

Letting his mouth fall open Albedo immediately hoisted himself up above the water, choking on the gasp of breath he had found himself taking. What was that, what in all of Teyvat was that? You were half fish. How were you half fish? Did such a thing even exist, for Albedo had certainly never heard of it! Though the alchemist later admitted that in the moment such fantasy creatures as merfolk had completely fallen out of his head, there was something distinctly different than reading about something in a book and seeing it in real life.

Dragging himself onto the shores of Cider Lake, Albedo waited for you to emerge, still breathing heavily from what had just passed. His brain seemed to shut off them, for he found himself with no questions to ask. You were a mermaid, you were simply a mermaid. There was nothing more to do or say about it.

Eventually you joined him on the beach. Albedo watched in an odd sort of fascination as your legs emerged from the scaley fin which your lower body was now made up of. For a moment individual spots of iridescent seemed to remain, but soon your limbs were back to normal, ignoring the fact that you were soaking wet.

“So now you know why I said exposure therapy wouldn’t work out,” you said, letting a grim sort of laugh escape your lips.

“You… you are a… a…”

“A merfolk, yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. “Not sure why I get stuck with the weird power that is more annoying than good but, you know, oops?”

Albedo could sense your vulnerability, but try as he might he couldn’t get the words to come out of his throat. For a moment he sat there, gasping like a fish, but finally the expression of muted misery on your face wormed its way into his brain and finally Albedo felt as if he had regained some ability to talk.

“I think it’s fascinating.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, really. And not just because this is something I’ve never experienced or seen before. Though it was really surprising, it was also wonderful. As an alchemist you study all the wonders and anomalies of nature, and in doing so you see all these differences aren’t just something to be written down, but they also beautiful. And so I think you’re really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you replied, though you still seemed uncomfortable. “I just, yeah…”

Reaching over to find your hand in his Albedo squeezed your palm softly. For a moment you did nothing, then, slowly, you leaned your head on Albedo’s shoulder. Letting you stay there Albedo found himself wishing that he could convey all the emotions he felt in that moment to you.

“I know that it can be difficult to talk about things that you’ve kept secret, especially when you feel like they make you stand out in a bad way. But I promise, there is nothing wrong with that. And I hope if I made you feel uncomfortable in any way that I can apologize.”

“Thanks Albedo,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say sorry, but thanks anyways.”

“Always.”

“I love you, you know?”

“I love you too.”

Albedo planted a soft kiss on your forehead. As the boats sat, woefully forgotten, the two of you basked in each other’s presence. For Albedo a mystery had been solved, and explanation given that, while not necessarily scientific, was certainly satisfactory. Yet at that moment he couldn’t care less about it. All he could think about was how lonely it must have been, and how, if he could help it, you would never feel isolated in your discomfort or in your secret ever again.

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Under My Umbrella

Summary: Mr Pigeon 72 and how it should have ended if fandom had a saying in it. An alternate ending to the Adrinette final scene. Contains spoilers and fluff, you have been warned.

For @floweryotter, a gift in my celebratory giveaway.

********

Adrien’s day had started bad and it only got worse from there. So far the only peaceful moment was when he got turned into a pigeon. Blissful time, when he was unaware not only of himself, but also of allergies, extracurriculars and modelling. When he was free from ridiculous advertising ideas. He almost felt sorry, when the Miraculous Cure swept over his bird form, turning him back to his regular, slightly underdressed self. 

Rain drummed heavily on the swimming pool’s roof, while he changed into his clothes and gathered the now half-empty duffel bag. Plagg claimed he needed the extra load for all his heroic deeds of the day. Camembert was possibly the only thing in the universe that got him to shut up about it. 

Adrien shuddered and braced himself for the rest of his afternoon, which he suspected wouldn’t be any different than his morning. He stepped outside and promptly forgot about everything that was waiting for him later.

Because there, in the middle of the rain, stood his good friend Marinette under a familiar umbrella. Strange warmth bloomed in his chest.

‘Wow,’ he drew a breath full of humidity and some subtle, yet familiar smell, he couldn’t quite identify, ‘you’ve kept it all this time!’ 

A thunder rolled over the street. Marinette froze. For a second Adrien was afraid that maybe there’d been another akuma attack and his friend had fallen victim to an unknown villain.

‘Marinette?’ He called hesitantly.

She turned, smiling. The signature word salad spilled from her lips, but Adrien was used to it by now. He actually found it quite endearing. Politely, he waited for her to stumble her way through anything she had to say, until she arrived at a comprehensible sentence.

‘Now I can give it back to you!’ she finally said, offering the umbrella to him.

Both the gesture and the sentiment somehow made her even more adorable.

‘You’ll need it to get home,’ Adrien replied. At that his car pulled over and an idea came to him. ‘Or maybe… we can give you a lift?’ he asked hopefully. 

Marinette smiled at him and nodded. Did she… just agree? Just like that? Without another word stumble or an excuse to leave? He had no idea why, but her calm approval made him inexplicably happy. 

She moved to his side and linked their arms together, shielding him with the umbrella. The brush of her skin sent goosebumps all over his forearm. His heartbeat quickened.

Whoosh! The canopy closed over them, squishing them even closer together. The laughter they shared at that was delicious, like a secret, a reference only the two of them would get out of the entire world.

Adrien opened the umbrella, smiling at his friend.

‘Hmmm, since we already have a good umbrella, maybe we could put it to better use,’ she said. ‘Maybe we could take a walk home? What do you think?’

He liked having her so near and he wouldn’t mind for it to last longer. Especially when she seemed so comfortable and open. He realized how much he missed spending time with her. He was never bored with Marinette.

‘I… ‘ he started, when sudden movement caught his eye. His bodyguard opened the car door, urging him to go inside. Adrien’s smile faded. ‘My Chinese class,’ he remembered. ‘You know, how my dad is. I need to be there.’ He sighed. ‘But I’ll see you at school!’ He added, not to end on such a depressing note.

‘Of course. Till tomorrow, Adrien,’ Marinette smiled reassuringly and he knew she understood. 

In two leaps he was at the car door, but he wanted to catch one last look of her before getting inside, so he turned. 

Thump.

The back of his head hit the side of the car. 

‘Ouch,’ he winced.

Marinette chuckled and he was happy to chuckle with her. His lips stretched into a wide smile. Her laughter already soothed the pain in his skull. He was about to close the door when she called after him.

‘Adrien, wait!’ 

He looked at her questioningly.

Marinette bit her lip. ‘How far is it to your lessons?’ She asked. ‘Maybe we can walk there?’

Oh sweet Plagg. Yes, please. 

Adrien turned his best pleading eyes to the Gorilla. ‘See you after Chinese lessons?’ he mewled.

His bodyguard rolled his eyes, but he nodded with a grunt and turned to the steering wheel.

‘Thank you,’ the boy whispered as he basically floated outside, lifted by the joyous anticipation.

‘Mademoiselle?’ he offered Marinette an elbow in invitation.

‘Monsieur,’ she stepped next to him, linking her hand through his arm. ‘Shall we?’

And then they set into one of the most exciting walks of Adrien’s life. Some people would say it was a mundane stroll in murky weather, but it was far from it.

Almost instantly the two of them hit a comfortable rhythm, allowing them to walk without bumping into each other. Adrien offered to carry the umbrella for them, so that Marinette could rest her hand, as it snuggly lay in the crook of his arm. 

They talked about everything and nothing, shared gossip about the upcoming patch for the Ultra Mecha Strike II they were excited about. Marinette kept Adrien from getting cold. Just her presence warmed him inside. In return he kept her from stomping into puddles and getting her feet all wet.

At one particularly large puddle, edging on a street lake, Adrien just lifted her off the ground and leaped over the water, with his friend easily tucked in his arms, princess style. The move felt so familiar, so right, it made him stumble in his step. But Marinette didn’t notice, she chuckled lightly under her breath. Adrien was stricken by the trust she had in him. The feeling filled him with delight and stayed with him, even when he deposited the girl safe and dry on the other side of the great water.

It all ended too soon. Suddenly Adrien wished his Chinese tutor lived much, much further from the pool, alas their time was up. Marinette bid him goodbye. Her smile, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes were the best send off he could imagine. 

After that the afternoon went in a blur. Evening came and brought more rain with it. Adrien sat at his huge windows, a wide grin on his face, while he gazed outside, reminiscing upon the unexpectedly pleasant afternoon walk he had. For a second he even considered transforming and running over the roofs to the bakery to see Marinette again. The thought sobbered him up. Ladybug would have his hide, if he did it.

And then he froze, hit with yet another realization. He hadn’t thought of Ladybug even one time in the entire afternoon. He gasped. Did it even mean something?

But he never learned it, because he decided to text Marinette the funniest meme he saw earlier. He didn’t hear Plagg’s snicker from the duffel bag and even if he had, he wouldn’t know the meaning of it either.

[ransomedrogue]

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

ahhhhh so much blood and pain and worry... such a great episode! 

1.15

It all happened in an instant.

She saw the panic in Weller's expression and heard him yell "bomb" just before the world disappeared in front of her. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but darkness and a distinct ringing in her ears.

As soon as her senses recovered from the blast, Jane shouted out to check on everyone's status and was relieved to hear both Reade and Zapata respond quickly. But when Weller didn't chime in immediately, she started looking around frantically and spotted him a few feet away; still down on the ground and barely moving.

Panic threatened to overcome her as Jane hurried to Weller's side and saw that he was bleeding heavily from his neck. Quickly she clamped one hand over his wound, and tried to hold his head still with her other hand as she yelled out for help. Weller was already struggling to keep his eyes open and the pool of blood underneath him was growing at an alarming rate.

She could hear Reade call for an ambulance and then Zapata was at her side, offering her a clean cloth. Gratefully, Jane pressed the towel hard against Weller's jugular, even though the action made him groan and his eyes blinked closed in reaction to the pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she stammered. "But I need to stop the bleeding."

Weller made a little grunt, and Jane thought he even tried to nod.

"No, don't try and move," she soothed, trying to rub his temple while also holding his head steady.

"The ambulance is going to be here soon."

Kurt blinked his eyes open again for a second, and she could see her own panic reflected in his expression. Then his eyelids slid shut once again and Jane knew that time was short.

"You're going to be okay, Kurt," she said, desperately hoping she wasn't lying to him.

He was much too still though and Jane found her focus flickering between the rise and fall of his chest and the growing puddle under him. So she had no idea how long it was between the moment Weller slipped into unconsciousness and the arrival of the paramedics, but it felt like an entire lifetime of trying to physically hold his blood in his body. She could vaguely sense Reade giving updates on the EMTs and Tasha telling her to breathe. Yet all Jane could see was how pale and listless Kurt was in her arms, and all she could hear was a loud voice in her head telling her this was all her fault.

When help finally arrived, Jane was so fixated on holding onto Weller that they almost had to physically remove her hands from him. But when she finally stumbled back and saw the EMTs spring into action, there was a small hit of relief from seeing them quickly bandaging Kurt's wound and strapping an oxygen mask onto him.

Once the paramedics were done working on him and Weller was secure on the stretcher, Jane rushed forward to grab his hand. Even though he wasn't conscious anymore, she wanted him to know that he wasn't alone, and to reassure herself that he was still alive. Her heart hadn't stopped hammering since she'd first seen the extent of Kurt's injury and even now she felt sick to her stomach looking at his blood on the ground.

Following the EMTs as they wheeled Weller out of the building, her heart was still in her throat and she wanted desperately to jump in the ambulance with them. Letting go of him seemed terrifying, even though he was getting the best of care and she knew it wasn't her place to insist on staying with him.

"You're going to be okay, Kurt," she repeated, for what seemed like the millionth time since he was hurt.

Of course he didn't respond, his hand limply falling away after she squeezed it tight just one more time before forcing herself to let go.

Jane watched as the paramedics loaded Weller into the ambulance and sped off, then turned to look at Reade and Zapata.

"We should go to the hospital with him," she said, breaking the stunned silence between them.

Reade shook his head.

"Mayfair wants us to head back to the NYO," he said. "We can't do anything more for him and he's in good hands now."

Jane gritted her teeth at his answer, her chest tightening as she thought about just continuing on, as if Kurt's life hadn't just run through her hands. Standing there, her fingers red and sticky, she started to argue; but then Zapata stepped forward with a sympathetic frown and gripped her on the shoulder.

"Jane, he's going to be in surgery once they get him to the hospital," Tasha reasoned.

"You're going to go crazy just sitting there and waiting."

She knew it was true but it still felt wrong to be anywhere else when his life was in danger.

"He's going to be okay, Jane. Let's get back so we can get started on the case."

Of course Zapata was right.

He was going to be okay. He had to be okay.

Because, if Weller died because of a tattoo case; that would be the end of it all. Things would get blown to pieces and, this time, she would be the bomb.

###

He'd never been so relieved and angry, both at the same time. The things she made him feel – it was uncharted territory.

Where there be dragons.

That's what ancient maps would say, about unknown lands. Which resonated a lot, because he was currently feeling quite fiery himself.

Weller's eyes followed Jane as they finally wrapped up on the boat and headed back towards the SUV. He hadn't said much to her since finding her on the deck alone, because he had been dealing with securing the crime scene and getting agents in the water to look for a body. There was a lot of procedure to deal with after a shooting and Kurt had hoped it would give him time to settle his own emotions. Yet doing his job had only made him increasingly weary, especially as the wound on his neck began to throb as the night wore on.

Jane opened the door to the vehicle and sat in the back seat, huddled in a defensive posture. Kurt remembered snapping at her earlier when she'd tried to explain herself, telling her that they'd talk about back at the NYO. He winced a bit at the memory, knowing he'd been short with her because of how goddamned scared he'd been all day.

He'd almost lost her again, more times than he could count.

At least he'd taken the brunt of the explosion that was meant for her. But then he'd been in surgery when she'd been shot twice in the plates by a sniper. It was only luck that the shooter hadn't anticipated her vest and gone for a headshot. Or that he hadn't shot her right in front of his eyes, when they were trapped in the boat.

Weller's heart rate began to rise just thinking about it. Angrily, he tore his eyes away from Jane and went to the other side of the SUV. But the image of her being held at gunpoint still remained in his mind.

Part of him knew he should just take some space and sit in the front seat. He'd told her that they'd meet at the NYO with Mayfair and he should take advantage of the time to settle his rampant emotions. And yet Weller watched himself pull open the back door and seat himself next to her, as if having an out of body experience.

Reade started driving and it was awkwardly silent in the vehicle. Weller glanced over at Jane, who was doing her best to just gaze out the window. Again, he knew he should follow her lead, yet it was impossible not to stare at her, after wondering all day if she was still alive. Even though turning his head like that pulled at the stitches on his neck.

About halfway through the drive, the ache became nearly unbearable and Weller realized it was because his adrenaline level had finally died down. Still glaring at Jane, he tried to stir up his anger at the risk she'd taken; reminding himself that he just almost watched her die. But it was harder now to access that strong emotion and, instead, Kurt found himself closing his eyes for a moment, with one hand clamped over his wound and the other tightly gripped together. So, he was completely startled and nearly hit the ceiling of the SUV when she put her hand over his fist; his eyes flying open and finding her leaning towards him.

"You should still be in the hospital," Jane said.

Weller gritted his teeth as he was flooded with a mixed bag of emotions. The concern in her voice, combined with the gentleness of her touch, was nearly too inviting. Yet, when he caught both Reade and Zapata nodding in agreement at her statement, he remembered exactly why he'd done it, despite their opinions.

Lying in a bed idle while her life was in danger would have been impossible. And now he had to defend his decision, even if he was beginning to feel like shit.

"I'm fine," he growled, trying to shift his eyes away from hers.

But then Jane reached out to touch his chin, and again he found her touch impossible to ignore.

"You're bleeding," she frowned.

"I'm fine," he repeated, moving his head away from her hand.

Jane took his cue and pulled back into her own corner. But now, she was the one that kept looking at him with haunted eyes.

Weller groaned internally, a mixture of physical and emotional pain flaring through him. He sensed that there was more going on than she let on and that made his worry levels shoot right back up again. But now that she was relatively safe, he was inexplicably angry at her for making him feel so strongly.

As the anxiety-fueled fire flew through him again, Kurt was surprised by how hot it still burned. The feeling of it was enough to make him hyperventilate for a moment; which then caused his head to swim precariously, as he closed his eyes in an attempt to re-establish equilibrium.

For a second he thought everything was going to settle but then his vision blurred again and Weller felt himself pitching forward against his seatbelt. He thought he was going to smack his forehead on back of Reade's seat but, at the last instant, an arm reached out to catch him across the shoulders.

"Whoa, we should take you to the doctor," Jane said, so close he could feel her breath against his ear.

Weller sucked in some air and did his best to exhale it calmly. Jane was rubbing his chest encouragingly as he repeated the slow breath, and this time he didn't pull away from how soothing it felt.

Feeling a tiny bit more solid, he looked up and saw both Reade and Zapata glancing back at him with overly concerned expressions. Again, he groaned to himself, annoyed that he'd given the team more ammo against him. Especially because a little voice in his head kept trying to convince him that they were right to be worried. He certainly wouldn't have let any of them back on the job if they felt the way he had that day.

"I'm okay. We're going back to the NYO to debrief," he ordered, trying for an authoritative tone even though he was still having a hard time keeping his head steady.

Reade shrugged and obeyed, though he flashed a wary backward look before turning his attention back to the road. Zapata also frowned her disapproval but didn't argue either.

Success, Weller thought, forcing himself up straighter in his seat and pulling away from Jane's touch. He needed to stay clear-minded about the situation and having her hands caress him certainly wasn't helping with that.

Jane read his cue and retreated to her side of the backseat, hunkering down within herself. She looked a bit upset when he flashed his eyes over at her, and Weller told himself she should be after everything she'd done that day.

He'd almost lost her, due to a risky selfless decision on her part. The fact that an act that he admired so much could make him so goddamned angry; it was paradoxical and yet it perfectly described much of his experience with Jane.

Weller closed his eyes again, frustrated at his own thoughts. The throbbing of his neck was also undeniable, no matter how many times he swore to his team that he was fine. Then there was the fact that he'd been on the move ever since checking himself out of the hospital, with no time to refuel or rest.

He just had to make it back to the office, and out of the vehicle. Once he was there, Weller was sure that he'd get caught up in the debrief and would feel less exhausted.

It was only ten more minutes but Kurt could feel his anxiety peaking as he gritted his teeth against the pain of his wound. He had to make it after telling them he was okay, there were no other options.

Weller was so focused on his breathing and counting down the time until arrival that he didn't notice Jane move at all. But then her hand was somehow holding onto his again, her fingers snaking between his as she solidified her grip. And he suddenly remembered the comfort of that feeling as he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness while the paramedics worked on him. Her protective presence had pushed back on his panic, even as he'd been passing out due to blood loss.

Kurt blinked himself back to the present, automatically reaching his other hand up to his neck before turning to question Jane with his expression. But even when he looked in her direction, she kept her gaze out the window; as if not acknowledging what her hand was up to, though it continued to squeeze his tightly.

"You're going to be okay," he felt her communicate, through her gesture.

She was impossible and infuriating and made him feel far too much. And it was all going to come pouring out, in a furious torrent of love and fear.

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Darling, I’m right here - Eomer x reader

Hi!! I LOVE your Éomer fic. I was wondering if I could request another Éomer fic with the prompts 18 and 37? Thank you so much in advance! ❤

Thanks @elessandre​ ! 

One Eomer imagine, coming right up!

18. “Please, tell me this is a joke. This is a trick, right?” 37. “I can’t imagine my life without you.” “Please don’t.”

Type: Imagine Pairing: Eomer x reader Summary: when Y/N catches a drunk Eomer doing something he shouldn’t, her heart is broken  Warnings: sadness, kinda angsty, vomiting, ‘shit’, ‘dick’. Also, I’ve never drunk and subsequently never had a hangover before, so … sorry for my probably bad descriptions. Word Count: 

A/N - the title is from a song called ‘Butterfly’s Repose’.

It was a joyous night in Rohan, with dancing Hobbits on the tables, an Elf and a Dwarf somewhere having a drinking game (Y/N watching from Eomer’s side with amusement) and the return of Aragorn. 

Y/N had, indeed, stayed by the Captain of the Rohirrim all night, letting him give her drink after drink as they both danced, laughing loudly.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised suddenly, disappearing off to who knows where. Y/N shrugged, picking up a conversation with Eowyn, who seemed to be quite enamoured with Aragorn.

After fifteen minutes passed, and Y/N still didn’t know where Eomer had gone, so she excused herself, looking for the attractive man.

Of course, that was how Y/N felt about Eomer. Attracted to him. He was kind and funny, strong and stern, one of the best warriors she knew, and a total softie, all at once. 

There’d been several inexplicable moments where Y/N and Eomer had stared at each other with no sound but each other’s beating hearts, the space between them at once agonisingly far and strangely close. Y/N had always been the first to break eye contact with a deep flush spreading across her s/c cheeks, looking at the floor with a wide grin.

And tonight, with the help of a lot of alcohol, Y/N planned to confess how her racing heart had made her feel, how much she admired, and, truth to be told, loved Eomer. She was going to tell him.

It was difficult for the (height) girl to push her way through the masses of drunkenly staggering people and look for Eomer at the same time, but eventually she could see the long blond hair with a strands of brown, and she made her way towards him. 

His back was turned to her, and as Y/N edged around to try and approach him from the front, she saw something that she hadn’t seen from behind, and couldn’t stop a pained whimper slipping from her lips.

Eomer’s arms were wrapped around the waist of a h/c girl, and he was kissing her as though she gave him life.

I was such a fool, Y/N stared, shocked. Such an idiot to believe any of those ‘moments’ really mattered.

She couldn’t bring herself to just stare at the two anymore - it made her sick to her stomach, and a raging fire of jealousy and pain swelled within her.

“Please, tell me this is a joke. This is a trick, right?” Y/N had meant for the words to come out more powerfully, stronger, angrier, but instead her voice cracked and pain seeped through every broken word. 

The girl ripped herself away from Eomer, blinking rapidly and glancing at Y/N with a guilty side-look. When the mystery kisser took in the other h/c girl, she looked back to Eomer, shaking her head and slipping back into the drunken crowd. 

Eomer himself swallowed, staring at Y/N with a confused kind of drunkenness, guilt and happiness and love and impartiality all in one gaze. “Y/N, I-”

“No, go and be with … that was Leowena, wasn’t it?” Y/N swiped her eyes furiously, resolving not to waste any more of her shattered heart on him. “Go and be happy. I was stupid to think anything we ‘shared’ really mattered.”

 It looked like Eomer was about to protest again, but Y/N held up one of her hands, barely composing herself.

“No. You’re drunk right now. Go home, go sleep it off, and then you can be with her. I-I don’t care.” Y/N’s voice cracked on the last lie. 

He swayed slightly, and before he could reach out again, Y/N turned and disappeared, running to anywhere where she didn’t have to face him, didn’t have to show him how hurt she was.

Because even as she ran, she left a trail of salty droplets on the stone floor, and her soft cries echoed off the walls.

—

Y/N vomited again, retching until some liquidy mess that was mostly ale came up into the bucket before her. She wiped her mouth with a rag, a disgusted look on her face as she shoved the sick out of her sight.

Blinding pain made the pale morning sun’s rays on the floor seem like staring straight into the sun itself. Y/N squinted, falling backwards onto her bed with a groan.

Her memories of the celebration itself were fuzzy, but as she sat up and held her head in her hands, it began to swim back to her, along with a pain very different from her hangover headache.

“What a mess.”

Y/N looked up, wincing at the loud voice (that probably wasn’t at all so but it sounded like screaming to her), and felt a pang when she saw long blonde hair. Then, she cursed herself for being so obsessed, realising that it was, in fact, Eowyn.

“You think?” Y/N moaned. “I drank way too much last night. I feel like shit.”

“Did it go well, at least?” Eowyn asked, her  perpetual cheerfulness now toned down as she recognised the hell of a hangover Y/N was suffering through.

“Did what go well?” Y/N asked, her words muffled as she resolved to lie back down with a wet cloth over her face.

“You know what I mean.” The hungover girl could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes. “You and my brother. He’s literally smitten with you - I assume that’s why you ditched me.”

 “Oh.” Y/N’s voice was suddenly very small. In her mind, she saw Eomer and the other h/c girl, kissing, hands everywhere, and she squeezed her eyes closed. “No, it didn’t.”

“Oh, Bema (basically God for the Rohirrim),” Eowyn growled. “He is such a dick.”

“No, Eowyn, he- he wants to be happy. I want him to be happy too. If that h/c girl gives him what he wants … then we are both satisfied.”

“That’s a load of shit, Y/N,” Eowyn retorted. “You and I both know that you and Eomer are head over heels in love with each other. You need to stop being so selfless and spouting this crap and tell him that he hurt you! And what’s this about a h/c girl?” 

Y/N told Eowyn the full story, and was shocked when she began to laugh, slowly and kinda sadly, but still her usual clear laugh nonetheless.

“Y/N … Lowena looks pretty similar to you. Eomer probably thought you weren’t reciprocating his feelings because I know that when you have a crush you can get cold because you’re confused.” Y/N winced at Eowyn’s accurate analysis, but motioned for her to continue. “He was kissing her because she reminded him of you. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss you.”

Y/N remembered how Leowena, a normally kind girl, had pulled away from Eomer, shaking her head. “Oh. But that doesn’t make any of this-”

“Right, I know,” Eowyn sat next to Y/N pulling her up into a cross-legged position. “Which is exactly why you should go and tell him that.” 

Y/N squinted at Eowyn. “You’re too damn psychologically talented for your own good.”

Eowyn shooed her out of bed, telling her Eomer was likely to be ‘sulking’ outside. 

She was right - as the wind pulled at Y/N’s dress and h/l hair, she found the large silhouette standing, silhouetted against the far-too-bright sun. He was sitting on some rock, curled in on himself in an unusual display of frailty. 

As she crept closer, she heard a single soft sniffle, instantly muffled as he rocked slowly back and forth. 

Y/N sat next to him without a word, following his gaze to the rolling green grasses of the Rohirrim lands.

“I was drunk,” he began quietly, without any greeting. But somehow, it was as good a start as any. “I was drunk, and I was the saddest I’d ever been.”

“When you left me to go-” Y/N cut herself off. “To- to go get drinks, you seemed happy.”

“Drunk me isn’t like drunk you,” Eomer said. “Drunk me thinks about every truth I’ve hidden from myself. And I was looking at this absolutely beautiful girl I was dancing with, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling when you did - and I thought to myself…” at this, he smiled sadly. “I thought: ‘I just had to fall for the one who wouldn’t like me back’.”

“And Lowena?” Y/N was determined to get the whole truth out of him.

Eomer confirmed what his sister had been saying. “She looks like you, Y/N. I saw her … and then I saw you instead of her. And I don’t know what happened, but I kissed her.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking to the side at Eomer, who, sometime during his explanation had let a tear fall down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” his voice cracked on her name. “You don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

Y/N stared at him for a couple seconds, taking in everything that he was, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I think I can forgive you.”

“You can?”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” Y/N smiled, and it was finally a happy one instead of sadness seeping through it. 

“Please don’t.” The words were barely a whisper.

Y/N leaned into him, resting her head on Eomer’s shoulder. He pulled her closer and let his arm around her shoulders, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I could never replace you,” he admitted. 

“Good thing you don’t have to.” 

Slowly, hesitantly, but surely, she pressed her lips to his, in a soft, sweet kiss.

A promise.

Darling, I’m right here.

[even-after-a-millennia]

For Family

I wrote my first Old Guard fic!  I was inspired by @bestillmyslashyheart​‘s fic “under the sea” found here as well as @under-jailbreak​‘s post here.  

You can keep reading it below or read it on ao3 here.

The man arrived in the middle of the night.  Sebastien startled awake when he heard the front door open, still fresh from the battlefield where any noise could mean death.  He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings.  He was alone in the room where before, he and the two women had been sleeping.  The two other women who were also immortal.

Just like him.

He collapsed back into bed, hand over his eyes as reality hit him once more.  He had died.  He had felt life leave him.  Then suddenly, inexplicably, he was taking a gulping heave of air in, suddenly alive again.  He had seen two women in between death and life.

Less than two weeks later, they found him, drinking every bit of alcohol he could find and lying in a gutter.  The women, Andy and Quynh, took him back to their dwelling to sleep it off.  The answers he got when he was sober again made him wish for more to drink.

He couldn’t die.

“What of my family?” he asked immediately.

The look on Quynh’s face was enough, but Andy answered, “No.  Only you.”

He had stopped asking questions after that.

Sebastien now listened to the voices in the hall.

“Thank you for coming, I know how you hate to stop searching.” Quynh’s measured tone was affectionate as it was cautious.

“I dreamed there was a new one,” an accented voice replied.  Italian, Sebastien guessed.

Sebastien got out of bed and walked to the doorway.  There were three people in the hall, Andy and Quynh and the newcomer.  The man immediately noticed Sebastien and nodded to him.

“Nico, this is Sebastien le Livre.  Sebastien, this is Nicolò di Genova.  He is one of us,” Andy said.

“Hello,” Sebastien said, nodding back to the man.

It was odd.  The man, Nicolò, had kind but hollow eyes.  He looked like he didn’t eat enough, cheeks thin as the rest of him.  And he seemed curled into himself, like the act of standing tall was beyond him.  But he looked at the two women with affection in his gaze even as it seemed to hurt to do so.

Sebastien didn’t know what to make of him.

Nicolò asked Andy and Quynh something in rapid fire Italian and they responded just as quickly, making it hard for Sebastien to follow.  He caught random words “dream” and something that sounded like a name, but it was so quick, he couldn’t be sure.

Turning back to Sebastien, Nicolò smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I am sorry to disturb your sleep.  Please, don’t stay up on my account.”

Sebastien nodded and took his words as a dismissal.  He went back to bed but it took a long while for him to be able to get back to sleep, hearing the murmur of voices in the kitchen without being able to make out the words.  Finally, his eyes slipped closed and stayed there, falling into an uneasy sleep.

It was like when he died.  He saw someone else.  A man with curly hair and a smile that split his face and brightened his eyes.  He saw Nicolò, but he looked different, happier and full of life.  Full of love.  Then they were in chains, then dying by noose, by fire.  Finally, the man was torn away from Nicolò, who was screaming, eyes filled with tears, spilling unobserved down his face.  

“Yusuf!” Nicolò screamed again and again, thrashing against the chains holding him back, blood dripping from his wrists.  Sebastien heard something crack, but the man paid the pain no mind, only fought harder.

Sebastien started twitching in his sleep as he saw the man, Yusuf, being dragged to a waiting iron maiden.

“Nicolò, Nicolò, I love you!  My love!  Nicolò!” Yusuf shouted.  It wasn’t in English or French, not even Italian, but in the dream, Sebastien somehow understood him.

The iron maiden closed.  The men both still screamed each other’s names. Yusuf’s cries resounded in his cage. 

Then Yusuf was on a boat, beating against the metal around him.

Then he wasn’t on the boat anymore.  Water was everywhere, saturating his clothes, closing around him, invading his lungs.

He died.

And died.

And died.

Sebastien awoke with a gasp and a shudder before leaning over the cot he had been sleeping on and vomiting onto the floor.  He was surprised to find his sick made up of food and not water, still so immersed in the dream.

There was a clatter from the next room over, then the other immortals rushed into the room.  Andy took one look at Sebastien and the mess on the floor and left again.  Quynh followed.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastien said, gasping.  “Horrible dream.”

Andy came back in with a cloth and started wiping up the mess.

“You saw Yusuf, didn’t you,” Nicolò said and it was a statement, not a question.  Andy glanced at Nicolò, then Sebastien, then quietly left the room.

Sebastien stared at him, then nodded.  “He was with you…  You both died so many times.  Then…” he broke off, haunted by the screams still echoing in his head.

Nicolò nodded.  “He was taken from me.  I’ve been looking ever since.”

“When was that?” Sebastien asked, unable to be more specific.

“1614.”

“Over two hundred years?!  He’s been down there for - oh God,” Sebastien said, ready to vomit again.  The only thing that stopped him was the broken look in Nicolò’s eyes.  Sebastien feared losing his family, but Nicolo looked like he already had. 

“Please, is there anything you can tell me from the dream?  You saw him, yes, but what was around him?  Try to remember,” Nicolò encouraged gently.

Sebastien took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  “The coffin was covered in rust.  The chains as well.  It was dark and cold and -” he broke off shuddering.

Nicolò’s head drooped.  Sebastien felt horrible that he didn’t know more, that he couldn’t help more.

“Let’s get you some tea,” Nicolò said, standing.

Quynh already had the tea steeping when they arrived in the kitchen.  She poured for everyone and Andy put a splash of alcohol in Sebastien’s mug.  He silently saluted her before raising it to his lips and drinking.

“He saw Yusuf,” Quynh said, and again, it wasn’t a question.

Nicolò nodded, then let out a breath, putting his head in his hands.

“At the very least,” he said, his voice muffled as he spoke towards the floor, “we know he is still alive.”

Andy nodded.  “For now, that is enough.”

__________________________________________

The dreams became depressingly normal to Sebastien.  He had the small consolation in knowing that his constantly drowning companion could also see what he saw.  Andy and Quynh and Nicolò.  Sunshine and wine and good things in life.  Sebastien tried to push them down whatever strange connection was between him and Yusuf.  But mostly, he tried to send the moments he spent with Nicolò, as he knew those would be what Yusuf would cling to the most.  Nicolò quietly laughing at something Andy had said.  Nicolò sleeping.  Nicolò sparring with Quynh.

Nicolò hated to be away from the search, but agreed to stay a fortnight to help acclimate Sebastien to his new existence.  He also seemed to hope that Sebastien’s dreams would give him a new clue as to search for his love next.  No matter how minute, Sebastien tried to share every detail he remembered.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Sebastien gasped awake the day before Nicolò had planned to leave and immediately sprang out of bed.  Andy and Quynh startled awake across the room, but he paid them no mind.

“Where is Nicolò?” he asked, looking around.  He burst out of the bedroom and found Nicolò at the dining table, whittling.  At Sebastien’s sudden entrance, he stopped and stared at him with wide eyes.

“What is it?  Is it Yusuf?  Does he live?” Nicolò asked, standing.

Sebastien couldn’t keep the huge, manic smile off his face as he crossed to Nicolò and clasped his hands.  “Nicolò, I felt him breathe.”

Nicolò looked at him blankly.

“I felt him breathe air,” Sebastien said.

Nicolò blinked.  Once.  Twice.  Then his eyes widened as the significance hit him.

“He is out?” he asked.

“I felt the moment his head broke the surface.  I felt his first free breath.  He is out of that cage.  He is free,” Sebastien said, unable to stop his eyes from tearing up.

“Santa Maria, Madre di Dio,” Nicolò whispered, his own eyes welling with tears.

They collapsed into each other.  It didn’t matter they had known each other a short while.  It didn’t matter that Sebastien had only known the pain of Yusuf’s plight for a fraction of the time Nicolò had been tortured with it.  They both shook with relief and tears until more arms wrapped around them and they both turned to Andy and Quynh, who had worry etched into their faces.

“He is out, he is free,” Nicolò sobbed and Quynh gave a cry before embracing Nicolò herself.  Andy inhaled sharply like she had been the one to finally breathe freely after centuries and wrapped her arms around the two of them, her hand cupping the back of Nicolò’s head.  They broke apart, all smiling tearily.

Sebastien grabbed glasses and a bottle of wine from the kitchen, filling them.

“A toast,” he said, handing them around.  “To Yusuf’s freedom!”

They all raised their glasses, then drank deeply.

____________________________________________

One would think that once Yusuf was out of the coffin, the dreams would get easier.  One would be wrong.

For three nights afterward, Sebastien was subjected to the agony of Yusuf getting to shore from wherever he had been.  He would swim and fight exhaustion, eventually giving in and attempting to float for a while, only to fall asleep and wake to another lungful of water.  How horrible, Sebastien thought, to die over and over for centuries then finally be free, only to die again.  Not truly free from the ocean’s torment.

The fourth night, Sebastien felt sand under Yusuf’s feet.  He saw cliffs overlooking a beach.

Finally, on the fifth night, he saw the name of the town Yusuf had washed up to.

The best and worst part: he was already in France.

They all left together.  Nicolò pushed them to travel quickly, though it wasn’t as if any of them wished to dawdle.  Andy and Quynh had a tightness around their eyes as they moved across France.  Sebastien tried to stay calm, but he had a hard time when everyone else was so on edge.  

Sebastien dreamed Yusuf had managed to find a kind farmwife that let him trade work for food and shelter.  He saw the town name and it seemed like Yusuf was focusing on it, trying to push it down their connection.  In turn, Sebastien tried to tell him they were coming, Nicolò was coming.

They arrived late at night to the town Sebastien had seen.  They pushed their horses forward one more time, until they found a farmhouse that matched what Sebastien had seen in his dreams.  There was a barn a ways away, across a small field.

There was a fire burning just outside it.  There, a single man sat.  As the horses cantered closer, he rose and his face was illuminated by the fire.

Nicolò made a noise that Sebastien had never heard from a human and greatly hoped he would never hear again.  It was joy and love and agony all in a single exclamation.  He pulled up his horse as he got closer, leapt from the saddle, and sprinted across the distance between him and Yusuf with his arms outstretched.  Yusuf grinned and ran towards him as well, his arms also open.  The impact of their bodies reconnecting after two centuries was loud enough for Sebastien to hear it as he slowed his horse.  

“Nicolò, amore mio, habibi, I knew you’d find me,” Yusuf said, holding his love tight to him.

Nicolò didn’t seem to be able to speak yet.  By the way his shoulders were shaking, he seemed to be quite overcome with emotion.  Yusuf continued to speak to him, switching from one language to the next, most that Sebastien didn’t know, but the words were not for him anyway.

Nicolò eventually pulled away enough to look at Yusuf’s face, then rested his forehead against Yusuf’s.  “I love you,” he said simply but profoundly.  “I’m sorry I didn’t say it then.”

Sebastien flashed to the moment Yusuf was being dragged away, screaming his love to Nicolò, Nicolò screaming Yusuf’s name back.

“Oh, habibi,” Yusuf said.  He pulled Nicolò in once more.  “You may not have said the words then, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t hear them.  They are engraved into my heart, my very soul.  I was never without them.”

“Romantic as ever,” Andy said, smiling as if the tears on her face weren’t shining in the light of the fire.

Yusuf pulled away from Nicolò, but kept hold of his hand.  “Andromache,” he said, smiling.  It was a different smile than the one he gave Nicolò, but just as warm.

They embraced, Andy hiding her face in the crook on his shoulder for a moment.  

“Mmm, it is good to see you.  You look good,” he said, moving away to look at her.

She smirked.  “You look alright.”

He laughed and Nicolò had a small smile on his face from the sound.

“Quynh,” Yusuf said, holding out his arms.  She melted into his embrace, rocking side to side as they held each other.  They both laughed softly.

She leaned back to cup his cheek.  “It is good to see you.”

“And you,” Yusuf said, smiling hugely.

He turned to Sebastien, who had just been observing the tender moment.  When their eyes met, Sebastien had a hard time holding his gaze.  He knew this man’s torment, he had felt it, but he didn’t actually know him.

“You must be Sebastien,” Yusuf said, holding out a hand.  “Thank you for the dreams.  They gave me strength.”

Sebastien stepped forward and they clasped elbows.  “It is a pleasure to meet you face to face,” he said truthfully.

Yusuf nodded and stepped back, meeting Nicolò’s chest with his back and settling into the man’s space.  Nicolò settled his hands around Yusuf’s waist and put his chin on his shoulder.  He turned his face and ran his nose up his love’s neck, eyes closing.  Yusuf put his hands over Nicolò and relaxed.

In fact, the whole group had the least amount of tension amongst them since Sebastien had met them.

But standing with them all, Nicolò and Yusuf wrapped up in each other, Andy and Quynh holding hands and leaning against one another, he was suddenly, vividly reminded that while these people were eternal, everyone else in his life was not.  

He felt the sudden need to get to his family.

Even surrounded by his fellow immortals, he felt alone.

_____________________________________

The loneliness remained.

If anything, it got worse.

One by one, his family died.  His wife.  His sons, Jean-Pierre last of all.  Everyone who loved him from before was gone.  He stayed by their sides through each loss, seeing Andy and the others sparingly throughout the years, hating to be away from his family during the time they had left.

Only he and his fellow immortals remained.

Nicolò and Yusuf spent a hundred years after reuniting travelling across Europe, eventually staying in Malta for a few decades.  Andy, Quynh, and Sebastien did what they could to help humanity from the shadows.

After Jean-Pierre died, Sebastien changed his name.  That man had died with his family.

He went by Booker now.

Nicolò and Yusuf joined them after a hundred years and it was a pleasure to get to know the two of them.  Nicolò was a changed man with Yusuf by his side.  While he had never been hugely emotive, he had a different air about him.  Existing didn’t weigh him down anymore.

Booker only wished he could say the same.

They all went to Cuba, then to the United States.  They worked together to fight for what they believed in.  They became closer, a family.  Andy, Quynh, Nicky, Joe, and Booker against the world.

In 2018, Andy and Quynh decided to travel alone for a while, like Nicky and Joe had so many years ago.  Joe and Nicky offered to let Booker stay with them in the meantime, but he declined.  He went back to France.  He drank.  He walked the streets where he had existed as a different man.  He drank some more.

Then he picked up the phone and contacted James Copley.

He liked Copley.  The job they had worked for him had gone well and the man seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.

The man who picked up the phone didn’t sound like the same man he had met a few years ago, but he agreed to meet Booker.

They talked.  About life and death and losing those they loved.  How tired they were.  How they wished they could do more.

“What if I could help?” Booker asked.

“What do you mean?” Copley replied, not understanding.

Booker sighed, then slashed across his palm, barely grunting at the pain it caused.  He held out his palm and watched as Copley saw the skin reform.

“How-?” Copley said, reeling.

“I don’t know.  If I did, I would be able to stop it.  But you might know someone who could find out,” Booker replied.  He tried not to let his desperation show.  He just wanted it to end.

“The others…” Copley said, putting it together.  “Your team-”

“Their existence remains between the two of us, or there will be no accord between us,” Booker said insistently.

Copley nodded.  “I swear it.”

“Good.”

Booker paused and sighed.  “Before I turn myself over to you, could I make a request?”

“Anything.”

“I need one more mission.  Can you find me one?” Booker asked.

“With how the world is today?” Copley asked derisively.  “It won’t be a problem.”

“Merci,” Booker said, raising his glass to salute Copley, who did the same.  Together, they drank.

_____________________________________

It was so good to be with his family again.  There were hugs and laughter and bets placed as Nicky gave Andy a piece of baklava.  Booker let himself revel in the happiness these people brought him, knowing soon enough, he would be leaving them.

Andy was skeptical of Copley, insisting they didn’t do repeats, but finally agreed to listen to him.

He told them of the hostage situation.  The girls who were taken.  Gave them maps and numbers.

Andy couldn’t say no after that.

As they walked away, Booker looked back and saluted Copley, who nodded to him before looking around and waving the other direction, towards where Nicky and Joe had been watching over them.  

They used a helicopter to approach.  Quynh, Joe, and Nicky all had their swords next to their guns.  Andy’s ax was strapped to her back.  Booker had no such antiquated weapon, just prepared explosives as they travelled.  It only emphasized the age difference between them.

They existed for so long before me, he thought.  They can do so again when I am gone.

The mission went along without incident.  Nicky took out the perimeter guards and then they slowly made their way through the compound.  They paused before a door with a pile of shoes next to it.  Joe looked down at it and Booker could see the anguish and anger in his eyes.  Booker looked around and saw the resolve in all his family’s stances.

He blew the door and as one, they burst through where it used to be and immediately moved to take out the guards while putting themselves between the remaining men and the girls huddled in the corner.

Then there were no more guards, just blood and bodies.

They moved the girls to the rendezvous point Copley had set up.  There, they saw the ecstatic reunion of families and their children.

Soon, that will be me and my boys, Booker allowed himself to think.  He felt a deep ache at the thought, but pushed it back.  This was not the time for thoughts such as those.  This was time to spend with the family he had left.

They crashed at a safe house together, drinking and talking until the sun came up.  Laughter rang out many times, affection laced in the tone of all present.

Finally, Booker cleared his throat.  “I think I will go back to France for a while,” he said.  “I wish to go home.”

The others nodded.  

“Do you want us to accompany you?” Nicky asked.

Booker smiled.  “No, thank you.  This is something I will do alone.”

“Well,” Joe said, rising with arms open, “we wish you well until we see you next, brother.”

Booker had to squeeze his eyes closed in the crook of Joe’s neck to reign in his emotions.

Quynh was next.  “Stay well, Booker.”

“You as well, Quynh.”

Andy’s hands cupped his face and he worked to control his expression, lest she sense something wrong.  “We will be here when you are ready, Book.  Come back whenever.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

Nicky was last.  They clasped elbows then pulled each other into an embrace.  Of all his immortal family, Booker realized, he would miss Nicolò the most.

“À la prochaine,” Nicky murmured and Booker could do nothing but nod.

And then he left.

______________________________________

He had been the object of Merrick’s “experimentation” for three weeks when he had a dream.  A soldier, a woman, the red of her blood as her neck bled, her friend’s wide eyes and bloody hands as she tried to keep her alive.

He awoke with a gasp.

“No. No no no,” he muttered, thrashing against the restraints on his chest, wrists, and ankles.  

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, he just woke up like this!”

“Well, sedate him!”

And then there was darkness.

He woke to pain and his own screaming.  When he eventually succumbed and died again, he saw Andy.  He saw her and the new woman, Nile, fight.  Saw Andy’s eyes light up when Nile landed a punch.

When he awoke, he had to admit, anyone who could actually hit Andromache the Scythian had a lot of potential.

The next time he died, he saw the others.  They were eating, telling Nile about their different lives.  It was a balm to see his family again, but it did nothing to release the piercing ache in his chest.

Every time he died on that accursed table, he hoped it would be the last time.

Instead, he dreamed.

He saw his family’s anger.  Why were they angry?  He saw Copley.  What was Copley doing with the others?  Finally, he saw the building he had gone to when he turned himself in and he understood long before he heard the gunshots that pulled him awake.

His family was coming for him.

Andy was the first one through the door.  She incapacitated the doctor who had been torturing Booker before he could say anything.  The others poured in, even Nile.

“Booker!” Nicky exclaimed, looking at him.

“No!  No, you cannot be here!” Booker said frantically.  “They cannot know of you!”

“Too bad, we weren’t going to just leave you here, as they did that to you,” the new woman, Nile, said, gesturing to his body.

Taking a moment to look at himself, he could see why there was so much concern in their faces.  He was covered in dried blood.

“You all shouldn’t have come,” he said sadly.

“What are you talking about?” Joe said, pushing forward and starting to undo the clasps of the binding.  “Of course we would come for you.  They were torturing you, Booker.”

“No, Joe, leave them,” Booker insisted.

Joe stopped and stepped back.

“Booker…” Andy said, considering him in concern.

He forced himself to smile.  “I’m sorry.  This wasn’t a mission that required a rescue.”

“What are you saying, Booker?” Quynh asked.

He saw the moment Andy understood.  She closed her eyes and shook her head.  “No.” 

Booker shrugged as much as he could in the restraints.  “Merrick might know how to end this.  I had to try.”

“You signed up for this?!” Joe exclaimed, gesturing to Booker’s body.

He laughed without any mirth.  “To be fair, I didn’t anticipate how ruthless Merrick would be to get results.”

“This is insanity,” Quynh said softly, stepping forward and resting a hand on his ankle.  “Booker, a final death is not worth this.”

“I just…” he started and that weight he carried around with him overwhelmed him.  The memories of holding his family members’ hands as they died, their angry words asking why, why can’t you save me, we could be together forever, don’t you love me, the hatred he kept inside at the fact he could do nothing, not even comfort them as they left him rose with a vengeance until he couldn’t draw breath.

“I just want to be with them again,” he choked out.

He stared at the ceiling.  He couldn’t bear to look at their faces.

“Could you give us a minute?” Nicky asked the group.  They must have agreed because Booker heard them move away.  His eyes didn’t waver from the ceiling, even as they blurred with tears.

“Booker, look at me, s'il vous plaît,” Nicky murmured.

Booker couldn’t.

“Sebastien.  Please.”

At his old name, Booker moved his head.  Nicky was looking at him, his eyebrows slightly pulled down, which meant he was extremely concerned.

“I am sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t see how much you were suffering.”

“Nicky…” Booker said, unable to handle an apology right now.

“No, please.  Hear me.  When I lost Yusuf, it felt like each breath was an effort.  Existing was just something I continued to do in order to one day see him again.  Yes, I had Andy and Quynh and eventually you, but I felt… heavy.  Existence had a weight to it.”

Booker couldn’t help nodding.

“I know it isn’t a fair comparison,” Nicky continued.  “I got Yusuf back.  Your family is lost to you until you pass on.  But Booker,” he said, clasping one of Booker’s hands in both of his, “know this: we will always be here for you.  We will take the weight as much as we can.  And we will stay here with you until you get to the point that it doesn’t hurt as much to exist.”

“That may take forever,” Booker warned him.

The corners of Nicky’s mouth curled up and his eyes crinkled.  “Luckily, we have time.”

Nicky’s hand hovered over one of Booker’s restraints.  He raised an eyebrow.

Booker looked across the room.  Joe, Andy, Quynh, and Nile were waiting for them, concern, anguish, and love written all over their faces as they looked over at the two of them.

He closed his eyes and pictured his old family.  He tried to remember the good moments, not the bitter ones.  Remember their faces.  Their love.

I’m sorry, ma famille, he thought, it is not yet our time.

Opening his eyes, looked up at Nicky.

“Let’s go, then.”

[crazy4dragons]

Braids

Astrid continues to spend time with Hiccup after his injury and he asks to braid her hair. Takes place sometime after Just Friends. Like Heaven AU. Rating: PG (lust mention, but mainly fluff).

“Why don’t we go in the hot tub?” Astrid suggested as she watched the movie credits roll down the screen. “Didn’t your doctor say water would be good for your leg?”

Hiccup sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” urged the blonde, tugging his hand. “You can’t just sit in bed and watch TV all day.”

“There’s not much else I can do,” he argued.

Astrid slid off the mattress and walked into Hiccup’s closet. Rummaging through his summer clothes, she found a pair of swimming trunks and tossed them into his lap. “Change,” she ordered.

“But —”

“Change,” Astrid repeated, pulling a modest swimsuit from her backpack and shutting herself in the bathroom. While she finally had a bikini, she wasn’t sure about parading around in it with Hiccup’s parents around. They already thought he was sleeping with her; wearing cheeky bottoms and a top that showed cleavage wouldn’t help the situation. So instead, she’d brought over a pale pink longline top and matching high-waisted bottoms that collectively left only a sliver of tummy showing.

Clad in the swimsuit, she searched for sunscreen and two beach towels before opening the door to see that Hiccup had put on his swimming trunks and a t-shirt. “Good. You’re ready,” she smiled, grabbing a pair of workout shorts from his dresser. With his injury, Astrid had been staying over so often that one of Hiccup’s drawers was now stuffed with her clothes.

“I’m telling you now, Astrid, I’m going out for half an hour. That’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She pulled on the shorts, then handed Hiccup his crutches. “Let’s go.”

As the two friends descended the stairs, Astrid helping Hiccup to ensure he didn’t fall, they were greeted by Stoick. “Well, look who finally came out of his room.”

“Not cool, Dad.” Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“I’m just glad to see yer up and about,” Stoick defended. “Where are yer two headed, the pool?”

“Hot tub. Astrid’s making me.”

“You have to get out of bed once in a while,” insisted the blonde.

“Astrid’s right,” agreed Stoick. “Yer leg will only get worse if ye never move it.”

Hiccup sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Well, let’s go outside and get this over with.”

“It’ll be fun,” assured Astrid, stepping in front of him and opening the back door. Once he hobbled out, she closed it behind them and set the towels on a chair before opening the sunscreen and rubbing it onto her nose. She then pulled off her shorts, slathered the rest of her skin, then passed the bottle to Hiccup, who’d taken a seat beside the towels. “Here. Let me know if you need help getting your back.”

Discarding his t-shirt, Hiccup took the sunscreen. “Yeah,” he decided, smearing it onto his freckled cheeks. “Some help would be great.”

“On it.” Astrid knelt behind him and worked the lotion into his skin while subconsciously taking note of all his freckles. He had at least a hundred on his shoulders alone, and even more were sprinkled across his back. He didn’t like them, but she thought they were sort of cute.

“You done?” Hiccup asked as she backed away.

Nodding, Astrid climbed into the hot tub, letting out a contented sigh as the warm, frothy water lapped at her neck. When Hiccup joined, she slid over to sit beside him, her fingers curling around his hand in a comforting squeeze. “You will get better,” she assured. “I know it.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you are,” he mumbled.

Silence fell between them and for a while, they soaked together without saying a word.

“Hey, could I braid your hair?” Hiccup asked eventually, nodding towards Astrid’s messy bun. When she hesitated, he added, “I won’t if it’s not okay with you. It’s just…it’ll give me something to do.”

“Alright,” she shrugged, shifting in front of him. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks.” With a small smile, Hiccup carefully took down Astrid’s hair and ran his fingers through it, working out a few small knots. “Is a Dutch braid okay?”

“That’s fine,” she replied, relaxing at the feeling of his hands on her scalp.

“You have a date tonight, right?” Hiccup asked cautiously. Even though he knew Astrid had a boyfriend, and he knew he was just her friend, he always felt the need to check himself when mentioning her relationship to make sure he didn’t come across as jealous.

“Yeah, why?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, but if you already have plans, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I have my date tonight and I’m going over to my dad’s tomorrow, but I could do dinner with you on Monday,” offered Astrid. She knew Hiccup didn’t expect her to spend every spare moment with him, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty that he was stuck at home awaiting a second surgery on his leg while she was going to a carnival with her new boyfriend, with whom she’d just become official. “And I promise I’ll spend the whole day with you on Wednesday before you go to the hospital.”

Hiccup paused in his braiding. “Astrid, you know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thought of him going into surgery again terrified  her. When he’d first gotten into the car accident, she skipped school, instead spending the day crying in her room and waiting for Stoick or Valka to call saying the doctors would allow her to come see him. And now, knowing that he’d be in the hospital all over again, and that this next surgery would determine whether he’d ever be able to walk without his crutches or a wheelchair, she felt sick to her stomach.

“Then I’d like that.” Hiccup resumed his task. When he reached the end of the braid, he tied it off and draped it over her shoulder. “There. Take a look.”

Astrid grabbed her phone from the outside ledge of the hot tub and studied her reflection in the camera. “It looks great,” she smiled. “Mind if I keep it in for my date?”

“Do whatever you’d like,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m definitely keeping it,” she decided, snapping a selfie before putting her phone down and settling in beside him.

Hiccup cast her a lopsided grin.

After spending a bit more time soaking, the two friends decided to get out and head back inside. It was two o’ clock, neither of them had eaten lunch, and Astrid needed to be home for her date by four-thirty.

“Do you want to eat first or wash up first?” Hiccup asked.

“Eat,” Astrid replied quickly as she felt her stomach grumble. “What do you have?”

“We could do sandwiches and chips,” he shrugged.

“Sounds good to me.” She pulled two plates from a cabinet, holding a hand up as Hiccup tried to help her. “No, you sit down. I’ll get it ready.”

He reluctantly took a seat while Astrid quickly put together ham and cheese sandwiches. Grabbing a bag of chips, she carried the food over to the table before sitting across from her friend.

“These are good,” Hiccup remarked, taking a bite.

“Don’t look so surprised. I might not be able to cook, but I’m perfectly capable of putting together a sandwich.”

He laughed.

Once they finished eating, Astrid cleared away the dishes. The two then returned to Hiccup’s room, where they rinsed off — separately, of course — and changed into clean clothes.

“My braid is all messy now,” the blonde frowned, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she tugged a blue crop top over her white bralette. A pair of ripped, high-waited denim shorts completed her look. All she’d need was her white Converse and a bit of makeup and she’d be ready for her date that evening.

“I can redo it for you if you’d like,” Hiccup offered, quickly picking up his phone to disguise the fact that he’d been struggling not to stare at Astrid while she dressed. They weren’t shy about being in their underwear around each other. For Hiccup, it really wasn’t too much different than being in a swimsuit. And Astrid, being used to changing in the locker room before volleyball games, didn’t see why she should feel okay in just underclothes in front of her teammates but not her best friend — even if her best friend was a guy.

But although the situation was platonic, Hiccup had to admit to himself that she had a nice body, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t fantasize about what she looked like completely naked. Of course, she had a boyfriend, so he knew those privileges would be reserved for his eyes when Astrid felt ready to take things to the next step.

Lucky guy, he thought, shaking his head in attempt to ignore the lust burning in his brain. Being a teenager was the worst.

“Yes, please.” Grabbing her hairbrush, she sat down in front of Hiccup, allowing him to undo her disheveled braid and work the tangles from her locks.

Hiccup quickly wove a new braid, Astrid enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair as he did so. When he was finished, she took her hairbrush and zipped it into her backpack.

“We have another hour,” she announced as she checked her phone. “What do you wanna do?”

“Nap,” chuckled Hiccup.

“Come on. I won’t see you again until Monday night and all you want to do is take a nap?”

“I guess we could play on the Wii,” he suggested.

“That’s better.”

The hour flew by as Hiccup and Astrid played games together, just like they’d done before the accident. After two rounds of Mario Kart and a session of Wii bowling, he was feeling almost normal.

Until it came time to say goodbye to Astrid.

“Alright,” he  began, suppressing a sigh. “Let me how your date goes. And have fun with your dad tomorrow.”

“I will.” The blonde stuffed a few things into her backpack and tucked her pillow under her arm.

“No hug?” frowned Hiccup.

Smiling, Astrid set down her belongings and enveloped her friend in a tight embrace, an inexplicable shiver running down her spine at the sensation of his arms brushing her bare midriff. She didn’t like him like that. And she certainly wasn’t lusting after him. No, she had a boyfriend. But the feeling of his hands on her skin, however innocent, was enough to excite her just a little bit.

“Bye, Astrid.” Hiccup’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Oh, uh…bye, Hiccup,” Astrid replied, breaking the hug. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah. See you Monday.”

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 27

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 27 - Soul-Catcher

Enemies and friends were actually pretty interchangeable. For example, Lin Yan had to be on his guard with this ghost before, but when a new enemy appeared, it was the first time that he truly felt he and Xiao Yu were on the same side. Lin Yan glanced at the dimly lit hut, his head resting on Xiao Yu's chest. His slightly cool body temperature made him think an inexplicable thought; that he actually felt safe because of the presence of this ghost that never left him alone.

"What happened?" Xiao Yu held the back of Lin Yan's head.

"It's. . . it's nothing" Lin Yan blushed. He broke out from Xiao Yu's arms, hiding his head down and looking at the photo that the old man had given him. He had such a dull expression that it looked like the black and white picture had been taken after he had died. As he took a closer look, the place where the girl in the red coat had been standing wasn't completely empty. Lin Yan aggressively wiped the picture. A thin cloud of gray mist hovered around his legs. If he wasn't actively looking for it, he would've chalked it up to the old quality of the picture.

"Pea cakes, hawthorn jelly, fruitcakes, water chestnut cake, rolling donkeys, glutinous rice cakes." The vendor pushing the cart selling treats noticed Lin Yan standing by himself. He picked up a rag and wiped the glass window of the cart, shouting more enthusiastically. "Would you like to try some?"

The dry, dazzling sunlight shone down. The vendor's voice seemed like it was coming from another world, too distant to be clearly distinguished.

Things were moving in an unpredictable direction. Lin Yan shook his head and dragged Xiao Yu forward aimlessly, wracking through his brain. The first time he saw the little girl was in the hallway of his apartment building. There had been a problem with the elevator that day and he climbed the stairs to the twelfth floor. At the corner of the third-floor hallway, he saw the little girl climbing onto the handrail to play. Later, he would meet her downstairs almost every time he went home. Once Lin Yan arrived home just when the kids had just gotten out of school and large groups of students were playing football in the yard. He hadn't paid attention to the little girl sitting on her own. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen her talk to anyone.

It seemed like it had been a while since he last saw the little girl.

When did this start? Lin Yan walked with his head down, kicking a small stone as he walked. The corner of his eyes flicked across Xiao Yu's embellished hem, a bright white fabric decorated with a greenish emerald dragon spread out underneath the moire belt hanging down, swaying as he stepped. Lin Yan hesitantly cast his gaze towards the ghost next to him. The memory of Xiao Yu appearing on that rainy night resurfaced. When Lin Yan rushed out of his apartment in terror, he saw the little girl standing in the rain, sucking on her thumb and looking at him. If he hadn't been threatened by a ghost, he would've asked why she was standing alone outside on a rainy day.

From that day on, Lin Yan's life completely changed. He thought silently, ever since Xiao Yu had started following him, the girl in the red coat hadn't shown up again.

A thought jolted across his mind. Lin Yan almost couldn't stand still. He shook as he took his phone out of his pocket and dialled Yin Zhou's number.

'Beep. . . beep. . .' Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, Lin Yan silently urged.

". . . Lin Yan?" After ringing seven times, Yin Zhou's tired voice came from the phone: ". . . I'm sleeping. I'm hanging up if this isn't important."

Lin Yan breathed a sigh of relief. He clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder while pulling out his car keys and asked; "A-Zhou, do you remember what Second Immortal Gu told us the last time we asked her to drive away a ghost?"

"The old lady was just trying to scam a few bucks off us. . ." Yin Zhou reluctantly grumbled: "I think she said there was a little girl who didn't have any clothes or money to pay to get to the underworld, and then she poured water all over you. Complete bullshit."

Lin Yan's heart dropped: "Then Second Immortal Gu died and her time of death was deliberately changed."

"Yeah." Yin Zhou yawned: "Did you find something?"

Lin Yan dragged Xiao Yu towards the parking lot and harshly slammed the car door: "She wasn't talking bullshit. There really was a little girl in red following me. I took a picture with her but the developed picture didn't have her in it."

"Holy shit!" Yin Zhou was completely awake and bounced off the bed: "Are you kidding me? Another ghost?!"

"I'm not sure yet." Lin Yan turned the key to start the car, staring at the windshield, "That hand, it slapped the windshield when we went to see Second Immortal Gu and we almost got into a car accident. It didn't seem right to me when it happened, but it disappeared so fast, I couldn't see it."

"Now that I think about it, the hand was too small. It's not the ghost that lives in my house at all." Lin Yan glanced at Xiao Yu. "I also saw the little girl the day I went to meet you in the bar. At that time, I thought she was alive. I think she was the reason I was stuck in that loop on the road and she was the one behind Second Immortal Gu's death."

"I'll go ask A-Yan later on. Keep an eye out for anything."

Yin Zhou was silent for a while: ". . . Stay safe."

Lin Yan hung up the phone and carefully backed the car out of the parking space. The market in Shenjiyuan closed early. A group of vendors surged out from the entrance with the earnings from the day like a school of fish swimming by Lin Yan's car window. The jade shop by the side of the road screeched by on its grinding wheels. Lin Yan sighed and clutched the steering wheel, waiting for the crowd in front of them to disperse. When he turned to look at Xiao Yu, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"It's always been you, hasn't it?" Lin Yan whispered.

"The night I first met you, I drove around the overpass for three hours and didn't find the exit until I saw you."

The patter of light rain, the lonely figure standing under the streetlamp like they were waiting for a promise that could never be fulfilled.

"At that time, I thought I was lost because of you. I didn't think that you were the one to help me get out of there." Lin Yan recalled how he had been circling around the overpass like a headless fly. He found it all kind of funny now. The ghost that scared him half to death now shared his house, shared his passenger seat and even shared his occasional uncontrollable sexual desires.

Xiao Yu rubbed his fingers against his temple, trying to remember. A-Yan said that ghosts who had just returned to the human world were in a state of confusion. They would keep searching for the reason why they were stuck in the human world with very few memories of their previous lives. Some of them were able to remember and reincarnate easily while others weren't successful, their resentment growing stronger and stronger. Lin Yan grabbed his hand and held it, feeling a little depressed, and murmured: "Forget it, don't worry about it."

He couldn't help but chuckle bitterly: "You've got your hands full now. Someone's trying to kill me before you get to."

". . . You're mine." Xiao Yu said slowly, pulling his hand back.

"I'm not." Lin Yan said. He didn't know why he was so stubborn every time this topic came up: "Even now, I'm not sure who you are or where you want to take me. A month ago I was a complete atheist, but now I've now more ghosts than people. My life is already a mess and today I ran into a little girl that almost killed me on a highway."

Lin Yan started getting choked up. He sniffed. For some reason, he felt a strong feeling of outrage: "Who did I provoke? Why won't they just let me live my life?"

Xiao Yu held Lin Yan's shoulders and rubbed his chin against his forehead. Lin Yan gritted his teeth and the stinging in his eyes grew more intense.

"I'm going to ask A-Yan about the little girl later. Xiao Yu, don't move. Let me rest for a minute." Lin Yan wrapped his arms around his waist and curled into Xiao Yu's arms. "I'm exhausted. "

Long, slender fingers stroked through his hair. They were cold but the gesture was very gentle: "Don't worry, I'm here."

"I know." Lin Yan played with the crimson silk belt around Xiao Yu's waist and let out a chuckle: "Save me for yourself. Don't let someone else kill me."

Lin Yan buried his face in Xiao Yu's chest. If he had heard that a month ago, he would've thought he was out of his mind, but now he said it sincerely as if he meant it when he tried to reassure him. He instinctively felt that what had happened recently was much more than a simple coincidence. It was as if a well-prepared lasso had been placed on the ground long ago, waiting for him to walk ignorantly into the center of the rope loop only for it to be violently tightened by an invisible giant hand. The staring little girl, the dead old lady, the pre-determined internship and obsessive ghosts. The crowd outside the car window slowly dispersed. Lin Yan held Xiao Yu's waist and couldn't help but think that even if he really fell into some unpredictable conspiracy, there was always something to hold on to.

He knew that there was something between them that couldn't be resolved or reconciled. He cautiously avoided thinking about it. The ghost made the first move. Lin Yan let out a long sigh. He struggled to sit up straight, turning and driving the car out of the parking lot.

There's still time. Think about it later, Lin Yan thought to himself.

The alleyway where A-Yan lived was as dark as the first time. The spider web he saw when he came last time had grown bigger. A round gray spider was hanging underneath and climbing with its eight hairy legs. The broken bicycle beneath the spider web was gone, replaced by a pile of large cardboard boxes covered in advertisements for weight loss tea.

A-Yan didn't have a candle lit like he were a ghost this time. The living room was lit, and after making a cup of kuding tea for Lin Yan, A-Yan looked at the black-and-white photo carefully with the light, his face growing serious.

"I can't sense anything. Even the weakest ghosts have dark energy, but I can't see anything like what you said." A-Yan looked at the air around Lin Yan strangely, and then lowered his head to study the photo.

"I haven't seen her since Xiao Yu showed up. Today was the first time." Lin Yan pointed to the ghost behind him, embarrassed: "His name is Xiao Yu. I don't think I mentioned that."

He didn't know why it made him flustered to mention his name in front of others, so Lin Yan coughed quickly to cover up his embarrassment.

"X-Xiao Yu, I'll remember that." The little Daoist muttered to himself. He opened the cabinet and took out the large red lacquer pen and a glass bottle filled with cinnabar that he used to exorcise ghosts earlier. He unscrewed the bottle and paused: "Was he also there when you met the little girl you mentioned?"

"No." Lin Yan recalled: "There was a talisman hanging on the door to ward off evil spirits and he couldn't get in."

"If there was a talisman to ward off evil spirits, then that means there must have been a ghost. What did the talisman look like?"

Lin Yan drew a crooked pattern on his phone's whiteboard based on what he remembered, like gossip that was fed down the grapevine. Dancing lines of symbols and patterns were encompassed by a large black box. The little Daoist frowned while he studied it and said with certainty: "T-This is made specifically to repel ghosts. Sticking this on a door will prevent even the most powerful ghosts from getting in." A-Yan's slender fingers pointed to the cloud of gray mist near Lin Yan's feet in the photo: "Like I thought. It's not a ghost, it's a curse."

"Curse?" Lin Yan clutched the cup, bewildered: "Like in the movies?"

A-Yan took out the yellow paper from under the table. He dipped the pen in the cinnabar and haphazardly scribbled a Daoist talisman. He lit it with a lighter and moved it across Lin Yan's shoulders and head. He frowned and said: "N-No, this kind of talisman is an evil art used in practices like Nanyang Black Magic and Miaojiang compulsion techniques. They use insects, ants, dolls, and even ghosts to injure and harm people. It's different from Daoism. Daoism only targets ghosts while curses target people."

The flame of the yellow paper increased immensely when it passed over Lin Yan’s shoulders, making a small crackling sound. The little Daoist flicked the yellow paper to put out the flame and wondered: “It's impossible for a gray shadow to appear when trying to take pictures of ghosts that appeared naturally. The little girl had to be imprisoned somehow to make this kind of curse. I'll help you to get rid of it. I-It's such bad luck to run into this kind of thing."

"Lin Yan, who did you offend recently? Why did someone put a curse on you?"

Lin Yan took a sip of tea and sank into the sofa, shaking his head with a bitter smile on his face. Something that Second Immortal Gu said popped into his head. The little girl had been locked up with deep resentment. At that time, he thought she was talking nonsense. It's a pity that this person was already dead and gone.

Gone? Lin Yan looked back at Xiao Yu in surprise. If a person's soul still exists after they die. . .

"A-Yan." Lin Yan grabbed the little Taoist's thin wrist and said in a low voice: "Can people still talk after they die?"

The little Daoist priest was dumbfounded. A smirk danced on his lips. He stared at the ceiling for a minute and whispered: "N-Not necessarily. Some that died recently still can, but not for very long."

"Less than a month." Lin Yan roughly slammed the teacup on the table, water splashing into small round spots on the yellow paper. "I want to attract a person's soul."

The little Daoist thoughtfully stroked the cinnabar-coated pen and hesitated: "I-I'll try. A month might not be enough time."

The lights in the living room were dim and the whole room smelt like traditional medicinal herbs. After staying for a while, it felt like he was drifting farther and farther away from the normal world. Lin Yan took out his phone and stared at the bright screen, trying to bring himself back to reality. He scrolled through the people in his contacts. A text message suddenly popped up.

"I have some news. I'll ask the secretary to double-check and I'll get back to you tomorrow."

The one who sent it was the man who gave the lecture on Monday, Professor File Folder.