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starlazergazer · 1 year

Text

Senators Shadow

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Summary: Anakin is your regular Jedi guard whenever your job in the senate brings you to Coruscant which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t spend the entire time practically ignoring you making It clear he didn’t really want to be there. Until something changes on this trip and the two of you start to become close.

Warnings: Swearing, some jealous Anakin, scene where the readers being shot at from a crowd, that should be it

Word Count: 10K (may have gotten a bit carried away with this one but I hope its worth it!)

A/N: I’m a sucker for an enemies to lovers type thing plus a jealous Anakin moment so I wrote this to amuse myself (cause what’s the point of being a writer if you can’t write a fic for yourself once in a while?) Easily the longest one I’ve written so I hope you enjoy!!

You never really liked having to be on Coruscant. Things moved too fast here, you were always rushing from one meeting to another, prepping for speeches, consulting others, it often felt like you never got a chance to breathe only making you long for the minute you could leave and go back home.

And the longer you had to stare into Anakin’s eyes, the more you felt that longing grow.

“I appreciate the concern Jedi Skywalker” you addressed the man before you formally, interlacing your fingers and setting them on your desk, pushing forth an air of professionalism and authority “but I do not need a jedi guard for the time that I’m here”

A hint of a smirk graced his lips at your words, however, nothing more than its ghost ever appeared, a twitch in the corners of his lips. Often you wondered if you simply read too much into his expressions. “and I’m afraid your excellency that both the senate and the jedi council disagree”

There was no denying that Anakin was incredibly good looking, even if you tried to ignore that as much as possible, this simple fact was enough to have the people within the capital constantly whispering about him. Beyond this, however, he also had the reputation of being devilishly charming. You never got the chance to know that side of Anakin.

Sometimes you see glimpses of that version of him, you certainly did when you first met him as he introduced himself with a boyish grin and a look that had your cheeks stained scarlet, but since that first encounter it has been nothing but this stoic, aloof jedi that was now before you. And some stupid part of you wondered if it had been something you said that first night that pushed him away.

“Alright this is, however, my person we are talking about” you argued back, fighting down your own annoyance at his persistence “I get final say in what happens to it and that includes whether or not I have someone guarding it”

His answer was quick and to the point, as it always was “that is not how this works”

And oh how you loathed his complete lack of emotion, here you were out on a limb trying to reason with him, trying to compromise, trying to get something, anything out of him and still he responded as if you were little more than a talking brick wall.

“Then tell me Jedi Skywalker” You tried to take a deep breath, tried to calm yourself down, unable to keep the bite completely out of your words “how does this work?”

He leaned back in his chair causally, crossing his ankle over his knee, exuding confidence as he stated simply “either you let me act as your guard or you don’t make the speech next week”

You raised an eyebrow back at him, your voice dropping to a dangerous level “excuse me?”

“the jedi council has it on good authority there is going to be an attempt on your life so the senate is not going to let you on the floor unless they have reason to believe you aren’t going to die upon it” he explained indifferently, as if you were the one being ridiculous here.

“Wouldn’t resources be better spent actually looking for the person threatening my life then?” you pointed out with a sigh, posture slumping over slightly as you spoke, resigning yourself to the shadow being forced upon you for the next week.

“Oh we do have people on that” he assured you “just not me”

“No you’re on guard duty” you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m on guard duty” he echoed back and you tried to ignore how hollow the words came from him, it would seem he was as happy about this assignment as you were.

And you wished you had a biting remark back for that, not fully ready admit just why his words bothered you so much, but you didn’t, instead you were left staring at Anakin in the chair before you, him doing the same as a brief silence fell over the two of you before a knock at the door broke it, one of your aide’s, head popping through the doorway.

“I have Jace here to see you senator”

You felt the smile grown naturally on your face at the news, unaware that your best friend and quite possibly the only person who could make this week better was even on Coruscant.

“Thank you please send him in” you nodded at her, eyes flicking back down to Anakin’s form, smile slowly dropping from your face as your gaze met his small glare “are we done here jedi?”

“It would appear so” he nodded stiffly, pushing himself up to a standing position, his mouth open, ready to say something when a new voice cut him off.

“Y/N Y/L/N it has been far too long”

A giggle escaped past your lips as Jace slipped into the room with wide arms, you not hesitating to meet him halfway across the room, more than happy to be caught up in his bone crushing hug as a greeting.

“Jace how could you not tell me you were going to be here” you chastised him with a small hit of his arm once he set you down, the grin never once leaving your face, you weren’t sure you could admit to even him how badly you needed someone on your side this week.

“Thought I’d surprise you” he shrugged with a wink and you were so excited to see him you almost missed the other voice as it spoke up from across the room.

“Senator”

Your head whipped around to meet Anakin’s gaze, a raised brow silently asking your question for you.

“I’ll be outside the room”

You didn’t have time to give any response before he was ducking out the door, finally leaving you and Jace alone.

“You have a babysitter” Jace mused with a smirk on his lips as he made his way to the bar cart in the corner, making the two of you a drink without being asked as you slumped down into one of the chairs before your desk.

“I have a babysitter” you groaned. The words, now that they were in the open, cementing themselves in reality “and it just had to be Anakin fucking Skywalker”

Jace snorted as he brought the drinks over, wordlessly handing you one as he sat in the chair next to you “of course it’s Anakin Skywalker, it’s always Anakin”

You furrowed your brow at him, taking a sip of your drink “it is not always Anakin, last time I had Master Obi-wan”

“Because Anakin was on a mission in Crait for nearly a month at that time” Jace pointed out with a smirk making you frown.

“I’m sorry you just know Anakin’s schedule at all times?”

“I knew about it last time because like I said you always get Anakin as security” he chuckled shaking his head at you as if it were obvious.

“I do not” you insisted still, mind racing as you thought back to the last time you had been assigned a jedi that wasn’t Anakin “Just last year I had Master Kuno”

“mmmm when you made that speech denouncing the banking clan” Jace hummed softly as he thought “I believe Anakin was on medical leave then”

You shook your head at your friend, sipping your drink “you do acknowledge that it’s weird that you know that right? It’s important to me that you know that”

Jace chuckled at that shaking his head softly at you “and it’s weird that you’ve never noticed that Anakin, if he is available, is always your guard”

“Alright so the jedi order decided to assign their young padawan to guard the young senator” you thought as you talked, more or less making up your own rationalizations on the spot “pair the two people who are up and coming in their respective careers”

Jace didn’t even bother to refute that, sending you no more than an unimpressed expression with a raised brow. You realized with a sigh you already knew exactly where he was going with this as he opened his mouth to speak.

“no” you held up your finger, interrupting him “don’t even try”

“Y/N it’s obvious” he sighed nearly making you choke on your drink.

“Obvious? Really Jace, obvious?” you nearly laughed “I can’t even get the guy to talk to me for longer than like two minutes”

Jace just shrugged at that, as if it made no difference “He’s a jedi, they’re weird maybe he’s nervous or something”

At that you did laugh, not liking how bitter it sounded out in the open “you’ve seen how he talks to every other woman in the capitol he’s definitely not nervous”

At that Jace froze, a single eyebrow raising as he nearly gaped at you “I haven’t, but I’m very interested to learn that you’ve noticed this”

You groaned inwardly, feeling your cheeks heat up on the spot “that is not the point I’m trying to make”

“It’s the point now” Jace cut you off with a wicked grin “Y/N Y/L/N is there something you want to get off your chest”

“I will have him come in here and throw you out” you threatened, unable to keep the small smile off your face as you did so.

“Hey if you wanted time alone with him all you had to do was say so” Jace held his hands up defensively, smirking down at you.

You nearly threw your drink at him.

You would think after all of these trips to Coruscant you would learn to pack properly. That, however, would make things just too easy.

You were prepared for meeting rooms, for the senate floor, for your bedroom. You had professional clothing, comfy clothing, pajamas, you were prepared for anything within the capital building that could take place.

What you were not prepared for was a walk to Dex’s diner.

You were supposed to meet a senator at the diner, the man absolutely insisting on dinner while you were meeting, and you could never really say no to eating at Dex’s.

But you could see Anakin’s look of confusion at your outfit choice as you immerged from your room, the man giving you a simple raised brow but still you refused to give into the embarrassment of admitting to your mistake.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” there was no malice in his question but still you felt your cheeks burning at its asking, looking back down over yourself, pretending to not notice that the clothing was much too light for the cold weather outside.

“Yeah why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“Uh no you look” and Anakin paused here, his eyes scanning your form briefly in a way that had you squirming slightly on the spot, his eyes finally making their way back up to your own, Anakin’s voice much softer than before “you look good Y/N”

And if you had thought you had blushed hard before.... Your gaze was quickly thrown to your shoes, a desperate attempt to hide the blush as you mumbled out a thanks before clearing your throat awkwardly, nodding slightly to the door, Anakin nodding back and stepping aside, letting you exit first.

Keeping your head held high you whisked past him, only regretting your situation as soon as the crisp air hit your mostly bare arms.

Warm clothing, how could you forget any and all forms of warm clothing.

You tried to hide your slight shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself to conserve body heat, rubbing a hand up and down your bicep.

“Where’s your coat?” the voice beside you startled you, all too used to walking in complete silence with Anakin, to nearly tuning the man out completely.

“I forgot to pack it” you shrugged, almost wishing you had something more to say, something to keep the conversation going.

Instead the familiar silence fell back over the two of you as you walked, your mind already starting to tune the jedi out once again when you felt something being draped over your shoulders.

In surprise you froze, Anakin following suit as he came to a stop in front of you, hands still on the ends of his robe that now hung around your shoulders, holding it carefully around you. Slipping your arms into the sleeves you held them up to your eyes taking a moment to admire the simple brown robe, how surprisingly soft it was, the way it smelled like Anakin.

“Am I even allowed to wear this?”

“It’s just a robe” Anakin shrugged, already trying to push past the gesture “besides breaking a rule like that is worth you not freezing”

“but it’s a special jedi robe” you protested “am I going to get special jedi powers now?”

And god help you you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up at that, a laugh that came out as more of a cough following shortly that had your heart skipping a beat in your chest “that’s not how that works. Now come on” he tried to usher you forward but you stopped him.

“Hold on what about you” you asked “aren’t you cold”

And you weren’t sure if Anakin noticed the small smile that grew on his lips, didn’t notice or didn’t care, either way you were glad to finally see it “no I’m okay, let’s just-“ and he paused out of nowhere, smile slowly dropping from his lips as he looked up into the sky.

Furrowing your brows you started to do the same, pausing only as Anakin started to approach you, hands coming just beside your ears as he reached behind you, your breath catching in your throat at his closeness. Slowly, grabbing the hood on the cloak he pulled it forward, shrouding your head in it just as you started to notice the fat water droplets that began to stain the ground beneath your feet.

“keep your hair dry” he all but whispered, taking just a second longer before retracting his hands and taking a step back, turning on his heel and ushering you forward with a nod in that direction “come on let’s hurry”

And then he took off as if nothing had happened, as if that wasn’t the most emotion you had gotten out of him since you had met, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several seconds standing closer to you than was strictly necessary, as if your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest so hard you could feel it.

Too much of your mental space the rest of the day was spent trying to come up with ways to get Anakin to interact with you again. Like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch you felt this desire to talk to him again, to see that hint of a smile grace his lips, to see that small twinkle in his eye as he huffed and shook his head in amusement down at you. Something, anything that could clue you into what was going on inside of that jedi brain of his.

Beyond proposing a trip to the library, however, you had nothing.

A small nod was all you got for your efforts before he fell into place behind you, always a few feet back, hands held behind his back, head held high, not a single word uttered in your direction, a true return to form even after what had occurred earlier.

And a part of you scolded yourself for thinking it would ever be different, that you had let Jace’s words weasel their way under your skin like that, that you ever thought you’d be anything other than a job to him.

So wordlessly you led on, entering the library with him in tow, doing as you always did and completely ignoring your shadow’s existence for the time being, trying to turn your mind to the task at hand.

But why had that never been as hard before as it was now?

Taking a brief trip around the shelves, Anakin in tow close behind, it was a bit before you could find the exact copy you needed, of course on the top shelf well outside of your reach.

You took a tentative look back at Anakin to see his eyes wondering aimlessly around the library not even paying attention. And for a brief moment you debated asking him for help, he’d given his cloak so freely the other day, had yet to even ask for it back, you’d taken to the habit of wearing it around your rooms when cold. It had been a crack in the walls he erected between the two of you so long ago.

But it was just that, a crack. You’ve spent years at this point with whatever small amount of time spent in Anakin’s company more or less ignoring him, used to his curt nods and short answers, it wasn’t quite so simple to get over that.

With a small sigh you walked over to a nearby table and grabbed a chair, pushing it back in front of the shelf, giving it a small test with your hands before stepping one foot up.

Anakin was by your side in an instant, hands out before him, coming up to grab you but remaining just a bit too far away “What are you doing?”

“I need a book on the top shelf” you shrugged, pushing your weight onto the foot on the seat of the chair, Anakin shifting closer as you did so.

“Alright then I’ll get it” he urged, “this thing spins would you just get down”

“I’m already up here I’ll get it” you brushed him off, one hand on the back of the chair to steady yourself as you brought your other foot up, trying to react quickly with every small movement in the base of the chair as it swiveled slightly.

“Senator-“ Anakin tried again, practically begging you to get down.

“I’m like two feet in the air I’ll be fine” your hand left the back of the chair and immediately the thing pivoted slightly beneath you, your legs reacting by crouching slightly so you could keep your balance.

“Y/N” and you felt him grab you by the forearm, a shock surging through your arm at his sudden touch, effectively freezing you in place, your eyes coming back to connect with his for the first time, noting the concern they carried. His other hand reached out, a book flying off the top shelf and coming right into his palm, Anakin not even breaking eye contact as he did it “Look I’ve got it would you please get down”

And for a second it was like you had forgotten how to breathe, you can’t even remember the last time he had looked into your eyes so intently let alone touch you, the simple act had left you absolutely breathless with gorgeous blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your own and for the first time you felt what it was like to truly be the sole object of Anakin’s attention. You could feel yourself practically shrink within it, your knees aching slightly though you were quick to blame that on your attempt to balance on the chair.

“Uh-yeah” you hadn’t realized how long you had remained still and silent beneath his gaze until you broke its spell, forcing your gaze from his down to your shoes, using his hand as an anchor as you carefully stepped down, not missing the sharp hiss of air that left Anakin the minute you had both feet on the ground.

“here” he sighed almost in relief, holding the book out to you, you carefully taking it from his hands as he moved quickly to push the chair back to the table you had stolen it from.

Looking down at the cover you couldn’t help but chuckle slightly, casting your eyes back up to Anakin only to see him already looking at you, a faint smile pulling up at his lips “what?”

“I actually need the one next to this one” you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your own smile as he sighed dramatically, looking back up at the self before easily picking the one you needed off of the top.

“Thank you” you traded books with him, just barely catching the slightly wider smile on his lips as he placed the first back on the shelf. And you decided that you liked that smile, liked being its cause.

Wordlessly he ushered you towards the exit with an extended arm, you nodding sheepishly at him before walking out the doors, Anakin’s footsteps as usual following close behind but this time, to your surprise, he sped up once you got to the hallway, falling into step beside you as opposed to behind.

“So what do you need the book for?” The question startled you, your head whipping around to him on instinct though you tried desperately to restrain your surprise, worried expressing too much of it would scare him off.

“Oh-he’s just one of my favorite writers” you tried to keep your tone as casual as possible, only making you worry it sounded forced, you didn’t like how easily you came to second guessing your every move in the jedi’s presence “I’m hoping I could use some of his style to influence my speech, make it sound a little better”

His brow furrowed at that, his gaze never leaving yours as he spoke “why? I like your style”

You nearly stopped walking, quick blinks coming as you tried to wrap your head around his words, the question slipping out of you before you could think better “you’ve seen me speak before?”

“When I’m free” he shrugged as if it were a given, as if there was nothing better for a jedi to do than listen to a junior senator give a speech.

And for the first time you started to wonder if Jace was right, if there was a reason Anakin always ended up as your guard, if there was more to this tough, distant demeanor than you had previously thought.

“Do you want a drink?” You regretted the offer as soon as it left your lips, easily catching the hesitation on Anakin’s face the minute you asked “I just mean I’m going to be up for a little longer and since you’re stuck keeping me company it’s the least I could do” and he seemed to relax slightly at that only making you tack on more “plus as a thank you for grabbing the book for me”

And there was that small smile again, his features lighting up ever so slightly as it graced his lips, your own mirroring it of their own volition.

“Yeah I’d like that”

“You did not!” You exclaimed with a loud laugh, hand coming out instinctively to slap his chest as he grinned back at you, smile hid behind his glass as he raised it up.

“I had no other choice” he defended weakly in a voice that told you he had many.

“That make for three ships you’ve crashed in this story alone” you shook your head with a chuckle “you know someone has to pay for those, namely the people of the republic”

“A small price to pay for peace” he shrugged with a lazy grin, taking a sip of his drink.

“Have you tried this thing, I think they call it landing?” You teased earning a chuckle from the jedi, the sound making your cheeks ache as you tried to contain your grin.

“I’m sorry senator how many ships have you ever flown and landed successfully?” he taunted with a raised brow.

And you could blame it on the alcohol, could blame it on the sleep deprivation, could blame it on the cozy atmosphere in the room. But really it was just Anakin that had you pulling out childhood stories, the way he put you at ease, the strange familiar air of a man who’s spent the last several years practically ignoring you. In all honesty this was the most you had ever gotten from the man in terms of real conversation and you weren’t ready to let that go just yet.

“My father actually taught me to fly as a kid” you offered with a soft smile, watching Anakin’s brows shoot up ever so slightly.

“Really?” he prompted simply, leaving the door open for you to continue if you so choose.

“Yeah” you chuckled softly, casting your eyes down to your drink “he loved the freedom it gave him, the idea that he could go anywhere he wanted at the drop of a hat, could live amongst the stars. I think he wanted to instill that same feeling in me”

“and did he?” he asked with a sentimental smile and briefly you felt like he wasn’t just looking at you but rather watching you as you told your story, something you took a strange comfort in.

“He did” you nodded “he died a few years ago and I associate flying with him so much I feel like I’m working to fall in love with it all over again, just this time alone”

And at your words you watched his smile slowly melt off his face, his eyes casting downward into his own drink, and you prepared yourself for the inevitable. The sympathy, the condolences, the pity, instead Anakin surprised you with a story of his own.

“As a kid I was a pod racer, thought I was significantly better than I actually was ya know” he chuckled softly, eyes glancing up at yours for a brief moment before casting back down “but I knew my mother never really approved, thought it was too dangerous, but she always was my biggest supporter despite everything. I had to leave her years ago for the order and sometimes I wonder if I’m reckless now in some ridiculous bid to be closer to her”

“that’s not ridiculous” you shook your head, Anakin’s eyes coming back up to meet yours “it was a comfort to have your mother care for you in that way, only makes sense that when you miss her you seek that sense of comfort all over again”

And he chuckled softly at that, smiling to himself “I suppose you’re right”

And this time you could definitely blame it on the alcohol, or maybe the slight pink hue you thought you could see in his cheeks, but suddenly you felt yourself forcing your next words to the surface, a desperate need taking over you to have them out in the open. “I know we never really do this but I really like talking to you Anakin”

And for some reason the name felt weird on your mouth this time, felt weird being addressed to him rather than said behind his back, yet still you rather liked it.

A small smile grew on his lips as he looked back at you, eyes bouncing back and forth between your own before he spoke “I like talking to you too Y/N”

And you certainly liked the way your name sounded when he said it like that to you, soft and sweet, less a call to attention and more an affirmation.

His eyes darted to the clock and he sighed softly, leaning forward to set his glass on the edge of your desk “Come on its way past your bedtime”

You chuckled softly at that, shaking your head even as you knew he was right “I’m a senator I don’t have a bedtime”

He laughed back at that, taking your glass from you and setting it onto your desk next to his “and senators need 8 hours of sleep just like the rest of us”

“You expect me to believe you get a full 8 hours of sleep a night” you asked with a raised brow, watching in amusement as he shook his head softly from above you.

“Alright like the rest of us except for jedi knights”

Despite that ridiculous answer you relented, hands coming to the armrests of your chair ready to push yourself up when a hand suddenly entered your field of vision, Anakin’s hand offered simply to you. With a slightly furrowed brow you looked up at him as you took it, standing up with his small aide, coming to a position that had the two of you standing nearly chest to chest and instinctively you felt a small panic rise.

Instead his other hand came to the small of your back as he ushered you forward softly, hand slipping easily from your own as you walked forward out of your office, focused entirely too much on the feeling of his touch as it slowly slipped from your back, on the way he fell into step behind you as usual though this time mere inches away instead of feet.

Too quickly you reached the door to your room, spinning around to face him “this is me” you regretted the statement as soon as it left your mouth, wincing slightly at the sound of your own words which just had him laughing softly.

“Need me to clear it?” he asked in a low tone, his voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer “see if there’s a monster hiding under your bed”

“I think I’ll be okay” you chuckled softly back, scolding yourself for the way your gaze slipped down to his lips, the way your fingers twitched, eager to reach out.

The moment of silence stretched and still you felt yourself drifting closer, felt the friendly atmosphere give way to one of thick tension as the two of you stared back at one another, daring the other to give in and make the first move.

Instead Anakin stepped back, the smile slowly slipping from his lips though never entirely leaving “goodnight Y/N”

And with a sigh you couldn’t entirely contain you nodded softly, leaning against your doorway as you watched him walk back down the hall to his own room, “goodnight Anakin”

You dragged yourself from sleep with shallow quick breaths, bolting upright in place, eyes desperately scanning the room for anything that looked familiar.

But of course this was Coruscant and nothing really was.

This wasn’t the first time your sleep has plagued by nightmares, nor the first time you’ve woken up unsure of where you were, of what was going on, of where the threat was coming from.

And logically you knew where you were, in your room, safe, with a jedi guard just next door. So you tried to force yourself to take deep breaths, a hand on your chest as if you could physically push the air into you. And for the most part you had succeeded, your breath slowly but surely returning to normal.

But it didn’t rid you of the initial panic, of the overwhelming sense of dread, of the crushing loneliness of going through this in a room that wasn’t your own.

And for the first time your mind jumped to Anakin, afterall he was just next door.

This past day had been the closest you had ever felt to the jedi, approaching something that resembled friendship as he made an effort for the first time to actually talk to you. And based on that you really didn’t think he would mind, even if it was just him sitting in silence next to you, it was nice just having something there.

But still waking him would be welcoming him to a part of you you weren’t sure you were ready to show him yet. It was a level of vulnerability you weren’t ready to show him yet. Not to mention the man was a jedi, faced death on a near daily basis, was always putting himself in dangers way, what right did you have to go to him with nightmares?

Making up your mind you slipped silently out of your room and made your way to the front door, heading as you usually did to Jace’s apartment.

You tried to slip out of the room quietly, more than enough experience at this under your belt to know that you could probably force your way through the front door with a sledge hammer and Jace wouldn’t wake up but still wanting to take precautions nonetheless.

Up on your toes you snuck through the door, pressing the button on the other side to close it, waiting till it fully shut to relax, spinning around to begin the trek back to your rooms, when movement out of the corner of your eye caught you off guard. With a small gasp you stepped back from the mysterious object, nearly stumbling over your own feet, when you realized you recognized the mystery man lurking outside of the door.

“Anakin” you breathed out in relief, hand instinctually coming to your chest in an attempt to slow your racing heart “you scared me”

At first he didn’t say anything, stayed leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his posture telling you that he couldn’t have been more at ease, but his expression... His jaw was set, clenched hard enough you could see the muscle tensing even from your position, his gaze hard and unflinching as it bore down into you, Anakin was pissed.

“Imagine how I felt when I woke to find your room empty” His tone was cold and biting, as if he were spitting the words at you rather than conversing.

“Alright maybe I should’ve left a note” you conceded “but I figured I’d be back in an hour or two tops, and it’s Jace’s place you’ve met him”

“A note” he scoffed back at you, pushing himself off the wall to come close to you, forcing you to crane your neck in order to make eye contact, refusing to give in and take a step back “What part of this do you not get?”

“What part of what?” you demanded, crossing your own arms over your chest “you found me quite easily what is the harm?”

“What is the-“ he chuckled bitterly as he echoed you under his breath, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he burst “you suck out on me!”

“for like an hour” you protested, rising your voice to match his, not caring at this point who heard you

“That doesn’t matter” he paused briefly between each word, putting emphasis on each as he glared at you “I was tasked with guarding you that means I go where you go, everywhere you go, that means you don’t sneak out on me especially not to just spend the night with some guy” he gestured almost in disgust back at Jace’s door “this isn’t some joke Y/N”

“And I’m not treating it like one” you countered, clenching your jaw as you fought back the urge to push him back “you’ve come with me to everything for the entire time you’ve been my guard, I haven’t left your side, I’m playing by your rules”

“this” he gestured vaguely in your direction, a bitter laugh in the back of his throat “this is not playing by my rules, this is disobeying my orders, and a fucking note is not the correct fix to this situation”

“So I should’ve what? Asked you to escort me to Jace’s room at three in the morning?”

You watched him clench his jaw at that, a harsh glare sent back at you as he silently loomed over you, neither of you saying anything for a few seconds, before a deep breath escaped him, his chest deflating slightly as he grabbed your elbow, pulling you down the hallway “let’s just go back Y/N”

But you weren’t giving up on this so easily, weren’t letting him get away with chastising you in the middle of the hallway like you were a child. You ripped your elbow from his grasp, slowing your pace “I can walk myself”

“Really you sure you won’t get lost?” he condescended with a raised brow, crossing his arms in front of his chest “won’t accidentally end up in some other guys room for ‘just an hour’, I think senator Passel’s in this hall I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about him”

You reacted without thinking, your hand coming up and slapping him across the cheek before you could fully process your action, though even after you couldn’t find yourself to regret it. And you knew that on some level Anakin had to have let it happen, it was nearly impossible to catch the Jedi by surprise. But the wide eyes he gave back to you could have had you fooled. You watched as his own hand came up to his cheek, touching the skin lightly, him mouth dropping open ever so slightly, his anger completely dissipating on the spot.

Yours, however, had yet to do so “You’re mad I disobeyed your ‘orders’ fine I can take that, but you do not get to treat me like this and you do not get to throw that kind of insinuation at me” you seethed back at him, hands clenched by your side so hard you could feel your nails digging into the palms.

“Y/N” and you name came out of his mouth on an exhale, a hand coming up to your elbow with a touch much softer than before, a plea in his eyes as he said it.

But you weren’t sure you could take any more of being in Anakin’s presence tonight. As you took a step back his hand fell easily from your arm and you tried to ignore the tingle on your skin it left in its place, tried to ignore the lump you could feel growing at the base of your throat, tried to ignore his silent plea for you to come back.

“Goodnight Jedi Skywalker” and before you could crumble you turned and walked back towards your rooms, hearing Anakin’s reluctant footsteps fall into place a few feet behind you.

You felt strangely energized the next morning at breakfast, shoveling food into your mouth as you jotted down notes and took pleasure in the fact that Anakin had yet to wake. Perhaps Jedi did need a full 8 hours of sleep. Senators, it would turn out, can survive on a fraction of that in combination with pure spite.

Your eyes barely glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps that halted a few feet in front of your desk, taking no more than a second to note Anakin’s form as he stood before you.

“Y/N” your name came out of his mouth almost hesitantly, still you refused to look up at him just yet, pretending most of your attention was still captured by the document before you.

“Jedi Skywalker”

You heard a small sigh escape him, a hollow chuckle filling the air “back to titles huh”

“what can I do for you jedi?” you asked, interlacing your fingers and setting them before you, pushing your posture straighter as you looked up at him in front of your desk, not letting a single emotion betray you with your expression.

Another sigh and he held up a piece of paper before you “we’ve received our first official death threat against you” and though you knew it had to be coming a part of you expected to be more shook by the news, expected to be more scared, all you felt at this point, however, was tired. Tired of being on Coruscant, tired of your job, tired of dealing with every consequence that came from these threats.

“Ok” You could see Anakin’s expression melt a little at your simple reply, could see the pity and guilt plain on his face, you wanted neither “anything else?”

Anakin nodded slowly, placing the piece of paper on your desk, taking care to step back from you after he had done so “because of it we’re more or less going into lockdown, the only people permitted access to this room are the one’s on this list provided by your security team”

You scoffed slightly as your eyes scanned the list, noticing immediately that one name was missing “Jace isn’t on here”

Anakin’s tone dropped slightly, his hand going into a fist at his side as he repeated “the only people permitted access to this room are the one’s on this list”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping as you threw the paper down onto your desk “you want me confined to my room fine, restrict who I have access to fine, one of those people will, however, be Jace, not only because he is my friend and I trust him but because he is instrumental to getting the work I need done”

And you could see him clench his jaw from across your desk, an angry hand running through his hair before he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes breaking from yours down to the paper before he sighed “fine”

And that put you off guard, if there was one thing you had learned about Anakin throughout your limited interaction it was that the man didn’t back down easily. Giving him a small nod you all but whispered a thank you, casting your eyes back down to your document, a silent dismissal.

The paper was wordlessly picked up from your desk before he started to leave, a new voice filling the silence left in his wake.

“Y/N I just heard-“ Jace’s voice was cut off suddenly, your eyes coming up from the document to see him in the doorway, held in place with a simple hand on his chest by Anakin, the jedi’s other hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber as he glared down the man.

“he’s fine” you called out simply, eyes casting back down to the document without a second thought.

But you didn’t hear any change, Jace hadn’t started talking again, there had been no footsteps as he entered the room. Looking back up you saw the two men in the exact same position, glaring daggers into one another, each daring the other to make the first move.

“Jedi Skywalker he’s okay to come in” you instructed Anakin again, watching as the grip on his saber only tightened if anything.

“Anakin”

His gaze snapped to yours at the sound of his name, his expression softening ever so slightly as it did, his grip dropping from the saber.

“he’s okay”

And reluctantly he nodded, hand dropping from Jace’s chest as he righted himself, before his gaze snaped back to Jace, his next words coming out almost as a threat as he spoke them more to your friend than you “I’ll be just outside the door”

You’d be lying if you said you had forgotten about the other night, in fact you had done just about everything you could to do so, but despite your best efforts his insinuation still rang loudly in your head, his angry gaze as he spit the words at you still living in your minds eye, the fury that sparked in your chest then had yet to dwindle with time.

You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t really matter, so what if you were seeing Jace like that you were both single there would be no harm done. But another part of you hated the idea of Anakin thinking that, the same stupid, selfish, naive part of you that clung onto his every word and laugh that night.

But you had a job to do, a job that had pulled you halfway across a galaxy away from home to try and convince a small group of relevant senators that your position was correct and morally righteous which would be no small feat. That was exactly why you couldn’t have your attention pulled away from the matter at hand by some guy, least of all some guy as emotionally stunted as Anakin Skywalker.

“Y/N” you ignored the small plea from that very man, pointedly keeping your gaze on your notes as you paced back and forth from behind the stage.

Anakin sighed softly, an anxious hand running through his hair before he tried again “Y/N please I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“No” you cut him off simply, refusing to give him your attention, your anger, your anything. You had a job to do and he was being an active hinderance to that and you were not going to treat him as anything but that “I don’t want to hear it right now”

He nodded softly at that, gaze casting down to his shoes “yeah we can talk after your speech”

You scoffed at that, shaking your head before countering under your breath “or you can go back to ignoring me, I much preferred that”

Anakin furrowed his brow at that, taking a step closer to you “what do you-“

“Senator” one of your aides interrupted you with a smile, nodding her head towards the shut curtain before you “they’re ready for you”

“Thank you” you smiled back at her, squaring your shoulders and facing the curtain separating you from the stage, pointedly ignoring Anakin��s intense stare down at you.

Another soft sigh before he whispered “I’ll be off to the right side in case anything happens” and he was reaching for the curtain before you could respond, most likely knowing that you wouldn’t, holding it open for you to duck under slightly and be met by the bright lights and polite applause you were used to.

You smiled widely at the crowd as you walked up to the podium, setting your stack of notes on top of it and waving, giving them a practiced small nod and a polite “thank you senators”

Slowly the applause dwindled and you were faced with a silent room, milking the sound for just a moment before beginning “I want to thank you all for making time in your busy schedules-“ and you launched into the usual political fluff that began most speeches, stroking the senators egos before you got into the real meat of the issue.

You didn’t make it far, however, before you felt a sudden tug at your elbow, the force strong enough that you were pulled back from the microphone a few steps, a confused murmur making its way through the crowd before you.

Spinning around you followed the hand upon your elbow up to the jedi who owned it, only to see that he wasn’t staring down at you but rather up at the point where the walls met the ceiling, his eyes searching for something that was surely drowned out by the stage lights.

“What’s going on?” you asked him pulling your arm back into you, Anakin’s fingers not putting up a fight against it as he kept his gaze up, searching.

“we need to go” the words were spoken softly and with little weight only confusing you further.

“Anakin what-“ he cut you off before you could even get the question out, crashing his body into yours as he tackled you to the floor, arms wrapping around you to break your fall as he ducked the two of behind your podium. And you were ready to ask him again what was happening when you noticed it, a new burn mark on the wall just behind where your head had been moments ago.

It was only then that you realized the world had fallen silent on your ears, your mind tuning out the panicked yells and scraping of chairs as the people you had just been addressing scrambled for the exit.

Then there was a blaster sound.

The podium before you shook as it took the brunt of the shot, the furniture groaning telling you it wasn’t going to be able to take much more.

With wide eyes your gaze finally connected with Anakin’s to find his already on you, your name on his lips though you don’t remember hearing it.

“What?” You asked much too softly for the sound level in the room, a small look of relief still edging into Anakin’s eyes as he looked at you.

“There’s a door behind you to your left, I’ll cover you you make a break for it on the count of three” he instructed loudly but still calmly, the small panic in his eyes doing a fantastic job of never making its way to his voice. You nodded quickly at him, eyes darting over your shoulder to take a quick look at the door. His hand came up and squeezed your shoulder softly, pulling your gaze back to his “stay low okay. 1..2..3 go”

There wasn’t a moments hesitation before you broke for the door, no drop of doubt in Anakin’s promise to cover you before you left the safe haven of the podium, throwing yourself at the door to force it open and pushing it back closed behind Anakin the second he was through.

He never let up, however, not wasting any time before he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you off the door and down the hallway, you never fully being able to escape the panicked screams from that room.

“The others in there” you protested weakly, letting Anakin pull you further and further away from the room.

“Not important right now” he answered harshly, taking seemingly random turns down a labyrinth of hallways.

And your mind was spinning too much to protest any further, still struggling to bridge the gaps of the last few minutes and comprehend what had happened “did you see them?”

“No” Anakin grumbled “but I think the shot came from the vent system”

“So they could be anywhere by now”

Anakin didn’t respond to that, dragging you a few more feet forward before coming to an abrupt halt before a door you didn’t recognize, eyes checking both ways down the hall before throwing it open and ushering you inside, shutting the door behind the two of you.

It was jarring how silent it was within the room, the way the entire world seemed to suddenly stop spinning, finally giving you the chance to catch your breath, your mind reeling in such a way that made you wonder if you even really wanted the silence.

“Okay” Anakin spoke up, hand coming back to your shoulder, thumb hooked softly under your chin to physically pull your gaze to his as he hunched over slightly “you stay in here I’ll go-“

“What-“ the question came out before he could even finish his statement, your head shaking rapidly as you took a step back from him “you’re leaving me in here?”

“Just for a bit I need to track down-“

“No I can’t-” you interrupted him again, the same panic as before surging within you as you shook your head again, an anxious hand bunching up in your hair as you started to shift your weight from foot to foot “you can’t just- you can’t leave me here alone”

“Hey hey” and you could see his attempt to calm you down as he reached out, could see the fight behind his eyes between staying with you and finding the guy who shot at you, his hands resting on both of your shoulders halting your nervous movement “you’ll be safe in here but I need to track down-“

“Please” you interrupted him again, your single world making his argument die on his lips, his expression freezing slightly at the sound of it “Please Ani don’t leave me”

And you watched his chest deflate, a small nod before he answered “okay”

Before you could think better of it you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest. Again there was a moment of hesitation, a brief hiccup before his arms wrapped around you in response, and you heard him mumble against your hair “I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay”

And at that words you let a shaky breath out, feeling the weight on your chest decrease slightly at the promise, nodding softly against him before slowly letting go, untangling your arms from him “Thank you”

His eyes bounced back and forth between your own for a second before he nodded softly, taring his gaze from you as he stood up straighter, taking a good look around the room “We’ll just wait here for a bit, the rest of the order is going to be working on tracking the shooter down”

You nodded back at him again, taking a few steps aside to rest against the wall, finally fully feeling yourself relax as a comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

“I really am sorry for what I said the other night” the sudden voice breaking the silence caught you by surprise, your brows furrowing as you looked up at him “I was angry and I took it out unfairly on you and for that I’m sorry”

“Is now really the time to be doing this?” you asked with an edge of frustration to your voice, trying to hide it behind a soft laugh.

“You’ve been refusing to talk to me, now’s the first time I’ve really had your attention” he shrugged as if it were the obvious conclusion.

“yeah well try dealing with that for about three years then you’re allowed to complain about feeling ignored to me” you grumbled crossing your arms over your chest, unsure if you had really wanted him to hear those words or not.

His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, genuine curiosity on his voice as he asked “what does that mean?”

And a part of you wanted to scoff, as if he hadn’t noticed how he’d treated you for the entirety of knowing him “This trip is the most I’ve ever talked to you” you huffed, pointedly avoiding eye contact with him “When I first met you you were nice and talkative and normal, and all of a sudden the next time I’m around you’re nothing but cold and distant, could get barely more than two words out of you at a time. Made me wonder what I had done wrong”

You heard his deep sigh at your words, eyes glancing up at his form to see his gaze planted on his shoes, a soft reply coming in a voice you almost couldn’t hear “you didn’t do anything wrong”

Another silence passed between the two of you before you broke it, unsure exactly why you felt the need to justify yourself to him “I get nightmares sometimes, nothing too bad but sometimes it’s like I forget where I am and I can’t breathe and I just need someone there to anchor me, to remind me that I’m okay. Jace has been that person for me a lot so when I woke up I sought him out, I really didn’t think about how I was sneaking out behind your back”

Another sigh came from across the room before you heard a back sliding against the wall, eyes casting up to see Anakin had moved to sitting on the ground, back resting against the wall, eyes planted somewhere across the room before he laughed almost hollowly “I’m an idiot aren’t I”

And you couldn’t help but chuckle at that, moving to sit down next to him, careful to keep a good amount of distance between the two of you as you did so “I mean I certainly won’t argue with you on that point”

And this time his chuckle was realer, a warm sound you felt yourself despite everything drawn into “you know you could’ve come to me”

“If the roles were reversed” you asked him with a soft, sad smile “would you have come to me?”

And he sighed at that, gaze breaking to study your face for a moment, before he shook his head “no I suppose I wouldn’t have”

Another silence fell between the two of you, this one considerably less uncomfortable than the ones before, and for a brief moment you wondered where exactly this left you and Anakin, certainly closer than before but friends? Is that what you wanted? Is just that what you could be okay with?

“The jedi have a code” Anakin’s voice pulled your attention smoothly back to him, finding him a few inches closer than before, you weren’t sure who it was that had shifted “we can’t form attachments”

And you found yourself focusing on how hard the words seemed to be for him to say, how he was practically pulling them out of himself, you eagerly latching onto each one, nodding softly.

“So when I met you and you were incredibly nice and funny and easy to talk to…” he let the end of his sentence hang in the air, let the implication remain unsaid “Obi-wan noticed it before I did, was over my shoulder reminding me of the code right away and I figured if I remained distant then I wouldn’t be tempted to break it”

You felt the air leave your chest realizing that hearing it form Jace was one thing but from Anakin himself was completely different, the last few years spent around him clicking into place in your mind and you felt the need to reach out to him, if not to just hold his hand in yours. “Then why are you my guard every time I need one on Coruscant” you asked instead, forcing the distance back, giving Anakin what he wanted, what he said he wanted “Wouldn’t it have been better to avoid me entirely?”

A bitter laugh came forth at that, Anakin throwing his head back against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling “yeah, yeah it would have.” He paused briefly, a small smile pulling up at the edges of his lips “do you know how excited I get every time I hear you’re going to be on Coruscant? I tell myself every time that I just want to make sure you’re safe, that I want to be able to see for myself that no harm comes to you, but I know they’re all just excuses. Because even if it’s in complete silence I relish every moment spent in your presence”

And a huge part of you felt relief at his words. Relief that your feelings were reciprocated, relief that he didn’t actually hate you as you suspected, relief that it was all finally out in the open. But still there was a new weight on your chest, the burden of the jedi code no longer resting on Anakin’s shoulder’s alone, a burden that as not a jedi it felt unfair for you to carry.

“Where does that leave us now?” you asked quietly, eyes bouncing back and forth between his hopefully.

“The jedi order have their faults” he started after a bit, gaze skipping around the room, everywhere but meeting yours “there’s a few things I just don’t agree with them on and one of them is that having attachments makes me a worse jedi, I’m starting to wonder if remaining at a distance from you is really worth it, after this past week I’m not sure I can do it anymore”

“what if I don’t want you to remain at a distance?” you asked softly, watching almost with amusement as Anakin’s gaze rushed to meet your own, his eyes searching yours with hope for sincerity.

Finally his lips turned up at your words, he gaze flicking down to your lips for a moment, inching himself closer still till your shoulder grazed his “Darling if that’s the case then I shall live to make you regret asking me to stay close”

#anakin x reader #Anakin Skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #anakin fic #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x you #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars x you #star wars x reader

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just-jordie-things · 5 months

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shades of cool - zen'in naoya

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 16.5k warnings: swearing. a semi-soft naoya fic bcuz i'm a f r e a k. summary: naoya doesn't need to love you when the fate of your arranged marriage had been written when you were only kids. and of course, he'd never actually fall for you. more info: arranged marriage!au enemies (sorta) to friends (sorta) to lovers, obviously he's out of character a/n: i am so sick in the head for writing this. adding him to this even was such a... choice. don't request stuff for him i will delete the ask in shame <3 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ but i can’t fix him, can’t make him better. and i can’t do nothing about his strange weather. cause you are unfixable. i can’t break through your world. cause you live in shades of cool. your heart is unbreakable ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 1995

He’s six years old when Naoya first meets (y/l/n) (y/n). She’s freshly six and she looks it, too. Chubby cheeks colored pink from her obvious shyness. She’s standing behind her father’s legs, reaching for his hand even though he’s repeatedly dodged her hold or swatted her hand away.

Naoya’s spying on the scene in the entryway of the Zen’in estate, peeking through the second floor railing with a curious sort of glare on his face. He’d heard whispers among the staff of a visitor from one of the more powerful clans, and while normally Naoya couldn’t care less about the many people coming in and out of the compound, when he’d heard his own name mentioned one too many times in correlation with this visitor, intrigue got the best of him.

And surely she was the reason why. She was no older than him, dressed in a silk kimono that had to have been tailored just for her, and her hair swept back into a jeweled butterfly clip that sat at the back of her head. Although half of her hair was falling out of it, seeing as the hand that wasn’t desperately reaching for her father’s was tugging at the uncomfortable claw secured against her scalp, trying to relieve the tension of her hair being pulled so tightly. Naoya could almost scoff at how childish she looked.

He’s only been spying for a few minutes before his father is turning around and staring straight at him, the marble railings doing nothing to hide his crouching stature. His stomach drops with fear, expecting to be scolded and punished for eavesdropping, even though he hadn’t heard a thing the adults were saying. Instead, the head of the Zen’in clan beckons his son to descend the stairs and meet their visitor.

And although he wants to, he doesn’t hesitate. He’s upright and quickly making his way down to courteously introduce himself to their guests.

“Naoya, this is the head of the (y/l/n) Clan, you remember him, yes?” Naobito gestured to the man still swatting away at his daughter’s hand, prompting Naoya to tilt forward in a respectful bow.

“Yes, sir”

“It just so happens his daughter is your age,” Naobito continues, directing his gaze to where she stood.

She was just a small thing, so tiny Naoya could hardly believe she was even six years old. She was merely a pipsqueak, and her demeanor seemed so, too. Her eyes could barely meet his, opting instead to stare at his shoes. If his father weren’t standing there, he would’ve scoffed and walked away without so much as a second glance.

“It would be nice if you two could… get along,” Even Naobito seemed uncertain of this union. His son’s apprehension was clear in his rigid stance and bored expression, and the young (y/l/n) didn’t seem like she could hold her own. If that were the case, she didn’t stand a chance with his ruthless son. “Why don’t you show her around the compound while the adults chat, hm? Be a proper host”

Naoya looks up at his father, silently asking if this was the best use of his time. Naobito’s expression was unmoving, and unforgiving. There was no getting out of this, then.

“Fine” Naoya huffs, and he regrets the attitude when his father’s hand smacks up the back of his head. He doesn’t say anything else as he nods for the girl to follow him.

Once more she reaches for her father, only to be gently pushed towards Naoya, and against her will, she follows behind him.

She’s silent as he boredly walks her through each room, pointing here and there at cursed tools he wanted to show off, or expensive art he couldn’t care less about. A few times, Naoya even had to check over his shoulder that she was even still with him. She was like a mouse. If it weren’t for her buzzing cursed energy, he could forget she was there at all.

Every time he checks on her and her eyes meet his, his brows furrow. He couldn’t explain it, since she hadn’t actually said a word to him yet, but something about her irked him. He was certain there wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to be friends.

“What’s your deal anyways?”

His question is abrupt, and full of cruelty. He halts suddenly right before he’s about to show her the lame gardens that the staff tends to. The girl merely blinks, seemingly unphased by his blatant rudeness. At this point, he’s wondering if she’s a mute, or maybe just too stupid to—

“My deal?” She repeats, speaking for the first time.

Her voice isn’t as timid as he would have expected. It’s soft, but there’s an underlying boldness there, as though she were just waiting for her chance to tear into him. It flips a switch in him to put his guard up, the prickle on his skin reminding him of his older brothers’ torment. Perhaps she was just like them, playing the long game, stringing him along into thinking she was just another pipsqueak, when in reality she was about to pin him down and tie him up like a hog. Or at least, that’s what his brothers would have done.

“I dunno,” She hums, shrugging her shoulders with her lame answer. Naoya’s lip curls into an irritated snarl. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. “My dad said I had to come”

That’s all the more she tells him, and young Naoya scoffs. He’d only been around her for all of ten minutes and he was already over it.

“Whatever,” He mutters, pushing through the doors and not bothering to hold it open for her as she continues to follow him outdoors. “Just try to keep up, pipsqueak. Let’s get this over with”

And that’s exactly how he feels the next few times her father brings her along on his visits to the compound. Impatient, hurried, and most of all, irritated. Whatever the point was for having her here was lost on Naoya. She didn’t appear all that interested either, so why torture the both of them?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SPRING, 1997

They’re eight when Naoya finally comes to realize why the Zen’in and (y/l/n) Clans insist on the two of them spending so much time together. The idea makes his stomach churn and his throat fill with bile.

“You know this is all just an act, right?”

His words are sharp, as they always are, while (y/n’s) busy picking the weeds out of the grass around them. She insisted on gathering all the dandelions, no matter how much he criticized her for fawning over the dumb weed. After a few years of regular drop offs, where her father would smoke cigars with Zen’in Naobito and have adult conversation, she was stuck entertaining the young Zen’in.

Naoya wasn’t the most pleasant of company, when he did speak he never had anything nice to say, and when he wasn’t talking, he had a resting scowl on his face. Lucky for her, her patience seemed to know no bounds. Or perhaps she’d just gotten used to his shitty attitude.

(y/n) had grown up mastering the craft of being patient. Of smothering emotion from her face, especially ones such as disgust, or fear. Coming from a long line of sorcerers who had mastered the Reversed Cursed Technique, she was in line to be yet another higher grade sorcerer with the (y/l/n) name. Unfortunately, it had meant her training began young, and it was a gruesome lesson plan. She met many sorcerers who came to her estate after unruly battles and exorcisms, covered in laceration wounds or missing appendages. Any sign of weakness or apprehension had been taught out of her years before now. If she was too afraid to go near an injured sorcerer, there wasn’t a chance of her learning how to heal them. So it didn’t matter if it was a stranger or her own family crying out in agony as they tried to stop the heavy bleeding from a nasty injury, her first lesson was learning to keep a neutral face in the presence of gore.

This lesson came in handy during her visits with Naoya, as well.

“If you’re acting, you’re not all that good at it,” She replies. Her own choice of words are witty for an eight year old, snarky, even. But her voice is as soft as ever. “Or, are you trying to look like an ass all the time?”

When she looks up at him, her gap toothed smile is so large it takes up most of her face. She knows she’d gotten him good when he’s scowling and letting out an annoyed sound from the back of his throat. Truth be told, she didn’t have a clue as to what he was referring to, but the only way to keep herself amused during these little forced sessions was by picking dandelions and dishing his attitude back at him.

“You’ll never get a husband with that mouth,” Naoya bites back. “No self respecting man would ever want the hand of a girl that talks back”

She raises a brow at him, although her eyes are focused on the stems of a few yellow weeds in her hands as she diligently loops and knots them together. Her interest is far more captivated by the dying weed than the obnoxious brat keeping her company. Still, she pays him some attention, just for times’ sake.

“I don’t think I have to worry much about that,” She says with a small giggle, still knotting her pile of dandelions together. Naoya’s disinterested stare is focused on her handiwork as she calmly responds. He realizes distantly that she’s making a crown out of the damn things. He looks away then, thinking he was far too focused on her waste of time than he should be. “Don’t you think we’re a little young to have to think about marriage?” She asks.

Naoya sneers, his know-it-all attitude rearing it’s head as soon as it gets the chance.

“You don’t pay attention to anything, do you, pipsqueak?” He scoffs. (y/n) fights the urge to roll her eyes as she continues on with her crown. “You’re going to marry me”

Naoya’s filled with a sick sense of pride for an eight year old, revealing the big secret that their father’s had yet to share. He thinks he’s got her speechless now, and surely she’ll be shocked, maybe even cry. Naoya thinks he’d like to see her sniffle and whine over this news.

He’d certainly gagged when he’d heard the whispered rumors among the staff for the last few days. Anytime he’d heard their names brought up his nose would wrinkle, and he’d ball his hands into fists as he marched away from the ridiculous gossip.

But it’s silent for a few beats, and she appears as though she hasn’t even heard his announcement. His heartless grin begins to falter as he watches her admire her little ring of dandelions, lifting it to get a good look at it in the sun. A small smile stretches across her lips as she deems it finished, before setting it on her head.

“Were you listening?” His grin falls to a deep frown rather quickly.

(y/n) doesn’t let even a flicker of emotion cross her face as she finally turns to look at him. His dark eyes are wide with anticipation, and she knows he’s waiting for a dramatic reaction out of her. She’s not sure why, she’s never really been one for the theatrics, that was always him. Naoya was the one that wanted to march around, show off, and be relentlessly and pointlessly cruel. She was the one who sat and bore it without a word or any reaction at all, really. In the handful of times she’s been around him now, she had yet to understand his obnoxious personality.

“Yeah” She answers, simply, and without the notion of having anything more to say.

Naoya’s brows furrow harshly as he glares at her. He thinks he’ll never be able to understand this girl, much less get along with her. If she really was set to be his wife, he’d have to find every way he could to wiggle out of it.

“It’s an arranged marriage,” He spits out matter-of-factly. “Don’t you understand what that means?”

(y/n) nods her head, the loose crown of dandelions slipping around her ears.

“When we’re older, we’ll get married,” She replies. “It’s not that hard to figure out”

“You knew?” Naoya scoffs.

This time, she shakes her head.

“No, I didn’t,” She tells him, calm as ever. “But does it matter?

He blinks, his eyes wide and full of their usual nasty emotion, mixed with something else she’s never seen on him before. He almost looks lost.

“Don’t tell me you actually want that?” He asks, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

They were the only people in the gardens, always left alone to play and get to know each other, and they always sat there in mostly silence until it was time for her to go. Still, Naoya couldn’t bring himself to speak at a volume any higher than that. He couldn’t risk anyone possibly hearing his accusation.

To his displeasure, (y/n) shrugs. Shrugs. As if being arranged to marry him made no difference to her. As if she barely had any opinion of it at all. Sure, she might not have had a say, but she could think for herself, couldn’t she?

“I don’t really know anyone else,” She tells him, lifting the flower crown off her head to adjust some of the loose stems. “My parents insist on homeschooling me, so I don’t have friends. I’d rather marry someone I know than a stranger”

For the briefest of seconds, Naoya almost softens. He almost feels pity for her. He almost wishes things were different so neither one of them had to be in this position. But just as quickly as the thought crosses his mind, he’s bristling and snarling again.

“You can barely even manifest your cursed technique,” He scoffs. “You know that makes you weak, right?” His words are harsh, but judging from the lack of response from (y/n), he could almost believe she tuned him out completely. “What makes you think I would want a weak pipsqueak like you as my wife?”

Finally, she cracks, but not in the way he was hoping. Her eyes don’t water, she doesn’t sniffle, or even frown. She simply places the dandelion loop back on her head, and gives him a tiny, yet victorious smile.

“What makes you think you’ll have any choice in the matter?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That question sat with Naoya for longer than he would’ve liked. Months pass, and each time he’s forced to see her again, his stomach is filled with the unfamiliar sensation of anxiety. He hates it. Hates the chill that crawls up his spine every time he has to greet her at the door and they have to go sit in the garden for hours on end.

He doesn’t enjoy talking to her, in fact, he despises it. He hates the way every time she speaks her voice is soft, and full of whimsy. Even as she tells him she still hasn’t mastered her Reversed Curse Technique, she sounds hopeful. Too hopeful. By the time they’re ten years old, she’s still struggling to get the hang of it.

Naoya spends most of his time ignoring her, or reminding her of her weakness. (y/n) spends most of her time picking the dandelions as she wanders the gardens, and not ignoring him nearly as much as she should.

She simply couldn’t help it. She’d meant it when she’d told him he was the closest thing to a friend she’d had, after all. The exception being her tutors and a few cousins that would entertain her when they visited. But they had an obligation to be kind to her, the only daughter of the head of the (y/l/n) Clan. Naoya, despite being her betrothed, held no obligation to her at all, and he certainly acted like it.

She had yet to figure him out, but as months turned into years, she was slowly getting a grasp on it. He was more deeply insecure than he would ever admit, and as soon as someone stumbled upon those insecurities, they were scrutinized, blown to bits by his harsh words.

Naoya wasn’t one to give any piece of himself to anyone. No matter how often she’d try to know him better, in order to care for him better, (y/n) made little to no progress. She was lucky if he spent the day with his mouth shut. She’s not sure he’s ever said a kind thing in his life, and after a few years, she’d given up completely on hoping he’d try.

Still, she didn’t put up a fight when she was brought to the Zen’in compound. She smiled and bowed and followed the dark haired boy out to the garden where he’d sit and yank up the grass while she searched for dandelions, or maybe a ladybug. If she were to be his wife, there would be plenty of time to get to know him later. Maybe as he grew older he’d soften around the edges, and he’d be easier to be around.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 2000

When they’re eleven, (y/n) announces that she’d been accepted into a private school.

She’s grinning from ear to ear, practically glowing with excitement as she goes on to tell Naoya all about the new classes she’ll get to take, but most of all, all the friends she’d get to meet. She talks to him more that day than she’d ever had before.

He sits in annoyance as he’s stuck listening to her talk about her uniform of all things. But he doesn’t have it in him to tell her to shut up. Maybe because for once, he could be deluded into thinking she’s enjoying her time with him today. Even though naturally, she’s only in a good mood because of the coming school year.

“Kind of dumb to go to a school with non-sorcerers, isn’t it?” Is all he has to say when she’s finally finished rambling about all the great things about her new school.

“You think?” She muses, intrigued by his opinion for reasons that were beyond him.

“It is if you spend all your time gossiping and learning stupid non-sorcerer things,” Naoya says decidedly. “You should be focused on your technique, pipsqueak. Not friends”

(y/n) hums thoughtfully in response. She knows he’s only jealous, seeing as he didn’t have any friends. Of course she couldn’t say anything of the sorts to him, he’d probably beat her up for it. Instead, she gifts him with her patience.

“I think I can have friends and still work on my technique” She says decidedly.

Naoya scowls, as she predicted, but she doesn’t react to it, simply goes back to threading today’s dandelion crown together. He doesn’t have anything else to say, even with plenty of bitter thoughts forming in his mind. He keeps his mouth shut and counts down the minutes until her father collects her and takes her home.

Today when she leaves, she drops the dandelion crown in his hands with a smile as she says goodbye. Naoya grimaces at the ugly clump of dying weeds, and once she’s gone, drops it into the trash before going on with his day, not giving it a second thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

WINTER, 2003

The first time she gets a grasp on her Reversed Cursed Technique, they’re fourteen.

And despite the unforgiving coldness of the February afternoon, (y/n) insists that they still sit in the garden for the duration of her visit. Naoya tries to tell her that she’s stupid for wanting to spend their time out there where she was going to catch a cold, but when she doesn’t budge, he decides to let her suffer the consequences.

She was a quiet little pipsqueak, but she was stubborn as hell, and for some reason that afternoon, Naoya hadn’t been in the mood to bicker. It probably had something to do with his brothers taunting him all throughout breakfast. They’d learned that messing with him about his little girlfriend as they called her was the quickest way to get his temper to snap, much to their delight. It only meant that by the time she’d arrived, he’d already been broken down and was too mentally drained to put up a fight over something as silly as the cold.

“I’ve learned how to apply my Reversed Cursed Technique on myself” Is the first thing she tells him once they’re alone, sitting in a patch of dry, dead grass surrounded by banks of snow.

“About time” Naoya replies gruffly. She’s not surprised that he has nothing nice to say, she hadn’t expected anything different.

So instead she rolls up her sleeve, tucking it at her shoulder to reveal her entire bare arm. The little hairs stick up and her skin prickles with goosebumps in the frigid air, but she gives no other indication of being bothered by the cold.

When she displays the long, bumpy scar that extends from the dip in her shoulder, down her bicep, nearly all the way through her palm, Naoya can’t help but widen his eyes at the nasty scar. It’s puffy and pink, clearly still healing. He’s silent as he follows the raised skin from start to finish, before turning to look at her, trying to gauge what she was thinking based on the mostly neutral expression she wore.

She was an impossible person to read, it was one of her most annoying qualities. Naoya always believed himself to be gifted in reading others’ thoughts just by looking at their body language. Never once had he been able to penetrate (y/n’s) thoughts. Every time she spoke she found some way to catch him off guard. Even after these last few years, it would still induce a chill of anxiety to shiver down his spine.

“Learned one way or another,” She chuckles, before pulling her sleeve back down. “The scar should fade soon. I got to it a bit late” She explains.

Naoya’s brows fall into a furrow and his lips curl into a puzzled frown.

“You did that to yourself?” He asks, disgust laced in his tone at the cruel attempt at training. Sure, his clan would likely applaud her for it, but the ends didn’t exactly justify the means to him.

“No,” (y/n) scoffs quietly. “Slipped up during training and had a nasty scratch. Had I not moved when I did, I might’ve lost the whole arm”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He doesn’t know what to say, his brain is running haywire with the possibilities. He wants to call her foolish for acquiring such a scar just from training. He wants to drag her by her clean arm to where her father is mindlessly chatting away with his and demand he use his own Reversed Cursed technique to fix it. She was his only daughter, wasn’t she? Couldn’t he have healed her up just fine?

He doesn’t fully believe her story, not with the way she’s talking about her training thus far, but he doesn’t call her out on it, either.

When he snaps his mouth shut again his jaw clenches, and his teeth grind together as he squashes every thought that crosses his mind.

“Well, it’s nasty,” He mutters, sounding uncharacteristically helpless. “But at least you can use your technique now”

(y/n) beams. That was as close to a compliment as she’s ever received from him.

“Hurt like hell, but worth it!” She declares, and the pride in her voice makes him sick. “I can’t wait to show the kids at school. They’ll think it’s cool. They’ve probably never seen stuff like this”

He gives a small nod in response. He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Non-sorcerers were bound to think of her as some sort of badass over such a scar. It would probably boost her popularity among the insects of her school. Naoya frowns to himself.

“You shouldn’t show people that,” He tells her, without much of a reason in his mind. She looks at him curiously, wrapping her arms around herself while still refusing to claim she was cold. There’s not an ounce of truth in his words as he talks out of his ass. “They’ll probably just pity you. They’ll probably think you did it for attention”

She hums, nodding back at him in understanding.

“You’re right,” She tells him, much to his surprise. “I wouldn’t want that”

When she leaves that day, he wonders if she actually took his advice. He wonders if the scar will be gone the next time he sees her.

It’s the first time he’s ever thought about her next visit.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SPRING 2005

When they’re sixteen, Naoya notices a change in her.

Not just a physical one brought on by puberty and elegant growth into young adulthood. It wasn’t just her sharper jaw and thicker lashes, or the way her eyes had a way of piercing through his in an unsettling way. It wasn’t just her longer legs or the strength carried in her abdomen and arms. It was a mindset change, he was sure of it.

She was more confident in the way she carried herself. No longer did she try to reach for her father’s hand, barely casting him a second glance as they parted ways at the Zen’in compound’s entryway. She respectfully bowed her head, but that was it. She didn’t mess with the clip in her hair anymore, or avoid eye contact by staring at the ground. She was a little more poised, and a little more sure of herself.

And now when she was with Naoya, he could practically feel the change in her just from the way she looked at him. Inquisitive, with a small smirk on her face like she knew something he didn’t, and despite his better judgment, he was just dying to know what it was.

He had yet to decide if this change was a good one or not. She was more vocal than usual, witty in their bickering as she yet again forced him to spend their time in the garden. Her voice was still soft but her words were sharper than usual, more decisive. He thinks that having a wife so mouthy and bossy would be an inconvenience to him and his clan, but he’s not sure if voicing that now would be of service to him. He couldn’t go offending her father, not yet anyways, so he keeps his mouth shut and takes her out to her precious garden.

“I have some exciting news to tell you,” She says as soon as they’re alone outside.

Her gaze is fixed on a clump of hyacinths, which irks Naoya. No one else dared speak to him without looking at him, it was a respect thing. The staff, even his younger cousins and some older ones, they all held eye contact when speaking to him. She makes no effort to show him respect, but her manner isn’t intended to be cruel. This was the playful side of her personality that he was starting to despise. He grinds his teeth.

“I’ve been asked to the spring formal at my school”

She sounds delighted, and it’s clear in the way her eyes light up and her smile curls just right to show off pearly white teeth. She tells him this news like he’d been dying to know, like he’d cared at all. He scoffs, rolls his eyes as he leans back in the grass on his hands, careful not to catch his sleeves on the dirty ground.

“I’ve never heard of something more stupid”

“It’s a big deal,” (y/n) turns to him, her hands moving as she explains the details of the dance, how important a pretty dress is, how the most popular couple attending would be crowned spring prince and princess, all of which fell on disinterested ears as Naoya frowned and fought the urge to roll his eyes at everything she told him. “It’s sort of silly, but it’s not stupid,” She tells him with certainty. “Especially not since the most popular guy in my grade asked me,” She adds with a grin, leaning forward a bit to catch his attention. Surely he’d care about that little piece of information.

Naoya rolls his head against his shoulder as he gives her a bored stare. She’s still beaming, bright eyes flickering between his golden brown ones that fought so hard to keep their dull glare.

“Of course, he doesn’t know I’m technically betrothed” She adds, the word slipping off her tongue with syrupy, sticky sweetness. That had a reaction flashing across his face, miniscule changes in his twitching brow and narrowing eyes.

They never really talked about their arrangement. Not since bickering about it as kids, anyways. Naoya always assumed it was because neither one of them were all that fond of the idea of an arranged marriage, especially to one another, seeing as they got along about as well as oil and water. But here she was, bringing it up like it was nothing, like it carried no real weight. And she was teasing him about it.

It made something in his chest snap. Something sharp, something that had never been touched before.

“What, you’re asking for permission to go on a lame date to a lame school dance, with a lame non-sorcerer?” He scoffs at her, but his cruel words do nothing to hinder the excitement in her face.

“Permission? Of course not,” She shakes her head. Her eyes land on a stray dandelion not far from her reach, and she leans over to pluck it from the grass without hesitation. Old habits die hard. “You’re not my husband, I don’t recall signing any papers”

He scoffs again, his lips curling into a sarcastic grin. She knows he’s going to spit out some vile nonsense, but she can’t help but brighten further upon seeing his smile. It was a rare sight, after all.

“Not yet,” He corrects her. “But I’m sure if I were to tell my father about how unfaithful you’ve been acting, you’d be pulled out of that non-sorcerer school by the end of the day. And what then, pipsqueak?” He challenges.

She straightens her posture as she takes his challenge and runs with it. The old feelings of anxiety stir in his chest as she tilts her chin upwards . It was like she knew exactly what it took to get under his skin. When did she get so defiant?

“Immediately running to Daddy is so outdated, don’t you think?” Her voice drops an octave, and her smirk is widening just a bit as she watches it sink into his mind. “Besides, unfaithful feels a little strong” She adds with a short breath of a laugh.

“Not if you’re practically engaged” He snaps back quickly.

(y/n’s) the one to roll her eyes this time. He wants to hate it, instinct clawing up his throat and wanting him to tell her just how terrible of a wife she’d really make, that obedience was the first rule in marriage. But the words die there, swallowed down thickly and leaving his throat dry and scratchy. An aching throat could be the only explanation as to why he wouldn’t say a thing.

“Doesn’t there have to be a ring for that?” She snorts before chuckling to herself, a sound he’s never heard from her before, and doesn’t know what to do with now. He blinks, fire burning in his eyes the longer she puts up this stupid game. What was her ploy, anyways? “Or, you know, a proposal?” She fires back before he could even say anything.

Naoya clicks his tongue in irritation, turning his gaze in the opposite direction so she couldn’t see the way he fought to come up with something.

“I don’t care if you go to your stupid formal with some nobody,” He tells her in a mutter, still focusing his attention elsewhere, anything to keep from looking at her just yet. “Under the condition you’re not actually unfaithful, of course. No point in having you as a wife, then”

(y/n’s) eyes are fixed on him even though he won’t turn back to her. She can just barely make out the pink tips of his ears under the mop of dark hair that covers them. A tiny smile cracks at the corners of her lips as she hums to herself.

He turns to her then, his brows furrowed as always, his lips pressed into a thin line as always, and her small smile breaks into a wider grin.

And then, she’s laughing. His expression changes to one of confusion as bubble after bubble of laughter escapes her. The more she laughs, the harder it hits, until she’s nearly cackling with it. Even if he bothered to ask her what was so funny, she surely wouldn’t have been able to give him a proper answer. So he watches in his shocked state of confusion as she throws herself back on the grass, hands over her stomach as she laughs loudly.

“Hey!” He barks then, head whipping around to be sure no one could see this childish display. “Are you trying to stain your kimono?” He scolds her.

For some reason, she laughs harder. Naoya thinks he sees a tear slip down the side of her cheek as it continues with no end in sight. The expensive white silk she wore would likely have green stains all over the back now. Naoya winced, knowing he’d be the one to be scolded by both of their fathers for letting her so recklessly ruin the material.

Her feet are kicking against the soft grass as peels of obsessive laughter flies out of her. It goes on so long, Naoya lets out a humorless laugh himself, just barely smiling at the whole display.

He didn’t get the joke, not in the slightest, but as she opens her eyes and wipes away her tears while she looks up at him in her giggly state, he laughs just a little more, with just the slightest hint of genuine humor.

It takes a few minutes for (y/n) to completely calm down, her chest rising and falling as she took unsteady breaths to relax. Her eyes fall shut again as she lays in the sun and waits for her breathing to even out. She never does tell him what had cracked her up, but he doesn’t ask. He simply works to keep his expression neutral and uninterested while she basks in the sunny afternoon, still laying in the grass without a care in the world. She almost looks comfortable here, like she could be happy here.

And when she leaves, she drops the singular dandelion she’d plucked into his hand. She can tell by the look on his face that he has no intention of keeping it, and she doesn’t really care either way. But she smiles as the tips of her fingers graze over his palm while she hums a goodbye, and just like that, her and her father leave the compound.

Naoya hesitates before tossing it into the trash bin, giving the yellow weed a once over, just to see if he could see in it what she did. Defeated when he can’t find anything special, he tosses it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

SUMMER, 2006

Being on the cusp of eighteen, Naoya’s certain that their time before a proper wedding was waning. Surely once they were both of age, there would be pressure from both clans for him to make his proposal, something dramatic and with as many eyes watching as possible. The idea makes him sick to his stomach, so he’s been trying not to think about it, but again, time was running out.

Her visits are growing more infrequent. It’s nearing the end of the month, and she’s only been around twice in that time. He’s not sure what to make of that, undecided on if her father is proving the point that he’d need to make his move soon, or maybe…

“You seem to be thinking a lot today,”

Her voice is soft, but it still manages to draw Naoya out of his busy head. He turns to look at her, giving her every ounce of his attention. There’s a small knot between her pinched brows, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen her look concerned for him before. It makes his chest do something strange.

Is that a stutter in his heartbeat? He worries about the implication. A stroke?

“Can’t be good for you” (y/n) finishes with a teasing little smirk on her face.

He scoffs, barely rolls his eyes, and the corner of his mouth betrays him as it tilts upward in her direction.

“Like you’d understand. You don’t have clan politics to worry about” He mutters, his eyes squinting as he turns to face forward again, the sun catching his line of sight harshly.

As always, they’re sat in the gardens. (y/n) had already collected her small pile of dandelions, and was diligently knotting them together to make her crown. She’d gotten better at it over the years, thickening the stems with extra of the weed to make it appear more full. Naoya sat with nothing better to do than be lost in his own thoughts, and occasionally watch her as she worked on her mindless craft.

“I don’t care to worry about clan politics the way you do,” She corrects him, casting him a glance for a mere second before going back to her stems. “And besides, the politics you worry about are prehistoric,” She adds with a scoff. “Medieval” She adds bitterly.

Naoya rolls his eyes in good nature.

“Like your clan is any different” He mumbles.

Her elbow knocks into his, and he turns to glare at her for the mock attack, but she’s smiling, and while the sun seems to make him wince, it does wonders to compliment her facial features.

And thinking that she looks beautiful isn’t necessarily a new thought… it’s not like he’s ever found her unattractive. She was always… pretty… in her quiet sort of way. But Naoya’s not yet used to thinking about her beauty every time he looks at her, and he hasn’t learned yet what it takes to squash those thoughts.

So for now he tries to pay it little to no mind. Rest assured, he will find a way to not think about it.

“No, they’re just the same, I’m afraid,” (y/n) hums, tilting her head slightly as she regards him. “But between you and me, I think I can escape it”

Naoya barks out a laugh. He doesn’t believe her.

“You don’t escape family,” He states bitterly. “You’re stuck with them whether you like it or not”

“You think?” She asks, arching an eyebrow at him. Ever so interested in what he thought, even when she thought he was wrong.

Naoya merely nods. He knew all too well that you were stuck in the life you were born into. Even if it meant under-achieving older brothers that didn’t deserve to be the head of the Clan, or the Hei. Even if it meant being forced into a marriage with a young woman who deserved much, much better than this life.

But he can’t say any of that. So he nods, and turns to face forward again.

“Well, I don’t think so,” She shrugs one of her shoulders. “I think we get some say in who we want in our lives,”

Says the girl forced to come sit here with me three times a month for the last ten years, Naoya thinks bitterly, but again, he keeps it to himself.

“Not that it’s easy, but,” She shrugs again. “I like to think so, anyways”

“What’s your grand escape plan, then, pipsqueak?” He asks, admittedly amused by her antics this afternoon. Which is odd, seeing as normally he’d find it childish, and ignore her.

Pink lips curl into a precious smile as she looks back at him.

“Love, of course”

He almost laughs, right in her face, which would have broken her seemingly fragile heart, but when she gives him her answer and he realizes it’s not a joke, he almost can’t stop himself. Almost. Naoya sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek and clears his throat.

“Love?” He repeats and it comes out of his mouth like he’s never even heard of the concept. (y/n) chuckles as she nods back at him.

“Yeah, love,” She confirms. “You remember that guy that took me to spring formal?”

For fucks’ sake, she has to be joking. Naoya rolls his eyes as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief.

Despite his clear lack of interest, she goes on.

“Well we’ve hung out a few times now and it’s been… nice. He likes me and I think I could like him, so,” For a third time, she shrugs, like it was the easiest plan in the world. “I think if we fell in love, my father would have to let me off the hook a bit, wouldn’t he?”

No, no he wouldn’t, Naoya knows for a fact that when it comes to arranged marriages, there was no exception to the arrangement. Unless someone died, there wasn’t a chance of getting out of it. It didn’t matter if she bore this non-sorcerer’s children, this time next year, she would belong to him. On paper, at least.

“Your father is far more reasonable than mine,” Naoya sighs. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to tell her the whole truth. He continues to entertain her foolish ideas. “Have you talked to him about this yet?”

“Of course not!” Her voice squeaks as she gasps at the idea. Naoya can’t help but laugh a little bit at her bashful reaction.

“Does he know about this non-sorcerer-nobody at all?” He presses, and (y/n) chews on her bottom lip as she shakes her head. Naoya gives her a bored look, silently telling her that she was doomed already.

“Well what was I supposed to say?” She mumbles. “I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea”

“I told you not to go down the unfaithful route, pipsqueak,” Naoya sighs. “Now you’ll have to fess up to all of it”

“It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong,” She explains. “Yet…” She adds in a smaller voice.

“Thinkin’ about adultery is just as bad as the real thing,” Naoya chuckles. “At least in the elders’ eyes”

(y/n) narrows her eyes at him in mock irritation.

“We’re not married” She reminds him in a mutter. He only smirks back at her. He doesn’t have to say anything for her to know what he’s thinking.

Yet.

“Semantics,” He smirks.

She laughs despite herself. He seems relaxed today, and after so many years she finally feels like she’s getting the smallest of glimpses into the real him. She’s always wondered what Zen’in Naoya was really like, and she can’t help but feel eager to finally learn.

“Well, what’s the damage?” He huffs, acting as though he’s not dying to know the specifics of this little relationship she’s found herself in. “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

“What!? No!” She yelps at the accusation, and this time smacks the back of her hand against his arm.

“You abuse me, wife” He grumbles as he pretends to rub the spot to ease the nonexistent ache.

“We’ve just hung out a few times. Sometimes he helps me study, sometimes he brings me the drink I like from the cafe—”

“That stuff doesn’t matter” Naoya rolls his eyes. What silly little things she found interesting in a man. Women could be so simple.

“Sure it does,” (y/n) furrows his brows. “Quality time is-”

He could care less about the details, so he interrupts her.

“But you’ve kissed him, yeah?”

The question shuts her up immediately. She doesn’t try to deflect, or come up with a witty reply to snap back at him. She shuts her mouth and stares at her lap. At first he’s amused by the shy display, but as time passes, it begins to click for him that she’s embarrassed.

“You’re acting foolish, pipsqueak,” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back as he does. Her face feels like it’s getting hotter by the second. She covers her cheeks with her hands to relieve the burn. “Your plan relies on childish love and you haven’t even kissed the guy? Who in their right mind will take you seriously?”

“It’s not childish,” She argues, her voice quiet, and her face still covered by her hands. “I just— there hasn’t been the right moment. S-something always came up,”

She grows quieter with every word, her humiliation washing over her like a wave of dread. Perhaps Naoya was the wrong person to come to with this.

“Like you’ve kissed people—” She tries to bicker with him, but there’s a glint in his eye as her words catch his interest, and something about the way he smirks and tilts his head makes her second guess herself as she shuts her mouth.

“Oh, don’t tell me,” He’s snickering before he can even finish his words. (y/n) wishes she could open up the ground and let it swallow her whole. “You’ve never kissed anyone, pipsqueak?”

“Would you stop calling me that?” She sighs, but it’s no use. He’s got his paws on a juicy piece of embarrassing information. His brutal nature was about to come out in full force.

“And here I was worried about a second-hand wife” He scoffs.

“Hey—!”

“So why are you hitching your whole plan onto a guy you don’t like, hm? Shouldn’t you go out with a bang?” He smirks and leans back on his elbows. “Or at least a kiss-”

“Excuse me? I do too like him” She cuts him off before his cockiness could get overbearing.

“If you liked him, you would’ve kissed him already,” Naoya rolls his eyes. “I think you need a different plan of action”

“Well I— I mean I would kiss him,” She stammered over her words. “There just hasn’t been a good time—”

“Haven’t you known him for like a year?” Naoya sneers. “Bit of a prude, hm?”

(y/n) drops her hands from her face to gape at him, smacking his arm once more.

“I am not!” She whines, followed by a quiet, “You don’t think he thinks that, do you?”

He huffs.

“I am not going to sit here and gossip about this bullshit with-”

“Naoya, now you have to help me” She interrupts him, moving forward and latching her hands together in a pleading motion.

His eyes widen and his brows furrow. He’s not sure how he landed on this timeline, but this? Since when was she so open and personal with him? What was this treatment? Was it some sort of punishment? Did he do something in a past life to warrant this?

“I don’t have to do sh—”

“Please?” (y/n) bats her eyelashes, and he’s starting to think she might be a witch. “Just some advice, that’s all,” She tells him. “Since you’ve clearly kissed so many people”

He rolls his eyes, before sitting up off his arms. That’s not exactly what he’d said. But he smirks to himself. There wasn’t any harm in letting her believe that, was there?

“Whatever. You don’t need advice. You just need to pluck up some courage”

She frowns at him.

“I have courage,” She states. “It’s not about courage”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles to himself. “Then why exactly haven’t you made a move?”

(y/n) frowns, dropping her gaze to go back to working on her dandelion crown.

“Well I thought he’d make the first move. And then he never really did and… now I’m sorta… relying on it, I guess,” She sighs and drops the dandelion loop back into her lap. “Shit. He doesn’t even like me, does he?”

Naoya laughs, a real laugh, with a real smile flashing across his face. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that some non-sorcerer-nobody wasn’t completely enamored in a girl like her.

“No,” He disagrees, the word firm, certain. “Sounds like you’ve just picked a coward. Can’t say I’m surprised, pipsqueak, I don’t know why you’d go for a non-sorcerer-”

“This part’s not helpful”

“—but, you’ll probably just have to make the first move. It’s not hard. You’ll be fine”

She frowns at him, and it takes an effort for him to not roll his eyes back at her. She couldn’t be serious.

“Just kiss him, (y/n). Don’t be stupid. It’s unbecoming of you. But you are seventeen, and it’s a little embarrassing of you, too”

Her frown turns into a look of offense, and he can’t help but laugh a bit again.

“Don’t laugh at me. And don’t call me embarrassing! You’re the one that told me I couldn’t be unfaithful”

“Yeah yeah,” He waves his hand dismissively. “If you’re so worried about it, then kiss me”

She freezes, her expression going blank while her eyes wildly flicker over his features, trying and failing for the thousandth time to try and figure him out.

He’d suggested so casually, like it was the most obvious solution, like it wouldn’t mean a thing.

Naoya raises his brows and purses his lips, waiting expectantly for her to decide what she was going to do.

“I— you can’t be—?”

“What difference does it make?” He asks, shaking his head nonchalantly. “Either you learn how to be a good kisser and you get your boring happily ever after with your non-sorcerer-nobody, or you end up married to me and you’ll only be kissing me for the rest of our lives anyways”

When he puts it like that, the hair on the back of her neck stands up. She’d always known in the back of her mind that at the end of the day, it was her and Naoya. Whether they were friends or partners didn’t matter, and arranged marriage only went one way. Most of the marriages in the more powerful clans weren’t exactly in loving relationships anyways, it was a mere power grab. A way to unite clans, or to brush dirty politics under the rug.

For over ten years she’d been brought to the Zen’in compound to play nice with Naobito’s youngest son. In all that time she struggled to figure out what that actually meant, how to actually treat him with kindness when all he knew was a sharp tongue and a cold shoulder. Over time she’d learned to sit back and let herself be entertained by him. If she couldn’t grow to like him, or worse love him, then she might as well find some amusement in his company.

But now he’s sitting beside her with the offer of a kiss, and not just any kiss, her first kiss, and he’s telling her that it’s for her greater plan of getting out of their arranged marriage? She can’t help but think he’s been using her for his own amusement all this time, as well. He must have had an ulterior motive.

“What’s in it for you?” Her eyes narrow inquisitively.

He scoffs at the question.

“A kiss is a kiss,” He shrugs. “But I’ll take it back if you’d rather—”

“No!” She’s louder than she means to be, and she jumps forward a little closer than she should, closing a significant amount of space between them. “I mean- no, you’re right, then you can tell me if I’m any good at it”

He pointedly eyes the small amount of space between them before tilting his head at her, a sly sort of smile on his face as he nods.

“Alright then, pipsqueak,” He hums, beckoning her forward with his hand. “Do your worst”

Her brows pinch together for a moment, before her eyes shift down to his lips with apprehension.

While she’s distracted by her uncertainty, Naoya keeps his focus on her. And for once, he lets himself really look at her. Her eyes are round with her nerves, just a little wider than usual, almost doe-like. Her pupils are dilating, and he could almost hear her thoughts just from watching her expression shift and change with each passing one. His gaze lowers when she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, growing more unsure the longer she thinks about it.

Naoya figures she must be having girlish thoughts. She was probably worried about losing her first kiss over what was essentially a dare, and would be meaningless. She was probably worrying herself sick knowing that after this, he would forever be her first kiss, whether she liked it or not. He could almost scoff at the notion.

The plush of her lip gives under her teeth as she slides it back and forth anxiously. Naoya watches the action religiously, lost in thought about how pink her lips are, and how he’d never really given them much thought. Despite her worried gnawing, they look soft, plump, even. He thinks just from looking at them that she’s bound to be a good kisser with lips like those. If his own mind weren’t going so haywire with having her so close, maybe he’d make the choice for her and kiss her first.

But he’s too occupied. Her perfume is wafting up his nose with the lightest scent of something flowery and sugary. He’s breathing a little deeper to take more of it in, addicted to the feminine scent after just a few whiffs, but he’s doing it so slowly so that she won’t notice that he’s about to suffocate himself.

“Naoya,” She says his name and it comes out like a scold. He arches a brow when he drags his eyes back up to hers. She pouts at him. “You have to close your eyes, you can’t stare at me like that”

Her cheeks are pink, he notes the rosy blush that’s dusted across her nose, and the longer he watches, he swears he sees the color darkening. Was she really that flustered just from a little staring?

“Like what?” He finds himself asking without really thinking. A nervous laugh escapes her as she sets her gaze on anything but his prying eyes. The golden brown hue were piercing right through her it seemed, building up her nervous anxiety.

“Just— just close your eyes” She stutters out.

Naoya rolls his eyes, but eventually follows the instruction, letting them fall shut.

“I don’t like being told what to do, pipsqueak,” He says, and with his eyes closed, she finds the confidence to reach forward, fingertips barely skimming over his chin, and then along his sharp jaw. She doesn’t miss the way his throat bobs when he swallowed thickly. “And hurry it up, I’m getting bored-”

“I don’t like being told what to do either,” She quips, but her voice is barely above a whisper, soft breaths fanning over his lips. “I just— give me a damn second”

She knows if his eyes were open, he’d be rolling them. Jackass.

He can feel her fingers trembling against his skin, resulting in the lightest of tapping against his jaw. His lips curl upwards against his will.

“Princess, breathe,” He mumbles, blindly reaching up for her hand, wrapping her fingers with his own. “It’s just a kiss, what is it that you’re stressing this hard over?”

“Well w-what if this all doesn’t work out and th-then—”

“I said breathe,” He commands, and despite the instruction being in her best interest, his tone is sharp. She obeys it immediately, shutting her mouth and breathing in deeply through her nose, before slowly letting it out. He waits until she’s no longer shaking before speaking again. “D’you want me to do it?”

Her eyes snap up to his, although he’s kept them closed all this time. She can’t believe he hasn’t cheated on her rule.

“No, I… I can do it” She mumbles with certainty, before tilting forward in the smallest movement.

The tip of her nose touches his for a moment, before brushing past as she gets closer. Her fingers press a little more firmly against his jaw, making sure he won’t move when she finally does it.

Her heart is beating so hard in her chest she knows he can hear it, if not feel it as she shuffles closer to him. She can’t believe he hasn’t teased her for it. Maybe he’s just waiting, so once she kisses him and this is all over, he can torment her and hang it over her head for the rest of their lives.

But just as the bitter thought crosses her mind, her eyes flicker down to where his hand is still loosely wrapped around one of hers, keeping her touch present against his jaw, and keeping them still. It’s not a firm hold, but gentle, so loose she knows if she were to pull away he’d drop it instantly. And then she can’t help but feel that maybe Zen’in Naoya has a soft spot for her. Maybe there’s a side of him that’s quiet, and slow, and gentle, and maybe she can let go of her silly anxiety to indulge herself in that side of him.

She counts down from three in her head. Then closes her eyes. And leans the rest of the way forward.

As for Naoya, he can’t say he’s ever really thought about his first kiss. He wasn’t one to care about the milestone of it, or really any of the specifics. If it had crossed his mind in the past, it was only with the intention of wanting to kiss a worthy girl. A pretty girl. Beyond that, fireworks or romance wasn’t even in the question. It didn’t really matter.

But (y/n’s) lips are even softer than they looked. They’re timid, unmoving when they first touch his. He’s surprised she even followed through with it, he was completely prepared for her to chicken out and beg him to forget the whole thing. Next thing he knows she’s kissing him and he kisses her back as soon as he realizes she’s not shyly backing away after two seconds. She follows his lead slowly, her fingers pushing along his jawline until they reach the soft locks of hair that just barely hangs past his ears.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

It wasn’t fireworks, and it wasn’t some grand romantic gesture either.

It was… peaceful. Like sinking into a warm bath after a long day of training.

It was warm, and comfortable. Like the first day of spring once the snow had all melted away and the flowers were getting ready to bloom once more.

A kiss is a kiss, he’d told her, like a damn fool.

Naoya’s hands began to wander, dropping hers to cup them gently around her warm cheeks, making sure to touch her as softly as possible, so as not to startle her. She surprises him again when she leans carefully into his palm, lips still too enamored with his to pull away.

This was not just a kiss.

She lets out a soft sigh when they finally do part, lips still brushing his and her eyes still shut as she catches her breath quickly and quietly.

He’s frozen then, right through his bones. His hands are still on her face, his eyes are unblinking when she finally opens her own, shyly meeting his gaze. He thinks he must look like a fucking imbecile right about now, staring at her silently while she’s clearly waiting for his approval of her kissing ability.

But he can’t say a damn thing. He can’t move an inch. She’s rendered him weaker than he’s ever felt before.

The pad of her thumb mindlessly strokes a gentle shape at the junction where his jaw meets his neck, and his heart is stuttering again, just like earlier.

Except now he knows it’s not a medical condition.

It was beating like that for her.

“Well?” She murmurs, soft and hopeful as her eyes flicker in between his. “What’d you think?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

WINTER, 2008

Their eighteenth years came and went, and with it, the notion of an arranged marriage.

Naoya stood before his father, his hands currently curled into tight fists that were sure to leave crescent shapes in his palms with how harshly he dug his nails into the skin. His jaw was locked as he ground his teeth together to keep himself from blurting out something he’d regret, but his frustration was made abundantly evident.

It was more than frustration. He was livid.

“What the hell do you mean she’s not mine to marry?” He’d all but snarled at the head of the Zen’in Clan.

Naobito sat back in his chair, still focused on whatever paperwork was in front of him, as disinterested in the affairs of his son as ever.

Even now, while Naoya’s entire perception of the rest of his life was falling apart at the seams, the older man barely lifts his head when speaking.

“She never has been, son. Where is this sudden urgency to marry coming from?”

“Sudden urg-? What are you talking about?” Naoya throws his hands out, exasperated from this conversation going in circles. “Her father’s been dropping her off here with me for years in order for us to get to know each other. You’ve been arranging this marriage from behind the scenes since we were six”

Finally, Naobito raises his head just long enough to give his son a confused shake back and forth.

“You’re looking for things that aren’t there. Our intention was never to arrange for young (y/n) to marry you, Naoya,” He’s calm, despite his son’s rage being too large for the room. “What is this about?” He asks, dropping his pen as he regards his youngest son with a raised chin. “Am I to believe you’ve grown to care for her?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Naoya snaps with a scoff in his throat. “What matters is she was supposed to be my wife, she was meant to be my bride since we were kids, that— that was always-!”

“Her father never had an interest in you as a suitor,” Naobito lets out a scoff of his own, an amused smirk on his face. Naoya shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line as his anger starts to simmer. “You were too harsh, son. Too… sharp around the edges for his only daughter. Look at it from his perspective, hm? Head of his clan, only one heir and it’s his precious little girl. Would you be pulling strings to set her up with you?” Naobito scoffs again, this time followed by an amused chuckle. “Our clans only recently started mending things after our… history…” He trails off thoughtfully. “(y/l/n) (y/f/n) was never going to give away his only daughter to you, much less any of your brothers, or anyone who bore the Zen’in name”

Naoya’s chest is rising and falling so roughly, he wonders if this could be the brink of a panic attack. All his life he thought he’d be stuck with her. The last thirteen years, he’d thought that at the end of it all, she’d be the one by his side. And for a long time he resented her for it, hated her for it. And then, for some reason, without explanation, something changed. In the way she looked at him, in the way he felt about himself when he was around her, he couldn’t quite put a finger on when it happened.

But when she was seventeen and needed to get her first kiss out of the way, he was the one she went to.

And when she was fourteen and had just mastered her Reversed Cursed Technique, he was who she told proudly, even with the gruesome story.

And when they were eight, and he’d oh-so stupidly told her that they were being set up for an arranged betrothal, she’d told him she would marry him.

Yet here he stands at nineteen, having naively entered his father’s study with the intent of arranging the details of the proposal— the dowry, the location, the letter he’d have to write to (y/n’s) father— and for the first time in his life, he’s being told no.

“I don’t know what led you to believe you were to be her suitor, son”

“We both thought that was the arrangement,” He muttered. “Since we were kids, (y/n) and I thought-”

“She’s going to Tokyo this weekend, Naoya,” Naobito huffs, pinching his fingers through his mustache to relieve his stress from this pesky situation. “Her father is bringing her to meet with a young man around your age. He does intend on marrying her off, but he was waiting until it was appropriate”

Naoya’s hands are clenched into fists again. He couldn’t believe this.

“This isn’t— I won’t have this” He mutters.

That perks Naobito’s interest.

“Son, we can find suitors of other clans to-”

“I don’t need to be set up with weak, worthless, women!” He shouts over this father, possibly for the first time since he was a misbehaving child. “I already had a— there was already supposed to be—!”

He can’t find the words, or maybe just the strength to say them. But with a huff he’s spinning on his heel and marching back out of the study. He’d said his piece, and there was nothing more the head of the clan could do for the situation. It was out of their hands.

Naobito watches in silence as his son leaves, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him. He hadn’t seen an outburst like that from his youngest son in years. He didn’t understand the nature of it all, because it wasn’t like Naoya to be infatuated with a person, much less a young woman with a cursed technique that parallels his in strength, but he didn’t know what else could have gotten him so worked up over the whole thing.

There wasn’t a chance Naoya truly had grown to love her, was there?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

2009

For her twenty-first birthday, (y/n) was gifted a grand party. The guest list was extensive, the catering was expensive, and no cost was spared for the whole ordeal. The grand courtyard of the (y/l/n) estate was the perfect place to throw such an elegant party, complete with fountains, twinkling lights, and of course, live music. An expensive part for an expensive family. It was typical.

Naoya didn’t come to these sorts of events often. The idea of walking around and sucking up to whichever elitist family was hosting just seemed so… dull. The parties themselves were often the same thing over and over, appetizers, mingling with people that only wanted to show off, drinking, and then going home and feeling like shit.

And truthfully, he wasn’t going to go to this one. Even though he hadn’t seen (y/n) in over a year, and even once his father made it clear that while the Zen’ins had been invited, he was specifically requested to attend, from the birthday girl herself, he’d said.

So now here he was, with a permanent scowl on his face and a very expensive suit that he would never wear again. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here, because he doesn’t, and yet anyone who saw him that night would have said that he was on a mission to find someone. Whoever it was must have been important, seeing as he didn’t pause to talk to anyone.

But he figures she’d invited him specifically. She requested his attendance. The least he could do was wish her a happy birthday, right?

There’s a lot more he wants to say to her. A year and a half’s worth of messy thoughts that barely made sense to him but every bone in his body told him to find her and lay it all out. Even if he had to drag her away from her own party, and hold her by her shoulders to keep her in place so she’d listen.

Naoya didn’t chase people down. Ever.

So when fifteen minutes after his arrival he finally finds her, with The Honored One himself, he considers turning around and leaving without the intention of ever speaking to her again.

But it had to be Gojo Satoru of all people. Powerful, filthy fucking rich, charming, devilishly handsome, Special Grade, Gojo Fucking Satoru. It couldn’t have been any other eligible bachelor from a well of clan, it couldn’t have been some nobody for him to turn his nose up at and walk away from with a boost to the ego.

He stews for too long in his bitter thoughts, and from across the crowd of people, she sees him. It’s too late for him to turn around and leave unnoticed. She’s already picking up the skirt of her dress so her feet don’t trip over it as she quickly makes her way over to him.

He could still leave, he thinks distantly. But as she gets closer he can see that she’s smiling, she’s actually glad that he’s here, and once again he’s frozen while he’s reeling from the shock.

He still tries to maintain his scowl, he can’t have people getting the wrong idea once she’s close enough he can hear her delighted laughter and ramblings of “You came! You got my invite? It’s been so long!”.

And he hates it, he hates seeing her, especially when she’s so relieved to see him, especially when she looks so radiant, in her pretty party dress that’s draped so perfectly on her it must’ve been tailored, and with her hair falling around her shoulders and down her back so perfectly she didn’t even look real she looked fucking angelic—

“Naoya?”

His name falling from her lips has him blinking himself back to reality, his nasty expression falling momentarily as he takes her in and realizes she really is standing here right in front of him.

“You alright?” (y/n) asks, once it seems he’s conscious again. Her grin had morphed into a worried little smile. Shit, he can’t tear his eyes away from her lips.

“I’m fine,” He declares, void of any real emotion. “Happy birthday, by the way”

Her smile brightens a bit more then, and her eyes gleam too.

“Thank you,” She replies sheepishly. “I’m really glad you came, I wasn’t sure if you’d accept the invite”

“Yeah, it’s not really my thing” Naoya clicks his tongue as his eyes wander the courtyard, taking in the estate properly for the first time. Anything to distract himself from her.

“I know,” She sighs softly, her head tilting as she regards him, her cheeks inevitably warming up the longer she stares. “You changed your hair”

He looks back at her, still making the effort to keep his expression neutral, and she can tell, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“Yeah. While ago” He replies dryly.

It wasn’t long after he’d last seen her that he’d taken to a change in style. She just so happened to stop coming around with her father around that time.

“I like it,” She says quietly, a bit awkwardly.

At times it feels like she’s forgotten how to speak to him, not that he was ever the easiest person to get along with. Yet, in their time apart, she found herself missing him. Thinking about him. Wondering what he was up to, or if he ever thought about her.

“Oh, I know,” Her eyes light up with an idea, before she beckons him to follow her. “I should show you the gardens!”

Just like that, she’s leading him away from the party, away from the prying eyes of Gojo Satoru, who seems to watch the scandalous pair with a smirk on his face. Naoya scowls back at him, but ultimately focuses on following (y/n) around the courtyard, and then behind her estate.

“You do recall that you were the one that cared about the damn flowers, right?” He asks her once they’re far enough away that the voices of her partygoers were drowned out by the muffled music.

“And you don’t like being around crowds of people,” She reminds him, glancing over her shoulder with a proud grin on her face. He rolls his eyes at her. “I’m doing us both a favor!” She declares.

He’s not so convinced, but he doesn’t put up a fight. He simply tucks his hands in his pockets and bears it as they wander around the yard in the dark.

He tries to keep his damn mouth shut, he really does. But it doesn’t take long before he’s blurting out the thought on the front of his mind.

“So Daddy picked a Gojo for you, hm?”

As soon as it comes out, he regrets it. Because (y/n) isn’t shy in the way she pauses on her journey so that she can turn to face him with that curious look of hers. He’s never been interrogated by her, but he suspects it wouldn’t go well.

“I wouldn’t say that,” She muses, her words carefully picked out. “Not a Gojo anyways… more like, The Gojo, don’t you think?”

The smirk on her face tells him that he’s bearing witness to the witty side of her personality, the side that likes to poke and get reactions out of him that she knows she can. Naoya rolls his eyes again, and to his luck, (y/n) goes back to leading him out to the gardens.

“So full of it” He grumbles.

She giggles, having heard it.

“My father took me to Tokyo last year so we could meet. Mostly, I think he wanted to meet Satoru, he was a bit shell shocked. But we got along well. He’s… fun” Again, she’s careful with her words, and Naoya can tell. He grimaces, his hands forming fists in his pockets.

“So you hit it off then, hm?” He presses further, despite his gut feeling twisted enough. “Whatever happened to your non-sorcerer-nobody?”

“Oh,” It dawned on her that it really had been a while since they last spoke. “You were right,” She glances over her shoulder at him once more, her expression unreadable as she says, “I didn’t like him,” And then she’s facing forward again and finally reaching the gardens of the estate. “At least, not like I thought I did,” She clarifies. “Kinda hard to explain, I guess. He was a good guy and all just…” She shrugs her shoulders, and she couldn’t come up with anything else to say so she didn’t say anything at all.

Naoya nods, his brow furrowing as he glances over the large expanse of flowers and bushes, all trimmed and perfectly on display, even in the dark. A garden at night was probably one of the worst places to be. Not only was he stuck wandering around outside, but he couldn’t even see the damn things.

“To be honest, once I’d gone to my father to tell him about, well, having feelings for a non-sorcerer, I’d gone on my big speech about how I wasn’t ready to be married off, how I wasn’t ready to be a wife and how I wanted to travel and take on assignments exoricizing curses and— and trying to find the right field for my technique… anyways, I was pretty surprised when he told me I wasn’t arranged to married off at all,”

She’s looking at him, he can feel her soft yet piercing gaze staring right at him, but Naoya can’t bring himself to look away from whatever blue flowers were before him now.

“We had a great talk, though. He told me he wouldn’t marry me off if I wasn’t ready, and even then only if it were in my best interest and with my approval… not that this matters,” She mumbles the last part, realizing she was rambling on with nonsense. “I mean it’s what I wanted… but I guess I’m still sort of surprised that’s how it worked out”

(y/n) wraps her arms around herself, although it’s not a chilly night, she’s lured into the defensive stance as she drops her gaze from him.

He merely hums, barely nodding his head to agree. Saying he was surprised to find out they were never truly arranged to be married would have been an extreme understatement.

“Anyways…” The air is thick with an uncomfortable tension, and (y/n) nervously coughs to clear her throat. “How have you been doing?”

“Fine”

Naoya’s answer is quick, and sharp. (y/n) winces at the bite in the singular word, and her nerves begin to grow into irritation, but she tries to remain as calm and collected as always.

“Has your father been giving you more responsibilities for—”

“What the hell does it matter to you?”

She can’t keep her expression soft at the rude question. Her nose crinkles and her brows furrow as she narrows her eyes back at him.

“Excuse me?”

Her attitude comes out in less than a second and suddenly she’s crossing her arms and Naoya doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look this upset. There’s a twinge of guilt in his chest knowing he caused it with his coldness, but it passes as he’s quickly reminded of the reality they found themselves in.

“It doesn’t matter to you,” He scoffs, a humorless smile curling on his lips. “So what do you care?”

“What the hell is that supposed to—?”

He interrupts her before she could finish her question.

“What’s the point of even inviting me here, huh? Is this some sick ploy? You want to show off for once?”

Her eyes widened at the accusation out of left field. She doesn’t have a clue what he’s going on about, but it’s making her blood boil. It seemed that even when it came to him, her patience could wear thin. And his time was long overdue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She mutters at him, wrapping her arms a little tighter around herself. “I invited you because I wanted you to come,” She explained. “And I thought maybe even though this wasn’t your scene, you’d want to come, too”

Naoya rolls his eyes.

“Oh, spare me, pipsqueak,” The old nickname rolls off his tongue with nothing short of disgust, and he can see the way she recoils upon hearing it said in such a way. “You invited me, I came. We’re done now, yeah? You can run back to Satoru now”

Oh, he hadn’t missed the way she’d oh so affectionately called the world’s strongest sorcerer by his first fucking name.

(y/n) scowls back at him, which was something unfamiliar to the both of them. She was always the calm one, the collected, soft spoken one. Now she looked seconds away from smacking him across the face.

“What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Her eyes are wide as they study his expression, trying to figure out what was going on in his head, seeing as he definitely wasn’t going to just be honest with her. “I mean, fuck, is it really so hard for you to believe I wanted you here?”

Naoya scoffs again, leaning back and facing away from her as he covers the upset expression on his face. This only makes her more upset, and the harsh laugh that escapes her throat is anything but humored.

“You’ve got to be kidding! After all this time, you can’t just say it can you? You can’t be real with me for even a minute?” She moves forward, trying to grab him by the arms to turn him to face her, but he doesn’t budge, and shrugs her off.

He couldn’t have her looking at him right now. Not when he was losing the battle of masking all of his emotions.

She huffs in defeat and throws her arms down when she fails to get him to look at her already. Against her will, her anger turns into something worse as tears begin to prick the corners of her eyes.

“You know, I was actually upset when my father said he wasn’t going to take me to see you anymore,” She spits at him, but the tiny waiver in her voice betrays her. She swallowed thickly to try to relieve the burn in her throat, but it was no use. He’d already heard the crack in her voice, and finally, he’s just barely turning his head to peek down at her. “Because I— I might not have known what I wanted, but I spent m-my whole, life, thinking that it’d always be y-you n’ me in the end”

His irritation is washed away as soon as he sees those doe eyes filled with tears. When he was younger, and more of a bratty asshole than a regular asshole, he would’ve loved to make her tick like this. He would’ve felt pride knowing he’d reduced her to childish tears.

Right now, he thinks he could throw up.

Suddenly too much of his attention is on her for her liking, and when he pulls his hands out of his pockets to reach for her, she smacks both of his hands away as harshly as she could bring herself to do.

“(y/n)—” He tried to scold her but she wasn’t having it, already gathering the skirt of her dress to storm off and leave him there.

“Forget it. You’re right. We’re nothing to each other now, right?” She laughs bitterly as she leaves as fast as she can in the stupid heels she’d decided to wear.

“I didn’t— (y/n)!” He breaks into a slight jog to catch up with her, darting in front of her to keep her from walking away too easily. “For fucks’ sake, would you just pause for a second?”

She glares at him, as well as she can through the tears clouding her vision.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his tone significantly more gentle than before, but it still doesn’t quite cross that line into genuine compassion. It makes her scoff, before she’s roughly wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

“Because,” She answers lamely, looking down at her hands to make sure she wasn’t smearing makeup all over her face. “Because— you—! Why didn’t you at least call?”

His brows furrow, not following where her argument was going.

“Or write?” She adds before he can question her. “I haven’t seen you in a year, did you just… just…” Her chest is rising and falling unsteadily as she tries to catch her breath before she starts to cry again, but her efforts are futile. The longer she looks at him and his voice of emotion, the more the urge to sob her pathetic eyes out overwhelms her. “You forgot about me” She declares, quietly, her eyes shifting between his before focusing on the ground.

“Forgot about you?” He repeats her, clicking his tongue as she shakes his head.

She refuses to look at him, so he catches her chin under his forefinger, tilting her head upwards with a surprising amount of gentleness. She still tries to glare at him, but her furrowed brows and big sad eyes do nothing to ward him off.

“(y/n), I didn’t forget about you,” He tells her with more sincerity than she’s ever heard out of him before. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, I really am, alright? But the old man said you were off to Tokyo and you had other— real suitors to look for,” He explains, golden eyes never once leaving hers so that she could see he was telling her the truth. “What was I supposed to do, hm? What did you want me to do?”

Her lips quiver as they move, but no real words come out. He watches as she tries, as they form various shapes but inevitably she shakes her head as another tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t know what he should’ve done, and what she wanted was too tall of an ask.

“(y/n),” He sighs, a frown forming on his face that makes her worried about what he had to say next. “You are far too powerful, and far too desirable as a suitor to be cryin’ over someone like me, alright?” He tells her. She opens her mouth to say something, but he’s quicker. “If anything, you should’ve forgotten about me as soon as you heard we weren’t—”

“I didn’t want to,” She finally finds her voice, her nose wrinkling as she sniffles quietly. “I didn’t want to forget. I— I didn’t want to go to Tokyo to meet other suitors, I— I didn’t even want to go out with that guy back in high school, I— I just—” Her stutter worsens and Naoya fits his palm over her cheek, not knowing what to say to soothe her emotions.

Her eyes shut and she leans into the warmth of his hand. She squeezes her eyes shut even tighter as she recalls when he’d last touched her like this. He’d kissed her, then.

“I wanted more time with you. I— I thought I’d have more time with you” She admits, barely raising above a whisper.

Naoya frowns when she looks up at him, her lashes sticky from her tears, her eyes full of an emotion he didn’t know what to do with. Of course he’d sweep her off her feet and kiss her until every tear had dried if he could.

So he shakes his head at her, a sad smile on his lips as he does.

“No, pipsqueak, you don’t want that,” He tells her with as much certainty as he can muster. She argues with him as she shakes her head back at him, and he even chuckles a bit. “You don’t,” He tells her seriously. “You need to be with someone your father has approved—”

“No I don’t,” She speaks up this time, shaking her head a little more vigorously to make her point. “I don’t, I don’t need him to—”

“(y/n), I’m serious,” He tells her, cupping her face in both hands now so she had to look at him and see just how much he meant it. “You wanted out of the arrangement, remember? You have a thousand lives to live still, you said so yourself. You wanted travel? And to exorcize curses?”

She frowns as he uses her words against her, and he sighs softly, his thumb stroking over her soft cheekbone thoughtfully. He shouldn’t even be this close to her, but he can’t help it. Seeing her cry because of him had his instincts making him do crazy things he’d come to regret soon enough.

“Why can’t I have both?” She mumbles, her eyes flickering between his.

He chuckles, and for a moment he actually smiles down at her.

“We don’t always get everything we want, pipsqueak” He mumbles, his thumb trailing downwards, around her smile line, and halting just under her lower lip.

“And that’s what you want, too?” She asks him, her brows knotting together. “You don’t want to see me anymore? You want me to— to go find another suitor in someone else?”

He would literally rather be dragged to the deepest pit of hell and burn for all of eternity without a second of relief from the pain.

His brow twitches.

“If that’s what’s best for you, then, yes” Naoya answers carefully.

“That’s not a real answer” She argues.

“It is” He retorts.

“It’s not,” She leans forward, close enough and fast enough that Naoya leans away to keep the distance between them. Her brow furrows. “If you didn’t want to see me anymore, then why did you come tonight?”

His suspicions were correct. He won’t hold up well being interrogated by her.

“It’s your birthday, you invited me” He states the facts, dropping his hands from her face.

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and she’s quick to grab his wrists, and she holds on tightly, making sure there wasn’t a chance he’d yank away from her.

“For once,” Her voice is soft, pleading. “Just once, please, just be honest with me,” She begs him, her eyes wide and round and just as hopeful as her words. “Please, Naoya, just… just tell me something real”

He can’t. And even worse he shouldn’t. If he were to stand before her right now and tell her precisely how bad he wanted her, that he thought about calling or writing every day since she’s been gone, that he’d lay awake at night considering a life of an unmarried clan head that would be hated both by his own clan and every other one, just because the thought of having to marry anyone but the girl he’d sworn himself to at eight years old made him physically sick. If he was honest with her now, there would be no taking any of it back. At this point, they could be redeemed. He could leave her now, hope for the best with her life with Gojo of all people, and maybe he’d have some peace of mind knowing she was at least treated well.

But there would always be that voice. The nagging one in the back of his mind. The one that wouldn’t let him rest if he never told her the truth.

And if after all this time she’d still have him, he would allow himself to be completely, utterly hers. If she wanted a life full of travel and long distance assignments, he’d agree to it. He’d bend over backwards to meet any ridiculous condition she held, as long as it meant that at the end of the day he was hers and she was his. He didn’t need a housewife, a cook, a maid, nor a woman to carry his heirs, he wouldn’t ask anything of her for the rest of their lives as long as she would call him hers.

Naoya frowns at her as he sighs, shoulders dropping and arms loosening in her hold as she stares at him expectantly. To his surprise, when he pulls them away, she lets him. Her hands fall slack at her sides, her face shadowed with hurt as she waits for him to turn and walk away from her.

He steps forward, closing the distance between them and laying his hands under her jaw, tilting her towards him just enough so it was easier for him to bend down and slam his lips against hers.

Her own hands are grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket and pulling, pulling, pulling until he’s practically stumbling just to get a little bit closer to her. Naoya drops a hand from her face in order to curl it over her hip, squeezing tightly before wrapping his arm around her back, keeping her snug against his chest so she couldn’t pull away before he was ready to let her go.

And that time had to come at some point, even though he’d die standing here just to kiss her for a few seconds longer. They’re already panting between messy kisses, neither one of them ready to give up just yet.

“Don’t,” She mumbles in between kisses, her hands reaching up to lay around his neck, fingers carding through the hair that laid over his nape, before curling and holding on to him there. “Don’t leave”

The hand that he still had resting around her cheek squeezed softly, and the kiss he gives her with it is slower, and lingers for just a few seconds longer than before. (y/n) squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold onto every second of it, worried he was going to decide it was the last one.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead is glued to hers, and their lips brush when he speaks quietly.

“Nothing could keep me from you, princess,” He murmurs, his thumb stroking her cheek in soothing movements. “I would’ve readily, happily taken you as my wife,”

Her eyes swell with tears again, and he’s quick to brush the wetness from under her lashes before they could fall. She’s overwhelmed with emotion. She’s never heard him speak so softly, so sweetly. Her heart is beating erratically, and holds onto him a little tighter, knowing now that her feelings had been reciprocated, that she wasn’t just making things up.

“I mean it, (y/n),” He continues, eyes moving between hers. “You were everything I ever wanted. I… I couldn’t stand not having you. It was always supposed to be you and me”

A watery laugh escapes her, her lips tilting into a smile as she shuts her eyes to try and will the tears to subside.

“Y-you do, you do have me,” She tells him through a whimper, before stealing a chaste kiss and rambling on again. “It’s always been you, I always wanted it to be you,” She cries. “I— I love you, Naoya”

Her face has never burned as much as it does now. In all her years of training herself to have complete control over her emotions, it feels as though a dam has been broken clean through. The honesty with herself and with him was so long overdue, it was as though as soon as she admitted it, a weight was lifted, a blockage removed from her path, and her heart felt so full it was as though the feeling couldn’t possibly be contained just by the beating muscle. For years she found herself picking apart Zen’in Naoya, reading between backhanded comments and a cold exterior, and it was taxing work, but the reward had proven to be oh so worth it.

His lips curl into a faint smile, in pure disbelief that this was happening right now. Her hands in his hair so tightly it would hurt to move, her face so close he could kiss her without moving a full inch, everything about her, from her pretty face to her genuine words, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind how he felt about her.

His smile twists into more of a grin as he reaches his hand up to push a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“I love you too, pipsqueak,” He tells her softly, earning a sweet smile out of her. “Bit unconventional though, don’t you think?”

“Good,” She murmurs, tilting forward to brush her lips over his. “I hate the outdated bullshit” She adds in a whisper before locking her lips with his again.

Naoya kisses her deeply. He kisses her like each one was going to be their last, like this was some cruel dream that he was going to wake up from anytime now, so he’d have to savor it. (y/n) hums delightedly into his mouth, eagerly returning the long-awaited passion.

“So you don’t want to marry me now?” He teases in between a couple more kisses. (y/n) laughs, struggling to meet his lips as she does.

“I couldn’t possibly accept a proposal on my birthday,” She scolds. “You’ll have to do better than that”

“Alright, fine then,” He agrees. “If you don’t make me hang around Gojo the rest of the night, I won’t propose”

She grins, looping her arms behind his neck and tilting her head at him with an affectionate look in her eye. There wasn’t a moment that she wasn’t beautiful, but he always thought she was the most beautiful when she was looking at him. It was as though she glowed.

He’d have to find a way to make it up to her— all the time he wasted not telling her how beautiful she truly was. He’d likely spend the rest of his life reminding her, and even then, he doesn’t think it would be enough.

“You’ve got a deal, Zen’in” She replies, before tilting onto the tips of her toes again to steal one more kiss.

It would prove to be difficult to explain to her father that the man she’d previously tried to prove she didn’t love and therefore couldn’t marry is now the only one she could ever love, and that when she thought about the distant future, she could only see herself by his side, no matter his clan, it was Naoya her heart belonged to. But she’s sure she could find some way to tell him the whole story and win him over the same way she’d been won over.

And if not, there was always eloping. She was the only heir to her clan after all. How hard could it be to pull some strings in the name of young love?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

bonus:

To whom it may concern of the (y/l/n) estate,

While it is my understanding that your intentions aren’t to wed (y/n) off without her say in the matter, I’m writing to you to declare myself as her proper suitor. I plan on waiting a long while before officially making her my wife, but when the time is right and I’m sure that she won’t come to regret the choice, I will be taking her hand in marriage.

I’ve thought of her as my bride to be since we were children. Whether I was thrilled about the idea at the time or not, it was certain. She was my one true destiny, and that still rings true today. The truth is I love your daughter. And the prospect of making her my wife is something I’ve kept to myself for a long, long time.

When the time is right I will come to you in hopes of receiving a proper blessing. Trust that your family will have the full support and allyship for as long as we both shall live, and trust that your daughter will be in good hands, of a man who isn’t marrying out of satiating clan politics, but completely, and deeply out of his love for her.

Sincerely, Zen’in Naoya.

“Naoya?”

A tired voice from behind him has the man leaning up from his desk, just as he’s tucked his nearly written letter into a fresh envelope. (y/n) sits up slowly off the bed, rubbing one eye as she squints at him in the dark.

“What’re you doin’ up?” She mumbles. “Writing?”

“It’s nothing, pipsqueak,” He murmurs, standing from his chair and sliding it quietly back into place before making his way over to her. “Let’s go back to sleep, hm? It’s late”

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” She mumbles back at him. She coos when he’s back in bed and she’s able to curl back up on his chest. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overcome her again. “G’night” “Goodnight, my love”

[ he lives for love... ]

___

a/n: there i did it i wrote a big ol' soft piece about na*ya zen'in bcuz i have a bitchass 'i can fix him' mentality </3

xoxo ~ jordie

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regulusrules · 5 months

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FIC RECS: Tore apart my sanity edition

Missed doing those, especially that the brilliance of this fandom is quite endless. You'd think you've read everything, then a fic comes and makes you stare two ceilings above. I think we all have PhDs in ceiling reading at this point.

1. through storm and hellfire by @prattery.

Look, I know I scream a lot about fics, but this time it's so rightfully, I swear. There is something about this one that just unravels you so fully, so reverently. It was a spiritual experience; reading this fic. Anything written by this author is a spiritual experience. If you're new to my blog, you will soon know that I fall apart for such beautiful prose so easily. And the way Arthur was written here.. holy lord in the sky. I haven't survived this fic as of yet (weeks later). It was not Merlin who got kidnapped here; it's our literal hearts.

2. you hold a knife at my throat (i tell you exactly where to cut) by @nextstopparis.

All I can say is that I found this one on the night of my final MA exam and risked failing because I stayed up till dawn reading it. And guess what? I'd do it a hundred times over. Because this fic killed me 🤩 With a knife knowing exactly where to cut 🤩

Whenever it's Protective!Arthur that is as much consumed by Merlin's safety as Merlin was with his, then know I am absolutely and utterly gone. And everything that comes with Arthur teaching Merlin how to wield weapons and its close proximity trope. Oh boy. I was literally killed, I'm telling you.

3. Of Course Falling in Love is Awful. Why Else Would They Call It a Crush? by watchriverdale.

Respectfully, how does this marvel of a fic have less than a thousand reads?? If I may, it's one of the best AU - Canon Divergence that I've read in so long! Merlin being an actual physician, Arthur making silly excuses to go visit Merlin and it ending up for him falling head over heels, BAMF elements of both, just everything! Absolutely AMAZING. And the full circle at the end; what an icon.

4. The Walls of Camelot by spqr. (@andthepeople)

I'm literally not joking when I say my brain function grew and developed more after reading this fic. It was so fully-fledged in a way you don't find in literal published books. The amount of creativity and research combined in this fic.. WOW! You just literally live the war with them, all emotions entangled, all thoughts experienced. I think I had the hardest time processing that the fic ended more than anything else because of how invested I was in the story. I didn't want it to end. It was a wonderful, wonderful ride.

5. I suppose that I look different (without the robes and crown) by WingedWolf121. (@lancelotofthelake)

You know when fic writers begin to narrate Arthur through Merlin's eyes and describe him as golden? That is what I would say as the overall feel of this fic. I felt it radiating gold and beauty. It was unmatched, truly. From the AU idea to its execution.. I was hooked all 18K. I'd give it 18K kudos of my own alone. And the way it was written !!! Please. Any Arthur who just loves Merlin a tad too much is unparalleled. And when the same energy is returned by Merlin >>>

Oh and lastly: “Ask me who you were there to me, Merlin.” I'll leave you at that.

+ 1: My heart is readily yours by yours truly.

Have I mentioned how much this one tore my own sanity apart while writing it? (yes. yes I already have like a thousand times, tell me to shut up about it already). But it's for good reason. I am a changed human being after this fic. For better or for worse, I'm still not sure about that.

#LJ recs #merlin #fic recs #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin fic #arthur pendragon #ao3 #merthur fic recommendations #if you know the authors' @ on tumblr let me know so that I tag them!#regulusrules recs

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soralymystaken · 2 months

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I think a lot about Lloyd and Harumi, solely because they have one of the most unique yet complex relationship dynamics in all of Ninjago, and it’s something I don’t feel like we talk about enough.

So often I see online that their dynamic is overly simplified. I so often see people arguing between them being “true-love” or “friends to lovers to enemies,” but stating it’s just one of those is overlooking all of the complexities. Even stating it as a one-sided thing from Lloyd isn’t looking at the whole picture. Of course, there can be many interpretations of how they interact. Again, that’s the reason I adore this dynamic so much. This, however, is my personal interpretation:

Also, warning, spoilers plus some swearing.

At the beginning, we see Lloyd have the whole “love-at-first-sight” trope, and we learn that Harumi invited him into the castle. While, of course this immediately is seemed as a positive interaction, later events reveal otherwise. It continues like this: Lloyd falls deeper in love with Harumi whilst she continues manipulating him to keep him on strings. She eventually realizes his feelings, and wants plays on that, making the process work exponentially better. Finally, we learn Harumi’s motives and her reasoning, and, in the episode, Lloyd is devastated. However, I have some additions on this, but I’m gonna finish up my review of canon before getting to that. We do also know that Lloyd still has feelings, though. We primarily see thing from Lloyd still trying to save her from Garmadon’s grasp along with his sadness from her death.

The next time we see her and Lloyd’s dynamic (at least as far as I want to mention,) is Crystalized. When Lloyd is captured, he apologizes. He still clearly has feelings for Harumi, and, in a turn of events, it seems that Harumi does as well, as she convinces the Overlord to spare him and to try to get him on their side.

Okay, enough about prior knowledge, lets discuss headcanons. So, firstly, I’m 100% sure that Lloyd was tormented by Harumi’s origin story. We know how high of a standard he holds himself to, and we also know how morally-driven he is. Him learning about the real stories of the real people who he had really hurt couldn’t have been taken easily. I’ve actually written a whole fic that revolves on that fact, and how Lloyd’s lingering feelings would have amplified that feeling to oblivion. Also, for people who assume he would immediately drop his feelings when he learned Harumi’s true motives, literally just look at how he talks about Garmadon and you’ll see he can’t exactly move on that easily. Things like this take time, and, again, he has guilt because of this whole thing. Moving on from a relationship when you believe you were the reason the person tried to destroy the entire world and subsequently died isn’t the same as a high school breakup. That’s fucking devastating, and especially for someone who hasn’t had the best relationships up to that point.

However, this dynamic really starts to become cloudy when you look at Harumi. Now, look: I’m like 90% sure she only had feelings for Lloyd in S15 as fan-service, but, fan-service or not, it’s canon, and therefore I’m still gonna cover it.

So, first off, when and how did Harumi develop feelings? Personally, I think there could be three main reasons. For one, gaslighting. The whole time, she was gaslighting Lloyd into loving her. Sometimes, when you keep up a lie like that for so long and with that level of commitment, you can convince even yourself of these feelings. Do I think this is the case for Harumi? Well, it depends. If you truly do believe there is a spark between them, then no. However, if you really don’t like the fact that they were given a romantic storyline in S15, then this is a totally valid reasoning.

The second reason that comes to mind is Lloyd’s persistence. Now, just to cover all our basis, reminder that “being persistent” and “never giving up on a love that could be” are not cutesy tropes and relationship goals, and no means no. I see too much stuff online saying shit like “I never gave up on her and, even though she said no 20 times, she gave in in the end.” This is not something to romanticize. If someone rejects you, fucking respect that and move tf on. That being said, though, I think that could actually be the case in this dynamic, albeit in a much less creepy way than some fuckers online do it. Lloyd clearly, even after all of the shit Harumi pulled, still has lingering feelings: a mix of platonic and romantic. I truly believe Lloyd is someone who believes that anyone can change for the better, and applies this to Harumi. The fact that, even after all the pain Harumi caused, he still searched for her in the rubble could be the reason she developed feelings. In my opinion, this is the most likely option.

The final one is a bit colder, and is for y’all who believe Harumi is evil through-and-through. Lloyd is fucking overpowered. Harumi’s reasoning to the Overlord could be just that: the reason. I personally don’t love this one as much, but if this is something you resonate with, I would totally understand why.

All of these factors strung together make Lloyd and Harumi one of my favorite dynamics. There is so much more that I didn’t even discuss here. Is it romantic or platonic or just romantic for one of them? Did Harumi develop feelings even sooner yet denied them solely because of her hatred? Is Lloyd’s relationship with Harumi less to do with Harumi herself and more-so to do with trying to rebuild a relationship with his father through her to prove he can hold onto someone he loves? All of these are questions I’d love to dive into but simply do not have time.

Hopefully you enjoyed my little rant. I love overthinking stuff like this and also love chatting about over-the-top headcanons. If you have any thoughts on this (or other headcanons you want to share), please do!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago headcanons #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago #ninjago harumi #princess harumi #harumi jade #harumi ninjago #llorumi

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sissylittlefeather · 2 months

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Hi Sissy! If it’s not too late, could you do a Fic of Elvis based on the song “Help Me Make It Through the Night?” Like Elvis and you know you’re not good for each other, but you can’t stay away. Can develop into smut but if you’d prefer not, that’s okay too! If it’s too late, I completely understand! Thank you! 😊

@peaceloveelvis Hi! Definitely not too late! First of all, this is one of my most favorite songs. I actually have a series planned to go with this song later, so stay tuned. But also, I haven't written anything without smut in a LONG TIME. This one came out this way and I might revisit it to expand on the smut later if there's interest, but I kind of like it without it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this ficlet!

Help Me Make It Through the Night

Warnings: none really, cussing, mentions of sex

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

Elvis has been a part of your life since you met him during his Timex special with Frank Sinatra. The only thing you did more than make love relentlessly was fight endlessly. The nights were hot, but the mornings never failed to conclude with both of you yelling and at least one of you crying. There was no end to the way you loved each other or the way you managed to drive each other insane. There was always something to fight about and you left each other every time swearing you'd never be together again. But somehow, you'd end up in the same place and before you knew it you were naked in an elevator or in his backseat or in a bathroom or a hotel bed in some sketchy by-the-hour kind of place. Even after he got married, you didn't stop. Your pattern of fucking and fighting stayed the same.

In 1969, though, you had a particularly spirited tryst that ended with both of you saying things you regretted almost instantly. But you were both too stubborn to admit it, so instead you threw a shoe at him and screamed at him to get out and he called you a name and swore he'd never end up in your bed again. This time, the pain you caused cut so deep that you both insisted you'd never give in again. It was over, for real this time. The hurt was too much to make the good times worth it.

So, you did what any self-respecting woman would do. You married someone else.

When he heard about it, he broke an end table and all the things sitting on it in a fit of rage and jealousy and something else he was afraid to admit.

On your wedding night, you cried yourself to sleep with your new husband snoring quietly next to you in the bed.

Then, in 1971, you find yourself walking down the street and come upon a loud and frantic crowd. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you look to see what all the commotion is about. The crowd parts like ill-meaning clouds and he looks up at just the wrong moment.

His blue eyes pierce you straight through to your soul, even from across the street. Something inside you jumps and your hand goes to your throat. Memories of every time you've ever been together slam into you like a freight train and you're somewhere between ecstasy and wanting to die. By the look on his face, you can tell he's experiencing something similar. Everything inside you is screaming at you to go to him, but you feel the cold little ring on your finger and know that you can't. You turn and walk away as quickly as you can. He fights to get away from the crowd around him, but by the time he does, you're gone.

******

You're pacing the floor of your living room when the phone rings. Even several hours later, you haven't recovered from your encounter. You pick the phone up aggressively, annoyed to be distracted by the call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Presley would like you to meet him tonight at the Presidential Motel at 11pm." Your blood runs cold.

"Why?" The line clicks with no answer. He's left the ball in your court and you hate it. You won't meet him. You just won't. He's impossible.

But at 10:45pm you're in your car. You've spent the last several hours trying to remind yourself of all the reasons you hate him. You finally decide you're going to see him just to tell him that you don't care what he says; you were serious last time. This is not a thing anymore and it never will be again.

At 11:06pm, you sit in the parking lot of the motel, a battle raging inside you.

"This is stupid." You mutter, finally getting out of the car. At the desk, you ask which room Mr. John Burrows is staying in. The clerk tells you and you stomp towards his room getting more and more angry as you walk. The nerve of him to think he can just summon you like this.

You pound on the door with every ounce of rage your body can contain flowing through you. The door opens slowly and your heart skips. Why does he have to look so good?

"You came."

"What the fuck could you possibly want to say to me?! The last time you saw me you called me a whore and said you'd rather swallow a knife than see me again. So, whatever you have to-"

"I miss you."

"You... what?" He speaks again slowly and deliberately.

"I miss you." It feels like your stomach has fallen to your kneecaps. "I'm lonely, honey."

"Call your wife."

"Will ya just... no. I want you."

"Have you forgotten-"

"No, I haven't. And I'm sorry." He's never apologized to you before. You stand in stunned silence just outside the door.

"You're-"

"Sorry. Yes. Now, will you come in please?" You stand there completely lost. Finally, he grabs your arm and drags you into the room, shutting the door behind you.

"What the hell, Elvis?!" He pulls you close to him and presses his lips to yours. For a second, you melt into him. Then, you remember why you were mad and pull away angrily.

"No, I'm not-" He pulls you in again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you more deeply this time. You fight to get away, but he holds you tightly. Eventually you're able to escape his grasp and you push him backwards. He goes to grab you again and you slap him across the face. Your hands go to your mouth in shock and he looks at you stunned.

"Oh god, I'm-"

"I guess I deserved that." He walks to the bed and sits down. "You actually hate me, don't you?"

You stand there for a few seconds before sitting down beside him on the bed.

"No. I don't. But we said this was done."

"I know. I'm just... I'm alone, honey. And I miss you so much it hurts worse than being with you." You look at him, but he won't meet your eyes. It comes to you that he must be pretty desperate to put himself in this position.

"You're alone?"

"You know how it gets for me. There's people everywhere, but I just... I miss you."

"Why me?" He rolls his eyes and looks at you finally.

"You gonna make me say it?"

"Yes. If you want me to stay here, then-"

"I love you. I've been in love with you since I met you. You're the only one I want when I feel like this and it's been so long-" You reach out and put your hand on his knee and he looks down at it, setting his on top of yours, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You're used to these vulnerable moments from him. They're what has brought you together over and over throughout the years. So when he breaks down and sobs, you pull him into your arms and hold him without thinking. Somehow you end up lying in the bed with him cuddled tightly against you, head on your chest. You stroke his hair and hum quietly. This is a familiar position for the two of you and you've missed it more than you care to admit.

Eventually, his breathing evens out and you realize he's fallen asleep. You kick your shoes off and snuggle in to spend the night. As angry as you were, you can't deny him what he needs because the truth is you love him too and you always have. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly. You've missed this too.

******

In the morning, you make love and it's sweet and sensual and exactly what you've both been needing. And this time you don't fight. Somewhere in the year you were apart, you grew. The love that you have is more important than anything that might separate you.

And as you lay naked together, the world opens up for you. He talks about leaving his wife and you decide your husband will be better off without you.

Will it happen? Will you finally find a way to be together in a way that works for you both? You don't know.

But you made it through this night together. Something tells you that you can make it through anything now.

******

The end?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fluff #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fluff #elvis presley x you

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thatbuddie · 9 days

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wip wednesday

i was tagged by @sibylsleaves. i haven't actually written anything this week yet but i am hoping that sharing something from the fake ex husbands fic will motivate me to finish chapter 3 of it. so here you go, an excerpt from the next chapter:

“If you and Buck were together, do I think you guys would last as a couple?” Hen asks. Her words are just a rephrase of Eddie’s own question, but they feel more important, heavier when coming from someone else’s mouth. These words feel life-changing simply because Eddie knows that Hen understands the word that is hiding behind them, the confession that is lying underneath them. Eddie isn’t saying anything -in part because the word gay still feels like a fire threatening to burn his tongue, in part because he feels there will be a better moment to finally speak it out loud for the first time- but he has, in a way, said everything there is to say. The way Hen is looking at him confirms it. Eddie nods, his bottom lip still caught between his teeth, his arms lowering the mug to the table so he can place it down and cross his eyes in front of his chest. For a fraction of a second, Eddie feels more secure, protected. Then, just as fast, it’s as if he’s been trapped in a cage of his own doing, a cage so small that he can’t even move an inch. He uncrosses his arms, resting them on the table as he leans forwards slightly. “Yeah,” he says, not clarifying further because he doesn’t need to. A second of silence passes by as Eddie holds Hen’s haze in his. The station is motionless around them but Eddie swears he can almost feel its heartbeat, the proof of its aliveness, more than ever. “I think,” Hen starts saying, separating her hands from each other so she can move her arms forward and circle Eddie’s wrists with her fingers, “That you and Buck love each other so much that there is nothing you guys couldn’t get through.”

wednesday is over in many parts of the world but this is me tagging people in tidbit thursday, fuck it friday, share saturday, or whatever they want to do!!! @capseycartwright @doeeyeseddie @hattalove @clusterbuck

@bibuddie @trippedandfell @rewritetheending @transboybuckley

#fic update #buddie #911 #fake ex husbands fic

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persphonesorchid · 1 month

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Connotations Of Sin - JHS (m)

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel Au | Angst, fluff, smut (mdni), horror (V lowkey, I swear)

Word Count: 30k

Masterlist

Please read these warnings carefully!!

Warnings: Homelessness, Kidnapping (? is it though??), Suicidal ideation, referenced and described abuse and murder of a child. Hoseok is his own warning. Mc gets drugged and then she gets sick... A bit of religious babble, mc has nightmares (one of which is actually kinda bad...), she almost dies at one point. Hoseok likes playing mind games, but they aren't serious (Honestly debatable...). Implied gang activity and violence. Hoseok contradicts himself a lot, he's really confusing. Smut: oral ( m and f receiving) soft dom Hoseok, i think Hoseok has an oral fixation (or is it ME, the author?????) unprotected sex.

Notes: Phew, welcome!! SO, it's finally here!!! I'm so excited to share this project with you alll! It was such a big project for me, and so much time and effort went into it. Believe it or not, this started out as a smut piece and it had nothing going for it at all. If you've been following me for a while, you'd remember that back in 2021 i posted a teaser for something similar. Tbh back then probably wasn't the right time to post such a thing lmao, i for certain wasn't ready to write it and it wouldn't have been written in the way it was meant to with my writing style back then. It's been a long journey of understanding the characters portrayed here, and a lot of work to get them right. Very big shoutout to @hwaslayer who's - as always - been there with me from the very beginning and has been the biggest help and motivator, please look out for her Ateez's Seonghwa fic that shares this universe!! I won't keep you any longer, but please be sure to leave feedback, a lot of effort went into this project and i'd love to hear what you think and answer any questions! Happy reading!!!

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here with me dearie? I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than being out in the elements.” Abigail takes your hands in hers, hands that – much like yours – are dirt stained and ruddy, but bring you comfort that you wouldn’t find elsewhere. Abigail – or Toothy as everyone else calls her – is a frail woman with wispy auburn hair and a gap tooth smile. Her hair had gone white in some places, the crows’ feet at her eyes can barely help you guess her age. Her eyes are blue and dull but still regard you warmly like she did when she’d found you wandering along the fourth avenue weeks or so ago.

The space where she stays isn’t much; a nook in an alleyway between two rundown buildings that people don’t bother to go into. She’d tried her best to make it into a space that’s comfortable enough, the roof made of termite bitten sheets of ply that’s at least a square and a half wide. An old, mildew ridden tarp thrown over it and held down by a couple pieces of rubble from the building across makes up the walls that offer shelter from cold wind and rain and as much privacy you could get out here. The floor made of giant trash bags Abigail had swindled from some place or another, covered with old sheets that’s definitely seen better days. Even though the sheets had long lost their softness and leave you itching, they kept your butt off the cold concrete.

You’re going to miss the stories she’d tell. You’d lay on the floor, the longest part of the tarp folded over the top, and stare up at the strip of night sky between the buildings, twinkling with the bit of stars you can see and listen.

She’d tell you of her life before she fell to rock bottom, how grand everything was. How, many years ago, she’d won the lottery by a stroke of luck, only to have it turn sour when her fiancé gambled it all away and she lost everything. She never did tell you what happened to him.

You’d miss walking the couple of miles to the river, armed with pieces of run-down bar soaps and plastic bags with the little clothes you owned in them bundled in your arms. Or the nights when it’s cold, you’d go down to the square with her and look around for things to burn and dump them into the steel barrel to keep warm.

There are days when there’s nothing, and Abigail would distract you from your stomach trying to eat at itself with another one of her stories and old cans filled with steaming boiled rain water. There are days when you’d sit with a full tummy, there’s usually one kind soul out there that takes pity on you both to offer as much as they could.

You’ll be forever grateful for Abigail, with her motherly affection and her warm hands. She never once asked how you ended up here too, she simply offered a hand when you needed it most.

You felt as though you lingered too long... this is the longest you’ve stayed in a place. The company was good, but you feel like there’s just so much you’re robbing Abigail of by staying with her. You know she would strongly disagree; she’d probably whack you with her busted up sneaker and send you to sit in a corner until you’ve apologized. It’s simply how you feel, if you’re not here, Abigail wouldn’t have to share the little of what she gets, you feel terrible enough that she gives you more than she keeps for herself.

“Don’t worry Abigail.” You smile, pulling one hand away to pat hers. Her fingers are bony and long, and lacking the warmth they did earlier in the day. “I don’t stay one place for too long.”

It’s a lie, obviously. You’d rather chew your leg off than go out there alone. Away from the safety this little nook had been for the past month, away from Abigail, who’s cared more about you than anyone has in a while. But you care about her too, enough that you’d leave to make sure that she eats well enough to survive and not give it all to you. She’d be better off.

Abigail narrows her eyes at you, the wrinkles of her face deepening as she frowns. She looks sad, you note, the blue of her eyes dark and stormy, but she says nothing, just squeezes your hands for a while before letting go.

You smile softly, and continue stuffing your clothes into an old backpack Abigail had given you a while back. You fold the dirty ones tight, setting them at the bottom, and the few clean ones you had that still smelled like your last bar soap at the top. You don’t have much, and you’ve gotten used to it – as hard as it was.

When you shouldered your bag and stepped out from under the tarp, Abigail follows, worry on her brow, saying that she’d walk you to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oh!” She says, turning back to duck under the tarp. You hear the rummaging of her old pot wares, the clanking of the metal before she comes back and holds out a can to you. The label looks worn, peeling off in some places, but you make out the bright red ‘canned peach’ on the side. “I was savin’ this for when we go down to the river, but you’d better have it.”

“Abigail...” You sigh, guilt gnawing at your edges, “I can’t take this.”

Abigail purses her lips, smacking the can into your hand, “Yes, you can. It’ll hold you out for a little while.”

“Then what would you eat?” You outstretch your hand, offering the peaches back to her and she narrows her eyes at you.

“I can manage.” She says testily, and then sighs, softening, “Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” She takes the can and tucks it into the outside pocket of your bag, “It’ll be rough ya know.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say, and then, you hug her. Truly, you’ll miss her. She pats your back gently, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, we gotta look out for each other out here.” Abigail smiles, pulling away. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans, something she’d picked up at a donation shelter a couple of days ago. It’s got a few holes and it’s frayed at the ankles but she’d never complain. “If you fall into luck, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

You both say your goodbyes and you try your best to not cry at the sadness that clings to Abigail’s form as she hobbles back to her little nook. You take a breath and pick a direction to walk in.

You think about going to the river first, to get a little cleaned up before you go looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. You’re already regretting leaving the comfort that Abigail provided. You know she wouldn’t blame you if you turned right around and dragged yourself back. You’ve already made your mind up, though – it’s better this way.

You don’t have a gauge on the time, but the sun’s getting quite low. It streaks the sky in orange and pink, hiding behind a fluffy white cloud as it makes its slow decent. You might be able to make it to the river and back before night falls completely if you hurry. So you walk, and walk, and it’s a long way past the street Abigail first found you, where the city meets a forest edge.

You once asked Abigail why she didn’t live closer to the river, you worry about her most days, taking her frail self through the streets for such a long walk just to get here. She’d told you that even though some of your street dwelling comrades are friendly, most aren’t, and would do the worst to get what they need. It’s too risky to be close to the river where all manner of folk pass to get to it.

You tuck your bag to your front and keep an ear out for anyone that may be in the area. You grimace as the twigs and stones of the forest floor poke at your feet. Your shoes were on their last, they kept your feet warm most days, but they’re biting holes into your last good pair of socks. The trees get sparse the further in you go, and over the tweeting and chittering of the forest critters, there’s the sound of rushing water.

You break out of the trees and stand on the little edge where the forest pauses and the soft wet dirt begins. The river is a bit wild today, rushing through the rocks as it makes its way from wherever it starts. You know there must be a spring somewhere deeper if you follow the river back, but you don’t have the time to as the setting sun makes the forest look darker already. You wouldn’t like to be out here at night.

You slip out of your shoes and socks, wanting to keep them dry and walk down to the bank. Abigail has a little spot between three large boulders where she hides things. The spot is covered with leaves and sticks, and you dig through it to find the old blue bucket. It’s missing it’s handle and turned over to keep things under it.

There’s a new pack of soap powder that’s already been opened, a little square plastic bowl that’s probably seen better days on a dish rack and half of a soap bar. You pull the bucket out of its hiding place, taking just a handful of the soap powder and tossing it into the bucket. You tuck the powder into a corner of the rock with the soap bar on top of it and carry the bucket over to the river.

You rummage through your bag to find the clothes that needed cleaning, and put them in the bucket with the soap. It takes a moment of scooping water from the river and pouring it into the bucket. All the while you’re wondering where Abigail scored the soap powder from. A lot of things are hard to come by, but some people make trades with the little they’ve got. You feel a little guilty as you watch the water and soap soak into your clothes, though you know she wouldn’t mind if its you – you’re the only two that know where she keeps her stuff hidden – but still.

The soap smells sweet, and fresh in a way you haven’t smelt in a while. With the sun long gone behind the trees but still lighting the sky a bit, you wash your clothes as quickly as you can. You throw the soapy water on the bank and not back in the river, and rinse your clothes out just as quick.

There’s no time to wait for them to dry, with the sun being as low as it is and the wind baring its teeth. So you wring them out and pull out the plastic handle bag you keep folded in one of your backpack pockets to stuff them into.

It’s completely dark out once you’ve put the bucket back and covered Abigail’s things again and made your way back out of the forest. You would’ve liked to take a quick wash, but it’s too dark and the water’s too cold now. You’ll come back tomorrow when the sun’s high and hot.

You walk in a different direction than the way you came, looking for the little park that Abigail mentioned once. Its completely dark by the time you get there, your feet aching from the long walk and your mind muddled with thoughts.

You would often remind yourself not to think too hard, as your thoughts would often lead you to a dark place you find difficult to crawl out of. You would often regret not having people close enough to call good friends, maybe then you wouldn’t be out here.

You didn’t have a difficult life; you grew up in a loving home with both parents making sure that you were happy and not too spoilt by the fruits of their labour. You know the value of things and you know well to act like your parents raised you with some sense. Your mother passed when you were ten, and your father remarried when you were sixteen. You couldn’t understand why, your father loved your mother so much and you thought it would just be you and him against the world. You understood that your mother wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life overshadowed by her passing and forget to continue living. So when he introduced you to the woman he met on a business trip, looking happier than he had in six years, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that something was off.

Your mother had always taught you to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of a doubt. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in your step mother’s eyes when she would look at you. She was quite young, compared to your father, anyway, and as the years went by, he spoilt her. He gave her whatever she wanted when she wanted it as long as it made her happy and you could only watch from the sidelines.

Your father fell ill, and everything went downhill from there.

When he passed, your world shattered and crumbled, leaving you standing in the rubble grasping at the wisps of it slipping through your fingers. Things were okay, for a while, grieving the loss of your father and trying to move on and step without him. Then the news of his will came not long after he was buried.

Your father left everything for his wife, the house, his money, and as you’d found on the first night you were out here, the savings account your mother had set up for you.

You had nothing.

You’d always kept to yourself growing up, and never let anyone closer than you would allow. You were home-schooled – all the way up to your tertiary education – and had no friends to speak of. Your parents never spoke of their family, all you knew and had were your mother and father.

It’s been a while since then. A good long while. It was hard to adjust to having everything at the tip of your fingers to having it ripped away all at once.

The first week was hard. You’d worked odd jobs here and there to keep your head above the water. Sleeping in a motel every night wasn’t ideal, especially since you had to buy food and every thing else. The little money you had ran out quickly, even when you pawned the possessions you did own it wasn’t enough.

You’ve had time to adjust since then. You met Abigail and things were as okay as they could’ve been considering. You remember, she had been pestering you about why you were pacing around on that bridge when she found you.

The deep rushing water below it had looked inviting – an easy way out. No one would’ve missed you, anyway.

You take a breath in sharply, and it burns. Cold air fills your lungs with little pinpricks as night fully settles. You try not to think about anything more as you walk through the park.

It looks empty, large trees and neat grass fields and cobbled walkways. There are dark metal benches scattered about, a trickle of water you can’t pinpoint coming from somewhere.

You’d just stay here for tonight, and find somewhere you wouldn’t be in trouble to stay at in the morning. You’re pretty sure you’re breaking some law being who you are as you sit down on the bench. It’s uncomfortable, the metal cold and biting, but you’d just have to deal for the night.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out the plastic bag with your damp clothes, a jacket that’s still in good condition and the canned peach Abigail sent you off with.

You spread your clothes out on the back of the bench, and you’re hoping they dry properly even if the air feels a little damp.

With a soft sigh, you lift the circular pin on the lid of the can and pull. The peaches are cut into slices and swimming in a sweet juice, and with some guilt you pick a piece out. It’s sweeter than anything you’ve had in a while, and for a moment you feel like crying.

You feel tears burn your eyes and nose as you chew the fruit, washing it down with a sip of the juice that tastes slightly like the can. It wasn’t long before it was all gone, your fingers sticky with the juice and you stare into the empty can with a frown. You wonder about Abigail and if she’s okay right now.

Setting the can down near the foot of the bench that’s bolted into the cobblestone path, you lay back. The sky is fairly clear, with a little smattering of wispy clouds floating by and stars that twinkle in the distance.

Drifting off slowly, you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in – though there isn’t one with this metal bench. Your jacket thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

You’re not certain how long you sleep for, but when you wake, its to a tapping on your shoulder. The air is thick with something as you breathe in, and a lot damper than it was when you’d settled.

“Ma’am.” A voice calls, prodding your shoulder again, “Hello, miss?”

You open your eyes and your blood runs cold at the sight of the man in uniform standing above you. You sit up, excuses dancing at the tip of your tongue before you realised you could barely see past your nose.

The officer is holding a flashlight, the beam directed somewhere off to your right. A thick fog had settled while you slept, swirling way past the officer’s head.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep here. This is a private park.” His words aren’t unkind, they come out gentle and a little pitying, as though he regrets having to do his job of keeping the riffraff out. He lets you gather your things, stuffing your still damp clothes back into your bag.

He takes a step back when you stand, “If you need somewhere to stay, there’s a shelter not far from here. Couple blocks that way.” He waves his flashlight behind you, towards the park’s exit, “Can’t miss it.”

You could barely see the guy, much less which way exactly he’s directing you to. You turn, squinting at the way you think he pointed. “Thank you... I’m really sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it...just keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

He motions with his flashlight again and you take two steps away before stopping and turning back, “Sorry but...the fog...which way...”

The man is gone, no sign of him having been there in the first place. It’s quiet, not even insects are chirping, you don’t hear any retreating footsteps. You stare at the spot he was just in, but didn’t want to linger lest he comes back and he’s decidedly less kind.

You hike your bag up on your shoulder, squinting to see through the fog as you walk towards the exit. The roads are empty, there’s the soft clicking of the traffic lights and the glow of shop lights and street lamps that make it a little bit easier to see. You still look both ways before walking quickly across the street, keeping straight like the officer told you.

It’s quiet, and honestly, it freaks you out a bit. You don’t think it’s that late, and even so, there should be people out and about. You don’t even think you slept for that long, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. There’s no reason for no one to be around, then again, you don’t know this area very well.

You walk for some time, the sound of your footsteps and your steady breaths your only company. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter, staring up at the glowing signs and squinting to see through the fog. You passed a convenience store, a pharmacy and a pet shop, all closed and dark inside. You’ve crossed two roads so far; it shouldn’t be much more walking...unless a couple of blocks have two different meanings between you and the officer.

You stop for a moment, taking a breath that settles heavy and damp in your chest. You look back the way you came, look at the signs of the buildings across the street and the one you’re outside of. You can’t see much more than that unless you keep walking straight.

You’re beginning to wonder if he’d only said so to get you out of the park. You take a couple of steps forward and then stop, looking over your shoulder. Your brows furrow and the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end.

It’s said that the mind always knows when you’re being watched, a sixth sense to be aware when someone is staring at you.

You feel watched.

And it isn’t an ordinary feeling.

It feels off, like some primal switch just flicked up in your brain. Briefly, you think that this is how a bunny feels being cornered by a fox. Your heart suddenly kicks against your ribs and something in the back of your mind screams for you to move.

You press forward, the feeling lingers, and intensifies. You walk as quickly as you can, your once steady breaths loud and harsh in the quietness of the night. You try not to look behind you as your ears pick up on the sound of another pair of footsteps. They match yours, and you’re not too certain if it’s just really your own bouncing off the walls of the buildings. When you stop, they stop, and start back up again when you start.

There’s another sound below it. Something snarls like a dog somewhere in the distance behind you, but, like everything else about this moment in this fog, it sounds wrong. Like it’s coming from a creature that’s trying to mimic the sound of an animal.

You stop dead in your tracks, goosebumps rippling along your skin like a wave from the top of your head and downwards. You take a breath, and with one foot in front of the other – you sprint.

Your footfalls are loud in the quiet, and even through your panic you notice the change of the footsteps that mimicked yours. There’s two more with it that falls in rhythm, like a large beast running on all fours.

It’s running faster than you are, the pounding of its feet against the pavement is double the speed of your own. You feel like your lungs are about to burst, your legs burning, and the damp air becomes fire in your throat when you breathe.

Whatever it is snarls again, and it sounds way closer than it was before. You could almost feel the sound rumble through you, and something hot fans at the back of your neck. You nearly trip, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to run faster. You round a corner blindly, hoping to throw whatever it is off your trail and smack right into someone.

With your momentum, you’d think that you would send yourself and the person sprawling to the hard concrete. The terrified scream you let out rings in your own ears, high pitched and shrill, as you bounce back, falling in a heap. There’s a sharp twinge in your wrist as you brace, and a stinging in your palm when you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“Shit!” the person exclaims – a man, if the deep timbre of his voice was anything to go by. “Are you okay?!”

The man crouches down and you scramble back, then remember that you crashed into him because you were running from something and the panic comes back.

“I—there’s ... Something’s following me! It chased me all the way here...It’s—”

“Hey, hey...it’s okay...you’re fine.” The man seems to look behind you. You could barely see his face, even with him being as close as he was; the fog just seems to get thicker. “It’s just us out here...”

His voice suddenly seems hesitant, and you wouldn’t blame him if he thought you were crazy.

You breathing is still erratic, heart still trying to pound its way out of your chest.

The man’s hands hover at your shoulders, and there’s worry in his tone when he speaks again. “It’s okay. You’re alright, nothing’s out here but us.”

He takes your hand – the one that’s not holding your weight – and presses it to his chest. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, but his own heart is steady, beating a slow rhythm against his sternum. “Breathe with me.”

He takes a deep breath in, and you feel his chest expand as his lungs fill, you try your best. Your throat is burning, and every breath feels like fine glass is swirling at the back of your mouth. It takes a moment, but eventually, your breaths match his and the adrenaline seeps out with your every exhale.

Your brain finally registers the throbbing of your wrist and palm, and the ache in your sides.

“There you go.” You can faintly make out the smile that spreads across the man’s face, heart shaped and pretty white teeth. “Good now?”

You nod, just barely, and he releases your hand. There’s a shuffling and the sound of a zipper and then he’s holding a bottle of water out to you. You eye it with some suspicion, and he picks up on it.

“It’s just water, promise.” He says, wiggling the bottle a little. “The seal isn’t cracked or anything.”

You take your weight off your palm, wincing at the hot flash of pain from the movement. You right yourself a little, taking the water from him with your uninjured hand and a soft thanks.

“Oh...here...” he keeps the bottle steady in your hand with a palm under the bottom of it, and the other cracking the seal with a twist. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you take a sip, and then a gulp, “Easy, not too fast.”

The water is cool, and a blessing, you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. When you’ve drank at least half of the bottle, the man puts the cap back on and leaves it in your hold.

“Were you looking for something?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“The homeless shelter...I think I’m lost now, though.”

The man tilts his head, “There aren’t any shelters in this area...you’re on the wrong side of the city if that’s what you were looking for.”

You stare at him for a moment, “...Oh.” The officer really did just say it, then. You’re not sure what to say to the man and you glance around at the street that’s still teeming with the thick fog.

You’re not sure what to say to him, and instead, look around the street for any sign of the shelter even though he’d said there isn’t one.

“I think the fog’s lifting...” The man mumbles. The fog is clearing; it’s easier to see further down the street and the man in front of you. He presses his palms against his knees and stands, looking around for a moment before looking down at you. “There aren’t any shelters around...but...I can help you. If you want, I live a bit that way, and I’ve got an extra room...”

This is a bad idea.

He’s quite tall, on the lean side with long limbs. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his black, suede shoes look just as expensive as the watch that peeks from the end of his sleeve at his wrist. The white tee shirt he wears looks a little billowy, like it would swallow his frame once he takes the coat off. He turns a little and you get to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I won’t hurt you or anything. I just want to help.” He says, turning back to you. His eyes are dark, but kind as he offers a hand to help you off the concrete. “I’m Hoseok.”

You take his hand, and there’s nothing in the back of your mind telling you to get away. Nothing in his body language that shows ill intent, and you have to remind yourself that some people are simply kind.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him softly, giving him your name. His smile is soft as he nods, lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyes squinted just a bit.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. It’s a bit late, though, and you’d have to walk a long way to find the shelter...” Hoseok says softly.

You’re still holding his hand, and the warmth of it grounds you. You honestly shouldn’t, really, you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t follow random men promising kindness. He really looks like a good person, quietly waiting for your answer as he gives you chance to change your mind should you wish.

He doesn’t rush you, and briefly you wonder if he doesn’t have anything else to do. He was clearly going about his business before you tackled him, though that word should be used lightly considering you’re the one who ended up on the ground.

“Okay...thank you.” When you finally speak his smile broadens, showing pretty teeth and still holding your hand, he leads you in the direction he was coming from before. You feel a bit bad, turning his night on its head and probably inconveniencing him.

The fog is lighter now, the air not as thick with it as you follow along. Hoseok didn’t talk much, not once mentioning your pitiful state of dress, or asking any questions. You’re grateful, not many people would go out of their way to open their homes to someone without one.

The place he leads you to looks expensive and you feel out of place. The road winds and twists into a residential area with houses and three storey apartments. There are cars parked in driveways, neatly trimmed grass and hedges, a fence around every tree. Lampposts dot the sidewalk every thirty or so steps, casting their orange glows across every surface.

Across from there, the road veers off into a more commercial area, with fancier housing and shops and a tall, looming hotel. The streets are quiet, shops already closed for the night and you wonder what time it is. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, save for you and Hoseok making your way towards the hotel.

The doors slide open with a little mechanical whir, and you balk at the sheer size of the lobby alone. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bouncing their glows off of shiny surfaces. There are red and black lounge seats along a far wall, coffee tables of black tempered glass between them and the single seated chairs across. On the other side of the lobby is a little open cafe area, closed of course, with comfortable looking chairs tucked under tables.

There are two elevators, one of which you assume to be for staff. The reception area is a counter space of smooth looking white marble, though no one sits behind it.

Hoseok leads you to the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. You’ve let go of his hand now, as you take in the sight of the place. You wonder what anyone would think seeing someone like you in here. With your shabby clothes that’s seen better days, your dirty sneakers and backpack that looks like it’s moments away from just splitting apart.

There’s no one to see you, as the elevator comes down and opens with a ding. You catch sight of your reflection in the elevator walls, and grimace, regretting not bracing the cold river earlier. You definitely look homeless, your last bath was exactly two days ago, you look grubby standing just a little bit behind Hoseok. Anyone who would see you now would definitely turn their nose up at you and outright ask what you’re doing in their pristine hotel. Though, there isn’t much you can do to prevent that.

When the doors slide close you focus on the button panel, and next to it is a key card scanner and a button under it. The word penthouse is neatly labelled on the button in little black letters, and Hoseok fishes around his coat to pull out a key card. You blink, of course he lives in the penthouse.

The scanner beeps softly and Hoseok presses the button that glows a soft blue before the elevator lurches slight and ascends.

You fiddle nervously with your fingers in front of you, keeping your eyes on your shoes. There’s a shuffle and Hoseok turns to look at you, he’s smiling kindly again, something like pity woven into it and you feel a coil of shame twist in your chest.

“I’m sorry...” You say without much reason, glancing at him and then back down, “For the trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hoseok says softly, concern on his brow, his hand reaching out but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if he could touch you. You’re surprised he even want to. Heck, you’re surprised he’s doing any of this at all. “Really.”

“Do you usually take in random homeless people?” You ask, and his chuckle is light and teasing.

“Only the cute ones.” He says and then looks a little mortified, “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s just...you looked like you really needed help...so I’m helping.”

“You’re very kind.” You murmur and offer a smile.

He smiles back, not as brightly as his other ones, it curls his mouth less, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods, “I try to be.”

The elevator slows to a stop, doors sliding open to a little well-lit hallway. On the other end of the hall is a wide pane of glass that overlooks the city lights, twinkling in a dance of their own making, and an emergency exit sign jutting out of the wall. You follow Hoseok out of the elevator towards the door which he unlocks with a password — the beeps loud in the quiet — the door opens with a soft thunk and a beep and he lets you walk in first.

The lights are on, as though he’d only planned to be out for a moment. You’re not too sure what to do with yourself now that you’re here, staring at Hoseok’s back unsurely as he takes his shoes off and tucks them neatly on a shoe rack.

He turns to face you, “I don’t mean anything by this, so please don’t misunderstand...”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

He seems to weigh his words carefully, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You flush, yeah, you surely look grubby enough for him to ask that. It’s warranted, so, you’re not upset that he asked. You’d actually love to, when was the last time you took a bath that wasn’t in the freezing river?

Still though, it’s embarrassing. So you nod silently, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking genuinely relieved. “You can leave your stuff here and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay...” You step out of your shoes, nudging them in a corner before you take your bag off and set it down. The clothes you have are still damp, stuffed in a plastic bag somewhere in the depths of your tattered backpack and Hoseok doesn’t give you a moment before he’s leading you through his home.

The chill of the grey tiled floor runs up your legs through your thin, threadbare socks. You don’t have much time to look around, but you’re aware you’ve passed an open space kitchen and living room, splashes of white, reds and black in the corner of your vision.

He lets you into the bathroom, “Use whatever you need. The towels and things are in the cabinet.”

You turn to face him, “I really can’t thank you enough.” You say earnestly, and he waves you off, turning to leave and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll bring you some clothes that you could use.” He says through the door, his voice muffled. You thank him again and his footsteps trail away.

You turn and glance around the bathroom, floor to ceiling glass panes makes up the furthest wall. Before it is a porcelain bathtub that could easily fit three people, on a raised platform of white stained marble, and that platform on another, creating a single step up in order to get into the tub. The colour of the platforms compliments the dark reflective marble floor. The undersides of the platforms are lined with what you assume must be LED lights, glowing a pale white along the bottom.

The same LEDs line the back of the large wall mounted mirror, giving it an ominous glow. Below the mirror is a dark granite sink with a faucet you’re not even sure how to turn on. The cabinet below the sink house only cleaning supplies, and you look around for the towel space.

The shower takes up nearly the whole wall it’s connected to, frosted glass and jets embedded into the wall.

You walk over to the shower and realise that was wall beside it sorts of curve and you let out a surprised sound when you walk the short way towards the back of it. The ‘cabinet’ is more of a little walk-in closet, there’s a few fluffy looking bathrobes sorted by length and colour, and towels and washcloths stacked on shelves that match.

Under those are neat little space savers filled with bath oils and shower gels, sweet scented candles tucked into corners. Bar soaps and toilet paper on their own shelves at the bottom, unopened toothbrushes and what have you.

There’s enough room to turn full circle without bumping into anything if you step into it. But you look at your hands and decide to not touch anything until they're clean.

So you walk back out to the sink, frowning at the faucet with no visible way to turn it on; it’s just a sleek piece of metal that curves back into the basin. You look at it to and fro and wave your hand under it, startling slightly when water sprays from the faucet. You hold your hand away and it turns off after a moment. Now, your parents had money but it wasn’t anything like this.

You can’t imagine the cost of this place.

You find hand soap after peeking into the cabinet below the sink again, taking your time to thoroughly wash your hands clean. It’s hard to see the dirt go down the drain against the dark granite, but you’re grateful. You inspect your hands once your done, and finally allow yourself to touch Hoseok’s things. You take a towel down from the shelf, the one that’s at the top of the pile. It’s a nice pale yellow, and near the bottom right corner is a little blue butterfly embroidered into the fabric. After a little debate with yourself, you pull the washcloth that matches from its pile.

You set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet, and strip out of your clothes. You fold them neatly and set them on the floor along with your socks, stuffing your underwear into the pocket of your jacket. You step into the shower and pull the door shut behind you.

You turn the knobs and adjust the water so that’s it not too hot, and for a moment, you simply stand there. The water flows over your skin in rivulets, washing away the sweat and grime of the past two days. You try not to take too long, but made sure that you’re thoroughly scrubbed clean. You try not to use too much of Hoseok’s things, even though he’d told you to use whatever you needed.

You’re not sure how long you were in there, how long you stood letting the water wash away your tears as well.

When you step out, steam billowing put behind you, you wiggle your toes into the fluffy cotton mat under you, wrapping the towel around your form. It feels nice to be clean, skin feeling a little raw from the hot water. You tiptoe to the door and ease it open, and it pushes lightly against a bundle of folded clothes on the ground. Next to it, a pair of warm looking house slippers that you shuffle into immediately after drying your feet.

The clothes: a dark grey long sleeve crew neck tee that hangs just a little off one shoulder, a pair of boxer shorts still in it’s wrapping, and long fleece lined sweatpants that you have to fold at your ankles.

Near the door is a towel rack where you hang the towel you used to dry, and after taking a breath, you step out of the bathroom.

You walk back the way Hoseok led you, and the air is prickled with the scent of freshly made food and it makes you wonder just how long you took in the bathroom.

The kitchen is a wide space, between the area that makes up the entrance hallway is a kitchen island, and much like everything else you’ve seen, is a long, polished slab of dark marble. There’s a sink in the middle, sleek and silver and soft white light comes from the fixings above it. Across from that is a large refrigerator, an electric stove and more counter space. There are a few scattered appliances, a coffee maker and a small espresso machine tucked under a cupboard over them, and a blender with something or the other in it.

Hoseok stands with his back to you, he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and startles.

“Oh – shit.” He laughs softly, “Hey, was your bath okay?”

“Sorry...” You apologize for scaring him and he waves you off, turning to face you fully. He scans your form but there’s nothing odd in the action, and he nods to himself at whatever he was looking for. “Oh, yeah. My bath was okay, thank you.”

“Dinner’s ready if you...oh...” he glances to the side, back to you and then to whatever he’s got going on the stovetop. “...This might be too heavy for you right now...” He murmurs to himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish, a little guilty about something he didn’t consider.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll eat whatever it is.” You’re not about to make him waste his food, or be impolite.

“Okay, well.” He presses a button on the stove panel, turning to the island. There’s the sound of a drawer opening and he pulls out a kitchen towel, smiling at you. He nods his head to the right, where, tucked to the wall is a modest sized wooden table. There’re two plates of what he’s made already there, and tall glasses of water. “Go ahead.”

You walk over to the table, pulling out the chair to sit. Dinner is creamy mashed potatoes, a hearty portion of steamed mixed veggies and steak that’s somehow done to your liking and already cut into pieces. Your mouth waters at the sight and it smells so good you could cry. Hoseok isn’t finished at the island, so you busy yourself with folding the sleeves of your borrowed tee-shirt up and out of the way.

When he comes over he frowns a little, “You didn’t have to wait, dove.” He takes his seat opposite you, “Please, eat.”

The random pet name flies over your head, not that you would’ve been bothered by it had you been paying attention. Hoseok was kind enough to open his home to you, let you use his things and now he’s feeding you. He could call you whatever he likes.

You murmur a thank you and dig into your food. The sound you make when you take the first bite borders on erotic, but your gracious host doesn’t seem to mind very much. There’s a pleased glint in his eyes and a small curl to his mouth as he watches you eat for a moment.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed by the intensity of his stare, but you’re mindful to not choke or look like you left your manners somewhere at your feet.

The food settles in your stomach, heavy but it’s a feeling you welcome. You could barely remember the last time you had a full meal. The bite you swallow brings the odd feeling of it slowing down behind your sternum, and you take a long drink of the cold water Hoseok had set out for you.

The man himself barely touched his own food, seemingly content to watch you scarf yours down. He has his chin propped in his hand, a small curl to the corner of his mouth and a glint of something in his eyes.

“Thank you...for the food.” You stare at your plate, drizzled with gravy and what’s left of your dinner. You can’t meet his gaze and you’re not certain why, and the intensity of it is starting to gnaw on your senses.

“No need for thanks, little dove.” Hoseok says, and there’s a soft clink when he finally picks his fork up and it knocks against the round rim of the plate. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”

The pet name strikes you this time, no longer distracted by the delicious food and your rumbling tummy. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver racing down your spine, one that was decidedly unpleasant. There’s something in his tone, the way he stares when you raise your eyes to meet his, something in his beautiful heart shaped smile.

The fine hairs at the back of your neck raises, and you’re back to feeling like a bunny in a fox’s burrow. It was the same feeling you’d gotten earlier in the strange fog; the primal sense that you’re no longer the apex.

Something like a bell jingles in the back of your mind and grows louder until its a wailing alarm.

You should leave. Thank him for being so kind and get as far away from him as possible.

The look in his eyes unnerves you, but it’s something you can’t put a finger on. Just off the edge of his form something flutters, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, but it’s gone so quickly you didn’t have time to focus on it. The feeling intensifies; tugging, now.

You don’t think he’s blinked.

A shudder runs through you, rippling along your skin like a shockwave and Hoseok is calling your name.

“Are you okay?” there’s concern on his brow, his unoccupied hand raised in a wave as though he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. “Do you feel sick?”

“N... no. I’m fine, thank you.” You try to smile, but you’re pretty certain it looks as strained as it feels. He was almost done eating, though he’s paused to asses you with furrowed brows. You feel like you’ve missed something in the past minute.

“I asked if you wanted more food but you just blanked on me.” Hoseok sets his fork down and you feel like you’re losing your mind. The feeling from before is gone, and you’re not even certain if you felt it in the first place. Maybe you’re tired, or maybe the feeling of the comforts you’ve missed for so long is messing with your head.

Hoseok looks perfectly normal, there’s nothing flickering at his back or anything odd in his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” You don’t feel certain, and if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment on it. You pick up the fork again, scraping up the little left of your food onto it quietly. You feel strange, as though the past two minutes moved by too quickly, or like they happened weeks ago and you’re struggling to cling to the details of them.

Hoseok is focused on his plate, and uncertainty at the hope that he keeps his eyes there blooms in your chest. You’re not sure why.

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple moments, with Hoseok finishing his meal and you, playing with the folded ends of your borrowed tee-shirt. When he was done, he takes the plates and the empty glasses to the sink to clean them and you sit idly at the table.

He’s drying his hands with a dark kitchen towel when he’s done, settling at the edge of the island and facing you. The overhead lights glow against his form, casting shadows along his visage that makes him look sharper; menacing. It clings to his hair like a depiction of something holy, making his dark hair look russet in the gleam.

You go to thank him again, even though he’d probably wave you off like he’s been doing the whole time, but the lights are too bright. The glow of the lights swells and flood your eyes, you squeeze them shut, trying to dispel the ache that comes with it. You turn your head and it feels like you’re neck deep in mud, it takes too much effort to do something so simple.

Panic wells in your chest, sending your heart kicking against your ribs harshly. You take a breath, well, you try, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat and you choke on it.

There’s two Hoseoks when you peel your eyes open, and they neatly fold the towel they were using and put it down. For a minute, your vision settles, and the man leans against the island nonchalantly, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches you spiral.

“You should try to calm down.” He says softly, and you hate the way you cling to the sound of his voice when it’s very clear what’s happening.

“Wh...” Your tongue feels heavy, and the words you try to say are slurred and unintelligible. You move to stand, trying to get away even when your limbs feel like there’s a ball and chains at the ends of them. The world tilts on an axis, doubling as you make to your feet, you’re not sure if it’s leaning or you are.

Hoseok reaches you in a single step and a strangled sound escapes you. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you back into the chair. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your body can’t handle.”

You can barely hear him, your ears feel as though there’s cotton in them, reducing his words to a muddled murmur. You can’t feel the way his fingers curl into the hair at your nape, but you notice the shift as he tilts your heavy head back to look up at him.

He’s smiling, you think. Pretty and heart shaped, all white teeth and sinister. And there’s that feeling again, as he says something you can’t hear, can’t focus, your eyes are closing.

There’s something dark and broken that flickers against the light above his head and shadows that dance at his back.

When the morning came and you didn’t wake, Hoseok wasn’t too concerned. He watched over you as once was his duty to another, tucked you into the sheets and the blankets and let you sink into the warmth of them. He sits in a chair at your bedside, simply watching the rise and fall of your chest and the pinch of your brow as sweat beads upon it.

Your body is fighting hard to flush out what he put in, and he admits, he may have given you a bit too much of it. It wasn’t his intention, but nothing can be done now but wait for you to come to.

When the afternoon comes and the first sign of your conscious shows in a weak attempt to rouse yourself, and a jumble of words that Hoseok deciphers with a well-trained ear it; was clear you weren’t fully there yet. Your skin was too warm, eyes not nearly focused enough, barely looking at him, and then the contents of your stomach come in a rush of bile and acid.

Hoseok tends to you gently, patiently, taking you to the bath and settling you in a way so that you don’t slip under and drown in your unconscious state. He cleans your mess, changes the bedding, puts you in a fresh set of clothes and lays you back to rest.

You stay asleep throughout the day, and Hoseok isn’t too concerned.

Humans are such fragile, foolish things. To him, you’re a porcelain doll, pretty to stare at and admire if it sits on the top of a shelf behind a case. Take it out of that case and it’s so easily broken. Hoseok is like a child in a sandbox of his own creation with too much power in his fingers. If he isn’t careful, he could shatter your form and lose you to the dunes.

The fear you felt the night before played you directly into his hands – never mind he had nothing to do with it – and Hoseok knows, you don’t have to be inclined to feel the weight of his presence. Your mind knew that something wasn’t quite right -- unconsciously or not --, and yet, you willingly followed.

Foolish.

Though, it was purely coincidental that you ran into him, he had been on his way to somewhere and wondering about the strangeness of the fog that rolled in out of nowhere. He hadn’t missed the weird quiet and lack of people either, it hadn’t been that late.

He doesn’t know exactly what you were doing in it, running around the way you were like a mouse in a maze. It’s something that sits at the back of his mind.

The morning of the second day brought no change; you were in and out of your drug induced sleep, and now, Hoseok was a little concerned.

“How much did you give her?”

There’s a squeak of leather as Seungcheol crosses his arms, when it’s quiet for far too long he gives Hoseok a look.

“A little.”

Seungcheol leans over your sleeping form, raising a hand to rest against your forehead. Hoseok would think you were dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“If it was a little, you wouldn’t have called.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head, the dark waves of his hair brushing his eyelashes.

“Well, she’s not dead.”

“Dude.” Seungcheol looks a little disturbed, straightening to stare at Hoseok with a displeased furrow in his brow. “You can’t just – humans have limitations.”

“I’m aware, Cheol. Thank you.” Hoseok grumbles, and he ignores the raise of Seungcheol’s eyebrow and the clear disbelief in his eyes.

“‘Course you are.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs lowly, he turns back to you, placing his hand on your forehead again until the tension in your face fades. “Don’t give her any more of that shit. She should wake up sometime today, maybe.”

Hoseok knows better than anyone the limitations of humans. Not that he acknowledges them, he hadn’t the need to in a long time, but he should be careful at least.

Hoseok leads the way out of his guest bedroom with Seungcheol following and closing the door gently behind him. Walking to the kitchen he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hoseok takes his time, fetching a glass from one of his cupboards and the whisky he keeps stashed away for his more stressful days. “Spit it out.”

Seungcheol braces his arms on the other side of the island, eyes dark. “Hoseok. I normally don’t care what you get up to; it’s not my business.” He says, looking somewhere to Hoseok’s right. “You don’t fuck around with humans. Who’s the girl?”

Hoseok hums, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass with a contemplative stare. “Street urchin. No one anyone would miss or bother to look for.”

“So you just took her off the street?” Seungcheol frowns, but Hoseok could tell from the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not that simple.

“She came willingly.” Hoseok corrects, taking a sip of the alcohol he could barely taste.

He sets the glass down on the island and pours the whisky to fill half. Seungcheol is quiet, and Hoseok hates it. It gives his mind a moment to wonder, to open a box he’s kept locked and chained.

On most days, Hoseok barely knows himself. He remembers what he’s supposed to be – what he was – and sometimes, that part of him rears its head to fight with what he’s become. Wings dipped in gold and divinity at the end of his fingertips battle endlessly with the shadows that encased him.

A memory of a time he held something as fragile as glass in his hands, broken before he could properly hold it by someone who was supposed to keep it safe. The ache of it burns like a rash that never goes away, always there, only hiding under his skin until it flares up again.

“Just... don’t do anything stupid.” Seungcheol says after a while, watching Hoseok carefully.

“You and your moral compass.” Hoseok shakes his head, and just like that, the golden light is bundled up tightly and pushed back into the corner where he long hid it.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh, shaking his head, picking up his bag he threw on the island counter when he got here.

“I need you to do something for me.” Hoseok says, watching the light shine through the glass in pretty crystal shapes. There’s a furrow of Seungcheol’s brows, but he tells Hoseok to continue with a raise of his chin. “Keep an eye out for a fog.”

“A fog? Why?”

“She was in one the night before.” Hoseok sucks air in through his teeth, “and she wasn’t alone.”

Seungcheol hums, “Alright.”

Hoseok drinks the last of the whisky in one go and waves a hand at Seungcheol, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, Cheol. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Seungcheol grumbles and then raps his knuckles against the countertop. “I’ll be over here for a few days, gotta sort some things out. Call if you need me.”

Hoseok watches him leave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he walks back to the bedroom where you still lay asleep.

He sits on the chair, watching the rise and fall of your chest, every minute twitch of your facial features. Restlessness tugs at his limbs as the sun makes its descent western sky, spraying the dimming canvas in hues of lilac and peach.

Something in the back of his mind asks what exactly he’s doing. There was no reason – there wasn’t a reason for him to take you in. A sprout of boredom, maybe, or something involuntary.

Hoseok stares out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the soft glimmer of early evening stars, until the sky is navy and darkness clings to the room.

Your mouth feels like someone’s stuffed cotton in it, and your throat feels like sandpaper when you try to swallow.

You haven’t opened your eyes, laying on what you presume is a bed, if the softness beneath you was anything to go by.

There’s not much that you remember, even as the fog in your mind clears little by little. You remember eating, you remember feeling strange like someone had shrunk you and shook you around in a jar of water. You remember the fear that quickened your heart and your breaths and Hoseok, standing above you like a malevolent God.

You remember the strangeness of his form, and even now your mind can’t comprehend it. You’re not even certain if what you saw was actually real and not an effect of whatever Hoseok had drugged you with.

Drugged.

He drugged you.

Your eyes open and the room is dark. The blankets are thick and heavy and they make you feel warm. There’s a window to your far left, curtains drawn back to show the city in all it’s glory.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing yourself upwards on arms that feel a little weak, and find – to your horror – the clothes you were wearing before aren’t what you’re wearing now.

You take a breath before the panic could set in. You could feel it rolling under your skin like a rumble of thunder before rain, and you try your best to stay calm. You need to find a way out of here.

The apartment seems to be quiet as you slide your feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You barely register the chill of it when you stand, sock-less feet making it easier to sneak over to the door without making a sound. You don’t know where Hoseok put your things, and you don’t have time to go looking for them.

The door isn’t locked, and doesn’t make noise when you push it open slightly to peek out through the little gap you made. You recognise the hallway, the bathroom is two doors down on the other side, and opening the door a little more, you poke your head out tentatively.

You don’t breathe as you listen, but it’s so quiet, so much so that your exhale seems too loud, and there’s a soft ringing in your ears that set you on edge. Stepping outside the room, you contemplate your next course of action: You can bolt right for the door and get out, but risk making too much noise if Hoseok is indeed here. Or, you can slowly and quietly make your way over and slip out without cluing your kidnapper in on your escape.

Can it be called kidnapping if you were living on the streets?

The door seems miles away as you inch slowly towards the open kitchen and living room area. There are a few lights on, the same LED lighting strips run along the edge of the large pane windows and glows an ominous blue and the lights over the marble island had been dimmed. Both rooms seem empty and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Like a mouse, you skitter across along the hallway space that divides the two, down the little platform at the entrance and take one more step towards the door.

The door that seems further back than it was a second ago.

The stretch of space that was just an arm’s length away was now more than a hallway’s length. You stand still and stare at it, reaching an arm out in case you’re suddenly tripping balls but your hand swipes through air and falls limply at your side.

You look behind you and the rooms and hallway are just as they were, and turning back, the door was right where it was before. You could’ve sworn there was a handle on it. You place your palm against the cool, smooth surface where the handle should be and in the face of your freedom thwarted, you pinch your thigh.

You must be dreaming. The pain flares and grounds you and you realise there’s no explanation for this. You’re wide awake. Still drugged then. But you feel fine. There’s no swirling vision or heavy limbs, your mouth doesn’t feel like someone squeezed glue into it; you’re fine. This doesn’t make sense.

You back away from the door and almost stumble against the raised ledge behind your heels. Steadying yourself with a hand against the wall, you turn, and immediately, notice the darkness of the hallway.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart slams so harshly against your sternum it hurt. There’s that feeling again, it sends a shiver racing down your spine and scattering goosebumps along your skin. You’re being watched. You are not the apex here.

You want to run, or curl up into a ball and hope the darkness hides you. Fear coils into your muscles and locks them tight, and you’re left standing still, eyes darting around trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark.

There’s a darkness that curls at the center of the space a few feet away from you, undulating and crashing in on itself in an uncoordinated dance of chaos. It’s somehow darker than the darkness – stands out against it like white on black paint. It doesn’t make sense to you, and it could simply be your mind turning against you and scaring you further.

It slowly floats towards you, wraps around you in a languid, bored way, like smoke, no longer as tangible as it seemed before. You don’t feel it’s caress, but it’s cold, like you’d submerged yourself into a tub full of ice and water. You feel as though you’ll pass out, like the black wisps of strange smoke is filling your lungs and carving its way through. There’s fear, which is yours, and something that isn’t.

Something dark and lonely, desperate and afraid. It’s sad, so sad that you feel like you’ll drown in it, that tears would well in your eyes and squeeze your throat tight. There’s anger. It feels as though you can burn the world and revel in it.

The smoke snaps back and away from you, crumples on itself violently and then the lights are on, blinding you.

Hoseok is standing in front of you. There’s a mix of conflicted emotions on his face like he can’t settle on one before the storm in his eyes calm.

There’s a tenseness to his brow, and he studies you quietly with a tilt of his head.

“You’re awake.”

He takes one step forward and you take two back in turn. His eyes dart down to your feet and quickly back to your face, and draws the foot he put forward back to himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You scoff before you could help it, fear pushed slightly to the side as your anger rushes forward. “Right. Like I’ll believe that after you fucking drugged me.”

“Like I said, it was nothing your body couldn’t handle.” Hoseok counters calmly, “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I here? What do you want?” His threat didn’t go unheard, it settles into your mind and buries itself underneath everything else you’re trying to absorb for you to freak out about later.

Hoseok smiles, and its bright in its visage, every bit of sweet and caring as you thought him to be. Dimples you haven’t noticed before sinks into his laugh lines, and you think briefly, it makes him even more dangerous. He looks so harmless, as his smile blossoms and blooms into the heart shape you remember from the night before.

“Just you.” He says, eyes glinting with something you’ve decided is more than a little crazy.

You take another step back and he remains in his spot. If you’re quick enough – just enough – you can make it to the door. You might be able to outrun him.

“You can leave if you like.” He says, like he could tell what you’re thinking – or read your mind – and his smile fades, like a raincloud swelling and covering the warm rays of the sun. “Can’t guarantee you’d get very far, so I advise against it.”

You’re not sure if he’s being honest. Though, he looks pretty damn serious. He stares at you quietly, intensely, like he’s daring you to make that mistake. You hazard a look at the door behind you and the handle is still gone.

“What are you?” you ask, turning to face him and he’s directly in front of you. The startled squeak that leaves you makes him chuckle. Bending at his waist, Hoseok stares right into your eyes and you feel like your heart might just burst out of your chest and take off running.

Bunny in a fox’s burrow.

“Hm.” He hums, “Now you’re asking questions.” He straightens with a smile and steps aside, gesturing to the kitchen with a slight nod of his head. “I’ll tell you eventually. For now though, you should eat.”

You stay rooted to your spot and decide that if he wants you to move, he’s going to have to move you himself. He’s insane if he thinks you’d be eating anything he gives you.

“Come now, dove. Don’t be that way.” He sighs, stares at you for a moment later before nodding. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without you.

There’re the soft clangs of him moving things around, doing whatever he’s doing in there.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and you’ve been sick. You shouldn’t be standing.” You hear him say from the kitchen, and you think you could make another attempt at the door but the handle is still missing, so you have no choice but to go.

You eye him suspiciously when you enter, watching as he butters a piece of toast and puts it on a plate. He doesn’t look at you as you hover unsurely at the dining table, watching the lights catch on the dark marble island counter.

“I won’t give you anything to drink. Get it yourself if you’re worried I’d try something.” He says softly, and not unkind. There’s a shift in his tone and the way his body moves as he brings the plate over. You feel like the man who was standing in front of you a couple of minutes ago in the hallway had hidden himself away and the man you’d met on the street had crawled his way back to the surface.

He sets it down on the table and walks back around the island, opposite from where you’re standing, and out of the kitchen.

You’ve been here for two days – whatever he’d given you must have been strong as hell – trapped here with...him. You’re certain you can’t call him a man, he’s something more than that and you won’t know until he tells you. Most of the memory of the night you came here are blurry and frayed at the edges, making them impossible to cling to and analyse.

There was something strange in the moments before the drug kicked in and right before you passed out. Something strange about Hoseok, but you can’t seem to recall it. It’s like it happened years ago.

The inconsistencies of your memory leave you on edge, and you eye the two slices of perfectly buttered toast on the plate. He’s given you something light enough that your stomach won’t be upset. As the thought comes to mind you faintly remember being sick at some point, but that too is fuzzy and you aren’t sure if its real. At least now the change of clothes makes sense, though, it doesn’t make you feel any better. He could’ve done anything to you while you were drugged and unconscious.

You wonder what he could possibly want with you. Why you, of all people? You’re just a girl who had everything taken from her and thrown off the ladder, now at rock bottom fending for yourself. There’s nothing left of you that could be given.

You feel Hoseok’s presence before you see him, a sort of odd pressure in the back of your mind and your chest. He pokes his head into the room like he’s checking to see if you’d started eating or not and doesn’t look surprised to see you’d left the toast untouched and you’re still standing.

“The toast is fine, you know.” He says, and there’s an understanding in his eyes when he looks at you. He knows you don’t trust him, though, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He sighs when you don’t make a move and comes into the kitchen. He takes the same route as before, walking around the opposite side of the island – away from you – until he’s standing at the other side of table.

“Okay.” He says, picking up one of the toast slices, he bites into it and stares at you while he chews. “Make something yourself then.”

You blink, “Huh?”

“The bread is in the fridge if you want. There’re oats if you prefer that instead. Stick to light things. I’d rather not be cleaning up after you.” You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

He stares at you like you’re a complex puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “I used to be an angel. Fallen from grace.”

You’d laugh at the absurdity of his words, but he has that look again. He has that look that makes you believe him, and everything seems to click into place and make sense, even if you barely understand it at all.

“Okay.” You nod, and then take a seat. You focus on the gentle waves of his dark hair and not his eyes, “Why am I here? Why can’t I leave?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. You can if you want to. I said that I can’t guarantee you’d get far; You weren’t alone out in that fog.”

You’d almost forgotten about that. Recent happenings had been enough to push it to the back of your mind. You knew you weren’t losing your mind that night, something had definitely chased you and you’re positive it wasn’t a regular animal.

“But that’s another topic.” Hoseok mumbles, more to himself than you, and it looks as though his thoughts strayed elsewhere for a moment before he focused. “You should be thanking me.” He says, tilting his head to meet your gaze with a smile.

He couldn’t be seriously wanting you to thank him. For what? Saving you? For all you know it could’ve been one of his tricks. Why would you thank him? He says that you could leave if you like – him messing with you since you woke up says otherwise. He’s not actually giving you a choice. You’re not going anywhere unless he lets you.

When you remain silent, he leans forward, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “There’s nothing for you out there, though.”

You know he’s right. But that doesn’t justify what he’s doing. You assume he doesn’t care, if you were him, you wouldn’t feel the need to abide by law either.

You’d never been much for fantasy stories, growing up you were well aware that they were just that – stories. Your parents weren’t very religious, but you’d say grace before meals, pray before you go to sleep and when you woke up. Your parents would sometimes quote the bible when you were being naughty and every now and again you’d find yourself in a church for Sunday mas.

Your father used to say that the bible is a book of stories and lessons, and even if you aren’t to abide strictly by it, you should at least heed it. There’s someone up above, watching always.

The angels in the bible were described differently than the man before you, you think. Can angels really do things so bad that it gets them casted out?

Did he do something bad that got him sent here like some wayward child sent off to boot camp?

Even if a part of you is ever doubtful, his existence proves the existence of a higher being and you have some choice words for them.

In the days that go by, you remain wary of Hoseok. You don’t trust him, but you appreciate him letting you hover about him anytime he makes you something to eat. He makes everything from scratch and you wonder most of the time if it’s a skill he just has or was it something he had to hone on his own.

He barely bothers you, goes about his business, which really, entails him sitting in the living room and ignoring you.

Some days is another story entirely. You came to realise quickly that Hoseok is fond of games, usually at your expense. A shadow following you here, whispers that come from no where and bounces off the walls.

There are moments when you catch glimpses of something out of the corner of your eye – a figure lurking in the darkness, just beyond your line of sight. When you turn to look, there’s nothing there, leaving you to wonder if it was ever really there at all. You’ve seen shit at the corner of your vision way too many times for it to be a coincidence. You try to brush them off as tricks of the mind, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

Hoseok is always there when it happens, some sort of mirth in his eyes like your suffering is amusing.

The feeling of being watched becomes a constant presence, a weight on your shoulders that you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. Every time you turn around, you half expect to find Hoseok lurking in the shadows, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

For the first week it’s been this way, and when the second week started, he’d leave at one point during the day. Bored of you most likely, not that you’re complaining; at least he was no longer trying to send you crazy.

He’d give you the same instruction he did the night be brought you, use anything you need with additions of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ and ‘Stay put’. You always roll your eyes at that, the door remains the same; missing it’s handle. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.

You would stand in the living room, which looks much like the rest of Hoseok’s penthouse apartment; sleek and dark. There’s a few accents of white and red, black leather couches and clear glass tables. A flat screen TV you’ve never seen used mounted on the wall, a fluffy white rug covering the space between it and the couch. You’ve seen no other electronics besides that, nothing that you can use to contact anyone.

He’d left you things to occupy your time – like you’re a child – books and puzzles and what have you. And you found that the TV works if you become bored of the other things.

Weirdly enough, there’s people outside and below, unlike the night you came when it looked like a ghost town. You can see the glint of the sun bouncing off of shiny cars driving in and out of the hotel’s compound. Little people walking around as they go about their days, oblivious to your plight.

Sometimes you would hear someone out in the hallway beyond the door, like someone coming to clean and you would bang on the door and be as loud as you possibly could. It’s like you’re a ghost. You asked him about that once, and he told you that he can mimic spaces, make it seems as though something is or isn’t there.

Sometimes Hoseok would come back from his little excursions and be as normal as he could be. He’d talk to you like he isn’t holding you captive, ask you about what you did for the day as though there’s a million and one things you could do while there. You’d answer as to not be on the wrong side of him, even though it’s clear that he doesn’t quite mind you not saying anything back. He’d ask you what you’d like for dinner, and he’d eat with you.

On days like those it feels... normal. You feel comfortable and the nature of the situation escapes you. Like this had been your life for as long as you could remember. And sometimes you think, that maybe, if things were different. If perhaps he hadn’t kidnapped you, ‘helping’ you or otherwise. Maybe if your life had gone a little differently and you’d met him under different circumstances...then maybe.

Sometimes on those days he’d sit quietly as you give him little pieces of you; telling him about your childhood and not so important things. He’d clear the coffee table to put a puzzle together and ask you to help him with it.

Some days he’d come back and he wouldn’t be in a good mood. He’d stand and brood at the large windows looking out, lost in thought. On those days he’d look gone, vacant, as though whatever going on in his head was paramount to the reality around him. His eyes are sad then, and he’d be so quiet you’d forget he’s there. He’d make dinner, and he would not eat.

On days like those, if you wake at night and venture out of your room, you’d find Hoseok as you did the night you first woke up. A swirling ball of shadows and smoke somewhere about, and the lights are always off. It scares the hell out of you every time. It reminds you of what he is, despite the nature of his existence, there’s something very dark about him. He scares you mostly, even when he’s being nice, it’s unnerving. You’d try to stay clear of him then.

Something in your mind had been made aware that he is beyond your understanding. He’s stronger and faster than you, can do things that makes your brain grind to a halt trying to process. Sometimes it feels like he’s in your head, watching your every move and surveying your every thought. It scares you.

On days like those, the last thing you want to do is sleep.

Sleep evades you and when you do finally catch it, your dreams are wrought with nightmares of shadows and screams and blood. Sometimes Hoseok is there and he’s less kind than he’s ever been, and you’re lost in darkness and can’t find your way out.

Sometimes it’s a man with red hair lurking at the corners of them, smiling and taunting you. You feel like you could never escape them, like your dreams lasts the entire night and leave you exhausted when you wake up.

The room you woke up in so long ago was yours; Hoseok stays clear of it and never enters without knocking. One day Hoseok had brought you clothes you’re certain costs more than your life, they’re mostly comfort clothes as you have nowhere to be at no point in time. From sweaters to tee-shirts, lounge pants to bicycle shorts and an assortment of underwear that made you scowl at him.

That day you asked him just how long he was going to keep you captive – he didn’t much like the use of that word, prefers ‘keeping you safe’. He told you about the mysterious animal that chased you in the fog, that he and a friend are looking into it and reminds you that you wouldn’t get very far should you leave. You reminded him that he’s not letting you go anywhere.

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the swirling pattern from one corner to the next. You’ve lost count of them every time and you’ve lost count on just how long you’ve been here. Hoseok remains the same, fluctuating between rivalling the sun and being the moon that sometimes eclipse it.

It’s the morning of yet another day, and you can hear Hoseok moving about already. Sometimes you wonder if he ever sleeps...does he need sleep? He eats...that much is for certain, so by any rate he functions partially human.

You sigh softly, getting out of bed and shuffling your feet to the house slippers Hoseok gave to you. There’s the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok moving about, and it sounds like he’s in a good mood if his humming is anything to go by.

You wash up for the morning and get changed before carrying yourself out to the kitchen.

Hoseok looks devastatingly domestic and the smile he directs at you is enough to send your mind haywire. These past few days has been confusing for you. Though the initial fear you felt for him was there, lately, it’s been less. You’ve found yourself missing him when he goes off to do whatever he does during the day and you’re excited when he comes back. You’re chalking up the reason for that being that he’s the only person you’ve been in contact with for possibly a month or two.

On some of the days where he would come back and be less than happy, and the lights go out like they’re scheduled to and Hoseok is no longer tangible. When he hovers in a little ball of controlled chaos that blends into the darkness, you sit and wait. You wait until he’s there again and the lights are back on and he looks at you like you’re something he’s lost.

It confuses you as much as his smile that sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage in a dance that isn’t out of fear. You actually can’t remember when you’d stopped being afraid of him.

“I’m going out today.”

Your brows furrow, he’s never told you that he’s leaving before. He brings over a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced fruit. A sealed carton of orange juice and a glass for you.

“Okay...?”

Hoseok smiles, “Okay.”

When lunch came around, you’re sitting at the island watching Hoseok prepare the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make.

You don’t really feel the need to watch him as closely as you did when you first got here, now you simply do it because there isn’t anything better to do.

He moves in the kitchen like it’s a dance, turning to and fro with a grace you could only hope to have.

He’s already got something on the stove, some sort of sauce you think. It smells amazing and you’re looking forward to whatever it could be.

He looks a bit in his head, brows furrowed as he concentrated a little too hard to just be cutting an onion into crescent slices. He mutters something under his breath, turning to stir the contents in the pot before going back at the onion.

“Hoseok?” You call softly as he sets the onion aside in a bowl and pulls something else onto the cutting board. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s heard you, with just the steady sound of the knife hitting the board, he hums, glancing at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” You can tell he’s in one of his moods, but he’s actively trying to be pleasant. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove and then turns the oven on to heat up. “What is it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, just a tad bit impatient.

“Is cooking just something that you can do? Or did you have to learn?”

He turns, pauses, stares at you for a moment and then chuckles, “It’s a skill I acquired through a lot of trial and error. I had a long time to perfect it, though.”

“How long are we talking?” You’re a little intrigued, besides him telling you that he’s a fallen angel, he hasn’t told you exactly how he became one or how long he’s been here.

He tilts his head and smiles gently in the way he does when he’s thinking if he should answer you honestly or not before shrugging, “Long enough.”

You sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re probably older than dirt anyway.”

A surprised laugh leaves him, high pitched and a little untamed. The sound is infectious and now you’re laughing too.

Happiness looks good on him, you wish he wore it often.

When it was about four in the afternoon, you hear the closing of Hoseok’s door and the sound of his footsteps walking up the hall.

You’re curled up against the corner of the couch, tucked under a yellow blanket with a book in your hand. You smell him before you see him; the cologne he’s wearing reaching the room before he does.

He steps in and stands near the entrance, the end of his coat brushing against his shins while he secures a watch to his wrist. His hair’s grown longer since he brought you here, curling against his jaw and the bangs are long enough to almost hide his eyes if not for the middle part. The rings on his fingers catch the light of the sun, and he finally settles, a serious look on his face as he watches you for a moment.

He seems to be contemplating something, the muscle of his jaw tensing as he grinds his teeth. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at you.

Unwrapping yourself from the blanket, you walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but levels you with a look and guides you into the hallway with a hand at your back. “I’m leaving the door alone.”

The door is practically singing your freedom, the silver handle looks like a lighthouse at a stormy sea at night. Hoseok is looking down his nose at you when you finally tear your eyes away. His eyes narrow as though he can hear your thoughts and steps away from you.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You messed around with the TV, got bored, read another book, and decide to take a nap. Doing it all to ignore the door. You wouldn’t get very far. You really don’t want to know what Hoseok meant by that.

There isn’t anywhere you can go, you have nothing to your name. You get three square meals, clean clothes and a bed to sleep in when night comes – you think about Abigail, you wonder if she’s alright – you’d actually be quite dumb to go out there. Hoseok hasn’t done much but mentally exhaust you, you aren’t chained up in a dank room and being made to do things against your will. It’s actually quite pleasant.

You shuffle to your room and crawl under the covers, suddenly too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You would usually take naps when there’s nothing else for you to do, but you’re never this sleepy. It’s like your body is demanding you close your eyes and pass out right now.

You open your eyes a couple of minutes later and realise you didn’t know you fell asleep. It’s dark out already.

You throw the covers back, scoot to the edge of the bed, and put your feet right into water. You look down at it confused – did you leave a tap on? Hoseok would probably throw you out a window for flooding his place. Or maybe he’ll start up his silly mind games again and drive you nuts.

You’re not too concerned about it, strangely enough, as you get up, the water soaks into the legs of your pants. It’s high enough to lap against the middle of your shins and you curse softly, how could you forget to turn the tap off?

You swish through the water, reaching the door and pulling it open. The water is gone and you’re standing in the living room. Hoseok sits on the couch, one leg lapped over the other, bobbing idly as he turns the page of a thick book balanced on his thigh.

“Hoseok.” You sigh, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for your stupid games.”

He turns his head slowly to look at you, crooks a finger like he did at you earlier. You stomp over to him, not caring that you probably look rather childish doing so. When you stop in front of him, he gently puts the book aside and then wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Your pulse flutters and you pray that he can’t feel it. A soft squeak leaving you as he tugs you to him, you fumble to catch yourself, trying not to trip over your feet and the carpet. Your hand lands beside his head, sinking into the leather, his eyes meet yours through his hair, and when he pulls you down, you follow without question.

He settles you in his lap, one hand gripping your waist and the other snaking upward to bury itself into your hair. He leans forward, nosing along the underside of your jaw and when the warmth of his tongue streaks against your pulse, a shiver races down your spine before you catch yourself. You push against his shoulder, “Hoseok.”

His chuckle sounds dark to your ears, his grip on your waist tightens enough that you fear you’d bruise. His teeth drag against your earlobe and yours sink into your bottom lip. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you want.”

His words wrap around your head, burying themselves under your skin and makes home there. The hand in your hair slowly slides out of it, moving down until it’s wrapped around your throat. His thumb presses against your racing pulse, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to break you.”

It’s a moment of bliss, warmth spreading through you before it instantly chills. It’s all fun and games until he’s actually trying to choke you out. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as Hoseok’s grip tightens around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic surges through you, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

He’s going to kill you.

Desperate, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away, but his strength overwhelms you. Your struggles intensify as you realize the danger you’re in.

He stands swiftly and lets you go, and you crash unceremoniously into the glass coffee table, nearly breaking your wrist trying to catch your weight. You cough and gasp, clutching at your throat that burns with every breath you take. Your eyes sting with tears as you scramble to put distance between you and him.

He watches you, amused, taking slow steps towards you. He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls and you realise – there’s nowhere to run.

You look up at him, and you’re now facing the windows. The LEDs that line the perimeter of them are glowing a sinister red and they’re the only source of light. There’s something slick under your palms, something you slide in as you try to get up. Inspecting it in the lighting does nothing, as it simply looks dark against your skin, but, there’s no mistaking the scent of copper.

Gazing around, you’re sitting in a pool of blood. Hoseok is nowhere to be found. The pool stretches off like something was dragged through it, going out the living room and down the hall.

You follow it, against your better judgement. This is the worst trick he’s ever played.

Your pants stick to your skin uncomfortably, and you wipe your hands hurriedly against the front of them. It doesn’t do much but spread the mess of blood around. The trail leads into your bedroom, and you stand outside the slightly ajar door with your heart pounding against your ribs.

Raising a hand, you push the door open, but plan to go no further than the threshold. The lights are on, dimly, it doesn’t give you much vision, but you could see Hoseok standing over someone.

It’s you, well...it was you. You’re not sure if you could call that you anymore. Limbs twisted in unnatural angles, sharp ends of bone sticking out from your bruised skin.

You stumble backwards, slipping in the still wet trail of blood and falling against the door behind you. Tears blur your vision, you feel sick.

“You see?” a voice whispers, echoing and bouncing around in your head. “This is what will happen.”

There’s someone else here.

“He’ll kill you.” The voice snickers, crawling along your skin like poison ivy. “Run. Get out.”

You startle awake, gasping for air, searching your body for any sign of blood. The sun is almost setting, preparing to make its descent in the west and you dart out of bed. Your skin feels tight, like you’re too big for it and it makes you uncomfortable. Your breaths are harsh barely making it into your lungs before you’re forcing it out again.

You make for the door, yanking it open and running down the hall. You didn’t stop to think, you just want out. You push the entrance door and it opens and you stumble out into the hallway you haven’t seen in ages.

You run up to the elevator, the overhead floor indicator is blank. And the elevator doesn’t budge when you push the button frantically. Hands caught in your hair you spin around, there must be a way.

The green exit sign glows like a beacon of hope. You trip over your feet getting to it, almost face planting on the expensive rug that lines the hallway. The door opens with a click and your footsteps echo in the stairwell as you take them two at a time to get as far away from this place as possible.

You don’t stop until you’re three flights down, breath ragged and vision spotty. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, panting and wiping the sweat off your brow.

There’s a loud bang that echoes from somewhere below and you freeze. Taking careful steps you peek between the railings and see nothing.

It might be Hoseok.

Or, it could be someone else in the building and your only hope of getting out of here.

“Hello? Is someone ther—” There’s another loud bang, and you take a couple steps down the fourth flight and look over the railing again. A thick fog swirls just a floor below.

The hair on the back of your neck shoots up at the low growl that dances up the stairwell. You nearly go tumbling down it in your haste to turn around and go back up.

As you turn to go back up the third flight, the fog surrounds you and you stop as it becomes impossible to see. You grip tightly to the stair railing, tentatively stepping up – You’re trying not to breathe too loudly.

There’s something scraping against the ground on the stairs below and your heart kicks. You step faster, at the same time trying not to trip and break your neck. There’s a low snarl and you bolt, taking the stair two at a time back up the way you came.

The floor vibrates beneath you as whatever it is gives chase. You make it up to the first landing, pulling the exit door open with a grunt. You’re just about to step through when what feels like three hot butcher knives slices through your back. The force of it sends you pitching forward, smacking hard into the wall on the opposite side before you crumple against it.

You could barely feel it, you’re aware you’re hurt...you could feel the pulsing, open wounds at your back. Your mind is trying to process as you struggle to move, taking a breath aches as you push yourself upward and away from the wall just enough to turn. You don’t manage much more than that, sliding down the wall until your butt hits the pretty red carpet.

The metal door of the emergency exit swings open harshly, banging loudly against the wall before it leans forward; one of the hinges broken. The thing that stands in the doorway looks like it crawled out of some deep, dark part of hell. It’s standing on it’s hind legs before it drops forward, claws that look at least nine inches long scraping against the linoleum.

It looks like a giant dog, honestly. It’s hard to tell when all you could focus on was that you could feel your heartbeat at your back, and the slick warmth soaking into your ruined sweater and pants. Shock maybe...or adrenaline, was keeping most of the pain at bay, you’re pretty sure you’d be dead otherwise right now.

With a guttural growl, the creature emerges, its form contorted and twisted, as if it were forged from the very essence of nightmares.

Its body is a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sinew, its skin a sickly shade of mottled grey, stretched taut over bulging muscles that ripple with every movement. Sharp spikes protrude from its spine, glinting menacingly in the dim light, while its black eyes burn with a fiery intensity that seems to pierce through your very soul.

The creature's mouth curls into a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. Its breath is a noxious cloud of decay and sulphur, filling the air with a suffocating stench that makes your stomach churn.

As it lurches forward on all fours, its movements are unnaturally fluid, each step sending tremors through the ground beneath you. It’s trying to squeeze its way through the small space of the doorway, too big to pass through, and you could do nothing but watch.

Your vision goes hazy as you simply stare at the creature.

The adrenaline is fading and you’re starting to feel your wounds, but maybe if you could crawl towards the door...

At six pm on a Friday evening, Hoseok isn’t at all surprised to see the line of people waiting to get into the club. It’s still a long way to opening, but with the prestige of this place, again, he isn’t surprised.

He was with Yoongi when he bought the place, watched him build it from the ground up. Watched his taste for the interior bounce around erratically until he settled, as the clientele flickered from the common club goer to people – if they had enough money – buying their way in.

Haegeum is on the high-end of the city, the type of place where you’d wonder if folks had enough money to burn just because. Yoongi doesn’t discriminate and all are welcomed.

The queue is a mix of people: folks dressed to the nines just to step a foot in the place, those of which would most likely be sitting pretty in the VIP section. People just looking for a place to escape to for a while, teenagers holding tight to their fake Ids and clinging to their friends. They mingle in groups or alone, their chatter filling the air with a soft buzz of voices and hushed giggles.

Hoseok takes everything in with an air of nonchalance as he strolls by.

The bouncer at the heavy black door stands stoically, clipboard in hand for VIP clients. Hoseok breezes past him when he opens the door to let him in, stepping into the entrance foyer, illuminated by dim red lights. He walks down the hall, and down the dark metal staircase into the main floor of the club.

The above head white florescent lights do nothing to take away from the grandeur of the club, though, Hoseok likes it better when it’s late and the lights are off. The main floor is usually accented in lights of blue and red, casting shadows streaking along the sitting area. Embedded into the walls are velvet couches that flow with the design in a sort of snake like shape, a short-legged coffee table and single seated chairs dotted between every inward curve. There’s a wide enough walkway for two people walking side by side to pass, a partition of glass, and on the other side of it, black leather couches and even more glass coffee tables.

The walls are interesting, and Hoseok thinks this because he doesn’t know why Yoongi likes it so much. In large arched alcoves sits head statues of Greek gods of mortal tales, staring lifelessly into the distance, bathed in dark blue light. Between every two are columns that resembles those of a temple, and smooth grey stone. Hoseok honestly doesn’t know which vibe Yoongi is going for, not that he’d say it to his face.

He walks down the little walkway, down another set of stairs and across the dance floor. The bar is tucked in a corner, glasses being wiped by one of Yoongi’s employees behind it. Hoseok offers the man a nod of his head, moving towards the staircase that curves with the wall and upwards.

Yoongi’s office veers just off the VIP lounge, set behind large mahogany doors. And Hoseok doesn’t bother knocking. The room looks pretty much the same as it’s always had: dark walls with darker patterns, a maroon carpet lining the floor, abstract paintings hanging on the walls that allude to a darker nature, and in the far corner on the wall between two paintings is a golden blade dagger behind a mounted glass case.

“...Pick your side, kid. It’s either you’re with me, or against me.” Yoongi’s voice is cold, not angry per se, but reeking in annoyance that chills rather than burns. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want me as your enemy. I don’t play nice.”

There’s a young man standing in front of Yoongi’s large desk, his hands behind his back where one hand squeezes the other in bouts of nervous jitter. There are bruises on his knuckles, and even from behind, Hoseok could tell that he’s trying to fit into a crowd that doesn’t suit him. Haegeum isn’t just a club but a base of operations so to speak, in the middle of this high-end city, its easy for Yoongi to wrack up a certain clientele. People who seek a different ease of mind and has a different lifestyle.

Hoseok leans against the door, watching the scene play out, as the young man bows slightly and Yoongi waves his hand at him.

“Keep shadowing Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the week, and I don’t want any trouble this time.” He says dismissively, and the boy turns to leave. As Hoseok catches his eye, something akin to a bolt of lightening shoots down his spine. It isn’t noticeable to the more ordinary folk, but Hoseok isn’t ordinary, and neither are Yoongi and the rest of his boys.

The air crackles with static, raw, untrained power that itches Hoseok the wrong way. The boy stands there clearly a moment too long, and Yoongi’s knuckles raps against the table top. “Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun gives a soft apology, and quickly walks towards the door. Hoseok opens it for him, not out of kindness, but purely to give him a long unbroken stare. He smiles as the boy struggles to hold his gaze, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end at his proximity.

When he shuts the door behind him, Yoongi is already watching him with a raised brow. Hoseok wanders over to the leather armchair at the front of Yoongi’s desk and sits, shifting around until he’s comfortable in it. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Obviously they’re not.” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as he sieves through a stack of papers scattered on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. “Kid wanted in, so I let him. More trouble than it’s worth, honestly. But, the Nephilim are stronger than the order, so I gave it a shot.”

Hoseok hums, and Yoongi seems to catch himself, narrowing his eyes at him. The scar that runs through his right eye looks pink and irritated in the motion and the overhead lights. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t visit?”

If Yoongi narrows his eyes any more, he’d close them, “I think you know better than anyone that you’re never here.” He says, “You’re absent more often than not, so I have the right to ask. Did you do something? I’m not cleaning up any more of your messes.”

Yoongi pushes back his chair, walking across the room to the mini bar he has tucked in the corner. He pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whisky from a long necked crystalline bottle. He takes a sip and turns leaning against the bar’s edge. “Last time was enough trouble.”

“You’d clean it up anyways.” Hoseok says, leaning his head back against the chair, tilting his head to look at Yoongi. “I found something fun to do.”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, quiet, contemplative, “Causing a different type of trouble, I see.” He chuckles, “Don’t break her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok smirks, and then frowns a little. With all Yoongi’s prowess and danger, he’s gone a little soft around the edges, and he could see that softness in his eyes as he looks off into the distance. Surely thinking about the mortal girl that has him wrapped around her little fingers like bubble gum.

“You’ll learn.” Yoongi says cryptically, and it reminds Hoseok that he’s never really sure what Yoongi is thinking. Sometimes he’s an open book and Hoseok could read him like one, easy to figure out in the way that he moves, and sometimes he’s sealed tight.

Yoongi drains his glass of whisky, setting it down with a clink on the bar top before walking back over to his desk. “Since you’re here...” He opens a drawer and pulls out a thick black file, “Give this to Seonghwa.”

Hoseok takes the file and opens it, reading over the contents. There’s a man on Yoongi’s black list that’s due a checking in. “You let him and Joong have all the fun.”

“You’re too messy.” Yoongi retorts, “I said I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Hoseok shrugs, and gets up, skirting around the back of the chair and walking towards the door.

“Hobi.” Yoongi calls, “I don’t have to remind you that there’s a meeting at the end of the month, right?”

“I’ll be here.” Hoseok says, as the look in Yoongi’s eyes gave no room to say anything else.

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and lets the tension roll off his shoulders. He goes back the way he came, black file in hand, towards the VIP section where he knows Seonghwa would be lurking. He walks down the little walkway, through the identical couches and tables on raised platforms that overlook the main floor of the club.

At the end, there’s a small section of booths, black velvet and low lit, and standing with his back to him is Hongjoong. He seems to be busy, twin pistols in pieces on the booth’s table, cleaning supplies set up neatly in a little row. Hoseok saunters over, and throws his arm over the man’s shoulders.

Hongjoong doesn’t spare him a glance but sighs softly through his nose. “I’m busy, Hoseok.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Hoseok asks, and waves the file at him, “Yoongi has work for you two.”

“When doesn’t Yoongi have work for us.” Hongjoong slides away from under Hoseok’s arm, sitting down in the booth to avoid him all together. There’s a dull glint of light as the fixtures catch on the gold diamond studded crucifix that swings against the white of Hongjoong’s tee-shirt.

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

The dark bangs of his hair, which are usually styled away from his forehead, falls into his eyes when he glances upward at Hoseok. He picks up the cleaning solvent and pours a bit of it into the cap before dropping a cotton patch in to let it soak, then, he wraps the patch around the bristles of a small bore brush.

“Seonghwa isn’t here, he’s out back.” Hongjoong picks up the dismantled gun barrel, sliding the bore brush through until the now dirty cotton patch pokes out from the other end. The scent of the solvent burns Hoseok’s nose, and he leaves Hongjoong be, going back down to the main floor and through the emergency exit. The exit sits in the middle of an alleyway that connects two streets, and Hoseok catches sight of Seonghwa’s faux fur coat on one end.

Smoke curls away from his form with a light wind and brings the scent of a cigarette as Hoseok walks with quiet steps towards him. He’s laughing at something, phone in hand, and Hoseok drops his hand heavily on his shoulder and feels the way he immediately tenses.

“I’ve told you one too many times, Seonghwa.” Hoseok says, stepping to the side and around him, “Always be on your guard.”

There’s a glint in the way that he sneers, pulling away from Hoseok’s grip. He takes a couple steps back, watching Hoseok as though he spat at his feet.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. Makes me all tingly.” Hoseok teases mockingly with a smile, and then offers the file to him. “Here.”

Seonghwa shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat, taking the file and looking through it. He takes one last drag of the cigarette between his fingers before tossing it. He raises a perfect brow at Hoseok and tilts his head, something like amusement in his eyes. “You don’t show up for weeks, and now you’re just Yoongi’s errand boy.”

Hoseok chuckles and it’s dark, low in his throat. “Seonghwa.” He takes a step closer, “Don’t forget your place.”

It’s irritating how Seonghwa doesn’t back down, the way he looks at Hoseok as though he’s beneath him. He stands tall and proud with his chest puffed out like a peacock, and Hoseok knows he’s about to say something stupid without using that brain of his first.

“Don’t act like we’re not in the same boat.” Seonghwa scoffs, and even before he opens his mouth, Hoseok could see the thought in his eyes, glowing like an ember in the dark. He sees the minute curl at the corner of his mouth and the glow of the street light that catches on the pretty studded silver of his teeth. “You got your ward killed, and killed the man that killed her. There’s no hierarchy among murderers.”

Hoseok takes a breath, and he feels the heat rising from the tips of his toes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the images he’s locked away floods out of the steel box he’s put them in. The little girl he’d been guardian to, her short, miserable and painful life. Found end at the hands of someone she had the misfortune of being born to. It was too late – he was too late, when he’d found her. And just like then, Hoseok sees red.

Warm, gushing red that spill into the creases of his fingers when he swings his fist at Seonghwa’s face. The black file and the papers within scatter on the wind.

Hoseok doesn’t let the surprise and force send the younger man stumbling back too far, and grabs hold of the front of his coat, curling his fingers into the material tightly. He kicks at his knee, and when he’s forced to kneel, Hoseok leans down to his height.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who lost his wings for something so trivial; your sin and mine are two different things.” Hoseok sneers, and he’s so mad he could set Seonghwa on fire and watch him dance. “But I can remind you exactly why Yoongi doesn’t bother to have me involved.”

Someone pulls Seonghwa back, dragging him up to his feet. “The fuck are you two doing?”

There’s a tick in Seonghwa’s jaw that doesn’t go unnoticed and his eyes stay locked with Hoseok as he straightens. He should think twice, Hoseok knows he knows better.

Hongjoong shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder, “Go pick that shit up.”

Yeonjun stands at the open doorway of the emergency exit, watching with wide eyes, looking like he’s halfway to backing out on his choice to get into Yoongi’s ranks. Hongjoong eyes Hoseok warily, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Seonghwa was doing as told.

Hoseok’s gaze burns a hole into the back of Seonghwa’s head as he moves around to pick up the scattered papers while Hongjoong stands like a watchdog.

Hoseok shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “You boys be good, now.” He says in parting, turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

“What the fuck did you say to him?...”

Hoseok walks up the street, through the throngs of people still waiting to get into Haegeum. His phone vibrates in his coat pocket, with a sigh he pulls it out and answers.

“Yes, Cheol?”

“Hey, remember when you asked me to tell you when I’ve seen that weird fog?” Seungcheol sounds distracted, there’s a sharp sound from his end that has Hoseok pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. He says something to someone else, voice too far away for Hoseok to catch, before he speaks again. “Couple of nights ago, it was in my area. Whatever’s in it is pretty good at hiding. It’s not the only thing in it either.”

Hoseok crosses the street, going in the opposite direction of which he came from. The people that line the sidewalk give him a wide berth as he weaves through them; unconsciously reacting to him being near.

“Didn’t see much of the guy, some twinky-looking redhead.” Cheol sighs, “I think the fog is like a domain. If you get lost in it, it’s like there’s no-one in there but you. Like a mirror realm.”

‘They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’

What defines a monster? Something that goes beyond human comprehension, something that stands outside the bounds of what is morally accepted. Something that a person fails to understand and is therefore scared by. Something that make stories entertaining because they’re meant to be defeated in the end. They’re meant to be slain and mounted like trophies, pinned up for grotesque display of heroism.

What defines a creature that goes beyond human comprehension? White coloured morals and the freedom to help in the way it needed. He stopped being what he was created to be, and instead became something that someone needed the most. He did everything right. He had his head in the right place, he was determined to see it through to the end.

He was a little too late.

Over the years, Hoseok could no longer recall just how late he was. If it was by seconds or minutes, or an hour by a half. When he was finally strong enough to move, he traced the memory of a place he’d seen for years, all the way to a house where his charge waited inside.

She was always afraid. Alone, trapped with a monster of man’s making. A child he’s watched since the moment of her birth, watched her grow to be afraid and the light never reach her. By the laws of his nature he was forced to do nothing.

He was restricted to assisting in the only way he could. He couldn’t shield her physically, so he instead manipulated the monster in her closet. He made sure that his mind was changed, that he didn’t swing his claws as fiercely, that he slept deeply so that the child can have a night of rest.

He started to question, as he watched the monster that called himself a father, prey upon what he was meant to protect.

What’s the point? Is he not allowed to stop this? Why can’t he stop this? He could stop it because he has the power to do so.

The ideology was shared by another, and together, hubris.

Hoseok fell with pride; he fell with the intention to seek his ward out and help her. Even if he had no idea what was to come afterwards. Stripped of his grace and the feathers of his wings burned away, it didn’t matter to him.

He went as quickly as his wounds allowed, which in retrospect, wasn’t quickly enough. She was only six. An awfully short time to the likes of him, even shorter to mortals, not enough time to live and laugh – she wasn’t allowed to even do that. He’d stood there, in the broken doorway of a broken home and watched as the monster of his ward’s nightmare became a man before him. Hoseok’s vision had tunnelled and in the centre was the broken body of the child he’d sworn to protect.

When the shadows on the walls grew tall and Hoseok’s mind closed in on itself and allowed those shadows to encase him, the man cried. He pleaded on his knees at the sight of his reckoning, begged for mercy when he gave none.

Then, Hoseok shattered. Scattered like tiny specs of dust floating on the wind, and under the heat and pressure of his own realisations, he turned into glass. With his sharp edges he cut into the man and reveled in it. The sounds of his pleas like the gentle strum of a harp’s string, and the warmth of his blood was a bath Hoseok sunk into.

What he was, was something that was no longer needed, and with his hands covered in blood and gore and mess he held tight to his reasons for being and cried for her. He became something else that only protected himself. While he locked everything away and allowed the shadows to stay. The light he’s trapped struggles to glow, to breathe, and some days Hoseok wants to snuff it out for good, to become the shadows he plays in.

He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, though. He still has a sense of himself, however skewed.

He owes Yoongi a lot, his partner in crime that he would follow to the ends of the earth. He never turned his back on him even as Hoseok changed to suit his troubles.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi standing at the doorway, catching up much later than he had. He stayed there quietly while Hoseok mourned the death of his ward and his tears made tracks in the blood that coated him.

Hoseok buried her away from her cursed home, far away and as deep as the roots of an old oak runs and salt floats on the air. Wild flowers bloom there, giving her the beauty in death she wasn’t allowed in life.

His chest aches as he stands there now. Under the shade of the oak tree where little speckles of the setting orange sun spills through leaves and dances along the space that he occupies. There’s a crinkle of plastic and Hoseok stares at the small bouquet in his grip. He chose every flower that reminded him of her: daises and lavender, lilies and snapdragons.

He lays it gently on the patch of grass that’s long grown over between two large protruding roots, mutters the same apology he does every time he comes by, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat as he straightens.

He’s sorry he wasn’t there in time.

He wished she was given a chance, and wondered if her death was his punishment. He wonders what it would’ve been like to watch her grow, safe and happy. What her favourite flower would’ve been, if she would’ve valued the little things. He would’ve given her everything – pulled the moon from the sky if she so desired it. He would’ve taken the stars and put them in her little hands for her to watch them shine.

He wonders if it would’ve been better had he waited a little longer. That maybe the slightest change would’ve brought about a different outcome.

Hoseok sighs, turns his head to watch the sun set, dragged behind the ocean’s edge far off in the distance. Something at the back of his mind wiggles and tugs. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in no mood to deal with it.

You’re dying...you think. Your hand slides against the floor and it takes a moment to realise it’s your blood you’re slipping in. You can barely feel the rest of your body, adrenaline pumping your blood out of the wounds at your back. The doors of the elevator doubles and swarms in your vision.

You see them open but it’s so hard to focus. Hoseok steps out and walks slowly to you, you can’t see his expression, but you faintly hear the long, drawn-out sigh he releases. Your eyes focus on the darkness that surrounds him, the way it curls like smoke. The shadows at his back are clearer to you than they’ve ever been – wings. Dark plumage that glitters with something silver in the light, the feathers are long, long enough that they drag behind his steps. If he were to unfold them they would easily span to the ends of the hallway.

He hardly gives you a glance, stopping in front of you. You can’t see the creature now – blocked by Hoseok’s wings – but you hear it growl, and the scraping of it’s claws against the floor. Something glints in his hand against the flickering lights, a short sword that looks like it was dipped in gold from the hilt and it ran down the edges of the blade.

He’s a blur as he moves and your tired eyes can barely keep up with him, if it weren’t for the small space and shadows his wings casted you would’ve lost sight of him completely.

The creature snarls and lashes out with its razor-sharp claws, but Hoseok is already one step ahead, dodging with effortless grace. He moves with a speed and agility that seems impossible in the space he occupies, closing in on the creature that growls and snarls at him. It’s forced to dislodge itself from the doorway, pulling back into the stairwell that gives it even less room to defend.

Hoseok’s wings fold tightly to his back as he follows, and you could only hear the sound of his weapon sliding through the air, the sound of the blade whistling and the increasingly irritated sounds from the creature. Hoseok ducks under a swiped claw, makes a spin on his knee, and switches the hands that holds his blade. It slices through the creature’s gigantic paw like it’s made of something soft, and through the other as it comes back down. The severed limb drops heavily on the ground before it dissolves into ashes and float upward.

The sound it makes grate on your ears, loud and sharp and you can’t bring your hands up to cover them, something warm trickles out of each.

Without it’s two front legs to support it’s weight, the creature drops forward, and Hoseok grabs hold of the first spike at the top of its head. With a flick of his wrist his weapon spins in his palm and he points the blade right between the creature’s eyes and pushes.

Golden light flashes, nearly blinding you on top of everything else, you can just barely hear the cry it makes this time as it writhes in agony. It’s monstrous form twists and contorts before finally collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Hoseok stands over the fallen beast, his weapon clenched tightly in his hand, watching intently as it’s body dissipates like ash from a fire.

With a satisfied nod, Hoseok sheaths his weapon and it vanishes, and then turns his attention back to you, his expression a mixture of something. You can’t tell, everything seems so dark and it’s hard to breathe. He approaches you slowly, his movements cautious as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Hoseok crouches and you slowly look up at him, he tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I told you not to go anywhere, little dove.” He says softly, calmly, as though he’s telling you about his day and you’re not bleeding out in his hallway. “You’re so troublesome.”

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat, drowned out by the rush of blood and the overwhelming sense of impending darkness. Hoseok’s presence feels both comforting and ominous, his wings casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls. You try to focus on his face, to find some semblance of reassurance in his eyes, but all you see is a blur of shadows and flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own laboured breathing.

Hoseok’s expression softens slightly, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to gently brush the hair from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Jesus...” Another voice says, the sound of footsteps hurrying close and the last thing you see is the shift of the hallway.

The night he found you out in the fog wasn’t the first time Hoseok had seen you.

By now, it would’ve been at least three months ago. You were alone, pacing around like a worried mother on a bridge over your perceived peace – had you decided to take it.

Human lives were no longer any concern to him; no consequence. He and his kind were here before and would be long after your kind has crumbled to dust and returned to the earth. He stopped then, and watched you contemplate the height of the bridge and the chill of the water below it; whether or not you’ll receive the mercy you seek. You’d cried for a long time on that bridge.

Hoseok is many things, but cruel is not one of them. He changed your mind and sent you away into the arms of someone that would care.

Hoseok has many contradictions. The darkness that he allowed entry fights the light, beating it into a corner where it cowers on most days. On those days he’s distant and struggling to contain it, he could taste malice on his tongue and the bitterness of it. The steel walls he painstakingly built with bloody and broken fingers are nothing more than barbwire fences; they do nothing to protect the glass figurines that make him whole.

Sometimes the glass are shards, sharp and unforgiving and willing to cut anything that gets too close. Sometimes they’re splintered panes and Hoseok is cutting his fingers to keep them in place. He curls in on himself, draws himself away, pushes everything outside his barbwire fence and tries to reinforce the walls. The darkness that swirls outside it seeps in and he can’t keep it out so he lets it fester and churn and he becomes intangible.

You weren’t there, and then, at some point, you were.

Sometimes...

Sometimes he’s standing in a grass field full of wild daises and the sun is warm and there’s salt in the air. The light peeks through the leaves of an old oak tree, and there’s a little girl who’s placed her life in his hands, who skitters about in the grass like something wild and free. She glows in her happiness, and nature stains her hands and the bottom of her white dress. She makes faces at him behind the trunk of the tree, smiles and hold his hands and tell him that it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault and he’s forgiven, he could let it go and be.

On those days, Hoseok feels like a still pool of water. The ones with lily pads and life, and everything’s alright. You’re always there then.

Hoseok knows of the fragility of humans. How easily they could shatter and break and suddenly be no more. He was something once, and then he became something else, and sometimes it’s hard to not be what he is. His darker nature prevails, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Sure, sometimes he’s done things simply because he’s feeling particularly malicious and thinks that everyone should suffer – it’s almost always harmless.

He has a sense of himself, he knows when to stop, when things are taken too far and you can’t take much more of it. You eventually learnt to take it in stride and Hoseok was proud of that, though, a part of him thought it wasn’t nearly as fun anymore.

He would walk your dreams some nights when he was bored and had nothing better to entertain himself, his presence would sometimes bring his darkness and your dreams would not be as pleasant. He tried to walk through them less often.

When you were jumping at every little sound, the silence that Hoseok moves with and the way you’re less of yourself some days – he realised something. Not every nightmare was his doing, and the whispers in the walls of your dreams spoke of something else entirely.

The far, fuzzy edges of your vivid dreams where he’s reminded of things he’s tried very hard to lock away, lurks something red and more sinister than he.

He’s every reason to believe that hellspawn didn’t find it’s way here on accident, and for it to go undetected until the very last moment. It bothers him like nothing else has.

Though you lay peaceful now and Seungcheol had left after doing what he does best, the unease lingers in bouts under Hoseok’s skin, skittering about like electricity on a wire. His feelings where you’re concerned contradicts each other. Like oil on water he’s stuck in between wanting you close and keeping you at arm’s length. He likes when you’re near, but he likes when you’re far. A consequence of his nature, he toes the line of something sinister and could get dangerous and down right evil if he doesn’t reign himself in.

At a point he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. He was just as confused on why he stopped you from ending your own life that night on the bridge and why he took you in that night in the fog. At first, he was just as wary of you as you were of him, despite the way he acted. He can’t help what he is.

On the days where he feels like splintered glass and he’s choking on his despair, you’d waited. You were there until the smoke cleared and your quiet presence helped put the glass back up and straighten out the posts in his fence.

He told Yoongi, there’s no fun in not breaking you. Yoongi said that he’d learn.

He can’t help what he is.

He could try, though.

He doesn’t want to break you, it’s a matter of cause and effect. You’re here with him, evidently, you’d be broken regardless. The most he could do is try. He could try to not be the straw, and try to not let outside forces become it.

He cares. He cares so much that sometimes he could taste it on his tongue. He cares that you smile when he’s earned it, that you eat well, that you greet him like a friend and then somewhere along get shy when you do. He cares if you live or die.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, opening them to blink away the image of you, helplessly laying in a pool of your own blood.

Fear. He’s has only felt it once, the fear that you would die and he would’ve failed again to protect someone.

He sips slowly at his glass of whisky, drinking in the sight of you. He thought you were smart enough to listen to him at least, trusted that you would stay out until he got back. Perhaps it was his mistake, but he wonders, and he ponders as you give a minute twitch in your sleep. Your eyebrows draw together and you murmur something unintelligible.

Hoseok sets his tumbler on your bedside drawer and pulls his chair closer. This is something he could easily do from another room, though, for what he’s about to do he would need to be touching you in some capacity.

Your dream had started off vividly, as most of your dreams have since you came here. Hoseok stands just in the corner of it, watching you wake within your dream and put your feet down into water.

He walks along the edge of it, watching it play out like a simulation, following behind you as you make your way down the hall towards the living room. He’s there and Hoseok isn’t surprised – it’s not the first time you’ve dreamt him.

He watches as your dreamscape version of him pull you into his lap and he feels a little offended and rolls his eyes – he didn’t even try to make it look sexy. Is this what you think of him? He isn’t half as tactless. Seduction takes finesse, and you clearly have no idea what that is.

Hoseok turns, gazing at the darkened edges of your dream.

There’s a shift and he feels it. It’s heavy like a wet blanket and seeps in like mist, and your dream changes accordingly.

He knows this feeling too well – the intrusion of an external force manipulating the dream, it’s faint enough that he knows it wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere nearby, but strong enough to reach so far.

Hoseok hovers hesitantly between the doorway of the living room and the hallway, and closes his eyes against the image of him hurting you.

He follows you as you follow blood, and he wishes you weren’t so frightened. He stays close to you, stepping where you’ve stepped as though he could protect you from something that’s already occurred. You push the door to your bedroom open and he wants to stop you, turn you around and shake you awake, but he can only watch.

You’re there and he is too, whispers skittering along the walls like mice, and Hoseok yanks himself out of your subconscious mind.

He feels like glass.

When you wake it’s dark and your back is sore like you fell from a high place and splatted against a body of water. The moment feels like déjà vu regardless as you swing your legs over the side of the bed with a wince.

The broken projector of your sleep-addled mind flickers in black and white cut scene imagines of the evening. Hoseok, the fog, the dog that crawled out of hell specifically for you – as you can only assume – things considered, you’re pretty certain you died at some point.

The dark unnerves you, it makes you feel like a kid as you pull your feet back up onto the bed, and pull the blanket up over your head and pulled tight between your fingers at your chest.

You scoot back, wiggling a bit until your back is pressed flush against the headboard. There’s no light seeping in from under your door, and you sink lower, curling into yourself and hold the blanket tighter.

There’s a prickling at the back of your neck that sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head turns slowly to the left and notice the unnatural darkness of the space between the edge of the wall and the window pane. Relief blooms in your chest at the sight of it.

“...Hoseok.” You call softly, waving a hand into the dark. You wait for a moment, but the lights don’t come on and he doesn’t appear as he usually would.

Carefully, you unwrap the covers from around you and place your foot on the ground. Taking a moment, you count your fingers – it’s always hard to count them in your dreams. All ten are there, and you take a breath before standing.

The floor is cold, and you notice the carpet that’s usually under your feet is missing, and the silhouettes of the things you’ve made yours are different; this isn’t your room.

You approach the ball of chaos carefully, and stand five steps away from the space it occupies. This is the second time you’ve been close to it, the first time had been much closer and you hadn’t understood it then. You reach a hand out, and gently: “Hoseok...”

It slows, the shadows and wisps shifting gently like a leaf on a soft wind. It elongates into a vague outline and then, Hoseok stares through you before he sees you. He’s still wearing the clothes he left in earlier, coat and all, looking a little more than rattled even in the dark.

He raises a hand and it hovers by your cheek, thumb ghosting the skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The lights didn’t come back on and it’s hard to decipher his emotions in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the darkness. Somewhere behind you, a lamp flickers on dimly and Hoseok looks like he’d shatter if you touched him.

“I’m okay.”

Hoseok’s hand drops slowly from your face as he blinks, as though waking from a dream. His gaze focuses on you, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes. For a moment, he seems almost confused, as if he’s not sure how he ended up here or what to make of your presence.

His touch is light, gentle, like he’s handling something fragile when his fingers brushes yours. You feel his fear, a palpable thing, thick and heavy. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

He exhales softly through his nose, nods once and then his eyes are somewhere above your head. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Your back sings a low hymn, achy and sore, but it’s nothing to fuss over. “I’m okay.”

There’s a lot of things you want to ask, but you can’t seem to pick one. You want to ask him about the fog and the creature, about his wings or how you’re even alive to mull over said questions.

Instead, you ask: “Are you okay?”

Hoseok looks unprepared for that, his eyes snapping back to yours and he flounders. His mouth opens and closes before he stares at you in that unnerving way he had your first couple of days here, like he’s trying to understand you. Like he could strip you down to atoms and see what makes you act the way you do and therefore comprehend the bases of your human nature.

“I’m...” He blinks, looks away, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitches, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and you aren’t either, and where his hand brushes yours you reach out first. His fingers are cold and he looks down, staring at your hand like it’s something foreign, but his grip tightens. It’s quiet for a moment, he takes a breath that doesn’t seem to ease the weight he carries.

“You almost died.” He says quietly, brows furrowed as though he can’t understand his own concern. “When I brought you here...I did so with the intention to keep you safe.”

It’s quiet again and you wait, and wait.

Hoseok’s eyes mist, his breath shudders on the exhale. “I wasn’t here in time. Again. I—”

His hand in yours tremble, he’s looking through you again, not entirely here and he looks like a man haunted by ghosts he alone could see. You stumble a step back when he falls to his knees before you, but didn’t get far as his arms wound tight around your waist. There’s something strange about a creature such as him with all his prowess and tainted grace kneeling at your feet, and his words tumble from his mouth like his tears that soak into your borrowed shirt and he lets you hold the chain that drags behind him.

The weight is heavy, heavy enough that it grounds you and you listen to it rattle as Hoseok tells you everything. In a broken tone about a broken home and a child he couldn’t reach in time to save, about the shadows that he let hide the light and now he struggles to find it. The things he’s done since that would make the most wicked men cower.

You make the connection, as he lays himself bare before you. He peeled back the layers of his being himself and let you look inside; the bases of his nature, the connotations of his own sins. It makes sense to you now. The way he would change like the tide and his near obsessive, compulsive need to wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a glass case. He’d long stopped scaring you and somehow became a comfort despite himself.

Maybe it’s circumstantial, or something else entirely, but you’ve grown to care for him and he’s been caring for you from the start. However skewed that was.

When he’s stopped his babbling, and he’s no longer crying, he still holds you tight, whispering apologies against the dampness of your shirt. You meet his height, gently pulling his arms away from you and you kneel, too. He blinks away the last of his tears and you catch them with your thumbs just under his red-rimmed eyes.

He’s no longer looking through you, one of his hands covers yours, his lips brushing delicately against your wrist when he turns his head; your heart flutters. He whispers something you didn’t catch, he closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he repeats: “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Will you stay, then?” He looks away when he asks, pressing his fingers against your palm in a way that tickles and distracts, and studies the lines of them quietly. “Stay here with me.”

There’s something like hope in his eyes that glints against the shadows that linger, shining like flecks gold in cracked rock. You nod slowly and he smiles easily, all teeth and heart shaped and his hand is warm when he cups your cheek with the one that isn’t holding yours.

“Your dream...” He says softly, and later you’d find that it troubled him the most; he would never do something like that – not to you. “I’m sorry.”

You store the fact that he knows about it at the back of your mind for later – later when he’s not pressing the pad of his thumb against the fullness of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. You’ve learnt to ebb and flow with him, a boat on his tide, taking the shift of his mood in stride.

There’s something in his eyes now that has nothing to do with how you found him earlier, something that makes you follow his lead, leaning in when he pulls you towards him. Deja vu accompanies the way he shifts, easing back and turning you as he does, leaning against a dresser you hadn’t noticed. He keeps his eyes locked with yours, directing your leg over his with a hand, and he settles you on his lap.

“This feels familiar.” He giggles, lifting his head to nose along your jaw and you’re reminded that he knows. Heat flares at the back of your neck and races up your ears, and when you push against his shoulders, he steadies and keeps you still with his hands on the top of your thighs and a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m teasing.” He gives a crooked smile, tilting his head, “It’s cute that you think it’ll play out that way.”

“Isn’t it, though?” You blurt out, embarrassment forgotten. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the room, and when Hoseok pauses you smirk.

He smirks right back, something dangerous, and he chuckles, “Keep talking back. I like that.”

His hand slides up your back, and you don’t suppress the shiver that follows after it. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You’re vaguely aware of your heart pounding, the rhythm matching the erratic thrum of your blood. He leaves a kiss where your jaw meets your neck, sucking lightly on the spot.

“Hoseok...” You start to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless whisper. You’re not sure what you intended to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with desire and darker still. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to form words.

With a low growl, he takes your silence as an invitation, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss you gasp into. It quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, as if he’s trying to devour your very soul. His other hand finds your hip, squeezing possessively.

You’re lost in the sensation, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours. The world has narrowed to the two of you, to this moment.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and he takes that as a cue, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that sets your entire being ablaze.

His touch ignites a fire within you, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

He pulls away slowly and you chase, he smirks against your kiss, and when he lifts his hips you feel the press of his arousal. His kisses trail, ghosting along your jaw, his tongue warm where your pulse thrums. He directs the shifts of your hips, grinding you down against clothed erection with a curse growled against your skin.

You follow the light tug of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back and to the side to give him more room to work. He hums appreciatively around your skin between his teeth and you hiss softly at the sting of the pull.

“So good for me.” He whispers when he pulls away. His fingers tap at your hip before he wraps his arm around, bracing the other against the dresser behind and stands easily.

A startled squeak leaves you, wrapping your arms around his neck even though he’s holding you steady. He reaches the bed in two strides, and drops you there, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You bounce a bit amongst the soft sheets with a soft giggle before you settle. His index finger curls beneath your chin and tilts, thumb brushing along your bottom lip again, “Ah.”

You comply easily, and then his thumb is pressing against your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he hums when you wrap your lips around the digit. There’s a tick of his brow and the dull glint of his teeth when he smiles in the dim light of the singular lamp, and a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t scare you.

He tests the boundaries of what you’d allow, sliding his thumb along your tongue. His palm lays flat against your cheek, thumb reaching far until you feel the lurch of your stomach and pull back with a gasp.

He coos softly, leaning down just as he slips his finger out of your mouth to capture your lips in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. He nudges you back softly, large hands sneaking their way under your tee to reach your skin, desperate in a way that makes you think he’d die if he doesn’t.

He stops just shy of the undersides of your breasts, pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths are shallow, he whispers your name, “I can get intense.”

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know.”

He studies you for a moment, then, tugs gently on the hem of your tee-shirt, “Up.”

As you shift to sit, you’re not surprised to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath the tee-shirt and cotton shorts he’s put you in; dressing you properly must’ve been the last thing on his mind.

Hoseok stands back to shed his coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle of his belt jingles, and the sound of it racing through the loops of his pants.

You – oddly – don’t feel ashamed under his gaze that sets a heat wherever it settles as he roams over your exposed upper half. Putting your weight on your hands, you lean back, watching Hoseok roll the long sleeves of his tee-shirt up his forearms.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he closes the distance again, climbing into the bed on his knees and coming up until they’re on either side of your thighs. Silently he trails a finger down the slope of your neck, it tickles across your collarbone and his fingers spread and palms your left breast.

Your breath hitches and he chuckles, and you know very well he could feel the shifting of your thighs as you rub them together seeking friction. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched you like this, all of Hoseok’s teasing isn’t doing you much good.

His lips meet yours, licking into your mouth, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. His fingers lightly pinch at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand roams, goosebumps following it’s path down your side and stops where his fingers tease the band of your shorts.

Your hips buck as you whine and Hoseok pulls away, eyelids heavy, pupils all but gone, panting softly; looking drunk on you.

He smiles and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “Patience little dove.” He tuts, tilting his head at you, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He trails his fingers along the edges of your shorts before pulling them down and off, leaving you exposed to his touch. His hair tickles where it drags against your sensitive skin as he moves downward. He avoids where you need him most entirely and you squirm, a soft whine building in your chest.

He kisses and licks his way up your thighs, teasing you until you’re begging. Gently, he spreads your legs, kissing the inner thigh of your right before he rests it over his shoulder, pushing your other up and holding it there with a palm.

His dark gaze meets yours and you can’t hold it when he licks a hot stripe from your weeping entrance to your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching when his responding growl vibrates against your core.

With each stroke of his tongue, Hoseok explores every inch of your most sensitive areas. He laps at your clit, drawing out a series of gasps and moans that fill the room. You’re shaking and swearing as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit in figure eights and then dipping into you. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands curl into the sheets, fingers digging in as if to anchor yourself. You’re lost in the sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure that leaves you breathless. And you wonder, briefly, if this was just something he was good at or something he had to hone.

His arm draping over your hips was the only warning you got before his lips wraps around your clit and sucks. Your back arches with a pitched moan and he slips a finger into your heat, and groans when you clench and gasp his name.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your vulnerability. Yet, paradoxically, it’s this vulnerability that fuels your desire, pushing you to new heights. You’re a wild thing now, driven by pure, primal need.

From between your legs, Hoseok watches your reactions, a dark-haired god feasting on your pleasure. His gaze is intense, a silent promise that he’ll take you to the edge. He adds another finger and they curl against your g-spot and it brings about your undoing.

If your arousal was a fire, Hoseok just threw gasoline on it just to watch it explode. He keeps hips lips around your clit as it throbs, fingers dragging along your fluttering walls and your eyes squeeze shut. You could barely breathe, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you gasp his name.

“Good girl.” Hoseok praises, lips brushing your clit and your thighs tremble. He rubs his hand gently over your stomach while you come down, and evilly, bites your thigh with a dark chuckle.

“Hoseok...” you whine as he laves his tongue over the stinging spot.

“Hm?” He smiles, “Want more, little dove?”

You almost cry as he changes course, pulling away entirely, and makes it clear he revel in your suffering when he coos mockingly, standing now.

He slowly unbuttons his pants, slowly pulls his legs out of them one after the other, smirking at you all the while. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the strain his cock against his black boxer briefs and you don’t miss the near inaudible sigh of relief from Hoseok at the change in pressure.

He crooks a finger at you, and shuffles closer as you do. He stands at the edge of the bed, and he sinks his fingers into your hair, brushing it back as you look up at him. He looks down his nose at you, and raises a brow, “Be a good girl now, dove. Or do I have to teach you?”

“I know how to suck cock you ass.”

Hoseok shrugs, a playful smile shifting his expression as he gently squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, “Is all that little mouth good for talking back to me?”

“You said you like that.” You say defiantly.

Hoseok hums, “Have your fun then,” He says, smiling, “Won’t be able to say much in a bit, anyway.” He tugs on your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to signal his impatience.

Funny, he was preaching patience is a virtue a while ago.

You scoff softly, holding your weight with a hand and tugging his boxers down with the other. His cock springs out, long and thick enough that you wonder if it would fit anywhere. It’s flushed red at the tip and leaking pre that beads and dribbles down the underside, and maybe if you focus enough you could just about see the throb of the vein that runs along side. A breath hisses through Hoseok’s teeth when you wrap your fingers around him, his eyes shut and his head tilts back.

Your eyes meet his when you slowly drag your hand down the length of his shaft, teasing him like he did you; turnabout is fair play. His hold in your hair tightens just a bit, eyes narrowing.

“Dangerous game you’re trying to start.” He murmurs, “I don’t take well t – fuck.” He hisses, the word tapering off into a low groan as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The slightly salty taste of him bursts against your tongue and you hum, twisting your wrist as you bring your hand back up to meet your mouth and follow it down again. The saliva that escapes from the corners of your mouth helps with the glide.

You take a breath through your nose and relax your jaw, taking him in until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Hoseok’s thighs tense and a stuttered breath leaves him.

“Easy there.” He soothingly runs his fingers through your hair, though it does nothing for the involuntary tears springing at your waterline. You decide to play it safe, not taking more than you can handle. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, letting you set your own pace, whispering swears and your praises.

Heat pools in your gut as your head bobs back and forth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, swirling around the head every time you pull back.

Slick with spit, your hand strokes the rest of him, and his groans vibrate in your ears. His fingers tighten in your hair, and it’s the only time he directs; holding you still.

“Take a deep breath for me, dove.” You do as told, and as you inhale, Hoseok slowly pushes forward, his cock reaching the back of your throat in no time at all. He groans above you, cock throbbing against your tongue, “There you go.”

He holds you there for a moment, only easing you back when your throat tightens with the need for air. He lets you breathe for a bit before he’s going again, thrusting slowly, once, twice and then holding you still. He keeps you there, cock throbbing at the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

When you gag he pulls you back, barely letting you breathe before he’s leaning down to kiss you, catching the string of drool that hangs from your bottom lip with his tongue. He lets you catch your breath, stepping back to pull his tee-shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the full expanse of his lithe frame.

Sitting back on your heels, breath a little ragged, you admire the sculpted lines of his body. Every movement is fluid and graceful, his muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin.

His chest is defined, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting each ripple of muscle. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders, the way they flex as he moves. There’s a raw, primal energy about him, but it’s tempered by a quiet confidence.

Hoseok comes back to you quickly, cupping your cheek and kissing you fervently, moving with you as you shift back, cock smearing pre-cum along your inner thighs as he slots his narrow hips between them. He nibbles at your bottom lip, fingers sliding through your slick folds before the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

For a quiet moment he stares then, kisses you tenderly as he breeches. It’s an easy glide, but it stings none the less, and you give an appreciative squeeze to his wrist when he goes slow. The stretch is bearable and soon the slight discomfort dissipates when he bottoms out and gives you a moment.

“Good?” he breathes out, hips pressed flush against yours. The same breath sucked back through his teeth when your walls tightens around him, his cock throbs in response and you keen. He grinds his hips down, pelvis pressing against your swollen clit and the sensation is almost too much and not nearly enough.

He’s close enough that you can run your tongue along his collarbone and feel him shiver. Leave your own marks there with your teeth and revel in the growl that rumbles in his chest.

He hooks an arm at the back of your knee, pressing it against your chest as he raises and balances his weight. You’re spread open for him, his cock sinks deeper, rubbing against a spot that makes your eyes roll back. He gives shallow thrusts at first, pressing kisses and bruises wherever he could reach.

“Fuck.” Hoseok hisses between his teeth, hips still, palm against your cheek, and he watches you with something other than lust in his eyes. Something gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, such a good girl. Taking everything I give you.”

His hips snap forward and you cry out, hands gripping the sheets between them at his sinful groan. He keeps a relentless pace, and you could feel him everywhere. His fingers on your skin, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, gripping your hips so tightly you fear they’ll bruise. It would simply add to the ones he’s already placed, scattered on your neck and chest like mismatched constellations in a dark sky.

He brings your hands up above your head, holding them there, together with his free one.

“You’re so good to me, Dove. And all mine, hm? Say it.” He grunts, “Say you belong to me, promise me that you’ll stay here with me.” He says this softly, tenderly, grinding his hips against yours in slow movements, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. I promise.” You babble, hips moving against his on their own accord. “I’ll stay. I promise. Please.”

Hoseok groans at your words, leaning down to capture your lips with his, tongue finding yours with ease. “That’s right. You’re mine. Fuck. All mine. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Hoseok.”

He curses under his breath, straightening his form and brings his hands down to grip your hips tight, and sets a brutal pace. Head tilting back to reveal the marks you left on him, groaning before he looks back down at you, “Close? Hm? You’re squeezing so tight.” His words taunt, as did the smirk on his pretty pink lips, “Make a mess for me, Dove. Cum all over my cock. That’s it, good girl.”

White lights dance behind your tightly shut eyelids, a ringing in your ears. And Hoseok was fucking you through it, fast and hard, his praises a rumble in his chest. You lay there boneless, taking what he gave with a haze over your mind, a weak moan leaving your parted lips when his hand met your throat. Your heart spikes for another reason entirely, but he doesn’t squeeze. Fingers just there, barely any pressure, as he chased his own end, cock kissing your cervix with each trust, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach.

His thumb finds your clit and you jolt, catching his sinister smirk that curled his lips. “There’s no going back after this, baby. Fuck – you’re mine, understand?” You can feel him throbbing, feel the way his hips stutter on the draw back, he was close and you wanted nothing more than him marking you, claiming you in this way. When your eyes meet his, a shiver goes through you.

He comes undone with a low groan, hips flushed with your own, still thrusting through it, and you can see them with your own eyes, as he shudders and stills. His wings uncurl, dark feathers, darker than anything you’ve ever seen, dipped in silver, spreads out behind him and flutters. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, gentle, barely there and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your eyelids were heavy, and sleepily, you reach out to brush your fingers through the feathers that encased your forms. Hoseok stiffens before your fingers reach them, and chuckles, nipping softly at the flesh of your neck, “Go ahead, Dove.”

He relaxes, when your fingers touch, and you feel him shudder, groaning softly against your neck. They’re soft, your fingers disappearing in the inky blackness of them. With a final brush of his lips against your neck, Hoseok pulls back, his wings shimmering away like a mirage and your hand passes through air before lands limply at your side.

He squeezes your hip gently, mindful, and then he’s gone, walking out his room and into the hallway. The light that spills in helps you see a lot better than the dim lamp, and you notice that Hoseok’s bedroom looks much like the rest of his apartment; sleek and dark. There isn’t much to it either, the basics, more utilirian than a comfort space. You wonder if he uses it at all.

Hoseok comes back and gathers your boneless self into his arms. You rest your cheek against his collarbone, the sound of running water reaching your ears when he steps out into the hallway.

The tub is filling, steam rising from the bubbles that form at the top of the disturbed water. It smells like mint and some sort of fruit, and the temperature is just right when he steps into it and lowers you down. He positions you so that your back is against his chest and turns off the water when it’s high enough. You sense that he’s in his head again, not quite here even as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Feeling okay?” he asks suddenly, tracing a mindless pattern along your arm.

You hum softly, “Yeah. Sore, though.”

“I expected that.” Another kiss, apologetic, against your shoulder. “Also...” Hoseok pauses, “I finished inside you. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”

The realisation dawns on you too and you shift a little to look at him, “I don’t mind, but....is that a bad thing?”

There’s a strange half smile on his lips and he lifts a hand to tug softly on one tangled end of your hair, gently sifting his fingers through until he’s satisfied. “It can be, if it takes. But, I’ll get something for it tomorrow.”

You notice that the marks you left along his skin have begun to fade already, and you poke at them with a finger. He heals quickly, you figured. He chuckles softly, taking your hand to press kisses along your finger tips and then to your palm. Your finger brushes over the mole on his upper lip gently and watch him melt.

He studies you for a moment, the same way he did before he left earlier, though, it’s softer now. “Would you like to come with me?”

You brighten, perking up with a nod, “Is that okay?”

Hoseok hums, mischief in his eyes, “If you promise not to run off as soon as you step foot outside.”

You roll your eyes and turn around, and Hoseok pulls you back to him with an arm around your middle. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know, I was only teasing.” He chuckles.

You’re both quiet for a while, and you simply relax, almost falling asleep against him as the warm water soothes your aching muscles. You aren’t aware that you did, and only wake when Hoseok was just done tucking fresh clean sheets up to your chin. You’re back in his room but you don’t mind, the thought of going back to your own unsettles you right now. You haven’t forgotten your nightmare, and it’s something you’d definitely have to unpack another day.

You wait until he’s crawled in behind you, the warmth of him encasing you gently. His form melds against your back like he belongs there, an arm slipping under your head and the other over your hip. “Hoseok?”

“Yes Dove?”

You worry at your bottom lip, fingers finding his under the covers and they squeeze your own encouragingly. “There’s a friend of mine...I was with her before I met you.”

“I can help her.” He murmurs, and he sounds...sleepy. Today was a lot for him as well, you suppose. “I can get her a job here.”

You shift, turning to face him, he tucks you to him when you settle, chin resting on top of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

You hear the smirk when he answers, “Do you think everything I have magically appeared? I own the hotel.”

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Hoseok squeezes your hip, “Go to sleep.”

Sometime later you’ll realise that Hoseok needed you more than he would admit. When you learn his tells he would help put himself back together with you instead of trying to do it alone.

Sometime later he’d take you to see her. When the wind is cold and the old oak tree reaches it’s bare, spindly arms to the frosted sky. When the day marks yet another year and he lets you put the flowers between the roots. He looks like a shadow against the glittering white, and he tells you he’s okay.

He’d take you to meet his friends at a club on the high-end and you’d would realise that he’s soft only with you and the guy who reminds you of a cat. With the others he’s closed off and friendly in a way that seems a little odd.

You’d see Abigail often and would skirt around how you actually met Hoseok when she’d ask. Anyone would think you’re crazy if you told them.

You spend most of your time at home while Hoseok goes off doing god knows what when he’s not there. It’s something to do with his friends and you never ask.

Then he’s there and everything beyond him and you and the space you both occupy doesn’t matter. And it’s kind of easy to forget where it all started – it’d been so long since you’d wondered where you were going to get anything to help you get by.

He’s made of cracks and splintered glass but he let you sink into the spaces, filled the pieces with you and settled. There would always be cracks in the glass that he’s made of, and there would always be a post in his fence that he needs to hammered in to fix. Despite the unconventional way you’d both started, the abnormality of his existence, you’d be there.

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