#thanks to DS for all the crouching | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleckcmscott · 7 months

Text

Silver Dollar

Summary: An outage in Gotham provides the perfect opportunity for a special night.

Words: 4,629

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This story was prompted by a request from @iartsometimes! 💜 It's probably a little tamer than intended. 🤭 Thank you for the request! Also, much appreciation to @sweet-nothings04 for low-lighting visibility tips. 😂 🌃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The graffiti plastered bathroom plunged into darkness.

Arthur stiffened where he stood, blinked into the blackness. His vision did not become clearer. Grumbling, he tucked himself into his pants and stepped back from the urinal. The handle took two tugs to flush. He fumbled for the sink, gave his palms a rinse shorter than the Gotham Department of Health recommended. Paper pharmacy bag in hand, he opened the exit's steel door and headed northwest. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring, August sun.

Gotham had gone crazy in record time.

People spilled out of luncheonettes, crowds crammed shop doorways. Traffic lights refused to light and pedestrian signals refused to signal. Horns blared in the building pandemonium. A passenger yelled out of a taxicab and flipped the bird, while the driver pounded the steering wheel. Chaos repeated block after block. The Stutton Cowboy on the center billboard ("Price is good. Flavor is everything.") no longer waved. His cigarette hand hovered over his mouth in shock.

Arthur was prepared. Whether due to bad writing or an unpaid bill, he'd spent his share of evenings smoking in the dark. This was something he was good at, an event he could take the lead in.

Bumping a fleeing college kid who had a bottle of vodka hidden under his arm, Arthur shouldered his way into the nearest grocery. Squeezed by a couple of oh lords, maneuvered through murmurs and gripes, and ran through a mental inventory of the drawers in 4A. The day dimmed as he neared the rear aisles. When he arrived at the Home Needs section, he crouched between an abandoned cart and a baby stroller.

He squinted at the battery rack. AAs for the radio, Ds for the flashlight. Maybe some candles, just in case...

An ever-expanding line of shoppers accelerated the beads of sweat on the young cashier's forehead. Handwritten receipts and totals by calculator took twice as long. Arthur sidled to the next line, overseen by a matronly woman wearing a paisley wrap dress who did all the math in her head.

"I'm gonna need a drink after today," she said as he approached the counter.

It took a moment for him to realize she was looking for a kindred spirit. A rapid blink, a subtle nod. "Yeah. Me, too." He eyed a row of bottles on the shelf behind her. That'd make his reply believable.

She followed his stare, stretched to grab a green bottle with an art nouveau label, and put it on the counter.

Vermouth. He wasn't familiar with that word. It sounded exotic, like a fine imported thing. It was a screw top instead of a cork, which he tended to frown on. Uncorking a bottle together was romantic, whereas this was akin to opening a liter of seltzer. He was about to decline it when the price tag froze him. At $14.99, it was more expensive than any wine he'd ever had.

Maybe it really was a fine, imported thing.

"Is it good?" he asked. He picked it up, studied the back as if a connoisseur.

"One of our best sellers."

He gave the matron a one shoulder shrug, half-commitment about to go full. "I'll take it."

~~~~~

Y/N strode the hallowed halls of Gotham City District Court. On the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen, the granite behemoth belied the civil servants who were paid far too little to deal with far too much.

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she ambled down the checkerboard floor towards the clerk's window. Rita, her favorite, was working today. Rita returned every call, always helped with a combination of sarcasm and cheer.

"And what did you bring me today? she asked when Y/N plopped her canvas bag on the counter. Rita stopped watering her shaggy spider plant and walked to the window.

"A motion to continue the Caruso case and a dozen new filings. You can send the invoice for the filing fees to my office." Y/N split the stack of folders into three slim piles and pushed them through the gap under the glass. "How did your bowling league do last night?"

"We're one game away from regionals! I'm trying to convince my husband to-"

A loud pop echoed down the corridor, bounced along the linoleum, ricocheted off horsehair plaster. The air conditioner's hum devolved to a grinding whir. Bright fluorescents gave way to dingey emergency beams, crisscrossing through dusty, recycled air.

Hand on hip, Y/N looked up. "Did you misplace the electric bill?"

"Great. Judge Harkness is in the middle of a jury trial on the fourth floor. He hates taking the stairs." The clerk covered her face, glanced at Y/N's folders through parted fingers. "I'm not sure when I'll get these processed."

"That's all right. I just wanted them off my desk. I haven't seen the surface in six months." She retrieved a business card from her purse, pushed it to join the files, a gesture repeated every visit to Rita, a reminder to reach out. "Don't forget to update me on your tournament. And don't let His Honor forget who actually runs this place."

When she arrived at Dube & Ellis after a fifty-two-minute walk - all subways stations were cordoned off - she was sweltering. Polyester didn't breathe and it comprised seventy-two percent of her wardrobe. That Terry had done exactly the wrong thing by drawing back the vertical blinds on each and every window was typical. "There's not enough light in here! The whole city's out!"

She unbuttoned her collar and dropped in her chair. Normally her Sanyo desk fan would rattle and grate. Now she'd give her whole paycheck for a hint of its cool breeze.

Power outages had been a feature of many seasons in Missouri. Tornado season and sticky season, window season and squirrel on the transformer season. One night a drunk driver had slammed his Studebaker into a utility pole three houses down. It'd crushed Mr. Walter's front porch and left the road without electricity for two days.

Her mother had instructed them not to open the refrigerator unless they knew what they wanted. Shut the doors to the hottest rooms and placed rolled towels at the bottom to keep air from seeping in. Though she'd loved how the sun filtered through her lace curtains, she'd kept the drapes shut. They'd lit candles at night. She'd done needlepoint in her favorite chair and watched her husband play cards with their daughters until bed. A real family affair.

Daubing beads from his brow with a handkerchief, Phil stood in the center of the room. His expression said keeping them there any longer would be an OSHA violation. He wasn't wrong. The office had become the least relaxing sauna on the east coast.

"You've all put in a lot of work today." He spoke in the voice of a grandfather and daubed again. "I know it wasn't easy. I guess there's no sense in us staying any longer. If the power's not back tomorrow-" A gulp here, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Enjoy a long weekend. My wife'll be glad to have me home. I think."

Y/N stole a glance at her watch: 4:42 PM. A whole eighteen minutes early. Though it wasn't a lot, she got how hard it was for a workaholic like Phil to give them five. Offering a soft smile, she went to him and stuck out her hand. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly before he accepted.

She gave his arm a collegial pat. "We're as caught up as we can be, so feel free to stop sweating."

~~~~~

The next morning's breakfast: cornflakes and blueberries. Y/N gave the milk a good sniff before pouring. With the microwave, toaster, and stove out of commission, oatmeal, toast, and eggs were off the menu. (Not that Arthur complained about the latter.)

They'd discussed how to use what was left in the fridge and freezer before it all went bad, but salads wouldn't work for every meal, and they were only two people. The Caswells across the hall, the neighbors who'd gotten their mail while they were in Missouri, had a grill. Y/N gave them a package of ground beef and a bag of frozen vegetables.

Arthur let his spoon clatter in the kitchen sink and rinsed his bowl. (It was a good and joyful thing that the water - and therefore the toilet - still worked.) "You know, I should go the children's clinic."

"Do you have a gig?" She sipped her orange juice.

"No. But it's boring hanging around all day without the TV. They hire me a lot. I'll go for free."

She rose, rubbed the small of his back. "That's so sweet, Arthur. And very kind."

"You could come with me." He paused, pressed his lips together. She'd seen him on street corners but hadn't witnessed the entirety of his performance. Even with her unending support, he suspected an all-out clown show would be the one place she'd feel out of place. He dared a glance her way.

And found a wide-eyed expression of approval. She cupped his hips, planted a wet kiss to his cheek. "You couldn't keep me away."

In the cab downtown, excitement bloomed in him, unfurling in a great wave of nervous joy. Knuckles intertwined, he hugged the prop bag on his lap, thighs jiggling. "Do you think they'll mind me just showing up?"

"No." She shook her head, placed a soothing palm on his knee. "They'll be happy to get a break in the monotony. It's a medical facility, they'll have generators, but the staff are going home to no power. They could use a laugh. The kids definitely could, too."

The Philomena Children's Clinic was squat for Gotham. Five stories of alternating beige concrete and polycarbonate windows, shaped into a squared-off U. Moss hung from the side of the porte-cochere, green clumps littered the pavement. Cartoon animals played on the entrance doors, giraffes and bears in happy acrylics.

When he checked in unannounced, Gertel the receptionist had a snotty face, but he'd learned not to take it personally. She liked order, worked eight to eight, even on holidays, and her only hobbies were the anagram puzzles in the newspaper and Harlequin romances. She was a tough egg to crack. The most he'd gotten was a pinched smile, a thin line of conceit.

Once he'd procured visitor badges for Y/N and himself, he went to the staff room to change. White base, blue triangles at the eyes, exaggerated red grin, bald wig with green curls, patched brown pants. He'd skipped his checkered suit jacket for a white lab coat, a long ago find from the secondhand store.

Rather than congregating in the common area, the kids remained in their rooms. The change put a limitation on his usual song and dance. Without those trappings, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He hesitated in the doorway of 201, thumbed a flat balloon in his pocket. When the little girl watching Sesame Street gave a small wave, he wiggled the worry from his shoulders and stepped forward.

Stephanie showed him a picture she'd drawn, all crayon streaks and misshapen house. In turn he crafted a balloon hat, put it on her head and told her to get well soon. A youngster next door, no more than five, told Arthur all about Misty, his golden retriever, and how much he missed her.

When Kevin, swallowed by an oversized robe, IV drip drip dripping, started to cry, Arthur's chest hollowed out. The boy hadn't seen his mom in two days. Being alone in a hospital was hard, a fact Arthur had lived. He plucked a prop handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressed it into the boy's tiny hands, pushed the corner of his mouth up with his thumb. "You'll see her soon," he said, words carrying a conviction he hoped was right.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Y/N chatting with an RN at the nurse's station. He went into the corridor to eavesdrop, knelt beside a girl in a wheelchair smothered with pink and purple stickers, Heather plastered across the side panel.

"It was nice of him to come," Linda said. "A lot of their parents can't afford the cab fare to get out here, with the subway out and all. And if they're not working, they aren't getting paid. He's always excellent with the children - sometimes he's just like them. Do you have any at home?"

Heather leaned in, prodded his shoulder. "Who's that lady?" she asked, pointing at Y/N.

"That lady?" He grinned from ear to ear. "That's Mrs. Carnival."

The girl gaped in astonishment. "She's not a clown?"

~~~~~

Stolen sheets hung from the railing at both ends of the fire escape. A forest green acrylic blanket obscured the front. A floral comforter, retrieved on tiptoe from the bedroom closet, covered the wrought iron platform. Two wine glasses and vermouth stood on the steps. All that was left was to tune the radio to easy listening, which Arthur did, treading lightly to avoid a stubbed toe.

Nodding, he smiled at his handwork. Well, at the blurred shapes he could detect in the dimness. He looked skyward. With the sun below the horizon and the usual light pollution gone, the night was sparkling.

Candlestick in hand, he eased the bedroom door ajar and sidled through. Gold flickered through the dark, a softening glow. Y/N was an unmoving lump on the mattress. Leg dangling out from the sheet, her half-slip a line on her thigh. Though sleep now came easier, her ability to nap stoked an ember of envy. Midday snoozes happened only after a bit of afternoon delight. She'd tired early, around quarter past six. If he let her doze any longer, she'd be locked in a daze brewing coffee at 2:00 AM.

Hot wax stung the web between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, shook his hand, shoved the candle on the nightstand. The edge of the mattress sunk under his weight. He grasped the cotton sheet. Dragged it from her shoulder. Revealed the lace trim of her ivory chemise. A brief mumble fell from her mouth, a wet sucking sound. Her fingers curled into the pillow. He pulled the sheet down further. It puddled to the floor.

Stretching one arm, she rolled back to wince at the candle, then at him. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

That jolted her awake. "I slept too long."

"Mabel called earlier."

"What did she want?"

"She said the blackouts were on the news. I let her know we're all right."

A tender caress to her calf, which felt like silk in his palm. Images of the romantic evening he was about to have with his wife played in his head, a loop that made his stomach all aflutter.

Y/N boosted herself on her elbows. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The look that means you're up to something," she said, brow arched to her hairline.

Part chuckle, part scoff, he laughed. She read him too well. While it made surprises harder to hide, it pleased more than it annoyed. He stood, offered his hand. "Come here," he said. She accepted, pausing long enough to blow out the flame. He led her to the fire escape and sat on the comforter.

Halfway behind the glass door, she clutched her arms over her chest. "Arthur, I can't go out like this."

"No one'll see you." He gestured at the impromptu walls. Besides, he was six feet away and her form was barely more than a shadow. "And without all the lights, you might be able to see the stars. The way you did back home. Like you told me in the park."

A beam bloomed across her face, what he imagined might be a faint blush. Bent at the waist, she slipped into the half moon's light. One hand on the doorknob, a lifeline in case she reconsidered. Her fingertips relented one by one. First the pinky, last the middle. She settled to his left, knee pulled to her chest, the other leg folded under.

Arthur shuffled closer so they were hip to hip, reached behind her for the wine glasses and bottle with the art nouveau label.

Y/N snagged it from him, squinted at it. "Vermouth?" She held the bottle while he twisted the cap. "My mother used to drink this before bed in the summer. And she rubbed it on Mabel's gums when she was teething. Whiskey, too."

When he brought the goblet of garnet colored liquid to his lips, his nose wrinkled. The liquor smelled like an overgrown garden. He dared a small sip, anyway - and bitterness coated his tongue. He winced, sputtering. "This taste weird. This was supposed to be wine."

"It is, just a different type." She drank long and deep then drank again. "This one's not bad. Strong on the cloves but it'll get the job done."

A news bulletin interrupted the animated notes of Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass. "In what authorities are calling a historic event, Gotham's five boroughs remain dark tonight - including McKean Island. We're assured safety measures are in place and the maximum-security wing remains in lockdown. Though the extent of the damage is unknown, we're happy to report that crews from Pennsylvania and New York are on their way to our fair city to lend a hand. Police Chief Miles O'Hara and Mayor Thomas Wayne are urging calm and-"

"That's enough of that." Y/N flipped the off switch. "You know the best part of all this? Wayne Tower is just as dark as everywhere else."

Unable to stop a chuckle, Arthur shook his head. She wasn't one for holding grudges, but the ones she did carry lived in the lines of her palms, plain enough for any flimflam psychic to read.

But he didn't want her to talk about that, not now. And he knew of a guaranteed method to distract her, to bring her back to where he wanted. He refilled her drink and clinked their glasses.

Second helping swallowed, she inched her bottom forward to lay on her back, arm tucked beneath her head. "It was wonderful to see you work today. Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Well, you come to my standup shows." Only a month ago, she'd recorded his performance and given him tips over Thai. He stretched out next to her, set his still full glass on the steps. "The girl in the wheelchair asked who you were. She was surprised Mrs. Carnival isn't a clown."

"As surprised as everybody was that I married one?"

A hitched laugh. He fiddled with his trousers' belt loops. "I guess."

"There's a magic wand." She pointed at the skies. "By the moon, to the right."

Arthur hummed a contented hum, let his eyelids flutter shut. The street was peaceful, as still as he'd ever heard it. With most shops and restaurants shut down, the list of leisure options fit on a postage stamp. It was a moment to capture, preserve, like swirls in a vase.

A breeze rustled the sheets, blew across them, carried Y/N's natural scent straight to his nostrils. Warm and spicy, like roasted vanilla edged with musk. He breathed deeply, needing to fill his lungs with her anew. Sighing happily, he turned to her.

Silver gleams turned her skin to gossamer, dusk smudged her features. Feathered brown locks merged with the vines on the bedspread's pattern. Her breast threatened to fall out of the armhole of her lingerie.

Christ. They were outside. He hadn't planned on getting aroused. But the longer he looked at her, the harder he got.

Y/N sipped, balanced her stemware on her sternum. "Thank you for tonight, too. You're always so thoughtful." A simple sentiment but exactly what he longed to hear. An affirmation, a pledge to love him further.

But before he could respond in kind, the glass between her breasts began to tip...

He caught it, a splash hitting his wrist, crimson droplets landing on her collarbone. He set it on the step, bent to seize her lips. An unpleasant earthiness covered them. He licked it away, coaxed back her sweetness.

Gigging, she broke away. "Was this your plan? To get me out here and ply me with drink?" The hand on his shoulder dragged to his cheek. The breathy voice she adopted shot straight down his spine. "To take advantage of me?"

It wasn't but he didn't have to tell her that. He nudged closer, his erection grazing her thigh. "Maybe."

A slow smile of pleasure. "I like that plan."

Her palms snuck under his t-shirt, forced it upwards as she explored his body. Nails swirled at his abdomen. It grew taut, stuttered at the sensations, her tickles and temptations. When she reached his pecs she gave a firm pinch. At his displeased grunt, a wicked laugh left her, bawdy and amorous. A clear sign of what they were up to.

His thumb followed her chemise's ribbon strap. His hand fell to her side, skimmed her rounded hip, the delectable curve of her leg. Her half-slip had a daring slit. He slid through, drew lazy circles on her inner thigh.

She shivered. "You're not making it easy to be quiet."

Fingertips traced her panties' elastic leg. Heat emanated from her core, luring him nearer and nearer. Her swallowed whimper rushed him there. Slick and wet, the nylon gusset clung to her vulva.

He'd grown deft at touching her, even in the dark. He trailed a careful stripe along her labia. Inner lips were a prominent line through the fabric, her clitoral hood a plump ridge. Light and rapid he flicked his nail across it. Her pelvis snapped up, held. Millimeter ruts chasing his scrapes, fingers digging his back.

A shudder racked him. His forehead pressed to hers. "If we had more room, I'd taste you." She pressed her lips together, a squeal trapped behind them.

The same breeze that'd carried her scent could very well carry her hungry little whines around the block. So he captured her mouth with his. It started off tender and shallow but was soon all encompassing. She raked through his hair, tugged and tugged again. His tongue sought hers, caressed, collided. Teeth bumped with a muted click.

Sharp gasps. Her neck, her breasts, her entire being arching into him. Desperate push-pulls. He pressed on, strokes licks of fire on her clit. Mewling built in the back of her throat. He heard it in her shallow pants, felt it in how she gripped his bicep. Her thighs trembled, vulva throbbing in his hand.

"Ah!" She squeaked, a strangled, undignified sound.

Snorting, he shoved her sweaty face into the crook of his neck, caught the cries she couldn't stop. (Long ago, she'd offered to visit his apartment on her lunch break - with the explicit promise she could be quiet. He hadn't taken her up on it. Phew!) Her grip on his shirt tightened. One leg went straight, the other knee brushed his cock. Stillness punctuated by tremors. He kissed her temple, slowed his caress to a languid pace.

Legs akimbo, she blinked at him. Signaled silence with a finger to her lips. She balanced on her knees, shed her panties, patted the spot where she'd lain. He scooted over immediately. When he tried to sit, she pushed him to lie on his back. Moving to straddle him, she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He made no move to stop her.

Y/N braced herself on his chest, reached between them to press him to her entrance. She began to ease herself onto him, ease him inside her. But he told her to stop.

A strap fell down her upper arm, loosened her camisole to accentuate her cleavage and reveal a breast. Her nipple poked out, its dusky brown a tantalizing contrast to her white skin. Moonlight sculpted the apple of her cheek in whirls of silver. The stars shone about her head, caught in her tresses like sequins on an evening gown.

A pleasant fuzziness swept through him. Nearly three years and he was still drawn to her like a magnet. He'd bet his life that'd be the same case in twenty.

She cocked her head. "What is it?"

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Lowered the other strap. "Perfect," he said, smiling as his heart swelled. "You look perfect."

Teeth pressed her lower lip in a shy smile. When she bent to kiss him, her nipples dragged up his chest, prickled his flesh. She shifted the angle of her pelvis forward, the angle that rubbed her clit on his public bone. The one that left his black curls a matted, wet mess.

A sensuous thrust, her hips rolled in a seductive circle. "I want you to come," she whispered, and licked his bottom lip.

One foot braced on the grate beneath him, which bit even through the comforter. He bucked into her, into that heady stretch of her slippery heat. As if testing their connection, she raised up until he nearly flopped out, until only the glans remained. Then her walls encompassed him once more. Clutching, grasping. A steady rhythm. Relentless motion that bewitched and bewildered.

He cleared his throat to keep from crying out, channeled the urge to groan into grabbing the baluster behind his head. Her pinky brushed the strong sinew of his neck, her tongue followed his collarbone. Tightness in his loins spread to his abdomen, crawled through his limbs.

A burst of light, white and pulsing, formed behind his eyelids. Fire rippled through his veins, a scarlet flush of satisfaction. He bit the inside of his cheek, permitted one weak whimper to escape. She held herself in place while he finished, in the way she knew he liked. Stroked the tension from his dimples until they melted into a smile.

Slack and sated, his arm dropped to the ground. He puffed out his chest and cheeks and huffed. On a swift peck, she began to push herself up.

Just then, the Caswells' glass door creaked. Sluggish steps, like a hiker stuck in the mud. Y/N ducked on top of Arthur, held her breath. A hurdy gurdy voice called from inside. "...should have added it to the list last week. Where are you going? Louie L'Amour's about to start on GPR!" The rattle of a far-off rotary phone. "Oh, I bet that's your mother. She's called every hour!"

"I never said you have to answer it!" A resigned sigh, the click of a lighter. Arthur could almost hear the man deflate.

"The heat must be getting to them," Y/N said. "I think he'll be out here awhile."

Arthur murmured into her hair. "If you weren't so sweet, we wouldn't be in this jam." A playful swat to her bottom.

Laughter tickled his neck. She lifted herself a couple inches, pulled up the straps of her camisole. Careful to remain discreet, she grabbed her panties, clambered off him, and duck walked towards the living room. One foot beyond the threshold and she scampered out of sight.

He zipped his trousers, straightened his shirt, stretched as he stood, stuck a hand in his pocket to appear nonchalant. He grabbed the radio and headed inside. The rest he'd retrieve ten minutes later, when the neighbor would be forced to answer to his mother.

As he entered, Y/N emerged from the bathroom. His feet stumbled to a stop, his brain blanked. She'd shed her clothing and now stood nude before him. His stomach again went all aflutter.

"Let's repeat all that as soon as we can.” She curled her fingers around his wrist, not giving him a moment to resist. “By candlelight. In our bed."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

41 notes · View notes

edupunkn00b · 2 years

Text

Do Androids Dream of Electric Jam? - Ch. 17: Own the Future

Prev - Own the Future - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

2122-12-09 : 11:30 UTC-8

Remus laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in The Reckoning.” He met Logan’s eyes for a moment, then looked down at his drink and finished the glass before signaling the server for another. “So you’ve heard of it.”

“Of course I have. It’s the most destructive terrorist organization since the—”

“We’re not terrorists,” Remus interrupted, pointing out toward the entrance to the bar. “The animals out there, they’re the fucking terrorists. You taught me that.”

“Wha—what are you talking about?”

Remus closed his eyes and took several controlled breaths while the server refilled his drink. She waited to leave until Remus nodded. He took a slow sip then set down the glass and regarded Logan for several moments before speaking again. “What do you know of its history?”

Logan’s response was textbook perfect. “The Reckoning was first recognized shortly after the public decommissioning of the last known Model X. Public outcry was so severe it led to rumors of human sympathizers within the organization, but there has never been conclusive evidence of human involvement in the radical group.”

“Yeah, because we protect them from actions. Just like they protect us from the animals.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Remus raised his eyebrow and took another sip.

Logan leaned closer and whispered, “Are you recruiting me to become a human sympathizer for The Reckoning?”

“No, L,” Remus laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m—”

An explosion rocked the building, rattling the bottles at the bar and knocking over empty chairs and bar stools. Klaxons lining the walls blared through the bar and bright blue lights flashed a half-second before the outer door exploded in a torrent of splintered plastene and transparisteel, pummeling the inner security door. Virgil leapt over the side of the bar, quickly flanked by two burly next-gen Model Ds who dashed out from a side door. There was a flurry of movement as the patrons closest to the entrance scrambled to get behind the heavy realsteel barrier sliding up through a slit in the ancient wood-paneled floor and down a staircase hidden under a hatch two servers flipped up on the edge of the dance floor.

Logan met Remus’ eyes as he grabbed the duffel bag and they both dashed to the front, guns drawn. “Glad you decided to join the party, L.” Remus shook his head and Virgil scowled for a moment then shrugged. “The outer cameras flagged SPD just before the external system went dead.” A second alarm sounded and he pulled one of the Model Ds close and murmured near her ear. She nodded and sprinted through the heavy realsteel doors that led to the rest of the building.

The remaining Model D narrowed her eyes at Logan. “Am I the only one who smells rotten bacon in here?”

“Stand down, Logan’s on our side,” Virgil muttered.

“But—”

“He’s on our side,” Remus’ tone ended the debate.

The server called from the escape hatch, “We’re clear here, Duke.”

Remus tossed her the duffel bag, then nodded, “Get down there yourself and seal the door, then take everybody to the dispersal point on Westlake.” His eyes flicked over to Logan before he added. “Update the Protector once you’re secure.” He turned to Virgil once the hatch slammed down behind her. “How many are out there?”

“Camera’s went down before we got a count. Not enough to trigger the EMF alarms, though. A dozen? Maybe less if we’re lucky.”

The blast doors shattered and gunfire rained into the bar.

“Fuck, get down, Meus!” Logan pushed Remus down and crouched over him, then yanked at the Model D to bring them better under cover. Energy bolts whizzed overhead and on either side of the barrier as lasers from guns poking from the ceiling sizzled in a semi-random pattern, all aimed at the door.

The Model D nodded. “Thanks, I—”

“Shh—” Logan cut her off, placing one hand softly on her arm as he listened intently.

“They’re automated!”

“What? Are you sure?” Remus looked around from behind their realsteel the shield. The bolts hit the walls randomly, seemingly unable to find a useful target. “We don’t know that. SPD can’t aim for shit, either.”

“Yes, however, listen to the recharge cadence…” They both listened, Logan with his hand raised, tapping out each warp and whine that signaled a discharged pack being ejected and replaced with a fresh energy pack. “It’s too fast, too regular. Even the best of them take a second to realize they’re out before reloading.”

He pulled Remus closer and pointed to the wall behind them. “And SPD aims for the head to fry any surveillance footage stored in the artifices they do manage to kill. Regulations require non-lethal targets, the shoulders and below and the algorithms actually enforce it.”

Logan reached into his jacket and pulled out a matte black disc about the size of his palm. “I have an EMF device. Well, more than one.” He tapped the barrier. “This is realsteel, yes? Not synth?” Remus nodded once. “If you stay behind it, you’ll be shielded.” He pressed his back flat against the shield and pulled out a small shiny metaloid square and angled it to get a glimpse of the door. “Fuck, I just need to get closer.”

Remus and Virgil exchanged a look. “You gotta stay on this side of the shield, man,” Virgil began.

“Please trust me,” Logan said, reaching for Virgil’s arm. “I am not abandoning you. I merely need to get within range for maximum efficacy.” The blasts eased a bit and Logan moved to the edge of the shield. “I should take the—”

Suddenly Remus grabbed the device from Logan’s hand, armed it with a second delay and beamed it toward the door, shoving Logan back down with the others. Light filled the space, followed shortly by a subsonic shudder that rattled Logan’s bones, then the energy bolts cut out. A half-second later, so did the defensive shots from the ceiling-mounted guns.

“Is everyone alright?” Logan checked Remus, Virgil, and the Model D. The faint clatter of stumbling footsteps and tense, panicked shouts poured in from the damaged door. “Fuck! There’s the SPD.”

“Get behind the bar,” Virgil pulled them toward the large, swooping counter. “It’s shielded. It’ll block our signals.” He urged the Model D along, practically lifting her up on the surface. Remus and Logan quickly followed.

Remus’ heel had just cleared the inner edge when a barrage of energy bolts again filled the air. The guns in the ceiling resumed their firing.

“Well, now we’re pinned down in a different spot, at least.”

Logan pointed up. “Ruggedized?” He’d assumed the guns had been disabled by the EMF. Remus nodded.

“Yeah and they’ll only fire when somebody’s shooting at us.”

“We can use that.” Logan scanned the area behind the bar and spotted a comm. “Can I use your terminal?” Logan asked.

“You’ve gotta be—”

Remus silenced the Model D with a wave of his hand. “What’s your plan, L?”

“I’ll call in, say they’ve got me pinned down under friendly fire. That when I got here, the bar was empty and the shots were all part of the bar’s automatic defense.”

“And the EMF?” the Model D snapped.

Logan shrugged. “It must have been part of the defense system here. SPD HQ has them strategically placed on every floor.” He smirked. “Where do you think I filched mine?”

“Do it.” Remus fixed the Model D with a glare and she slowly closed her mouth before protesting further.

Logan moved to the comm but turned around to ask her, “What’s your name?”

“Kathin,” she finally spat out.

“Would you unlock it for me? You can stay out of frame and observe. Cut the signal if I do anything you don’t approve of.” He raised both eyebrows and looked at her with a small smile. “Would that be an acceptable compromise?”

“Yeah.” She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, that works.” Logan missed the quick smile Virgil shot to Remus as crept over to the comm, head low, Kathin close on his heels. They muttered quietly together, setting up the tunneled connection to secure the signal.

“You didn’t tell him.” Virgil’s voice was low as he packed more charges into his gun, eyes jumping up at a low rumble coming from the street.

Remus shook his head, eyes trained on the back of Logan’s head. “Was just about to when all hell broke loose.”

Virgil followed his gaze and watched as Logan talked with Kathin, pointing at the terminal screen, letting her read the code, then motioned for her to be quiet just before winking and saying something that made her bark out a short laugh. “She never met L, did she?”

“Nah. Kathin and her sister joined just a year ago.”

They watched while the comm connected, Logan tapping the side impatiently. “It’s almost like he’s hardwired for it or something,” Virgil deadpanned.

Remus snorted, opening another box of charges from under the bar and preparing their second line of defense as another loud bang shook the ground. “Maybe.”

“Tell the Captain to call off the goons!” Logan suddenly shouted into the comm. His expression had changed from one of impatience to barely-controlled panic. “There’s nobody here but me! Your boys in blue are wasting charge firing at the autonomous security system!”

After a moment, Dispatch patched the call through to the Captain in his office. “Sanders, what the fuck are you doing there?” The Captain’s face was red, forehead sweaty. In the corner of the frame, Logan spotted the tailored paints and highly shined shoes of SPD brass. Somebody’s neck is on the line.

“What do you think?” Logan spat back. “Dispatch assigned me a job. I am in the process of fulfilling it. At least I had been until Seattle’s Dumbest showed up, guns blazing, to an empty bar ruining my best lead.”

“Well if it’s closed, how did you get in there.”

“Do you actually believe an electronic lock could stop me?” Despite his bluster, the Captain appeared to have ordered a ceasefire because the guns outside cut out and silence fell over the bar. “Or was your question only rhetorical? Sir.”

“Fine, Sanders, but I’m sending in a team.”

“That is satisfactory.” Logan glared back at the Captain over the comm feed. “Try to make sure they’re smart enough not to trigger the rest of the system.” He made show of looking up at the ceiling and counting quietly under his breath. “I see hookups for concussion charges and possibly an electric net.”

The Captain’s sigh was almost a growl. “Sergeant Kindred will clear the space. Out.”

The comm screen deactivated and Logan looked down to Remus. “You have a way out?”

Remus grinned. “I always have a way out.” He tapped at a corner of the floor, just under the register and a hidden panel slid away. “Let’s go,” he ordered. Virgil and Kathin jumped down. Remus sat at the edge, legs dangling through the hatch. “See you later, L.”

“You’d better,” Logan whispered and watched Remus disappear into the darkness. He slid the panel back into place and stood over it just as Kindred stepped through the ruined door, weapon drawn.

“Unless you plan on shooting me and reactivating the autonomous defense system, you should holster your gun, Sergeant.”

“Sanders.” He scowled, but he did as Logan said. “You know, I used to the Civilian Catcher Program was a really bad idea.” Logan blinked, a bored expression on his face. “Now I know it was.”

“Did it take the entire drive over here to think that up or have you been saving it up for a special occasion.”

“You little sh—”

Logan raised his eyebrow and spread his hands. “Is your body cam on, Sergeant?”

The sergeant scowled down at his wrist scanner. “I can’t read anything on this, it’s fried. How come their auto guns still work?”

“Wouldn’t ours if a blast went off outside Captain’s office?”

The sergeant ignored him and Logan looked away, just in time to see a shadow pass under the door behind the bar. Nivida. He stepped closer to Kindred. “What exactly are you expecting to find in here?” he asked loudly. “You think they sleep in this dump?”

“You know, Sanders, you’re really starting to piss me off. Technically, I can get you for trespassing. You’re not a cop, as you’re so fucking fond of reminding us all.” The Sergeant didn’t bother to try to hide his smile. “In fact… I need your statement for my report.”

“And in the meantime I lose my best chance of catching my bounty” Logan slammed his hand down on the counter, knocking over a tumbler. As he bent to pick it up, he checked the doorway. No more shadow. “You really think he’s gonna stick around when he sees his place of employment has been hit by the cops?”

“I don’t give a shit if you find it or not. If you don’t, somebody else will.” Kindred looked Logan up and down. “You look healthy enough, nice clothes, you must make a pretty good living with your little hide and seek games with the bots.” He grinned, synthale-stained teeth crooked in his mouth. “Maybe I’ll start freelancing. Make a little on the side?” The sergeant smirked at Logan, arm outstretched to lead him outside.

Logan’s jaw twitched, his only movement as he stared at the man. After a moment, he stepped out from behind the bar and toward the ruined exit. “I am invoicing the department for every hour you keep me there.”

Kindred smiled, all teeth. “All in a day’s work, Catcher.”

~~~

By the time Logan reached home, the sun had long ago set, the sky a dark, burnt orange behind thick, murky clouds and the rain was nearly frozen as it fell in torrents. Logan palmed his way into the elevator and again for their floor, then slumped back against the wall as the doors slid closed with an efficient little swoosh. He took off his respirator and caught his own reflection in the polished synthsteel surface. At least he looked better than he felt.

He took a moment to straighten his tie and smooth down the snarled mess of his hair. No sense in worrying Janus any more than he already must be. He’d been tempted to pick up a burner from one of the greyish shops down on Montlake to call home, but figured with his luck, it would be filled with malware and end up infecting their home comm line, too.

The entire ride home, he kept replaying that last little look from Remus before he’d slipped through the whole in the floor. ‘See you later, L.’ Later could mean a long time for an artifice that could live another hundred years without trying. Logan chuckled to himself as he stepped out of the elevator. An average artifice, at least. And Remus was anything but average.

The front door slid open at his approach and he stepped through, peeling off his jacket and boots. “Jan? Pat?” He poked his head in the kitchen, but it was empty. “Roman?”

Patton’s chipper voice bounced down the short hallway. “We’re in here, Kiddo!” Patton had his I’m-excited-but-trying-not-to-show-it voice and Logan smiled wryly. He could use a bit of whatever had made Patton so happy right now.

Logan followed Patton’s voice and soon heard several more. He identified Janus and Roman’s quiet tones as they murmured to each other, but there were other voices as well. Familiar, but… He walked faster, hurriedly turning into the room before stopping short.

“Meus?” Logan’s voice was barely a whisper.

Virgil laughed from the corner of the room, “Told ya he called him that.”

“Oh, don’t tease,” Patton chided with no real bite as he playfully swatted the fugitive Model V’s knee.

“I… I apologize. What—” Logan blinked, looking more closely at the way everyone seemed… At home. They all sat together, smiling and sipping Patton’s hot chocolate, Remus nestled comfortably between Roman and Janus on the couch while Patton fussed over a small tear in his synthskin. “I—I am pleased to see you are both well, however…

“What—what are you doing in our home?”

Remus squeezed Patton’s hand. “Thanks, Papa Bear. I’m good,” he smiled, then stood and approached Logan. “We have a lot to talk about L.” He offered Logan his hand, smiling brighter when he took it. “Will you join us?”

7 notes · View notes

alexandriaisburning · 2 years

Text

016: Panzer Bandit

CANON FIRE is made possible by the generous contributions of readers like you. Support more writing like this on Patreon. Thank you!

Footnotes are available here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/68246909

Often called "the Playstation's Guardian Heroes" by those in the know, Panzer Bandit is a post-fighting game brawler with a pre-fighting game approach. Panzer Bandit eschews the free vertical movement of genre defining titles like Double Dragon or Final Fight, and instead splits the stage into a foreground and background layer you can move between. The approach brings to mind earlier single-plane beat-em-ups like Kung-Fu Master or Vigilante, and imposes severe limits on the level design (1). What it gains in exchange is a setup that makes it much easier to incorporate more fighting game elements, to create a more expressive and freeform combat system.

The Guardian Heroes link is no coincidence either. Programmer Masatoshi Imaizumi and Treasure designer Masaki Ukyo worked together on Fil-in-Cafe's Mad Stalker, a single-plane mech themed brawler with similar fighting game influence. Mad Stalker's influence can be seen in Treasure's Yu Yu Hakusho Makyo Toitsusen (2), and Fil-in-Cafe's Asuka 120%, both which would release later that year.

Yu Yu Hakusho sees the appearance of the plane switching system, and would influence later Treasure titles like the Bleach DS games, and yes, Guardian Heroes. Asuka 120% meanwhile holds a huge influence over Panzer Bandit, with many of the mechanics directly lifted from Asuka, to be recontextualized within a brawler's structure. (3)

Key to making those fighting game mechanics work is the plane-switching. Beat-em-ups usually employ perspective trickery to create the illusion of depth, allowing more axes of movement, and even "perspective changes" while using the same 2D artwork. The same tricks can make it difficult to line up characters and attacks, with most games giving you generous hitboxes to compensate for it.

Limiting player movement avoids these problems, allows more variation in player state, and makes it easier to incorporate motion based special moves. The illusion of depth is maintained by allowing you to fight in both the background and foreground layers, with a dedicated button jumping between the two. It eliminates the ambiguity of lining up attacks, and leaves the up and down directional buttons free to perform jumps and crouching moves, fighting game style.

Panzer Bandit uses a control scheme not unlike Mad Stalker and Asuka 120%. Light and Heavy attacks can be chained together, and used with special motions to vary the strength of special attacks. The functions will be instantly familiar to fighting game fans, too. A quarter circle generally performs a ranged attack, dash specials close the distance, and down down acts a substitute for the dragon punch motion, generally performing some form of anti-air attack. (4)

The special attacks, alongside the crouching and jumping variations of your normals result in a roster with a huge moveset to explore, even before you get to the specifics of each character. Mashing light attack results in the familiar auto combo, and can be extended with crouching attacks, canceled into specials or a standing heavy attack, which launches enemies to start a juggle combo. Combined with aerial moves, jump cancels, loops, and corner combos you can do an absolutely belligerent amount of damage to enemies. (5)

If you can get in, that is. Enemy patterns in Panzer Bandit initially seem simple, but the game quickly sends an overwhelming amount of foes. Enemies come from all sides, and the right combination can easily block all your escape routes. Switching lines gets you out in a pinch, but time it poorly and you'll just be dropping into another big group of enemies.

To survive you'll need to learn how to block, which is done by simply not pressing a button, which can be difficult to do under pressure. Guarding isn't a passive state in Panzer Bandit--much like Asuka 120%, a ton of your most powerful options start from blocking. Blockstun can be guard canceled (6) into nearly anything, making defense very aggressive. With good timing you can perform a blowback to send enemies flying, transition into a special move, throw or escape with an invincible dash. Mash instead and you'll set yourself up for a long recovery animation, letting enemies continue roughing you up.

The tension between your ability to run through enemies and the relatively low damage it takes to put you down keeps a good balance that accentuates those fighting game influences. In fact, once I realized how many mechanics Panzer Bandit was drawing from Asuka 120%, I found that a lot of the techniques were directly transferable.

That influence only becomes more pronounced when you reach the game's bosses. All of them are complete characters with their own movesets, with a few being direct mirrors to one of the playable cast (like Guardian Heroes and its descendants, Panzer Bandit also allows you to unlock the ability to play as them).

Fighting bosses requires good observation and smart decision making, as you learn their moves, and take advantage of openings to lay down damage with the combos you've been practicing during the rest of the stage. Mindless aggression is rewarded with big punishes, since bosses are just as capable of performing guard cancels,combos and even super moves. Particularly troublesome are their versions of the homing energy super, which tracks across planes, hits multiple times and can deplete nearly an entire health bar.

The nuanced combat, alongside the relatively short stages, drive most of Panzer Bandit's momentum. Exploring each characters' movesets and combo routes (7) has the same appeal as labbing a fighting game, but with the immediate feedback of sending groups of enemies tumbling into each other with each success.I did a full playthrough with one character, then played a significant chunk of the game with two others (and one mirror character), and I don't still feel like I've left a lot unexplored. That's probably true of a lot of others too, since the only English language FAQ doesn't even have a complete move list, and neither it or the HG101 article on it mention the guard cancel mechanics. (8)

The depth of the mechanics balances the otherwise sparse content elsewhere. Panzer Bandit shows the sign of a small budget. Enemy variety is so low that there might be more bosses than enemy types. Aside from one or two stages, most stages are little more than a series of flat rooms with nothing but the stage hazards and backgrounds to differentiate them. Unlike other games in its lineage, it doesn't have any other elements to bulk up its playtime. It's entirely free of RPG elements, and while you can tackle the first four stages in any order, the back half of the game is entirely static. Without any desire to dig into the combat system and explore character movesets, it quickly gets fatiguing.

Personally, none of that mattered to me.The moment to moment experience was so compelling that it was easy for me to jump in again and again to explore more parts of it. Throwing around crowds of enemies is cathartic, and boss fights provide better one-on-one battles than a lot of fighting game AI. It's a testament to its combat that it not only feels fresh after so many iterations, but that it'd go one to form the basis of even more.

Panzer Bandit is available on PS1, and PSP, PS Vita and PS3 via the Japanese PSN Store--if you can figure out a way to somehow navigate the new store layout and download games to a system that's not supported anymore.

#panzer bandit #guardian heroes #phantom breaker #masotoshi imaizumi #beat em up #brawler #ps1 #action

5 notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years

Text

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed.

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple.

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this.

This type of mission has never been his.

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers.

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen.

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it.

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians.

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were.

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see.

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is.

And then he’s off.

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about.

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam.

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet.

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying.

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles.

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on.

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes.

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor.

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature.

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own.

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes.

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane.

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe.

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle.

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches.

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you.

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence.

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding.

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general.

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days.

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar.

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together.

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride.

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you.

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one.

You loved it.

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home.

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through.

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels.

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge.

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home.

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car.

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think.

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was.

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur.

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at.

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature.

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night.

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts.

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself.

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list.

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance.

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer.

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?”

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain.

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?”

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.”

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you.

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand.

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that.

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand.

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say.

He is not sure if he believes you.

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay.

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him.

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later.

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes.

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back.

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age.

Or so he says.

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit.

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time.

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion.

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees.

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass.

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory.

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you.

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside.

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once.

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that.

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.”

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world.

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh.

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade.

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it.

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks.

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.”

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance.

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer.

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question.

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband.

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep.

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state.

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber.

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance.

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen.

And then he’s thinking.

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room.

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7.

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself.

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did.

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities.

Until now.

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know.

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off.

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe.

He was in trouble.

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week.

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times.

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you.

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind.

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other.

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity.

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official?

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there.

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign.

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart.

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features.

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well.

For now.

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings.

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too.

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off.

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears.

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa.

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment.

He wants to be like you.

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day.

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you.

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden.

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

He wants to remain beside you.

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon.

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away.

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved.

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of.

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once.

So he spills it all out to you.

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it.

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean.

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe.

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort.

Instead he sits in silence.

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits.

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that?

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears.

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out.

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously.

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?”

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head.

The day drags on.

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log.

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him.

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out.

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more.

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage.

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?”

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today.

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?”

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?”

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails.

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask.

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you.

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?”

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?”

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.”

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away.

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden.

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d.

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile.

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?”

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar.

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills.

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state.

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over.

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough.

In the end, both of you are drenched.

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today.

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen.

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses.

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you.

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.”

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up.

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms.

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by.

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point.

There was a lot of weight behind that.

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine.

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart.

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully.

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed.

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe.

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap.

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.”

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there.

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional?

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him.

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently.

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.”

Your face burns.

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside.

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing.

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it.

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you.

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.”

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye.

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body.

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so.

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his.

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck.

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time.

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way.

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours.

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan.

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him.

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you.

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features.

Sheer and utter adoration.

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you.

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch.

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with.

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds.

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine.

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is.

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes.

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again.

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes.

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop.

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow.

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight.

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close.

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth.

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively.

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again.

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline.

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest.

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours.

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere.

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly.

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look.

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal.

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed.

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze.

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?”

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver.

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge.

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges.

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you.

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push.

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy.

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot.

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob.

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time.

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with.

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups.

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down.

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart.

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet.

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers.

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out.

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in.

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets.

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react.

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area.

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you.

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies.

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet.

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #alternative ending by rumu omits the last paragraph and we all pretend to live happily #but im evil so we suffer together #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

2K notes · View notes

gaysimpsstuff · 3 years

Text

Flightless Birds Chapter Four: Birds of a Feather

Chapter One Here

Chapter Two Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Five Here

READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC! THIS ONE GETS PRETTY DARK! I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE ACTIONS OF HAWKS OR Y/N’S MOTHER IN THIS! IF ANY OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, STOP READING IMMEDIATELY AND SEEK COMFORT! I WILL COMFORT ANYONE WHO GETS TRIGGERED BY THIS, SO DM ME IF YOU WANT A HUG!

Summary: Y/n wakes up in their new home, and learns the rules of living with Hawks. But it makes them sick to their stomach to have to keep their eyes open here.

Word Count: 3K Words

Warnings: abuse, mentions of drugs, gaslighting and manipulation, extreme toxic behavior, abuse, choking, crying, mentions of rape and sexual assault, vomiting, PTSD, abusive parents, PTSD flashbacks, physical abuse, cliffhangers

Other: I’m so sorry this took forever to come out, I had a shit ton of other drafts I was working on. Reader has enough hair to pull on.

Flightless Birds Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin @hawksadmirer @assassinslittlesister @deepcollectorphantom @thesubtlewhore

Ow.

Owwwww.

Sharp white snakes of fire were shooting up your spine, but the rest of your body was ice cold. You wanted to scream, but you just didn’t have the strength to. Your whole body was so heavy, you felt like a rock falling beneath the waves, drowning helplessly as the person who threw you in laughed.

Laughter…

Who was laughing?

Behind the laughter was music, you listened to all the notes, beautiful Cs, Ds, Es, and Fs tied together in half steps.

Of course it was in minor key.

It wasn’t a song or an artist you recognized though, and it didn’t sound like it was coming from a phone or speaker.

Someone was playing the piano.

You needed to open your eyes.

But fuck it if it wasn’t gonna l be difficult.

You felt like your body was made of lead, and opening your eyes was going to be like lifting a truck.

A bright blob of white light pierced your pupils as you peeled back your eyelids, finally seeing your surroundings.

There was a flat white ceiling staring down at you, and a silver fan was whirring away, white light burning your retinas.

The walls were light blue, clean and bright. It looked fresh, the room still smelled like paint. You hissed, pushing yourself up to a sitting position. As you moved, you felt something soft brush against your neck.

You slowly lifted one hand to your neck, grabbing at it. You felt leather and metal pressing against your palm. A soft feather was attacked to a small metal loop. You tugged on it, trying to detach it from your collar.

It wouldn’t budge.

You let go of the feather, letting your arm flop to your side. You felt exhausted, and everything was so foggy. What the hell was happened? Where were you? Where was Izanagi?

You heard a loud creak, and the realization hit you that the music had stopped. When did it stop?

“I-Izanagi?” You whimpered, trying to focus your eyes on the blurry figure in front of you. You saw tanned skin, something yellowish on their head, and two large red blobs behind them.

You heard the person coo, and felt their gentle fingers on your face, tilting you up by the chin.

“No no, Izanagi’s not here, my dear~” you felt your blood run cold, and you attempted to push the creature away. He was like a rock wall, unmoving and unaffected.

“No-“ you whimpered “please go away!”

“Tsk tsk tsk” your vision was slowly starting to clear, the only thing blocking you from seeing your captor clearly were the tears building up in your widened eyes.

“I’m not going to leave my love alone like this, now should I? That would be so irresponsible of me~” his voice was calm, smooth like honey, and it made you want to scream. “I’ve worked so hard to get you here, I need to make sure you feel so comfortable! That’s why I’m here~”

“Hawks.” His golden eyes lit up when you murmured his hero name. He nodded happily.

“Yes, yes you recognize me! The drug must have worn off for the most part by now… how do you feel?” His face was awfully close to you, and his hot breath fanned out over your face.

“Scared, please let me go.” You muttered. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Dumb little birdy.” He tutted. “You shouldn’t go outside, y’know. Too dangerous for a pretty little thing like yourself! Tell me how you feel.”

“I feel like leaving.” You were slowly regaining your physical strength, and your eyes darted to every corner of the room. There was a window, locked and boarded up. There was the door, wide open.

Just outside you could see a hallway, a little dark table with a vase on it. You could run out there, grab the vase and smash it. You could threaten him with it and maybe get to the front door, wherever that was.

You felt Hawks’ hand lower from your face to your chin, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips poked out in a cute pout. He pressed his forehead against yours, and you could feel him growling.

“I said, you’re not fucking leaving. Did I not make myself clear?” You sniffled pitifully.

“You’re scaring me, Hawks.” You whined. He softened again, letting go of you and leaning back.

“I’m so sorry, Baby Bird. Don’t you worry though, so long as you listen to me, I won’t have to be scary again.” You nodded, moving quickly to smack him hard in the nose and dash towards the door.

Your collar tightened around your neck, something pulling you backwards. You collapsed to the ground with a choked out gasp, arms flying to your neck to relieve yourself of the pressure.

Of course there was a leash tying you to the bed.

You tried to scream, but your throat was closing up from the pressure on your neck. Your tears finally flooded down your cheeks as you writhed pathetically on the floor.

Your eyes found Hawks, carelessly crouching above your wriggling, dying body. He sighed, wiping away one of your tears.

“See what happens when you disobey?” He lifted your head with his hands, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. “You get hurt. That’s why you gotta listen to me. Promise you’ll listen to me?”

“I promise!” You barely managed to get the words out between your sobbing and choking. You saw his face stretch into a lazy smile as he loosened your collar.

Your body fell limp as your lungs sucked in air. You gasped, coughing and crying as your hands reached for something to hold, eventually landing on his hands.

Hawks helped you to your feet, sitting you down on the bed. His hands rested on either side of your thighs as he studied your tear-stained face.

You kept your eyes on your lap, shaking. You didn’t want to be here, tortured by this sadistic bird. You wanted to go home, you wanted Izanagi.

“Please sir, I want to go home!” You cried. His face twitched.

“As much as I live for you calling me ‘sir,’ you’re not going anywhere. This is your home now.”

“I want Izanagi.”

“I’m not going to hurt you unless you disobey, so there’s no need to be scared.” He started. “And I must say, you should feel guilty. You shouldn’t have been staying so close to Kouten Yuu and Izanagi Fujikawa. You’re probably cold because I have the AC on. Now that light feeling is from that drug I gave you back at the police station.”

“Ask for another man again and I’ll kill him.” Well that sure shut you up quick.

“So tell me. How do you feel? And look at me when you answer.” You slowly lifted your head, rubbing your arms to stop your shaking.

You met his eyes.

“I… I feel scared. And- and guilty. And I- I’m so cold. And I feel- I feel kind of light chested? Like- like my lungs are full of helium and have lifted up sort of- I don’t know, I’m- I’m so sorry, please don’t hurt me!” You shied away from him, hiccuping as you covered your face with your arms.

He shushed you, pulling your arms down and wiping away your tears. He seemed merciful, but you knew better than to think that of him.

You swallowed, he was so casual about drugging you, as if it was perfectly normal to stalk and kidnap someone and expect them to love you.

“Now darling, I’m going to explain some rules and punishments. Pay attention, Dove, I don’t want you to forget any, okay?” Your hands latched onto his jacket, and you nodded slowly.

Rule one: Do as I instruct, always.

Rule Two: You will eat everything I give you.

Rule Three: You will kiss me good morning, goodnight, and whenever I ask.

Rule Four: When I come home from work, you will kiss me and take my jacket.

Rule Five: You will cook what I want you to, using recipes I give you.

Rule Six: You will wear the clothes I give you. You will not dirty anything.

Rule Seven: You will thank me for everything I give you, kisses, clothes, gifts.

Rule Eight: You will call me Keigo, Sir, Daddy, and Master. Nothing else.

Rule Nine: You will not mention any person or thing from your old life.

Rule Ten: You will not try to look out the window, and you will not leave here.

You nodded. This… was going to be your new life, and you feared what could happen if you ever had the gall to break one of Haw- Keigo’s rules.

“And now I will explain your punishments and privileges. I want to be merciful, so please don’t disobey.”

“Okay, Keigo…”

Punishment One: Revoking entertainment

Punishment Two: Starvation/ Dehydration

Punishment Three: Beatings

Punishment Four: Forced Intercourse

Punishment Five: Isolation

“W-wait, Punishment four is- forced intercourse- as- as in- as in-”

“Yes.” His face hardened. “But that’s one of the more intense punishments, only for when I’m very angry or you break a major rule. If you’re good, then I’ll back off when you say no. But do understand, eventually, we will have sex. You’re too fucking sexy for me to not fuck you.”

“I- um-”

“I gave you a compliment, darling. Rule seven?”

“R-right. Thank you… sir.” you watched Keigo shiver, his angry expression morphing into a sadistic smile.

“Oh baby, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.” He leaned in close to you, his hand running up your thigh. “Rule Three, give me a kiss baby~”

Hesitation rippled across your face, a chill spreading through your body. You didn’t want to kiss this man, who’d tried to kill your friends, who stalked you for weeks, who’d drugged and kidnapped you. You didn’t want his filthy lips touching you, his slimy tongue in your mouth. You didn’t want to kiss Keigo.

“Y-yes sir.” you whispered, closing your eyes as his face grew bigger, getting closer and closer to you. You remembered the mist that spread across your mind when he drugged you, how it left you immobile and blank. You grasped at the dark fog, pulling it forward and covering you, blocking him out.

After a few moments, you pushed it away. Keigo pulled off your face, and you felt a wad of saliva on your tongue. It tasted greasy and cheesy. Not your saliva.

You swallowed it, looking at him with wide, scared, eyes. Since you dissociated, you had no idea what he or you had done.

“Did- did I do a good job?” Your voice was hushed. It wavered like your shaking body under his gentle, loving touch.

“Yes, dove. That was the perfect first kiss.” He purred. “You did wonderfully.” You relaxed a little, and his hand lifted off your thigh. “Now I’ll tell you a few more things, then I’ll make dinner for you.”

Privilege One: You may watch TV and read, but you can’t use social media.

Privilege Two: You may listen to music and dance, but only with me.

Privilege Three: You may have hobbies, but I will participate in them.

Privilege Four: You are allowed to reject sex, unless it is a punishment.

Privilege Five: You are allowed to request objects and gifts.

Privilege Six: You are allowed to walk around the house, but you will wear a shock collar. Sensors will be located in certain rooms. They will shock you and knock you out for an hour and send me a notification.

Privilege Seven: Eventually, I might get you a phone. You will have no phone numbers but mine, and no social media.

Privilege Eight: I have a garden and pool, at some point when I trust you, I will let you outside for walks and swimming.

Privilege Nine: You’re allowed to cry, to scream, to fight back. I like the battle, just know I’ll always win.

Privilege Ten: You will be allowed a pet one day, maybe two pets, depends on how good you are.

There it all was. Everything he expected of you. Your eyes fell to your lap, to the hands you’d clasped together as they shook. The soft texture of your sweatpants calming you just enough to keep you from throwing up all over Keigo.

“For now, you will remain collared to the bed. I’m going to go to your old home and retrieve all the gifts I gave you.” He stood up, hand lifting up and tracing your body.

“Okay…” you whispered. Keigo cooed, finally lifting off of you. He left briskly,

shutting the door behind him. You heard a small click before his footsteps started to fade away. You put the book down next to you, taking the moment to examine the room you were being kept in.

There was a desk underneath a window, it was tinted dark so you couldn’t see outside. The desk was a pale brown, a violet vase decorated with little bees had seemingly been knocked over, and it was kept from rolling off the desk by the green book leaning against it. You managed to make out the words Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Part of you wondered if Keigo was a fan, or if it was just there for no reason.

A bookshelf was right next to the door, and on the lower shelves, there was a CD player and a box labelled toys. You could figure out what type of toys were in the box, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t LEGOs. On the other side of the room was another door, wide open. You could see a toilet and shower curtains, so it had to have been a bathroom.

Escape wasn’t through there.

Next to the bathroom door was a closet, the door was open a crack, and you could see a couple of dress shirts inside. Probably all his. Part of you wondered if he was going to make you wear some of his shirts, rule six said you must wear whatever he gave you, and that could mean his clothes.

Was… was this really happening? Were you really in the number two hero’s house? Was he really going to keep you in his house forever and ever? Would-

Were you fated to never see your friends and family again?

To never see an ice cream store?

Or a park?

Izanagi?

A moment before, it really all felt like a bad dream. Like you could pinch yourself and you would wake up in your bed, and go to the park with your friends.

Kouten would bring some more delicious food, and you would make a mess while eating it..

Izanagi would sit next to you, and hug you and laugh as he teased you or Kouten about something or another.

You, you would fly, you’d be free.

Slowly, you spread your wings. They bumped against the bed, against the walls and the nightstand with the pretty Viridian lamp on it. You couldn’t even open your wings all the way in this tiny room, this room wasn’t meant to house a free bird.

It was meant to cage a pet.

All the emotions that the fog had blocked out rushed in like a flood, destroying every little bit of peace you’d managed to build up in your life. It slammed into your memories, into your hopes and dreams, and tore them all apart until all that was left was the rushing water, roaring filling your ears. You grasped at your hair, yanking as hard as you could in the hopes of tearing it out. Maybe the physical pain of a thunderstorm could turn your mind away from the tsunami. Maybe if you had chunks of missing hair, Hawks would become grossed out by you and kick you out. The collar rubbed uncomfortably against your neck, reminding you that he was still there, choking you, restraining you, claiming you as his. He didn’t see you as human, just as a pretty little thing he’d collected, like jewelry or rocks. Everything swirled around, and you couldn’t see any more. It hurt, it fucking hurt. You felt something tug in your stomach, and then your body was pulled forward.

You closed your eyes.

You heard it all splatter on the floor, the meal you’d been served. You tried to make it to the toilet, but all the food in your stomach felt so gross, and you needed to get it out, out, out, out.

You heard a gasp behind you, and you spun your head around. Your eyes widened at the sight of her. Her face was rigid, eyes like knives through your skull. Your tiny hands clutched at your torn shirt. You’d barely finished vomiting and now she was here.

“Please, please no I’m sorry!” You cried, lower lip quivering. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it!” the walls spun, moving quickly away as the ceiling dipped down, you could see her hands, and you could feel sharp pain in your skull as the floor was dragged away from your body.

“I work so hard, day and night to get food for you, and you just barf it up all over my floors like the ungrateful little brat you are! My floors will stink and stain, and it’s because of your insolence!” You couldn’t see anymore, but you could feel ripping. Did your feathers not want to be on your back anymore? What was that wet thing you felt against your face?

“Your lucky your father isn’t around, I know for a fact he wouldn’t even tolerate this sort of behavior! You make my already shitty life so much more difficult! Be grateful I haven’t sent you away!”

Words bubbled up from your throat, you were barely conscious, and at this point you knew she was hurting you, but you were so tired, you couldn’t even do anything to stop it.

“Please don’t send me away, I’ll do better! I will!”

FInally, the warped darkness was tugged away from you, and you found yourself alone, sittin on the hardwood floor. The vomit had already been cleaned up, but there were bloodstains on your clothes.

You were small, terrified, cold, angry, guilty, sad, and so, so alone.

You closed your eyes.

You didn’t want to open them.

140 notes · View notes

zeldaelmo · 3 years

Note

Oooh! Okay! I knew some of these but I am really intrigued with fanfic reader!Link and fanfic writer!Zelda! May I request a snippet?

This story is alone @spicychestnut's fault. She had some tags about fanfiction reader!Link under a post of "All the trashy novels" and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It's just a very light-hearted little thing. No angst this time, just fluff and silliness, I promise.

The premise is that Mipha drags Link along to meet her new college friends Purah, Robbie, and Zelda. They go bowling. And Link claims he's good at bowling because...

"So, a Wii U, yes? Nobody has a Wii U."

Zelda drags her index over the bowling balls, deciding which one would suit her.

Link sighs in defeat when he admits the truth, "I have them all. I even play on my DS sometimes."

He waits for her smile to turn polite. Or for her eyes to roll, but they don't. Instead she quirks a brow and grins. "You are a nerd."

"I prefer the term gamer, but whatever." He is prepared to leave her alone, his turn is over for a while now and he doesn't want to be the creep who can't leave the pretty girl alone.

She picks up a pink ball that seams too heavy for her small fingers and looks back at him. She still grins. "Gamer is a bold word for a Nintendo-Nerd."

Effortlessly, she takes a measured step towards the lane, crouches down, and releases the bowling ball. The pins clatter. A strike, of course.

Her grin turns teasing when she catches him glancing at the score and at her. "So, Link... What do you play? Animal crossing?"

He wines inwardly. Why exactly did he tell her about his Nintendo collection? Ah, yes. Because her smile is too pretty to let him think straight. "Legend of Hilda, in case you are familiar."

"Oho, not only a nerd, but a sucker for the Princess/Knight dynamic, yes?" Her eyes twinkle with mirth and he has still no idea what to make out of this conversation. Is she mocking him? But she smiles the whole time and usually when someone catches wind of his antics, they are gone in seconds.

Time to come up with something smart. He likes the puzzles. Or, no, better, the dungeons. Legend of Hilda is famous for the tricky dungeons.

"Well, the Princess/Knight trope is a bon, but what really gets me is the soulmate thing." Link drives both hands through his hair. Something smart!

"Ah, yes, there is something about being cursed to be reborn together over and over again, I'll give you that."

Link nods absently, until his eyes widen. She's a little too well informed, isn't she? Could it be that she - no. Maybe she has watched her brother playing or something.

He guides her back to their places and quashes the urge to lay his hand on her smaller back for support. Well. He doesn't guide her. They just walk there. Maybe he really likes this knight in shining armor thing a little too much.

She sips on the straw of her coke, lips all rosy and lush, when she catches him staring again. Great goddess, she winks at him. She winks!

"What," he begins stuttering, throat dry, "what's your hobby?"

"Oh, I write."

Of course, she would have an intellectual, poetic hobby. Not smashing buttons.

It's easy to picture her, sitting cuddled in a plaid in the nook of a window, her laptop open and a tea mug hugged in her hands. She would gaze in a park-like garden and every now and then she would put down the most poetic words ever written.

"What do you write, if the question is allowed?"

"Short stories." Taking another sip, she leans forward to him so that the others can't hear her. "Well. And porn."

He has problems to keep his own beverage spraying only over his shirt and not on the table. Porn???

She clapps his back until he has mostly recovered, but doesn't give him the opportunity to pester her with questions about that.

"What about you? Are you a reader?"

"Yeah."

"Oh? What genre?" Her hand is still on his back for some reason. Unfortunately, she realizes, gives him a last tap, and withdraws.

Since she's still here, closer than ever with her knee touching his, he steels himself and goes 'all in'. "Fanfiction."

"Legend of...", she begins and he finishes for her, "... of Hilda, yes."

"Oh." That's all she gets out and Link wonders why this gets her more flustered than admitting that she writes porn.

"I know what you think. Fanfiction is only for twelve-year-olds, but there's some really good stuff out there. Look, my favorite author writes the best stories I've ever read. Better than most published writers." He grins and tips his head so that he can nearly whisper in her ear. "Including porn."

Another, "Oh." She shifts on her seat and for a moment he's worried that he has made her uncomfortable. But then she squeezes one eye close and asks, "What's their pen name?"

"Dark Knight of the soul."

She stills. The only thing that moves is the blood that raises from her neck to her face until she sports a flush.

"Zelda?" He touches her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she croakes before she points to the screen that shows the score without watching, "look, it's your turn again."

It isn't. He frowns, but stands up anyway. Where has he gone wrong?

This is a draft. Very obviously I need to include the other characters at least a little bit or it gets weird, but that's the general direction it will take.

Thanks for asking!

#zelink #modern au #wip tag game #fanfiction writer!Zelda #fanfiction reader!Link #zeldaelmo writes

33 notes · View notes

misslilli · 3 years

Text

The other POV from the scene in Chapter 5. 🌈😁

Felix Felicis

Chapter 6 - Time For Rainbows

[ DS ]

The first week of school is always one of the most stressful times of the year and it has taken its toll on me by Wednesday already. While I’m really glad to be back with my kids and I love them to pieces, they’ve been randy all morning and it has been difficult to keep them engaged.

The bell rings signaling the start of recess and I heave a relieved sigh. I’m on recess duty with one of my three best friends who also teach at this school. Sarah, this year’s first grade teacher, is already waiting outside and bless her, hands me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, S. How’s your day been so far?”. She looks out over the playground at the kids. “Eventful. They little ones are really adorable but they’re a feisty bunch. Can’t keep them focused for more than a few minutes today! How are the big ones, D?”.

“I hear you. Guess the full moon is around the corner and-“. Suddenly, I hear screams from behind the swings and handing Sarah my cup of coffee, I hurry over to the group of kids that have gathered.

On the ground in their midst lies a little brown-haired boy, crying, his knees and hands bloody. I ask the kids to give him some space and continue to play before I crouch down next to the little brown-haired boy, touching his shoulder gently.

“Hey, I’m here. You hurt your knees and hands pretty bad huh?”. He turns his tear-streaked face up and nods silently. “Did you hurt your head?”. He shakes his head no. “Do you mind if I checked?” Another headshake accompanied by a sniffle. I carefully lift his unruly brown hair from his forehead and check for any injuries, thankfully finding none.

“Okay, I’ll take you inside and we’ll take care of your wounds, come on”. I pick him up and he whimpers into my neck. “It’s okay, honey, you’ll be okay. What’s your name?”.

“F-felix” comes the muffled reply. “Wow, that’s a really awesome name, Felix!”. I ask Sarah to send one of my kids to the school secretary so she can call the parents to let them know their son has been hurt during recess and ask them to pick him up.

I carry the little boy inside and sit him down on the bench in front of the classroom. “I’ll be right back okay, don’t worry!”. Hurrying to get the first-aid kit from my classroom I return and crouch before him. Technically, I’m not allowed to treat kids for legal reasons, but our principal has given us some wiggle room for minor injuries like these, if we let the kids do it themselves. If they can’t do it, we have to call the parents to take their kids to a doctor or call an ambulance ourselves if we can’t reach them.

I crouch down in front of Felix and I can see the fear in his eyes as I explain to him what I’d need him to do. He sits up straight and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try it. I’ve read about first-aid in one of the big books at home, I think I can do it!”. “Oh, you mean your mom has read to you from one of these books?”.

A few emotions I can’t place pass over his face and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it at the last minute. “No, I can read them by myself.”, he says quietly. Not wanting to pry, I show him what to do and in no time his wounds are cleaned and sporting Ninjago band-aids.

“You did a really good job, Felix, you must be so proud of yourself!”, I praise him and give him an encouraging smile. He cocks his head to the side, eyeing me curiously, then breaks into a smile himself. “Thank you for showing me how to do it!”. He tries to move his legs and grimaces in pain.

Just then, his head turns and he jumps off the bench exclaiming “Dad!”.

I turn slowly to greet his father and as I look up at him, I find myself staring up at the most handsome man I have ever seen and my breath catches in my chest. When coming upon the phrase ‘He took my breath away’ in novels, I usually scoff and roll my eyes. Surely this doesn’t happen in real life. But here I am and, so help me God, I feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest.

His dad checking Felix over gives me a few moments to recover and, I’m not proud of it, to check him out. The first thing I notice is his strong jawline with a slight stubble, my eyes wandering further upwards to kind, hazel eyes watching his son, taking in the unruly head of brown hair so like his kid’s. Then, my eyes drop down to his mouth and notice the deliciously full bottom lip.

‘Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how good would it feel to run your tongue-…. Get a hold of yourself Dana, this is so incredibly unprofessional! There’s a mother waiting at home for them, for goodness sake.’

I’m saved from my indecent thoughts by Felix turning towards me and I straighten up, wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt and hold out one, praying to God it’s not shaking with nervousness.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Miss Scully, I teach fourth grade.” His big hand reach out to grab mine and as we touch, a tingle runs all the way up my arm. ‘Uh oh.’

He introduces himself as Fox Mulder and I try my very best not to be charmed by his smile and boyish demeanor. Thankfully, I manage to remember that I’m still on recess duty and it takes me all the way to the playground to get my breathing under control.

#xf #xf fanfic #the x files #msr #felix felicis

24 notes · View notes

botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

Note

Hi! I don't know if you ship it (if not, feel free to ignore), but could you do something with Link x Mipha? Thanks!!

Ok so, I was going to write a nice fluffy confession scene with Link and Mipha, but that just got my wheels turning about how Mipha crafted the armour. And that turned into how I thought she got the materials she need to make it. And that turned into a cool flashback scene, and that turned into me wanting to make Mipha bad ass... and that turned into me wanting to give her compelling character growth. Ok I’m basically saying that this whole oneshot is about Mipha. It’s still based on the Mipha/Link ship, buuuut this is just a long winded way of me saying Link isn’t really in this one. So...sorry? Maybe in the future I’ll finish the fluffy confession scene, but for now, enjoy this! (Cause I really love how it turned out)

At Bay

Miphlink 5459 words

Just as the sun was swallowed by the sea, she rose to watch the horizon. The last few rays of light shimmered like amber on the cool waters of Lanayru Bay. In a few moments, the whole ocean would be washed by the cold of night. Waves crashed against the ragged rocks, the white foam pooling near her ankles. The princess’ eyes were fixed on the sky, the sea breeze nipped at her face, causing her fins and jewelry to sway. It was a cloudless night, the stars seemed to twinkle restlessly in the air. The moon was nowhere to be seen, the bay only reflected the silent stars, and the flickering orange light from behind her. The sergeant probed the campfire with a stick, fiddling with the charred wood. Kneeling by its warmth, he looked up at her. “Your Highness, you need not sit so close to the shore. We don’t know what kind of monsters lurk in the sea at this hour.” Mipha turned her head back at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Don’t worry yourself, Seggin. I am quite skilled with my trident thanks to your teachings.” She patted her weapon that lay beside her, its metal clinked against the rocks at her touch. “Besides,” she returned her gaze to the sky. The summit of the snowy mountain divided the eventide with its presence. It seemed to rise beyond the heavens. “We should hope that one particular beast appears tonight.”

Rising himself from the campfire, Sergeant Seggin walked and stood beside Mipha, who was crouched on the damp rocks. The towering figure of Mount Lanayru cloaked the bay, along with the surrounding trees, in a soft shadow. The evergreens rustled, and the familiar smell of the sea was carried through the air. A collection of loose pebbles crawled across the shore from the forces of water and wind. Shifting her bare feet, she could feel the smooth and rounded stones under her.

It was not four hours ago, when Mipha and Seggin had swam through the Rutala River, and hiked across the Brynna Plains to get to their current point. While her father had known the true purpose of her trip, she had only told the Sergeant only the bare details necessary in order to get him to come. Afterall, a princess would never be allowed to do this all alone. Seggin set the hilt of his own spear against the ground, leaning his weight against it. He gazed at the sky along with her, although he was unsure of exactly what he should be looking for. “So this beast...er...spirit? Whatever you called it? You say you are not certain it will appear? How long should we expect to stay until we can reach a conclusive answer?”

Mipha’s eyes stayed fixed on the sky, searching for something that would complete the serene picture. “It is the spiritual form of a great goddess. If she should appear at all, it would help give confirmation...or more like a blessing, to a certain decision I must make.” The beauty of the night was laid out before them, but still, something was missing. After a beat she continued, “I should hope she should appear sometime tonight. They say she only rises just as the sun sets. However, if nothing changes by sunrise, we can return to the Domain immediately. I know you are always anxious about my wellbeing.” Mipha cast him another smile. That much was true, despite teaching her combat, the Sergeant, along with most of the royal staff, was always eager to have the princess safe in their company. Nonetheless, Seggin cocked a curious eyebrow. “Forgive me if it is not my place to pry, but the decision you speak of, what might it be?”

A silence fell once again. Telling him the full story would bring about a conversation she was not yet ready to have. She sighed. “I must...I wish to craft something.”

“Oh?”

“Yes...something very important to me.” Mipha looked at the ground, watching the foaming waves encircle her feet. “So, I must get a certain material from this spirit. Although, should she not appear, I shall take it as a sign that I must not pull through this...certain decision.”

Seggin narrowed his eyes. Though their dark complexion had often reflected the blur of war, he was still able to give a soft and kind gaze towards her. “For the sake of this decision, do you wish for this beast to appear?”

In the waters, Mipha watched her reflection. Her topaz eyes stared back at her, before being taken away by the tide.

“Yes.”

A silence returned once more between them. The crashing waves and whistling wind decorated the hours, with Seggin occasionally going back to feed the fire. The night continued to the point where both of the Zoras had leaned their tired weight against the large grey boulders across the rocky beach. The looming figure of Mount Lanayru continued, its shadow stretched across the bay. Mipha let out a sigh. One way or another, this night would decide her fate. And through the dark, she would see what the goddesses and spirits had planned for her future.

. . . . .

The hours merged, and the stars drifted across the skies. Seggin had offered to stay up and keep watch, but after about three hours, he too let his heavy eyelids droop. Mipha continued to stare at the sky, leaning her head against the large boulder.

Thoughts swirled around in her head. Perhaps she would not show up at all, it’s said that only those of pure intention and honest hearts would ever be graced with the presence of such a spirit. Mipha fiddled with her bracelet, trying to keep herself awake. Maybe this was selfish of her, forgoing the Zora monarchy for the sake of love. Sure, her father had told her to follow her heart, but what about everyone else? Even if they were to be together, there would always be a stigma, for an interspecies couple. Would the other Zora hate her? For choosing a Hylian over her own people? What kind of queen could lead a people that despised her.

Mipha sighed.

If the goddesses decide that we are not meant to be, then I guess I’ll just have to accept that I was not the one meant to bring him happiness...

She closed her eyes, escaping to happier memories, trying to keep the anxieties at bay. Everything may be stacked against her, but she was going to try anyway, for the sake of the warm feeling in her stomach. For the chance to look at his kind blue eyes for the rest of her life. For her restless soul that longed to hold him through every tender and terrible moment.

Mipha could already picture him, wearing the armour along with a rare and fantastic smile. Link’s sky blue eyes would sparkle along with the silver scale that Mipha herself would place. He’d be adorned with the helm and greaves, that would allow him to be by her side through the calmest and roughest of oceans and waterfalls. And the chest piece, the true symbol of a Zora princess’ love, would fit him perfectly. Yes, a perfect embrace that would protect him wherever their travels may take them. A soft smile crept onto Mipha’s face.

She sighed again. The prickling of heartache seemed to run all throughout her body, from her feet to her fins. All of the sudden, the smile slipped off of her face. Mipha held up her arm, examining her fin. It had glossy sheen, melding from a warm, honey color to a more striking lapis accent. It was thin, as all fins were, for the sake of cutting swiftly and speedily through the waters. Despite this, it dangled motionless, even her jewelry hung still, barely swaying from the movement of her arm.

Wasn’t the wind so much stronger a minute ago?

Indeed, the breeze abruptly had calmed, and her fin no longer flapped in the wind. Something was off, a cold charge seemed to ripple in the air. A new energy coarsed through Mipha’s body as she once again looked out towards the waters. At the end of the Lanayru Bay, closer to the rocky mainland, the waves had started to recede. Their once strong and lively motions now summoned towards something at the innermost part of the bay.

Mipha lifted her back off of the boulder, sitting up straight and observing the scene. And as if reacting to her movements, a sudden silence drowned the shore.

The winds stopped.

Then shifted.

Then rose.

A freezing air was washed over her, a strange hum filled bay. Getting on her feet, Mipha took up her trident cautiously. She searched the waters for whatever had moved the wind so suddenly. Perhaps a large octorok? A stray ice lizalfo cooling the breeze? She moved Seggin’s leg with the end of her trident. “Seggin, wake up. Something’s happening.” He let out a groan, mumbling something about never sleeping on duty. The princess turned towards the forest, scanning the trees for the snoring hinox that had made the evergreens shiver in the new wind. Or the frost talus that had made the temperature drop so quickly, she could start to see the breath in front of her face. But, there was nothing, and she turned back towards the sea, where the waves had started to move with new life. Mipha looked up.

Suddenly, she gasped. The sound was as swift as a common breeze, but with the sentiment of a last breath. All words escaped her, as it pierced the heavens. It seemed to wear a crown of frost and ice, but its brilliant size and majesty alone would command the attention of any army. The waves reflected its silver and arctic glow. The winds rose, the waves began to roar, the stars settled, and the sky was complete.

“She’s here.”

Naydra, the spirit of ice, the being of wisdom, the sacred servant of the goddesses, moved through the air, lowering itself from the glittering skies and moving towards the waters below. Even in the distance, the dragon’s golden eyes seemed to stare into her soul.

Mipha started to run towards the sea.

Seggin, who was jolted fully awake by her sudden movement, got onto his feet. “P-princess!?” Then, upon seeing the icy glow of a dragon in the distance, he stopped. A fear and silence gripped his throat, halting any attempts he made to move or speak. Still running towards the waters, Mipha turned back and shouted, “Just follow me! There’s no time to waste!”

Racing on top of a large rock, she crouched, then launched her weight and momentum towards the sky. Performing a graceful flip, she dove headfirst into the waters. The ocean enveloped her in a familiar cool embrace. Then, Mipha broke her head above the surface and started to make her way towards the dragon, kicking and swimming with all her might.

Naydra was closing in, drifting closer to Mipha with every passing moment. The way her long body steadily arched and curved, you would think they were going through nothing more than a leisurely stroll. Yet in reality, the dragon had traveled the length of one fourth of the bay in only a few minutes.

Rapidly approaching her, Mipha could start to see the dragon’s reflection upon the water. It’s scales glowed like moonlight, emitting luminous blues and turquoise. The path of its flight was directly above the length of the bay, making its way towards the princess.

Mipha faced the spirit head on, checking the trident to make sure it was secure on her back. Then, she dove with incredible speed, letting the waters consume her.

The porgys hurried away, finding refuge in the nooks and crannies of the reef. The small, red, bioluminescent scales on her head glowed as she neared the dark depths of the sea. Then, Mipha channeled her built up momentum and forced herself back towards the surface, rising like a bird.

The water and droplets sprayed as she leaped, the freezing water dripping away as she was greeted by the cold air once more. At the arc of her breach, she quickly turned and faced upward. Mipha unhooked the Lightscale Trident. Aiming at the white scales that lined Naydra’s neck, she steadied her grip.

Naydra is here, which means there is still hope. Please, grant me your blessing.

She thrust with all her might. The trident soared across the sky, twirling and shining like a star. The dragon drifted slowly, its eyes seemed to wander towards the flash of movement, observing the streak of white.

Crashing back into the bay with a splash, Mipha quickly blinked away the water and watched the trident's arc. It had reached the apex of its flight, nearly parallel with the dragon’s body.

At any moment it would make contact, it would pry a scale off, she just knew it...

...but then, its speed faltered, its momentum weakened, and slowly, the trident arched back down towards the sea, having struck nothing.

NO!

Naydra continued on her path, and the Lightscale Trident crashed into the open waters without a sound. The dragon was simply too high up, no spectacular dive, leap, or throw from these waters could get her where she needed to be.

Suddenly, Seggin breached the surface beside her. A swirl of worry and determination filled his eyes. “What are you doing?! Surely you don’t mean to kill it in order to get the material you need?”

“I-I need her scales, but she’s too high up! And my trident, it-it’s…” Mipha looked behind her, across the width of the bay to where it had sunk. That far out… the seafloor was probably much deeper over there. No, there was no time. She turned back towards him, almost frantic. “Seggin, you're a great swimmer, and you’ve taught me all I know, surely if you try you can strike the spirit, yes?”

Looking up at the beast, the Sergeant simply shook his head. “I’m sorry, your highness, but from these open waters, and at that angle? I’m afraid the Zora are not gifted with flight.”

Naydra’s presence drifted above them, the brilliant gleam of her scales now shone with a silent mocking. Was this really it? The spirits had decided to come, just to ridicule her desires? Just to tell her that it wasn’t meant to be?

Mipha let out a shaky breath. Watching the length of the dragon move across the night, she observed its path of flight once more. She let out another breath, more controlled this time. Naydra’s blue glow reminded Mipha of his eyes, and she found her resolve once more. Seggin watched her in silence for a moment. Then, he attempted to speak.

“Princess, if this is for—”

“Give me your spear.”

“P-pardon?”

“We can get my trident later, give me the spear.”

The Sergeant complied, removing his silver spear and handing it to her, but he shook his head.

“Mipha, you need to stop and focus. Neither of us have the strength to throw it that far up—”

“Talk and swim, Sergeant! Follow closely, we have to catch up.”

With that, Mipha began her journey down the course of the bay, following under the dragon’s shadow. Seggin followed on her left, but his face was still filled with worry and confusion. He attempted to open his mouth again, before Mipha held up a hand to shush him.

She spoke bluntly. “You have a strong grip, right Sergeant? You are capable of throwing many times your own weight, correct?”

The Sergeant frowned. Of course he could, he had handled great swords and claymores through the tides of several battles. When sparring with others, he could shove them aside easily. He wasn’t given the nickname “The Demon” for nothing. Mipha, whom he had personally trained with the trident, should know this most of all. Unless, she specifically wanted him to...

“Are you saying I should—”

“Yes. So can you do it?”

He hardened his gaze. “Even if I did get you to a proper height, your own aim must be more than perfect, and the aerodynamics of my spear are different. I’m sorry to be harsh, but I don’t think you can make such a precise shot on your first try.”

“That’s why I’m not going to throw it this time,” Mipha replied, her eyes still fixed on the dragon in front of them. “You told me to focus, right? Well focus on her,” she nodded towards Naydra, “The path of her flight is nearing the base of Mount Lanayru. No doubt, she will eventually make her way up towards its peak, as the keeper of the Spring of Wisdom. However, she has slowly been angling herself closer to the waters ever since she first arrived. While I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how dragons fly, I can only assume that before they can rise to such a height, they must lower and dive themselves to build up energy, similar to how we dive and leap out of the sea. I can only hope she will be low enough for my plan.” The princess turned her gaze to him directly.

“You will launch me in mid-air where the bay meets the ocean, just near the base of Mount Lanayru. There, with that added height, Naydra should be close enough to meet head on, and I shall loosen her scales myself with a direct strike from this spear”

Seggin could only gawk at her, staring in a shocked silence. His dark scales blended with the night. Then, after he seemed to process the full extent of her words in his head, his eyes lit up curiously like stars. “You truly believe this shall work?”

Mipha turned her gaze back towards the bay, her topaz eyes brimmed with new fire and life. “We won’t know until we try.”

The two of them focused their attention towards the ocean, now putting all their energy into getting to the end of the bay as fast as possible. Mipha snuck a glance up at the dragon, they were catching up. They were now below her front talons, the ice emitting from their scales started to cool on the edges of her jewelry. The princess smiled.

I’m not giving up on Link just yet.

Finally, they approached the mouth of the bay. The shadow of Naydra’s crown spilled over their tiny figures. Seggin turned towards the princess. “This is it, are you ready?” Mipha looked up at the sky. The dragon’s snout was pointed towards the sea. She had thought correctly, it was much lower than before. However, they were barely ahead of the dragon, for no Zora could keep up with its legendary speed forever. It was now or never.

She checked the spear on her back, making sure the clasp was secure. Mipha gave a nod towards Seggin, and they both plunged into the sea.

They dove in perfect unison. Colorful arrays of fish hurried away at their presence. The glow of Naydra seeped through the waters, a murky light that cut through the inky darkness. Seggin allowed himself to move in front of Mipha. They continued their dive through the waters, their bioluminescent scales leaving a blur of soft reds and turquoise. Suddenly, Seggin shot up, shifting his momentum towards the surface. Mipha followed suit behind him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, ready to burst at any moment. Trailing his stream of bubbles, Mipha watched as the Sergeant breached the surface above her. Just a few more seconds, and he would be at the apex of his arc, and then—

Mipha shot up like a cannon, spraying water through the air. She didn’t have time to enjoy the sensation, as she reached out instinctively. Her arm and hand extended, grabbing at something unseen. Water was still in her eyes, but the cold force of air pushed them away. Then, she felt it, the slight warmth of another Zora, and latched on. With an iron grip, she closed her hand around the blur of black scales. The two of them locked forearms, and in midair, Seggin flung her momentum further into the sky.

The frost was now biting, it formed distinctive lines that danced and crept the length of her jewelry. Taking the spear from her back, Mipha looked up, still soaring through the air. She was met with a golden gaze.

Naydra had started to crane its neck skyward, its crown reflecting the winking stars. The ice spirit seemed to sigh, and another breath of cold air escaped her. The creature’s eyes were as large as the sun, specks of amethyst and pearl decorated the beast’s face. Mipha didn’t dare to breathe.

The spiritual form of the goddess shifted its golden eyes, and smiled upon her.

Reaching the peak of her arc, Mipha turned her attention back to the spirit’s scales. They gleamed white, and sparkled like stars. They were so close, just a few more moments, just another instant, and she could reach out and touch them. Readying her spear, she started to turn her body, spinning through the air. She laughed to herself, about the unimaginable situation she was in.

With a practiced and graceful spin, Mipha let out the last of her momentum in a swift slice of her spear.

At first, it seemed she had cut at nothing air…

Then, she felt it make contact.

The scales were as tough as metal, but smooth like a polished stone. The spin of her attack has struck perfectly on the underside, and pried a large scale from the dragon. This time, her laugh fully escaped her, echoing in the air. The scale plummeted through the night sky, leaving a glimmering trail like a shooting star. It crashed into the sea, but floated in the water, which perfectly reflected the dragon's glow. Seeing Seggin start to make his way towards the scale, Mipha turned back towards the dragon, still falling through the air. Naydra was now ascending at a steep incline, all of its body seemed to glow with a new aura, as if sensing the loss of one of its sacred scales. Mipha smiled at the spirit.

Thank you…

Then, she turned back, and prepared to dive safely into the water

A large splash, and the princess returned to the bay once more. Breaching the surface, she let out large breaths, and rubbed at the cold biting on her wrist.

Seggin made his way towards her, the large scale cradled in his arms. His mouth hung agape, he was at a loss for words. Mipha took the initiative to break the silence. “Here, your spear.”

Holding it out, Seggin took it with one of his arms, still careful to keep the scale from drifting away. The Sergeant let out a short laugh. “Your highness, that incredible move you performed, that spin attack? Wherever did you learn such a thing? It certainly wasn’t from me.”

A sudden blush formed on her face. Sinking into the water to hide it, she let out a little whisper. “Well, uh, just from a friend.”

He nodded, “Well, it certainly got the job done.”

Quickly changing the conversation, Mipha asked, “May I hold it?” Seggin gave another nod, and pushed the scale across the water, making its way into Mipha’s grasp. The scale was cool to the touch. Running her hand down it, it was slick in one direction, but brushing it the opposite way revealed tinier bumps in the scale. They glowed white, but reflected a large assortment of bright colors at certain angles. Mipha smiled, it was perfect.

Seggin let out a forced cough, breaking through Mipha’s thoughts. She smiled. “Right, come now. Let us return to the shore”

. . . . .

“So...you did it.”

Back at the shore, the sun had begun to rise, barely peeking above the ocean in the east. Seggin cast Mipha a warm smile. “I’m quite proud of what you’ve done today.” She returned his expression with a kind smile of her own. “I couldn’t have done this without you Seggin.”

She then went back to cleaning her Lightscale Trident. A few bits of seaweed were still tangled in its prongs, and wrapped around the hilt. Otherwise, it was mostly intact. The Sergeant gathered the last of the food and supplies littered about their campsite, before looking back at Mipha. He watched her tend to her weapon, sitting comfortably on the ground, with a small pile of seaweed at her side.

Finally, he decided this was as good a moment as any. Seggin sat in the grass with her. “So, who is the lucky guy?”

A sudden rush of red appeared on Mipha’s cheeks. “I, uh, I’m not sure I understa—”

He let out a scoff. “I suppose you picked me to accompany you since I didn’t pay the most attention to spiritual and ceremonial studies.” He shrugged his shoulder, “Which is entirely fair. A sergeant doesn’t improve his skills by listening to hour long sermons about the goddess all day.”

Seeing Mipha’s confused face, he let out a huff and continued. “Although, even I know about the tradition of the white scale. You said you wished to craft something...when the dragon showed up... well, I’m no fool.”

He looked at her, Mipha’s shoulder’s loosened in realization that he knew. “You’re crafting the sacred ceremonial armour for a royal husband, requiring a silver scale that only females posses, and the scales of a dragon, for both bless the wearer with the safety of both a Zora’s affection and the protection from the goddesses.”

Mipha sighed, before letting herself look at him. “Please know I didn’t mean any harm keeping this from you! I never thought you were a fool, I simply… well I respect you as my teacher and such… so I thought…um… it would be better I didn’t say anything...cause it would be better if…”

“If I stayed silent and didn’t ask questions about why we were battling a giant ice spirit?”

Mipha let out a sheepish laugh. “I suppose…”

He scrunched his brows. “Although, I am still confused as to why you were so wary about telling me, princess. Are you embarrassed by him? Is he a noble? A servant?” Seggin scratched his chin.

“..hmm, or perhaps this Zora isn’t a him at all. Unconventional, sure, but having two queens wouldn’t be a real issue, at least for me. If that was your concern, please know—”

“No, no! I mean, thank you, but it’s not that… it’s…” Mipha let out a shaky breath, “I wish to give the armour to that knight, Link”

His expression seemed to instantly harden at his name

“That...Hylian? The one set to become a Champion simply because of that sword on his back?”

“Yes, I mean, I’ve known him since childhood and—”

“The one who put you in harm's way when you both fought the Ploymus Mountain Lynel alone?”

“He slayed the beast and helped people! And I was there of my own volition.”

“The one who refuses to talk? Choosing to speak with his hands? Has the blank stare and shows no emotion or respect?”

“Well, he’s not—”

“The one who is supposedly going to spend his company with Princess Zelda everyday after the official Champion ceremony in a few weeks? That’s the boy you wish to be committed to?”

Mipha didn’t bother to answer. She turned her head away, not looking at him. This is exactly what she was afraid would happen. She clenched her fist, nails digging into her palm.

A silence sat between them. Seggin just stared at the bay.

Then, Mipha took a deep breath, before standing up. Taking her trident, she slammed the hilt down with a force that demanded Seggin’s attention.

“Alright, yes! Link might be some of the things you say he is, but he is so much more. So, so, so much more. You may look at him and just see another Hylian, but I have watched Link all of my life. I’ve seen the strength and will that rests behind his blade when he protects the innocent. I’ve witnessed the tenderness of his touch when he comforts those around him in his embrace. Oh Hylia, I’ve watched his recklessness as he explores the world and the Domain with not a care in the world, other than satisfying a curiosity. I’ve seen every scratch and bruises he’s taken from his childhood, and healed every scar and burn from his youth. But I have loved him all the same, because even after all these years, in his eyes is the same love and adoration that he saved for me and me alone. He holds a blank gaze for the sake of keeping up a careful confidence, but every time I see him he graces me with a fantastic smile. I’ve fallen in love, Seggin, alright? And despite my endless respect for you and everyone else, I do not care anymore. I’ve fallen in love with a reckless Hylian, despite the world around me. Despite my every duty as the heir to the throne, despite Link’s every fault, despite it all I’m going to choose to give in to my heart’s desires. I have healed his every wound, and taken his every flaw, because he is who I fell in love with, and my heart belongs to him.”

Mipha stared into Seggin’s eyes, her topaz eyes were filled with the same fire and life as she had back under Naydra’s shadow. The Sergeant’s dark eyes looked back at her. He got onto his feet, a hard expression on his face. Yet, his eyes twinkled with a new warmth.

“Then we best get a move on, and hurry back so you may give him your important gift.”

Turning back towards the campfire, Seggin went to fetch his spear, and started to snuff out the campfire. Mipha just stood there, bewildered. She watched as he continued about his routine, gathering his satchel and gear without another word. The princess strode towards him, confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you still against my feelings for Link? Aren’t you still mad that I’ve chosen him?” The Sergeant stopped, and turned back to face her.

“In truth, Princess Mipha, I will never understand the true extent of how you have fallen in love with that Hylian. However, what I know for certain is that that boy is a strong and accomplished knight. My son, Bazz, used to spar with him when he was little. He’s become exceptionally stronger, and just studying his movements with the blade, well… Link has a strength not just in his sword, but in his compassion, with the way he taught my son and others as well. In his younger day I could see the kindness in his eyes as he ran around, protecting his other friends in their little sparring games.

“Although he has changed much in recent years, in my opinion not for the better, hearing your words sways me to the fact that perhaps that same young Hylian still lives when around you. So I trust your judgement, Mipha.” He tilted his head to the side.

“This night has brought the best out of you, it’s brought out a level of skill, precision, and talent that I have not seen throughout all my life. I can only conclude that this is the result of your compassion and determination to be with this Hylian. So I do not think anything I could say will sway such a strong heart.

“You obviously already have your father’s blessing, and not that you need mine, but I think that so long as Link gives you the same level of protection and love that you have displayed, then you have my support on the matter.”

Now, it was Mipha’s turn to stand in a shocked silence. Although, the quiet did not last long as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Unsure of what to do with his arms, Seggin patted her on the back, his more grumpy and serious demeanor returning.

“But, you should probably still not tell the others immediately. I can’t imagine people like Muzu will have the exact same view as I do.”

She chuckled, “That’s the plan.”

Letting him go, she turned back towards the bay. Picking up her trident, she started to make her way to the waters, ready to head back to the Domain, and complete a certain task. Craning her head back towards the Sergeant, she added, “and...thank you, Seggin. Truly, for everything tonight.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“It was my pleasure.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #mipha #mipha botw #seggin #seggin botw #link #link botw #miphlink

49 notes · View notes

moonlightpirate · 4 years

Text

So originally I wasn’t going to post this but I think I’m going to anyways but here’s chapter 4 of my midsomer murders story. I would appreciate it if I could get some reblogs and comments please let me know what you guys think!

Tags @neptunium134 @bluesfortheredj @ihaveacrush @aureatemoonshine @secrets-ill-take-to-my-grave let me know if you want to be added or removed!

chapter one chapter two chapter three

Chapter 4

John awoke early, eager to put the last pieces of his current case together. It was well after noon before he returned to the station, happy with the arrest he and Nelson had just made. Well, at least until he saw his wife sitting in his office with a stern look on her face. “Sarah what brings you here?” inquired Nelson. “So John hasn’t told you then eh?” Sarah glared over at her husband. “No word from Elizabeth then?” John stuttered, attempting to avoid eye contact with Sarah. Curiously Nelson looked back and forth between John and Sarah, waiting for someone to tell him what was going on. Sarah finally looked over at Nelson, seeing his concern, she walked towards him, “Elizabeth is missing, I can’t seem to get a hold of her, and it has been 24 hours since I last heard from her. Please go search for her, this is the paper she left me that tells where all she intended to go yesterday. All her important numbers are on the other side of the paper, I also made sure to jot down her number as well.” Sarah handed Nelson the paper, as she turned to leave she made sure to give her husband one final glare. “Well guess we better get looking then! Hmmm, seems she went to Badger’s drift, sorta an odd place to go. Wait, should we call her parents?” pondered Nelson. “No! Well not yet at least, lets just go look around Badgers drift first see what we can find. No point alarming them if everything is fine.” John replied. Nelson stared at John inquisitively before slightly shrugging his shoulders and heading for the car. They spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing the people at all the stops she had made trying to find some sort of lead. Most everyone claimed they saw her but hadn’t noticed anything suspicious.

Finally, at the church, they found some answers. “Hello I’m DCI Barnaby and this is DS Nelson. We have some questions for you. Did you by chance happen to see this woman at all yesterday?” John asked the priest, showing him a picture of Elizabeth. “Yes I did. She came here shortly after lunch, and said she wanted to admire the church.” the priest replied. “Did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary? Or perhaps seen where she went after admiring this church?” Nelson inquired. “Well, while she was admiring the church, I could have sworn I saw what looked like a man and a woman watching her through the windows. After she left I saw her head towards that park. I’m uncertain if the couple followed her over or not.” he responded. “Thank you sir. Nelson let’s go.” Barnaby replied sternly. “Sir, he said a couple was watching her. That doesn’t match Elizabeth’s description of an old woman.” “Well Nelson if she has indeed been kidnapped, it’s not like an old woman could easily do that herself.” John replied as they began to walk over towards the park. They began to scour the park for any form of clues, “Over here sir!” Nelson shouted at John. John ran over to where Nelson was crouched down under the shade of an enormous tree. He could see remnants of food wrappers, carefully he put on a glove and picked up one of the wrappers. Sure enough Elizabeth’s name was written on it, meaning they belonged to her. Among the few wrappers was an out of place black cloth. “Nelson please pick up that cloth and take it to Kate in forensics to look at. Have her test it not just for fingerprints but also for drugs.” John asked. At that moment John’s cell started to ring, it was Sarah. “Hey Sarah, it seems you were right, it appears Elizabeth has been taken. Sarah, what’s wrong?” All John could hear was sobbing on the other end of the line. “Oh John, they sent a video to my phone, using her phone! It was awful! She was tied up, and they were making awful threats!” Sarah sobbed. “We’ll be right there!” John bellowed, hanging up the phone. “Sir? What happened?” Nelson asked, confused at the sudden urgency. “We have to get back to the house now. They sent a video to Sarah’s phone.” he commanded. They immediately drove back to John’s house, and watched the video. It was truly awful, like Sarah had mentioned, they had Elizabeth tied up and were threatening her life. They offered to possibly spare her if they called Gavin Troy. Elizabeth hollered at them to not call him because they would kill him, but before she could finish the sentence the video cut out. John sighed as he sat down at the table next to Sarah. “Sir we definitely need to call her parents now. There’s no way we can do this without telling them, and sounds like we will need her father to have any hope of saving her.” Nelson said, as the shock slowly wore off. “I know Nelson, please just take the cloth sample to the lab. It’s late, I think it’s for the best if I just wait until morning. I need some time to get my thoughts clear before I tell her father. Now goodnight Nelson.” John dismissed him. Reluctantly Nelson left, calling Kate as he made his way to the lab asking her to meet him there. Early the next morning John met Charlie and Kate at the lab. “Well it was as I suspected Chloroform. Probably used to knock her out so they wouldn’t meet any resistance or draw any attention to themselves. Though unfortunately I was unable to find any fingerprints.” Kate stated. “Thank you Kate, well I guess I can’t keep avoiding it, time to call her father.”. Gavin was in the middle of interrogating a prime suspect for his case when his phone started to ring. At first he was just going to ignore it, but he noticed the area code was from Midsomer, so he stepped out to answer it. “Troy here.” Gavin answered casually. “Hi Gavin this is John Barnaby. I’m calling with some well, bad news. I’d recommend you sit down before I continue.” John said. “What happened?! Tell me now please.” Gavin replied, starting to sound frantic. “Well a little over 48 hours ago your daughter went missing. All we have is a video that threatens her life, unless we got you involved, and a few witnesses.” Gavin almost dropped the phone in shock. Trying his best to use a calm voice he replied, “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He immediately hung up the phone and darted back into the interrogation room, motioning for his sergeant to step outside with him. “Elizabeth has been kidnapped, I need to get to Midsomer and help them to find her. I’m putting you in charge of this case, but do not make an arrest without getting a hold of me first. Are we clear?” Gavin asked, his voice shaking. “Yes sir! Best of luck,I hope she will be okay.” The sergeant shouted at him as Gavin had turned and started to sprint towards his car. Frantically he hopped into the car and started to drive. After a few moments it hit him that he should tell his wife what was happening. At the first stoplight he quickly grabbed his cell phone and dialed his wife. “Hey honey! How’s the case going? You would not believe what happened today.” Cully answered cheerfully. “Cully, honey, please sit down….I have some bad news.”. There was silence for a moment before Cully replied, “Gavin, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Please don’t let it be Elizabeth.”. Gavin could tell she was starting to cry. “Honey, relax please, but yes unfortunately it’s Elizabeth. John just called me, apparently she has been kidnapped. I’m on my way to Midsomer right now.” All he could hear was his wife sobbing, he felt terrible for leaving her behind, but it was probably for the best. “Cully, please go to your parent’s house, let them know what is going on. I may need your father’s input on this as well. I’ll call you when I arrive and am able to get more information dear.” Gavin said, in an attempt to comfort Cully. “Oh Gavin, this is terrible! Please be careful dear, and make sure you both come out of this in one piece.” Cully sobbed. As the call ended Gavin had become even more determined to get to midsomer as fast as he could and find their daughter. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

#midsomer murders #midsomer murders fic #please read #please reblog #gavin troy #John Barnaby #cully barnaby #Charlie Nelson

10 notes · View notes

marisaaa · 4 years

Text

A Habit (AO3)

Robron week 2020 day 3 - Dads.

“You try having a toddler who refuses to go to bed.”

Seb always has a request before he goes to sleep.

It started when Seb was four. He’d gone with Moira and Isaac on a weekend trip to a donkey sanctuary outside Leeds. Moira had a friend there so they were staying in her house overnight, letting Aaron and Robert have a night free.

Just as they were getting ready to sit down and watch something that wasn’t a cartoon – like usual – the phone rang.

Aaron groaned as he slowly got up from his position on the sofa to answer it, picking up with the nicest voice he could muster.

“Hello?” he answered down the phone.

“Aaron, It’s Moira.” She replied, sounding worn out.

Aaron’s nerves suddenly sky rocketed as he pulled the phone closer to his ear, worried that something had happened. “What’s wrong?” he asked nervously, causing Robert to turn his head, confusion etched on his face.

“No there’s nothing wrong.” She quickly calmed him, “Seb’s not sleeping.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and his muscles quickly relaxed, “Does he have Teddy?” he questioned, knowing he had definitely packed it as Seb could never sleep without it.

“Yeah, he has Teddy.” Moira told him, “I put them to bed hours ago, Isaac’s fast asleep but Seb is just wide awake every time I check in. Maybe he’s just not used to me enough to handle being away without you.”

Aaron nodded, “Yeah okay I understand, it’s still early so one of us will be there to collect him.”

Moira thanked him before he hung up, walking back over to the sofa.

“What’s going on?” Robert asked as he had only caught Aaron’s side of the conversation.

“It’s Seb, he’s not sleeping” he informed him, “I said I would go and pick him up, probably just misses his bed.”

Aaron went to reach for his coat and Robert picked up his keys to throw over to him. “Take my car. Saves you from having to move the car seat again.”

They really needed to get two of those. Aaron nodded his thanks and held to keys in his enclosed hand as he put his coat on. He pecked Robert on the cheek before leaving the house, “Won’t be long!” he shouted before the door closed with a bang.

Once he got to the house, Moira opened the door and welcomed him in. She led him through to the main sitting area where a woman was sat on one end of the sofa, a colouring book on her lap and Seb sat next to her. As he stepped into he room, Seb’s head turned and he smiled.

“Daddy!” he shouted, jumping off the sofa and running towards Aaron who scooped him up in an embrace.

“Hey, buddy.” He spoke softly, “You not feeling tired after your day with the donkeys?”

Seb shook his head, still smiling and playing with the hood on Aaron’s coat. “Daddy’s car.”

The adults all let out a small laugh, not quite sure what he meant.

“Yeah, it’s just out the front.” Aaron answered him, picking up the bag that Seb had brought with him, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Seb was making noises during the first part of the journey back home. He was babbling to himself, asking Aaron odd questions and singing random parts of songs together. Aaron thought there must be some explanation involving sugar for him to be so hyper.

He started to settle down about ten minutes later and the car was finally silent. Aaron looked in the rear view mirror to see the boy fast asleep in his little blue car seat. He shook his head and smiled to himself, happy that he’d finally got some sleep, all it took was some familiarity.

When they got home, Aaron explained his theory to Robert who was confused when he’d walked in with a sleeping Seb in his arms.

“I don’t get it though” Robert said quietly as he stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Aaron tuck Seb in, “He’s stayed with Diane overnight, even without Teddy once.”

“Yeah but he’s done that since he was a baby.” Aaron whispered, standing up from the bed and stepping on the landing with Robert, “This was the first time he’d been at someone else’s and properly aware of it.”

Robert shrugged, and pulled Aaron by the waist. “I love it when you go all fatherly therapist on me.”

Aaron rolled his eyes and leaned up to kiss him, pushing him towards their bedroom.

Seb was stood at the door in his pyjamas and dressing gown, jumping excitedly on the spot. It had just turned nine o’clock, way past his bedtime.

“Seb, mate, can we just give it a miss for tonight?” Aaron asked through a yawn. Seb had been refusing to go to bed for the last week without being driven around in Robert’s car. Specifically Robert’s. He’d be tired the whole evening but as soon as bedtime came, he would suddenly perk up and demand a drive in Robert’s car – in which he would fall asleep.

He frowned and stomped his foot, “But Daddy I can’t sleep without driving.” He whined, moving his arms around, flailing Teddy – who he was holding – around.

Just on time, Robert came jumping down the stairs holding a book. “Hey, Seb, look.” He said, pointing to the cover of the book. It had a giraffe on. “Just like one of your toys. If you go upstairs now, we can read it for a bit?”

Seb kept on frowning and faced the door, his arms folded. Robert sighed and walked over to him, crouching down to see his face that was still grumpy.

“Daddy’s a bit tired tonight.” He explained softly, “it might be dangerous if you go in the car with tired Daddy.”

The boy turned around and looked over at Aaron who was at on the sofa. Aaron pretended to yawn again, trying to emphasise his tiredness.

Seb turned back to Robert who smiled softly.

“You take me.” He said bluntly.

Robert’s face fell and Aaron let out a breathy laugh.

“Me?” Robert asked him, his eyes darting between Aaron and his son. “I thought you wanted it to be Daddy Aaron?”

“But you said he was dangerous.” Seb argued. Robert couldn’t help but smile at that, the misunderstanding providing more comedy than the boy was aware of.

“Why not?” Aaron said from the sofa, getting up slowly, “It is your car.”

Robert gave him a stare and shook his head. “I have – I have stuff I need to do.” He tried to argue.

“More important than your son?” Aaron joked lightly, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout that Seb saw and copied. Robert looked down at the pouting boy and sighed.

“Fine.” He relented, making Seb grin and jump up and down towards the door, holding onto the handle for leverage.

Like clockwork, Seb fell asleep in his car seat strapped to the back seats. Robert smiled as he pulled into a layby outside Emmerdale and turned in his seat to see the little boy sleeping peacefully, Teddy sat on his lap.

Robert dug around in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out to take a photo of the sleeping boy. He sent it to Aaron with the message:

- Just drove around the village and then the fields. Sleeping soundly.

Obviously as interested in farming as his Dad. ;) -

Came the reply.

Robert smiled and put the phone back in his pocket, starting the car up again to drive back home.

As he got to the village, he saw Victoria leave the pub and head towards her house. She waved before she crossed the road and he slowed to a stop, winding down the window.

“Where have you been?” she said loudly, causing him to bring a finger up to his mouth and tell her to shush before gesturing to the boy asleep in the back. She looked at Seb confused and brought her hands up encouraging him to answer her question.

He sighed, “Just a drive.”

“With him?” she asked, even more confused.

“You try having a toddler who refuses to go to bed.” He answered, suddenly realising he’d spoken rather loudly and Seb was stirring.

“What?” Victoria whispered, stifling a small laugh and looking between her brother and Seb.

“He won’t go to bed until me or Aaron have taken him on a drive.” He explained, “Well, Aaron has done it the last week – this is my first time.”

“That’s really weird.”

Robert snorted quietly, “Well he is related to you, so it’s expected I guess.”

“Hey!” Victoria exclaimed but laughed it off. She reached through and stroked Seb’s head before saying goodnight to both of them and heading towards her house.

It was almost routine for the next few years. Seb would sleep fine in the day and when he would have nap time at nursery, but when it was time for him to go to bed for the night, he would demand a drive in the car. Aaron and Robert took it in turns, even going as far to making a rota for the week, subject to how much work they were expecting in the day. It was all for Seb’s safety, of course, even though there was a new Top Gear episode every Thursday evening that would always coincidentally be Robert’s day.

They were worried that Seb’s social life would be impacted once he started to get older and got invited to sleepovers, which he turned down in favour of being at home where his usual routine happened. Some arguments were started due to this incident, Robert claiming that Aaron was too soft on him.

Seb was turning ten and he was upstairs cleaning his room out for when his friends came round the next day.

Robert and Aaron were busy downstairs, filling the cupboards with all the food that had just been delivered for Seb’s birthday party and the meal in the evening that Seb said he would help Robert cook.

It was nearing nine o’clock and Seb still hadn’t come down to get ready to go out for the drive.

“Seb!” Aaron called up the stairs, “Come on, it’s getting late.”

There was no answer.

Aaron decided to go up to get him himself, he was probably playing on the Nintendo DS that they had bought him as an early birthday present.

As he got to his room, he could see that the lights were off through the gap in the door and slowly opened it so he could see. It was a sight that he started to think was impossible.

He quietly ran down the stairs, to get Robert, whispering his name and gesturing for him to come upstairs. They both quietly tip-toed upstairs and peeked into Seb’s room.

He was laying in his bed, his slippers placed perfectly on the floor next to it and his Nintendo DS was shut and on his desk.

Aaron walked over to the bed to check that he really was asleep, confirming it with a silent nod and thumbs up to Robert who was stood by the door. They exited the room as silently as they had come in and tip toed back downstairs, both smiling widely.

Once they got to the bottom of the stairs they both fist bumped the air and let out a giggled as they pulled each other into a tight embrace.

“God, we are horrible people.” Aaron admitted and Robert laughed as he pulled away to look at him.

“Five years, Aaron.” Robert said, still smiling, “My car is probably as happy as we are right now.”

Aaron laughed and looked over to the door, seeing a small boy dressed in a long dressing gown running around excitedly. A small feeling of sadness swept over him.

“It is a bit sad though.” Aaron admitted, turning back to Robert, “He’s growing up.”

Robert sighed and shrugged, before a small smile appeared on his face.

“What?” Aaron asked suspiciously.

“This is going to be a great story to tell at his wedding.” He laughed but Aaron slapped his arm playfully.

“You’re evil.” Aaron joked, but was secretly impressed by the idea.

“And you love me.” Robert said softly as he pulled Aaron towards him by the waist.

“I do.” Aaron hummed contently as he kissed him softly on the lips.

#rw2020 #robron fic #robert sugden #Aaron Dingle #seb white

27 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 4 years

Text

(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft.

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

11 notes · View notes