#if a cat is afraid of something they tuck down as low to the ground as possible and bolt the fuck out of there like a lizard

[worldblight]

I wish Erin Hunter would hire me not because I particularly care about Warrior Cats anymore but because I know a lot about cat behavior and it makes me really really irritated seeing people draw cat body language so incorrectly

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.�� 

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[shoutogepi]

Taking Care of Their Drunk S/O After a Girls’ Night Out

with Bakugou Katsuki & Kirishima Eijirou 

genre : [ ☀︎ ]  fluff!! & a tiny bitta steam~

hc prompt : how would he take care of you if you come home wasted after a girls’ night out?

author’s note : this is my first time writing headcanons!! idk if this is good hc material but lemme know what you think! :) **gif not mine!!

bakugou:

first of all, blasty is annoyed that you’re going out and ditching his elderly ass at home. it’s a wednesday night so who in their right mind would be going to the club?? sure it’s your close friend’s birthday but they couldn’t just push the celebration to the weekend like a normal person?

sure you have work tomorrow but you’re young enough and it’s your friend’s birthday, they just went through a breakup so you just wanna be there for them, physically and emotionally. and bakugou gets that, but he’s still gonna be crabby about it cuz he usually drags you into bed at like ten pm.

more importantly, he likes to have you tucked up in his arms, nose in your hair and tbh your ass on his crotch. it’s just so much easier to fall asleep knowing you’re safe and there with him, and even though he complains about it, the sound of your gentle snores really lull him into slumber.

therefore he has a hard time falling asleep just because you’re not with him, but then the fact that he’s in his large bed and you’re out and about, looking killer in that sexy clubbing number... he’s gnashing his teeth and twisting in the sheets no doubt. knowing you’re most likely very far from sober doesn't really help either. and just thinking of all the creeps that’re probably eyeing up every inch of skin, every curve hugged perfectly by that black sleek dress he usually loves but really despises right now… ugh, he just can’t sleep with his blood boiling like this.

so of course he’s still awake, very agitated may i add, when scratching noises at the door start at two thirty in the morning.

you’re pathetically attempting to open the front door, but the key to the apartment is almost identical to the lobby key and then… the elevator key is there too and oh my goshhh the mailbox key is so small it’s hilarious!! like it’s a baby or something and idk you’re just vibing, laughing at the mini object drunk off your ass.

and a disgruntled katsuki swings the door wide open while you’re giggling at your fucking keychain like an idiot.

caught like a deer in headlights, your expression actually makes his frown melt into an amused smirk, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. “hey dopey, what’s so funny?”

shaking off the embarrassment, you throw your arms into the air and close your eyes, a great big grin on your lips as you loudly cheer his name.

katsuki has a huge weak spot for you and you just look so genuinely happy to see him that he doesn’t bother to make fun of you further, he just slips an arm around your waist and gathers you inside.

he asks how your night was while he bends down to take off your shoes, instructing you to lean on the door for support because you’re all wobbly and clearly not capable of standing upright on your own. god, how did you even make it back by yourself in one piece?

once the shoes are off, he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. years of training have paid off, i mean, his biceps are probably the same circumference as your skull so… it makes sense that he’s able to carry you so easily but it still blows your mind every time he does it.

sets you on the edge of the bed, kissing your forehead when you ask if he’s always had such sparkly eyes. oh, how they shine in the moonlight. lmao you’re a cheesy drunk. he shakes it off with the classic bakugou tch but you know deep down he loves it.

he takes off your constrictive clothing so all you’re left in is your underwear, and yeah his eyes linger because you’re literally perfect to him. but it’s like three am now and he just wants to get you ready for bed, so he puts one of his ground zero shirts on you because he doesn’t trust himself to not escalate the situation with you sitting naked in front of him like that.

has you sit on the sink counter in the bathroom while he hands you your toothbrush, toothpaste already squeezed out and bristles wettened. as you very sloppily brush your teeth, complaining about how the mint flavor is “too spicy”, he’s busy getting out the makeup remover and wipes.

he watches you do your little routine every night so he’s well versed in what to do. he ties your hair back and you’re surprised, like, how does he know how to tie a girl’s hair?? you figure it’s from past experience so you let him know your thoughts.

he’s red from ear to ear with blush, and he adamantly explains that “it’s not that hard to do, smartass, i didn’t learn from that.”

is all pouty and grumbly as he swipes the cotton pad across your face but his touch is sweet and so careful, loving. you lean into him like a cat, and he gets even redder because fuck you’re really cute.

after you’re done brushing your teeth, katsuki hands you a glass of water and tells you to drink it, or else you’re not getting any cuddles tonight.

“slow down dopey— i didn’t mean all in one go!”

he puts on your skincare stuff too, and he even rubs it into your skin in the right direction and pressure.

you just kinda sit there and then suddenly you’re tearing up because your man is so considerate ?? and gentle?? and he’s just, ugh, perfect and all yours and you’re just really in your feelings all the sudden.

katsuki is shook when he stops focusing on rubbing the moisturizer into your neck to see tears gathering along your lower lashes.

“hey, what’s wrong, princess? did something happen? do you feel alright?”

you just pull him close and hold him tight. and katsuki is the smartest guy you know, he picks up all your social cues. so he softly wraps his strong arms around you, calloused fingers rubbing into your scalp.

“i just really love you,” you whimper, muffled his now damp shirt. “i’m sorry for keeping you up, i meant to just sneak in and slide into bed. you don’t have to do all this.”

he’s quiet for a moment before he squeezes you carefully, letting out a low sigh. “you worry too much, baby. you know i’d do anything for you...” he leans back and his thumb rolls over your wet cheek, eyes half lidded and a small, sincere smile on his lips, “and, i really love you too.”

kirishima:

kiri isn’t really the type to get super overprotective, and he does his fair share of partying so he is more than understanding when you tell him you’re going to the club with the girls.

he does pout a little when you tell him he can’t come, but he quickly accepts the fact because he understands it’s “girls’ night” and he probably wouldn’t want to be there for that anyway. although he does quip out a small comment about how sexy you look in your clubbing outfit, and how much sexier it’s gonna look on your bedroom floor later on.

safe to say you leave the house with a blush on your cheeks and a little heat between your legs.

you’re out with the 1A girls tonight— you’d all stayed pretty close after graduation and somehow you’d finally managed to get a night that all of you could attend. you can’t remember how many rounds of shots go by, and by the time the club is closing, your friends are all in various stages of drunkenness.

tsuyu and ochaco are playing some children’s hand game and singing along to it while they clap their hands together incessantly, jirou and hagakure are stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk as some kind of competition and yelling in indignation, and mina and momo have their arms around your shoulders as they debate what would be tastier right now: takoyaki or taiyaki.

honestly you keep tripping up on the words because they sound so similar, so the conversation just keeps going in circles until one of you finally decides to call a cab.

it’s about one in the morning— the group had left the club to get a snack before the easy mart across the street closed and you’d each gotten probably too many foods, your eyes bigger than your stomach.

kirishima laughs when you walk into the apartment, wobbling a bit with the (surprisingly full) plastic “thank you!” bag swinging around in the air.

“hey babe, whatcha got there? woah now—“

he reaches out and catches you before you tumble over, a red brow raised teasingly at your questionable balance.

“you alright baby?”

his voice is always deep, but it sounds even more intoxicatingly velvety in your drunken stupor, and all you do is give him the eyes with your tongue poking out between your lips.

he laughs at you again, nodding and whispering a “later, eager girl” in your ear as he sits you down on the couch, large hands fiddling with the straps on your ankles.

kiri frowns as the heel comes off, angry red marks marring the top of your foot, the back of your ankle faring even worse with a blister rubbed raw laying there.

you hiss when he touches it experimentally, a look of surprise on your face and frustration on his.

“y’know you’re really deadly in those heels babe, but if i’d known they’d hurt ‘ya i wouldn’t have let ‘ya wear ‘em out for so long…”

he disappears into the bathroom for a moment only to come back with the first aid kit. he gingerly holds your foot with one hand, the other dabbing some antibacterial cream onto the wound. he rips the wrapper with his pointy teeth, and you stifle a laugh at his red hero logo littered across the bandage.

he chuckles at your laughter, pressing a gentle kiss to your knee as he repeats the action on the other foot.

once he’s done and you’re all bandaged up, he sits next to you on the sofa, pulling your legs up across his lap.

he is not afraid to stay up late with you— actually, he prefers it because he just loves talking with you, especially when you’re all giggly and blushy because of the alcohol. plus he doesn’t want you to go to sleep still drunk (which he can tell you clearly still are), cuz he thinks you’ll have more of a hangover and it’s not that he doesn’t wanna take care of you tomorrow, it’s that he doesn’t want you to be in any pain if you can avoid it. he is a gentleman after all.

kiri inquires how your night out was, and you inform him of all the fun you’d had with the girls. he nods as he listens, big hands coming to rub your feet with the tiniest bit of strength— just enough to soothe your aching feet.

he tends to your every need;

fetching you an icy water bottle and encouraging you to drink from it frequently— “take another sip for me baby, I’ll add another minute to your massage if ‘ya do— haha that’s it, good girl!”

turning on the fan when you say you’re a little warm— “you’re hot? yeah i know. kidding. lemme get the fan for ‘ya.”

flicking on the TV and putting on your choice of entertainment. he doesn’t mind that it’s that show you love, even if it’s his third time watching this particular episode— “great choice babe, this one’s funny… hey, what’s that look for? of course it’s alright, i love this show!”  

it’s more of a background noise anyway as he talks with you, genuinely enjoying your company and just being there with you. he just wants to chat with you; share your smiles and hear your thoughts from the night, make silly jokes about the show and hear your laugh, lay his cheesy pickup lines on you even though you’ve been his for quite some time now.

and it’s so cute to him how you stumble on your words and amuse yourself when you’re drunk like this, and then when you remember you had bought snacks he swears his heart skips a beat at your squeal of excitement.

“this one’s for you!” you chime happily, hand outstretched and offering the box of pocky to him. his heart melts a little (okay maybe a lot) at your gift— he’d said he was craving chocolate last night and you had remembered, even in your intoxicated state.

gosh, he really loves you.

he’s about to voice the emotion when his thumb brushes over the perfect spot on the arch of your foot particularly hard, and a loud moan erupts from your lips, your brow furrowing and your lip pinching between your teeth.

you share a heated look before he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“thanks babe, but the pocky’ll have to wait,” he murmurs as he tosses the box aside, pushing the bag of snacks onto the floor. crawling over your legs with a sharp-toothed smirk on his lips, he growls lowly, a glint in his crimson eyes. “there’s something else i needa taste of now…”

➥ masterlist — thanks for reading as always :)

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[kurokoros]

silver tongue | kuroo (kinktober day 5)

Rated: M

Words: 4.9K

Pairing: villain!kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: A late night at the agency takes a turns when you run into Panther, an S rated villain.

AN: I started working on a bnha x hq crossover a while ago, and decided to base character quirks on the kanji in their names, and, well... Kuroo means “black tail” sooooo I wrote tentacle porn. You’re welcome. 

Note: Jishin is, if google translated it correctly, Japanese for “earthquake”, which has to do with Daichi’s quirk in this au.

Kinktober 2020 Day Four: Public Sex + Day Nine: Tentacles

Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving, implied at the end), public sex, manhandling, restraints, quirk play, tentacles, double penetration, teasing, overstimulation, choking, biting, dirty talk (degradation and praise)

X

Leaving Daichi’s new sidekicks squabbling in the corner of the office, you slip out the side door of the Agency, stepping into the quiet alley with a sigh. Your heels click against the ground, and you shiver as the cold night air curls around you. The light breeze tickles your bare legs and arms, your work clothes providing little coverage from the chill, unlike the warmth of the building behind you.

Closing your eyes, you lean back against the brick wall behind you, two fingers rubbing at your temple to chase away an impending headache.

As much as you’ve grown to like the pair of energetic rookies in the short time they’ve been working at the agency, you could do without their constant bickering. Especially this late at night. It was just your luck, really, drawing the short straw tonight. As Daichi’s personal assistants, it was up to either you or Kiyoko to supervise Kageyama and Hinata—fresh out of school and eager to work in the field—as they did their required paperwork. Without someone breathing down their necks, neither boy would get any of it done, and Kiyoko finally cashed in on a favor you owed her to get out of babysitting late into the night.

Not that you can blame her for that. With the amount of petty fights you’ve already had to break up tonight, you would have jumped at the opportunity to leave, too.

A muffled shout comes from the building behind you, but you ignore it. Opting to leave the arguing pair to their own devices for a few minutes. It may not be the best idea, but given the alternative, you’d rather deal with the repercussions later.

Besides, what Daichi doesn’t know won’t kill him.

You drop your hand back to your side, making yourself comfortable against the side of the building despite the rough texture of the bricks and the chilly temperature. Opening your eyes, you turn your gaze to the mouth of the alley, tucked between the agency and a café that closed hours ago. Despite the late hour, the streets are still bathed in light from the moon and the street lights.

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye. Soundless as it slinks across the ground. Graceful. It’s gone as soon as you glance to the right, and you frown, but decide not to dwell on it as you return your gaze to one of the old buildings across the street. A trick of the light, that’s all it was. Or one of the skittish stray cats you’ve caught Asahi feeding on more than one occasion. It’s late, but not late enough for anyone to be causing trouble, especially this close to such a reputable agency.

But the shadow moves again, just barely visible in the hazy space where the light from the streetlamp melds back into the darkness. It squirms again, a dark shape against the ground. This time, you’re faster, following the movement with your eyes just in time to catch something black disappearing back into an unlit part of the alley. It flickers at the edge of your vision almost tauntingly, coaxing you to follow, and your brows furrow in confusion.

Peering into the darkness where it vanished, your breath hitches when you make out the silhouette of a tall, suit-clad figure leaning against the alley wall across from you. You tense, eyes widening just the slightest as raw, icy fear grips your chest.

A pair of vibrant eyes meet yours through the shadows, and a lazy grin spreads across a handsome face. “Don’t you know it’s not smart to be at the office alone this late at night, kitten?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice, almost deceptively sweet. He shifts against the wall he’s leaning on, eyes narrowing playfully. “There might be villains around.”

The irony isn’t lost on you.

Across from you, Kuroo’s lips twitch as you stay silent. Irritated, perhaps. Or maybe this is all part of some game to him. He stares at you through the lock of messy hair falling in his face, relaxed despite how close he is to such a well-known Hero Agency. Especially one that’s been tracking him for so long.

His hands casually slip into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s wrong?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. Amusement dances in the depths of his gaze. “Cat got your tongue?”

An indignant scoff leaves the back of your throat. Cat? More like a— “Panther,” you say, purposely using his alias. It’s not a greeting—not quite, anyway. And it sounds strange on your tongue.

Kuroo’s eyes narrow into a glare. He’s always hated how his villain name sounds coming out of your mouth. Almost mockingly. Taunting him. Pressing his buttons in just the right way. You’ve never been truly afraid of him. Despite his reputation. Despite the fact that you’re quirkless. And that’s what makes this so much fun.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, before he can respond with one of the sly remarks nettled on his silver tongue. The question is breathier than you mean for it to be, a result of the intoxicating concoction of emotions swirling inside you. Shock. Confusion. Lingering fear from the split second you didn’t recognize him. And beneath that, something else.

You wet your lips, glancing at the door to your right. You can still hear Kageyama and Hinata inside. Their arguing is louder than before, but still muffled through the wall. They probably haven’t even noticed you slipped outside yet. And you doubt they will. At least, not for a while.

Kuroo follows your gaze, but otherwise doesn’t move. For a moment, he listens as well, finally hearing the tell-tale sounds of arguing from inside. Something in his expression shifts, his grin devilish. You squeeze your thighs together. “I was in the neighborhood,” he tells you nonchalantly, as if he isn’t a wanted criminal lurking outside of a building owned by one of the men intent on arresting him. Those clever eyes shift back to you. “Thought I might check on my favorite assistant.”

His tone is teasing, but you recognize the hint of genuine concern that flickers in the depths of his hazel eyes, and it makes you soften for a split second. You hate when he does that. He’s not supposed to care about you, and you’re sure as hell not supposed to care about him. But then, you aren’t supposed to be fooling around with him either.

This time, you snort, eyes rolling. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Pausing, you glance at the building behind you again, wondering if you should say anything else. Kuroo must know by now that you aren’t alone. It would be impossible not to hear the amount of shouting going on inside the agency. “Kageyama and Hinata are here. We have them doing paperwork tonight. I’m babysitting.”

Kuroo’s brow furrows as he tries to connect the names to the faces he’s seen. Once he does, he narrows his eyes. “Jishin left his pretty little assistant alone with just some rookies?” he asks, using your boss’s alias mockingly. “What are a couple of kids going to do if some big, bad villain shows up and attacks the place?” Because that’s what he is, right? A big, bad villain.

What does that make you?

You choose not to take the bait. “What are you really doing here, Kuroo?” you ask him, lowering your voice even though there’s no one around to hear you. “Shouldn’t you be lying low? It’s only been a few days since you and Daichi—”

One long, black tendril shoots from his lower back. It lashes out. You cut off with a yelp as it races towards you, wrapping around both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before you can react. Gasping, you tug at the squirming limb, but it only coils around you tighter, squeezing. Like a warning. It’s cool to the touch, smooth against you, and the strange sensation makes you shudder. The tip wriggles against the inside of your arm, almost ticklish.

“I don’t want to hear his fucking name out of your mouth,” he snaps, Daichi’s name setting him off. Just like you knew it would. His eyes narrow again, his jaw clenching. The slim tentacle around your wrists tightens, and you bite your tongue to hold back an embarrassing whimper. Pulse pounding, your heart stutters in your chest when he sends you a look that makes you tremble.

Kuroo slips his hands out of his pockets as he takes a step towards you. Gravel crackles beneath his feet, loud in the otherwise quiet alleyway. Gold eyes glint beneath the dim light of the streetlamps. Predatory. Hungry. His lips curl into a smirk as he stops just in front of you, his chest nearly brushing against yours.

Your breath catches at his proximity, and his grin widens. You swallow down another soft, pitiful sound that bubbles up in your throat, but he’s close enough to notice the way your pupils dilate.

“I think you know exactly why I’m here,” he says, voice a low hiss in your ear. “So, don’t play dumb. You know better than that.”

The shadows around him squirm, something moving behind him, so dark it blends in perfectly with the murky walls of the alley. Another tendril curls out from behind his back, flickering back and forth like the tail of an irritated cat. You shiver again as it reaches for you, lashing out just like the last one. The tip of the tentacle ghosts across your cheek, caressing you. It’s a startling contrast from the rough way your hands are stretched above your head, an ache already forming in your shoulders.

The loving stroke against your cheek isn’t matched by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Didn’t you miss me, kitten?” Though still teasing, there’s a note of blatant affection to the endearment this time. Even his eyes soften just a little, betraying his fondness for you, though it’s hidden away again just as quickly.

“No,” you huff, struggling against the binding around your wrists. It doesn’t budge, only wriggles against you tauntingly. It’s a blatant lie, and Kuroo sees right through it.

His grin twists into an exaggerated pout, but the mocking look in his eyes never dims. “Ouch.” Kuroo presses a hand to his chest, like you’ve wounded him. “You’re going to break my heart.”

You lean into the cool touch of his quirk against the side of your face. “Like you have one.”

While you mean for it to be biting, scathing, the quip comes out breathy, and it only makes him laugh. It’s dry, humorless. “Maybe I don’t,” he agrees. You can’t make out the look in his eyes. “But that’s never stopped you from letting me fuck you before.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by the way you arch into his touch instinctively.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re being such a brat tonight. I thought you might’ve learned to behave after last time.”

The tentacle touching your cheek shifts, brushing the corner of your lips before sliding lower. You inhale sharply as it glides down the front of your throat, wriggling. The phantom sensation of those tentacles wrapping around your throat and squeezing has your thighs rubbing together. Heat pools in your lower belly, and your legs start to tremble.

You’re not subtle enough to escape his watchful eye, but Kuroo doesn’t lean in. He doesn’t reach for you—doesn’t pry your legs apart the way you want him to—he just watches you with those catlike eyes, drinking in the way you squirm under the familiar touch of his quirk. The tip of the tentacle flicks against your collarbone almost playfully.

It’s his name that falls from your pretty mouth this time—his real name, and pride swells in his chest at the needy tone of your voice. “Tetsurou,” you gasp, and his given name sounds so, so sweet coming from your mouth. Much better than his other name. “We can’t. They’re still inside. If we get caught, you’ll—” You cut off with a yelp as the tentacle slithers beneath the neckline of your shirt and yanks.

The blouse you’re wearing rips down the middle. Buttons snap from your now ruined shirt, scattering across the ground near your feet. Kuroo reaches for your waist as his tentacle traces the soft cup of your bra, starting from the outer edge and following the curve of your breast to the thin band beneath.

Kuroo quiets your half-hearted concerns. His stare follows the path of the extra limb, and you think he’s about to rip your bra as well. Anticipation makes you tremble, your heart beating faster.

The tentacle disappears from your chest, slinking back to Kuroo’s side like a loyal pet. It squirms, wriggling provocatively as it twists and curls through the air, level with his hips. The hands that slide against your waist are a welcome distraction, and the tentacle coiled around your wrists squeezes, as if reminding you that you’re still stuck, pinned against the wall and helpless against his quirk.

“If you really want to stop, just say the word.” He nuzzles against your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he speaks. You arch into him, hips rocking against the thigh that slips between both of yours. He pulls his leg away. “Out loud, kitten. I want to hear you say it.”

You gasp a needy, “Don’t.” Kuroo grins as you whimper and lean into his warm hands when they rub against your sides. “Don’t stop. Please, Tetsu, I—” Two of his fingers slip beneath your bra to pinch your nipple, and you cut off with a squeal.

“Behave and maybe I’ll let you cum.” The words are murmured against your lips. Your back arches off the wall as his lips press against yours. The kiss is harsh, all tongue and teeth, and you moan against his mouth. You struggle against the tentacle around your wrists, but it doesn’t budge. Kuroo’s teeth dig into your bottom lip until it hurts, his tongue soothing the bite when you whimper and rock your hips against his.

It’s been so long since he was able to touch you like this—weeks since he had to go into hiding—and he’s not leaving until he’s had his fun with you. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach for him, to pull him closer, and your struggling only makes his amusement grow.

A cold touch to your leg makes you flinch, and Kuroo swallows your surprised moan as the tentacle that was idle at his side curls around your thigh. It coils around you like a snake, wrapping around you before tugging, forcing your legs apart. You rock your hips towards his, but Kuroo leans just out of your reach, and the tentacle forcibly pulls your hips back against the wall.

“Tetsu,” you say again, mewling his name this time, the sound muffled against his mouth.

His lips move to your cheek, wandering across your soft skin until he finds that special, sensitive spot just beneath the curve of your jaw. Teeth graze the delicate skin of your throat, right over your racing pulse. Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head back against the alley wall, letting him angle your head how he wants it.

An approving hum vibrates against you before Kuroo bites down, teeth digging in hard enough to make you wince. He soothes away the pain with a soft kiss, only to bite you again as soon as you relax, a little lower than the last. Sharp canines prick at your skin; your pulse jumps.

Your squirming and whimpering only makes him chuckle. The rough sound vibrates against the side of your throat, and he presses one last kiss to your delicate skin before pulling away.

The dark tendril wrapped around your leg sweeps back and forth lazily, the tip teasing your inner thigh with slow circles and nonsensical shapes, mimicking the movement of his fingers. It strokes you from your knee to where your skirt is bunched halfway up your thigh, flirting with the hem before dancing away.

He’s playing with you. Taunting you. Trying to get you to beg. Each fleeting touch causes the dull ache between your legs to intensify, and the way you’re pinned down and put on display for him only makes you wetter. And he knows it, too. The bastard.

Kuroo leans back suddenly, whistling as he takes in the sight of you. Chest heaving. Shirt ripped open. Bound by shadowy black tendrils that writhe against you. “Look at you,” he coos, lazy fingers wandering over your soft skin, drinking you in. Kuroo follows the line of your collarbone with the pad of his thumb.

His head cocks to the side. There’s an absolutely wicked look in his eyes when they meet yours. “What do you think that boss of yours would say if he could see you like this?” He hums, and his fingers move higher, ghosting against the front of your throat. It would be so easy for his hand to wrap around your neck and choke you, but he just strokes his thumb over the faint indents left by his teeth. He presses his thumb into your neck a little harder. Just enough to make you gasp. “Spreading your legs for a villain in some dirty, back alley. Moaning like a whore.” He chuckles when you whimper, leaning in so that his lips brush against yours when he says, “Such a naughty girl.”

The tentacle around your leg wriggles suddenly. The tip disappears under your skirt, trailing up the inside of your thigh. “But you’re going to be good for me, yeah?” he asks you, grinning at the way your head falls back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut in bliss as the tentacle strokes you through your panties, tracing your dripping slit. It’s cold. Slick. Wrong. And you shudder as it flicks over your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

You try to swallow down the moan building in your throat, but it comes out as a high-pitched whine instead. “Tetsu,” you gasp, arching into him as the tentacle continues to play with you. His smirk widens as you try to roll your hips against the slick movement between your legs, only for his tentacles to hold you down harder.

Your fingers dig into your palms, nails biting at your skin as the stroking between your legs becomes more teasing, the tentacle lazily flicking against you. It isn’t enough to do more than tease you. Frustrated tears well in your eyes, but there’s nothing you can do but let him play his game.

He’s waiting, watching you. And you know exactly what he wants.

“Fuck, I bet you just love this, hmm?” His hand moves from your throat to your jaw. The tips of his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so wet already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” His thumb brushes against your bottom lip. Mock sympathy drips from his tongue. “Oh, but I bet I know why.”

Heat pools in your lower belly as Kuroo’s head tilts to the side. A dark, twisting mass rises from behind him, and the large tentacle splits in two before your eyes, branching off as it reaches for you. One moves low, wrapping around your neglected leg. It doesn’t move to stroke you like the other, but the tip draws circles against your inner thigh. So, so gentle. The motion would be soothing, if you didn’t know exactly how dangerous they can be. Tearing through skin and bone when he wants them to.

“Could it be this?” he asks, watching as the other tendril snakes across your torso, barely brushing against you. It follows the curve of one of your breasts all the way to your neck, and the sound that falls out of your mouth when it wraps around your delicate throat is absolutely lewd. He chuckles. You recognize the look in his eyes, and it only makes you shudder harder.

The pathetic little mewling sound that falls from your mouth is all the answer he needs.

The tentacle around your neck teases one of the spots where he bit you, and the one between your legs strokes just a little bit harder. “Are you really that fucking depraved?” Kuroo asks you, sneering. “Fuck, kitten, you’re practically dripping,” the tentacle between your legs slips beneath your damp panties, “and all because you just can’t wait for me to fuck that cute cunt of yours with my quirk. Right here where anyone could walk by and see you.” You moan, because of his words or the tentacle that rubs against your clit, you aren’t sure. “I bet you’d just love that. Little slut.”

Like your shirt, your underwear is ripped down. The soaked, lacy fabric gets caught on the tentacles wrapped around your legs. Kuroo clicks his tongue, rucking up your skirt to get a better look at your slick thighs as the tentacle flicks over your clit once more. As his fingers graze your soft, inner thighs, the tendril drawing circles against you hooks around your panties and pulls. It tears, and you wince as the fabric snaps against your skin. Rough fingers slip between your legs, taking the ruined fabric from the tentacle and pocketing it. He makes sure to brush the lace against your clit as he pulls away.

Shakily, you take a deep breath, head tilting back just enough for you to meet his gaze. “You’re the one that wants to fuck me with them,” you remind him, fighting the urge to shiver as one of his tentacles strokes you directly, covering itself in your slick. “Who’s really the depraved one?”

The jab makes him grin. “So mouthy,” he murmurs again. The tentacle around your neck tightens, but doesn’t choke you. The pointed tip slides across your jaw and cheek, prodding at the corner of your mouth. It slides over your lips, but you refuse to part them. Kuroo sighs, disappointed. “I’ll have to fix that.”

Without warning, the tentacle stroking your slit shoves inside your pussy, spreading you open wide. Your lips part in a surprise squeal, but the other tentacle slips into your mouth, muffling the sound before it can tear from your throat. You moan around it, and Kuroo curses under his breath, feeling the vibrations through his quirk.

Another choked whine sounds through the empty alley, and he hushes you, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. Your hips lurch against the squirming sensation inside you, but the tentacles wrapped around your limbs hold you against the wall, forcing you to stay still as it wiggles.

“Careful, kitten,” Kuroo warns you, a smug look on his face. “You wouldn’t want Jishin’s little sidekicks to hear you moaning like a whore.” Those catlike eyes drift down your torso, locking on the thick tentacle stretching your dripping cunt. The tentacle in your mouth wiggles, pressing against your tongue and teeth. It pushes against the back of your throat, and you try not to gag. When you whimper again, Kuroo chuckles. “Or maybe you would.”

The palms of his hands land on your bare thighs, coaxing them further apart for a better view of the sloppy mess you’re making all over the tentacle between your legs. It’s a strange feeling. Smoother than his cock. Colder. It moves erratically, squirming inside you rather than thrusting. The tapered tip finds your sweet spot, rubbing and prodding until your hips jerk and you start to squirm again.

Around your left leg, the other tentacle holding you open starts to move, creeping across your inner thigh to join the other between your legs. Kuroo watches it slide over your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal as he watches his black tails writhe around you, simultaneously pinning you in place and stroking you purposely. They know just where to touch to turn you into a whimpering mess, and you cry out around the tendril in your mouth when the tentacle stuffed inside your dripping pussy slides part way out before slamming back inside of you.

The other, thinner one flicks over your clit. Your moan is muffled by the tentacle shoved down your throat. All four wiggle in delight as you arch your back, trying to match the pace of the tentacle that begins to pound into you. It’s thick inside you, stretching you obscenely, and Kuroo chuckles under his breath as he watches your pretty cunt swallow the shadowy tendril.

He takes a step back and slips his hands back into his pockets, watching the tentacle fuck you with a wild look in his eyes, like a cat toying with a mouse that’s already been caught. As he cocks his head to the side, his stares intently as your cute pussy as it drips all over the wriggling appendage. Slick glistens against the black tendril with every harsh thrust, and Kuroo shivers at the phantom sensation of your cunt clenching around one of his black tails.

The one playing with your clit strokes over you slowly, swirling against your swollen nerves in the same slow, teasing way as Kuroo’s tongue.

“I guess you really are a depraved little slut,” he muses, leaning his weight onto one leg. “Letting a bunch of filthy tentacles ravish you in a dirty alleyway.” Gold eyes glint possessively as they lock with yours. “And look how well you take them.”

A muffled moan falls from your mouth, and the tentacle pressed against your tongue thrusts against the back of your throat languidly, wiggling in a way that borders on uncomfortable. The tentacle in your mouth slides out of you wetly, leaving a trail of saliva across your cheek as it retreats to your neck, coiling tighter around your throat as you gasp for breath.

The tentacle thrusts against you harder, and this time there’s nothing in your mouth to muffle you as you cry out. “Ah, Tetsu, please.” You practically sob his name, writhing almost as much as the tendrils fucking you. “Please, I can’t—” You cut off with a whine, your head tossed back against the wall as you squeeze your eyes shut. By now you’ve started trembling, pleasure feeding into the tight little ball of tension in your lower belly with every rough thrust and stroke from his quirk.

“That’s right, kitten,” Kuroo murmurs. The jingle of his belt coming undone makes you whimper, and you force your eyes open, watching as his hand slips beneath his slacks, palming his hard cock. “Beg me to let you cum. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg for me.”

Your mouth is moving immediately, whimpering garbled pleas and breathy versions of his name between the gasps and moans rolling off your tongue. You’re only half aware of what you’re saying, but delight flickers in his eyes with every word. He strokes himself slowly, watching as you start to come undone.

The appendage around your throat constricts, stealing your breath.

The tentacle inside you writhes as the one on your clit rubs against you at just the right angle, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as the knot of tension inside you snaps. You choke out a rough, strangled version of his name, whimpering as you tremble, writhing against the limbs holding you in place. The tentacles fuck you through it, pace never slowing as they draw out the pleasure until there are tears welling in your eyes from the intensity.

Shaking as you start to come down from the high, you wince when the pounding doesn’t stop. “Tetsu. I can’t—” The tendril that flicks over your clit again makes you flinch, and the one still stuffed inside your pussy thrusts against you roughly, making your walls clench. A hissed exhale escapes from between your teeth, your eyes squeezing shut at the raw feeling of overstimulation. “Too much,” you gasp, starting to struggle against the near painful pleasure.

You shiver as he caresses your cheek, his hand warm against your clammy skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos as you lean into his touch, thumb brushing against your bottom lip lovingly. “You didn’t think we’d be done that fast, did you? No, we’re just getting started.”

The tentacles curled around your limbs suddenly yank you towards Kuroo, pulling you away from the side of the building. They drag you down to your knees, and you wince as gravel digs into your skin. The tentacle around your wrists release you, but before you can grab Kuroo’s thighs to steady yourself, they’re wrenched behind you back, binding you again.

Kuroo nudges your thighs further apart with his foot. An approving sound rumbles in his chest as he watches the tentacle continue to fuck you despite your whimpering. He grabs your chin between his thumb and fingers, grip bruising as he tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. A devilish look flashes in his eyes, sharp and predatory as he looks at you, on your knees for him. He shoves the front of his pants down with his free hand, clever fingers sneaking inside to stroke himself.

There’s a reason they call him a panther. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

[gureishi]

Saeyoung + 13? Or Saeyoung + 11?

[417]

Of COURSE, my friend~

Oh boy, this one was fun to do. I really hope you enjoy it ♡

thirteen: left your mark on me

Saeyoung X Reader, T, words: 2643

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It’s the first time Saeran has ever texted you.

Technically, you think—heart pounding—that’s not true. Him texting you was, you suppose, the catalyst for everything that’s happened to you over the last few months. But the Saeran you know now—the quiet, tired boy who’s just recently started saying hello to you when you show up at his home—never. Certainly not.

Your hands tremble as you swipe to open his message. Something’s wrong, you think, because why else would he reach out to you? You feel your heartbeat in the roof of your mouth and say a prayer in your head. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

“Come over,” says the text.

What?

“Is everything okay?” you text back with one hand, already tripping across your room, grabbing a jacket. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

He answers immediately. He types fast, like his brother.

“Yeah,” he says. You let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Come talk to him. I don’t want to.”

You pause, one arm in your jacket. Come talk to him? That ambiguous phrase could mean so many things, and god, you want to know more, but you can’t want to press him—that he reached out at all is a huge step, one you wouldn’t dare jeopardize.

“Be right there,” you text back, stuffing your other arm into your jacket, slipping into shoes. You keep your phone in your hand as you throw the door open, taking the steps two at a time, but he doesn’t text you again. Of course he doesn’t—he’s said what he needed to say.

You put on loud music in the car, feeling the need to drown out the sound of your heartbeat. You roll down the window even though the wind blows your hair into your eyes, making it hard to see. You go over the messages again and again in your head: talk to him, he said. Talk to him about what?

Your music pounds over the speakers, rocking the car a little, and you grip the steering wheel slightly too hard. You’ve just missed rush hour and the traffic is dying down, so you make good time, driving just the tiniest bit over the speed limit. He’d scold you for it, you think—he’s always admonishing you for driving too fast, even though he pushes his fancy little cars to their limits on the empty dirt roads around the bunker. Hypocrite.

You take the exit, follow the street as it loops round and round, make the turn-off onto the unmarked road that leads to his home. The stars are starting to come out now.

You slow down as you see the bunker looming in the distance; from the outside, it’s ominous, and yet it fills you with an inexplicable warmth, flips your stomach around.

You shout the password at the garage without stopping, grinning as the first door opens for you. You half-expect to find him here, body mostly hidden under one of his cars, mysterious tools littering the ground around him. He’s often here when he’s sulking—today, though, the garage is empty, dark and dank. You pull into the one parking spot he’s left open for you—as far as possible from his cars, dressed for nighttime in their little protective hoods. I can park, you think grumpily. He doesn’t trust me.

But you know this isn’t true, and it’s confirmed again as you slip out of your car, keys in hand, and step cautiously toward his main door.

“Welcome,” it says to you in it’s robo-voice.

This is new.

“Šukran,” you say.

And without any further prompting—without questions, or quizzes, or nearly impossible translations, it opens. Almost as if it recognizes the sound of your voice.

Huh.

You kick off your shoes, tossing them into the jumble by the door. Saeyoung’s are heaped in a pile, some upside down and sideways; Saeran’s are lined up nearly beside his, in a perfect line as if to say “look, this is how it’s done.” This makes you smile.

Neither twin is in the living room. There’s a light under Saeran’s door, but you leave him be.

Anxiety building in the pit of your stomach, you pad down the hall in your socked feet. Saeyoung’s office is dark, but there’s light on in his bedroom. This, by itself, is unusual—without you here, it’s rare that he goes into that room at all.

You knock softly on the door, and when he doesn’t answer you push it open.

“It’s me,” you call softly, squinting as your eyes adjust. The room is as bright as the rest of the bunker is dark; all the fluorescent lights on are, starkly illuminating the black and yellow decorations. There’s barely any empty space on the walls, and it reminds you of his mind—so crammed with thoughts that there’s no place to rest.

In spite of his near-inhuman senses, he doesn’t see you at first.

He’s sitting on the floor, back propped against the side of the bed, headphones over his ears. His eyes are closed, knees tucked up to his chest. He looks small, like this—like you could scoop him up in your arms and carry him away.

“Hi,” you say, a little louder.

He jumps, eyes flying open, headphones slipping off one ear. He makes a spluttering noise that could be “huh?” or “hi” or just “haaaaah!”

You smile.

“Saeran didn’t tell you I was coming, then?”

“N-no, I…Saeran?” He blinks up at you as though he doesn’t quite believe you’re there. It’s then that you notice the sunken-in look about him: his eyes are clouded and sleepy, a little red-rimmed. His cheeks are pale.

You sink onto the floor beside him; you copy his posture, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Saeran told me to come talk to you,” you admit, looking down. You’re not sure why, but now that you’re here, you feel a little embarrassed. “So I did.”

“He…he…” Saeyoung looks lost for words. A part of you—a little bitter, self-conscious part—wonders if he wishes you hadn’t come. As if he senses what you’re thinking, he spins abruptly to face you, sitting cross-legged. He moves fast: in an instant, you’re almost nose-to-nose. “Sorry,” he says quietly, and you feel his breath on your face; your cheeks burn. “I’m soooo happy to see you, kitten. I was just…ah, surprised.”

It’s hard to breathe with him close like this. You bite your lip.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you tell him.

And you are. His hair’s a little messed up, like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes now—though he’s still got that harrowed, tired look about him.

“I, uh…” He looks down, his face reddening a little. “I was actually wishing you were here, earlier. I should’ve just called you myself.”

He pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes with one shaky hand.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you ask.

He sighs, and you feel like maybe he’s been half-holding his breath all day.

“Not really,” he says.

“Saeyoung.”

He peers at you through his fingers; you feel you must look foolish with the stern expression you’re making, but he smiles.

“Oh, I just adore you,” he groans, now dropping his face into both hands. “I can’t resist you, you know.”

“I know.” Gently, you place a hand on his knee; he twitches in response.

“It’s something silly,” he warns, voice muffled by his hands. Suddenly, he tips forward; you realize what he’s doing just in time and shift your weight so his head lands on your shoulder. His breath is on your collarbone now, and a shiver runs through your body.

“I’m sure it’s not,” you say.

He exhales again, and fleetingly, you wonder if he’s doing this on purpose—breathing on the exposed skin of your shoulder just to tease you. Even gloomy like this, he can’t resist the urge to try and rile you up.

“I guess I sort of…realized something,” he mutters, voice low. You have to tilt your head down to hear him. 

“Yes?”

“Having Saeran here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs. He’s almost whispering, as if he’s afraid to be heard. “One of the greatest,” he adds, grazing your wrist with his thumb, calloused and rough and wonderful. 

You hum your affirmation, not wanting to interrupt now that he’s talking.

“But…” He trails off as if he’s not quite sure how to explain it. His head is still on your shoulder and you can’t see his face; with your free hand, you gently brush his hair off his forehead. “My whole life,” he continues, a little more confidently, “I’ve just had one thing I’m trying to do. Everything I’ve done has been about making sure he’s safe. Now that I’ve got him, I…”

“Don’t know what to do next?”

He twists his head sideways—like a cat, you think, seeking out attention. You tangle your hand in his hair, pulling it a little, and you swear he purrs.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice breathy. “I’m not sure what I’m…here for, now.”

“Saeyoung.” You say his name firmly—something has dawned on you. You straighten abruptly and he pulls back if as startled. He’s still got that weary look, like he’s spent the day like this, buried under a pile of his own thoughts. “Saeyoung, has anyone ever asked you what you want before?”

“What do you mean?” He sits up straight too: faces you, fingers still gently gripping your wrist.

“Listen,” you say. “I know you want to live together with Saeran, and now you do. And you want him to be safe and happy. But aside from those things, what do you want?”

You can tell he’s puzzled; he cocks his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, um…”

“Try to think.”

“I mean, I…”

He’s got this sort of helpless look about him, and you can’t take it anymore. You take his face in both your hands, gently holding his cheeks—which are flushed, almost feverish. Touching his face makes your body tingle.

“Let’s start small,” you tell him. His eyes are so big and bright behind his glasses and you feel a strange impulse to kiss his eyelashes. “Tell me one thing you want right now.”

His eyes lock with yours and then you see his face flush—if possible—even darker. His gaze trails down your face, lingering on your lips.

“Well…” he lilts, tilting his head to the side. “There is one thing I wanna do, but—I mean, ahh, I would say that I’m thinking about…”

“I’m gonna help you,” you whisper, hands still on his cheeks. “Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen.”

His face is red—oh, so red.

“Well, the thing is, I…I really want you to kiss me,” he murmurs. Finally. The buzzy air between you was becoming almost unbearable.

You lean forward and he waits, patient, still, longing. He’s already so close; you ghost your lips over his and he melts into you instantly. You swipe your tongue over his bottom lip.

When you pull away he’s panting, eyes cloudy.

“Good,” you tell him. “What else do you want?” 

“I…ah…” His voice sounds almost slurred: he’s overwhelmed, you think, by the way you’ve taken control. There’s a sort of dazed smile dancing over his lips.

“Tell me,” you urge. “Think of this as practice. I’m gonna teach you how to ask for what you want if it kills me, Choi Saeyoung.”

Oh, the look on his face is wonderful: delighted and spellbound.

“I want, ah…um, th-this,” he says—which isn’t really a request, but it’s a start. He takes your hand in his and guides it upwards, pushes your fingers into his hair.

“You want me to pet you?”

“Yeah, like…like how you did before.”

You comb your fingers through his messy curls, separating the strands with your fingertips. And you face is still so close to his, and he looks so hopelessly adoring, so you lean forward and kiss him again: once, quick and soft.

“Can you, uh…can you do what you did before? With my hair?” he asks weakly. What you did before…? 

Oh.

You tangle your fingers in his hair a little more roughly, pulling it, and he squeaks and kisses you again, this time with unbound enthusiasm. You feel like you’ve unlocked a secret weapon.

Hand buried in his hair, you kiss just his lower lip, then the tip of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. You trail kisses down the side of his neck and he inhales sharply.

“Will you do that again?” he asks.

“This?” You kiss his neck again, gently, just under the curve of his jaw.

“Y-yes, but um…harder.”

Interesting. “Do you want me to?” you ask him—because this is practice, after all; you’re helping him—not just satisfying your own curiosity about how much he’d squirm if you just…nibbled him a little.

He giggles, high-pitched and awkward. “Mmmm…yes, I want you to,” he mutters, and that’s enough for you.

You take the smooth skin between your teeth, biting down, and he yelps. You were right—he does squirm, wiggling around like a fish. You suck the skin into your mouth, biting a little harder.

And by the time you pull away he looks dizzy; there’s a beautiful, silly grin on his face.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you say softly, touching the already-reddening skin with your fingertip. 

“I…think I like that,” he says, with some surprise.

“Good job,” you tell him, opening your arms—he eagerly leans into you, rests his head on your chest. “That was, uh…good practice.”

He laughs, warm and open and sleepy, and you wrap your arms around him.

“Excellent practice,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna need a lot more practice, though, so…”

“I’ve got you,” you tell him. You plant a kiss on the very top of his head and he hums. “I want you to start thinking about other stuff you want too, though. Okay? Life stuff.”

He gets comfortable, snuggling sleepily into you. He’s exhausted himself worrying, you think; he needs to power down that gigantic brain.

“Aaaaanything?” he sings, his tone lighter now, more relaxed.

“I mean…” Oh no.

“I want a hundred cats!”

“Saeyoung.”

“I can get them and squish them all and have them all sleep in my bed with me?!”

“Saeyoung…”

“And make a cat army and ride into battle on the back of a giant cat?”

“No.”

“Heeeeey,” he whines, and you squeeze him tighter, stroking his beautiful, messy, overwrought head. “You said anything.”

“Within reason, honey.”

He murmurs something only half-coherent about horse-sized cats and nuzzles into your chest. You wonder how much he’s slept in the past few days, stewing over his future. It’s normal to worry about these things, you think—but for Saeyoung, who’s never once thought about his future, it’s nearly impossible.

But this is what you want for him. You want to see him make choices for himself—to learn how to put his happiness first.

“One cat,” you murmur into his hair. “Let’s start with one cat.”

He hums, head heavy.

“Three,” he mumbles. “One for each of us.”

“Sure, baby,” you tell him, curling a lock of his thick red hair around your fingertip. He’s so soft and helpless like this—dozing off curled up in your arms, humming softly as you pet his head. “If that’s what you want,” you say, “I’ll make sure it happens.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta @hunterelys @pamakali @strwbryflvr

[yeenybeanies]

i cannot imagine jaskier being afraid of geralt himself, but being spooked of the newly-gigantic world he’s found himself in? & knowing that geralt isn’t always the gentlest of people could be a lil nerve-wracking :>

the witcher | geralt of rivia & jaskier

1274 words

no warnings

reblogs > likes!! thanks for reading!!

It’s times like these when Geralt is forced to face things he’d really rather not face––things like the fact that he cares ( quite a lot, actually ) for his bard’s well-being. Despite the constant exasperation and headaches he suffers, Geralt finds himself appreciating––perhaps even welcoming––Jaskier’s presence.

Right now, though, he has never wanted to be closer to Jaskier, or further away. Right now, Jaskier stands not much taller than a rat on its hind legs, and weighs about the same in his fist.

Geralt had grabbed him in confidence, but, now that he has the bard, now that he sees the discomfort on his features, he isn’t so sure.

“ Geralt––– ”  Jaskier bows his head, his tiny hands pushing against theWitcher’s gloved thumb.  “ Geralt, you’re––I can’t breathe very well. . .. ” 

A spike of . . . an emotion he can’t ( or won’t ) quite name surges through Geralt; he suppresses the initial impulse to drop the little bard, recognizing that the fall would likely injure him. Instead, after a moment of hesitation, he brings his other hand up under Jaskier and releases his squeeze. The gasp Jaskier makes sends another spike through his brain.

He can smell fear. It’s a sharp, sour stink in his nose, and Jaskier reeks of it.

Many people fear Witchers. Jaskier has never once been afraid of Geralt. This is new. ( And he still doesn’t want to think about how it’s making him feel. )

“ Jaskier . . .. ”  Silvery brows knit tighter together.

The bard, after a moment spent catching his breath, waves a hand.  “ New rule! I am instating a new rule, Geralt, okay? So you don’t end up accidentally squishing me like the handsome beast-killer you are. ” 

Geralt blinks.  “ I am not going to squish you, bard. ”

“ Not intentionally, maybe, but you are a bit rough. Um . . .. ”  He glances down to see that he’s sitting in Geralt’s palm.  “ Um. Actually, if you could put me down . . .. ”

Geralt notices another wave of that smell. His frown deepens. Obliging the tiny man, he lowers his hands to let him off, then quickly pulls back. His jaw is set tight.  “ Are you hurt? ”  Did I hurt you? 

“ No, no, I’m––– ”  Jaskier waves again, though Geralt can still see some pain in his face. He hadn’t realized that he was squeezing so hard . . ..  “ I’m fine, Geralt. Thank you for asking. ” 

Liar. There is no lying to a Witcher this close. Cat-like pupils narrow on the bard.

Jaskier is too fragile in this state. Geralt can’t touch him without risk or fear of harming him more. Briefly, he glances around them, a low hum sounding behind closed lips. This is not an ideal place to set up camp for the night, but they wouldn’t get very far with Jaskier’s stature in what remains of the daylight.

Geralt stands and takes a step back. To his surprise, Jaskier’s heartbeat speeds up, and the little man scurries a little nearer to his boot. Now Geralt is just . . . confused. Muscles tense like he means to move further away, but he remains still. Holding Jaskier brings with it a risk of crushing him in his hands. Leaving him on the ground means he’s at risk of being crushed underfoot. There is no winning, no way to quell the Witcher’s only-growing concern.

He hates this.

Jaskier hates this.

The bard feels similarly lost with his situation. Everything looks even bigger from the ground. It doesn’t help either that Geralt—brave warrior and beast-slayer Geralt that fears nothing and no one—looks very uneasy. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on the Witcher before. Jaskier swallows thickly. He should say something. Talking usually helps him when he’s nervous. His mouth, though, feels terribly dry. The words are dusty as they reach his tongue.

“ So . . . um. Well—looking on the bright side of things, I’ll be able to reach new high notes that would otherwise be impossible. ”  Focus on the positive. Geralt’s sharp gaze falls back to him, a hint of annoyance cutting through the new unease he wears. Faint as it is, it’s familiar. It makes Jaskier smile. He claps his hands––a sound that reaches Geralt’s ears as a tiny pop.  “ Anyway! Back to that rule I mentioned! I think, moving forward, it would be best if you didn’t suddenly grab me with your big, strong hands. I’m positive you have it in you to be gentle–– ”  he gives the Witcher’s boot a kick, which Geralt wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking at him  “ ––but I would appreciate not being man-handled. Open-fists only. ”

Geralt breathes out a sigh through his nose.  “ Right, ”  he growls. As it stands, he doesn’t want to handle Jaskier at all. 

“ That being said . . . ”  the bard glances over his shoulder to the humongous world around him and shudders,  “ I do think I liked it slightly better when I was high up. ”  He looks back to Geralt with his hands on his hips, expectant. When Geralt does not move, he huffs.  “ Oh, come on. Just put your hands down and let me climb on. ” 

Still the Witcher hesitates. He spares a glance to his hands––the very weapons that only a minute ago held Jaskier too tightly. He did say that he wouldn’t squish him, but did he believe it?

“ Geralt. ”  The bard pulls his attention back to him.  “ I know I just asked you to put me down, but I’ve changed my mind. Being down here makes me nervous. And it’s cold. ”  

The smell of fear lingers, quite strong. Swallowing his own nervousness, Geralt takes a knee before his shrunken companion and lowers his hands to the dirt, palms up and fingers flat. Jaskier, now faced with what he asked for, does feel some apprehension about this. He’s sure his ribs might be a little sore for a while yet after Geralt’s first grab ( not that he blames the man ). However, alternatives are in short supply. He takes a breath to steady himself––which does not go unnoticed––and climbs over the dark leather. He settles himself back into Geralt’s palm, legs crossed and tucked close. The difference in temperature is immediately apparent.

“ See? Not so hard. ”  He puts on a smile, though it’s a tad bit forced. Geralt says nothing as he gingerly lifts his hands and the little bard.

“ We need to find shelter, ”  Geralt says, pointedly ignoring Jaskier’s comment. The second time around does not make this any less strange, holding an entire person ( his friend ) in the palms of his hands. Every tiny movement Jaskier makes, Geralt can feel.

“ Right. And . . . you’ll need both of your hands. So, erm . . .. ”  For a moment, Jaskier looks around.  “ How about you put me on your shoulder? What with how broad they are, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of room. And I can always hold onto your luscious hair! ” 

Well, that sounds just awful. Geralt’s grimace expresses as much. Jaskier does have a point, though: he will need his hands to set up their shelter for the night. He would also just rather have both of his hands readily available in general, should something be foolish enough to attack them. ( That would end poorly, now that Geralt has a tiny bard to protect. ) With a reluctant sigh, he brings his hand up to his right shoulder so Jaskier can climb on. Little hands immediately grab hold of his hair for balance, pulling another growl from his throat.

“ Don’t fall, ”  he says. To anyone else, it would sound like a warning. Jaskier knows better; it’s affectionate. He settles down into sit on the Witcher’s shoulder, one fist loosely gripping a silvery lock.

“ I know you’d catch me. ” 

“ Hm, ”  is all the Witcher has to say. Of course he would.

[midnightseonghwa]

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡

𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐮 - 𝟐

✕𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Grim Reaper!Seonghwa x Living!Reader  

✕𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Grim Reaper, Halloween Au  

✕𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k+

✕𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: There’s nothing after death, or so they say. However, Seonghwa knows best and he’s determined to make you find out. 

Alternatively: “Married couples always promise to love each other till death, but darling, I’ll show you love exists after death as well.”  

✕𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of death, souls, grave yards, cemetaries, harassement/bullying and the afterlife. Seonghwa is holding a scythe to reap souls. There is some religious stuff as well. The people around you are really weird. You’re a living, breathing human at the beginning but not really at the end. The reader (you) are really weird. Some kissy kissy as well 

✕𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Unedited 

✕𝐀/𝐍: Remember that this is fiction and that I don’t actually see ateez in this way. The religious stuff has not been put in to offend anyone. It is solely for fictional purposes. Enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. Leave a comment under this post or message me! Also, this is inspired by OneUs’ song ‘To Be or Not To Be’. I am obsessed with their entire ‘Lived’ album...it’s a bit of a problem hehe  

✕𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @pancakes-for-teddy​

✕𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜: Here 

Seonghwa watched you trace the crude grey stone with your fingers in a sense of curiosity.

You were a young child, new to the world but there was something extremely odd about you. Seonghwa had seen you a few times already, running around the cemetery as if it was the playground, playing hide and seek with the ravens that would sometimes whisper beautifully morbid things to you.

Tracing the sharp blade of his scythe, the male sighed and lowered his black hood when a series of footsteps crunched through the dead grass of the burial grounds.

"A mere lost soul," Seonghwa said as the groundskeeper of the cemetery came to a standstill next to him.

"A bit young to be a lost," he said but Seonghwa shook his head and ran his bony fingers over the staff of his scythe.

"Young souls are often the easiest to lose. But they are also the easiest to guide," he said and gave the groundskeeper a side-eyed glance.

"Are you going to guide her?" The groundskeeper asked in a quiet voice and Seonghwa inhaled deeply before covering his face with his hood again and disappearing into the shadows.

"Only if I must."

The next place Seonghwa saw you was at the foot of your grandmother's bed a few years later, crying hysterically.

Black ink flowed down your cheeks, leaving scorching burns in their wake but to any normal human, it would look like the most heart-broken tears were being shed.  

Next to Seonghwa, your grandmother pressed a hand to her heart. Although pain was not felt by deceased souls, the phantom pains of her only grandchild's cries were enough to provoke a physical feeling.

Both your grandmother and Seonghwa stayed, observing everything until it was only you left in the room.

Seonghwa approached you and wiped the inky streaks off your face with a gentle bony finger.

"Do not cry, child," he said and offered you a single black raven feather, smooth as the blade of his scythe.

"Angel," the word left your small lips as you marvelled at the man in front of you. A graceful being in front of a clumsy child like you, your brain could only muster the closest celestial being.

"No, child. But you can most definitely think of me as your guardian angel."

And with that, Seonghwa left you with an eternal promise and the mark of the grim reaper on your soul.

"So much for a guardian angel," you said as you twirled the black feather between your fingers. Now in your early adult ages, the feather had remained the only constant in your life.

Encased between thin glass sheets, the black feather gleamed under the sunlight as you leaned against one of the headstones in the cemetery.

"(Yn)? Here again?" The groundskeeper asked as he strolled by with his tools, his black cat in tow.

"Yes sir," you smiled and closed your eyes, letting your head fall onto the grey stone that was basking in the sunlight.

"I was going to wash the stones today but it seems I'll have to wait," he said and you smiled at the older man.

"Thank you, sir. You know I don't have anyone else but you."

The groundskeeper gave you a small wave before continuing on his way.

Sighing and tucking the black feather back into your pocket, you plucked at the yellow grass that always seemed to surround you wherever you went.

It was true that the groundskeeper was the only one you had. After the encounter with your "guardian angel", things had gone immensely wrong for you.

You started having nightmares and hearing voices that always called for help. The murmurs and cried pains of the damned that always seemed to haunt you on the darkest of nights. This eventually led to your family declaring you sick and moving away to a bigger city, leaving you behind.

You were harassed horribly during school which made you drop out and just stay inside your old house until midnight hit the skies. The old ladies of the town would gossip about your creepy aura and flash you with crosses and holy water while you would walk down the street.

Sometimes, just to mess with them you would hiss and try to cover yourself from the holy objects and inwardly laugh as the women scurried away to protect their children and husbands. On other days you would hide under the black hood of your jacket and ignore all the comments about being a disgrace to God and whatnot.

To say that your town was an orthodox one was an understatement.

But today was one of those rare nights where the voices didn't seem to bother you as much. The people of the town had been ignorant towards you and it was a blessing through and through. Lying in your deceased grandmother's room, you stared at the arcane carvings in her ceiling. Your grandmother always believed in the afterlife and that death was not as bad as people put it to be. It was always just a change of worlds but never a permanent one.

Your hand reached out to trace one of the gold lines in the air. You had spent your entire childhood memorising them as your grandmother would tell you stories of the world beyond but now, they seemed foreign to you, almost dead and lifeless.

"I remember seeing you here when you were only a little child," a smooth voice flittered across the cold room as you jerked awake and stood up to find the source of the voice.

"Even as a child, you were always so mysterious. I never expected you would grow up to be so beautiful," the voice sounded again and Seonghwa emerged from the shadows, bony fingers clutching his scythe.

He leaned down to your level and traced your jawline. His finger was chillingly cold and wasn't soft as skin would normally feel.

Silence blanketed the room as you shrank under his cold stare.

"Am I finally going to die?"

Admittedly, the question was stupid but voicing it lifted some weight off your chest.

"Why would you die?" Seonghwa quipped an eyebrow at you, a slow smirk making its way onto his face.

"You look like a grim reaper," you whispered and fidgeted under the tall male's gaze.

Seonghwa laughed, it was chilling in its nature and froze your bones.

"That's because I am."

Regardless of his cold stare and voice, his tone was nonchalant and careless, as if admitting to being the grim reaper wasn't the biggest thing in the world.

"Oh..." you trailed off, not quite sure how to react to that piece of information.

"What do you want with me?"

"That's..." Seonghwa sighed and leaned against his scythe with a bored expression.

"A good question," he said and furrowed his eyebrows.

"If you don't have any specific requests then please leave," you said and trudged to the bedroom door, opening it wide and letting the cold wind whistle through the room.

"Actually, I wanted to take you with me," Seonghwa said and leaned his fingers out to touch your hair. He twisted them around his fingers and smiled. It was a sweet smile, one filled with love and adoration, something you had not experienced from any human before.

But lucky for you, Seonghwa was not human.

"Take me where?" You asked and brought your hand up to curl your fingers around his wrist. His skin was strikingly pale against yours and while Seonghwa could feel the low thrum of your pulse, you couldn't feel a thing.

"To the spirit world of course," he said and booped your nose lightly in a childish manner.

For a grim reaper, he sure was soft with his movements.

"What if I don't want to go," you whispered and dropped your hand from around his wrist. Seonghwa's unbeating heart dropped a little at the lack of physical contact as he too uncurled your hair from around his fingers and then caressed your head gently.

"I suppose that's fair," he said but one look at your face and he knew you were just being cautious of stranger danger.

"Listen," he started and leaned down, dangerously close to your lips.

"Wha-what are you doing?" You asked and leaned your face away from his.

"Just let me show you," he said and leaned closer to you.

Hesitantly, you met his face halfway and pressed your lips to his.

If only your family could see you now, they would bury you ten feet underground.

His bony fingers let go of his scythe which vanished into thin air as he pulled your waist closer to his.

His lips were cold and yours felt numb to his touch. It was an insensitive feeling but as Seonghwa exhaled into your mouth, you felt a wisp of odd smoke travel past your lips.

It looked like unfurling ink in water as the wisps passed from his mouth to yours.

Stilling in his arms, your vision blurred and Seonghwa's face pixelated before it dissolved into the same black wisps of smoke and you found yourself as a child sitting in the living room with your family.

"I'm afraid (Y/n)'s brain is not developing properly," A voice rang in your ears as you watched little you play with blocks and your parents conversing with a man in a white coat.

"Oh, nonsense. (Y/n) is doing just fine," your grandmother butt in and ushered the man outside, your parents giving her a glare.

A smile made its way onto your lips as you watched the scene in front of you. Your grandmother always did have her way with you in the best ways possible.

"Mother, you don't understand. (Y/n)'s not normal," you heard your father coax but your grandmother just shushed him and handed you a cookie, which you gladly accepted before going back to play with your blocks.

You reached your hands out to touch your grandmother's delicate face but your vision distorted again and merged into you sitting at the cemetery while you were younger.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw a figure talking to the groundskeeper while looking at you. The figure was clad in a long black cloak and you only caught a glimpse of his glimmering scythe before he disappeared into the shadows.

The ink once again unfurled and revealed to you getting harassed in school. The girls pulling your hair as you walked past them in the corridor while calling you names and the boys tearing your books apart and beating you up in the school's basement.

You cried watching everything unwind. These were the memories you had kept suppressed for so long but seeing them again had just opened up unnecessary scars in your heart.

"(Y/n)," a bony hand reached out for you and brought you back to reality as Seonghwa's fingers wiped at the tears that were streaming down your face.

"Wh-wha-what was that?" You asked and touched your face, fingers pulling away to reveal obsidian ink staining your fingers.

"Why...what...why are my tears black?"

"What have you done?" You demanded with a bite in your voice this time.

Seonghwa sighed and brushed your hair out of your brush before wrapping you in a blanket.

"I simply showed you everything you've been through in the mortal world."

His words rang in your ear with high pitched noise, like a shrill cacophonic note being hit on the violin again and again.

"(Y/n)," Seonghwa said and leaned down to your level again.

"It doesn't have to be like this. How can you keep living in this pain?"

"Who said I've been living in pain?" You retorted and pushed your pointer finger into his chest that was covered with black robes.

"My darling, I've been observing you for so long and the pain you feel could bring some of the most tortured souls to their knees."

You gulped, the air not quite flowing down your throat properly. Your body felt constricted as if it was trapped in the physical peel you call your body.

"Let me show you," Seonghwa whispered and snapped his fingers.

The air around you changed and it was no longer cold. it was no longer filled with hate and bitterness but instead, there was a warmth. A warmth that seeped into your bones almost as if it was a mother's hug. Your mother had never hugged you like this, it brought tears into your eyes. As if it had encased you in its warm arms, refusing to let go.

Your core, the very centre of your being felt whole again and every little touch was like a loving caress instead of sharp recoil.

But the moment was a fleeting one. Gone almost as soon as you had touched it, crumbled to dust right in front of your very eyes.

"What was that?" Your voice was soft and deep down, your held hope. You wanted that feeling to be your home forever. Somewhere you could finally be everything you've ever wanted to be. If Seonghwa was the key to that, you were willing to take that chance.

"Just a mere glimpse of what your life could be with me. Imagine everything I could give you, how free would you be," he said and you found yourself wondering exactly that.

What could Seonghwa give you, what could he offer and how free would you feel?

Freer that anything you ever felt on Earth, that was for sure.

"What do you say, my darling?" Seonghwa had his bony hand stretched towards your face. He gently caressed your cheek with one finger and you realised how menial everything was in compared to this. It was yours for the taking, everything he could ever offer was written in the hand of his ivory white hand and all you have to do was feed from it.

"Is it better to be alive or not to be? The question is yours," he said and you watched as the scythe was back in his hand.

"Where are you going?" You said and stood up from where you were previously sitting.

"Well, my darling, there's only one grim reaper and millions of souls to guide," he said and approached you closely.

"When you need me, call me by my name and I'll be there, always in the shadows but I'll be there."

"What am I supposed to call? Reaper?" You scoffed and turned away from him. How could you give someone the disease only to give them the cure as well?

"Call me Seonghwa," he said and disappeared with a cold whistle, as sharp as the blade he always carried.

Your every day after that was filled with constant itching to escape. The voices never left you alone and would only get amplified in Seonghwa's absence.

On the rare nights he did visit you, you would sit around the tombstones in the cemetery. He would tell you stories of all the souls he has guided into the spirit world and sometimes, the names he would tell you about would be in the very cemetery you two would spend time in.

The ravens would always squawk at your presence but you knew exactly how much they appreciated your company during the deadly hour.

You had come to know Seonghwa a great deal. His entire being was now an open book to you and every detail was like a word etched onto his pale skin that was the page. He would often shower you with ghostly kisses and you always found yourself wanting more.

"Just concentrate," his voice sounded behind you as you closed your eyes and narrowed all your energy onto the spirits he was talking about.

"You're special. Made for this, made for me. You can do it," he said and coaxed you further with a loving nudge.

"Seonghwa...I can't-" and the words got stuck in your throat as a wisp stroked your side and curled around your wrist.

"What...Seonghwa...what?" You stuttered and looked helplessly at the reaper.

"Just relax," he said cooly and you snorted at his comment.

"Yeah...relax," you said and shook your arm, trying to get the wisp off you.

"It's a soul, (Y/n). A lost one, just like yours," he said and stretched his hand, attracting the wisp towards it. You watched stoically as the white smoke uncurled and floated towards Seonghwa who sent it towards the sky in a hushed whisper.

"It's gone," he said and you nodded before sinking to the yellow grass under you.

"Seonghwa-" you started but when you looked up, he was gone with only the moon glimmering as bright as his blade looking down at you.

It was a horrible feeling to admit that you had gotten shamefully attached to Seonghwa. You found yourself thinking about him even when you were lying in bed, begging for sleep to take you without any nightmares.

Sitting up in your bed, the covers bunched around your midriff, you silently called his name.

"Seonghwa."

It was an almost non-existent whisper. Something that couldn't even be heard to your own ears but you had felt your lips move which was why you were sure of the letters tumbling from your lips.

"My darling, you finally learned how to use my name," his voice sounded and you jumped in your skin at the amount of soft malice in his voice. You wanted to bask in it.

"I want it," you voiced and he lowered his hood while quipping his eyebrow at you.

"What do you want?"

You inhaled deeply and leaned into Seonghwa.

"I want to be with you?"

Seonghwa laughed a musical laugh that was still cold in nature, the icicles pressing into your body.

"You've chosen not to be," he said and nodded moving even closer to you, almost pressing your body into his.

"Not to be what?" You asked and Seonghwa smirked the most deadly smirk you had ever seen adorn his sharp features.

"Not to be alive."

His final words made him press his lips to yours. This time, it was a liberating feeling as the black wisps climbed your body, tangling around your limbs and then finally your throat.

It was strangling all the life out of you but as Seonghwa petted and soothe your hair, you felt yourself feeling a tad bit better.

You lost yourself with one last word hanging from your lips, "Seonghwa."

The air was colder when you awoke. Two feet on the ground but they weren't yours.

Gasping, you stumbled backwards as you saw your dead body lying limp on the floor.

"They'll call it a miracle," Seonghwa said and kissed your hand that had turned a pale white to resemble his. There was no pulse this time and the place that held your beating heart was glaringly silent.

"How did you...what did you-" Seonghwa stopped you with a careless wave of his scythe.

"You don't have to know," he said as you both made your way to the cemetery.

"(Y/n)," the groundskeeper said and gave you a slight mocking bow.

"It's great to see you," he said and you laughed a hearty laugh, one that liberated your entire soul.

"I'm going to miss you, sir," you said but the groundskeeper shook his head with a slight chuckle.

"Nonsense, child. As long as you're with the reaper, you'll always see me."

Seonghwa grabbed your hand and led you into the shade.

"Are you ready?" He asked and you nodded enthusiastically.

Sharing one last kiss, you stepped into the shadows, disappearing forever.

"They got my birthday wrong," you complained to Seonghwa who just laughed and traced the headstone with his hand.

"Do you really care?" He asked and you whined a little before laughing.

"Not really...but they make me look older than I actually am!"

"It's alright, my darling. They never cared anyways."

And that was something you could agree on. They never did care. All they did was bury you ten feet under the ground and mutter false prayers of love before dispersing back to their lives that didn't contain a sick, now dead child.

When you were in high school, you had read Shakespeare's play, Hamlet. It was there you had learned the phrase 'To be or not to be, that is the question'.

It truly was the question, your question. But your grandmother always told you, death was never permanent, only a change of worlds so your answer to the question would always be ‘not to be’.

Not to be alive but to be by Seonghwa's side.

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Communicate (Haiba Lev x kuudere!Reader)

note: first entry for haikyuu! i'm open for requests, just hmu! i apologize for any mistakes. some of my stories were intentionally made to be f!reader, but i figured gn!reader would be more appropriate. so i apologize if you see any she/her/names that are in the text. ^^

(i'm adding w/c now as well!)

word count: 3.8k

"He's not coming back tonight, no?"

For a few moments, there was silence. A gust of wind blew past the apartment complex, rustling the leaves of the trees planted down below. You sat on the chair set up on your balcony. Looking over the metal railings, you admired how the yellow and red taillights of cars stuck in traffic bobbed up and down the street. Somehow, they looked like Christmas lights tossed in a messy line; Like they were discarded the morning right after Christmas because the tree had to be taken down again.

You hugged the jacket closer to your arms, hoping to gain more warmth. Inhaling the fresh scent of laundry detergent, you smiled. Eyes crestfallen and tears just barely swimming in your ducts. The cold breeze of December brushed past your hair, tickling the back of your neck. It's the first Christmas I'm spending without you.

Your cat, Maika, jumped on your lap. She purred and mewled, rubbing her head against your warm hand. You managed to choke out a small chuckle, petting the white fur of the cat. You let your eyes wander to the glass doors connecting the living room and balcony. Your couch was there, a duvet carelessly thrown on top of it. You shouldn't help but let a few drops of salty tears fall down your cheeks.

You weren't really the type of person to cry over silly things. In fact, you rarely cried at all. As far as you remember, the last time you cried over something petty was back in second grade. You were teased for cutting your own hair; Your bangs looked choppy, and one classmate even mentioned how you managed to cut a giant chunk out from the back of your head. Admittedly, you were pretty stupid for messing around with the scissors you found on the table, but you didn't really know any better. Anyway, who knew that hair took so long to grow back?

Other than that, you don't recall crying anymore. Throughout your middle and high school years, tears weren't really present to disrupt your life. Not even when Kuroo accidentally spiked a ball into the back of your head, and not even when Yaku accidentally kicked your shin because you were standing too close to his original target, Lev.

Lev.

Although you didn't find any reason for letting yourself cry during those years, you couldn't help but tear up when you remembered Lev. You were incredibly proud of yourself for counting up to five days without crying every since Lev left your shared apartment. However, today was Christmas eve. There were approximately three hours before Christmas, and here you were, spending it with Maika, on the balcony, crying your eyes out.

To be completely honest, you knew that it was your fault that Lev left. You were a rather independent person. You had a bold personality; Never afraid of being blunt to people, never afraid of telling others if they needed to be scolded. However, you were an absolute novice when it came to showing affection to Lev.

It was a surprise, to say the least, to the entire volleyball team that the cold-hearted manager, _____-san, was dating the eccentric and hyperactive first year, Haiba Lev. Yaku, Kuroo, and Kai were in shock upon hearing the news from Lev. At first, they thought he was just kidding, but when they heard it from you, their minds were beyond boggled.

-

"Eh?!"

"Seriously?"

"Kuroo-san, why do you look so surprised? You too, Yaku-san. And Kai-senpai, I didn't think you'd be interested in my love life as well." You calmly said, clipboard firm against your chest, as your eyes scanned the volleyball posters displayed in the volleyball club room.

"W-Well, I didn't think it was actually true because Lev was the one saying it. I thought he was just bullshitting us." Yaku admitted, scratching the back of his head before sending you a sheepish smile.

"You're growing up too fast, _____-san!" Kuroo quipped, wrapping his arms around you like a doting aunt, "You have a boyfriend now, I'm getting old!"

"Kuroo-san, please stop patronizing me. I have feelings too. Why does this come as a surprise to you all? Inuoka-kun and Futakuchi-kun also asked me if Haiba-kun and I were actually dating. It's not like I'm a robot or anything, I can... contract love too." Your disheveled form pried Kuroo's arms away from you, and you dusted your shoulders off as if Kuroo left dirt atop of them.

"You don't contract love, _____. It's not a disease." Yaku laughed at your poor choice of words.

"You, see _____-san, we just didn't think that you were interested in romance for the time being, and for you to be dating someone like Lev, it's surprising. In a good way, though, don't get me wrong. Lev's a good kid." Kai was the calmest of the bunch, but he was simply masking his happiness. He was the one who invited you to be their manager, after all. He saw how you grew out of your shell gradually. It's nice to see you enjoying the years of your youth, as Kuroo would put it.

"Ah, I see. To be honest, I didn't think I would also participate in a romantic relationship with anyone this early on. However, Haiba-kun successfully caught my attention. I think it would be a fun experience. Whatever happens, I get to grasp a further understanding of our Russian first year, and I also gain knowledge on the department of... love." You mentioned nonchalantly.

Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai all exchanged knowing looks; Something that screamed: "Are you sure you're not a robot?"

"_____-chan!" Lev's excited voice was heard from outside of the gym. The first years finally arrived, signifying that practice would begin soon.

"Pardon me. Thank you for your time." You bowed politely to the three seniors and walked over to where the first years were leaving their things.

"_____-chan I missed you a lot today! I only got to see you in free period earlier, and that was barely 10 minutes, but you're here now!" Lev was like a puppy. He was bouncing around, showering you with genuine compliments and adorations, his smile reaching the heavens above. Perhaps, if you pat his head, an invisible tail would wag? You considered the idea.

You managed to hold back a smile of your own, only replying with, "Get prepared for practice, Haiba-kun."

"_____-chan, you can call me Lev, you know? Since we are dating and all." The Russian said softly, wanting to get his point across, but not wanting to scare you.

"Maybe next time, Haiba-kun."

-

When you slipped inside your living room, you couldn't help but let out a few more sobs. There was a Christmas tree left half decorated just beside your television. Cans of tea and red bull were laying just on the feet of the couch. Half-empty and empty packets of chips were on the coffee table. God, you left the living room in such a messy state.

You pulled Lev's enormous (Well, it was enormous on you. But on Lev, it was the perfect size) jacket closer to your body, wishing you could smell his scent instead of the laundry detergent.

Maika wandered into the living room and onto her cat bed, stretching her paws and making herself comfortable before she went to take a nap.

You couldn't help but acknowledge the absolute dumpster fire when you saw yourself in the full body mirror near the entrance of your hallway. You were wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas, an oversized shirt covered in stains and crumbs, and Lev's Nekoma jacket. Your hair was messy and ruffled, and you looked... pale. Eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, but your lips were white. You had never looked so awful before.

-

"_____-chan, you look amazing as always!" Lev came bounding to you.

"Congratulations on graduating! I'm so proud of you!" He took you in a tight embrace, lifting you up and spinning you around.

"H-Haiba-kun, please put me down!" You squealed, wriggling around in Lev's grip, trying to get away. For a split second, you could've sworn that Lev's face darkened, but you decided to brush it off.

Once your feet touched the ground, you managed to say a short and quiet "Thank you."

"Ah, this is really happening, isn't it?" Lev shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the cherry blossom trees in full bloom.

"Y-Yeah. It will even eventually happen to you too, Haiba-kun. It's the way that life progresses," You knew that you were pathetic at mustering a good enough reply, so you chose to fumble with the hem of your collar.

"Hey, _____-chan, do you love me?" Lev asked, suddenly serious. His gaze was still fixated on the trees above, their branches freely swaying in the wind, a few cherry blossoms fluttering down as the breeze carried them away.

A blush creeped up on your cheeks. Of course you loved him! More than... anything, if you were being honest. More than volleyball, more than red bull, more than anime, but why couldn't you say it?

"Speak up, damn it!" You thought to yourself.

After a few minutes passed, you were still tongue-tied. You hated yourself for not being able to express your feelings. There were already tears in your eyes, but you didn't want to cry in front of Lev; You vowed that you never would.

Lev looked down to see his senior in a low mood. "Don't worry, _____-chan! It's okay if you can't say it yet, I understand." Lev caught a single cherry blossom as it was falling down and tucked it behind your ear, " I'll wait for the day that you can say it back, so for now, I'll say it for the both of us, okay?"

You were embarrassed. You were such an asshole for doing this to Lev. To make up for your lacking skills in communication, you tapped his hand. Curiously, he opened his palm, and you placed a small object on top of it.

Lev's smile contained nothing but pure, concentrated glee.

"Thank you for the button, _____-chan, I will always cherish this. Happy anniversary. I love you so much!"

-

You found yourself standing at the doorway of your shared bedroom. You longingly stared at the queen-sized bed. The sheets were crisp and the pillows were fluffed. You haven't been sleeping in that bed since Lev left the apartment. It just didn't feel right. There was something about a heavier loneliness whenever you tried to sleep alone in that bed when you were so damn used to having Lev sleep beside you. That's why you've been sleeping on the couch ever since; It's uncomfortable as all hell, yeah, but at least you don't feel a large empty space beside you when you sleep. Maybe a few crumbs here and there, but that was bearable.

You pattered your way back into the living room, where your laptop lay buried under the empty chip packets. You grabbed it from underneath the rubbish and brushed off other residue before plopping down on the couch. You slipped your arms into the sleeves of Lev's jacket and opened up your laptop. You've been neglecting your uni works for the past days because your sadness just didn't allow you to function properly.

Upon entering your passcode, the black background of the loading screen faded into a photo of you and Lev. He was wearing a minnie mouse headband, and you wore the matching mickey mouse one. You were standing in front of sleeping beauty's castle at Tokyo disneyland. You were wearing Lev's gray hoodie, which made it look like you were wearing a really short dress because of how long it was. You were both smiling like idiots, and you recalled that that trip was one of the best of your life. You never usually smiled like that, but because Lev carried you bridal style and kept touching your sides, you couldn't help but squirm and smile in the photo.

Once again, tears were brimming in the corners of your eyes. The stinging pain of heartbreak and regret stabbing you over and over again.

-

"It's Christmas in five days, _____." Lev popped up from behind you while you were decorating the tree.

"Jeez! Don't scare me like that, I nearly dropped the lights." You replied, calming your racing heart. Was it because of how he scared you, or because of how close he was? Honestly. you couldn't tell.

Lev could only chuckle at this, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He gave you a kiss on the cheek. "You know, my first year at uni has been great so far. Thanks to you and a few of my friends."

"That's great then." You said, tone of voice returning to a monotone one.

"I love you, _____."

You couldn't even recall all the times that you froze up whenever Lev admitted his feelings for you, but add one to whatever number it's at right now.

You could only swallow your saliva and grip the lights tighter. Say it, ______, say it! You kept yelling in your head. Why can't you fucking say it?!

"I knew it." A low laugh was heard from Lev's mouth. His fists were turning white because of how hard he balled them up. His nails were digging into his palm. "Sometimes, I wonder if you even actually love me. But I guess you never did."

You turned your head abruptly. "Haiba, that's-"

Lev let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. "We've been dating for over three years now and you still call me by my last name. Are you that uncomfortable with me, _____-san?"

You cringed at how he emphasized the honorific following your name, probably trying to prove a point.

"You know that's not true."

"Of course it is!" He snapped. " For god's sake, _____, three years! Three years, and not once have you told me that you love me!"

You were on the brink of crying. No. No, not in front of him. You weren't weak, you weren't going to cry.

"In all those years that we've been together, I have never seen you cry. Not even when we're upset with one another. Are you... that cold-hearted that you don't care or you don't even feel anything? Not even for your own boyfriend?"

Silence.

The words he spat were like venom.

You couldn't speak. Your mouth felt dry and your throat felt like it closed in an instant, like some sort of invisible throat cover just squeezed itself right there, preventing you from speaking.

"I see how it is."

With that, Lev spun on his heel and went to their room. He grabbed a backpack and stuffed it with a couple of shirts, his wallet, his phone, charger, and other necessities. He slipped on the thickest jacket he owned and went straight to the front door.

"Le-"

"Goodbye."

He slammed the door shut.

-

That was probably the first time that you broke down in years. Who knew that it would be a guy behind your facade fading?

Who knew that Haiba Lev would be the one to make you realize that being strong-willed didn't mean being cold-hearted and nonchalant?

"Stupid Lev." You muttered to yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. Admittedly, his name seemed to roll off your tongue nicely.

You desperately tried to wipe your tears away, but they just kept coming.

"Why do I love you so much?"

-

"Lev, are you sure you're okay with what you're doing?" Yaku asked the taller male, taking a sip from his beer mug.

"Yaku-san, we've been together for a little over three years. They've never told me that they loves me. Never even cried. I think they're just that stone-hearted," Lev replied, taking a shot of vodka. "Either that or they're a fucking robot."

He fiddled with the necklace around his neck, contemplating whether he was going to pull it off and stomp on it until it broke. The charm attached to his necklace was the button that _____ gave him on back during her graduation day.

"Lev, you better listen to me, and you better listen real fucking good." Yaku's tone of voice was sharp, and it was something that Lev hasn't heard since his years at Nekoma. "You do know that _____ can't express their emotions well, right? They're blunt with everybody, and they're honest. But when it comes to love or romance or feelings that make them happy, you know that they can't show it as easily as you do."

"Yeah, I know." Lev answered quietly.

"But you do know that they love you, right?"

"I don't."

"You're telling me that you've never even felt that they love you?"

Suddenly, Lev's eyes shot open.

-

"Christ, you're going to catch a cold! Why the hell did you run out in this rain?!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just had to rush here to see you! I missed you soooo much!"

"Get inside and hop in the shower. I'll prepare some warm food for you while you're in there. There's a spare towel in the cupboard above the sink."

"Thank you, _____-chan!"

-

"Stupid beanpole. I told you to change clothes after practice yesterday, didn't I?"

"Sorry, _____-chan. I totally forgot." He coughed.

"Here, drink this medicine. I'll reheat your porridge and grab you a cold towel for your head. I'll also bring in the assignments that Inuoka gave me."

"You'd be a good wife, _____-chan. My wife, that is." Another cough.

"Shut up and rest before I hit you with this notebook."

"Yes, yes, darling."

-

"Where were you?! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"S-Sorry, _____-chan. I saw this cat stuck in a tree and I just had to rescue it!"

"Don't go running off like that! Do you know how worried the team was? How worried I was?! I thought you were gone! Look at how many scratches you have on your arm. You need to go to the infirmary, now."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Just... Don't do it again, please. Always be in my line of sight."

"Yes, _____-sama!"

-

"Haiba, here's your water bottle."

-

"Haiba, the forecast said that there might be a downpour in the afternoon. Don't forget to bring an umbrella."

-

"Haiba, you left your books at the gym. Here. Jeez, don't be so forgetful next time."

-

"Haiba, here, I bought your favorite meal. Furihata said that you forgot your lunch at home. You can't go hungry."

-

"Haiba, you're doing well. Your progress report shows continuous growth. I'm proud of you."

-

"I'm a fucking idiot." Lev said. His emerald green eyes were filled with tears. "Excuse me, I have to go."

With that, he dashed out of the bar, leaving a confused Yaku with a drunk Kuroo passed out behind him.

The former libero could only sight and take a giant gulp of beer.

"Damn right you are."

-

You were full on crying right now. Approximately 10 minutes before Christmas, and here you were, crying on the couch. Maika had given up on comforting you, but remained by your side as you bawled you eyes out, offering some sort of moral support or assurance that someone was there for you.

However, a few moments passed, and Maika's ears perked up. She jumped down from the couch and made her way to the front door of the apartment. She lightly scratched the door.

"M-Maika, I'm sorry. I know I'm being too loud, I'll pipe down soon." The girl blubbered, blowing into a tissue.

As if on cue, there were multiple knocks on the door.

Fuck's sake.

You didn't even care that you'd be facing whoever is on the other side of the door while looking like this. Your eyes were puffier, the bags under them more prominent. Your nose was a rosy red color, cheeks flushed and tear stains were obvious on them.

"Who the fuck-?"

As soon as you opened the door, a sudden warmth engulfed your body. The familiar fragrance you loved so much flooded your blocked nostrils.

"Le-"

"I'm sorry."

There was silence.

"I'm so sorry for everything that I said, _____. I take all of it back. I know that you love me. Your love language isn't vocal and I should have been more accepting and understanding of that. I may not know your reasons for being the way you are, but I promise you that I accept you wholly. I'm so, so fucking sorry that I left so suddenly. I love you so much. I'm never leaving you again."

Sobs racked through your body. Your form was shaking in Lev's arms. He was surprised. It's the first time he's seen you cry, and it breaks his heart knowing that he's the reason behind it.

"I'm sorry, kitten. Please don't cry anymore."

"Lev," You started, attempting to calm down, and Lev swore his heart stopped beating for a second, "I love you."

For a moment, everything stopped. They could hear the neighbors yelling "Merry Christmas!" in their own units.

"P-Pardon?"

You giggled. "I love you, Lev. I'm really sorry that it took me this long to tell you. I guess I was just scared of telling you how I really felt because... I didn't want you to think that I was cheesy or..."

Lev cut you off with a kiss. It was short and sweet. He could taste red bull and barbecue chips on your lips, and you could taste vodka on his. It was imperfect, but it was yours, and you loved it.

"I love you so much, _____. This is the best Christmas gift I've ever received."

"I love you too, Lev."

"Come on, let's get inside. I bought some takeout for us to eat." He easily lifted you up with one arm and grabbed the plastic bag of takeout with his free hand.

"Yeah, about that," You buried your face in his neck, "I'm sorry."

"We'll... Clean up tomorrow." He chuckled, looking at the messy state your living room was in. "We'll eat in our room, okay? Why don't you get cleaned up first, and I'll prepare the things we need." He placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Alright, Lev." You replied, "Sorry for causing a lot of trouble."

"Don't be sorry, malishka. We're fine now, okay? We have each other and we understand each other better now." He set you in front of the bathroom. "Now, go ahead and shower! I'll get a fresh set of clothes for you and leave them out here."

"Thank you, Lyovochka." You grinned, using Alisa's nickname for him.

"Anytime, babe." Lev turned around to go to the bedroom until,

"Hey, Lev?" You showed your head out of the bathroom door.

"Yes, _____?"

"I love you!"

The, the door was slammed shut.

"_____, you're too cute!" Lev had to use every strand of will power he had to not faint on the spot.

Who knew that his kuudere partner was such a huge softie?

Maola mewled and rubbed her head against Lev's leg.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Maika."

[penbalfour]

Chapter One (x)

“Lower your swords,” Queen Eloana commanded, her hair shining a glossy onyx in the sun as she sank onto one knee. The raw emotion pouring out of her seeped into the temple floors of the Chamber of Nyktos, bitter and hot, tasting of anguish and a helpless sort of anger. It stretched out toward me, needling my skin and brushing against this…primal thing inside me. “And bow before the…before the last descendent of the most ancient ones. She who carries the blood of the King of Gods within her. Bow before your new Queen.”

The blood of the King of Gods? Your new Queen? None of that made sense. Not her words or when she had removed her crown.

A too-thin breath scorched my throat as I looked at the man standing beside the Queen of Atlantia. The crown was still upon the King’s golden-haired head, but the bones had remained a bleached white. Nothing like the gleaming, gilded one the Queen had placed at the feet of the statue of Nyktos. My gaze skipped over the terrible, broken things scattered about the once pristine, white floors. I’d done that to them, adding their blood to what had fallen from the sky, filling the thin fissures in the marble. I didn’t look at that or anyone else—every part of my being focused on him.

He remained on one knee, staring up at me from between the vee of the swords he’d crossed over his chest. His damp hair, blue-black in the Atlantian sunlight, curled against the sandy-hued skin of his forehead. Red streaked those high, angular cheekbones, the proud curve of his jaw, and ran down lips that had once shattered my heart. Lips that had pieced those broken shards back together with the truth. Bright, golden eyes locked with mine, and even bowed before me, so motionless I wasn’t sure he breathed, he still reminded me of one of the wild and strikingly beautiful cave cats I’d once seen caged in Queen Ileana’s palace as a child.

He had been many things to me. A stranger in a dimly lit room who’d been my first kiss. A guard who had sworn to lay down his life for mine. A friend who had looked beyond the veil of the Maiden to truly see me underneath, who’d handed me a sword to protect myself instead of forcing me into a gilded cage. A legend cloaked in darkness and nightmares that had plotted to betray me. A Prince of a kingdom believed to have been lost to time and war, who had suffered unimaginable horrors and yet managed to find the pieces of who he used to be. A brother who would do anything, commit any deed to save his family. His people. A man who bared his soul and stripped open his heart to me—and only me.

My first.

My guard.

My friend.

My betrayer.

My partner.

My husband.

My heartmate.

My everything.

Casteel Da’Neer bowed before me and stared up at me as if I were the only person in the entire kingdom. I didn’t need to concentrate like before to know what he was feeling. Everything he felt was wide-open to me. His emotions were a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting tastes—cool and tart, heavy and spicy, and sweet like chocolate-dipped berries. Those unyieldingly firm and unrelentingly tender lips parted, revealing just the hint of sharp fangs.

“My Queen,” he breathed, and those two smoky words soothed my skin. The lilt of his voice quelled the ancient thing inside me that wanted to take the anger and the fear radiating from all the others and twist it, turn it back, truly give them something to fear, and add to the shattered things thrown about the floor. One side of his lips curled up, and a deep dimple appeared in his right cheek.

Dizzy with relief at the sight of that infuriatingly stupid—and adorable—dimple, my entire body shuddered. I feared that when he saw what I’d done, he’d be afraid. And I couldn’t blame him for that. What I’d done should terrify anyone, but not Casteel. The heat that turned his eyes the color of warmed honey told me that fear was very much the furthest thing from his mind. Which was also a little disturbing. But he was the Dark One, whether he liked being called that or not.

Some of the shock faded, and the pounding adrenaline eased. And when it left, I realized I hurt. My shoulder and the side of my head throbbed. The left side of my face felt puffy, and that had nothing to do with the old scars there. A dull ache pulsed in my legs and arms, and my body felt funny, as if my knees were weakening. I swayed in the warm, salty breeze—

Casteel rose quickly, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by how fast he moved, but I still was. In a heartbeat, he’d gone from kneeling to standing, a foot closer to me, and several things happened at once.

The men and women behind Casteel’s parents, the ones wearing the same white tunics and loose pants of those lying on the floor, also moved. Light reflected off the golden armbands adorning their biceps as they lifted their swords, shifting closer to Casteel’s parents, protecting them. Some reached for crossbows strapped to their backs. They had to be guards of some sort.

A sudden growl of warning came from the largest wolven I’d ever seen. Kieran and Vonetta’s father stood to my right. Jasper had officiated the marriage between Casteel and me in Spessa’s End. He’d been there when Nyktos showed his approval by briefly turning day to night. But now, the steel-hued wolven’s lips peeled back, baring teeth that could tear through flesh and break bone. He was loyal to Casteel, and yet instinct told me that it wasn’t just the guards he warned.

Another snarl came from my left. In the shadows of the blood tree that had sprouted from where my blood had fallen and grown to a massive height within seconds, a fawn-colored wolven crept into my line of sight, head dipped low, and wintery blue eyes iridescent. Kieran. He stared down Casteel. I didn’t understand why either of them would behave this way toward the Prince, but especially Kieran. He had been bonded to Casteel from birth, meant to obey and protect him at all costs. But he was more than a bonded wolven to Casteel. They were brothers, if not by blood then by friendship, and I knew they loved each other.

Right now, nothing about the way Kieran’s ears were pinned back was loving.

Unease skipped its way through me as Kieran sank down, the sleek muscles of his legs tensing as he prepared to attack…Casteel.

My stomach plummeted. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “No,” I rasped, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable, even to my ears.

Kieran didn’t appear to hear me or care. If he had been acting normally, I would’ve just assumed he was attempting to ignore me, but this was different. He was different. His eyes were brighter than I ever remembered seeing, and they weren’t right because they…they weren’t just blue now. His pupils glowed silvery-white, an aura that seeped out in wispy tendrils across the blue. My head jerked to Jasper. His eyes had changed, too. I’d seen that strange light before. It had been what my skin had done when I healed Beckett’s broken legs—the same silvery glow that had radiated from me minutes earlier.

Icy bursts of surprise raced through Casteel as he eyed the wolven, and then I felt…relief radiate from him.

“You all knew.” Casteel’s voice filled with awe, something no one standing behind him felt. Even the easy grin was absent from the auburn-haired Atlantian. Emil looked at us with wide eyes, broadcasting a healthy dose of fear, as did Naill, who had always appeared utterly unfazed by everything—even when he’d been outnumbered in battle.

Casteel slowly sheathed his swords at his sides. Hands empty, he kept them down. “You all knew something was happening to her. That’s why….” He trailed off, his jaw hardening.

Several of the guards moved to the front of the King and Queen, surrounding them fully—

A shock of white fur shot forward. Delano tucked his tail back as he pawed at the marble. He lifted his head and howled. The eerie yet beautiful sound raised the tiny hairs all over my body.

Off in the distance, the faint sounds of yips and barks answered, growing louder with each second. The leaves on the tall, cone-shaped trees separating the temple from Saion’s Cove trembled as a rolling rumble echoed from the ground below. Blue-and-yellow-winged birds took flight from the trees, scattering to the sky.

“Godsdamn.” Emil turned to the temple steps. He reached for the swords at his sides. “They’re summoning the whole damn city.”

“It’s her.” The deep scar slicing across the older wolven’s forehead stood out starkly. Potent disbelief rolled off Alastir as he stood just outside the circle of guards who’d formed around Casteel’s parents.

“It is not her,” Casteel shot back.

“But it is,” King Valyn confirmed as he stared at me from a face that Casteel’s would one day become. “They’re responding to her. That’s why the ones on the road with us shifted without warning. She called them to her.”

“I…I didn’t call anyone,” I told Casteel, voice cracking.

“I know.” Casteel’s tone softened as his eyes locked with mine.

“But she did,” his mother insisted. “You might not realize it, but you did summon them.”

My eyes darted to her, and I felt my chest wrench. She was everything I’d imagined Casteel’s mother to be. Stunning. Regal. Powerful. Calm now, even as she remained on one knee, even when she had first seen me and demanded of her son—What have you’ve done? What have you brought back? I flinched, fearing those words would stay with me long after today.

Casteel’s features sharpened as golden eyes swept over my face. “If the idiots behind me actually laid down their swords instead of lifting them against my wife, we wouldn’t have an entire colony of wolven about to descend on us,” he bit out. “They are only reacting to the threat.”

“You’re right,” his father agreed as he gently guided his wife to her feet. Blood soaked the knee and the hem of her lilac gown. “But ask yourself why your bonded wolven is guarding someone other than you.”

“I really could care less at the moment,” Casteel responded as the sound of hundreds—if not more—of paws pounding the earth grew even closer. He couldn’t be serious. He had to care, because that was a damn good question.

“You need to care,” his mother cautioned, a thin quiver in her otherwise steady voice. “The bonds have broken.”

The bonds? Hands trembling, my wide eyes shot to the temple steps, to where Emil slowly backed away. Naill had his swords in his hands now.

“She’s right,” Alastir uttered, the skin around his mouth appearing even whiter. “I can… I can feel it—the Primal notam. Her mark. Good gods.” His voice trembled as he stumbled back, nearly stepping on the crown. “They’ve all broken.”

I had no idea what a notam was, but through the confusion and the blossoming panic, there was something odd about what Alastir had stated. If it was true, then why wasn’t he in his wolven form? Was it because he’d already broken his wolven bond with the former King of Atlantia all those years ago?

“Look at their eyes,” the Queen ordered softly, pointing out what I’d seen. “I know you don’t understand. There are things you never needed to learn, Hawke.” Her voice cracked then, thickened at the use of his nickname—a name I’d once believed to be nothing more than a lie. “But what you need to know now is that they no longer serve the Elemental bloodline. You are not safe. Please,” she begged. “Please. Listen to me, Hawke.”

“How?” I croaked. “How could the bond break?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The amber of Casteel’s eyes was nearly luminous. “You’re bleeding,” he said as if that were the most important issue at hand.

But it wasn’t. “How?” I repeated.

“It’s what you are.” Eloana’s left hand balled into the skirt of her gown. “You have the blood of a god in you—”

“I’m mortal,” I told her.

A thick lock of dark hair tumbled from her knot as she shook her head. “Yes, you are mortal, but you are descended from a deity—the children of the gods. All it takes is a drop of god’s blood—” She swallowed thickly. “You may have more than just a drop, but what is in your blood, what is in you, supersedes any oath the wolven have taken.”

I remembered then what Kieran had told me in New Haven about the wolven. The gods had given the once-wild kiyou wolves mortal form to serve as guides and protectors to the children of the gods—the deities. Something else Kieran had shared then explained the Queen’s reaction.

My gaze shot to the crown lying near Nyktos’ feet. A drop of deity blood usurped any claim to the Atlantian throne.

Oh, gods, there was a good chance I really might pass out. And how embarrassing would that be?

Eloana’s gaze shifted to her son’s rigid back. “You go near her? Right now? They will see you as a threat to her. They will rip you apart.”

My heart lurched to a panicked stop. Casteel looked as if he might do just that. Behind me, one of the smaller wolven lurched forward, barking and snapping at the air.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Casteel—”

“It’s okay.” Casteel’s eyes never left mine. “No one is going to harm Poppy. I will not allow that.” His chest rose with a deep, heavy breath. “And you know that, right?”

I nodded as each breath came too fast, too shallowly. It was the only thing I understood at the moment.

“Everything’s all right. They’re just protecting you.” Casteel smiled for me then, but it was tense and tight. He looked to my left, at Kieran. “I don’t know everything that is going on right now, but you—all of you—want to keep her safe. And I’m all about that. You know I would never hurt her. I would tear out my own heart before I did that. She’s injured. I need to make sure she’s okay, and nothing is going to stop me from doing that.” He didn’t blink as he held Kieran’s stare, as the rolling thunder of the other wolven reached the temple steps. “Not even you. Any of you. I will destroy every single one of you who stands between her and me.”

Kieran’s growl deepened, and an emotion I’d never felt from him before poured into me. It was like anger, but older. And it felt like that buzz in my blood had. Ancient. Primal.

And in an instant, I could see it all playing out in my mind as if it were happening before me. Kieran would attack. Or maybe it would be Jasper. I’d seen what kind of damage a wolven could inflict, but Casteel wouldn’t go down easily. He would do just as he’d promised. He’d tear through all that stood between him and me. Wolven would die, and if he harmed Kieran—if he did worse than that, the wolven’s blood wouldn’t just be on Casteel’s hands. It would mark his soul till the day he died.

A wave of wolven crested the temple’s stairs, both small and large, in so many different colors. Their arrival brought terrifying knowledge. Casteel was incredibly strong and unbelievably fast. He would take down many. But he would fall with them.

He would die.

Casteel would die because of me—because I called to these wolven and didn’t know how to make it stop. My heart thumped erratically. A wolven near the steps stalked Emil as he continued backing up. Another tracked Naill as he spoke softly to the wolven, attempting to reason with the creature. The others had zeroed in on the guards surrounding the King and Queen, and a few…. Oh, gods, several of them crept up behind Casteel. This had slipped into chaos, the wolven beyond control of any of them…

I sucked in a sharp breath as my mind raced, breaking free of the pain and turbulence. Something had happened within me to make that drop of god’s blood break the bonds. I superseded their previous oaths, and that had…it had to mean that they now obeyed me.

“Stop,” I ordered as Kieran snapped at Casteel, whose own lips were now peeled back. “Kieran! Stop! You will not hurt Casteel.” My voice rose as a soft hum returned to my blood. “All of you will stop. Now! None of you will attack.”

It was like a switch had been thrown in the wolven’s minds. One second they were all poised to attack, and then they were sinking onto their bellies, lowering their heads between their front paws. I could still feel their anger, the old power, but it had lessened already, was fading in steady waves.

Emil lowered his sword. “That…that was timely. Thank you for that.”

A ragged breath left me as a tremor traveled up and down my arms. I almost couldn’t believe it’d worked as I scanned the temple, seeing all the wolven lying down. My entire being wanted to rebel against further confirmation of what the Queen had claimed, but gods, there was only so much I could deny. Throat dry, I looked at Casteel.

He stared at me, his eyes wide once more. I couldn’t breathe enough. My heart wouldn’t slow enough for me to make sense of what he was feeling.

“He will not hurt me. You all know that,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked at Jasper and then Kieran. “You told me that he was the only person in both kingdoms that I was safe with.  That hasn’t changed.”

Kieran’s ears twitched, and then he rose, backing up. He turned, nudging my hand with his nose.

“Thank you,” I whispered, briefly closing my eyes.

“Just so you know,” Casteel murmured, thick lashes lowered halfway, “what you just did? Said? It has me feeling all kinds of wildly inappropriate things at the moment.”

A weak, shaky laugh left me. “There’s something so wrong with you.”

“I know.” The left side of his lips curved, and his dimple appeared. “But you love that about me.”

I did. Gods, I really did.

Jasper shook out his fur as his large head swung from me to Casteel. He turned sideways, making a rough, huffing sound as he did. The other wolven moved then, coming out from behind the blood tree. I watched them trot past me—past Casteel and the others—ears perked and tails wagging as they joined the wolven descending the steps and left the temple. Only Jasper, his son, and Delano remained, and the feeling of chaotic tension lifted.

A thick lock of dark hair fell over Casteel’s forehead. “You were glowing silver again. When you ordered the wolven to stop,” he told me. “Not a lot, not like before, but you looked like spun moonlight.”

Had I been? I glanced down at my hands. They looked normal. “I…I don’t know what’s happening,” I whispered, my legs shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I lifted my eyes to his and watched him take a step forward, and then another. There were no snarls of warning. Nothing. My throat started to burn. I could feel it—tears creeping into my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Everything had already turned into enough of a mess without me sobbing hysterically. But I was so tired. I hurt, and it went beyond the physical.

When I first stepped into this temple and looked out over the clear waters of the Seas of Saion, I’d felt like I was home. And I knew things would be hard. Proving our union was real wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as gaining the acceptance of Casteel’s parents and that of his kingdom. We still needed to find his brother, Prince Malik. And mine. We had to deal with the Ascended Queen and King. Nothing about our future would be easy, but I had hope.

Now, I felt foolish. So naïve. The older wolven in Spessa’s End, the one I’d helped heal after the battle, had warned me about the people of Atlantia. They did not choose you. And I now doubted they ever would.

I drew in a stuttering breath and whispered, “I didn’t want any of this.”

Tension bracketed Casteel’s mouth. “I know.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as he placed his palm over the cheek that didn’t feel swollen. He lowered his forehead to mine, and the shock of awareness his flesh against mine brought was there, rippling through me as he slid his hand into the tangled mess of my hair. “I know, Princess,” he whispered, and I squeezed my eyes shut against a stronger rush of tears. “It’s okay. It will all be okay. I promise you that.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn’t something he could guarantee. Not anymore. I forced myself to swallow the knot of emotion that rose.

Casteel kissed my blood-streaked brow and then lifted his head. “Emil? Can you retrieve clothing from Delano’s and Kieran’s horses so they can shift and not scar anyone?”

“I’ll be more than happy to do that,” the Atlantian answered.

I almost laughed. “I think their nakedness will be the least scarring thing to happen today.”

Casteel said nothing as he touched my cheek again, gently tilting my head to the side. His gaze then dropped to several of the rocks still littering the ground at my feet. A muscle popped along his jaw. His eyes lifted to mine, and I saw his pupils were dilated, only a thin strip of amber visible. “They tried to stone you?”

I heard a soft gasp I thought had come from his mother, but I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see their faces. I didn’t want to know what they felt right now. “They accused me of working with the Ascended, and they called me a Soul Eater. I told them I wasn’t. I tried to talk to them.” Words spilled out in a rush as I lifted my hands to touch him, but I stopped. I didn’t know what my touch would do. Hell, I didn’t even know what I would do without touching someone. “I tried to reason with them, but they started throwing stones. I told them to stop. I said it was enough, and…I don’t know what I did—” I started to look over his shoulder, but Casteel seemed to know what it was I  searched for. He stopped me.  “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

“You were defending yourself.” His pupils constricted as he caught my stare. “You did what you had to do. You were defending yourself—”

“But I didn’t touch them, Casteel,” I whispered. “It was like in Spessa’s End, during the battle. Remember the soldiers who surrounded us? When they fell, I felt something in me. I felt that again here. It was like something inside me knew what to do. I took their anger and I—I did exactly what a Soul Eater would do. I took it from them and then gave it back.”

“You are not a Soul Eater,” Queen Eloana said from somewhere not too far away. “The moment the eather in your blood became visible, those who attacked you should’ve known exactly what you were. What you are.”

“Eather?”

“It’s what some would call magic,” Casteel answered, shifting his stance as if he were blocking his mother from me. “You’ve seen it before.”

“The mist?”

He nodded. “It’s the essence of the gods, what’s in their blood, what gives them their abilities and the power to create all that they have. No one really calls it that anymore, not since the gods went to sleep, and the deities died off.” His eyes searched mine. “I should have known. Gods, I should’ve seen it…”

“You can say that now,” his mother spoke. “But why would you have even thought that this would be a possibility? No one would’ve expected this.”

“Except for you,” Casteel said. And he was right. She’d known, without a doubt. And, granted, I had been glowing upon her arrival, but she’d known with unquestioned certainty.

“I can explain,” she said as Emil appeared, carrying two saddlebags. He gave all of us a wide berth as he dropped them near Jasper and then backed away.

“Apparently, a lot needs to be explained,” Casteel remarked coolly. “But it will have to wait.” His gaze touched on my left cheek, and that muscle throbbed along his jaw again. “I need to get you somewhere safe where I can…. Where I can take care of you.”

“You can take her to your old rooms at my place,” Jasper announced, startling me. I hadn’t even heard him shift. I started to look over at him but saw skin as he reached for the saddlebag.

“That will do.” Casteel took what appeared to be a pair of breeches from Jasper. “Thank you.”

“Will it be safe for you there?” I asked, and a wry grin tugged at Casteel’s lips.

“He’ll be safe there,” Kieran answered.

So shocked by the sound of Kieran’s voice, I turned. And didn’t stop. There was a whole lot of tawny skin on display, but he stood there like he wasn’t naked in front of all who remained. For once, I really had no problem ignoring the fact that he was nude. I looked at his eyes. They were normal—a vivid, striking blue without the silvery-white aura. “You were going to attack Casteel.”

Kieran nodded as he took the pants from Casteel.

“He most definitely was,” Casteel confirmed.

I looked back at my husband. “And you threatened to destroy him.”

The dimple in his left cheek appeared again. “I did.”

“Why are you smiling? That isn’t something that should make you smile.” I stared at him, stupid tears burning my eyes. I didn’t care that we had an audience. “That can never happen again. Do you hear me?” I twisted to Kieran, who arched a brow as he pulled his breeches up over his lean hips. “Do you both hear me? I won’t allow it. I won’t—”

“Shh.” Casteel’s light touch to my cheek drew my gaze back to his as he stepped into me. He was close enough that his chest brushed mine with each breath. “It won’t happen again, Poppy.” His thumb quickly swiped under my left eye. “Right?”

“Right.” Kieran cleared his throat. “I don’t…” He fell quiet.

His father didn’t. “As long as the Prince doesn’t give any of us a reason to behave differently, we will protect him as fiercely as we will protect you.”

We. As in the entirety of the wolven race. That’s what Alastir had meant when he’d said that all the bonds had broken. I had a lot of questions, but I plopped my head on Casteel’s chest. It didn’t feel that great, sending a flare of pain across my head. I didn’t care because when I inhaled, all I smelled was lush spice and pine.  Casteel carefully folded an arm around my upper back, and I thought… I thought I felt him shudder against me.

“Wait,” Kieran said. “Where is Beckett? He was with you when you walked off.”

Casteel drew back slightly. “That’s right. He offered to show you the temple.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at me. “He led you here.”

A wave of goosebumps pimpled my skin. Beckett. Pressure clamped down on my chest, squeezing tightly as I thought of the young wolven who’d spent the vast majority of the trip here chasing butterflies. I still couldn’t believe that he had led me here, knowing what awaited. But I remembered the bitter taste of his fear that day in Spessa’s End. He’d been terrified of me.

Or had he been terrified of something else?

His emotions had been all over the place. He’d gone from being normal around me, happy and grinning, to suddenly afraid and anxious, as he had been when he brought me up here.

“He disappeared before the others showed up,” I told Casteel. “I don’t know where he went.”

“Find Beckett,” he ordered, and Delano, still in his wolven form, tilted his head.  “Naill? Emil? Go with him. Make sure Beckett is brought to me alive.”

Both Atlantians nodded and bowed. Nothing about Casteel’s tone suggested that the alive part was a good thing. “He’s just a kid.” I watched Delano rush off, quickly disappearing with Naill and Emil. “He was scared. And now that I think about it—”

“Poppy.” Casteel placed the tips of his fingers against my cheek, just below a spot that ached. He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the cut. “I have two things to say. If Beckett had anything to do with this, I don’t care what or who he is, and I sure as fuck don’t care about what he was feeling.” His voice rose until all who remained at the temple could hear him, including his parents.

“A move against my wife is a proclamation of war against me. Their fate is already sealed. And, secondly?” He lowered his head even farther. This time, his lips brushed over mine in a featherlight kiss. I could barely feel it, but it somehow  still managed to twist my insides into knots. He then lifted his head, and I saw it in his features—the stark stillness of a predator locking onto its prey. I’d seen it before, right before he’d torn out Landell’s heart back in New Haven.

Casteel turned his head to the side, looking at the only wolven who remained, now standing on two legs. “You.”

[olivinesea]

Off Souls

a/n: Today we’re college Emily and we are sad. Tried for some plot this time though it doesn’t really appear til the end. Actual tw substances (lots of drinking), tw rape (not descriptive). I have a thought on continuing this but we’ll see. ~4.3k

Sorry Emily.

Emily Prentiss had her first drink was when she was eight years old. Someone handed her a half-glass of champagne as the clock counted down to midnight and a new year arrived. She wasn’t sure she liked the sharp, sour flavor but the bubbles tickled her nose. She also liked holding the pretty glass delicately between her thumb and middle finger, imitating the guests in their bright, shiny fabrics. No one noticed as she crept around the party, seeking out abandoned champagne flutes. She picked each one up, practicing a fake laugh and gesturing to invisible companions. Each imaginary conversation ended with her tilting her head back and draining the glass.

She noticed that the champagne was getting flatter but also that the taste was improving as she worked through the rooms of the ambassador’s residence. She was too young for anyone to pay attention to, the adults were wrapped up in their own affairs and feelings of excitement. Her body grew heavier and she thought she might like to sit down for awhile. She didn't know what time it was or whether it was the new year yet. She climbed onto a bench pushed against the wall. It had become a home for abandoned coats and bags.

It was hard to understand what she was seeing, objects seemed to be trying to escape. She looked at something only for it to slide away. She refocused, telling herself tables didn’t move on their own, only to have the thing slip away again. She tried closing one eye, then the other. The ground seemed to tip which didn’t make sense but maybe explained the moving furniture. She sank down onto one side, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. Maybe being sideways would help correct the tilt of the world. It didn’t change much and she let her eyes close completely. Even with her eyes closed, the world continued to spin unpleasantly. She whimpered, weakly calling for her mother, already faintly aware that she wouldn’t appear.

Her face felt hot and she worried she might roll off the bench. Too tired to go far, she got down and pressed herself into the space underneath. Closed off from the world in most directions, she felt a little steadier. She tucked her face into the bend of her elbow to block out the remaining light. Her free hand found its way to her mouth again. She was too old to suck her thumb but it was still comforting to feel the pressure there. She found herself biting the skin around her nail beds. The acute sensation tethered her to the earth and the disturbing spinning slowed. She didn’t notice when she fell asleep.

No one found her there and it was light outside when she finally woke up. Cold and stiff from sleeping on the floorboards, she slowly slid out from under the bench. Moving carefully towards her room she tried to listen for sounds of other people in the hallways. She was afraid her mother would scold her for ruining her dress. She needn’t have worried. She threw the dress, now ripped and stained, into the trash in an effort to hide it. No one noticed that either.

By the time she entered high school, she considered herself an expert at drinking. She knew which alcohols were the easiest to mix. She knew which bottles would be noticed if they went missing (only the wines). She could forge her mother’s signature to get out of class when the afternoon looked a little too long. She could even mimic the housekeeper’s accent when the school called to confirm that she was out on an excused absence. In a fit of inspiration, she had substituted her number for her mother’s on all her school forms. That move had paid dividends over the years.

Every weekend she either had a party or went to a party. She didn’t see that as a problem. Drinking socially was fine. Maybe a little questionable at 15, but fine. The drinking that she secretly knew was wrong but continued anyway was the kind where she added gin to bottles of sparkling water and drank it throughout the day. It stung the back of her throat but she came to associate that feeling with a pleasant detachment. She could ignore her mother’s criticisms with the buzz of gin in her ears. She could ignore how lonely she felt when wrapped up in the warmth of the friendly bubbles.

She went through high school becoming more and more attached to alcohol. There were other things to try, different drugs filtered through the prep school community. She didn’t mind them but she always returned to drinking. Drinking was familiar. Drinking made her comfortable. She didn’t see any reason to mess with a good thing. She never noticed how her mood swung in tandem with her access to alcohol. She never noticed how she drank more after fighting with her mother. For her, drinking and feelings were separate. Feelings were messy and embarrassing. Drinking conquered feelings and she wanted nothing more than to conquer those permanently.

~~~

By the time she met Aaron Hotchner, she couldn't remember the last time she went more than a few days without a drink. Sobriety was a state to escape from. Sobriety meant clear thoughts and clear thoughts meant the harsh, criticizing voice in her mind reminding her of all her failures. Better to drown than to listen to that. Her grades might have been slipping but she’d have to feel to care and she was in the business of not feeling. Meeting someone else so deeply committed to avoiding their feelings was a gift from the universe.

She liked that he was smart and she liked how his face looked when he was surprised. She liked it when he frowned at her because even displeased she could tell that he enjoyed spending time with her. She couldn’t name a single other person who genuinely enjoyed her company. She had never had any close friends. People she partied with, certainly. It was easy to be popular with a rich, absent mother and no curfew. But none of those people had cared about her as a person, nor had she cared about them. They were all just using each other to satisfy their own needs.

He was different. He asked her questions and listened to her answers. Sometimes he was incredulous at her responses and sometimes she embellished her stories just to watch him get worked up at the idea of taking the embassy jet to Norway for her 13th birthday (she flew commercial) or hiring a full-time zookeeper for her spotted genets (she had to pay the housekeeper’s nephew to feed her cat when they went out of town).

When he first suggested that she might want to drink less she laughed at him and finished the bottle of wine she had been drinking from. When she turned up hungover to class the next morning he didn't say anything but she was annoyed with him as if he did. He didn't tell her she was wrong for drinking but he gave her tired looks when she talked about Margarita Monday or Thirsty Thursday. He never accepted the drinks she offered him. Just shook his head and when she pressed him about it he told her alcohol made him sleepy.

He only got angry about her drinking one time. She had convinced him to come over after a party. Her roommate was out of town for the weekend and she didn’t feel like being alone yet. While she was waiting for him she found some leftover booze and mixed it with whatever pink juice was living in their mini fridge. When he got there she kept trying to push the cup up to his mouth. He brushed her off and she ended up dropping it and spilling it on the both of them.

“Now look what you did, idiot!” She reached up to jab him playfully in the forehead. He moved fast, grabbing her wrist and holding it to the side. Reflexively she tried to swat at him with her other hand but he grabbed that easily as well.

“Stop it.”

His voice was low and dangerous. Her vision swam as she tried to focus on him. His dark eyes burned and she felt like maybe she shouldn’t be standing so close. She backed up and had to tug a little before he released her. They stared at each other. He tried to regain control of his temper, fingers curled tightly into his palms. He shouldn’t have grabbed her but touching his face like that was a step past what he could tolerate. She was always loose with her contact, even more so when she was drinking. She didn’t know how it put him on edge because he would never tell her, would never admit to that weakness. She might have noticed on her own but it never crossed her mind that it was a problem. She just thought he was a bit stiff and needed some affectionate rough housing from time to time. Still angry, he bit back the cruel words he knew would damage their friendship. Words they both had heard directed at them before: reckless, immature, hopeless. She was watching carefully as he struggled with himself. She’d never felt unsafe with him but this moment had made her very aware their relative sizes. She waited for him to say something else.

He sighed. “Where are your paper towels?”

She had completely forgotten about the spill. She shook her head, thoroughly sobered. “I’ll clean it up.”

Normally he would argue with her, insist on helping, but the sickly sweet smell of whatever horrid drink she’d mixed was making him nauseous. He decided the best move was to call it a night and muttered that he’d see her tomorrow as he stepped around the mess and out the door.  

~~~

Like most people, she was clumsy when she drank. Unlike most people, she seemed to take a sick pride in the bumps and bruises she acquired while stumbling around. It had always fascinated her to watch how her body was able to heal itself. To watch bruises darken and then fade. To study scabs as they formed over scraped knees and the shiny, pink skin that developed underneath. She got an even bigger kick out of it when she discovered Hotch’s tight-lipped disapproval of this behavior. Sometimes she would send him photo updates of particularly gruesome wounds.

“Emily!” he shouted indignantly after her latest upload, a burn from the hot plate courtesy of late-night grilled cheese.

“Shhh! We’re in the library!”

“We’re in a study room! You should be studying!”

“I am,” she said, innocently.

“You know what I mean. Please, please, for the love of god, stop sending me pictures of scabs.”

“Well, I guess if you don’t care about me…”

He threw his hands in the air and kicked back from the table. “I’m getting coffee.” She looked up at him hopefully. “No, I won’t get you any.”

She pouted but when he returned he was carrying two cups as well as some Neosporin and bandaids. She reached for the cup but he pulled it back.

“You have to let me deal with that first.” He nodded at her arm.

She looked at the bandaids distastefully.

“I don’t want to have to look at that shit anymore today,” he said firmly.

“Fine,” she muttered, watching as he set her coffee just out of reach. She was a cooperative patient and he worked quickly.

“What the hell? Why did you put like six bandaids on me?”

“Because you’re just going to peel them off and I want to have at least a few hours without having to be exposed to your organs,” he said cheerfully as he pushed her coffee towards her and swept up the paper litter.

She smiled as she sipped her coffee and waited until they left the library before removing the offending bandages.

~~~

They had been going back and forth about her drinking for several months. She had promised to stop drinking on weekdays if he would come out with her occasionally. She was able to keep her promise for the most part. She believed there were exceptions to everything and was sure to find at least a few instances where she justified a drink or two. He would get annoyed but not angry because he knew she was trying. That wasn’t what caused the problem.

It happened partway through the winter quarter. They had just turned in important papers for their history class. Hotch wanted to start studying for the econ midterm coming up but Emily, already in a bad mood, wanted to be done for the day.

“Please, can you just chill for once in your life?” she begged, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. She was draped across one of the lounge chairs, legs up on one side, arms thrown over her head.

He shook his head. “This is important to me.”

“Oh, and it’s not important to me?” she bit back. She shifted so she was sitting up, feet on the floor, glaring at him.

“Sorry Em, I didn’t mean it like that.” He frowned, not sure why she was having such a big reaction.

“I just can’t with you, Hotchner. I can’t fucking win.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering she got up and left the room. They had been sitting in the common room of his dorm. It was generally quiet at that time of day since most of his neighbors were athletes and had practice in the afternoons.

He waited for her to come back. He was learning that was something people did. He still didn’t fully understand it but apparently some people were able to get mad and then get over it without any major consequences. When she didn’t reappear, he shrugged and opened his laptop to start working.

She stalked angrily down the hallway, heading for her room. Halfway there she realized she forgot her bag but didn’t turn around. She wasn’t ready to see Hotch yet with his stupid apologetic face and his stupid understanding eyes. Why had she let him convince her to try? In the fall she had been checked out and could blame her abysmal grades on that lack of effort. Now she was going to get her grades back and see that she was in fact not as smart as she thought. Everyone would see it. Hotch would see it.

She had always gotten good grades growing up. Partly because she was intelligent but partly because high school wasn’t that demanding intellectually. She could skate by on a minimal amount of effort and charm her way into enough extra credit to keep her grades high. She’d only cared about grades in that she didn’t want her mother looking too closely at her school reports. A’s kept her free to misbehave as she pleased. College was turning out to be different.

It felt bad to put significant effort into something only to get lukewarm results. It felt like she was confirming her deepest fear—she really wasn’t exceptional at anything. She was so afraid and she hated it. And Emily had exactly one coping mechanism for fear—drown it. She’d left her phone in her bag too but she didn’t need that to find a party. She knew exactly where she could go for free alcohol and loud music and strangers she didn’t have to worry would find out how stupid and worthless she really was. She went to her room to change.

A couple hours later she walked up to a frat house, hair freshly washed and straightened, dark make up matching her black bodysuit. There were people spilled all over the lawn. Several tables of beer pong were set up. A kiddie pool filled with melting ice and piles of canned beer occupied the walkway. She smiled. She could always count on people to be drinking at a frat house. She saw a guy she met in the fall at one of the tables and headed in that direction. When he saw her it was obvious he didn’t recognize her but he smiled anyway. It was easy to make friends at a frat house when you looked like Emily Prentiss. She accepted the offered ping pong ball and easily made her first shot. Someone handed her a beer. As she sipped it she finally felt like she wasn’t fighting with herself. This was familiar territory. This was where she belonged.

The afternoon quickly became evening and the party moved inside. The music was loud and insistent. She felt lightheaded—she hadn’t eaten since that morning which was probably a mistake. But she was already mostly drunk and the thought floated away quickly. She took the red plastic cup being passed to her without asking what was in it. It was sweet and orange and much tastier than the beer she’d been drinking. The guy from before, she thought his name was Steven, was leading her towards the courtyard dance floor. He guided her with a hand on her back, bare skin exposed by the low-cut. She loved dancing and didn't notice anything unusual when her head started to swim. That was the feeling she had been looking for wasn’t it?

Things started to get patchy. She thought time had passed but she wasn’t sure how much. She was being led up a staircase but she wasn’t sure if the hand she was holding was Steven’s or someone different. She thought his hair had been brown but maybe it was just dark blonde. It didn’t feel particularly urgent to find out.

She was being pressed against a doorway, hands on her waist, a mouth covering her mouth. It was a kiss. She liked kissing so she kissed back. She tried to open her eyes to see who it was she was kissing but it was dark and her eyes wouldn’t focus. Suddenly there was nothing solid behind her and she fell backwards.

“Woah there!” A hand caught her arm at the last moment and pulled her to a wobbling upright position. “Careful.”

She didn't recognize the voice though it felt a little familiar. She didn’t like this room they were in. It was too dark. She could barely hear the music. She tried to push past the voice, speaking but not hearing anything coherent.

“Hang on, not so fast.” The voice was between her and the door and was very solid. The little light that had illuminated the room disappeared when he shut the door. Why did he shut the door?

“letmego.” It came out as all one word but she was happy with it. She was sure he would understand what she wanted. Instead she heard a laugh. It’s not a nice laugh like when Hotch was listening to her spinning tall tales and laughingly told her she was ridiculous. She wondered where Hotch was. He was her favorite person, why wasn’t he here with her now?

The person moved closer and she knew he was laughing at her. Fear burned through her and she screamed at her body to react. But everything felt slow and sticky. She swung at him but missed. She tried again and he caught her arms. She twisted violently, panic stealing her breath. Roughly, he pushed her backwards and she stumbled only to land on something soft. It was a mattress and it smelled. It smelled like beer and cigarettes and vomit. She kicked at him but it did nothing to stop his advance.

“Shhh. Just be good now.”

She cried. She couldn’t help it. She was so confused about how she got here, about where here even was. She tried to fight back but her thoughts were muddy and everything felt so heavy.

“nononostop,” she screamed but she could barely hear herself.

It was over quickly. Or maybe not quickly. Her sense of time shrank and expanded with each breath. All she knew was at some point she found herself alone. The door hadn’t closed all the way so she could see a little light coming in. She stared at it from her place on the bed, blinking slowly, trying to gather enough thought-power to figure out the next step. Something was wrong, she knew it. This wasn’t her bed or even her dorm building. She needed to find Hotch. He could fix everything. She didn’t think she was injured but it was so hard to move. She rolled to her side and ended up falling off the bed completely. She wasted several moments trying to catch her breath. The impact helped shake off some of the heaviness in her mind and she was able to push herself up off the ground. She found that she was only half dressed and, while she wasn’t completely sure why that was, a sob escaped her as she pulled the straps back up. She lost a shoe and it was too dark and complicated to find it so she kicked the other one off instead. She stumbled to the doorway and leaned against it briefly, making one last effort to collect herself before heading out into the world. This walk wasn’t going to be easy.

In a frat house full of drunk people, one drunk and disheveled girl wasn’t noteworthy. She wasn’t even the only person shoeless at that point. No one stopped to ask her if she was ok. No one questioned when she walked out into the night alone and clearly unwell. She focused all her energy on making it back to the dorm and to Hotch. The walk was about half a mile back through the city streets immediately surrounding campus. She tripped and fell more than once, skinning her palms and ripping holse in her pants. Only one person asked if she needed help, concerned by her lack of footwear. She waved them off, slurring that she was going home. The good Samaritan shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction. If a person insisted on helping every drunk college kid who thought they could handle themselves better than they could, they’d never make it home.

She did make it back and thanked whoever might be listening that her keycard was still in her pocket. She hadn’t considered it until the very moment she needed it. She got into the elevator with only one destination in mind. She had no idea what time it was or if he was mad at her and that was why she was alone but she is going to find Aaron Hotchner and let him deal with whatever this mess was she had made.

She knocked and knocked again when he didn’t answer.

“Hotch!” Her voice was hoarse and not very loud. She raised her hand to bang on the door again when it opened. He stood in the doorway, hair sticking up from sleep, blinking at her. He looked irritated and she wasn’t sure what she did wrong but she’s willing to atone for it. She held up her hands, trying to sort out her words.

“Hotch, I—“

“Go to bed, Emily.” He sounded tired more than anything else. He had answered this late night knock many times and tonight he didn’t want to play along. He didn’t want to deal with her drunk affections, he didn’t want to make her the snack she insisted she deserved, he didn’t want to make sure to switch out her pilfered beers with waters for the next couple hours. He just wanted to sleep and deal with this disappointment tomorrow. He turned away and she started to follow him but he just grabbed her backpack from his desk chair. He pushed it into her arms, propelling her back through the door.

“Go to bed,” he repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that he closed the door, quietly but firmly. She knew he wouldn’t answer if she knocked again. She hugged her bag to her chest. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But if Hotch wouldn’t help her, it must have been her fault. She stumbled down the hall to her room. She didn’t want to lay down in the dark. Just the thought of doing that made her heart race. She felt dirty so she went to the bathroom to take a shower. After she turned on the water she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t blame Hotch for sending her away. She was a mess. She wouldn’t want to deal with her either.

She was far too tired to take her clothes off. The adrenaline that got her home had faded and everything was beginning to hurt. She climbed into the shower fully dressed and sank down to the floor. With her knees pulled up to her chest she pressed her face into the bend of her elbow. She chewed on the skin around her fingers, finding it as comforting now as when she first discovered it. But the comfort was not enough and she found herself crying without knowing the exact reasons why. She cried until the water turned cold and then for awhile after that. Finally, worried that someone would find her, she cut the water off and got out. Shedding the wet bodysuit, she threw it in the trash before wrapping up in her towel. It was all she could do to make it into her bed. As she laid down she saw the sky was getting lighter and she felt relieved that at least she wouldn’t have to be in the dark now.

~Part 2~

[shesawriter39049]

|Touch Me, Tease Me| M|

SMUT/ A LIL ANGST

(Gif not related...he just looks...good. like..fuck.)

Pairing : Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon eats you out the minute you walk in the door because well...that’s the kinda husband he is!

Or- Jimin text’s Namjoon to brace him for the mood you’ll more than likely be in after a day full of drama and finally firing the front desk receptionist! Which essentially red for him to make you come hard AF and then feed you....OH, and You guys invite Yoongi over to talk about the Tae and Kookie “Thing” 

WARNINGS: Oral/ Fingering/Light dirty talk/ Cum play/Light spit play/Over stimulation(M/F)/Pet names/Hand jobs/Body worshiping/ Is nipple play a thing?????/ (Also it’s not said but it’s somewhat obvious the OC is prob ovulating, since shes super emotional, and overly sensitive rn) 

Note: This is a stand alone smut drabble within my OT7 poly universe called “7 DEEP”. Short AU SUMMARY: Your husband Namjoon and yourself run a successful Adult Film Entertainment Company called “Onyx” with your 5 best friends from college who you also happen to be in an open relationship with!

WC:5.7K

Song Reference: Case Ft Foxy Brown “Touch Me Tease Me”

Final note: This is apart of a series, and this can be read as a stand alone..since it’s 90% smut lol however some of the references you won’t understand...

~~~~~

......Your tired...it’s been a long ass day.... “Baby?” Namjoon’s voice rings through your apartment the minute the door opens, though you can’t physically see him you still feel that honey-coated baritone run down your spine as it bounces off every wall. You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, leaning against it letting as if your life depended on it, eyes fluttering shut immediately, more so mentally drained than anything else!

“Yea?” Your response comes out dryer than intended but you know Namjoon knows you well enough to not even be phased by it. You hear his feet patter into the foyer, still not bothering to open your eyes yet, everything just feels so damn heavy that even that alone seems exhausting!

Until eventually you start to feel the steam radiating off his body, followed by the owe so familiar scent of pine and vanilla...His allergies have been killing him lately so he opted to work from home today instead...clearly fresh out the shower.

The weight shifts against the door as he braces his hands on either side of your head, leaning down to nose at your face like a cat. Leaning into his touch as he works his way down your neck, even as gentle as his touch currently is you still feel it everywhere...everything just feels extremely sensitive today! Silently coaxing you to open your eyes, only to be met by those sharp, beautiful brown orbs of his...skin still holding a slight sheen over is tattooed chest..hair damp, face flushed. Nothing discrete in the ways yours eyes greedily unravel his body...not that there's much to unravel anyway. He's only wearing joggers for fucks sake.

Namjoon lets out a low hum, as he places a couple kisses along the hinge of your jaw “I heard someone had a shitty ass day….” He phrases it more of a statement than a question as he nips at your skin, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on the side of your neck as he unties your jacket. Soothing his hands down your arms as he helps you step out of it..letting it fall where it may. Lacing your arms around his neck, releasing a breath that you didn't even know you were holding, but that’s what he does to you. Effortlessly, he puts your mind and body at ease...you feel his breath ghost over your hair, hot, wet, wanting, the grip he holds on your waist seems to be the only thing keeping you remotely grounded right now! Titling your chin upwards silently,asking and he gives it to you, because of course he does, this man can't deny you a damn thing even if he tried.

He gently brings your lips together, coaxing your mouth open in a way that has you moaning out instantly, letting your hands slide down his sides gripping his waist. Once his lips touch yours there's no other way to describe the feeling except relief, utter fuckin relief, slips through every cell in your body as you both sigh into it. Realistically you know, everything will be okay, you know it’s just one bad day, but for some reason right now...it just feels heavy every thing just feels fucking heavy and you really just need this..you need him!

Namjoon lets a hand trickle up your back until it meets the nape of your beck, taking an almost possessive grip to keep you in place as he deepens the kiss. Your suddenly feeling really desperate and to be honest you don’t quite know why, however your clawing at your husband's chest like your touch starved knowing damn well your far from it. Namjoon has always been a very..versatile lover..theirs time and place, he doesn't need to always be in “Daddy dom mode”, and he knows you like the back of his hand. Well aware you need some kind of anchor, some form of control right now after the day you just had so he lets you take it. He lets you lick into his mouth as you please and he swallows every moan that slips past your lips as he rocks his hips into yours making your knees weak and your chest feel like it’s caving in on itself.

However no matter how desperate you feel right now, the kiss doesn't add to your state of arousal….it calms your mind...slowing all the gears down. Your body on the other hand, is a completely, different story it has a mind of its own . not that you blame it, not when you have a half naked Namjoon Kim pressed flush against you, caging you against the door!

You swear your apartment feels at least 10 degrees hotter than it was when you walked in, suddenly Namjoon is impatiently tugging at your dress. Alternating between stretching it and balling it into a fist. “This... fuckin dress” You instantly knew he wanted skin on skin, so you gave it too him. Pulling back just enough so he can tug your dress over your head leaving you in front of him in nothing but your bra, panties and high heels. “What do you need, baby?” He pants into your mouth “Just tell me what it is and I’ll give it to you…” Without responding you tug him closer, caging him between your thighs and the 6 inches on your feet putting the two of you damn near at eye level for once!

You don’t actually respond initially, however the way your entire body deflated into the door just says it all.... And that’s what snaps him out of his lush clouded haze for a moment. I mean yeah he wants to rip you apart..but this isn't about him, it was never about him. So, he steps back, and you damn near whine at the lack of contact, but you silently watch, as he cocks his head to the side taking a moment to look at you. I mean really look...and …he coos lightly, reaching up to thumb at your jaw, swallowing hard, breath a little uneven.

“Your tired” He notes gingerly as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and you try to smile but it doesn't quite work.

“I am, baby, mentally more than anything else…”  It’s not like there’s been one catastrophic thing that’s taken place...it’s also not like you haven’t been through way worse. Your hormones are just fucking with you hard today, on top of the fact that there’s just a lot going on. Firing Jordan before you even know if the new hire is really gonna show up! This underlying tension between Tae and Kook that you can already tell Yoongi’s gonna get sucked into which will not end well! There’s nothing he hates more than petty drama...then there’s the Spectrum launch in Vegas next month….it’s just...yeah..yeah!

He nods knowing full well the chaos running through your mind, hating that you look like your handling the load for both of you though….

“We don’t have to do anything, I can run you a bath, we can cuddle, I can even chill out here and give you your space...I just…” Gripping your face in the palm of his hands with a deep sigh, eyes clearly uneasy by the blatant strain in yours  “I need your mind to slow down a little ...yeah need!” Answering the unasked question within your gaze “I don't- you know you can always talk to me right?!” Thick brows furrowing in the center of his face “ I don’t care how busy I am...always ..” Squeezing your face to emphasize the point “Did I-did I do something? Are we okay?” The way he staggers over his words, timid and faint as if he thinks he’s the problem is just….

Ohhh Joonie baby! Leaning in to press your forehead flush against his...trying to latch onto some of his energy, because it;s always 10 times calmer than yours....

“Were fuckin solid baby” Tilting your head upwards to kiss him, quick but firm! “There’s just a lot on my mind...including you...constantly…” You offer the strongest smile you can muster “But your far from the issue” Eyes locking with his “And no, I don’t wanna move, I don’t want space, just want you-“

“You got me…” He cuts you off instantly taking your hands in his, feeling how they are scrambling along his skin. Your all over the damn place, almost frantically as if your afraid he’s going to evaporate! So he opts to guide the pads of your fingers along his chest, stomach…

“I just want you to touch me,until I forget about everything and everybody else. Just touch me baby, make me feel good….that’s all I need” The last words hushed off your lips as if the two of you were in a room full!

He looks down at you, with the perfect combination of lust and love... “Yeah, yeah, I’ll always make you feel good baby…” Your almost breathless once his lips find the curve of your neck again, heading towards your shoulder blade. His touch is tender, soft, gentle…. “Always be your escape from the rest of the world whenever you need me to me…” Namjoon gives you a soft dimpled smile,that has your chest clinching painfully tight, and the way his body shielded yours it was almost as if he was hiding you from everyone else. You felt safe, in his arms like this ``Let me take care of you tonight.”

Namjoon doesn't phrase it as a question because he knows how badly you need this. However his delivery is soft enough not to make you feel...forced...

You nod somewhat breathlessly, to be honest you’ve never been good at being completely pliant, and no, everything isin’t always a dom/ sub dynamic but it's still rare you just lay there and “receive” without giving something in return! Your hands are still all over the place though, like you don’t know how to just be taken care of. As if you feel as though you have to be doing something! Which only makes him lean in and kiss you again, harder, deeper, trying to slow you down...trying to slow your mind down...

The slow languid slide of his tongue against yours, leaning in to press his forehead to your temple. While you both try to catch your breath, “Breathe, it’s just you and me….I got you…” .

“I know” You nod pressing your body as tight to Namjoon’s as you can, your minds a hazy fucking mess but you know you want him, all over you and then some. Your tired and you just wanna be touched, sometimes you forget how addicted you truly are for the feeling of Namjoon’s mouth against your own. Especially during moments like this, when it’s soft, determined, heavy, when you can tell he's pouring everything he has into it...putting every ounce of his beaning to that kiss as if that's all he has to give! “I know…” You echo again, more so for your own sanity than anyone else's.

You can’t help but start to rock against him and you instantly feel Namjoon’s cock flesh against your inner thigh. He’s getting harder by the second as his hands claw down your back and your skin feels like it’s scorching hot beneath the pads of his fingers. It’s like he knows what your thinking too, the minute you feel him pulsing against you “Don’t worry about me, this aint about me…” He mumbles between kisses, those skillful lips of his latch onto your jaw “There’s no way in hell I could ever see you standing in front of me and not be hard as fuck, but I’m not worried about me and my needs right now….so tell me what you want baby…”

“Namjoon” You whine, mind and body feeling completely overwhelmed “I can’t even think straight right now I just want…”

Namjoon just smirks as he kisses you again, tongue hot and heavy against your bottom lip as he licks at the seam “Then don’t think, just let me have you, let me do what I want, what you need.. ” Sliding his hands down your back until his palms land on your ass and he squeezes tight, rocking your hips forward with a moan, and this man never fails to knock the air straight out of your lungs! As you hum out a poor excuse for a response  “Can I do that baby? Can I just take care of you and make you feel good?”

“Let me in...” The words hushed against your lips and damn near knocked the wind out of you in the process, because you knew he didn't just mean sexually...he meant in every sense of the word. 

‘Fuck” Whines form your lips as you suck Namjoons between your teeth, the word “Yes” hushes off your tongue so faint he barley hears you! He pulls back slowly, leaning down to run his nose along your jaw, tailing the path with his tongue, then leaving an array of open mouth kisses right beneath. Namjoon can feel you continiously rock your hips down against his thigh and he can’t help but smile against your skin, tensing the muscle to add to the stimulation “Taste me...” You finally implore voice completely wrecked with need!

He moans against your neck “Mm yeah?You wanna feel my tongue all over your pussy baby? You wanna come on my face?” “This man had the sexiest bedroom eyes you’d ever seen, biting down on his bottom lip…hips slowly grinding down into you. “Yeah, your coming all over it face” Rehprahasing it as a statement as opposed to a question and you feel goosebumps breakout along every inch of your skin.

Namjoon leans back down crashing your lips together, he’s kissing you with a purpose now! It was a little messy, more tongue than skill on both ends at this point not that either of you cared. Hands roaming up your body, as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Before moving down to sprinkle kisses over your neck, down your jaw, where he starts sucking at your skin. Clearly leaving marks that you and your concealer would have fun covering tomorrow but you could care less! Every time he sucks your skin between those skilled lips of his you let out a muffled sigh, which filtered into a deep needy moan that and your husbands skin felt like it was burning from the inside out!

It’s a mixture of a kiss and a nuzzle as he works his way down your body, eyes flicking up, hazy and heavy watching every reaction. Moaning in unison as your whines fill the apartment the more he marks you, the more he takes his time exploring and cherishing your body as if it’s his sole purpose on this earth. As if his cock isint hard as fuck and throbbing in his pants right now.

Reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side, letting out a sasatifed hum once he notices how hard your nipples already are. Leaning forward to just blow along your aerola until your hissing and squrimng beneath him. Namjoon grazes your nipples with his lips, and your already arching into his mouth before he even laces his tongue around the bud. Chasing the pleasure which only has Namjoon moaning against you even louder, your loud needy, and making a mess in your panties and you can’t even get yourself to care. Not when your husband's lips and tongue keep repeatedly grazing over your aerola to the point where you actually feel like you could come. The way he’s taking his time to suction each bud between his lips has your thighs are shaking!  

“Fuck, my babies so sensitive today…”

You barely even acknowledge the statement your already so far gone, especially once he takes one nipple between his mouth, toying it with his tongue while flicking the other with his index finger and thumb. It has you shaking, gasping, and shuddering, back arching wordlessly asking for more.. Everything just feels like too much and not enough all at the same damn time!

“Baby” Namjoon whispers almost awestruck upon sliding his hands between your thighs, feeling how wet you are, a deep, moan slips from the back of his throat. “Fuck”

Namjoon’s lips finally started to paint a trail south and god he knows how to rip you apart with his tongue you were already a damn mess! Finally making his way further down, kicking and sucking  a path down your stomach. Eventually dropping down to his knees, the site of those big brown eyes gazing up at you, lids heavy, completely blown out, that alone already had you feeling light headed!

You can feel him smiling against your skin, dimples and all as he kisses at your lower stomach, loving the ways the muscles contract beneath his lips. “Your so fuckin gorgeous …” He coos’s against your skin, as he hooks his fingers around the side of your panties. “Relax” Breaths again your skin and you gasp spreading your legs on command.

Forehead resting against your stomach, while his hands kneaded at your thighs, planting open mouth kisses right above your center. Goosebumps appearing in the wake of his lips, you could feel him smirking against your skin from how antsy you are! Already well aware of how bad your body was screaming for him at this point. Sucking down on the area, leaving a bouquet of bruises behind for you to look down at and relive all over again .

“Namjoon please…”You plead, rocking your hips forward, until he tugs at the seam of your panties, effortlessly ripping the thin lace apart. The slight pain from the coarse fabric dragging against your skin, accompanied by your husband's blatant desier to give you what you want has you moaning even harder.

“Holy shit” The moment he slid your panties hit the ground and your arousal hit his nose, the scent rippes a pained moan from his throat. If you didn't know any better you'd swear his mouth was watering once he tricked his fingers between your lips that were literally running down his hand. Pulling back much to your dismay only to lock his gaze with yours as he slowly sucks them between his lips one by one! The sight of him ,devouring your juices off of his fingers felt like enough to make you cum right there. Moaning against his hand as if you were the best thing he tasted all damn day. “God, taste so good baby”

You can feel his breath right against your pussy and it’s already making a muffled whine slip past your lips before he really even dose anything. Sliding his index finger in slowly ,going knuckle deep all in one notion, curling it upward until the thick diamond encrusted band on his finger was flicking against your clit! There's already intense pressure building in the pit of your stomach as you try to steady yourself against the door. The slick sound of him teasing up your center had your ears burning. “Babyyyy “ his face almost reflecting pain as he watched how wet you were for him and only him . The way your juices were just dripping down your inner thighs, looking, back at you as if he just wanted to slide in right then and there. But as he said, this wasn;t about him….this was all about his baby, and she asked for him to taste her...so that’s all he cared about!

“Jooon ...please” Eyes heavy as you glanced down at him whining …shifting your hips against his hands .

“You don’t gotta beg…” Leaning down to blow against your clit “At least not today” God, he looked like the perfect combination of an angel and the damn devil as he smirked up at you.  

“Fuck, well just put your tongue on my clit and make me cum plea-a-oh fuck” Finally letting his tongue go where you’ve been aching for him, sliding up and down your slit slowly, and your body felt like it was on fire! The noise you let out once you feel Namjoons tongue hot and wet against you should be utterly embarrassing. But you could give less than a damn, he;s licking around the head of your clit in a way that has your toes curling against the sole of your shoes. Your body was hypersensitive today, every time his tongue touched you it felt like it was enough for you to come! Like he’s been edging you for hours and he just. Fucking. Started!

Namjoon pushing his tongue past your entrance, joining his fingers and your eyes fall shit , grip tightening on the doorknob, as bolts of pleasure rip through your veins. Your already sweating. The feeling of his tongue burning deep inside you rocking in tune with his fingers, the wet obscene sounds that fill your apart, you fuckin live for it! Everything just felt hot,your clit was already rock hard and your thighs were wavering like a leaf in the wind! The 6 inches on the bottom of your shoes are no longer working in your favor, not trusting your legs to support yourself, and clearly neither did he so he shifted our body seamlessly, wrapping your legs around his shoulders. Propping you up, so he could bury his face right where you wanted him and he was deep. He had you at the perfect angle to actually engulf his tongue within your entrance, just teasing your walls enough to have them trying to clench around the muscle!

You drop your head against the door, if you weren’t so far gone it would probably hurt, “Oh, my god, baby push your fingers in deeper” You choke on a moan and it feels like your entire body is trying to coil in on itself as your husband dose exactly as you ask. Wrapping his lips back around your clit, sucking in, moaning against your skin sending what felt like vibrations through your entire body. Pushing his fingers in as deep as possible, curling them alongside his tongue just enough to hit the soft right spot that he can find with his eyes closed at this point. The sensation rips through every cell in your body and your suddenly teetering over the edge almost embarrassingly fast.

“Your not gonna last ” He kept his face close as he spoke every word sent your body shaking harder than the next. It wasn’t even meant to be arrogant,or condensing this time, to be honest he was more so speaking to himself than anyone..almost in awe!

“No— fuck, I’m not but please don’t stop, keep going I need it- need you-fuck” The words fell from your lips in a combination of a plea and a whine as you nuzzled your fingers in those dark chocolate locks of his!.He already knew what you needed..to be pushed past you limits...overwork your muscles until they just kinda..shut down...until your mind shut down!

“I’m right here,I got you” Namjoon promised, letting your gaze meet and you struggled to focus, especially with him looking at you like that. Your lips parted, gasping slightly

“That’s it baby. Enjoy it. God, making such a fuckin mess too…” You can feel yourself almost pushing your heat right into his face at this point your so damn needy! Namjoon moans, blunt nails digging into your ass to keep you in place.

“My baby’s feelin good huh?” Namjoon’s voice is somewhat strained, setting deeper and husker than usual and goddamn

A strangled groan laves your throat that I guess can be considered a coked out moan, there wasn't much talking from that point on. You told Namjoon you wanted to be too overwhelmed to think and that’s exactly what you were! Your apartment filled with nothing but heavy moans, accompanied by the sound of his name leaving your throat at numerous octaves...  

 He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist to make sure you don’t fall, and though you asked for three, I don't think you were really ready, especially once he tries to spread them out slightly. And you actually scream, literally this is why you'll probably not be offered a lease renewal in a couple months. Your loud….

“Yeah, yeah...there you go....” Namjoon can tell that your right there, so he moves back to suck your clit back into his mouth your thighs instinctively go right around his neck. Almost as if your trying to suffocate him, and obviously you aren’t it;s just a lot...the pressures a lot..your body dosen’t quite know what to do.

Namjoon growls low, and theirs no other way to describe the sound except primal, possessive, and it’s so fucking sexy. “Stop...” Eyes glaring up in your direction, tone calm yet..stern...he may not be in daddy mode but ugh...he always is daddy . You whine but do as he says, far to gone to even be a smart ass right now, and you feel him hum around you! The vibrations hush against your skin. Scissoring his fingers in and out at a relentless pace, he told you he wasn't in the mood to make you beg and he meant it. The sound of his palm smacking against your lips, only grew louder the wetter you got, your own arousal making his hand almost stick to your skin. There was a slight sting, from the bulk of his rings, including his wedding band smacking against your skin yet that only had you moaning even louder. The rough contrast between his smooth stealthy fingers and the thick metal fucking you open!

It was like he could feel that your body was getting use to the rhythm, you were stilll shaking, however you wouldn’t jerk and twitch as hard anymore...so clearly he decided....fuck that! Sliding out and using his index and middle finger to spread your lips apart, just enough to let him attack the tip of your clit as he needed. Sucking hard, as if he was trying to swallow you whole! Pursing his lips to spit right on the bud, not that you needed it just because he loved you messy! Flicking and rolling his tongue against the most sensitive area of your body , and you felt your walls start to contract, around, fuck imagination at this point because his fingers weren’t in you but it didn't matter! 

“Baby….fuck-  “ Head lolling back to  hit the door even harder this time. Fuck you’re gonna have a migraine, your moans are growing louder, gaze heavy, lightheaded as your eyes slowly met the back of your head.

Once he had you in his mouth on you like this,in a way that had you shaking, whining, desperate...  he slid his fingers back inside you, curling them in and out. Thumb, teasing at your rim, circling the entrance just enough to have you arching into it, silently begging for more though you really couldn’t handle it right now. Probing that rigid patch tucked between your pulsing heat, your walls damn near suffocating his fingers. Every time he tried to pull out, you sucked him right back in, alternating between rolling his tongue against your clit, and sucking down on it. Those lips of his where relentless, treating your clit as if it was a straw and was the thing thats what sent your body over the edge!.You felt your body start to shake, and twitch in his grasp and yet he still didn't release your clit from his mouth even as you came, hard. You knew you had to be running down his faced at this point, and he fucking loved it.

You suddenly felt his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to lookd down at him, as he silently asked for permission to keep going....not even remotely trusting your voice! So, you just tightened the grip you held on his hair, pushing his head back down and Namjoon moaned so loud you almost thought he came.

“Nam-Joonnnnn” Choked from your lungs, eyes squeezing back shut...as his tongue started caressing your lips. Slowly rolling his neck head first into your pussy as if he was giving you a deep passionate kiss..fuck I mean, I  guess he was.Is it possible to make love to someones clit with your tongue?! Because if soo...that’s exactly what it felt like Namjoon was doing!

He gradually slowed down his pace, not pulling away completely just yet, laying his tongue flat against your lips.Taking slow, long drags, until his tongue worked his way upwards curling against your pelvic bone. Namjoon licked you from head to toe not that it cleared up anything though, it actually only made more of a mess! As you twitched and jerked at ever flick of the tongue!Finally letting his lips move over to your inner thighs, leaving light butterfly kisses while he waited for your body to stop shaking. Your eyes felt like they were glued shut, and you were hot to the touch. You let him shift you around, not even attempting to help slowly adjusting your body so you could stand, but he knew you really couldn’t. So he kept a arm tight around your waist so you didn’t collapse, since your thighs felt like a damn slinky. Using the back of his palm to wipe the reminder of your essence off his face. Letting his tongue run along his teeth, he smiled down at you, pleased with himself as you couldn’t even keep your eyes open.

Running his thumb against your cheek until finally looked at him... nosing up your face...yet now his eyes read something softer. Less cocky more loving and concerned...He didn't even speak his eyes silently asking....“You good?” His touch was so soft you felt chills coursing down your spine again...only this time for a completely different reason....

You just nodded, a lazy smile tugging on your lips, as you started feeling like you could actually breath again. Taking a firm grip on the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing his lips to meet yours, kissing you deep, love and adoration pouring off your tongue, as you moaned into his mouth. Tasting yourself on every inch of on his mouth. Namjoon reached down, cupping your ass, with both hands wrapping your legs around his waist.

Walking you wordlessly down the long hallway to your master suite, kicking the door shut behind him, the room was dark, the only light came peeping through the curtains. Tossing you back onto the bed, an airy laugh leaving your chest as you bounced along the mattress. Resting on your elbows in a slight arch as your eyes drunk him as he crawled onto the bed, yanking you by your ankles to pull you down to him. Finally sliding your feet out of your Louboutins after fuck, 10 plus hours! Kissing both of your ankles in the process, lightly massaging the balls of your feet before laying them flat on the bed.  

“Baby” Fanned past your lips with a smirk as he slid his palm between your thighs, moaning at the way the damn near stuck together. Even now, after you’ve came he hasn’t stopped doing what you've asked...you wanted to be touched welll....

Knees spread on either side of your body, supporting his weight so he’s not sitting directly on top of you. Namjoon’s touching you everywhere, though now your body’s hot and sticky but you don't mind. The pads of his fingers only had fuel to the flame, every inch he touches feels like its scorching against your Egyptian cotton.  There's no alternative laced within this either expect taking care of you like he originally offered. His touch is a little stronger though, almost massaging your aching muscles in the process. Leaning down to trail open mouth kisses everywhere he can reach, sucking at your heat induced skin, leaving marks all over the damn place. The other boys will bitch but he could give less than a fuck right now. Not when your moaning and looking up at him so soft, pliant, needy...he’d give you any fucking thing you asked for right now!

You completely shudder beneath him, eyes falling shut, blissed and overwhlemed, and high off of everything that is Namjoon! 

“Namjoon….”

Namjoon moans at that, at how needy you sound, leaning down to nose up your jaw “Say it again baby…’ Tracing a mindless path along your skin...and you give him what he wants, nuzzling into the crook of his neck...nipping and sucking his honey coated skin between your teeth. His cock grazes your thigh and no, you gotta do something about this, your mans in pain, he has to be!

Sliding your hand inside his sweats and the minute he goes to dispute you nip at his skin, “Let me..please let me…” The words porpously purr off your tongue in nothing but a moan and as I said..this man can't deny you a damn thing!

He nods against your hair, and you bump him with your nose until he brings his lips over to yours.You kiss him hard sucking his lower lip into your mouth, as you start to stroke him, you can feel him throbbing in your palm, precum leaking all over the damn place Namjoon’s dick actually feels warm in your hand he’s so worked up. Well aware it won’t take much at all he’s essentially been edging himself since you walked in the door!

Your husband breaths heavy and ragged into the kiss he’s already so close…”You took such good care of me Joon, always…” He moans, slightly whiny as he starts to rock his lips into your hand as you stroke him harder. Grip tighter “I love you baby” Thumbing over his slit and he comes, spilling all over your hand and into his sweats a string of moans falls from his lips as, eyes squeezing shut, arms shaking barley able to hold himself up. You don't’ stop though, not until he’s practically swatting your hands away because he can’t take anymore. Sliding your palm free, letting him take in the site, as he tries to steady his breathing, a glint of amusement in yours eyes as you bring it up to your mouth. Namjoon Moans against the side of your face as you lap your tongue over your palm, sucking each finger into your mouth into there redeemed ..clean...

 “Fuckkkk” Husks off his tongue..and no matter how exhausted you are you let me fall into you..wrapping your arms and legs around his waist as he nuzzles against the crook of your neck.

The two of you just lay there in comfortable silence for lord knows how long until...

“I  know today was hard, and I know it will probably get harder...but, we got this…” Hushes against the side of your face “We came so fuckin far, and were going figure this out...it’s just,,this is all a adjustment for everybody...but we got this…”

You don’t really wanna talk about work any further right now...you just wanna be in this moment with him...so instead you just....

“I love you.”

“And you know I love you”

He reaches up and grabs your jaw, grip firm, something heavy on his chest regardless...laying his forehead against yours.

 “Whenever your feelin like this, just remember that it’s okay...and it aint just you....stop trying to bare all this shit by yourself. I’m fucking here, it;s my job to take some of this off your plate!” Nuzzling against your cheek “Weather that be mentally...emotionally...” Namjoon pauses, letting his eyes trail over all the marks along your body as he bites his lip, dragging it between his teeth “Sexually” Dropping his voice a little nipping at your jaw with a small smirk. Grinding his hips against you until your moaning again while clawing your nails down his back. Leaning in to press his lips against yours, only pulling back enough to speak, tone barley above a whisper....

“I’m here, to help you feel better,to take some of this off your mind, to be whatever the fuck you need, whenever, and however you need it...you just gotta let me. Let me take care of you more baby...let me...fuck” Shaking his head, chuckling almost nervously “Let us, take care of you sometimes...” 

You don’t respond any further, only gripping  him even tighter, theirs so much to unpack there that you really don’t have the mental capacity for right now. The concept of you taking care of everyone else but often neglecting yourself has been a thing since college...it’s nothing new...just sometimes your better at letting the boys in than others...

However, the main issue above it all, the reason your even in this “position” to begin with...  work.The stress and pressure the two of you feel as CEO’s of your own company at times is unmatched! People talk about the struggle to gain success but often neglect what happens once you get there. Especially as a business owner the pressure you two feel to keep growing, knowing you have people that rely on you to live, rely on you to put food on the table...rely on you to guide their futures in a sense. Like Jungkook, the kids 20, this is the first job hes putting on his resume and he’s trusting you guys to give him the proper tools to grow in his field.

He’s just soo....fuck so bright eyed and trusting...and I guess something in you wants to protect him from how shitty the world is...protect him in a way nobody protected the 7 of you….

Fuck, barley a month ago you were having a panic attack about hirng someone new for that kinda position and , now you wanna put this kid in a safety plastic bubble and protect him from any and everything...your baby boy included….

A fucking mess is what you feel like right now, a absolute fucking mess. 

Your not quite sure how much time passes, as you lay there with Namjoon wrapped in your arms, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck...but it feels good...it feels right...welll almost..it would be perfect if you had five other bodies laying along the bed as well...

“I’m going to run you a bath and order dinner…” Placing a couple kisses along your jaw as he starts to untangle himself tentatively but you don;t make a fuss, your both sticky as all hell anyway….. You just nod slowly, eyes sitting even heavier than when you first got home, gently letting your nails tease up his chest.

“Want me to join you?” You’re not even sure why he asks, he knows the answer but you indulge him…

“Of course...who else is going to wash my back for me?” You muse playfully and he just rolls his eyes, and exasperated groan leaning his chest as he rolls off the bed to head towards the adjacent master bath. Stopping halfway…

“Oh, so Yoongi called me today….” You only let out a low, slightly uninterested hum you know where this is going…”What…” He already sounds exhausted before he even starts, running a shaky hand through his hair “What are we gonna do about Tae?”

You hate when he looks at you like this, like he’s hoping you have the answers..because fuck you really don’t! 

“He wouldn't really talk to me that morning, so I don’t even know what’s really going on. And of course I don’t wanna solely blame him, it’s just…” Waving his hand in the air absently alluding to what he didn't wanna say.

“He already had a slight attitude about it before, but tried to act like he didn't and now we're here..with him being petty at work,..yeah..yeah...I don’t know baby...I don’t know..”

Namjoon’s phone dings..somewhat grateful for the interruption... theirs a stated smile on his face which prompts you to hum in curiosity.

”It’s ugh...Yoongi, actually.....just checkin to see if your okay...” Of fuckin course it is..

You can’t help but giggle, feeling loved and exhausted but more importantly loved... nothing but fondness in your eyes at just the mention of his name...

“Tell him yes, and you should also tell him to come over” Namjoon’s eyes shoot up to meet yours, somewhat wide and disoriented and you just shrug, honestly out of options at this point. You’d rather address it now before it becomes a hot ass mess! 

“Yeah, why not? Tell him to bring wine and sushi...maybe we can all just.. chill...smoke..cuddle...and come to some type of solution where our baby boy is concerned...because we can’t operate with this type of tension...that’s not how we operate”

~~~

Heyyy, soooo that’s all she wrote..for now! If you enjoyed show this some love, come let em know and I will keep this AU rolling!

1ST- QUESTION? 

-

Sooo , would you guys want me to do a one-shot for when Yoongi comes over and the 3 of them discuss Tae? As I mentioned in Tae's first chapter "Pretty Please" There's always been a different more submissive/needy dynamic between Tae and the OC/Yoongi...so I could let them talk about there history a little...and then..maybe Yoongi could fuck her while shes saying between Joon's legs on the couch..IDK..idk where that came from...but I also aint mad at it!

FINAL NOTE-

Just to clarify....if you follow this series..obviously the Tae X Kookie issue was first brought up in Tae’s chapter “Pretty Please”. However the “drama” is what’s been happening since Kook got hired...in the next full length one shot “Got me Loosin all my cool” That’s Jungkook’s “intro” and it starts a month after he’s been working at Onyx....so some of these “issues” will be addressed then.

...As well as THIS “day” technically takes place within that one shot as well...I just did not tap into what happenes when she got home. However the OC will fire the referenced receptionist (The same one from “Pretty Please)  in the up and coming one shot and Joon takes care of her once she gets home!

7 DEEP MASTERLIST

(WHICH INCLUDES 2 REFERENCED FICS ABOVE )

[jemej3m]

a really bad (good) blind date

OKAY - there will be other parts to this i promise

*

Andrew was exhausted.

There were many reasons for that fact: he was halfway through his final year of the police academy, his brother had been broken up with (again) and had moved back in to live with Andrew (again) and Nicky had set him up for an evening out with a man he didn’t know (again). 

It was the last time Andrew would put up with these sordid blind date fiascos. Nicky insisted that he didn’t want Andrew to be lonely around the holiday season, and that it’d be perfect timing to have a significant other on Valentine’s Day, and had been extremely resistant to Andrew’s refusals. 

This one would be the last. He’d get a good night’s rest over the winter break, ignore Nicky’s pestering and continue on with life as normal when the half-yearly examinations finally ended. 

He hadn’t even bothered changing out of the jeans and sweater he’d been ambling around the house in all morning, merely shaving and spritzing on cologne to give a false sense that he’d put effort in. 

He wish Nicky had let them meet up in a club. It was much easier to preface a one-night-stand with little talking, dancing and a glass of whisky. He usually wouldn’t even bother taking them home, seeing as he knew the staff access code to the lounge at Eden’s Twilight.

Instead, he shuffled in through the doors of a restaurant, where the lights were just low enough that hopefully this guy wouldn’t see the shadows under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin. Maybe Andrew should just be his usual, sullen self, end the date early and go home and sleep. 

The thought of dealing with Nicky’s blatant look of disappointment when he inevitably heard of Andrew’s less than amicable behaviour was worse than the idea of talking to a cute guy (Nicky’s taste wasn’t bad). A worser fate than death would be Betsy’s eventual involvement, if Nicky thought Andrew wasn’t being social enough. His first-therapist-adoptive-mother-saviour-figure had a monopoly on Andrew’s tolerance of others, whether he liked it or not.  

He took a table, not seeing anyone with the alleged red hair, blue eyes or leather satchel - Nicky said he never went anywhere without it. That had been odd enough to pique Andrew’s curiosity, but not really in a good way. 

He took his place at the table and busied himself with a menu, even though he’d already elected what he’d eat prior to arriving. The few moments to himself allowed him to centre himself, readying for whatever bullshit his cousin had signed him up for this time. 

He supposed that no amount of time would have allowed him to anticipate what he was dealt, as the man who he was to have dinner with collapsed into the chair opposite. His hair was wild, auburn curls and a freshly buzzed undercut matching expressive brows and awfully long lashes - of which framed the clearest blues Andrew had ever seen. His freckles were like constellations across his cheeks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he managed, swinging the leather satchel across the back of the chair. His buttons were askew but he hadn’t seemed to notice. It allowed Andrew to see the flush that ran down his neck and the hint of a puckered scar on his collarbone. 

A gunshot wound. 

Interesting, he thought. 

“Should we order?” the man asked. 

“I’m Andrew,” he said, pointedly. 

“Oh, right,” he ducked his head with a grimace. “I’m - Neil.” 

Andrew shrugged. “You can have a few minutes, if you’d like.”

Neil didn’t need time. He must have come prepared, as Andrew had. He took note of a few things as they ordered - he was health-conscious, only having a salmon dish and salad - he didn’t drink, not even the lightest champagne the place had to offer - and that he had the most elegant fingers. For some strange reason, Andrew could envision him spinning Andrew’s knives deftly. 

“So,” Neil started, awkward. “What do normal people talk about on dates?”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. 

Neil cleared his throat. “That wasn’t a testament of you being - abnormal - I’ve just never done something like this before, a friend put me up to it - I mean, I’m sure you’re interesting -” 

“It’s alright,” Andrew cut in, because Neil was truly digging himself a sufficient grave. “You should tell me three things you’ve never told anyone.” 

Neil blinked. “Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Why not? I’ll give you one: I’m afraid of heights.”

“Cockroaches,” Neil echoed, cocking his head to the side. “You’ve never told anyone you’re afraid of heights?”

“What use does that information have?”

“Why can I have it, then?”

Andrew wanted to hear more of this petulant, argumentative tone that Neil had gradually developed. “Must everything have a reason?”

“Of course not,” Neil tapped a lithe finger on the rim of his glass. “But most things - or people - do. That’s what they tell themselves, at least.”

“Profound,” Andrew acknowledged, tipping their glasses together. 

Neil wasn’t uninteresting. There was something underneath those ocean eyes.

Neil liked maths - he’d gone out of state to study for a few years, in Virginia - and cats and took the strawberry from Andrew’s dessert because he hated sweets but would eat fruit any day. He’d also clipped the lip of a waiter who’d expressed irritation that they asked for a split bill, finding the other waiter who’d served them to give the nicer girl a fiver tip. 

It was an odd balance, Andrew observed, between real facets of ‘Neil’ escaping and a formulated restraint, clearly years in the making. Andrew couldn’t believe how late it’d gotten by the time they’d left. Even the way Neil smoked was baffling, holding the light by his chin and looking out into the dimly lit street that stretched out before them. 

“How’d you get roped into this, anyway?” Neil inquired.

Andrew shrugged. “My cousin likes to mess with my life. How does Nicky know your friend, anyway?”

“I think they might’ve had an economics class together in college, and decided they shared a passion for exuberance and high-heels,” Neil chuckled, taking a slow drag. “Allison always said Nicky Nights were the most fun she’d ever had.”

“Allison,” Andrew considered. He wasn’t really familiar with the name. 

“I should probably be heading off,” Neil said, idly checking a watch. He wore a watch. It didn’t look cheap, either. “Have to deal with - family mess.” The way he said family mess had Andrew practically in stitches with intrigue. There was simply nothing simple about Neil, nothing Andrew could put together without time and patience. He simply nodded, watching cars drive past as Neil leant off the wall. 

He’d already written his number on the receipt: fingers hooked into Neil’s sleeve, he spun the young man around, just before he could waltz off to his nice car and drive on home. 

“Here,” he said offhandedly, ignoring the way his heart skipped and leaped. 

Neil took the number slowly, tucking it into his pocket. 

“I’m going to be a bit touch-and-go for a little while,” he said. “Family’s back in town and all. But I’ll text you,” he rolled his lips into his mouth as his cheeks went red. “I will text you.”

Andrew waved him off. “I don’t care what you do.”

Neil’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later, Andrew.”

Andrew watched as Neil walked away, arriving at a sleek black car that ought to be keyed in a city like Baltimore. Before he set off, he leaned into the passenger seat, rummaging for something. 

Just as Andrew was thinking I didn’t even get his last name, he noticed an odd glinting of something from within Neil’s car. Something reflecting the streetlight, almost into his eyes.

In the compartment of the door was a knife-handle, a cleaver blade attached. It was so carelessly thrown into the door shelf that it seemed to (still?) have a few mild specks of something red across its spine.

Andrew let his cigarette fall to the ground, shoving his hands into his pockets as Neil glanced over his shoulder to give Andrew another one of his little smiles, something Andrew wanted to hold and cherish in spite of the probable weapon left in the passenger seat’s door. As the car skidded away, Andrew remained utterly still, the amalgamation of emotions swirling within his usually void-like chest cavity. 

how was the date???????????? Nicky texted. 

bad, Andrew responded. Because - in spite of everything, the awkwardness, the lack of punctuality, the gunshot scar, the probably bloodied knife in his car - Andrew wanted to see him again. In spite of everything, it had been a good evening. 

oh well! Nicky sent back, with a cheerful smiley face and a bunch of needless xoxo’s. Andrew’s phone buzzed twice as another text came through - this time from an unknown number.

hi this is neil’s number - figured i would text at the traffic light before i lost this receipt :D

Fuck it, Andrew thought. 

*

hi neil. this is andrew.

*

tadaaaa

blind date!! also, neil, dont leave bloody cleavers in the passenger seat door, you dumbass 

[filthy-rat]

cat-like

On sunny, warm days like today, you find yourself drawn outside to bask. With a book tucked under one arm and a glass of water in your hand, you slip away from the stuffy, oppressive heat of the indoors, and make your way to the Ministry’s courtyard. The occasional breeze and shade from the trees makes the heat more bearable.

Beneath the shade of a gnarled willow tree tucked into one corner, you sit on your favorite bench. Placing your glass on the spindly outdoor table, you spread the book open on your lap and settle in with your feet tucked beneath you.

Usually, you’re left alone on days like this—but today, it seems, is different.

You only get a few pages into your book before you have a visitor. The ghoul named Dewdrop has followed your scent, judging from the way his nostrils flare as he steps out into the courtyard. From across the garden, your eyes meet, and his tail flicks from side to side as he holds your gaze. You’re a little surprised—after all, he’s hardly been friendly towards you in your time here, but maybe that’s just how he is.

“Hello,” you say, offering a polite smile.

Silently, he cocks his head to one side and doesn’t move.

It takes you a moment, but you realize he’s waiting for your permission. Dewdrop is a ghoul of very little words, but his intentions are usually crystal clear. His molten eyes flick to the empty spot beside you on the bench and then back to your face.

“You can come sit, if you’d like.”

With a brief flash of his sharp teeth—you think it’s meant to be a smile—Dewdrop crosses the courtyard and settles beside you on the bench at a respectable distance. Almost shyly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and silently begins to get comfortable. A shaft of sunlight falls across his spot on the bench, and as you turn back to your book, he tilts his head back with a sigh. Over time, he gets more and more cozy, until he’s laying fully horizontal, his head pillowed comfortably on your thigh. You don’t mind. In fact, it’s kind of cute. Like a large cat, he lays curled up in the sun, his tail flicking in pure contentment, a quiet purr vibrating from his chest.

You glance at him, and the urge to reach out and touch his head is just too irresistible to ignore. He stiffens as your fingers toy with the dark hair at the crown of his head, and there’s a momentary lapse in his purring. You hesitate, thinking maybe you’ve done something wrong, but then he’s purring even louder and pressing his head into your palm. Smiling, you continue, marveling at how soft his hair is between your fingers.

Slowly, he lifts his head and gazes at you with those eyes of his, his slit pupils widening into full, round pools of black. You smile at him, but something else has captured his attention.

The sun has moved now, and beams of light catch in the glass left on the table. An odd shimmer reflects onto the paving stones of the courtyard, and as the wind shifts the glass’s contents, the reflection shudders.

Dew’s eyes are glued to it.

Watching him closely, you reach out a hand towards the glass and give it a gentle shake. The reflection on the ground wobbles, and Dew jerks upright a little, his eyes transfixed on the splash of light. A tiny laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, and his eyes flick to you in surprise. Cheeks red now, he settles back against your leg, radiating embarrassment, and puts forth a valiant effort to ignore the reflection. 

But he watches it out of the corner of his eye, his pupils blowing wide every time it shudders.

When you pick up the glass to take a sip, he loses his composure entirely. He launches himself at the light on the ground and slaps his palms over it, like a kitten that’s just discovered its first insect. Tail lashing, he crouches low on all fours, head jerking in time with the back and forth movements of the light, occasionally slapping at it when it’s within reach. He seems to have utterly forgotten about your presence, and you can’t help but tease him a little. With the glass held in your hand, you swing the reflection this way and that, casting it across the courtyard and biting back laughter as Dewdrop scampers after it. When you send the reflection up the side of the wall and he leaps after it, claws scrabbling at the brick, a snort of laughter escapes you.

Suddenly, he freezes. Slowly, he turns a little to look at you over his shoulder, and you hastily set the glass back down. Biting your lower lip, you look back down at your book, but you’ve completely lost your place now.

Abruptly, your book is pushed out of your hands, and Dew’s leaning down now, invading your space. His arms box you in, hands braced on the bench to either side of you, and his glowing eyes hold your gaze. One of his sharp fangs poke out from his mouth as he flashes you a wicked grin. You’ve found yourself playing the mouse to his cat, and you’re not sure if you’re excited or afraid.

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t follow the golden rule around here,” he growls, his tail flicking. 

“...A-And what rule is that?” 

“Always let a sleeping ghoul lie.”

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 23

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

“What are you going to do to me?” Katie asked angrily from the chair that she was tied to with vervain soaked ropes. Jonas, Luka’s father, brought her to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

“Elijah told me that you once had a mental block put up on your old memories.” Jonas told her as he looked at the grimoire in his hands. I’m going to attempt to do the opposite.”

“Attempt?” Katie asked with wide eyes, afraid of what would happen to her mind if he failed.

“Don't worry. Elijah made it very clear that I am not to harm you.” He told her and she looked down at the bindings on her wrists then back at him. “Mentally.”

“Elijah is dead, Alaric killed him. Why are you doing this?” she asked, confused.

“Alaric also removed the dagger after stabbing him. I’m guessing your boyfriend didn’t know it has to stay in for Elijah to stay dead. He woke up shortly after and came to me. I located you and Elena. He went after Elena. I am taking care of you.” he answered.

She groaned and let her head fall back. “I wouldn’t call giving me memories I don’t want taking care of me.”

“I’m sorry you don’t want them, but I can’t go against Elijah.” He informed her.

Katie lifted her head back up and rolled her eyes. “You want your daughter back, I get it.” She sighed. “But I am begging you. Do not do this to me.”

“Let's just get this over with.” Jonas walked over holding the grimoire in one hand as he placed the other on her forehead. He started chanting something that sounded similar to what she remembered Sheila chanting, but she wasn't able to think about it before memories from another time started flooding her head sending a searing pain through her temples.

She screamed out, fighting the ropes that bound her. “Please, please stop. It hurts, please!” She screamed, but Jonas kept going.

~1827~

“Ronan has asked for your hand in marriage.” Hannah’s father, a harsh and abusive man, told her from where he sat behind his desk. “In two weeks you shall be his wife.”

“But I do not love Ronan.” Eighteen year old Hannah argued, earning a scoff from her red headed father, his mean, green eyes framed by bushy eyebrows glared down at her.

“Love is for children and fools.” He scolded her. “Ronan comes from a respected family and for some reason he has taken a liking to you.” He informed her, making her frown deepen. “I have no earthly idea why. It's not as if you are a rare beauty to be sought after.” Hannah, had she not been accustomed to such insults, would have felt a punch in the gut from his statement. “You will marry him.”

“I have no say in the matter?” She asked, standing from the chair across from his desk in anger. “It is my hand he asks for. I should have the right to accept or reject him.”

Her insolence caused her father to stand from the chair and backhand her across the cheek before he grabbed her chin in his strong hand and got in her face. “Ronan may very well be the only chance you have to marry. I can not for the life of me see why he would want to wed an atrocious, ill mannered woman such as you. I refuse to have you under my roof for the rest of my life.” He practically threw her away from him with a growl. “You will marry him.”

Later that night she caught her mother alone in her bedroom, sitting in a chair at a vanity combing her wavy brown hair. "You know you are not allowed in here, Hannah." Her mother chided her not looking at her.

"Mother, please, I do not want to marry Ronan." Hannah pleaded with her beautiful mother.

"What is so bad about him?" Her mother asked dismissively. "He is handsome and he likes you."

"But I do not love him, Mother." Hannah argued.

"Pish posh." Her mother answered with a shrug.

"Mother, please, talk father out of making me marry him." Hannah begged.

"Get out of here before your father catches you." Her mother told her with a wave of her hand to the door. "No sense in both of us catching a beating."

Instead of going to her own room she slid into bed with her sister. “So you are to marry Ronan?” her fifteen year old sister asked as they both stared out into the darkness.

“Yes.” Hanna answered sadly.

“I know you do not love him, but you are lucky.” Her sister told her, the innocence in her young voice brought tears to Hannah’s eyes. “He is nice, unlike father. You will be getting out of here. You will be free.”

“Do you know what men expect of their wives?” Hannah asked knowing she shouldn’t taint her sister’s innocence with talk of consummating a marriage.

“You will have to have sex with him.” she answered, shocking Hannah with her knowledge. “Think about it sister. Is having sex really worse than thrashings from a cat of nine tails?”

“It is if I do not love him and do not want to be with him.” Katie answered, getting sick to her stomach at the thought of her wedding night.

“Do you love another?” her sister asked and Hannah shook her head before realizing that her sister couldn’t see her in their dark room.

“No. I simply wish to die an old maid.” She answered with a lie. What she really wished for was a love like no other. She longed for butterflies, adventure, a spark that would ignite something in her and consume her.

“Perhaps you will grow to love him.” her sister suggested sounding hopeful.

Tears silently slipped down Hannah’s cheeks, soaking into her bright curls. “Perhaps.”

Hannah’s sister had been right. She did grow to love Ronan and they lived a comfortable life together away from her father and mother. However the love they shared was that of friends and didn’t hold a flame to the life that Katie longed for. A year after they married Hannah gave birth to their son, her only source of true joy. A year after Jonah was born, Hannah’s sister married Ronan’s younger brother. However yellow fever took him from her leaving her a childless widow. Hannah and Ronan opened their doors to her to keep her from returning to their abusive father.

~1835~

Ronan took a job on a trade ship, leaving Hannah and seven year old Jonah alone. Three months after his departure, Elijah found them in the forest near her house.

~1836~

Jonah sat at the head of the table since it was his eighth birthday, Elijah and Hannah sitting on each side of him, eating the dinner of deer stew and burned biscuits. Elijah had been with them for eight months. “Fiona could have directed me to someone who could cook.” He told her with a smirk at the burned biscuit he held in his hand, examining it for any bite that wasn’t charred.

“I don’t think anyone else would have accepted you.” Hannah countered. “Besides, it is not like you actually need food to survive.” She pointed out with a smirk of her own.

“True.” He told her as he set the biscuit back in the bowl.

“Mother may I be excused?” Jonah asked, eager to pay with his new toys.

“Yes, you may.” Hannah told him and the boy bounced down from his chair and over to the fireplace to play quietly.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to his father?” Elijah asked, watching Jonah play.

“He uh…” Hannah started twisting her plain gold band. “He left on a trade ship a year ago and has yet to return.” She told him as she continued to play with her ring as she looked over at Jonah and noticed the fire was getting low and the temperature in the cabin was dropping. “I need to get more firewood.” She announced as she stood from the table and headed to the door.

“I will get it.” he offered as he stood.

“No, I…I could use the fresh air.” She told him then went outside. She was stacking logs in her arms when she saw them…glowing yellow eyes that caused her heart to stop. The last time she had seen them was when her sister was attacked and killed by a wolf.

Elijah was sitting at the dinner table, finishing his stew when he heard Hannah’s ear piercing scream. “Stay inside.” He told Jonah as she ran out to the wood pile to see Hannah on the ground as a wolf tore into her shoulder.

“Elijah!” she screamed as he sped over and grabbed the wolf. It bit him on the arm as he threw it off of Hannah. It ran off into the woods.

With the wolf gone, Elijah kneeled down next to her, wrapped his arm around her back and lifted her up as he bit his wrist and placed it to her lips. “Drink, please.” He told her with fear in his eyes. Hannah did as told and swallowed the blood that filled her mouth. He swept her wild curls to the side and watched as the massive spot of mangled flesh healed leaving just a bloody spot behind. Still shaking in fear she stared at him with tears on her eyes. As relief washed over him he pulled her into him. “You are okay. You are safe.” he sighed as she swayed her side to side as if she were a frightened child. Still slightly in shock Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck and he picked her up standing her on her feet again. “Let’s get you inside.” he wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the cabin.

He left her in her bedroom to get cleaned up while he got more wood to keep them warm. When he got back inside and started stoking the fire back to life Jonah asked, “Is mother okay?”

“Yes, she will be fine.” He told the young boy as she finished with the fire. “For now it is time you went to sleep.” He motioned over to the small bed in the corner of the living area.

“Can I play with my toys just a little bit longer?” the boy begged, but stood from the floor as he did.

“Your toys will still be there in the morning.” Elijah told him and the boy set the toys down then went to his bed. Elijah followed him, and tucked him in the way Hannah did every night.

“I’m worried about Mother.” Jonah told Elijah as he pulled the covers up to the boy's chin.

“She will be fine, she’s just scared of the wolves.” Elijah assured him.

“That is not why I am worried.” Jonah told Elijah as he stood up. “I hear her crying when she thinks I’m asleep.”

“I am sure she just misses your father.” He replied and the young boy shook his head no.

“She cried even before father left.” The boy’s words made Elijah frown and looked at Hannah’s bedroom door.

“You have no reason to worry. Now,” he pulled the covers up a little higher and patted Jonah’s shoulder, “go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” Jonah replied then closed his eyes.

Elijah blew out the oil lamp then went to Hannah’s door and knocked. She opened it and gave him a questioning look as she watched him tap absentmindedly on the doorframe. “I just wanted to make sure you are okay.” He told her then looked up from the doorframe to meet her eyes. She jerked her head for him to come in and stepped aside. He came in and she closed the door behind him. “I am okay. Thank you for healing me.” She told him as she set down on her bed and motioned him to the chair that sat at her roll top desk.

"You are welcome." He told her with a polite nod as he sat down and propped his elbow up on the desk.

"That wolf that attacked me...they only come around on a full moon." Hannah started. "They’re not normal wolves."

"They are lycanthrope." He informed her.

"You have seen them before?" She asked with a curious head tilt.

"Yes. They are shape-shifters. On any given day they appear to be human, but they are not." Hannah had grown to love listening to him speak. "They are fast, strong, quick to heal, but on a full moon they transform into wolves. While in wolf form they only have one thing on their mind, killing whoever they come upon. However their prey of choice is vampires." Hannah watched him as he spoke, becoming relaxed by the sound of his voice. "I am afraid it is my fault they found their way here and attacked you." He told her with remorseful eyes.

"It is not your fault. They have been terrorizing us since we moved here." She told him as she looked down at her hands in her lap. "I am glad you are here. If you hadn't saved me my son would be alone, left to fend for himself in this cruel world." She then noticed that the bite on his arm hadn’t healed and he looked pale and clammy. "That wound," she pointed at the bite that could be seen through the tear in his white sleeve, "Why has it not healed?"

"I'm afraid it will not heal for some time." She gave him a questioning look. "A lycanthrope bite is like that of a snake. It releases a toxin that is fatal to vampires." He pushed his sleeve up revealing the ugly bite.

"You are going to die?" She asked, saddened by the possibility.

"If I were any other vampire, yes, but I am an original. It will make me sick and delusional, however as soon as the venom is out of my system I will be fine."

Hannah stood and tentatively pressed her palm to his forehead. "You are burning up." She observed. "Lie on the bed. I will get a wet cloth for your head."

"You do not need to make a fuss." He told her in an attempt to stop her.

"You saved my life. The least I can do is make you more comfortable." She told him as she grabbed a cloth from under the wash basin and poured some cool water over it. She expected to see him lying on the bed when she turned around, but he was gone. "Or not." She tried to stay awake until he returned, but she ended up falling asleep.

When she woke up she went into the living area to see him asleep on his makeshift bed across the room from her son’s. Jonah was awake, sitting at the dining table eating one of the biscuits. "He came in right after sunrise." The little boy informed her. "Is he okay?"

"Yes. He had a bad night is all.” She told him as she set her hand on top of his head. Hearing them talking, Elijah began to stir. Katie walked over and kneeled down as she placed her hand on his shoulder making him open his eyes. “Why don’t you take my bed so Jonah and I won’t keep bothering you?”

“I am fine here.” He told her then closed his eyes again.

Katie left her hand on his shoulder as she looked at Jonah. “Take your toys outside, fresh air will do you good.”

“Yes, Mother.” The boy replied and as soon as he was out of sight Hannah turned her attention back to Elijah.

“You haven’t eaten since noon yesterday.” She pointed out and Elijah opened his eyes again.

“I assure you I am fine.” He insisted, but Hannah wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“You look like death warmed over. You need rest and no one can rest well on an empty stomach. Please, eat.” She told him as she held her wrist out to him.

“You are a stubborn woman.” He complained as he sat up and took her arm in his hands.

“Only when I care.” She told him right before he sank his teeth into her wrist making her wince in pain. When he released her she flipped her hand over to look at her wrist only to see the bite heal before her eyes. She gave him a small smile as she reached up and brushed his long wavy hair out of his face, taking in his improved color. “There, that’s better.” He took her hand from his head sending butterflies through her from the skin contact, as he gave her a small smile of his own. “Now,” she stood up taking her hand from his as she jerked her head to the bedroom, “off to bed with you.”

After the wolf incident something about their relationship changed. They saw each other in a new light, as companions instead of strangers helping each other survive. They started talking more, sharing their lives and getting to know one another. He made her smile and laugh more than anyone ever had before.

A few months later the three of them sat at the dinner table. As usual Jonah sat at the head of the table while Elijah and Hannah sat across from each other. Hannah glanced up from her dinner to the man sitting across from her to see him already looking at her. A blush warmed her cheeks as she turned her eyes back to her bowl. A few seconds later she felt his foot touch hers. She thought it was an accident, but when it happened again she looked up to see him give her a small smile. She blushed again and nudged his foot with hers. “Mother, are you feeling well? Your face looks funny?” Jonah asked, making both she and Elijah laugh awkwardly at the boy’s observation.

Yes, Jonah, I am feeling just fine. If you are finished you may be excused." The boy nodded and hopped down out of the chair, putting his empty plate in the wash basin before he went to the coffee table that Elijah had built and started playing. "Are you ever going to tell me why you are hiding away here in the woods with a married woman and her son?" She asked as she pulled her feet out of his reach.

"Perhaps after Jonah turns in for the night." He answered quietly.

Soon they settled in the living room. She knitted while Jonah read a book and Elijah whittled away at a small piece of wood. "What time is it?" She asked then watched as Elijah looked at his pocket watch.

"Five after ten." He answered then set his whittling aside.

"Alright Jonah. Off to bed with you." She prompted earning a whine from the boy. "Don’t complain." She scolded him gently as he put away his toys and headed to his bed.

"Will you sing to me?" He asked. Hannah looked at him with a sigh then to Elijah.

"I would like to hear as well." Elijah told her with a small encouraging smile.

Jonah had asked her to sing every other night, but she hadn't been able to make herself with Elijah as an audience. "What would you like to hear?"

"Father's favorite please." He answered with an excited, but sleepy smile.

"Very well." She told him with a smile as she laid her hand on him and started singing The Parting Glass. By the time the song was through Jonah was asleep. She pulled the blanket higher up around him then stood and turned to see that Elijah had fallen asleep as well. She smiled to herself as she placed her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it, waking him up gently. When he opened his eyes and they found her face, she jerked her head to her bedroom.

He got up and followed her, watching as she shut the door behind them to keep from waking Jonah. "I Apologize. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I find your singing voice to be very comforting."

"I feel the same about your voice." She admitted with a coy smile. "So please, tell me what brought you here." She sat down on her bed and he sat on the stool in the room.

"My mother was a witch, she cast the spell on all of us, making us what we are, including herself. She died. My father…lives on, trying to kill my siblings and me. He believes us monsters that need to be removed from the world. Out of the seven children my mother bore Niklaus, Rebekah and I are all that remains." He answered not looking at her but at the wooden floor of the room. “We split up to make it harder for our father to track us.”

"So that is why you are here?" She asked with a frown. "To hide from your father?" Elijah nodded, still not looking at her. Even when she slipped from the bed and walked the few steps over to him he did not look up. She tentatively reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. "Elijah." She whispered his name and he finally looked up at her with a hardened reserve in his chocolate brown eyes. "I know what it is like to have a father that despises you. You are welcome here as long as you'd like."

"You are too kind." He told her as he reached up and gently grabbed her wrist talking her hand from his face as he stood up. "Good night, Hannah."

The whole next week Elijah became distant, all smiles and flirtations stopped. Growing more worried Jonah found his mother hanging the wet laundry on the line while Elijah went out hunting. "Is Mr. Mikaelson mad at us?" He asked Hannah to stop what she was doing to look down at the young man.

"He is only mad at me." She replied not knowing that Elijah stood off in the distance listening to them.

"Why?" He asked.

Hannah kneeled down to be eye level with the boy. "Some people...they don't like getting too familiar or too close to others. They stay away for fear of caring too much."

"Why would someone be afraid of caring?" Jonah asked, confused.

"Because when you care about another person it means that they can hurt you, even if they do not mean to." She told him.

"I don’t understand." He told her with confusion in his young innocent eyes.

"You will one day." She assured him as she stood up. "But for today why don't you go milk Millie?" The boy nodded and ran off to milk the cow.

Later that night Katie laid in her plush bed, tears of loneliness slipping from her eyes, wetting the feather pillow beneath her head.

Elijah in turn laid awake listening to the rain beating down on the wooden roof of the cabin. "She's crying again." Jonah's sleepy voice pulled Elijah from his thoughts and made him tune his ears into the bedroom where he heard Hannah's quiet sobs.

"She will be okay." He told the boy as he sat up and looked into Jonah's eyes. "Go back to sleep." Compelled to do so, Jonah laid down his head and closed his eyes.

Elijah knocked softly on Hannah's door, then listened as she came to it and opened it just a crack. "Yes?" She asked, keeping her eyes down cast so he couldn't see the redness of them.

"May I have a word?" Hannah nodded and stepped back letting him inside before she shut the door and turned to see him tapping the corner of her oil lit writing desk in thought. "I apologize for my behavior here of late." He said while looking down at his hand.

"I should be the one apologizing." She replied, making him look up at her, confusion. "I...overstepped and made you uncomfortable... I'm sorry."

"You did not make me uncomfortable or overstep." He told her as he turned to her and tucked his hands into the pockets on his trousers. "You showed me kindness and I shut you out. I am sorry."

"It's quite alright." She assured him as she sat down on her bed.

He sat down on the chair at the desk. "I would like to get to know you better."

"What would you like to know that I haven’t already told you?" She asked as she brought her feet up onto the bed and tucked them to the side.

"How did you come to know your husband?" He asked as he leaned back in the chair with an interested look on his face.

"My family and I met him at his family's barn raising. They were new to the community. My sister was taken with Ronan from the start, but he was taken with me. Said he knew from the moment his eyes landed on me that he would ask for my hand one day. So when I came of age he did." She answered as she watched him rest his arm on the desk, listening to her with a slight squint to his eyes. "I did not want to marry him. Not just because my sister fancied him, but because I didn't." She let her eyes fall to the thick cream quilt on her bed. "I know it broke my sister’s heart when I told her he had asked for my hand, but she never said so. She told me I was lucky to be getting away from our parents."

"If you didn’t want to marry him, why did you?" He asked with a frown.

"Because... while my father was harsh his words were true. He informed me that love is for children and fools. And I would be a fool to pass up Roman's generous offer because it would be my only one. No man would want an atrocious, unattractive, ill mannered woman like me."

"What a cruel man to speak such a way about his daughter." Elijah said with a frown.

"Like I said. I know what it is like to be despised." She replied, still looking down at her hands.

Things got quiet between them as she got lost in thought and Elijah let her words sink in. After a while he broke it. "It is late. I should turn in for the night."

He started to open the door, but Hannah spoke up, "Elijah?" He turned back to her. She wanted to tell him he could have the other half of her bed, but she knew it was improper to share a bed with a man you are not married to. So instead she said, "Goodnight."

He gave her a small close lipped smile and a "goodnight." as he pulled the door open and walked out.

Winter turned to spring and with spring came school. Since they lived so far from town Jonah stayed the week days at the trading post in town with Fiona. It was an arrangement that the two women had worked out right after Ronan left. With every passing day Hannah started to lose hope that Ronan would ever return and in doing so started letting herself develop feelings for Elijah.

One late spring night a loud sharp howl sounded causing Katie to shoot straight up in bed. "Elijah?" She called shakily hoping he was awake to hear her.

He came into her room and saw her standing beside her bed, looking right at him even though she couldn’t see him. "I'm right here." He told her as he slid his arm around her waist using the fact that she was scared as an excuse to hold her close.

Her heart rate increased, at his touch that sent a spark of pleasure through her sending the butterflies in her stomach into a tizzy. When another howl sounded Katie jumped closer to Elijah out of instinct. Without thinking she pressed her hands to his chest. "Is it the lycanthrope?"

"No." He answered confidently.

"How are you so sure?" She asked. He let go of her, went to the window and pulled the curtain back. He motioned to the crescent moon with his hand held out to the side. She walked over and ducked her head to look out the window and saw the bright crescent in the clear sky. "Oh." She answered with a blush as she stood up straight and looked at him in the very dim moonlight. Not feeling like going to bed just yet she felt her way to the oil lamp and lit it, brightening the room so she could see him plainly. “I guess I look silly now don’t I?” she asked as she brushed a lock of curls behind her ear.

“Perhaps just a…” he held his pointer finger and thumb up in a pinching gesture, “little.” He gave her a smile that told her he was picking with her.

Hannah laughed at herself in embarrassment and scratched the back of her neck. “I…” she wanted to tell him how much she liked him and that he made her feel things she had never felt before, but the only man she had ever been with was Roman and it was simply for procreation, never for fun. She didn’t know how to flirt or even how to touch a man in a way that conveyed how she was feeling. “I don’t know how to say what I wish to.” She told him then lifted her eyes from the floor to watch his eyes that squinted at her then relaxed when he realized what she was trying to tell him. Deciding it would be easier to show him what she wanted, rather than tell him, she closed the space between them to just a few inches and placed her hands on his chest.

Elijah could hear her heart start racing from the contact and as soon as she looked up at him through her lashes he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into him, catching her top lip between his. The sensation his kiss sent though her to her core pulled a sound from deep within her that she had never made before, a pleasured moan. A trail of kisses left tingles along her jaw to her neck pulling another moan from her. “You are trembling.” He observed as he pulled back and slid his hand that wasn’t cupping the back of her head over her thin sleeping gown covered shoulder.

“I have never felt like this before.” She admitted with a whisper as she opened her eyes and looked into his.

“And how do you feel?” he asked as he gazed back at her.

Her eyes dropped to her hands on his chest as she slid them up to hold each side of his neck. “Alive.” She answered as she looked back up at him as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Your touch sends a spark…like lightning through my skin.” With a look in his eyes she’d never seen before and couldn’t identify, he slid his hand down her arm and grabbed her hand off his neck to hold it in his, causing her heart to start racing again. “Do you feel it too or am I going insane?” she asked with worried eyes.

Elijah kissed the palm of her hand, making her eyes flutter then placed it back on his neck. “I feel it too.” Those four words were all she needed to hear to give into what she was feeling and she threw herself into him, kissing him with a hunger that she couldn’t control. In two swift movements her human eyes barely caught their night clothes were gone and he pulled her back into him. With another swift movement he grabbed her curvy waist and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around him out of instinct.

They kissed as he walked over to the edge of the bed, laid her back then stood up, slipping his hand over her neck and down her chest between her breasts. She watched his face as he admired her for a quick moment then lowered himself over her, sliding his hands into hers that were laid out to the side then brought them above her head. He attacked her neck with kisses as he sank into her, “Elijah.”

Afterwards they laid in her bed, covered only by a thin sheet. His arm around her shoulders held her to his side while she stared at her hand resting on his nude chest. In that moment everything in her was relaxed and her thoughts were quiet for the first time ever. Being with Elijah was like nothing she had ever felt before and she doubted she would ever feel with anyone else. “You are quiet.” Elijah pointed out and she didn’t respond. “Having regrets?”

“No.” she answered, but he could hear sadness in her voice.

“Hannah, look at me.” He told her quietly, but she couldn’t. “Talk to me.”

“If my life has taught me anything it’s that men do not like it when a woman speaks her mind.” She replied, still staring at her hand on his chest.

Elijah hooked his pointer finger under her chin and eased her head up to look at him. She pushed herself up on her arm to be able to look at him comfortably. “I am not your average man and I would very much like to know what is going on in that beautiful head of yours.” he cupped her cheek in his hand and her eyes slipped closed for a moment.

She took a deep breath and let it out as she opened her eyes. “I am a terrible wife.” The calm she had been feeling suddenly turned into a tornado and tears started quietly slipping down her cheeks. “I should feel terrible about that, but I don’t.”

“Then why do you cry?” he asked as he wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I do not know.” She answered honestly with a shake of her head that caused her messy curls to sway, then laid back down with her head on his shoulder.

“You told me that you married Ronan because your father told you that no other man would want an atrocious, ill mannered woman like you. Do you honestly believe these things to be true?”

She rubbed his chest absentmindedly. "Yes."

"Hannah," he rolled over, and propped his head up with his elbow and hand as he looked into her eyes, "you are the most stunningly beautiful, kind hearted, open minded woman I have ever met."

"The bad stuff is easier to believe." She replied not meeting his eyes.

As the days passed Hannah, Elijah and Jonah became a family. Hannah accepted that Ronan had either abandoned them or died at sea, and took off her wedding ring. For the first time in her life she felt true happiness. The loneliness that had kept her up at night as she cried into her pillow vanished.

Three months later Hannah stood in Fiona’s trading post. “You and Elijah are getting along well?” the dark haired woman who radiated strength and power, asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes.” Hannah answered with a blush as she looked at a beautiful gown hanging on the back wall of the shop. “It would be safe to say that I have fallen in love with him” Her friend made a scandalous sound that made Hannah laugh and turn to her. “The only problem is…” she paused and looked around the shop seeing that it was empty as she walked over to Fiona who stood at the front counter, “he is immortal. I will grow old and die while he lives on.”

“You could always ask him to turn you.” Fiona suggested not looking up from the imported fancy shoes that she was stocking behind the counter.

“As much as I love him I don’t think I could ever convince myself to be what he is.” She answered with a frown. “Is there anything you could do to make me live longer?” she asked looking up from her hands that tapped the counter.

“No, but…” the bell above the door rang, stopping their conversation. They waited patiently for the customer to get what he needed and leave. “I have a solution to your problem.” Fiona told her about the linking spell and that as long as Elijah lived she would return to him and vice versa.

“What do you need?” Hannah asked hearing all she needed to hear to know she wanted Fiona to work her magic.

“Are you sure about this?” Fiona asked with skeptical eyes.

“I am sure.” Hannah answered with a nod.

Fiona placed her hand over Hannah’s heart and started speaking in another language. After a few minutes she stopped and dropped her hand. “It’s done.”

“Will he know what we’ve done?” she asked.

“He will be able to feel you call to him, as well as any extreme feelings you may have. If I were to stab you, he’d be able to feel it.” she explained. “You will figure it out with time.”

Elijah figured out what Fiona and Hanna had done, but they never talked about it.

~1838~

It was a bright spring day. Hannah attempted to hang laundry on the line, but Elijah kept teasing her dress covered sides and kissing her neck, distracting her from her work. They were so wrapped up in their toying around that they did not realize they had company until they heard someone clear their throat. Hannah laughed as they both turned to see a man on a horse, a small child on the saddle in front of him. It took Hannah a moment to recognize the man, but when she did her heart stopped and her smile faded. "Ronan?"

"Surprised to see me, Dear?" He asked with an angry look at Elijah who still stood behind her. Ronan got down off the horse then grabbed the child and walked over to her. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"What are you doing here?" She asked, still in shock.

"Last I checked I live here with my wife and son. Though I see you no longer wear my ring." He glanced over at Elijah then turned his attention back to Hannah. "Where is Jonah?"

When he realized that Hannah was unable to answer Elijah spoke up. "He is staying with a friend closer to town so he may attend school regularly."

"I don’t believe I was speaking to you." Ronan snapped.

"I don’t believe I care who you were speaking to." Elijah snapped back as he took a challenging step toward the raven haired man holding the child on his hip.

Hannah stepped between them and looked at Elijah. "Give us a minute?"

"Of course." Elijah stepped back a few feet and motioned for them to talk.

"You have been gone so long I thought you had died." Hannah explained with a look between him and the toddler.

"My journey took longer than expected." He told her then looked down at the child on his hip. "Her mother died on the ship, just before we docked." He explained then looked back at Hannah. "I hoped we could give her a home, raise her and Jonah as brother and sister."

"You have been gone for four years. You can not tell me you expected to just pick up where we left off and raise an orphaned child together." She argued back quietly.

"I expected my wife to be faithful. Not whore herself out to another man." He told her with wide eyes.

The sharp crack of skin on skin filled the air as she backhanded him across his cheek. "I am not the weak, dutiful to a fault woman you left behind and you will not speak to me in such a manner!"

Having seen enough Elijah walked back over and looked at Ronan. "Why don’t you tell her the truth?" Elijah asked, making Hannah look at him as Ronan glared at both of them. Elijah wrapped his arm around Hannah’s waist holding her to his side. "The child has your eyes." He looked into Ronan's eyes and compelled him. "Tell the truth."

"I met a woman...we fell in love...she got pregnant and I could not let her raise the child alone. We were going to have a second child, but she and the baby died in childbirth. I did not know what to do so I came here." Hannah’s eyes turned glaring and her freckled nostrils flared. Ronan blinked in confusion. "Why did I just tell you that?"

"Get off of my land." She told him as she stepped out of Elijah's arm to stand in front of Ronan. "Leave this town and never return."

Elijah looked him in the eyes and compelled him. "Do as she says."

Hannah never told Jonah that he had a half sister. Instead she let him believe for his sake that his father had died at sea. A few months after Ronan returned Klaus found Elijah and killed Hannah. Elijah left Jonah with Fiona who located Ronan and brought the young man to his father who raised him alongside his half sister.

~Present Day~

“Please tell me you are done.” Katie panted as she weakly looked up at him.

“I am done.” He told her as he untied the ropes on her wrists and ankles. “Elijah told me to take you home when I was done. Is your home with the Salvatore brothers or the house you own?” he asked as he helped her stand up and she was too weak to bother protesting.

“Bring me to my house.” She answered and started walking. They were almost to the door of the warehouse when a sharp pain shot through her chest making her cry out and she would have fallen, but Jonas caught her. “No, no, no.” She cried as she placed her hand over her chest knowing that Elijah was dead and would most likely stay that way this time.

“Care to explain what that was about?” Jonas asked with wide eyes.

“Elijah is dead.” She panted through the pain. “Something tells me they won’t make the same mistake twice.” She watched as Jonas’s face turned angry.

[wandas-sunshine]

A Soldier’s Spring - Chapter 4

Summary: She was one of Hydra’s secret weapons; a female winter soldier. And Bucky can’t let her go through what he did alone. Everything is coming back to her, and he’s the only one that can help her become human again.

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood mentions, badly written fight scenes

Word Count: 4,383

Previously on A Soldier’s Spring | Series Masterlist

She didn’t know how long she’d been out. She didn’t really even remember passing out. Her head was throbbing, but at least she had some of her strength back. She was on her feet fast, grabbing her weapons and strapping them on, moving to leave.

(Y/N) didn’t have time to come up with a plan. Truth be told, she didn’t even know if she had time to worry about her weapons. She needed to get out before it was too late. Before they caught up and took her back.

She nudged the curtain aside and peeked out the window. Nobody seemed to have followed her. That alone was suspicious, but she wasn’t going to overthink the good things she had. She slipped out the door and crept around the back of the building. She kept close to the wall, hiding in the shadows and doing her best to avoid being seen until she had nowhere else to hide. She needed to get as far from town as her body could take her.

She kept her head hung low, her hood pulled up. Not many people dared to look her in the eye. Even when she was trying to make herself small, she was a sight to behold; an unrivaled force. Pedestrians scampered out of her way as she marched down the streets of town.

No matter the persona, the dangerous energy she radiated, she was nothing more than a terrified little girl. She was in a panicked tizzy, her head was everywhere else — anywhere else — as she searched for her path to freedom.

The team had just arrived in the last town the Bloodred Princess had been spotted in. She was damn near a shadow, but Bucky knew the way she thought. It helped having him on their side. She had caused quite a commotion and then fallen off the radar of the locals. They found her in a park, tucked away at the edge of a secluded grove of trees.

Once he had seen her, Bucky wasn’t hearing anything Steve was saying. She was him; alone and afraid, her head on a constant swivel. She was like a cornered animal, and she was so much more dangerous that way.

“You with us Buck?” Steve’s voice cut through his thoughts. He dragged a hand through his hair. He wasn’t with them at all, he was right there at her side. But that wasn’t the answer they wanted. All it would do was earn him a talk he didn’t want to have, a lecture that he didn’t want to hear.

“Nat, Sam, you’re taking the lead. Me and Bucky will stick close by. If you need backup I’m there.” His eyes locked onto Bucky. It was almost comforting to see that familiar look of determination on Steve’s face. Almost. “Bucky is our last resort. She’s not like anything we’ve faced before.”

“Come on, Cap. We dealt with grandpa here, how bad can she be?” Sam joked, nodding towards Bucky. It was an attempt to lighten the mood. Everyone could feel Bucky drifting away, and they’d be lying if they said it didn’t make them a little nervous. Steve just gave him a stern look.

“I’m going in. Maybe we don’t have to fight our way through this one.” Natasha said, turning on her heel to march towards the ex-Hydra soldier. Steve protested, but she didn’t even flinch. There was no stopping her once she set her mind to something.

She walked closer, trying not to seem like a threat. Much easier said than done when it came to Natasha Romanoff. And the skittish young woman seemed to sense that. Her hand flew to her gun and she jumped to her feet. Nat didn’t falter, just held up her hands in surrender. She worked well under pressure.

“I just wanna talk to you.” She stated. The girl’s eyes narrowed. Nobody ever just wanted to talk. She backed up a couple steps, and Natasha took it as a sign to give her some space.

(Y/N) searched for an escape. She’d have to run, and chances were she’d end up even more turned around than she already was. She hadn’t spotted backup for the woman in front of her, but she was sure there were agents waiting in the wings. Nobody in their right minds would send an agent to take her down alone. Not even Hydra was that brave, and they certainly weren’t that reckless.

“You’re Hydra. But they use you like a toy, don’t they? They don’t care about you.” Natasha began, but a storm of anger swirled in (Y/N)’s eyes, her entire body tensed like a lion prepared to pounce.

“I am not Hydra.” Her voice thundered. “I’m not Hydra, I won’t go back there.”

“We don’t want you to go back, (Y/N). We want to help.” Natasha pressed forward again, but this time the other agent stayed firmly rooted in place.

She knows who you are, (Y/N). She hasn’t tried to hurt you. The voice in her head tried to talk her down from that dangerous ledge once again, but her heart was racing, her entire head was filling with a panicked fog.

“Don’t say that name. Stay away from me.” Natasha was closing in now, and the panic was nearly overwhelming. She clung desperately to what calm she had left, begging her wits to stay about her.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave you alone.” Nat murmured. “We need your help, (Y/N). And you need ours.”

She reached to touch (Y/N)’s arm, and the Hydra agent gave way. She pushed back everything, her self control, her common sense, and melted into her training.

Her hand wrapped around Natasha’s wrist in a bruising grip. With a shuffle of her feet, and a shift of her weight, she pushed Natasha over her shoulder with superhuman strength, sending the assassin flying into a tree. She groaned pushing herself off the ground and spun to press herself against the other side of the trunk. Maybe they couldn’t talk themselves out of this one.

Gunshots rang out as (Y/N) fired several shots at the tree, slowly closing the distance between them. You aren’t a murderer. Think about this! Her mother’s voice was desperate, trying to remind her of who she really was. But this wasn’t quite her, and it wasn’t quite the Bloodred Princess. No, this was a terrified girl protecting herself the only way she knew how.

She swung around, gun leveled to shoot through the other woman’s chest, but she faltered. There was nobody there. She spun around, her throat growing tight. She was met with a kick to the jaw. Her entire head rattled, and she had to catch herself against the tree. She wasn’t going to let it distract her.

She blocked another kick and threw a flurry of enraged blows. One after another was blocked or dodged with cat-like agility until she finally managed to land a hit. A crushing kick against Natasha’s chest sent her tumbling through the air and into a bench that shattered under the force of her landing. She groaned.

“A little help here, boys?” She snapped into their comms, already back on her feet as the ex-Hydra agent moved closer, but she didn’t make it very far.

Sam swooped from the air, both of his feet landing hard against her chest. (Y/N) tumbled a decent ways away, stopping with a groan. She slammed her fist into the ground with a frustrated grumble before pushing herself up again.

She pulled another gun from her holster, leveling it at her newest target’s head. As her finger found the trigger, the weapon was knocked from her grip. It skittered away, and Natasha wrapped herself around the girl’s body, a flurry of limbs that wrestled her to the ground. She squirmed, back pressed to uneven dirt and a knee nestled against her throat.

She fought to find purchase against the ground, gripping the trained assassin and managing to force her aside. With the momentum of the attack (Y/N) flew to her feet. In an instant, she was turned and sprinting towards Sam with an angry frustration swirling in her gaze. He made to take to the sky, but her hand found his ankle and dragged him back to solid ground. She clung to one of the mechanical wings, jabbing an elbow towards his face and catching him in the nose.

There was another attempt at escape on his part, but she tightened her grip on his wing, tearing it from the suit with ease. She pivoted, slamming the piece into his head and forcing him to fall to his knees. She threw the useless wing aside and backed away.

“I’m grounded,” Sam groaned to his team, scrambling for some semblance of shelter. “We might be needing that backup, Cap.”

Nobody had noticed the way (Y/N)’s hands trembled, of the way she so desperately avoided killing, even when her instincts begged her to. All she wanted was to get out, to be free. She turned and raced away, sprinting hard and fast. She tried to listen past the rush of blood in her ears for the sound of someone chasing after her. But there wasn’t anything to hear, no sign that she was being pursued until a firm grip on her arm stopped her in her tracks. She spun, expecting one of her previous opponents but being faced with someone entirely new.

“Leave me alone,” She wailed at the top of her lungs, her throat burning with the scratch of the scream. Her eyes darted around wildly. She needed to get away, she needed out. She couldn’t go back. “Just leave me alone, let me go.”

The sheer power behind the agony laced scream caught Steve off guard. He’d expected blank eyed stoicism like when he’d first encountered Bucky. But this was entirely different. She was falling apart. His grip loosened just a little, and that was all she needed.

She slipped her arm free, winding up and landing a blow to his jaw. She hit him several more times, catching his cheekbone, and feeling his nose crack under her fist. Then she kicked against the side of his knee and watched him crumple to the ground before she took off again.

She ducked to safety behind a parked car, running her hands over her face and trying in vain to regain her grasp of her common sense. She needed to find a way out that didn’t rely on brute force because for once, she didn’t think she could fight her way out of this one.

She didn’t get the chance to think too much more on the matter. Steve caught sight of her again, closing in. Her panic returned. She rolled aside, leaping to her feet. She launched herself at him, using the car as a springboard. She hooked her legs around his neck, twisting her body in the air to drag him to the ground. She landed on top of him, digging her knee into his shoulder and pressing the blade of her knife to his throat.

“Who are you?” She demanded. When he didn’t answer, she pressed the blade harder against his skin, a few drops of blood gathering against glinting metal. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“My name’s Steve.” The man finally answered. She let up on the knife. She’d hit him pretty good from what she could tell. He had a split lip, and his nose was bleeding pretty well. “I’m trying to take down Hydra, but I need your help.”

That was enough. She shook her head with a humorless laugh. He was lying through his teeth. This was all some cruel joke, a cover story to win her trust, and it wasn’t going to work. Nobody could take down Hydra, nobody was crazy enough to try. Besides, how could anybody possibly know that she was Hydra’s little toy soldier unless they were Hydra themselves? It was impossible.

“You’re lying. You’re one of them!” In her moment of absolute terror, Steve pulled the knife from her hand. He dragged her off of him and shoved her with enough force to send her rolling. She glared and pulled one of her throwing knives from its place. She threw it and watched it whiz past his ear and embed itself in the side of a car. She threw another, then another. The first dug into his thigh, the other in his shoulder. Maybe she could get out of this after all.

Bucky couldn’t watch his friends get beaten to a pulp anymore. She was destroying them, and he recognized the fear in her eyes. They weren’t going to stop her by doing whatever the hell they were trying to do. Nobody was going to win this fight, he had to help. Who exactly he was helping he still wasn’t sure.

“I’m going in.” He stated. Nat protested in his ear, but he wasn’t about to listen to her. As he ran towards his best friend, he thought about his role in the encounter. He’d have to fight her, and the thought made him sick. He knew her fighting style, a strange sort of mix between his sheer force and Natasha’s acrobatics. If anyone could take her down, it was him.

But when he saw her, his mind seemed to freeze. She was bloody and breathless, her (Y/E/C) eyes were wide and wild. Steve was there too, bleeding and looking a bit shocked at just how desperately she fought against him.

She saw Steve looking past her, saw the wave of relief that seemed to ease through him. She spun on her heel, drawing her gun. Then she locked eyes with him.

All of the emotions that she’d only just begun to feel again washed through her. Dread, relief, anger, joy, excitement, and then, strongest of all, exhaustion. Her gun fell from her fingertips, and her legs went weak under her weight. Tears pricked behind her eyes. Her heart was in her throat, and her chest felt too heavy for her lungs to expand properly.

‘He’s here!’ She thought. Then, ‘Oh god...he’s here’

“No,” She whimpered, scrambling to back away from him on shaky limbs only to end up at Steve’s feet. Her bloody and bruised face was streaked with tears. She stared up at him, the winter soldier, with watery eyes, and he just stared back. “Please…”

The door creaked open, and four more Hydra agents marched in, guns at the ready. She was standing at the far wall, her own security detail standing watch. She lifted her gaze from the ground, finally looking at him. There he was, the fist of Hydra. Their beloved soldier. He was the entire reason she existed. She was a safety, his replacement in case of emergency.

She could feel her head beginning to buzz, thoughts popping up just out of reach, questions forming about everything. About why she did what she did, and why she didn’t do anything. She eyed the man, but he wasn’t looking at her. His dark hair hung around his face, and his features were obscured. His hand came up, taking off the glasses that shielded stunning blue eyes. Their eyes locked onto one another, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw him falter, like someone else had risen to the surface for a moment. His other hand tore his mask off, and (Y/N) caught the glint of metal.

Even in the massive training arena, she felt as if she were being suffocated. They were given their orders. They’d fight until one of them was called back, until one of them was dancing too close to the edge of death for their liking. They called it training. She’d never been allowed to train with him before.

She didn’t have to think. She lunged for him, throwing a punch towards his jaw. He didn’t flinch, just caught her fist and twisted her arm down. She growled to hide the pain. She maneuvered her body, practically wrapping herself around his arm and forcing the both of them to the ground.

For what could have been hours, the fight seemed fair, but soon enough her stamina was slipping. Her blocking was hasty, her punches were sloppy. It hardly took any effort on his part to get her pinned. Her legs were trapped under his weight, and his metal hand gripped so tight around her throat that her vision tried to go dark, her breath came in desperate wheezes. She clawed at the smooth metal of his arm, but to no avail. His fist pulled back, and she squeezed her eyes shut as it flew towards her face.

A soft groan left (Y/N)’s lips as she came to. Her entire body ached and her eyes fluttered open. The lights practically blinded her, and she moved to rub at her eyes. It was half a moment before she realized that her wrists were cuffed to the chair she’d been out in. She thrashed desperately and tears blurred her vision. The metal dug her skin raw until she finally gave up.

She was back, they’d gotten her. She should have realized that she couldn’t really escape. It was idiotic to run. She choked back a sob. She was so weak. Maybe if she hadn’t been she could have broken herself free. But she couldn’t, and it wouldn’t have done any good. She couldn’t fight her way out. Not again.

She slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. Terror was swirling in her stomach and her head pounded and ached to an extent she couldn’t remember feeling before. She couldn’t possibly keep fighting She couldn’t keep fighting for Hydra, taking innocent lives. But she couldn’t keep this up, constantly fighting her way towards a freedom she couldn’t guarantee she’d find. She sniffled and ignored the way tears were streaming down her face.

Even with the door between them, Wanda could feel her panic. It was familiar, so much like how it had felt when she first met Bucky; heavy, and frantic, and so devastating. It tore through her chest. She remembered her own time with Hydra. It was hell, she’d been out through endless torture, treated like an animal. But at least she had chosen to be there.

“She’s afraid.” She stated, looking over to where Steve was watching her with his arms crossed and his usual stern look. “Afraid, and weak. It’s like she’s fighting with herself.”

The enhanced woman couldn’t help the feeling in her gut. She didn’t like being in other people’s heads. It was invasive, and hadn’t (Y/N) had enough people messing with her mind? 

“Think you can talk to her?” Natasha’s voice startled her a little, but she nodded. She had sworn she wouldn’t use her powers on her, but maybe she could talk to her, calm her down. It was worth a try.

Wanda opened the door and looked over the woman who sat locked into the chair. (Y/N) however didn’t look up, she just kept her eyes shut tight. Part of her was too afraid of what she’d see, but the other part just didn’t have the energy. 

“You’re awake. We were beginning to worry.” She smiled, but the other woman simply curled her hands into fists. “My name is Wanda. Hydra had me too. And my brother.”

That seemed to connect. Her eyes opened and she lifted her head up slowly to examine Wanda, who let a swirl of red energy spark from her fingertips.

“They did terrible things to you. Worse than anything they did to me. But we won’t hurt you. We can help. They’ll help you just like they helped me.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were cold, and despite the tears glistening in them, she refused to show her fear.

“So that’s the big plan? Send another one of Hydra’s dogs in here to remind me of just how good it is being controlled?” She snapped, fighting again against her restraints and choking back tears. “Fuck Hydra, fuck all of you.”

Her voice rang out through the room. She struggled helplessly to free herself. The metal creaked with the effort to hold her back. She let out an agonized scream, finally giving up yet again and letting the tears run again. 

“We aren’t Hydra. We want to help you get them out of your head.” Wanda stayed as calm as she could. “We got your injuries fixed up. You should be feeling better soon. I’ll bring food. Just...try to rest. We can talk when you feel better.”

She slipped out the door, and (Y/N) sat in the deafening silence of the room. She didn’t know what to believe, didn’t know what was true. She didn’t know if she could trust these people, Hydra or not. And most of all, she didn’t know how long she could keep it all up.

Rest, love. Rest, and it will all work out.

Ever since they’d gotten back to their compound, Bucky had disappeared. All he could hear was the way she pleaded with him. She was afraid of him, just like everyone else. And God almighty it hurt. He could have sworn he felt everything fall away right then and there. In her eyes, he was no different than the monsters that had taken her life away from her.

Natasha had chewed him out the entire way home, but he did a good job of tuning her out. He didn’t need to hear about how reckless he’d been, how he could’ve messed it all up with the way he froze when he saw her. She wanted him to stay out of it, she was mad that Steve had even recruited him for the mission to begin with. But the thing was, there was no way he could stay out of it. Something in him knew better. She needed him, or she would eventually, and he was going to be there no matter what.

Steve on the other hand wanted to use her reaction against her. He wanted Bucky to be in there, to get her to give them something. He refused. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t break her down the way they would. He couldn’t stand the thought of even being there.

He’d locked himself in his room, he hadn’t even waited to see what they did with her. He kicked off his boots and collapsed onto his bed. He didn’t have any clue what time it was, no idea how long he’d laid there with his thoughts swirling hopelessly in his head.

A sharp knock came, and Bucky dug the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Yeah, come in.” The door clicked open, and Bucky kept his hands pressed to his eyes. He knew it was Steve.

“She’s shutting down. She thinks we’re Hydra.” Steve informed him. The brunette sat up and dragged his hands through his hair.

“I don’t want to know.” He half snapped at his best friend who held his hands up in surrender.

“Figured you might be interested. You really seemed intent on helping her. What’s going on with you?” Steve moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Do you really think this is helping her?” Bucky shook his head. No, Steve wasn’t stupid, but maybe he was too laser-focused on Hydra to see that they weren’t acting much better than them. “How are we any different than them? We kidnap her, force her to give us what we want, and tell her that it’s all for the best.”

He slammed his fist into the mattress and groaned. He knew she must be falling apart, and he couldn’t help her. She saw him as a threat, and who could blame her…

“We’re just trying to get answers. Nobody is hurting her.” Steve argued.

“Maybe not physically.” He scoffed. “I’m tired, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Steve tried to keep the conversation going, to get his best friend to talk to him. But he wasn’t playing along, and Steve knew better than to try and force it. So he stood up and headed for the door.

Once he was alone again, Bucky leaned back again and closed his eyes. He’d expected Steve to deal with things a bit more calmly. Or at least have tried to. But maybe that wasn’t an option, but he should have worked harder to keep her safe. Maybe he wasn’t able to, maybe he never had been. But he had never tried hard enough. So how could he forgive himself?

It was Wanda who came back. She brought a plate with her. A couple sandwiches and a side of applesauce. It wasn’t much, but it was more than (Y/N) had managed in her past few days. Maybe more than she’d ever had. She couldn’t quite remember.

“When I leave they’ll let you out of those cuffs.” Wanda sat the plate down and smiled at the woman. “We don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“I am a prisoner.” (Y/N) stated. Wanda had nearly made it to the door, but she turned to look back at her anyway. “I am your prisoner. You have me locked to a chair, inside a locked room, inside a locked building. I’m not free.”

Wanda pressed her lips together. It was true, and she couldn’t argue it. But it was for the right reasons, wasn’t it? Surely once (Y/N) calmed down she would be able to see that.

“We need your help. Eat, rest. Someone will be back in the morning.” Wanda turned against and slipped out the door. There was a long moment before the cuffs clicked open. She flexed her wrists and tried to ignore the glare of raw skin.

She hesitated for a long moment before scrambling out of the chair. She pulled the plate protectively towards her. She finally had food, she had safety — no matter how temporary. Most importantly, she had until morning to figure out just how she was going to deal with it all.

@inkwillstain // @dragonofthenorth0726// @n1ghtsh4d3-67 // @believeitseeitdoit // @stuckyandsciencebros // @this-is-mycrisis // @xmtd5 // @someonekeepstakingmyusernames // @greeniemoon // @wayward-student-philosopher // @messedupmyfuckinglife // @yourwonderbelle // @booboobella01 // @kpoplover1306-depressedgirl315 // @heybbitsdarkoutside // @silver-winter-wolf // @comebackanothertime 

[wonjaekook]

What the Cat Had to Say

A/N: This wasn’t something I was entirely comfortable with writing because I was never the biggest HP fan (I never finished the books oops) and I was unsure about some of the lore, but hopefully this is an okay take on it ^^ yes, the switching between past and present tense is intentional. Sorry if that makes it a bit difficult to read at times.

21 Tropes: 10. Harry Potter AU + white w/Taeyong

Description: Eight years ago, in your Care of Magical Creatures class, you met Taeyong.

Word Count: 9.6k

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: umm, there’s a pistol mentioned at one point? but there’s no actual violence, near-drowning?

You first met Taeyong in your Care of Magical Creatures class in your third year at Hogwarts. Actually, that’s a little bit of a lie.

You first saw Taeyong on the train to school in your first year. You hadn’t known him at the time, but you saw him through the window of the sliding door into the compartment he was in, sitting alone. Your childhood friend and a Ravenclaw one year older than you, Moon Taeil, pulled you along, taking you to sit with him and some other kids you didn’t know. It wasn’t much of an impression, but you can still remember a lonely boy looking out the window, his head resting on his fist as the forests and hills passed in a blur outside. You were later sorted into Ravenclaw and he into Hufflepuff, so you didn’t see much of him that year anyways.

Your second year, you heard a lot about Taeyong. At the beginning of the year, he was known for excelling in Herbology, but that reputation quickly shifted. As Taeyong likes to call it, second year was his “mean year.” He was still talented with herbs, but nasty rumors spread about him cursing another student who hadn’t re-enrolled that year. People started looking at him differently. You admit that you were influenced by what you heard as well, but it later came out that the people who started the rumors about him did it because his mother is a muggle. But, when people treat you differently, it affects the way you act, too. Taeyong told you he wasn’t proud of the things he said that year. You know he can’t help showing a twinge of the loneliness he remembers feeling when he thinks about those memories. Second year was a cold year for Taeyong.

Third year was when you met Taeyong for the first time. Really met him.

On the first day of class, you were lectured by the professor of your Care of Magical Creatures class for not bringing your textbook to class. Your professor was a hawk-like man, tall and lanky with a crooked nose that looked almost like a beak and he was already terrifying enough on his own without him directly lecturing you. The thing was, he wasn’t what you were most afraid of. You were terrified of your textbook. It was a living, breathing book that could bite off your hand at any moment and you had no idea what to do about it. The best thing you could think to do at the time was lock it in the chest by your bed and pray it didn’t get out. Even with the straps on it secured, you refused to touch it once you got it into that drawer. Your Ravenclaw friends gave you weird looks, as you were usually one of the most studious out of them, and all you could do was wither in shame as your professor lectured you. You remember the incident as if it had just happened yesterday.

“The first day of class and you’re already slacking, Miss L/N? I expected better.” He’s ruthless in his berating and you try to shrink away, as if you could disappear into your robes.

“I…” How do you tell your professor that you’re afraid of the textbook? That’s a pathetic excuse. You know you shouldn’t be afraid of it. You know your professor and classmates would think you a fool if you told them the truth. Luckily enough, your professor doesn’t ask for an explanation, but, to your great misfortune, what he does demand is far worse.

“For your irresponsibility, you will be our first volunteer.” That makes you look up. The rest of the class shuffles on their feet, looking between you and the young dragon a bit deeper into the forest. It’s a small thing, the size of a large dog and probably barely out of infancy, and chained to the ground, but your body freezes when you see it. As if it can smell your fear- which it probably can, now that you think about it- it meets eyes with you, letting out a sort of low trilling sound. Its golden eyes seem to peer into your soul, rendering you motionless.

“I…” You whisper, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with the beast, “...I can’t.”

“You can’t? You must. Unless,” he pauses, straightening up from where he had bent down slightly to talk down to you, “we have another volunteer?”

A hand shoots up. Whoever it is stands in the back, so you have a hard time seeing, but your classmates murmur as the volunteer weaves through the crowd, emerging at the front, hand still slightly raised. Your professor watches him with sharp eyes.

“Lee Taeyong. You want to take her place?”

You meet eyes with Taeyong for a moment before he looks at your professor. He’s a small, wiry sort of boy with a dark mop of hair that almost falls over his eyes. You might have thought his eyes were scary if it weren’t for the smile that lights them up. “Gladly.”

You don’t know Lee Taeyong. You’re bewildered by the fact that he just volunteered to take your place in an exercise involving a dragon. Does this boy have no fear of his life? Yet, you and the rest of your class watch as your professor orders him to remove the rest of the molting scales from the dragon and he steps forward and does it. The way he moves towards the dragon is almost a dance, with subtle, intricate steps and a little bow. When he reaches the dragon, he completes the task, coming back with a molted dragon scale in hand.

You listen to the way your professor praises Taeyong’s performance with awe before he dismisses the class. Before too long, the grove in the forest empties out and you’re left with just Taeyong. He’s watching the dragon, who is laying down to rest, but your eyes dart back and forth between the two. “How,” you say, careful not to be loud as not to disturb the scaly creature, “how did you do that?”

“Oh, I just read the book.” His own docile beastly textbook is tucked under his arm, barely moving besides the feelers on the edge, and he’s stroking it idly with his free hand. You notice in that moment that his book isn’t even strapped down. “I also practiced a bit during the summer. I had a lot of free time.”

“Thank you,” you say timidly, “for volunteering for me.”

“No problem,” he turns, the smile he gives you outshining the sun in that moment, “I was actually really looking forward to this class. I always wanted to meet a dragon.”

You’re a little mystified by the statement, but you push the feeling aside. “I’m sorry I never introduced myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Taeyong.” He extends his free hand to shake yours, but his eyes follow the way you watch his textbook stir slightly. “Are you afraid of it?”

“What?” You snap out of it, letting go of his hand and meeting his eyes.

“Are you afraid of the textbook? Because it’s… ya know. Alive.”

An embarrassed blush instantly lights your cheeks. “I’m… not…”

His lips part as he understands. “Ooh, you are! That’s why you didn’t bring it today!”

“I’m not afraid of it! I’m just afraid of… well… animals. And that’s...” You shift uncomfortably on your feet, not wanting to look at Taeyong anymore.

“They’re nice as long as you treat them right. The same goes for any other creature. Here,” he says, moving to hold the spine of his book out to you, “it’ll be friendly once you stroke its spine.”

You jump back and your heart beats a little faster when he tries to offer it to you. “No! The way it squirms is just… it’s so… unnatural. I can’t.”

Taeyong’s eyes furrow. “It’s not unnatural, at least not any more unnatural than you and me. You just have to be nice to it. I promise it won’t bite you. Come on.” He demonstrates, stroking a gentle hand down the book’s spine. It makes a quiet purring sound and seems to still even more. He keeps his hands extended to you.

“I can’t do it. Can we just go back? Please?”

“You won’t be able to pass this class if you can’t use your textbook, Y/N.” He says it with such dead seriousness that you freeze. That’s what finally gets you. He watches the expression on your face shift from fear to discomfort to mild panic before you finally shakily sigh.

“...fine.”

He instantly brightens up and has a gentle smile on his face as he extends the book to you. “I won’t let it hurt you. Just stroke its spine.” You slowly, very, very slowly, follow his command, edging forward until your extended hand makes contact with the furry spine of the book. Barely applying any pressure, you run your fingertips down the outside of the book. You’re stiff, but you start to relax a little when it doesn’t make any sudden movements after a moment. The book lets out another low purr at your touch and you slowly retract your hand. Taeyong takes the book back, beaming at you as he tucks it back under his arm. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“I guess not…”

“Let’s go back.” You nod and follow him, falling into step next to him. Dried brush crunches under your feet and sunlight dapples the forest trail as you walk next to him, the distant chirping of birds accompanying your footsteps. After a minute, he turns his head to look at you. “Are you afraid of all animals?”

You make a face, not wanting to admit it, but you figure that he’s only asking to confirm the suspicions he already has. “Yeah. Except Tora.” Taeyong tilts his head, prepared to ask the logical follow-up question, but you speak first. “Tora is my mom’s cat. We’ve had him since I was little, so he’s a member of the family. Mom made me take him to school with me.”

“Ah.” The little sound he makes is so uncharacteristic of the mean Taeyong you had heard whispers of last year that you’re a little confused. Then again, all of the traits he’s shown you in the last while don’t align with what you’ve been told about him. “Magical creatures aren’t mean, you know. You probably just don’t trust them immediately. Do you want my help?”

“Your help?” You frown. You’re almost back to the main school grounds, the forest floor giving way to well-kept grass. “When will I ever need to interact with magical creatures?” From there, you part ways with him, heading to your Divination class.

You sought him out a week later after that when you found yourself frozen in fear again at a phoenix during class.

It took a lot of exposure therapy and time away from studying for other subjects, but Taeyong worked with you. To this day, you’re not exactly friendly with magical creatures, but you can tolerate them and they can usually tolerate you.

At the same time, you learned a lot about your new friend. He was actually quite the soft-hearted boy, with a knack for herbs and animals, and you see hardly any trace of the unpleasant person you had heard about him being during your second year. He had a white owl named Snowball who helped him a lot in his lonely times. He had a Slytherin sister who graduated a few years previous. His father passed away, so he lives with his mother when he’s not at school. He had gentle hands, but he wasn’t afraid to get them dirty sometimes and he wasn’t quite as dedicated in studying as you, preferring to go explore the rest of the castle grounds. You were glad you met Lee Taeyong.

By the middle of third year, you were moving past your fear. You later found out that you couldn’t say the same for Taeyong. You really thought that boy was fearless for how he always volunteered during your Care of Magical Creatures class with even the most dangerous specimens. It wasn’t until the winter that you came face to face with the part of him that he was most afraid of.

Behind Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts is your second favorite class. It helps that your professor is a relatively kindly man, gentle to students and quick to protect them when the time comes. That’s why, even though the concept is scary, you’re not terribly worried about the boggart exercise today. When it’s your turn, an overly large and sharp-clawed lion appears from the closet and, after a moment of mild panic, all it takes is a flick of your wand and the word, “Riddikulus!” before the creature turns into a stuffed version of itself, all fear factor gone.

Then, Taeyong steps up. Though the two of you make a bit of an odd pair, your classmates had gotten used to you studying together and pairing up for activities. Some of your own Ravenclaw friends had befriended him as well, to your delight. But, when Taeyong steps up right after you, you don’t know what to expect. What could the fearless Taeyong that you had befriended have trapped inside?

The boggart morphs into a swirling grey mass of matter for a moment, as if it’s digging deep through his memories and fears, until, finally, it takes a very familiar shape. A quiet murmur goes through the class when, before Taeyong, is another version of himself. This one, instead of a wand, brandishes a pistol, and the look in its eyes is empty, a smear of blood covering its cheek. Its eyes turn towards Taeyong and he, wand stiff in his hand, stumbles back as it points the gun towards him. He falls, landing with his hands supporting his weight behind him.

“Taeyong-” You and the professor warn at the same time, and Taeyong seems to snap out of it, pointing his wand at the creature. The warding spell leaves his lips and a harmless flower pops out of the end of the pistol instead of a bullet as it pulls the trigger. The creature disappears a moment later as Taeyong backs away and another student takes his place, your professor encouraging the rest of the class to continue the activity. You offer him a hand and he takes it, standing and dusting off his robes.

Once the class is dismissed, you try to corner him, but he slips out the door, shouldering past the rest of your classmates. Your eyebrows furrow and you frown, trying to follow him. Despite your efforts, you lose him after a few moments. Luckily enough, you’ve been friends with him long enough that you think you know where he’s going.

You trudge through the snow on the way to the bridge and cross it, shivering as the wind cuts into your robes, before you see him enter the open-aired building where the owls stay just a few moments ahead of you. A minute later, you join him, plopping down on the cold stone floor next to him. Snowflakes dust his hair and robes, dotting it with white. His breath comes out in small clouds and he frowns when he sees you, but doesn’t move away.

“I wanted to be alone,” he huffs out, a larger cloud of foggy breath leaving him. He would never say that if he was feeling fine.

“You’re not okay.” He doesn’t deny it, so you know you’re right. “What happened?” He shakes his head, studying the floor. An owl hoots quietly above your heads. “Taeyong,” you say quietly, reaching for his hands. They’re cold in yours, so you lean down, blowing warm breath onto his fingers and then covering them with your own, trying to trap the heat in. “You’re helping me with what I’m most afraid of. Let me help you.”

He watches your hands for a moment, then his eyes shift up to look at the worried, earnest expression on your face. Finally, he sighs. “You’re right. I guess.” His cheeks are pink with the cold and because, unbeknownst to you, of the way your fingers wrap around his, trying to protect them from the biting winter air. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” you say, smiling and looking at him with bright eyes, “I’m here for as long as you need.”

That day, in the company of winter winds and owls, Taeyong tells you about his mother, a superstitious woman who, once she found out about magic from his father, took to believing just about every washed up fortuneteller and magician she met. It only got worse once his father passed away and, one day, she took him to a so-called psychic. He hadn’t believed the woman at the time, but a nagging feeling in the back of his head kept him from ever completely disregarding the prophecy she spoke into existence that day. The psychic told him that he would become a killer, someone who takes lives in cold blood, with a glistening pistol in his hand and no fear of god in his soul.

“I know,” Taeyong rasps, swallowing hard, “I know she was just a con artist. That it wasn’t real magic. But, I just… I’m afraid that’s what I’ll become one day.” His confession hangs in the air for a moment, like he’s scared that he’s now speaking his fate into existence. You blink and the feeling is gone.

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hands tighter in yours, “I know for sure that she’s wrong.”

He seems confused, his head instantly snapping up so he can look you in the eyes. All he sees there is confidence and a sort of reassurance that he has been longing to feel for a long time. “You’ve only known me for like four months. How can you say that?”

“Because, you’re Taeyong. You’re the Taeyong who cares about plants and animals and came to the owl sanctuary because you felt bad. You’re the Taeyong who’s helping me get over my fear of animals just because you have that much faith in the good of the world. You’re the Taeyong who cries when you see a bird with a broken wing and tries to go exploring in the Forbidden Forest because you want to meet all the creatures living there. I might not have known you for a long time, but I know that much about you. I don’t think you ever have to worry about becoming that type of person.”

The strong belief you have in your eyes and the way you hold his hands has tears welling up in his eyes. With a smile, you pat his head with one hand, brushing some of the melting snowflakes out of his hair. After a short burst of silent tears on his part, you let go of his hands so he can wipe at his face. “Thanks, Y/N,” he sniffles.

“No problem. But, can we go back inside now? It’s really cold.” Once again, you’re pulling him to his feet. The two of you race back inside together, two figures cloaked in the black of your robes against the glistening white snow.

Thinking back on it, it’s a sweet memory. Perhaps you had feelings for him before you even knew it. It wasn’t long before Taeyong became your closest friend, and you his. It’s strange because, if you just saw him on the street one day, you probably would have been scared of him. But, knowing he’s a gentle Hufflepuff who’s more concerned about taking care of animals than anything else, you know not to be afraid. Even if his eyes and the serious set of his face does make him look a bit intimidating sometimes.

In the last week of your third year, you’re just studying for one of your upcoming exams when Taeyong speaks up from where he’s reading a textbook next to you.

“Y/N,” he says, breaking the silence of the library, “do you want to go on an adventure?”

You try to stay focused on your book, so you keep looking down, but you’re hardly reading the words on the page now that Taeyong is talking to you. “Tae, I’m studying.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ve been studying all day and we have an hour until dinner.” He normally wouldn’t try to drag you away from your studies so easily, so you look up, tilting your head to prompt him to continue. “Johnny showed me the other day. It’ll be cool, so come on.” 

“Johnny Seo? Gryffindor Johnny?” Hearing that the idea came from him, you’re a bit nervous, but, by this point, Taeyong is already standing up, tucking his textbook away, and grabbing onto your arm. You know by now that once he gets excited about something, there’s not much that will distract him from it, so you acquiesce, letting him tug you along.

By this time of year, spring is in full bloom, all the ice is gone from the lake, and it’s a breath of fresh air to be out of the stuffy library and into the courtyard. But, he’s not dragging you to the courtyard. He’s going further, crossing into the friendly side of the forest where your Care of Magical Creatures class is usually held. It’s another minute of wandering, him searching intently for something, before he finally finds what he’s looking for. He cracks a smile and lets go of your arm, approaching what you now realize is a massive, full-grown hippogriff. Your eyes widen in panic. From what you’ve read from your beastly textbook - who you had grown to come to terms with using - hippogriffs are extremely dangerous.

“Taeyong, be careful!” You yell, seeing him approach the creature. His grey and white feathers shine slightly in the spring sunlight and he doesn’t stand up from his resting position, his horse and eagle legs curled under him. He just watches as Taeyong bows and walks towards him. Taeyong extends his hand towards the creature and you pull out your wand, expecting the worst.

However, to your surprise, the creature butts his head into his hand, almost like he’s nuzzling him. “It’s okay,” he says, half-turning towards you and stroking him, “we’re friends.”

“This,” you say, exasperated, “this is what Johnny showed you?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, beaming while continuing to stroke the beast, “Johnny said the groundskeeper feeds him sometimes and his name is Greyhoof. Come closer, he’s friendly.”

You shake your head, making a slightly pained expression, before you put away your wand and approach slowly, giving in. The creature watches you do your ceremonial bow and he lowers his head towards you as well. Trying to keep your mild panic bottled up, you finally get close enough that you can extend your hand and run it over the feathers of the creature’s neck. He welcomes the touch, so you relax a bit, continuing to stroke him.

“See? Friendly.” Taeyong looks at you, the smile still glowing on his face. “Now that introductions are taken care of, let’s go.”

“Go?” Your relaxed state turns back to anxiety when your friend pats Greyhoof’s neck and he rises to his feet, causing you to jump back and retract your hand as he towers over both of you. Taeyong quickly and easily climbs onto his back, reaching out to you afterwards. You stare at his hand. “No way are you expecting me to-”

“I told you it’ll be fun. Trust me.”

All reluctance leaves you a minute later when you and Taeyong are soaring over the lake on the back of the hippogriff. Your hands are tight around his waist, the wind blows through your hair, and exhilaration fills you. High up, on the back of a hippogriff, there’s only you and Taeyong. Every person is small below you, a dot of color against the beautiful spring landscape. 

By the end of your third year, Taeyong had taught you what it was like to fly.

For the first time, during the summer between your third and fourth year, you remember missing being at school. You still have all the letters you and Taeyong wrote back and forth to each other during every summer, but one letter stands out particularly in your memory. In July, right around his birthday, Taeyong had written that he wished he could have celebrated it with you and that he missed you. That “I miss you” written in his messy, boyish handwriting made your heart beat too fast and too hard to be normal. It’s then that you realized you had fallen in love with Lee Taeyong.

When you took the train back to Hogwarts on the way to start your fourth year, you were far more awkward than you like to admit. Taeyong told you years later that he felt like he did something wrong or that you didn’t like his hair - something else that had changed over the summer. Somewhere along the few months away from school, Taeyong had started to style his hair and your poor teenage heart could not handle how handsome he looked when you saw him for the first time going back to school.

Other than the fact that Taeyong made your heart to do cartwheels every time you saw him, which was practically every day, fourth year passed by with relative monotony. It was torturous in the fact, though you felt like you were going into cardiac arrest every time he was near, he never even looked at you differently. In all of your fourteen year old wisdom, you tried everything - changing your hairstyle, wearing your robes a bit differently, applying a bit of makeup. Your fellow Ravenclaws looked at you weirdly every time you came back from studying with a defeated look on your face. You even considered using your skill in potions to brew a love potion to make him fall for you back, but you quickly dismissed the idea. You could never have done that Taeyong.

With all that angst, you never told him. You left fourth year still very much infatuated with him and without confessing your own feelings.

Your fifth year, the Triwizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts. The summer was a good opportunity to settle down and prepare for the festivities to come, and you distinctly remember trying to keep Taeyong off of your mind for most of that time. You didn’t write him as much that summer - only sending the occasional letter - for fear of seeming obsessed and giving away your ever-growing feelings. However, as usual, you sat with Taeyong on the train ride to school. In that time, you remember that he was oddly silent. You feared that maybe he had figured you out and felt uncomfortable. Yet, after a week, things had normalized between the two of you again. Taeyong later told you in seventh year that he had thought you hated him because you didn’t write that often that summer and he had developed his own enormous crush on you.

An older Hufflepuff friend of yours and Taeyong’s, Lee Taemin, is chosen to represent your school in the tournament and you spend your time dragging Taeyong along to support him. Despite your senior being from the same house as him, Taeyong seems unenthused. You try to prod the answer out of him, ask why he isn’t excited about the tournament, but he doesn’t give, just tells you it’s nothing. The first event - a dragon trial - Taemin completes with ease, holding up his golden egg victoriously.

The clue tells him that the next trial will have to do with water. Between studying for your own classes, you try to help Taemin. Your strong suit has always been potions - you figure there has to be a potion out there that will help him breathe underwater and, if there isn’t, you could invent one. Taeyong is with Taemin and some of the other male Hufflepuffs when he opens the egg and hears the song that comes from it. When he comes back from it, he seems off, staring out the window when he would usually be busy studying alongside you. You try to ask him questions, but he just gives you vague answers, always looking out towards the lake, his textbooks unopened in front of him. With your building stress about helping Taemin, falling behind in your own school work, and, as you’ve been reminded by one of your professors who takes the steps of teaching your entire house how to dance properly, the impending Yule Ball and your lack of a date, the sight of Taeyong distracted so often makes you snap.

“If you have so much time to be spending looking out the window, the very least you could be doing is helping with Taemin’s trial.” The words come out far more bitterly than anything you’ve ever said to Taeyong. His normally relatively soft, carefree expression turns hard and he stands up.

“I guess I’ll go help, then,” he says, as if he can hardly move his lips at all, and stares at you with a sort of misty look in his eyes. You immediately regret snapping at him.

“Taeyong…” He’s already several paces away when you say his name, quickly disappearing from the library. With immense guilt weighing you down, you quickly pack up and trail after him, trying to see where he went. Towards the lake?

You’re at the end of the hallway leading outside when you see Taeyong, walking straight towards the dock. Confused and concerned, you follow him from a distance. He disappears into the line of trees that lies between the shore and the castle, so you hesitantly follow him. “Taeyong?” You call out to him, wondering if your voice will reach him. You’re barely emerging from the woods when you see Taeyong leaning towards the water. When he doesn’t stop leaning forward, perilously close to pitching over the edge, your heart flutters with worry. Something more has to be wrong, right? You start to run, feet pounding on dirt and rock and then the wood of the dock. “Taeyong!”

Your shout comes just as he falls into the water. You run faster, skidding to a halt by the edge of the pier. A few seconds pass. Then a few more. He doesn’t come up. Without a moment more hesitation than to strip off your heavier robes and shoes, you dive in.

The water is cold and you feel heavy, but you swim down, down, down, for what feels like far too long, until you see Taeyong. There, close to being wrapped in the shadows of the deeper part of the lake, is a mermaid. Her features are a distortion of a human’s, eyes too big and fish-like, skin too grey and scaly, hair made out of what looks more like the plants at the bottom of a lake than normal locks. She holds Taeyong’s face in her hands, singing a beautiful, haunting song that you know muddles your thoughts and is something an ordinary person shouldn’t be hearing. Taeyong floats in place, still, his eyes wide open, hair billowing around him. Your breath strains at your lungs, your heartbeat pounding in your eyes almost drowning out her singing, so you grab onto Taeyong, catching the mermaid’s attention. She screams at you, a horrifying sound that’s like someone dragging a metal fork against a piece of china, and lets go of your friend. You grab for your wand and lift it, casting a protection spell, before casting a spell of speed, launching you and Taeyong to the surface. You both land with wet thumps on the dock, coughing up the bit of water that had managed to enter your lungs. Taeyong heaves himself up onto his elbows, wheezing and gasping painfully as air fills his body once again. Your lungs burn like nothing you’ve ever felt before and the adrenaline rushing through your body eventually subsides, leaving you colder than before. Lying there for a few minutes, both of you work to catch your breaths, the autumn wind cooling your skin even further. Finally, Taeyong speaks.

“There’s merpeople down there,” Taeyong murmurs, half to himself.

“I could have told you that without you trying to drown yourself!” You cry out, tears starting to mix with the lake water covering your face. You try to wipe at your cheeks with your robe sleeves, but they’re soaked through, proving your efforts fruitless. “Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

Taeyong looks confused at your pained expression. “I thought you wanted me to help Taemin?”

“I would rather you stay safe than hurt yourself trying to help him,” you weep, “I was so scared you were going to die.” It takes you a minute to calm your crying, but you eventually stop, sitting there and shivering with your arms wrapped around your legs. Taeyong watches you, a guilty expression on his face. Once you’re done crying, you remember the heavy robes you had stripped off before diving in and crawl over to them, grabbing them and moving closer to Taeyong so you can wrap them around the two of you once you both stand up on shaky legs. “Are you okay, Taeyong?”

“My head has felt weird since I heard the song in Taemin’s egg,” Taeyong mumbles, looking back at the water. “But I think I’m okay now. That mermaid must have enchanted me or something.”

You nod, leaning to pick up your shoes. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I know it wasn’t right and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“That’s okay. You still came to save me, after all.” The smile Taeyong gives you is almost enough to make you believe him. The smile falters as he apologizes. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s better I’m crying that you’re alive than that you’re dead.” You huddle under your robe with him, tugging him along so you can get back inside and warm up. Taeyong takes your hand in his and you share the tiniest bit of warmth in that touch.

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Taeyong’s question nearly shocks the life out of you.

“Do you still have lake water in your brain?” You laugh, trying to follow if this is a joke. You really hope it isn’t.

He shakes his head, looking at you with slightly wide eyes. “No, I’m really asking you. Do you want to-” “Yes!” You rush out a bit too quickly, interrupting him. You shy away slightly, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. Your heart beats too fast in your chest and you feel like your body is finally warming up, even though your clothes are still soaked. Taeyong’s hand in yours is particularly warm. “...sorry. Yes, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you.”

The way he looks at you, showing all his teeth, lips curled upwards, and his eyes scrunching together in happiness, almost makes you forget that the two of you had been practically drowning a few minutes ago.

In the few weeks leading up to the ball, you and Taeyong talk in hushed tones in the library about the occasion, wondering about who is going with who and what music there’ll be. Sometimes, you swear you even catch him looking at you when you’re studying and, before you can meet his eyes, he’s looking away, a slight pink on his cheeks. Once, you ask him about it, but he just avoids the topic, jittering out that it’s cold in there or something. Both of you know that the library never gets that cold.

The night itself comes and when your housemates ask who you’re going with and you only respond by smiling and blushing, they know who it is. You spend the time eagerly getting ready, adjusting your dress over and over again. When you had told your mother about your date to the ball, she had sent you a parcel via owl containing a pretty white pearl necklace, the color that reminds you most of Taeyong and matches your white and grey dress. You follow the other girls as they make their way out of your common room. You had promised Taeyong that you would wait for him on the stairs leading to the Great Hall, so you stand there, hands clasped together in front of you and bouncing on your heels excitedly. You watch as other people link up with their partners and enter the hall, as the champions all take their partners’ arms and walk in to the sound of trumpets and string instruments, as the entranceway empties out save for you.

It’s been an hour. Lee Taeyong has left you waiting for an hour. With each minute that had passed, your shoulders had slumped a little more and the bounce slowly left your body, replaced with the heavy feelings of loneliness and embarrassment. You know that it’s not like Taeyong to ditch you and he had seemed so excited, but…

It seems your crush is one-sided after all.

As you trudge back to your room, you rip the pins out of your hair one by one. How could he? Twenty, thirty minutes might be understandable, but a whole hour? You want to cry. You do cry. Your fellow Ravenclaws call you a crybaby sometimes and you know they’re right, but the indignance that you feel at being called that isn’t enough to overpower the growing pain in your heart. Hot, salty tears slide down your cheeks, surely smudging your makeup. You don’t want to use the lacey sleeves of your dress for fear of ruining the material, so you let the tears slip down your face quietly. At the base of the Ravenclaw Tower, there’s a little room with a balcony, open to the outside air. Despite the winter cold, you find yourself in that room, finally mopping at your tears with the heel of your hand, sitting on a bench and being miserable. The cold feels good against your warm face as you cry. They aren’t loud tears this time, just sniffling and rubbing at your face, but it’s enough to fill the silence. If you hold your breath and listen closely enough, you think you can almost hear the music of the ball drifting over from the other side of the castle.

Then, the door of the room is bursting open with Taeyong behind it. He almost looks more distraught than you do, his bowtie slightly askew on his fine tuxedo and his once-styled hair disheveled. He walks over to you quickly but carefully, standing a few feet away and breathing like he had just run across the entire castle to get here. “Y/N,” he says between heaving breaths, “I’m so sorry.”

You’re so shocked that he’s here that you don’t have the energy to be angry. “I didn’t… I didn’t think you were going to show…” You say, voice nearly a whisper.

“I’m so, so sorry. Taemin lost his cat but he had to be at the ball to do the opening dance and I promised I would find her and it took forever and I’m really, really sorry!” His words fly out of his mouth so fast you almost don’t understand them, staring up at him with wide eyes. He stops talking to take a few more breaths, trying to read your face for your reaction. All you can do is look at him, so he starts speaking again, much more slowly this time. “Do you… still want to go back to the ball?”

You shake your head, not breaking eye contact with him. “I just pulled out all the pins from my hair and I’ve cried half of my makeup off. I probably look like too much of a mess.”

“Here,” he still appears upset, but reaches up, mussing up his hair even more, “now we’re even.”

You can’t help sticking out your bottom lip in a small pout, still sniffling a bit as the ghost of a smile pulls at your lips. “That’s not fair. You’re still too handsome.”

His face drops into a look of surprise at the same time that you realize you had just called him handsome. “Ah, well,” he says, nudging at the ground with his foot, his eyes darting away from you, “you’re always too pretty.” Silence hangs heavy between the two of you as you try not to look at each other, both of you too embarrassed by the situation you’ve put yourselves into. “If you don’t want to go back to the dance,” Taeyong says, finally looking at you at the same time that you look at him, “do you want to dance here?”

He offers you his hand, appearing like a prince out of a fairytale. You take it, a smile finally reaching your face. “I would love to.”

When you take his hand, he helps you to your feet, his hand warm compared to yours, which had been cooled by the winter air. “Oh,” he breathes out, digging into a pocket on the inside of his tuxedo. He pulls out his wand and points it towards the ceiling, whispering a spell you’ve never heard before. A flash of light starts in the wood of his wand before quickly shooting into the air, filling the little room with tiny balls of light that hover near the ceiling and cast pale crystalline light on your faces. You had never entered the Great Hall, so you never saw the pretty decorations in there, but you know this is more than enough. He whispers another spell and the room fills with a soft waltz, an ethereal symphony that fills the space, bouncing off the cold stone walls and making the area feel that much warmer. Tucking away his wand, he places his hand on your waist and smiles. He counts off softly. “One, two, three.”

Your feet glide across the floor in rhythm with Taeyong’s, though he’s definitely better at this than you, and you feel like you’re in your very own world. The light of the hanging orbs fills Taeyong’s eyes and bounces off the material of your dress as it trails slightly with your every step. You can’t stop looking at him, to the point where you almost trip on your feet and mess up the steps of the dance. The cold no longer feels so cold at all.

Eventually, the lights start to dim and the music fades out, leaving you standing there, breathless in the best way, holding onto his hand and shoulder. You see him swallow heavily. A moment later, you’re stepping away from each other, hands floating awkwardly at your sides, unsure what to do with them when you’re not holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his honest apology displayed clearly on his face, “for making you cry again.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out and crying again.” As you stare at each other, the looks on your faces slowly morph until you’re smiling and giggling. You reach forward, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the balcony. “Come on, let’s look outside. It’s really pretty.”

When you reach the railing, you don’t let go of his hand, so he takes it as a sign to step closer to you. He moves closer until your arms are pressed together, some of his warmth transferring from his jacket through the thin lace of your sleeve and to your skin. You look out at the scenery, but you’re really not seeing anything because you can tell Taeyong is looking at you and that’s all you can pay attention to. He swings your interlaced hands back and forth gently and his breath clouds as he speaks. “I really like your dress. It reminds me of Greyhoof.”

The comment takes you so off guard that you let out a little noise of surprise before tilting your head back so you can laugh. “Really?”

He flushes at your reaction, but stills the swinging of your hands and presses his lips together tightly before turning to properly face you and continuing. “What I mean is that you look really nice. You always look really nice. I… I like you a lot.”

Your mouth dries up and butterflies erupt in your heart, sending pleasant shivers tingling through your body. You almost don’t remember to respond to him, too lost in the sensation that is really happening. You feel lighter than air, flying, but heavy and tied to the ground. His hand in yours is what keeps you grounded. You finally see his nervous expression and have the presence of mind to whisper it back. “Taeyong… I like you, too.”

Of all the ways you imagined this happening, it wouldn’t have been after you cried your eyes out when Taeyong seemingly ditched you before he created a miniature ballroom in a room at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower. Then again, as Taeyong quietly asks permission and you give it to him so he can lean down to kiss you, you figure that it makes just as much sense as any other part of your relationship.

Above you, the sky opens up and it begins to snow.

You spent the rest of fifth year balancing continuing to keep up with your studies and help Taemin with his trials. It was a little hard to complete a potion for breathing underwater when all Taeyong wanted to do was hold your hand or hug you from behind in the sweetest way, but you managed. You didn’t know until a few hours after the last test that Taemin won the Triwizard Cup because you were far too busy practicing kissing with Taeyong behind the bleachers to spectate. That summer, you spend a lot of time writing to him, trying to make up for all of the letters that you had missed in all of your moping the summer before. As per tradition, every one of his letters was delivered by his owl, Snowball, with frightening speed. Taeil, your friend and neighbor, joked about you falling for a Hufflepuff every time he witnessed Snowball nearly barrel head-first into the side of your house.

When reflecting on it, you call your sixth year your ‘honeymoon year.’ Though you didn’t spend any more time with Taeyong than you did before, a much greater amount of it was spent with his hand in yours as you studied.

In your Advanced Charms class, you and Taeyong make a point of not sitting close to each other. You know by now that you would distract each other too much and that people in your year are getting annoyed with your lovesickness. As he’s passing by you while leaving class one day, Taeyong subtly slips a note onto your desk, continuing his conversation with one of his Hufflepuff friends like nothing is happening. Sliding the note into your sleeve, you start to pack up your own things. Once you’re alone, you pull out the seemingly blank note. All it takes is a tap of your wand before the words, written in what you now know very clearly is Taeyong’s handwriting, reveal themselves.

‘Meet me on the bridge at 1 -Tyong’

You smile to yourself. Upon his own insistence, you had started calling him that. He’s already waiting there for you, leaning on the railing of the bridge and gazing out at the water, when you walk over. Over the summer, he had dyed his hair a brilliant white and, though the roots are showing a bit now, you can’t help but think the color suits him well. Your footsteps alert him to your presence and he greets you with a peck on the lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, Taeyong. Why’d you call me here?”

“Because I missed you.” Those four words melt your heart and make you feel warm in the best way. He continues. “Do you want to go on a Hogsmeade date this weekend?”

“I was going to study, but I suppose I can spare Saturday for you.” You try to act a little coy, but he just uses that infectious grin of his on you and you can’t help smiling back.

“Oh! Also,” he reaches back, digging in the pocket of his robes for a moment. He pulls out a white flower a moment later, twirling it by the stem in his fingers. “I grew this in Herbology today. Professor said we only needed the root of the plant and that I could take the flower if I wanted, so…” He leans forward, fixing the flower in your hair.

“Thank you, Taeyong. It’s really pretty.” You don’t stop looking at him as you say it, the happiness on your face reflected on his.

Sixth year was a good year.

Seventh year, the closest in time to you now, and the most trying of all of them, weighs heavily on your mind still. You wish you had done something differently. Something that would have kept your paths from diverging.

“You’re going to Seoul?”

Plans after graduation is a topic that you and Taeyong tend to avoid. Of course, it’s inevitable that you can’t dodge it forever, no matter how much you want to. Now, you’re nearly heartbroken when Taeyong tells you his plans.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and… I want to reconnect with my dad’s family back there. Plus, the wildlife there is so different from what’s here! There’s a whole other world to explore over there.” The excitement is so clear on his face that it breaks your heart even more. That look falters when he sees the expression you wear. His next question is gently prodding, timid. “Y/N? What are you going to do?”

“I… I was planning on staying here. Working under the Ministry to become a proper Potions Master.” He studies your expression, eyes becoming more weighed down by sadness as the seconds tick by.

“Oh.”

You both know each other well enough by now to know how the other is feeling. Well enough to know that neither of you will change. Well enough to know where this is leading.

You hang on to the few threads of hope and happiness you have left until the winter. Those fall months, the grip he has on your hand starts to tighten, but somehow become looser at the same time. In the snow, on the bridge to the owl sanctuary, you and Taeyong agree to end it.

The few remaining months of school after that passed emptily. You did well on your exams, as expected of a Ravenclaw, and you didn’t see much of him. You tried not to keep eye contact with him whenever you did pass each other in common areas, but you know his eyes always followed you for far longer. It almost hurt more to not look.

Even when it’s one year, two years past graduation, you have a hard time not thinking about it. Snow, owls, herbs, all remind you of him. You keep telling yourself that you shouldn’t be so hung up on a teen crush, but you know that he was more than that. More than anything, Lee Taeyong was the most incredible person you had ever met. And you lost him. No - you let him go.

In those two years, you spent countless hours in your lab, mixing old potions and creating new ones for the Ministry of Magic, even trying on multiple occasions to brew a potion that could cure heartache but always failing, staying long hours into the night because you know that when you go home, it’s more than likely that Taeyong will cross your mind. But, all things fade.

  Finally, after three years of not seeing him, Taeyong no longer occupies a lot of space in your mind. As one of the youngest of the Potions Masters, you spend almost as much time traveling on errands to retrieve items from around the world as you do brewing your own concoctions. That’s how you ended up here, in Seoul, four years later, tasked with finding a rare herb that is only grown in South Korea. You push open the door to the shop you were told about, a bell hanging on the handle jingling softly as you enter, letting the cold winter wind in. The shop is warm, tucked in a corner next to an alleyway, and smelling of all sorts of fragrant herbs. Different materials rest in jars lining the walls, arranged by what you think is color. By color? Who would organize by color and not by name or usage?

“Hello?” You call out, finding the shop empty save for a few small creatures running around, including a small grey tiger-striped cat. With a small smile, you reach down to stroke the animal, which arches into your hand when you stroke it. “You’re so pretty,” you say quietly to the cat, continuing to pet it, “you remind me of my friend Tora.”

“Coming!” There’s a small clattering noise from the entryway behind the counter of the shop before a face you know well pops out from behind the doorway, his hair a chestnut brown that you’ve never seen on him before.

And, finally, he’s in front of you again.

He blinks. “Y/N?”

“Taeyong?” You know it’s him - he couldn’t possibly be anyone else - but it’s hard to believe your eyes. In a city of millions of people, you run into the one person in the world you would know here.

If it’s possible, he’s even more handsome than the last time you had seen him, but so much of him is very much the same. He still has that little scar by his eye from when something had gone wrong in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class in fourth year, he’s still thin enough that you want to check if he’s been eating properly, he still has that soft voice that is so, so sweet and familiar when he says your name. Suddenly, all the time you had spent trying to get over him is gone and you’re back in your seventh year again, staring at Taeyong and feeling your heart beat faster and heavier in your chest.

“Why are you here? Not- not that I’m unhappy to see you! It’s really nice to see you.” With those words, your heart tells you that he never really forgot about you, either.

“I’m here to get an ingredient. I work for the Ministry now. Potions.” You feel like you can barely move your lips to answer his questions.

“Oh. Like you always wanted.” He smiles, a thin smile like he’s holding back. You wish he wouldn’t hold back. Not again.

You try to pull yourself together enough to tell him what you want, watching as he walks alongside the shelves until he locates what he’s looking for. You smile a little when you realize that organizing potion materials by color is a very, very Taeyong thing to do. As you’re standing there, patiently waiting, the cat you had greeted earlier rubs against your legs, purring quietly, so you reach down to stroke it. “How have you been, Taeyong?”

“Mm? Good. I’ve been running my uncle’s shop. On the weekends, I do a magical creatures class for kids who are magically inclined. There’s not too many wizards willing to teach that kind of stuff here.” He chats as he locates the correct jar and pulls out the right amount of the material you need. He turns to you. “Is… is this all you need?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s all.” That’s not really all. You want to stay longer, find out how he’s really been, what he named this cat, how the kids he teaches are, if he still thinks about you.

As he rings you up, handing you your change, he pauses, the bills in his hands. His eyes lift to meet yours. “Do you want to stay for coffee or something? We can catch up. If you want.”

“I would love that.”

In the few hours you spend with Taeyong, sipping at coffee that disappears from your cups slowly, staying long enough so that he has to go make more, the space of the years between you disappears. It feels good to talk with Taeyong again. It feels good to know Taeyong again. Regrettably, the sun dips behind the horizon and you look out the window of the shop, seeing the orange sunset reflect onto the shining silver and black buildings before the daylight disappears completely, replaced by the streetlights that blink on one at a time. As the light outside of the shop flickers on, Taeyong speaks up.

“You could stay with me. We could always use more Potions Masters in Seoul.”

“Taeyong-”

“Please.”

Taeyong has always had too much of a habit of shocking you with his words and now is no different. When he says that, you know that he feels the same way that you do. He’s always felt the same way that you do. Somehow, destiny brought you back together again. It would be insane, but-

You set your coffee cup down. You can tell from his expression that he’s expecting a rejection, even with his pleading. But, by now, you think you’re done running from him.

“Do you think the Ministry takes two weeks notices?”