#on its own the extend of the lack of reciprocation in this one just tickles my pickle xDD

[laufire]

["daddy killed my horsie blah blah"]

the lack of empathy here ñasdkfja. like sure she enjoys the ego-boost and the attention and all of that is exhilarating (while also putting her on edge and terrifying her) but. seeing him as an individual with inner life and feelings unrelated to her? here Klaus isn't even a person to her LMAO. and I for one LOVE THAT for her.

[writingstarling]

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

[dewykth]

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle​​​ and @dewykth​​​ collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj  word count. 7.5k+  warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr​​​​ !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳  i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter. 

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head. 

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry. 

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel. 

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation. 

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go?  Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

[seokjxnnie]

celestial (pt. 3) | kth (m)

↠ genre: smut, angst, demon au, incubus!taehyung x f reader ↠ warnings: blood and violence, facesitting (oral, f receiving), me not knowing how to write fight scenes lmao ↠ length: 7k

↳ her flesh and blood imparts immortality to any demon, but the incubus protecting her from the hunt requires something else of her body.

↞ part 2 | masterlist | part 4 ↠

a/n: THIS IS SO LATE I’M SO SORRY i’ve been in such a writing rut and this ended up being way longer than i thought too but i promise not to tease if i can’t deliver no more pls forgive me 😖

Taehyung set her down on the floor of the bathtub and she shivered against the cold acrylic.

In the lifetime of a single breath, he had carried her back to the washroom of her dorm. Students and staff had retired to their homes along with the setting auburn sun, leaving his unhuman agility without an audience.

Exhausted from having endured a pain that was meticulous in reach and degree, she didn’t have the recognition to question when he swiveled the faucet handles to run a stream of a consoling warmth. Finding herself without the resources to retort, she submitted as he peeled the shirt off her shoulders and discarded it to the side. Disliking the unsatisfying feeling of her shorts drenching in the gaining currents of water, she attempted to wiggle out of them, accomplishing only a couple of inches before her familiar helped with the remaining distance in the glide off her legs. She sat near naked in her underwear; it’s not like there was anything he hadn’t seen already.

He lowered himself down on the tub’s edge, one foot inside next to her and the other out on the tiles. Rolling up his sleeves and dipping at the waist, his hand cupped under the flow of water to bring a gentle splash to her collar bones that were lightly streaked by dried blood.

“I—I can bathe myself.” Her quiet, unconvincing mumbles must’ve been easy to dismiss because his lips remained unmoving and he continued gently massaging away the stains on her skin. With his touch soft and warm, it declined her deeper into a tranquil haze where she was unable to adopt any form of rejection. Instead, she sighed, soothed, finding herself leaning into his pleasing caresses.

Her gaze played a slow climb up his body, from his arms that worked a calm lather, to his arched shoulders where muscles tensed and eased to the rhythm of his movements. In her ascent, she registered the claw marks at his arm that slashed his shirt and raked his skin, speckling the frayed seams a quality of mahogany. Finally arriving at his eyes unfailingly pinched her breath. A band of blood outlined his cheekbone as well. To pair was a slight paler hue to his skin – he had been expending energy that wasn’t being topped up, she concluded to herself.

“You’re hurt,” she addressed, scarcely above a whisper. Swallowing, her digits faintly browsed over the loose threads.

His face tensed in view of the guilt that weighed down hers – she was blaming herself for what had been inflicted on him. “I’ll live,” his wet palm overlapped hers extended out to him to move it back down to her side. “We recover faster than humans. It’ll be gone in a few days,” Taehyung muttered with a dim volume.

His hand retreated only for her to reach back out and capture his fingers again. Peering up, he found her bottom lip tucked, nibbled on apprehensively. “Just,” she gulped air and stifled fidgets under his unwavering look. She had to tear away from his stare to just think of how to even fill in the blanks. “… Just a kiss will do, right?” her words, hardly audible even to the wind, quivered like her fingers on top of his.

The incubus studied her face for the fine print between her unanticipated offer amidst the storm of rejection she had instigated for the past few days. Instead, he discovered a timid spark in her irises. His jaw tautened as he was his digits were inspired to tighten around her palm and jerk her forward.

The brief disorientation drew a gasp from her before found herself between his knees, closer, with her hands splayed across his lap in balance. He remained still for a second, angling the watch of his eyes down at her. Then, he gathered the side of her face into the flat of his hand, asserting that her own orbs couldn’t escape. He faintly tugged, drawing her to follow his pull as she slowly lifted and shifted onto her shins to further cancel the distance between their noses. It robbed her breath and crippled her limbs with a tension to experience a vulnerability, a surrender under his tireless stare. Her heart hammered in its cavity and a riveting concoction of desire and helplessness seethed into her veins.

The two sat motionless and soundless. Silence has never scorched so loud. She was forced to drown in it, forced in a smother employed by his decisive yet inviting look. A weakness gained on her more and more as she interpreted it as a demand for her initiation. In any other situation, she would’ve shoved his face away and spat out words of disbelief and malice. But in this moment, there was an electricity that exactingly coursed through her, sweltering a sudden craving for him. Again, her thighs squeezed together. With his dominating presence looming over her, awaiting her move while she knelt powerless at his feet, the longing was charged. And, falling victim to exactly what he enticed, she reached up and caught his lips in hers.

Only a light sweep of a contact, yet delectable in foreign measure. Still laden with reluctance and timidity, her fingers of one hand daintily danced along his jaw before she ever so slightly drew back. In the nearly fictional inch between their lips, she released the quietest of sighs that grazed him, which to him was palpable to an extraneous degree. It stirred the greediest of arousal within him. Finally having proven her yearning, Taehyung allowed her his reciprocation.

He found her lips again, with fervour this time. His movements were relentless, starved. She couldn’t resist either, eagerly sinking into the pillows of his lips with her own impatient caresses. Her hand balled into fists on his knee, another creasing the fabric at his neckline, feeling as if she could wholly melt into his heated kisses if she didn’t keep a grasp. A throb rushed to her head, a mirrored pattern engulfing her core, and it blurred the perimeter of discrimination between dream and reality.

A ravenous, gruff tone rendered the familiar’s words unrecognizable when he growled, “Not enough.”

And then he impatiently reeled her closer, his other hand fastening on the small of her back to lift and straighten her up on her knees. Their chests crashed together before falling into an inevitable and unyielding mold. It elicited a breathless mewl from her, and the fleeting partition of her lips invited his tongue into her mouth. Insatiably, he took in her taste by tantalizingly quick strokes. The girl shivered under his bind.

Weaving between a gluttonous exchange of hefty breaths were the swift rakes of his teeth that teased the plump of her bottom lip, tugging to lightly swell before soothing over with the lush sweep of his tongue. Her palms extended out but rather than pushing him away, they splayed across his collar bones and snaked up to embrace the nook of his shoulders, completely surrendering to his dominance. His hands scaled her damp body with hungry caresses, and a low rumble from the pit of his throat delivered vibrations across her tongue to voice his satisfaction.

Seeing that she lacked objection, Taehyung’s brushes wandered. He massaged the wet, velvety skin at her waist before his touches glided over the clasps of her bra. He moved so naturally that it was almost neglected by her hazy register. However, moment the unanticipated feeling of the fabric loosening from their hold on her chest crept into perception, she was abruptly pulled from her blissful trance.

The girl broke away from his lips with a gasp. The hands that had just hugged him were now the same ones to thrust him away. Hastily, she gathered her arms into a fold across her chest, catching the article before it drifted from her figure. “I can bathe myself,” she repeated – blurted – almost without the sufficient breath, but with a swinging volume to reflect the fluster that suddenly rattled her.

She gulped, stare inflexibly sloping down at her lap as she decided she was too embarrassed to meet any of the possible antagonism residing in his eyes. She braced for scoffs of frustration, discords of bafflement, sneers of insult, but her defences abruptly fell when his warmth departed and she heard the door creaking open without another word. She didn’t even catch what emotion he wore, only transiently finding a quick glimpse at the closed scars that replaced his previous lashes, peeking out beneath his sleeve that had partially unrolled in the passion of the moment.

The door squeezed shut behind his leave and the exhale that had been smothered at the cap of her throat finally escaped her liberally. Her heart accelerated so amply, she could hear the floods in the relentless drumming of her pulse. Why she stopped him, she couldn’t confidently put a finger on, because with her face flushed with a humiliating cherry like it was, she was fully aware of how far she allowed it to go, how much she enjoyed it. Even solely in her own company, the bewildering embarrassment plunged her face into the burrow of her palms. She quietly groaned, still sullied by the thrilling tickles that overstayed on her skin, all the while desperately driving out the question of finding pleasure in submissively kneeling at his feet.

Her fingers grazed her shoulder where the nicks were, finding unblemished skin that smoothed under the glide of her pads. She couldn’t do the same for him, since their quick moment of intimacy might’ve sutured his wounds, but it certainly did not dispel them. He wasn’t going to last forever without his fill. But then all over again, she winced and suffocated the thoughts of future advancements.

“Anterograde transport from the golgi complex?”

Jimin’s head slung off the edge of the couch cushion, sitting upside down so that his legs dangled off the backing. He read from the cue card hovering over his face.

Sitting on the floor by the coffee table scattered with her closed notebooks, she drummed the eraser end of a pencil on her chin. Her eyes seamed shut and her brows knitted in focus of materializing in her mind the memory of the words she had written down. “Secretory vesicles that bud off are directed towards and fuse with the plasma membrane to discharge its contents via exocytosis.”

Jungkook sat next to Jimin on the sofa, upright, grimacing and batting away at the toes that Jimin playfully waggled by his face. He held the next card from the tall deck. “Retrograde transport from the golgi complex?”

The picturing of her handwriting began to dull from her recollection. “The flow of vesicles from golgi cisternae back to… shit, uh…”

Jungkook loaned her a few seconds to arrive at her answer as he squinted at the scribble. “Endo-plastic rectum,” he finally read as uncertainty cocked his head.

“For fuck’s sake, endoplasmic reticulum.” Jimin’s right foot found the back of the other’s head with a less than forgiving knock this time.

Hoseok from the other room entered with the lean of his shoulders past the doorway into the living room where they sat. “Don’t forget it’s garbage day tomorrow,” he announced as a reminder for the guys to empty their trash tonight.

“I know, don’t worry, I’m going to leave myself on the curb in a bit.” She slumped forward onto the table, defeated by the accumulating examples of her incompetence. The diminishing amount of time she had left before the arrival of finals season was unhelpful as well.

His lips puckered with sympathy. “You having a tough time studying?”

“Actually, I walked into this stressed and miserable, but I think I’ve really turned things around.” Straightening up, she allowed a sliver of optimism to lift her expressions. “Now I’m miserable and stressed.” A sarcastic smile strained her face.

“It's okay, grades don’t matter,” he sighed a tone of compassion before he joined the youngest members on the sofa.

“Nothing you do matters.” Yoongi, on the opposite couch, apparently wasn’t napping like his lethargic bodily state had led on. He clarified before he gathered another collection of disapproving looks, “I mean, life is short, especially for humans, so why stress so much over little things in the brief span of your life.”

A huff of an amused chuckle casted from her breath. “Thanks, Yoongi.” She paused on his perception of an average lifespan of 80 years being short. “How long do demons live then?”

“Long. Too fucking long if you ask me.” Seokjin doesn’t miss a beat when he returned from taking his trash to the bin outside. His head swayed side to side, as if burdened by his seasoned time alive. He dropped down next to her on the floor, leaning back on his palms.

She paused again on what his perception of a long lifespan could possibly be. “How old are you guys then?”

“How old do you think we are?” he challenged with the interested lift of his brow.

And then she’s overtaken by a flashback to when she was nine years old in a dusty theater and Edward Cullen had just confessed to Bella Swan that he was 108 years old.

“Please tell me no one here is a century old.”

“A century? Jesus Christ, I’m 27,” Seokjin scoffed, and she would’ve winced if she wasn’t instead entirely entertained by his animated exasperation.

Namjoon laughed as he had entered the room in time to catch the amusing context of the room’s conversation. Yoongi raised his legs to free up a cushion for the leader to take a seat upon, only for him to lay them back down over his lap after he settled. “Don’t worry, Princess. We can live to be old, but all of us are in our 20’s,” Namjoon assured.

It was a couple of weeks ago when she had finally given up on deterring them from that nickname. She could only warn them so many times before the act of averting them became more annoying that the actual nickname itself.

Taehyung was balanced on the sill of the open window on the room’s margins, close enough to hear them yet distant enough to not be blamed for his lack of participation. She had temporarily met his glance before immediately submitting to the reluctance and retreating back to the safe faces of Jimin and Jungkook instead, thanking them for helping her study. Luckily, in the last couple weeks she wasn’t subject to an array of opportunities of being in the vicinity of her familiar. He had been staying close, often lounging in a nearby tree outside her classes, but mercifully never near enough to unnerve her with his indisputable presence. Nonetheless, he hasn’t been any more than a swift stride of a distance away, ensuring that no other demon would get their hands on her again after his last two faults. The scars that had branded his arm expired and left behind smooth skin within a few days after too.

The incubus slumped back into the wooden frame, turning towards the vast outside of crisp night air to steal a refreshing breath. His eyes searched the perpetual void of darkness and tranquility as if it could provide answers to his uncertainty – why he’s been holding back, keeping his distance. With a little more persistence, he knew she could cave, having burned into the back of his mind the belonging and craving that had glazed her eyes when she was vulnerable at his feet with his command casting over her. And yet here he was, refraining.

He hadn’t found the solution to this enmeshment of an uninterrupted indecision just yet. Instead, he was far more occupied by the pale hue that had gradually colonized her skin, and the dimness that rimmed the underside of her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping at night.

She had been spending a lot of time at the shrine too, and her leave at the end of the day always lagged with hesitance. She was certainly becoming close friends with everyone, but the lace of resistance he figured was attributed to the comfort of company. She didn’t like being alone at night.

And he was right.

When broad daylight bathed her surroundings and she was in the presence of friends, it was easy to say the impressions of her past couple chilling confrontations had already evaporated. But when the darkness of the night produced a perfectly still, silent, and lonely media for the grisly images of her memories to slither in, it robbed her of a peaceful mind. It seemed that every time she closed her eyes, she saw those uncanny yellow eyes that kept her in the farthest extremities away from sleep.

Tonight was no exception.

In bed, the fatigue was so insufferable and the longing for even a wink of revitalizing rest was so suffocating that when she did find a transient break of a serene hush amidst the unyielding reminders of gore, it was an eager plunge into slumber.

And then the dreams would happen.

Coarse scales prodded and poked the sensitive of her skin as the hand locked around her jaw. The hum in the breaths that closed in by her ear was drenched in a quality of absolute feral hunger. The sharp of a fang only superficially pricked the surface, and somehow it was potent enough to deliver the heftiest of pains ever known to man, seemingly reaching margins immeasurable even by science.

The intolerable fear forced herself to wake up with a start, only to find a dim silhouette looming over her.

A paralyzing tautness swallowed her whole as a blaring shriek of terror started her chest and began to open up her throat. Then, the shadow clamped a palm over her mouth before it burst from its seams. Coordinated with the violent thundering of her heart, she rapidly blinked away the haze that blurred her vision and had kept her from putting a face to the figure.

Taehyung stood over her with wide eyes, just as startled that she had woken up so suddenly and with such a fluster. The dread in her eyes converted to fury as she found the mobility to extend a harsh fist and thrust it against his shoulder. He didn’t even recoil in the apparently trivial impact.

“Sorry, sorry, I just didn’t want you to scream and wake anyone.” A low, regretful mutter was all he could assemble as his hand withdrew from her mouth.

She sat up, hasty with exasperation, and fingers still unsteady from the overstaying anxiety swept away the matted hair from her face. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” she wispily shouted, careful not to surpass the threshold of volume that would alarm her neighbours.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” his words sliced the air.

Her bottom lip stuttered in trying to gather a response as her eyes tapered away from him. “What does that have to do with you?” Hostility claimed her sunken tone, yet shame undermined its blow.

A brief silence settled upon the room, only amplifying her tension. She nearly flinched when he approached her bed. “Move over,” he batted at her feet at the corner of her small mattress.

“What?” she sputtered.

“Calm down,” he parked on the edge and folded his legs. “You can sleep now, nothing’s going to happen if I’m here.” He slouched, chin lodged in his propped up palm.

She gawked at how nonchalant he was, as if he genuinely thought this was acceptable after what had happened the last time they were alone in a room together. The girl prayed there wasn’t colour in her face to illustrate her fluster. “Sleep? With you watching me?”

Taehyung exhaled a sound similar to that of a groan while his eyes rolled. He spun in his seat until he had her back to her and then sat still, creating a break of soundlessness. Greater than her disbelief of him thinking this was at all a better situation was her admission, while unwilling, that the uneasiness of her dark and lonely room had been exchanged for a sense of security instead.

“You’re just gonna sit there all night?” she hated that she was even considering it.

“I can sleep like this.”

Mind fogged by an exhaustion, forming a coherent retort was an impossible reach. She broke her look away from him, concerned that he could sense her stare burning into his back. Sinking back into the chilled welcome of her pillow, a warmth was already beginning to slacken her tension. A vignette of calm and quiet bordered her with a growing darkness

“This is how things are now, huh? I’ll never know what a normal life is.” A whisper nearly muted by the weariness pressing on her voice fell from her lips. It was a ghost of a thought, hardly cognisant, as she leaned into the drowsiness that deterred any sort of screen.

The familiar gritted his jaw. It was heavy on his chest for her to recognize her inescapable reality, that for the rest of her life, she’ll be a meal sought out by his kind. He couldn’t bring himself to just blatantly reinforce her ordeal with his words, so instead he asserted, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Uncaught, as she had succumbed to the complete dusk of a slumber.

Taehyung sat with her straddling his loosely clothed hips. He dragged down her bra to expand teasing bites and the run of his lips over her soft mounds. With her pebbling nipple between his teeth, he smirked while feeling her tremble against his mouth, paralleling her shuddering exhales of ecstasy that slackened her jaw.

His fingers curled over the strings of her panties to reel them downwards, and she moved her leg so he could push it the rest of the way to her ankle. Then all too quick, he shifted, and she immediately clutched onto the headboard in front of her to regain her faltered balance. His electrifying gaze was now situated between her thighs as she knelt over his face. Before she could even accustom herself to the sudden and complete exposure, his hands clasped onto her hips and lowered her drenched sex onto his lips. A diverting current ripped through her as he lapped.

“Fuck, Tae—w-wait…” She was at a lost, breath stolen by the shapes his tongue traced against her pulsing clit. The more she hesitated in riding his face, the tauter his grip, the more untiringly his mouth worked. Eventually, her reluctance was completely eroded by pleasure and she succumbed to its inclinations.

Her back arched, her hips snapped against his chin, her hands mercilessly tugged on the bedsheets, her throat whined his name as if it were innate.

His fingers travelled to stroke her folds as he sucked on her throbbing bean. “Look how fucking good you taste,” the incubus harshly rumbled as the sopping digits reached up to push past her lips.

Her indulgence sweltered, and she compliantly ran the length of his two fingers with her tongue, sucking as if they had always belonged in her mouth. The vibrations of her moans cascaded down his skin while she continued to roll her core against his lips, all to completely illustrate how much of a pleasured mess he was unraveling her to. The bundle of inflamed sparks collected in the pit of her stomach, and she mewled with her hands catching the locks of his hair as it started to unfold between her thighs in a blinding hot scale to the rest of her body.

The searing arousal elicited a sharp inhale from her chest that lurched her awake.

She blinked as the ceiling of her dorm room was the only thing that stared back above her, and the only thing under her was a sheet of a smothering heat that greased her from head to toe with a film of perspiration.

“Another nightmare?” Taehyung’s abrupt voice interrupting the stuffy, still air sits her up in bed. He was on the floor, leaned against the wall opposite to her, wearing a frown on his lips.

For once, she wished it was a bad dream, one that didn’t leave her with a pool of desire. She would’ve much rather woken up sweating in fear than in arousal with him just a few meters away from her. How her mind even conjured such immodest visuals with shameless vibrancy is beyond her. She could still feel the residual sensations of his cheekbones grazing the inners of her thighs and the damp, thick of his tongue flattening against her still throbbing clit. God, she hoped he couldn’t smell the slick exhilaration between her legs, because it was definitely generous enough for her it to feel it seep through the fabric of her panties. Even in the unconscious, his senses were so keen, since even the distant pounding of her heart roused him awake.

In the past couple of nights, she’s tasted a sleep so satisfying after a restless bout, so undisturbed under the security of her familiar. He really could sleep anywhere, she learned, as he made the hardwood floor look so comfortable by the way he snoozed so easily while slumped in a corner. But in this moment, his company – unbeknownst to him – assaulted her with a debilitating humiliation. His ignorant glance adorned with a quality of concern only further nailed her flustered shame into the depths of her gut, and it was stifling.

The girl threw off the blanket and leapt out of bed. “I’m just hot. I’m gonna go for a swim.”

Puzzlement drew his brows together. “Now? It’s nearly 3am.”

“Exactly. I’ll have pool all to myself. I just need a quick dip to cool off.” Her hasty steps lagged just before the exit of her dorm. Her head swiveled towards him, yet her stare stayed fix to the floorboards. “Please don’t follow me, I just wanna be alone. I won’t be far and I won’t take long.”

His lips slightly parted in loading a question, but ultimately, he sat back without a noise as she closed the door behind her.

The campus’s aquatic centre doesn’t regularly change the access code on their electronic door locks, she learned, since punching in the same code she was given when she worked reception here during freshman year gained her a noiseless entry to the pool.

An eager dive in and the cool waters flush against her warm and blushing skin, so refreshing that she could feel it seeping into the relaxing of her bones. The soundlessness, the stillness of the cavity’s depths gave her a taste of tranquillity amidst the barrage of the supernatural, the lustful – whatever has been her life for the past few weeks.

And not much longer after, it was an eager leap into the warm stream of shower in the locker room that eased the minute tension in her muscles from the quick laps she did. While content respires puff from her throat, her hands scrubbed away the chlorine that dyed her skin.

She cuts the water, thankful that the quick swim was able to evaporate most of the plaguing embarrassment and lingering arousal. Plucking the towel off the hook outside her stall, she patted dry and kneaded the dews off her hair when the squeak of an opening door jolted her with a startle.

Someone else had walked into the otherwise deserted locker room. Who, she couldn’t see, since between her and the entrance were rows of lockers. But who else could it be at this time of night, coincidentally crossing paths with her, other than her familiar?

“Taehyung?” she called out, swaddling herself in the towel. “I told you not to come. I’m done anyway.”

The reply was wordless, and responding instead was the sound of wet footsteps hitting the slick tiles as they approached her. And suddenly, her senses were swamped by the roaring volume of her thrashing heart, knowing that the eerie, discomforting silence wasn’t characteristic of Taehyung. It wasn’t him on the other side of the dividers, advancing towards her.

A terrible gnawing in her stomach drove the clamp of her teeth down on her bottom lip so brashly that a metallic taste splayed across her tongue, while the rest of her body was conquered by a paralyzing dread. A familiar tribulation, yet it unfailingly delivered a devastating, fearful blow upon her. She braced as the steps rounded the corner.

The ghastly sight that came into view started to windingly reel a gasp of horror from her chest, but the waft of the obscenely foul smell puckered her throat and seized her lungs. She gagged, the immediate nausea boiling in her stomach was so vigorous, it seemingly circulated to pollute her veins. The weakness forced her to her knees.

Across was a figure doused head to toe in a copious swath of blood and guts, dripping onto the floor to accompany the trail of crimson footprints. A silhouette that appeared to be human, a female with a stature that didn’t stray too far from her own, but the viscous film of gore rendered it impossible to perceive anything other than absolute terror. An incapacitating quaver robbed her limbs of their ability to even scramble backwards when the entity stopped in front of her, looming over with eyes widened by a sheer hunger.

Her eyes burned from both the stinging tears of panic and the profane smell of shredded organs, but still, she recognized it. She recognized her. Her classmate. Her classmate that crossed paths with her to lecture every morning. Her classmate who she hasn’t seen in weeks, who she thought had either dropped the class or stopped caring about attendance. Her classmate, a demon, because who else could wear another’s blood without a faze? Whose blood was she wearing?

“What have you done?” Words frail and shuddering, yet resounded vividly of her helplessness, her trepidation.

“Smart, isn’t it?” the opposing girl stared down at her open palms cloaked in grinded flesh, as if marvelling at her artwork. “Dunking myself in human remains to mask my demon smell from him. I just had to wait for you to be alone.”

Horror twisted her face at the monster’s malevolent words that not only painted a picture of the slaughtering of a person, but the torment of knowing it was all to keep Taehyung away for her to be uninhibitedly feasted on.

“And my god, did I wait.” The womanly quality of her voice shifted towards something feral – a resonating growl so heavy, its deep-tones rattled the bones of her victim. Following in mutation were the whiskers of fur that bloomed across her skin, the brute canines that elongated until they jutted out from under her lips, and the nails that burgeoned into dense claws and prodded the girl’s neck when they wrapped around her throat to pull her up off the ground.

As her feet peeled off the floor in a dangle, she gasped, coughed, before the demon’s grasp tautened and her breath was cut short. Strangled, her legs thrashed and her hands frantically batted at the chokehold around her airway. But before the squeeze tightened to the point of clipping her vision to a black, it paused, even slackened a little for her to desperately wheeze for any remnant of an inhale. The demon sharply sniffed the air, head veering to look back. Her ears, now furred and tapered to a point, twitched.

Swiftly, the girl was dropped to the ground, where she clung to the cold tiles as she hysterically choked and panted for air. The assailant snarled at the sound of the door crashing down, and then in a rapid haze, a fuming incubus rounded the corner. There was a crossly grit in his teeth and an aggressive fire in his irises that glowed red.

“I can still smell you, you fucking dog.”

The canine charged towards him, only to be struck away with a single arm that sent her crashing into the lockers, the metal sheets denting on impact. The familiar lunged forward and captured her neck in the wrap of his arm, dragging her away as she floundered in his smother. Before he could constrict the chokehold closer to his chest and watch the light extinguish from her eyes, she struggled and thrashed, and with the advantage of the slick blood she was covered in, she gained just enough leeway for her jaw to unhinge in a gaping drop. Taehyung hissed when she sank her rows of teeth into his arm.

The girl sprawled on the floor had only just caught her breath, only for it to be seized all over again in a gasp of dread, watching the foreign quality of pain plaster her familiar’s face. With frantic haste, she polished her vision from the tears in her eyes with the quick smear of the back of her hand before fixing on a locker door that was only scarcely hanging from its hinges after the collision. She scrambled towards it.

Taehyung jerked away from the demon’s latch before she took skin and meat off with her. However, she kept a grip on his arm, pulling him down with the bend of her knees before hurling him over her shoulders and onto the ground front of her. Still clutching onto his arm, her grapple tightened and her foot nailed his shoulder to the ground, preparing to tear his limb from its socket. Except, before she could do so, she stumbled forward when a pang met the back of her head.

The girl, while quaking in fear, had still managed to rip the dangling metal slate from its bolts before driving it down on the opposition’s head. Although inflicting only the trivial damage of a scrape across her forehead, the brief divert of her attention provided him the window to regain dominance. He swiped at her feet and sent her backwards to the ground. Quickly, he climbed on top of her, trapping her arms and shoulders under the kneel of his knees. Destructive hands clasped around her jaw, and the celestial flinched with the avert of her gaze when a swift wrench detached the head from the rest of the demon’s neck. The canine’s body fell limp.

Taehyung sat back on his knees, chest falling and rising in rhythm to his breath that strayed from consistent. The carcass beneath him gradually degraded to a dust, caving in on itself, disintegrating until the specks evaporated in air. She watched in bewilderment as the very tangible bloody body vanished before her eyes without a trace of evidence for its existence. Piecing that this was how demons decomposed explained why the human race had never encountered and investigated the body of a dead demon before in the worldly historic timeline that they shared.

Her eyes refocused on the incubus that that climbed to his feet and stood before her. Carefully, he pinched her chin and angled it upwards as he inspected her neck. “Are you okay?”

“Sh-she didn’t have a hold on me for that long. She didn’t leave any marks,” The reassurance she tried to fortify failed in the face of the rattling fright that still had its grip on her. She grabbed his wrist to move him away, only for him to catch the still damp locks of her hair at the back of her head instead. He gently tugged so that her neck stayed craned. “Tae—” her protest cut short when he connected his lips to her neck.

“So bruises don’t form,” he justified, his hush whispers grazing her neck with warm tickles and cascading a shiver down her spine.

She swallowed as her eyes closed and her hands dropped in submission. The sighs gathering in her throat prompted by the brief, lush strokes of his tongue were extinguished before they could surface on her lips. The slight ache that had encased her neck, while hardly falling in her register during the terrifying ordeal, was beginning to dissipate.

“She killed someone to try to hide her smell, Taehyung. Someone had to die so she could get to me.”

He drew away at the sound of her frail whimpers to find dews collecting in the corner of her eyes, plagued by the thought of her being any sort of link in a murder. Her eyes drooped close under tensed brows as she considered if the victim was also a student on campus, if the victim has a family that is concerned about their disappearance, if the victim was – hopefully – already dead before the demon had shredded and grinded their body.

Uneasy by her distress, he frowned. “If she was trying to eat you, chances are killing humans is habitual to her to begin with. This isn’t your fault. She’s not gonna hurt anyone anymore.” The pads of his thumb swiped under her rim of tears. A slight touch, yet he could feel the full capacity of her quivering. “I almost didn’t sense her. I’m sorry I let her get to you.”

Her brows wrinkled at his quiet voice. Taehyung wasn’t often particularly loud; a low husk in his tone was characteristic even. But there was an unacquainted wear in his voice that stifled his volume. Her eyes opened for her to study his face, to capture the blanched quality of his skin, drained of colour more than ever. Having never seen him tired, the current exhaustion that weighed down his expression and dimmed his eyes rendered him unfamiliar. The pit of her stomach felt as if it hollowed when her gaze dove down to the thick trickles of red that colonized his arm, spilling from the imprints of the canine’s bite that deeply punctured his skin

The familiar tightened the towel that had started to unravel from her body before his warmth ultimately departed as he leaned back against adjacent wall of lockers and slumped to the ground with a wearied huff.

The girl swallowed down the char in the cap of her throat as she lowered herself down next to him. She has never seen him so vulnerable, and there was a wrenching in her chest knowing that she had something to do with it. “You’re hurt again.” It left her mouth nearly muted, carried by only wispy breaths. A meek hand gingerly overlapped his arm as her frame inched forward. “You need to be healed.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need—“

“Taehyung,” her tone adopted something unfaltering that, despite her apprehension, confirmed she wasn’t requesting.

And then he found that he couldn’t break away from her misty eyes that still glowed with resilience. He stopped to drink in the longing he perceived in her soft stare, hiding behind a dutiful excuse. She remained wordless, yet her projections were magnetizing, convincing. He obliged with the travel of his hand to rest her cheek in the flat of his palm. His touch was tender as he guided her to close the distance between them, stopping just as their noses browsed one another. As her quiet and warm breaths caressed his skin, his lips marginally parted so he could indulge in the anticipation that glazed over her hooded eyes. When his ears picked up the thumping in her chest and she reciprocated in the part of her own lips, he succumbed to the concoction of desire and thirst that simmered within him and caught her lips in his.

The docile exhale she released against his skin inspired him to draw her in closer and deepen the kiss. Without breaking away from her lips, his pull brought her forward and she fell on top of his leg, straddling his thigh. He left her no room to gasp at the sensation of her bare sex against the fabric on his leg. His movements became hungry, only confronted by his deprivation now that he had her honeyed taste splaying across his tongue. Her hands clutched the broadness at his shoulders, balling his shirt into her fists. His greed only swelled when her respires became erratic and seemingly pleaded for breaks of air that he denied her. Eager palms scaled down her sides, loosening the swath of her towel in the process, and arrived at her hips where he guided her in a steady rock against his thigh. His tongue swiped against hers as he swallowed every little mewl and whimper that escaped her from the delicious friction. He relished in the way she trembled on top of him, until she breathlessly whined, “Please, wait.”

She was almost alarmed by how abruptly he pulled away from her. His hands had relocated and planted on her shoulders, holding her at a distance away from him.

Before her mouth could open with a question, he lowly uttered, “Don’t force yourself.”

For what his words lacked in volume, he made up for with a harsh sternness. His warmth shifted into something cold and distant. He rewrapped her in the towel before moving her off of him.

“Let’s get you home.”

He got up, and as her lips didn’t know what words to form, she could only watch him with a look of hurt and confusion. Her eyes bore into his back, waiting for him to turn around and offer a reassuring glance, a mention reasoning, but he didn’t.

Taehyung broke one of the high windows to fashion an excuse of vandals breaking in to justify what had happened to the marred lockers. He hosed down the bloody footprints to erase the evidence that would suggest otherwise.

And then for the rest of the night, she laid in the bed of her dorm room with Jungkook slouching on her windowsill, watching over her instead.

a/n: haha sorry no real FULL smut yet, just a lot of teasing and tension 🥴

tag list: @ehu-agavebaby @http-jinnie @ggsmashgg @la-vie-en-tae @tangledsparkles @lilacdreams-00 @megladon1616 @enigmaticlove-03 please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[rangikuxmatsumoto]

remembrance

accompanying music choice

***

“—Matsumoto, I don’t condone this.”

“I have to, taichou. I only need a minute.”

“You have exactly one minute.”

Whatever strings Hitsugaya had managed to pull to allow her entrance into Chamber 46 she’d never know, but that wasn’t her concern at the moment – nor did she really care.

The verdict had been rendered minutes prior. Twenty thousand years wasn’t long enough for what he had done, but death wasn’t an option – not with an immortal being.

Her decent down the darkened chamber was somber, her footsteps echoed around the nearly empty chamber. It was just him, the final two guards left to finish the binding process and her. His sentence would begin any minute now – just as her taichou had instructed, she only had a minute. His vision and mouth had been ordered bound but her presence had halted the process, oddly, she was grateful that he’d be able to see her and speak.

Rounding the chair that he’d be bound as he served his penitence, Rangiku came face to face with the man who had shattered her existence not once, but twice.

“Matsumoto-fukutaichou, what a pleasant surprise – are you here to see me off?” Aizen must have truly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? Her glare and silence only served to tickle his fancy as a slightly amused chuckle escaped him – the last thing that would. “Oh? Did you not find that as humorous as I did?”

Pale blue hues racked over him, he was a far cry from the transcended being she had last seen cradling the dying man she loved – had loved. Gin was dead – gone – because of him, because of his lust for power, for change, for whatever selfish reason he gave for destroying the illusion of peace they had naively accepted as reality.

“—Well, what is it, what have you come to say? Because there is nothing the likes of you can do to me.”

Aizen’s question was actually amusing, he was right, there was nothing she could do, but that didn’t matter. A slight uptick of the corner of her lips, gave away her amusement, which he reciprocated with a perk of his brow.  Her gaze was hidden momentarily as lids closed she leaned down, her hands coming to grip the bindings at his wrist, till she was eye level with him. The single blinding overhead light cast an ominous shadow across them and her features, for the moment her glare snapped open, he saw a change in her that he had never seen before. A murderous intent, not unlike the one Gin had looked at him with, but hers, hers was darker, as if she had reached a state of madness where his death wouldn’t quell that scream deep within her.

“—I remember. I remember everything.”

***

“Hey Rangiku – You’re in the way.”

Milliseconds. No, nanoseconds that’s all the time she had – Shinso was already unsheathed, poised to kill. Had Gin truly fallen this far – that he was prepared, willing and able to kill her without an ounce of remorse? Had her love, her trust been misplaced all these years? He had seen right through her – hadn’t he?

There wasn’t time to think about such thoughts, her hand had instinctively gone to Haineko’s hilt, if she could just – her vision tunneled and blurred, her senses scattering. What was that – purple petals – no.

Darkness.

The aftereffects of hakufuku were different on everyone – anyone who had unfortunate pleasure to fall under its spell could never quite remember what happened when the kido was cast. Rangiku came to suddenly, her lungs screaming for air as she gasped and coughed, she had barely been able to catch her breath before her reunion with Gin – but now, her breathing was even more labored. Her mind was still fogged with the remnants of the kido spell, what had he said to her? She could still feel the sensation of touch against her neck; his fingers had been there, hadn’t they? So why was there blood but no wound?

She didn’t have time think – only time to act. It was a jolt – a static shock that ripped through her very being, Gin’s reiatsu was faltering – it was faint. Though her limbs didn’t want to move, her body being barely held together she forced herself up – his reiatsu dimmed in and out as if it was a beacon, a siren’s song only she could hear.

The sound of metal ripping through flesh was sickening the first time one heard it. Most grew numb to the sound – to the warmth of splattering blood on your hands and skin, to the irony smell that permeated the air, the sight of pain and death. You wouldn’t make it in this career field if you couldn’t distance yourself from it – but as she watched Gin’s body be wretched from Aizen’s blade – it felt like the first time, the worst time.

Her scream is deafening. She didn’t make it in time – she couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t save him. He should have killed her when he had the chance – at least then, she’d be able to join him in death. She was always a step behind him wasn’t she?

If Aizen turned his wrath on her then, she’d welcome it.

“—Ran,” the malice in his voice she heard before was gone. He shouldn’t be speaking, he needed to conserve his strength, his energy – she saw the truth in his gaze then. There was no coming back from this – he wasn’t going to survive this, he needed her to realize that.

His only remaining arm raised in trembling fashion as she reached to clutch it, but with what strength he had he shook her hold off, instead bringing his fingers to rest within the ring of her necklace.

“—Ya deserve,” his words were ragged, barely above a whisper, but they sounded like a thunder clap even as war raged around them.

“Save your strength…” Emotion wretched her voice, sobs threatened, as she placed her hand over his, her heart hammering against his palm.

“Soon, ya’ll know.”

‘I really am glad I apologized in advance.’

It struck like a bolt of lightning, destructive, ricocheting through every fiber of her being. A wail erupted from deep within her soul, screaming, crying – yearning for a feeling she didn’t quite understand. She felt as if she had torn apart and reconstructed over and over again – an unending nightmare of torment and pain. Visions flooded her memory, drowning her in the process till she was only met with darkness. Perhaps her body had simply given up and given in, but she’d find rest in the arm of the man she had loved till the end.

They came in chaotic nightmares – the repressed memories of a century prior, long forgotten, subdued for a reason. She had been a child, an easy target. Alone in a harsh and unforgiving world, weak from lack of nutrition; she had been wandering for days, her luck of begging for food scraps had run dry and the pain of starvation was beginning to eat her alive. If she managed to drag herself to the next cluster of huts and shacks, perhaps then she’d find some kindness.

She hadn’t made it that far.

It was near dusk when she had seen them in the distance, she had considered running but she had no energy to even attempt at such a strenuous activity. There was a hatred of shinigami in the higher numbered districts for a reason, and the three that were approaching her quickly, seemed to emit a darkness and evil that she had never sensed before. The wicked grin that graced the features of one the men that approached her was solidified in the overwhelming pressure of his spiritual energy, her knees buckled, she felt bile rise in the back of her throat – she couldn’t breathe and in an instant it was over. It was the first of many painful tricks they would play on her, the effortlessness of flaring their reiatsu till she was rendered incapacitated.

They say once the fight-or-flight response is triggered, one’s body is overwhelmed by adrenaline.

Hoisted aloft by her collar of her tattered yukata, Rangiku continued to endure the abuse of her tormentors’ repeated aggression. Flaring their spiritual pressure to debilitate her, having her dance in and out of consciousness while feeling crushed by their crippling powers. As their reiatsu subsided momentarily, the man holding her released her. Dropping to the ground, her knees already bruised and bleeding from the repeated action took the blunt force of her body. Nearly lifeless arms that had hung limp at her sides during the assault quickly extended to brace against the ground, preventing her from catching a mouthful of dirt like the half dozen or so times previously.

Her small hands balled into the dirt beneath her palms. Her breathing was labored; she had been barely able to catch her breath before they’d slam their strength down upon her once more. Sweat beaded and dripped from her knitted brows; keeping her head lowered in subservient fashion her little voice croaked with a plea, “Please stop, I didn’t do anything.”

Her pathetic attempt as mercy and sympathy must have unhinged some deeply rooted anger within her main tormentor for her small request was given the rebuttal of a full force backhanded strike to her jaw. She tasted blood instantly; her small form flew through the air, her temple slamming into the ground as blood splattered from her mouth. Nearly being rendered unconscious from the strike, her fight-or-flight response kicked into overdrive – as her captor approached her, his shadow loomed over her lifeless frame, her tiny balled fist rocketed a slew of dirt and gravel towards his eyes. With all her might, her leg kicked furiously at his shin as she scrambled to get her feet under her and carry her to safety.

She was outnumbered and outmatched.

Her actions didn’t go unnoticed by the two accomplices of her tormentor – coming to his aid at her failed assault and attempt to escape. Earning a swift kick to her gut that crumpled her lung and knocked the wind right out of her. Her vision tunneled, no matter how much she gasped, she couldn’t breathe. She’d choose the pain of starvation over this feeling any day. Her mind still concussed from the previous physical assault, a few more blows like that one and it would all be over for her.

Rolling over she desperately tried once more to get her feet under her, push herself up and run. Her arm clutched at her bruised abdomen as her feet scrambled beneath her, kicking up dirt as she valiantly tried to make an escape.

“You lil’bitch. You don’t know when to stay down,” It was a warning before another swift kick to her back slammed her into the ground. They didn’t even try to take turns anymore. Flaring their spiritual pressure to incapacitate her while they battered her body till she was bruised, bloody and broken – lifeless.

“—My, my, she sure is a feisty one,” At once the barrage of fists and feet came to a halt. The crushing weights of their spiritual pressures also relented, which allowed her to finally breathe. She was nudged with a foot to roll onto her back, her vision blurring in and out as a new figure approached and loomed over her. When she had first encountered her three abusers they had emitted such an evil aura, but this new man – with tousled brown curls, a kind face – she felt nothing from him. As he leaned down, his hand closing around her throat she finally managed to see his eyes, they lacked any emotion, but penetrated deep into her soul, and all she felt was a chaotic evil that ripped her apart piece by piece.

It would have taken him nothing to crush her windpipe and put her out of her misery but he didn’t. Holding her aloft he reached forward, warm hands gently touching her chest as she felt a shock run through her. It was unlike any pain she had ever felt before – her first thought being that he had stabbed her – but she saw no blade. She hadn’t experienced enough in her short life to understand what an out of body experience truly was but that’s how it felt. As if she was watching from a higher perch, unable to scream, speak, stop him as his hand passed through flesh effortless, neither tearing nor cutting – simply phasing through. Every fiber of her being went numb as his hand continued to dive deeper within her. He was purposefully keeping her awake through this agonizing torment – she could see it in those emotionless eyes of his. At once she felt a tear within her, her being shattered and ripped. His hand retreated; a wispy pink aura encircled his hand as one of her abusers stood to take it from him. He viewed her for a moment more before his grasp on her neck tightening as her fingers twisted in pain. She didn’t have the strength to reach up and claw at his wrists, to throw a kick in his direction in hopes he’d release her. Seeing the lack of fight left in her he was quick to toss her away like a ragdoll. What good was she now? He had gotten what he needed from her.

“—Finish her off.”

Her body hit the ground with a thud, there was nothing left in her to try and protect herself, to fight back. She wished he would have just ended it there, end her suffering, and end this torment. What was the point? It was a sad reality for her anyways – alone in this world, struggling, starving, unwanted and unloved. Whatever he had taken, he should have just taken it all from her then.

In and out of darkness she dozed as she watched the man’s form fade into the distance. Her faithful tormentors remained, grinning like hyenas – laughing like them too. They approached, the one still clutching that petal pink wispy aura, when something in the distance grabbed their attention - a stick breaking and rustling in bushes. They halted in their tracks, suddenly on high alert.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, sounded like it came from over there.”

“Do you think someone saw?”

“Hurry up and kill her. We can’t get caught.”

Another noise, a branch breaking put them on edge. Glaring down at Rangiku’s lifeless body, one dealt another kick to her abdomen, a choking groan escaped her.

“She’s as good as dead. Let’s go.”

Their hurried footsteps grew more distant as her vision faded out completely. At last she was alone – it was an odd sense of safety – but her mind and body worked to try to heal the damage done to her.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been out, minutes, hours, or days even? But she slowly began to come to, her stomach howled in response to an aroma wafting under her nose. An offering, her vision blurred once more slowly tracing up from the food to the boy who didn’t appear much older than her. He looked at her with kindness, a cheshire-like grin gracing his features.

“Eat up,” he prompted, “If you can collapse due to hunger you must have spiritual pressure.”

Hunger? Right – that had to be the reason she felt this awful, her sides and abdomen ached, her stomach was twisting itself into a knot. She must have passed out due to starvation – she couldn’t remember. She didn’t want to remember.

“—Gin.”

***

Her nails dug into the bindings on Aizen’s wrists, hatred, anger – it boiled her blood till she could only see red. It had all been his doing, his orders. She hadn’t seen an ounce of remorse in his eyes then and she certainly didn’t see any now. Frankly, he probably didn’t even remember her – she was nothing to him then, another scarp of soul, another worthless, unimportant victim in his master plan. She was merely collateral – a loose end that hadn’t been taken care of – when his minions failed to kill her it put in motion a plan that would ultimately end in her heartache. She had never had a say, she had never had a choice – she had always been someone else’s pawn.

Her glare narrowed – if she could, she’d drive Haineko through his eye and truly bind him to that chair to all eternity but it wouldn’t end the suffering she felt. It wouldn’t repress the memories again, she’d still remember.

Like she could ever forget.  

“The minute you’re release – no, if you’re ever released. If you don’t rot in that pit and burn in hell for all eternity,” she paused, vengeance was fanning the flames of her madness, but she felt the seconds of her minute ticking by, “then, I’ll be the one to finish what Gin started.”

***

Inspired by late night discord screaming with @mindinmuken and @toomanydamnmuses

[mikejonespens]

“After eighteen years of silence, he was finally learning to speak with his hands…”

    Jamie made his slow-winding way to a bar stool. He lifted himself with a hollow grunt, sliding one leg across to the other side and planting his aching buttocks onto the worn leather cushion. He’d have the usual Long Island Iced Tea. Heavily arched over his drink, he drew from its contents and exhaled. The thrusting of his breath mimicked the exhaust dispersed during a launch in Florida, swiftly scattering whatever dust was beneath his jawline. The bartender, Callie, a seasoned woman with silky black hair that draped her broad tested shoulders, glanced along her cat-eye to his direction. She conjured another beverage and walked it to him, with a slight raise of her aging cheekbones and subtle squeeze between the angles of her lips. Jamie broke the chalk of his skin to resemble a reciprocate smile but mustered merely minuscule motions, confusing his facial muscles with an unfamiliar request.

    Callie removed three glasses from in front of him, wiping the rims with a used rag and placed them in a bin for Al, the busboy. “I heard the birds singing some sweet tune earlier,” she said as she pushed the fresh drink toward him. Trailing serpentine behind the sweating dish, her dingy rag hardly drying the mahogany topside. “You’re not thirsty, suddenly?”

    Jamie gripped the handle and tilted the liquid to investigate what it could be. It wasn’t a long island. Perhaps vodka or gin. He dismounted the lemon from the rim and strangled the juice into Callie’s fluidic offering, then stirred deliberately. Before partaking, he reached into his jacket pocket, maneuvering between his keys and loose change to reveal a pad of sticky notes. He dabbed the tip of a ballpoint on the surface of the drink and wrote What song?

    Callie looked down the bridge of her thin rounded nose into the blot left behind by his pen. Her waning smirk lowered in pendulum contrast with the opposite brow. “Before your time,” she shrugged.

    Jamie sighed and lost any interest he summoned. In his neck, the gears ground sharply against each other to turn his attention outside the windows. The windows’ frame stretched upward and on days as this one, luminous bright white beams land softly through the transparent entity onto the floor. The wooden planks were stained and mildly warped. Each watermark tallied the years Regular Joe’s Bar maintained, from hosting state championships to mediating political debates among local drunks. Jamie remained stage right intrigued with the performance but seldom participated. On rare occasion, he exercised expression, contributing dim chuckles or shaming head wags. Though in the midst of riveting yet quarrelsome discussion, he was easily distracted by the light that coated the topmost layer of the uniform planks. When Jamie remembered to raise his sight line (the chiropractor urged his minding his posture) and the light gleamed through the glass, to him it blurred their facial features and transformed agitated faces into abstract, animate characters trading wit rather than clashing their egos. After too long, he knew the atmosphere was different than his own perception alluded and needed to filter the deceiving light.

    Thump! A bird, a pigeon likely, rammed its beak into the glass windows and descended quickly unto death. Jamie’s neck jerked down into the cavity of his upper shoulders, returning to Callie’s glare, a numb right glute and chilling perspiration in his palm resting against the unidentified fluid object.

    Reality haunted him, its deceptive nature is unmatched and omniscience all the more daunting. Even his imagination, a supposed remote destination, the alteration of uncomfortable present events, was often aborted before developing into sustainable thoughts or hopeful notions or definitive ambitions or anything notably intangible. Its reach is boundless and where no presence is welcomed apart from his own conscience, reality would refine the grainy images that pleased him. Stills and motion pictures that, when lacking resolution, invited his interpretation which seldom translated trading blows to genuine animosity. Must’ve been a simple misunderstanding, he thought or, What sport! Plausibly, Jamie was simply naive to bend the light of truth, refracting what’s plain and direct into colors that satisfy the need to see something more (or less). So when annoyance turned distressed in the widening of Callie’s eyes and her focus stretched past his position, naturally, he expected some minor occurrence like the elderly tumbling or a stickup.

    “Keep your hands off her! Last time I’ma tell you,” a recognizable voice warned.

    “Man, back th-the f-f-fu’up. Tha’s my woman. I can do the hell I please with m-my woman.” An upchuck flirted with his tongue, attempting to diminish his prowess and save the man from an inevitable scuffle. Four shots into a young evening and little would reel back his cognizance, thus seven shots earlier ruined his chances of returning home unscathed.

    The two men invoked a forming congregation. Rumbling floorboards tickled the hairs sprouting Jamie’s neck and the unrest of the crowd pulled his helix to face them, but not yet his complete concern. Men along his peripheral gained interest and abandoned their brew to consume this other distraction. Still, he remained in the impression of his seat. In part because he lost sensation where his backside occupied space, but also the gleaming rays began to again beckon his presence in the void of his imagination.

    Sloppy rebuttal continued, “Mind your own business, boy. Tha’s my wo-man.” He dragged his rubber limb like a ball-and-chain from behind him to the direction of his opposition, shifting his balance from one side to the other. In another attempt, he landed his flailing knuckles against a sober clavicle.

    The man with the familiar voice clasped his grip to the drunkard’s collar chuckling with amusement, almost embarrassment for his upcoming victim like watching your nephew stumble on his lines at his first play, “You messed up, family.”

    Family? Jamie thought. His spine whipped upright and rotated toward the source of jargon. Lincoln the Third, his brute of a confidant, was planted right knee first in the drunk’s gut. His bloodied fists scraped the whites through punctures of thick cocoa skin. The surrounding persons began to close in and barricade Jamie’s view. He stood, but his slender tower failed in effort to overcast the spectators. His steps gradually accelerated haste. The slew of observers, in a sudden uproar of excitement, shock, discomfort, and guilty pleasure, became dense and forcibly resistant. Jamie thought, Lincoln the Third must have finished him off. Must’ve gone for the throat or pierced his intestines or yanked the jerk’s collar straight out or… no, he’s honorable—an air-tight stranglehold would suffice.

    When he broke the edge of the crowd, with Lincoln the Third in his sight, another man was abusing his gut, presumably in favor of the drunk. That drunk bastard. Lincoln is taking some tough blows, there. He—wow, he’s really in deep shit.

    The rampant punches continued and Jamie became eager with rage and impulse. Around him, their bubbling skin and entertained eyes begged for the ongoing onslaught, and that annoyed him. His tongue crawled back into his throat the same moment “Get your ass off!” hiked up his esophagus and made post in the cave of his mouth. Grunts and moans replaced his call for truce and plea to stop the scene before witnessing manslaughter. An invisible tightrope bordered the match, and Jamie dared step in the ring. Amidst a loud simultaneous bellowing of amusement (louder than their excitement following this other man sneak attacking Lincoln the Third), he dug his unkempt, dark-rimmed fingertips into the man’s posterior and yanked him up off of Lincoln, then plummeting the man’s back into his bony kneecap. The laughter turned into agonized surprise and a hum of disbelief. Gasps and varying exclamations.

    Jamie pulled his friend by the wrist from the blood on the floor and thought, I couldn’t let him keep at you! Discomfort, embarrassment and pride blanketed his faint smile.

    Lincoln the Third, with whatever strength he had left and the brace of Jamie’s extended arm, hoisted himself into Jamie, leaning and panting on Jamie’s jacket. He pushed himself back just inside Jamie’s field of vision, patted his chest twice, open palm, and sighed a relieving gust of air. “Are you okay?” He looked toward the lady he had been protecting, “Really hopin’ I ain’t take those licks for nothing.”

     “I’m—I don’t even know him. I’m so sorry,” she seemed ashamed. “Thank you, really.”

    “Mhm.” Lincoln dragged himself along Jamie’s pace, his arm loose around his rescuer’s shoulder.

    Jamie rested Lincoln into the same stool he’d been in then sat adjacent, gazing at his own hands. Lincoln knows I’d do pretty much anything for him. He’s done good by me, but now he knows I’m good for it. He knows.

     Barely a word had been spoken between the pair for so long, Jamie wondered what Lincoln stayed around for. His words of appreciation, of camaraderie during their drinking sessions, of interest in Lincoln’s stories eluded him very often, but after eighteen years of silence, he believed he’d learned to speak with his hands. He looked to Callie, who was still stunned by recent events, and he pointed to the sweating glass she gifted him, suggesting curiosity.

     “Lemon water,” she replied.

[little-fandom]

Call It Magic

After the events of Max's party before the rune ceremony, Alec and Magnus need each other close. Alec stays over, they talk and do some more...

Or, Alec admits that he feels safe around Magnus' magic, and Magnus thinks he might love Alec, more than he's ever loved anyone. Even if he's to scared to admit it just yet.

read on ao3 

“Well…that was…”

“A disaster.” Magnus interrupts Alec, before he even gets to finish. “I’m sorry.”

Alec moves from his spot by the door, where he’s just closed it behind his siblings. He sinks down on the couch right next to Magnus.

“Hey,” he ducks his head down to catch Magnus’ gaze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault.”

Magnus sighs and lets his head fall back down.

The party was indeed a disaster. First Maryse, chiming in with her snarky comments, then this whole Warlock who messed with their minds. It was supposed to be about Max, and turned out to be just another catastrophe.

And Alec… He almost lost him. Magnus just realizes that. If he was a second late… He would lost Alec to his own insecurities. He knew his boyfriend’s life wasn’t an easy one, with the Clave and his parents always judging. But this? The picture of Alec almost falling down the ledge can’t leave Magnus’ head.

“I don’t think it was a disaster.” Magnus shakes off his thoughts as Alec continues. He kinda sounds like he’s more convincing himself. “It was going pretty well…”

Magnus snorts to that. No, it wasn’t.

“Your mom was right.” Magnus says, leaning back on the couch. “It was a bad idea to have ‘a party at a Warlocks house’.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Alec gets closer and rests his chin on Magnus’ shoulder. “It could have happened anywhere.”

Maybe that’s true. The Warlock, Iris, was targeting them from the start, well she was aiming Clary, but this affects all of them. The party just made them an easier target.

Magnus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He can’t stand the small talk anymore. This isn’t really about it. This is not what Magnus wants to talk about, this isn’t what he needs to talk about with Alec. The party be damned.

“Look, Alexander.” He starts and shifts, so they’re sitting face to face, their sides leaning on the back of the couch. “Back there, on the balcony-“

“Magnus-“ Alec almost whispers.

“No, let me say this.” Magnus carries on carefully. “Have you ever… felt this way, before?”

“Magnus, it was the magic-“

“Not fully.” Magnus quickly cuts in, because he really needs to say this. “Magic can’t create fears, it only brings them out.”

Alec exhales heavily and looks away from Magnus’ face, hanging his head down.

“Alec, I’m not saying this cause I will judge.” Magnus continues, despite Alec’s gaze wandering to the limited space between them. “I won’t. I just want you to know, that if you ever feel this way-“

“Magnus, by the Angel, I’m not going to take my own life.” Alec lashes out in frustration, but when he notices Magnus’ gaze turning into surprise and a bit of hurt from his sudden blow up, he adds more gently. “I’m sorry. I just…” He sighs and adds in a lower voice. “I won’t, okay?”

Magnus puts his hand on Alec’s in a reassuring gesture.

“Okay.” He says while creasing soft circles into his skin. “But you can always talk to me, all right?”

Alec nods and covers Magnus’ palm with his other one.

Magnus isn’t going to push. Not now. They will talk about this more, but it’s too fresh, and Alec is still buzzing with emotions from tonight.

They stay like this for a moment, just enjoying the silence, that’s fallen around them. While Magnus’ hand doesn’t stop its ministrations, and Alec seems to relax a little, then he starts to speak.

“I’m sorry about mom.” He turns his palm, so he can intertwine their fingers. “And Max.”

“Darling, no need to be sorry.” Magnus assures him. Even though Maryse’s comments stung, it wasn’t as bad as he expected. And Max… well he’s a curious kid, hopefully will become more open than his parents. But considering the fact that he’s having Alec as his big brother, Magnus’ pretty sure of it.

“Yeah, but Max…” Alec runs a nervous hand through his hair. “He should know that’s inappropriate to ask about Warlock marks, I mean it’s an intimate subject…”

Magnus cups his cheek with his hand and Alec finally looks at him, something very similar to guilt written on his face and Magnus wants to wipe it out immediately.

So he drops his glamour, and Alec’s breath hitches in his throat, as he stares back at Magnus, right in the eyes with such adoration and amazement.

“Someone did tell me they’re beautiful.” Magnus smiles kindly and Alec reciprocates. “It gives a boost of confidence.”

Alec lets out a small laugh and catches Magnus’ hand with his own as it drops from his cheek.

“Because they are.” Alec whispers softly. “Not only them. Every single part of you.”

If Alec could only knew, what hearing those things does to Magnus. He’s never felt like this before. He’s being adorn by Alec. He’s not only praising his body, but also his mind. And never, ever in his long immortal life, no one has said this about his cat eyes. His real eyes.

That they’re beautiful.

He knew Alec would be special, from the first moment he saw him. That’s why he fought form him. Alec proved it at his wedding, and keeps proving it every single day.

And as Magnus’ thoughts return to the night before tonight, or their first date, or when Alec is just here, now, looking at him right into his real eyes and he’s not scared of them. Of him. He can’t deny that the adoration is mutual.

Alec is playing with their fingers, lacing and unlacing them, as if he considers his next words.

“I like your magic.” Alec admits after a while, still not looking up. “It feels safe.”

Magnus isn’t sure if he’s referring to the time back on the balcony a few hours ago, or to any other time. He’s constantly using his magic. He’s probably not even aware of how much he relies on it.

“I know how it sounds.” Alec says with a laugh. “Your magic is so damn powerful and could destroy anything or anyone, but I still find it safe and gentle.”

Another thing about Alec, is that Magnus often finds himself speechless at his words. Like right now. Maybe it’s the honesty and straightforwardness that radiates from him and his words, but Magnus. doesn’t mind it. Not at all. He rarely gets surprised, but he enjoys it.

So lack of words he does the only thing he can think of.

He gently unwinds their fingers, to which Alec looks confused for a second, put then Magnus shifts a bit closer to him, snaps his fingers and blue flames start to dance around his palms.

Alec just looks down in awe. He really is amazed by every single thing Magnus does. Magic or not. But this… Magnus can’t help the soft smile creeping out on his face.

His past lovers did approve his magic, but mostly for their personal gain. If it comes to mundanes, he usually didn’t tell them about his abilities. It would only scare them off. But lying gets exhausting, and solid relationships can’t be built, if he’s not being completely honest.

And he feels like he can do this with Alec. Be completely honest, not ashamed of any part of himself. There’s still so much he didn’t tell him, but they’ll get to it. Because he wants to, and also because Alec is curious about it.

He doesn’t push, but Magnus knows that sometimes it’s bothering him. They haven’t been together long, but Magnus already knows almost everything about Alec, at least the parts he wants to share for now.

And Magnus wants to share too. But with so much past… where to even start? Sometimes he just lets it flow, tells the first story that comes to his mind, when he and Alec are curled up on the couch, laying together at night, or in the morning.

And Magnus is grateful that Alec wants to find out from him. One day he came back from the Institute, furious about his mother presenting him with Magnus’ file, and claiming he has to read through it to find out who exactly is he allowing into his life.

Magnus told him it wouldn’t be a such bad thing if he did that, because as much as would hate if he did, he still gets that Alec can be curious about his life. But Alec said he’s more than happy with the parts Magnus actually wants to share with him. That he can wait for more, when Magnus is ready.

As Magnus’ fingers are still laced with blue sparks, Alec gently tangles them back together with his, soft smile never leaving his lips. Magnus’ magic welcomes him immediately, it knows him, and never would be able to hurt him.

“My magic likes you too.” Magnus says, as the blue flames tickle Alec’s fingers delicately.

Then Alec takes his palm, and places it flat on his chest. It seems like an invitation, so Magnus sends a light pulse of magic into him, and his Shadowhunter can’t contain the gasp, that escapes his lips, and he presses Magnus’ hand with his own firmer onto his chest.

Magnus enjoys the reaction so he chuckles lightly and does it again, with a little more force.

Alec moans this time, throwing his head back and grabbing tighter onto their intertwined hands.

“You’re gonna be the end of me.” He chuckles breathlessly, and it this moment Magnus can’t resist him anymore, so he leans in and kisses him.

Alec still doesn’t let go of his hand, as they press closer together. Magnus keeps sending pulses of magic into Alec’s skin, and a moment later, he feels him panting against his mouth.

“You’re something else, darling.” Magnus whispers into the slight space between their lips.

“In a good way, I hope.” Alec smiles and hooks his arms around Magnus’ neck.

“Always in good ways.” Magnus’ grin widens, and the next moment he’s pulling Alec onto his lap, so he’s straddling him.

Alec’s smile extends and he leans down to kiss Magnus, gently creasing the sides of his neck, and suddenly Magnus feels the urge to have him even closer.

Thus he puts his arms around Alec’s back and presses him, so they’re chest to chest.

Alec gasps again, and as his mouth slips from Magnus’, he takes the chance and starts placing kisses to Alec’s neck. His hands wander underneath Alec’s shirt, and he seems to take a hint, ‘cause a moment later he’s pulling his arms up and Magnus slides it over his head.

“Will you stay tonight?” Magnus asks as Alec’s hands return to his neck.

“I wish,” Alec sighs as he plays with the collar of Magnus’ shirt. “But I have to be at the Institute in the morning, for Max’s rune ceremony.”

Magnus knows how important it is, but after the day they had, they deserve some alone time.

“I’ll portal you in the morning.” Magnus resorts and his arms around him tighten. “Just stay tonight.”

He hates how desperate he sounds, but he can’t help it. After what happened tonight, he really needs Alexander close.

“Okay,” Alec states, as he seems to hear the plea in the Warlock’s voice. “I’ll stay.”

He kisses him, soft and lingering, before Alec adds.

“There’s nowhere else I’d want to be now.”

And Magnus doesn’t want him to be anywhere else.

As Alec starts to fumble with the buttons of Magnus’ shirt, the Warlock notices small blush creeping onto his cheeks as Alec starts speaking again.

“So…” His gaze is focused down on Magnus’ chest. “Last night was nice.”

It was indeed. Everything was amazing, and even though Magnus was scared, probably more than Alec, his Shadowhunter has been nothing but understanding. They went slow, took their time, and even though Magnus wants to do so many things to Alec, with Alec, their first time was perfect in every possible way.

Magnus is still amazed with the innocence glaring from his Alexander. He’s so unexperienced, but Magnus is more than willing to teach him, and learn everything that makes him feel good. He wants him to open up, feel safe to say what he wants, or to try new things.

It’s gonna be a long way, but for sure an enjoyable one.

“Yes, it was.” Magnus replies with a playful smirk and when Alec looks at him he reciprocates. “Care for a rerun?”

Alec chuckles, but rolls his hips a little, and Magnus bites his lip to suppress his gasp.

“Yeah.” Alec nods, a little breathless. “But it’s not the reason why I’m staying.” He adds pulling back a little to look at Magnus. “I mean I want to, but uhm, not the only reason. It’s… just not all… I-“

“Shh, darling I know.” Magnus chuckles and presses his index finger to Alec’s lips in an attempt to stop his rumbling.

He knows what he means, he really does.

They both need each other.

“Yeah, okay.” Alec shifts closer again, and grinds down on Magnus with a little more force, so he can’t contain the gasp escaping him.

They are impossibly close, but Magnus wants them closer, connected.

As Alec finishes unbuttoning Magnus’ shirt he quickly takes it off and he moves to gently lay Alec down on the couch on his back, then settles between his legs, kissing the side of his neck delicately.

“You know,” Alec starts hesitantly as he writhes beneath him. “You don’t have to always be so gentle with me, I won’t break.”

Magnus pulls back to look at him, frowning. Again, a little surprised.

“It’s not like I don’t enjoy it.” Alec carries on quickly, eyes wide as he notices the Warlock’s expression. “I do, I really do, but… if you want to try something or… I don’t know-“

“Angel,” Magnus cups his face so he’s sure he won’t look away. “It’s not only about what I want. It’s about us, what we want.” He creases Alec’s cheeks lightly as the younger man nods. “And we can try anything, as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“And as long as you are.” Alec adds, his hands wandering to Magnus’ shoulders.

“Exactly.” Magnus’ smile turns into a smirk as he adds. “You seem to catch up pretty fast.”

“I am a fast learner.” Alec states and pulls him down for a kiss.

They kiss for a few long minutes, hot and messy so Magnus starts to stir his hips against Alec’s.

His Shadowhunter gasps again, and puts his hands on Magnus’ waist when he nips gently on his neck. The Warlock traces the shape of his deflect rune with his tongue and Alec shivers under his ministrations.

Magnus enjoys the reactions he gets from Alexander, how he can make him a trembling mess, with just a few touches.

He bites and sucks lightly at the side of his neck with an intention to leave a mark, and Alec lets out a low moan.

“You doing okay?” Magnus asks, as he kisses down the way to Alec’s collarbone, humming at the mark that’s already forming on Alec’s pulse point.

“I’m great.” Alec moans out. “Just don’t stop.”

“You’re going to tell me if I do something you don’t like?” Magnus nuzzles his nose all the way up Alec’s neck and places a lingering kiss to his jaw.

“I don’t think it’s possible, but yeah.” Alec chuckles breathlessly and Magnus does too.

That’s all the information he needs right now to keep going.

He’s still rolling his hips when his hands reach Alec’s belt buckle and he undoes it slowly, lasting the moment. Then he tugs at his pants, and shift a bit on the couch to take them all the way down.

Alec’s hands drift to Magnus’ waist again, and he hooks his fingers onto the belt loops of Magnus’ trousers, to pull his closer and back down on himself.

Magnus feels his breath hitch in his throat, but he goes willingly when Alec kisses him with force, eagerly. His hands are draped on the Warlock’s back and he moves them, as if he tries to map his body, remember every detail, feel the way every single muscle moves. Magnus can’t help to moan, when Alec thrusts his hips up to meet his, the friction so perfect.

He could snap his fingers any moment, to get them rid of the rest of their clothes, but in some way he wants to take his time with Alec, not deprive him from any part of their activities, especially that intimate thing that is undressing each other.

But Alec seems impatient, as he quickly unbuckles Magnus’ belt, yanking it out of his pants. It lands somewhere on the floor, but it’s not like Magnus cares, and the next moment Alec unzips his fly and pulls his trousers down along with is boxers.

“Eager, are we?” Magnus raises his eyebrows at him, and smiles as Alec bites on his bottom lip and nods, the blush reappearing on his cheeks.

Soon Alec’s boxer briefs follow down, and Magnus just takes a moment to appreciate the view.

Alec’s hair is a mess, his skin already slightly glistened with sweat, the hickey on his neck stands out sinfully, but Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.

So he leans down and kisses him, putting his now naked body on top, and they both groan at the wonderful friction as he rolls his hips.

Alec whimpers under him and with his hands on his back presses him incredibly close.

Magnus snaps his fingers and summons a bottle of lube from the bedroom, pulling back lightly to pour it on his fingers.

Alec whines in disapproval at the sudden distance between them, but soon enough Magnus is back down on him, and he places his fingers against Alec’s entrance.

“This okay?” He asks just to make sure.

“Yeah, keep going.” Alec chokes out, and moans out loud when Magnus’ finger pushes into him.

He tries to bite his lip in an attempt to stop the noises that escape him, but then Magnus gently touches his mouth with his thumb.

“Don’t. I want to hear you angel.”

Alec arches of the couch, when a second finger joins Magnus’ first and the whimper he lets out makes Magnus smile.

“That’s it.” He whispers, out of breath, not even sure if Alec has heard him.

Magnus scissors him open, soon adding a third finger, and starts placing kisses all the way down from Alec’s neck to his chest, to distract him from the burning of the stretch.

Alec puts his hands in Magnus’ hair and tugs lightly, to which the Warlock hums in appreciation. The Shadowhunter urges his head up from his neck to kiss him, hard and sloppy.

Magnus delicately pulls out his fingers, to which Alec whines.

“Shh, baby I’ve got you.” Magnus reassures. “You ready?”

Alec nods furiously and joins their lips back together as Magnus slowly enters him.

There’s so many marvellous things about this moment, and Magnus feels like he want to relive it forever. The amazing tightness around him, Alec moaning beneath him, so close that he can actually taste him, and the pleasure slowly building up in his stomach.

He gives Alec time to adjust, struggling not to move, his legs shaking with effort. But as Alec wraps his legs around his waist, Magnus takes it as a sign that he’s ready.

He thrusts slowly, groaning at the pleasurable friction and feeling the joy spreading through his body.

“Oh, by the Angel.” Alec breathes out and it’s followed with a sinful moan as Magnus stirs his hips a little bit faster.

He keeps the steady pace, his hands moves up to Alec’s hair, as the younger man places his own on Magnus’ ass to urge him deeper.

Then Alec arches of the couch with a scream of pleasure and Magnus knows he found his sweet spot, so he continues to rub against it.

“Right there, Magnus.” Alec gasps out. “Don’t stop.”

These word encourage Magnus to thrust a bit harder, which Alec gladly welcomes with a low moan.

He’s so beautiful like this. A sinful angel. Everything about him, the way he moves, the sounds he makes… Magnus wants this, wants him, for as long as he can.

As long as he will let him.

He hopes it’ll be long.

Soon he’s starting to lose control, his thrust becoming erratic and he places his head in the crook of Alec’s neck, sucking lightly on the skin there.

“You’re amazing.” Alec breathes out, his hands creasing the skin of his lower back and Magnus groans at the feeling. He’s so close.

He thrusts once, twice, and when Alec places a lingering kiss to his temple, the sweet innocent gesture brings him over the edge.

Alec clenches around him, as he feeling him spilling inside, and Magnus knows he’s close too, so he rides out his high with a few more deep rolls of his hips and Alec tenses under him for a second, moaning helplessly as he reaches his climax, with Magnus’ name floating from his lips.

They stay like this, both of them panting and Magnus feels Alec’s raced heartbeat as he places his hand on his chest, the beat even though too fast, still calms him.

Magnus gathers up enough energy to wave his hand, and the mess they made is gone.

“Convenient.” Alec chuckles under him, still breathless.

The Warlock places a few kisses to his chest, as their breaths start to even out.

“You okay?” Magnus asks, when he feels Alec’s heartbeat slow down.

“Perfect.” Alec smiles at him, and sweeps the hair out of Magnus’ face.

When their mouths connect again, Magnus gently pulls out of him, and kisses him harder to appease the empty feeling.

These three words are lingering above them, they’ve been for quite some time. But still, Magnus is scared it’s too fast. And he cares about Alec so much, he feels he can’t let himself make any mistake with him.

Not with this.

“Are you okay?” Alec looks at him concern, like he noticed Magnus’ thoughts are wandering somewhere beyond them.

“Absolutely,” Magnus kisses him again, sweet and short. “More than okay.”

The corners of Alec’s lips quirk as Magnus traces his thumb across his bottom lip.

“We should get to the bedroom.” Magnus starts, but makes no intention of moving, still too exhausted. “It will be-“

“Let’s just stay a while longer.” Alec interrupts him, rubbing Magnus’ back up and down lightly. “Okay?”

“Sure, darling.”

Magnus only tears his hand away from Alec’s chest to throw a blanket over them, and then he snuggles back into the content of Alec’s warmth.

Right now, like this, it’s perfect, Magnus thinks.

Just them.

And he wants it to stay like this forever.

[amwhite90]

March 29th, 2017 2:59pm

           Sometimes, it’s hard to play with you. You’ll occasionally flick ants into plastic pants or pluck cherries from a small cardboard tree. There are days you want to ride my shoulders. I’ll gallop up and down the hallway, neighing like an awkward horse. But you only allow me in when you want to. I can’t often meet you where you stand. You seem light years away when I wish to reach you, even if it’s just for a visit.

           The miracle of playing catch with you for the first time, bouncing that giant exercise ball back and forth, immediately carved a crater in me. I’m still astonished, and grateful, for that reciprocal exchange. You got “too happy” and scratched me when the game was over. We’d fallen to the floor and I tickled your belly. I wasn’t mad about the blood you drew. I watched the wounds scab and wither for weeks after. They reminded me you’re here, with me, on earth. Together, we jumped and our house became unsettled.

           You didn’t sleep last night. Today, I’ve been living in a livid state, suspended in half-sleep. I’ve daydreamed about weird landscapes and caught myself being rude to a coworker. Tonight, I plan to share grocery store ice cream with you. I know you’ll spit the chocolate chips like cherry pits because you don’t like their texture. And I’ll be prepared to clean them up. But it shouldn’t make me mad. I’ve often blamed you for my own capacity to be both the best and worst versions of myself. If there exists in me an ability to judge unfairly, to set you up for failure, then I worry about how all these aliens around us—strange, faceless people—will treat you.

           Yesterday afternoon, we played in the labyrinth at Hawthorne Park. It was cold. I forgot your hat, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were at home on the open asphalt among errant piles of brown leaves. As I walked the painted maze, a man and his son came into our circle. They cut across the lines and set themselves up uncomfortably close to us. I don’t think you noticed. You instead threw your kickball to the ground and watched it bounce as high as your strength could manage. You seemed to be enamored in the ball’s shape, in its endless distance to the sun. The father and son began to spar. It was a ritualistic lesson in combat. I was mad at their lack of awareness, at colonizing our play, but as I pulled you away from the maze, I realized that we’ve been fighting, too. Maybe I’m not teaching you what’s important. Maybe our battle is just too different.

           You don’t often sleep. But when you do, I’m left wondering if you dream. Maybe, when we’re both asleep, we dream at the same time, even when you’re with your mom and seem a world away. My favorite dreams are the ones in which we’re together and our bad days are behind us. Often, you sing or tell me stories in a voice I imagine sounds like your own. You extend your hand through the space between us and I know you’re okay.

[kakivino]

Great Wines of Italy 2018 Bangkok

Another December, another round of wine scrum. There I was, again, negotiating a capacity crowd of stemware-wielding, purplish teeth-baring oenophiles for my vinous spoils.

To be exact, a staggering 191 premium wines from 98 producers. James Suckling’s Great Wines of Italy 2018 Asia tour was back and bigger than ever.

The bustle of Bangkok was nothing compared with frantic scenes in Hong Kong or Beijing, observed visiting winemakers. That said, no sooner had the door opened things got into full swing.

More wines, less time

Something tells us perhaps the shortened programme — there goes our one-hour head start before people clock out from work — has something to do with cost management. Omission of some big-name labels suggests as much. Then again, it remained a small price to pay for the admission price we paid, in a country where wine spells luxury.

But I digressed. Naturally, the early birds flocked to wherever 100-pointer juice flowed, drained and vanished in record time, leaving a trail of empty Ornellaias or Tignanellos exhibited posthumously to disgruntled latecomers.

However, the sheer number of exciting picks meant there was no time for regret. Something else would come along.

Suffice to say, I was extremely content to have followed the heart rather than the points. Though I barely scratched the surface, my experience was all the more rewarding for when winemakers reciprocated aficionados’ enthusiasm with full attention and spirited exchanges in between pours.

Here’s my far-from-exhaustive fabulous dozen from the walk-around tasting:

Riecine ’14 Toscana Rosso Riecine Visibly limpid, hauntingly weightless. Beautiful mesh of red fruit, violet, white pepper and blood orange, laced with racy acidity and minerality. Smart, trim, nothing in excess. Picture a whispery tête-à-tête with Rooney Mara. Incredibly cerebral, soulful sangiovese in purezza. Some whole bunch, extended skin maceration, élevage in concrete.

Riecine ’15 Toscana Rosso La Gioia More quintessential Chianti Classico: richer, fuller by comparison. Expressive sour cherry and red fruit emerges front and centre, as sweet spice, sandalwood and leather chime in harmoniously. Judicious oak and supple tannins add substance to style with plenty of verve. A classy 100% sangiovese which lives up to its name: true joy in a glass.

The reason these translucent beauties shun the Gran Selezione pedestal, according to the engaging winemaker Alessandro Campatelli, is colour-obsessed red tape no less. To think that the Consorzio would’ve learned a thing or two from past blunders...

Pieropan ’15 Soave Classico Calvarino Heady aromas of pear, apple, grapefruit and spring flowers wow the senses with real piquancy and thrust. Dripping with pristine orchard fruit, chalky minerals and brisk acidity on the sapid palate. Leesy and complex, it closes long with a peculiarly saline, nutty twang. Decidedly scintillating. 70% garganega and 30% trebbiano di soave on volcanic soil, aged sur lie in concrete vats.

Pieropan ’15 Soave Classico La Rocca Harvested late and oaked, this radiant white bears richer concentration and definition, with a tropical (papaya!) twist. Honeyed and minerally, bright acidity lifts the tactile palate as it powers to a flavoursome finish. A peach of a wine, this offers fascinating contrast side by side with Calvarino yet there’s very little to separate them. 100% garganega on chalky clay, aged sur lie in large old casks.

Pietradolce ’14 Etna Rosso Vigna Barbagalli Lady Etna is enigmatic: floral, briary, smoky, with tar and menthol in the bouquet. Concentrated wild berry and slick oak inform the smoldering, youthfully austere palate. Distinctively earthy with pu’er-like finish. Mind the silken yet potent tannins. Has the stuffing, both gravitas and grace not unlike nebbiolo. From century-old, pre-phylloxera vines at contrada Rampante.

Alta Mora ’14 Etna Rosso Guardiola Likewise earthy disposition to this fragrant single contrada. Mineral vein underscores dark fruit, wet clay, tar, florals, pomegranate and Mediterranean herb, all framed by dense noble tannins. Tightly-knit and sleek rather than sinewy, with excellent complexity, line and length. More animated and savoury than Barbagalli. Nebbiolo again pops into mind yet with a personality all its own. A winner from 150-year old vines.

Nittardi ’15 Chianti Classico Casanuova di Nittardi Pure sangiovese from acidity-retaining altitudes at Castellina. Just old tonneaux and some time in concrete. Bright cherry is joined by violet, dark berries and a whiff of good ol’ barnyard. Sappy palate grips and extends with a dusty, spicy kick. Riveting. One-time owner, Renaissance rockstar Michelangelo Buonarroti — hence the artsy label tribute — makes for an excellent conversation piece.

Proprietor Léon Femfert revealed that Rhys, one half of the mischievous Matthews on The Wine Show — and an Emmy-winning actor — downed a glass filled to the brim, presumably in desperate need of inspiration for his label doodling showdown with co-host Goode. Guess what, it did the trick.

Castello di Volpaia ’15 Chianti Classico Gran Selezione Coltassala Red fruit, incense, florals and vanilla leap out of the glass. The extravagant perfume a result of sandy soil at Radda altitudes and 24-month worth of new French oak. Deep sweet cherry luxuriates in milk chocolate in the mouth, rendered a voluptuous spin by said wood. Fresh acidity and firm ripe tannins provide impeccable balance. Freshly-minted Gran Selezione, kind of self-explanatory if you find it a touch modern.

San Polino ’13 Brunello di Montalcino Helichrysum Spellbinding aromatics. Ample acidity and a wall of mouth-coating tannins shape the chiseled architecture which frames black cherry, raspberry, blue flowers, new leather, tobacco and baking spice. Brooding and tight, there is no doubting the latent potential i.e. depth, intensity and vigour. Long ferment, large Slavonian cask aging equal classic brunello par excellence.

It was the Fanti rep Luca Vitiello who pointed me in San Polino direction when I requested his recommendation. Nice lad. Speaking of which, his lithe, fresh-fruited Fanti ’13 Brunello di Montalcino is disarmingly charming, delivering succulent berries and watermelon with lip-smacking immediacy, not that it won’t benefit from some bottle age.

Argentiera ’15 Bolgheri Superiore Ornellaia next-table might have stolen the limelight, but this snazzy overachiever stole the show. Blueberry, blackcurrant, cedar, wood spice and graphite meld seamlesssly with super polished tannins and opulent oak to compose a symphony of decadence. Apparently well-endowed yet supple in its caress. The proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove.

Jermann ’16 Vintage Tunina Venezia Giulia An intriguing blend of chardonnay, sauvignon with autochthonous ribolla gialla, malvasia istriana and picolit. Intense nose and full-bodied palate are handsomely laden with gooseberry, apricot, white blossom and lemon drop in citrusy overtone. Steely acidity balances juicy weight with aplomb, as pithy aftertaste lingers on. Not for nothing does it consistently rank as one of Italy’s top whites.

A winemakers’ vintage

To say barolo is conspicuous by its absence would be an understatement. With 2014s’ bad rap weighing on my mind, this wettest of vintages in recent memory seemed to have put a damper on barolo’s hot streak at first taste. A weaker field and palate fatigue arguably didn’t help.

But hindsight is a beautiful thing, in all probability, so could be some of these ugly ducklings. What this winemakers’ vintage might lack in flesh and bones, it more than makes up for in finesse and sultry appeal, eager to please with minimal cellaring. 2014 might turn out to be nothing more than just a speed bump.

Between the inebriation and camaraderie, the wine-drenched evening was a lot to take in. Evidently, Bangkok embraced vino italiano with gusto — some had one too many, those jovial strangers who egged me on to give the irrepressible Frescobaldi ambassador, Erika Ribaldi a peck on the cheek, to which I respectfully obliged.

Good-natured fun apart, the tasting is always about finding that something which tickles your fancy. I’m constantly told, and often repeat, that to get to the bottom of Italian wines, non basta una vita. — KY

*** This is a sponsored post *** The sixth Asia’s largest Italian wine showcase will return to Grand Hyatt Erawan Hotel on Nov 27. Visit jamessuckling.com/event for tickets or more info. James Suckling is one of the world’s foremost wine critics, having tasted more than 200,000 wines over three decades. A resident of Hong Kong, he lives most of the time on Cathay Pacific flying to the most popular wine regions in the world and tasting the best wines. James organises regularly large premium wine events in Hong Kong, Thailand, the US and Europe. Visit them at jamessuckling.com.