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#but i still never harm my wrists or anywhere visible

softykooky · 4 years

Text

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak.

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet.

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress.

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again.

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist?

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him.

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky.

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend.

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her.

Deeply and blindly in love.

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there.

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love.

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists.

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her.

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall.

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star.

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again.

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands.

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

Jungkook wishes it were a moon.

“Just go, Yoojung.”

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet.

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist.

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel.

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation.

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore.

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again.

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity.

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood.

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English.

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away.

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18.

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius.

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face.

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt.

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you.

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.”

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap.

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline.

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.”

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day.

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting.

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends.

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone.

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say.

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner.

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?”

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop.

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove.

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind.

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it.

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left.

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of.

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation.

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.”

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment.

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground.

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster.

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated.

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own.

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s.

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp.

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris.

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette.

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.”

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear.

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time?

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete.

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion.

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears.

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight.

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin.

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?”

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly.

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past.

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way.

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait.

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier.

“Park Jimin”, you snarl.

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again.

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?”

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut.

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact.

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you.

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered.

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?”

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary.

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath.

“Deal.”

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you.

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge.

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway. To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down.

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill.

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.”

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment.

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear.

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model.

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation.

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created.

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it.

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough.

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes.

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed.

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool.

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance.

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips.

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?”

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.”

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.”

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard.

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.”

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community.

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you.

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.”

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent.

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies.

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?”

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.”

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you.

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire.

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle.

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera.

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin.

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.”

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means.

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.”

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.”

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps.

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection.

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building.

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you.

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together.

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon.

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect.

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human.

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt).

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it.

◒

It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school.

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing.

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was.

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to.

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success.

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok.

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer.

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink.

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?”

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate.

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly.

“Well…do you like it?”

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table.

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile.

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther.

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right.

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor.

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands.

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret.

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front.

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more.

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.”

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time.

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets.

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity.

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most.

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance.

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement.

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection.

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past.

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him.

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her.

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony.

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature.

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume.

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?”

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is.

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life.

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?”

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger.

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence.

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life.

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt.

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from.

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art.

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity.

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line.

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold.

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?”

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her.

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to.

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together.

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to.

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in.

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame.

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself.

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud.

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence.

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left.

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him.

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air.

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry.

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him.

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles.

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist.

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously.

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.”

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you.

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more.

So he does.

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling?

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away.

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both.

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night.

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams.

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears.

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates.

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity.

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying.

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life.

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you.

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it.

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly.

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay.

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach.

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you.

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of.

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours.

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter.

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself.

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?”

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling.

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door.

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight.

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself.

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.”

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway.

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time.

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened.

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

“I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.”

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it.

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.”

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left.

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you.

Look where that has gotten you before.

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray.

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?”

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second.

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid.

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place.

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it.

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time.

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life.

“Be happy, Jungkook.”

You truly mean it.

◐

The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway.

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong.

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating.

“Mina, Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated.

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case.

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him.

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game.

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands.

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him?

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with.

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain?

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning.

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears.

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button.

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most.

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.”

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.”

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook.

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance.

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums.

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back.

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade.

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio.

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin.

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him.

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach.

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way.

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five.

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute.

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods.

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.”

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence.

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger.

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep.

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often.

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.”

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain.

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.”

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone.

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate.

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes.

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues.

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening.

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

But what does Jungkook know about such things?

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you.

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe.

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months.

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent.

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.”

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it.

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table.

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.”

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had.

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits.

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold.

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him.

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so.

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat.

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks.

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue.

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone.

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.”

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath.

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date.

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing.

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it.

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.”

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile.

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next.

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips.

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity.

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.”

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land.

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you.

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning.

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook.

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to.

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you.

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it.

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you.

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead.

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space.

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form.

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his.

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you.

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too.

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will.

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first.

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective.

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself.

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio.

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again.

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself.

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids.

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook.

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.”

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher.

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.”

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage.

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.”

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever.

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil.

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively.

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.”

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on.

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.”

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too.

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked.

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity.

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at.

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times.

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.”

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts.

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you.

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact.

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious.

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does.

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography.

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain.

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you.

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner.

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection.

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building.

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.”

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you.

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him.

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook.

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him.

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.”

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his.

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark.

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher.

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues.

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself.

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment.

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression.

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s.

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth.

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.”

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall.

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting.

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it.

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.”

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive.

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne.

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose.

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you.

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear.

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there.

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared.

“Do you promise?”

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken.

“I promise.”

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you.

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love.

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor.

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has.

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is.

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of.

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment.

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his.

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart.

☾

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fixxofvixx · 3 years

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Stay With Me - Demon Leo Au - Chapter 28

Good evening! I hope all of you are well and happy! I have a bit of an update for you! Lots of things in this chapter! Let me know what you think and enjoy!

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

"Step aside, demon. We will rid you of the witch that has threatened the forest and the village."

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

"The what?" You tried to peek around Leo but he kept you firmly behind him. You were only able to see through the space between his body and arm. There were mostly men from the village but a few women had joined the group.

Leo snapped the arrow in half like in one hand it was a toothpick. Black smoke swirled around him and his hair was wild. He was livid. You didn't need to see his face, you knew what it looked like. The evidence was on the now frightened villagers.

"Who wants to explain why you are trying to kill my woman?" His voice was full of quiet rage. You knew he was trying to hold himself together so he wouldn't create a massacre.

"The woman you have sheltered has been making threats upon the village!"

"She has cursed our livestock and our crops have died out almost overnight!

"She said the forest was next and she planned to burn it all!"

Several villagers spoke up at once. They started murmuring amongst themselves until they were shushed by someone in the back.

"My good townspeople, allow me to explain to the demon." Norman stepped through the crowd and Leo tensed.

"You have guts stepping foot into my forest."

"I don't b-believe you have a deed for this area of land." Norman stood with his arms at his sides and his hands were clenched into fists.

"Do I need one?"

"You--! Nevermind, that is a matter for another day. Yesterday morning, this little--!"

"Careful….you are in my domain." Leo warned Norman and the man visually paled.

"This….girl...ahem...came into the village and threatened everyone in exchange for money! When we refused, our crops began withering and the livestock began to get sick. She said the forest was next and that she would burn everything to the ground!" Norman's face was beet red by the time he had finished explaining.

"I did no such thing!" You yelled in frustration as you came from around Leo.

"Are you calling me a liar, you witch?!" Norman started to come forward but wisps of black smoke curled around his ankles, cementing him to the ground. Norman's face was as good as a tomato when he turned to Leo.

"Why are you protecting the one you told us to kill?!"

"And when did I demand her death?" Leo crossed his arms over his chest and let out a short laugh. His patience was wearing thin.

"This morning! You came into the village and offered a large sum to rid the forest of the witch!"

"Would you like to try and take her away from me? I feel the need to bloody something." Leo's smoke turned thicker and you could see his claws extend.

"I saw you this morning! I know you were there! Stand back, this witch needs to die!"

Norman pointed at you and raised his rifle to prepare to shoot.

Leo advanced on him quickly, placing one hand on the rifle and the other around Norman's neck.

"The only place I've been lately is to the Underworld. Would you like to go there? I'm sure my brother will welcome you with open arms."

As you were watching Leo with Norman, you failed to notice one of the other villagers sneaking up behind you at the same time. You screamed as an arm wrapped around your neck from behind and their other hand raised a knife. You grabbed the man's wrist to keep him from bringing the knife down into your chest.

Leo noticed and tossed Norman like a ragdoll into the unsuspecting crowd. Then he turned and advanced on the man holding you.

"It would be wise for you to release her. I hadn't planned on killing anyone today but I am awfully hungry and I've got plenty of time. So unless you want to die a slow and painful death, I suggest you let her go. NOW!" Leo's shout caused the man to falter. He released you as if you were burning hot.

Unfortunately, as he released you, the knife he had been holding sliced against your neck leaving a thin line of blood seeping from the cut. You covered it immediately and turned to the man. He looked to be about the same age as you. He kept looking at the knife and then at you. His face paled and he began muttering softly "sorry" over and over again.

That's when you realized something was off.

The man's face no longer held the rage it did before. Looking over at the crowd, they also seemed to be frozen in fear. They all had eyes on Leo, wondering what he would do. They almost looked confused about the whole situation.

Leo was at your side in an instant, covering your neck with his hand. The cut healed quickly but you held his hand against you even after it was back to normal.

"I'll kill them all."

"Wait."

"They'll try again, Y/N."

"No, look at them. They look so confused. Almost like they don't know why they're here. Do you think someone forced them? Is it possible to take over someone's mind?"

"Does it matter? They tried to kill you." He looked over at the crowd and spoke in a louder tone. "They deserve death for trying to harm you."

The group was visibly frozen and you couldn't help but feel that killing them would solve nothing.

"I don't think they intended for things to happen this way."

"I don't feel like letting them live." Leo looked over the crowd but you knew he wouldn't do anything if there was a possibility that they had been sent here unwillingly.

"Then go after the one who made them that way."

"I know who did it." Leo walked a few steps towards the crowd and you tensed along with the villagers. "Go home and never step foot in my forest again."

Fearful mutterings of "yes", "how did we get here", and "I thought we were dead" filled the crowd as they quickly dispersed. Norman was unconscious and had to be carried out by a few villagers. The man who had held the knife to your throat walked by and apologized again before scurrying off.

Leo turned back to you but his face was cast in shadows. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Was it your mother?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, my love."

"It's not your fault." You looked up at him and smiled. "Can she really impersonate people?"

"Only people she has touched before. My five brothers and I all inherited different traits from our parents. Four of us, Ravi, Hakyeon, Ken, and I received most of the same powers my father had. Hongbin and Hyuk received more from my mother. Impersonation, brainwashing, and even hallucinations are all included in their abilities."

You thought for a moment and then remembered your dream.

"Leo, do you think she can do the same thing with dreams?"

"Yes…..I know she can."

"Is that what you thought all along?"

"I suspected but was hoping she hadn't. What happened in the village solidified my suspicions. She's aiming to get rid of you but I'll be damned if I let her." Leo leaned down to kiss you. He pulled you closer and wrapped a hand around the back of your neck.

*Hang on tight.*

He was still kissing you when you heard his wings unfurl from his back. Soon after, you were both in the air. Leo's kiss swallowed the short scream that came from your lungs. Your arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hold. His arms went around your back and under your legs.

You pulled away from his lips and took a deep breath.

"Where are we going?! Why can't we teleport?"

"I want to take a look in the village and I can't hide us with a cloaking spell as quickly if we teleport in."

"Cloaking spell? Oh! Like the one you used when I first met you?"

"Yes, that's the one. I want to see for myself what my mother has done." Leo' wings flew quickly and before you knew it, he was descending upon the highest point in the village. Which happened to be the belfry of the church. As soon as he landed, the familiar shimmer of the spell surrounded you both. You smile as you thought about when you’d first met him. You had never been anywhere near the church as you were alway working for your parents and unable to attend.

"Are...you allowed to be near a church?" You almost laughed when a thought crossed your mind of him dancing around because his feet were burning due to the sanctity of the church.

"I'm not evil, Y/N. And I'm not the devil himself." He smirked and folded his wings.

"So...Ravi couldn't?"

"Ravi isn't the devil either. We're all just demons."

"But, he rules the underworld."

"A job he rightfully applied for and received. He wasn't born into it. Of course, he's been the ruler down there for so long, most people don't even remember that."

“I can’t imagine Ravi applying for a job.” You giggled and Leo sent you a playful glare.

"Come on, let's take a closer look." Leo curled his arm around your waist and jumped down from the belfry. You covered your mouth with your hands to keep you from screaming.

Once you reached the ground, you turned to Leo and glared. His only response was to lean forward and plant a short kiss on your lips. You vowed to get revenge later.

"Just stay behind the shimmer." You nodded at his instructions and grabbed his hand. You both walked towards the town square, mud and stone crunching under your feet. You tried to step quietly but there was no way to mask the sound.

"They won't be able to hear you or see you, remember? Just walk and talk comfortably."

The closer you got to the town square the more you could hear the townspeople talking amongst each other.

“What are we going to do? The crops were almost ready to harvest.”

“I was going to milk the cows this afternoon but it’s like their udders are all dried up.”

“Papa, why can’t we get the apples from the orchard? Mama promised to make us an apple pie.”

Your heart broke for the people around you. You turned to Leo and tugged on his arm. He, too, had been looking around the people.

“Leo?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you able to do anything for them?”

“Well….I’m not sure. I don’t really have any incentive now do I?” He smiled at you but you knew what he was hinting at. He was a powerful demon with a one-track mind.

“I'm sure we could find some kind of incentive for you….back home…..in a certain bedroom." You blushed and smiled.

Leo pretended to contemplate the offer and then snapped his fingers. He nodded and then grabbed your hand.

"Done."

You felt a new type of giddiness knowing that Leo was willing to help the people in the village. You were sure he would have done it regardless but he never missed a chance to flirt. He was so unlike his parents and you were thankful for that.

You walked for a bit in the town to make sure there was no other damage. The sign post in the town square somehow still had the wanted poster looking for the she-demon who sent her wolves after the hunters. You almost laughed.

"I can't believe this is still here."

Leo read the notice and then chuckled.

"Hmm….we should be mindful in the forest, then. That she-demon might pop out at any moment and attack." Leo snapped his fingers and the poster was instantly in his hands. "I'm going to keep this as a reminder to be careful."

You simply rolled your eyes at his antics.

"Papa! Papa!" A little girl came running into the square holding the biggest carrot you had ever seen. She looked around and spotted the person she was looking for. It was the man who had been so depressed earlier about his crops.

"Sweetheart," the man hurried the little girl who held up the carrot proudly, "where did you get that?"

"Everything is back, Papa! All our crops got back! I was running around the field and I seen this bit of orange in the ground and so I looked at it and it was a carrot! I had to ask Mama to pull it out cause I wasn't big enough. Mama said all the crops was big. She says you should come home so she sent me."

The man stared in disbelief for a moment and then picked his little girl up and swung her around. She squealed with excitement as her father ran down the street with her in his arms.

You turned to Leo almost in tears. Even Leo was smiling at the little girl.

You then heard the people around the square talking excitedly amongst themselves.

"What do you think happened?"

"Do you think our crops came back too? I should check!"

"I wonder if it's just crops…..perhaps the livestock is okay now."

Suddenly, all the people who had been so dispirited quickly and hopefully ran out of the square. Leo had to grab you quickly and teleport to the top of the church before you both got trampled.

You turned to Leo and placed a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head and smiled.

"Happy?"

"Very much so. Thank you, Leo."

"I should have known you'd help those humans." You looked around Leo and saw a woman standing there. She was elegantly tall. Her long legs were surrounded by a nearly sheer shirt and only covered the important areas. Beautiful long hair the color of the moon cascaded down her back. Her arms were crossed over her more-than-adequate chest. She looked at you and then focused on the feather you wore in your hair. After she realized what it was, she leveled you with a glare that would have caused you to hide in a corner if Leo wasn't holding you.

"What are you doing here, Cresenda? Shouldn't you be at home taking care of that child you keep trying to convince everyone is mine?"

#vixx #taekwoon #leo au #demon leo #demon taekwoon #vixx au #taekwoon au #taekwoon fic #leo fic

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morgana-ren · 4 years

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Come Down to the Black Sea (II)

Here’s the second part to this fic! In case you’re not caught up, here’s the first! (Part One)

There’s a sickly sweet sense of satisfaction that tugs his blistering lips into a sharp grin when you inevitably return. You couldn’t stay away from the ocean even after your traumatic encounter with him. The pull is too strong, and while any normal person would stay far, far away from the shoreline after learning what stalks beyond the edge of the sand, you’re not any normal person, are you?

Oh no, you’re much too brave for that. Or maybe much too foolish.

The next time he sees you, he has to admit, you look different than what he’d gotten used to. Maybe a little less aloof. Maybe a little more vigilant. Perhaps even a hint of visible bitterness that his presence taints your peaceful metaphorical sanctum. Your thinly pulled sneer and cautious glances hint at something akin to spite and he’s unsure if the snub intrigues or enrages him further.

You keep your distance at first, sitting far back on the concrete curb only a few meters from the tarmac of the dimly lit parking lot. You look out, squirming uncomfortably as you stare long to the ocean as if you're trying to relax but failing miserably. The souring experience with the sea creature has poisoned any semblance of tranquility you found before, and your resentful vigilance is written plainly on your features. Even as your muscles pull taut from the tension you’re holding in, the skin beneath your eyes still crinkles as you occasionally search out in the distance for the telltale sign of silvery hair or leering crimson eyes beneath the murky waves.

He lets you have your comfort days, keeping himself hidden well in the shadowed waters as you regain your footing and attempt to trust the thought of the ocean and her creatures again. As he predicts, every moonrise, you move slightly closer to the sea. Only slightly, but it's more than most of your kind would do given the circumstances.

He's curious if you believe he's moved on by now. After all, he's been a good boy. He hasn't drowned any swimmers in weeks, and more boats have made it to dock than usually do when he’s skulking the depths.

Humans expect most other creatures to react to their presence being known in one way; fear. In all of your novels, movies, all of your self indulgent garbage, the creatures flee in the face of the mighty human race or face ultimate destruction. Your hubris blinds you. He's not going anywhere. Not until he's gotten what he came for.

Not long after you return to the beach and his impatience reaches an insurmountable peak. He pops his flaxen head up to the surface and studies you until you inevitably realize you’re not alone. Your initial reaction is one he expects, and that’s fear. Your secondary reaction however? That one is the one that grates at him. Irritation. You’re irritated at him.

You don't flee from your spot like he thought you might, but you visibly tense up for a moment. Once your rationality takes over once more, he swears you shake your fucking head at him as you tear your eyes away from his general direction. The unmitigated gall of some humans. He cannot deny that it sparks his interest, though.

He stays the night with his gaze fixed on you; a gaze you don't return. In fact, you actively keep it pulled away for the duration of your stay. It irks him more than it ought to. Are you trying to pretend he isn’t real?

How dare you ignore him. You didn't even know he existed until recently and you think you can go back to pretending you don't know? Is your arrogance so overwhelming that you'll turn a blind eye to him over petty hurt feelings?

Okay, maybe he tried to drown you, but if you had just returned his call, it never had to be this way. You would be dead and he would be miles down the coast, wreaking havoc on some new stretch of land. Instead, he's stuck here in a battle of stubbornness with some human idiot because you couldn't just die like you were supposed to.

What makes you so goddamn special?

Well to hell with that and to hell with you. You’re nothing. Just another ordinary human girl, and he'll drag you to the trenches if it's the last thing he does. He swears it.

That night and every night after, he allows you to see him. His eyes might as well be the lighthouse to his location, and if that wasn't enough, you can always make out the silver mop of hair somewhere in the distance. He calls to you and he knows you can feel it. He sees you jerk instinctively towards the ocean, having to consciously keep yourself rooted to the ground, but you always manage to resist somehow.

It infuriates him, rage building deep in his gut as he sees trickles of light from the sun climb over the horizon and paint the sky with yellows and lavenders as a harbinger of the daylight, and thus the end of his time with you. He watches the rising tide erase your footsteps every morning only to be replaced the following evening, inching ever closer to his territory.

'Patience' He reminds himself.

Sure enough, one evening as the moon pulls over the sky, you're situated yourself once again on the rocks where you first met, albeit further back than he'd like. You learn from your mistakes, it seems. Unfortunate. For him at least.

He cautiously swims to the edge of your makeshift perch, hoisting himself up slightly out of the water once more and resting his head on his crossed wrist as he blinks his large red eyes up at you. You still refuse to return the favor, despite the fact he knows that you’re aware of him based on the way you pull your body further into itself when he makes his appearance. The silence lasts for several minutes before he opts to speak, growing weary of being ignored.

"I knew you'd be back."

You don't even so much as nod.

"It's rude to ignore someone. Where are your manners?"

Despite his persistence, you refuse him the attention he craves. Something wells in the pit of his stomach that feels a bit too much like the humiliating sting of rejection, and he doesn't like that one bit. He doesn't like being ignored.

He brings his arm back and spreads his webbed fingers, letting the water pool around the center of his palm before slapping his hand in your direction. Stark cold sea water drenches the entirety of your front and he watches in amusement as your skin pimples and you recoil, frozen in shock for several seconds. He can't help but chuckle when you begin to screech, angrily wiping your face and yanking at your doused clothing that slaps against your skin with each movement. Try to ignore that.

"What the FUCK!"

"Don't ignore me, brat."

Your face contorts and soon you're hissing and sputtering, unable to formulate words in your fit of pure rage. A smug little grin plays on his mouth as he rests his head in his palm, watching as you fail miserably to find some venom to spit back in his face.

"Are you kidding me? You tried to fucking drown me and you’re pissed I’m ignoring you?"

He shrugs, huffing out his cracked lips like you're the biggest drama queen on the planet. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"

"I wonder if I'll get a special price when I sell you to a fucking sushi restaurant!"

The smile fades from his face and he scrapes a talon against the rock. Apparently dark humor is only funny if it’s not being aimed at him. "I'd like to see you try, human."

You two glare each other down for a moment before you sigh and tear your attentions from him to his dismay. "Just go away. Whatever you are, I don't care. Just leave me in peace."

"You know my name." He spits through gritted teeth, instinctively rising a little higher in defense.

"Yeah, I also said I don't care. Go away, fish."

You are so fucking lucky he can't reach you.

"No." His answer is simple and deliberate, trying to keep the urge to slither onto the rock and dig his nails into your yielding human flesh at bay. Land is your territory, and he rather enjoys the home field advantage.

"Why? You have an entire ocean to go be a dick in. Why do you have to bother me?"

He ponders your words for a moment before settling on a less than sufficient answer. You aren’t sure what you expected.

"Because I can. It could all be over if you'd just quit being stubborn and get in the damn water."

"Asking me politely to kill myself, huh? That's a neat strategy."

"I've heard your kind say drowning is very peaceful. Probably better than any other way you'll die."

"Nice sales pitch, bud. Still no takers."

You sit in uncomfortable silence for a few more moments, and he decides that this is going nowhere. Obviously the shock of meeting a sea dwelling humanoid has worn off and isn’t working to his advantage any longer. He's going to have to try another route.

He heaves himself up to sit directly on the edge of the crag itself while keeping the bottom of his tail below, steady flicking back and forth in a rhythmic fashion. Shaking the water from his hair, he slicks it back out of his face and runs his fingers through the length, brushing the tresses back behind his fins. He’s allowing you an up close and personal look at something most humans will never get to see. No matter how angry at him you are, he knows you can’t resist the urge to look.

As expected, your curiosity is a bit too much for you to overcome. While you do initially move to scoot away, it’s quickly replaced with a particularly intense look, clearly marveling at the differences in your physiology versus his own.

His torso is human enough, albeit with an unusually iridescent sheen to it, until you get to the rounds of his hips. That's where thick, black scales accumulate and eventually lead into a sleek, muscular looking tail. The fins on the side of his head twitch slightly as he massages his scalp, and you wonder if it's how he hears things or if it's just a natural reaction to the stimulation. His nails are sharp but he seems to be acutely aware of their placement, avoiding harming himself at all while your cuts are still healing up under a rather gratuitously thick blood tacked bandage from when he grabbed you during your previous meeting.

His hair isn't blonde, it's literally silver. It frames his pallid face in shaggy waves that reach lazily down below his shoulders and somehow glows with unnatural shine that haloes his head in the moonlight even when sopping wet. While his eyes are that of a predator, they're oddly mesmerizing; a deep, luminescent scarlet that contrasts his pale skin beautifully. You're willing to bet that's a technique developed by his kind to disarm and lure prey, though one of his victims or perhaps another sea dweller must have tried to gouge it out, since one of his eyes has a jagged, pale scar stretching from his thin eyebrow to the chapped, baggy flesh underneath.

Life in the sea must be just as treacherous as land, as puffy, pink scars crisscross the expanse of his skin, some rounding from the front of his chest all the way around to his back. There's prominent marks around his gills as well. Small, repeated nicks just under the column of his neck. It’s a rather peculiar pattern, but he seems unbothered by them, and most look fully healed. Apparently he's become more cautious- or perhaps more skilled- with age.

How old is he anyway? He looks about your age, but it's rough to tell between the dried patches of flesh that litter his face. Even from beneath them though, you can tell he's oddly alluring; it somehow adds to his unique attraction. He's even got a little beauty mark adjacent to a jagged scar that runs through his chapped lips.

He’s like something out of the story books you read or the tales you were told as a child. The beautiful creature that haunts the darkness, another pretty mask death facades in. His appearance bodes nothing but an omen of ill will, yet you can’t bring yourself to run from him no matter how much your inner child shrieks at the danger.

Fairy tales aren’t real, and according to the rest of the world, he shouldn’t and doesn’t exist, and yet here he sits right in front of you as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Decades of fantasy stories with tales of nefarious monsters pretending to be something they aren’t just to entice the clueless protagonist into their ultimate demise should have somewhat prepared you for this moment, but you’re too enthralled with the flick of his tail and self indulgent thoughts of being special to really adhere to the rules of self preservation set forth by predecessors ignorant to his existence.

You're so lost in observing him and every oddity that his body offers up to your gluttonous mortal eyes that it almost causes you to jump when he speaks again, turning to face you with eyes crinkling in mocking amusement.

"Huh, you're staring. How rude of you. Unless it's for a different reason, that is."

"What? Wait- no!" You shake your head adamantly even as a telling darkness creeps up your neck and across your cheeks.

"Humans are bad liars." He grins, tongue poking out from beneath his sharp canines. "It's okay. You can come down and get a closer look if you'd like."

"Ha-ha. Nice fuckin' try."

"Suit yourself." He clicks his tongue and turns his attention from you, languidly stirring the water where his scaled appendage swishes just beneath the surface.

You eye it, far too curious to resist leaning your head forward slightly to get a better look at it in the cloudy water. “It looks… slimy.”

He balks at your rude admission and it’s apparent you’ve insulted his pride. For a moment, it seems like he wants to admonish you for your careless affront to his form, but he seems to think better of it. Instead, he remains quiet for a moment, trying to think of something tactful to say.

"Well, it's not. Think...." He pauses, filing through his knowledge of human creatures for a decent comparison. "A snake. They might look slimy to someone ignorant, but they're soft and smooth."

"Not if you rub them the wrong way."

"Obviously. That's why you don't do that, idiot."

"What about your-" You gesture vaguely before pointing at the scales that dot his arms and chest. "-Those."

"Are you stupid or something? It's the exact same thing." He runs a clawed finger up his own arm and then clenches his hand. "Smooth."

"Huh."

"If you'll come down here, you can feel it for yourself."

"Give it up, tailbait."

His wet hand reaches upward and scratches lightly around the scars that mar his neck. He didn't actually expect it to work, but he's irritated nonetheless. This shouldn’t be this much trouble, and he shouldn’t be putting this much effort into anything. Why does he even bother?

"Fine then."

Despite his tantrum, he knows you're tempted. He can tell by the way you keep eyeing him. You're presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it’s not in your nature to pass it up. Granted said opportunity is a loaded spring trap, but still, it's rough for you to even pretend you’re not interested.

Although, to be fair, the same can be said about him. He never really talks to humans beyond the regular ‘Oh god, what are you, please help me, let me go, I don't want to die like this’ nonsense your kind spouts off when you realize what's happening. This is his first actual conversation with one of your kind. He’s not happy about the circumstances surrounding it, but he’ll take advantage of it while he has the chance.

"What about you? When your skin isn't wet, what does it feel like?"

You pause at the question, unsure of what really to say. You drag your own fingers across your arm, trying to find a way to describe it. "Uh... Fleshy? Sort of squishy? It can be soft or rough depending on where you touch. Maybe a little hairy depending on who?"

He stares blankly and you realize that's probably not the best description, but what the fuck does he want you to say? It’s such a weird thing to describe. You’ve never even really thought about it before.

You reach your arm forward to let him touch for himself, but immediately yank it back when you realize what a dumb fuck move that is. He must realize it too, because he's cackling loudly as you cradle your offending arm and look at him as if he’s the one in the wrong. He could have easily yanked you forward and taken you under if you had gone through with giving him the chance.

"You're a fuckin' dick."

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault you're an idiot."

"Shut up." You knead your teeth into your lip, scanning him over again. "What about your magic?"

"Magic? What are you? A child?"

"What do you want me to call it, then?"

"Do you call it magic when one of your kind uses a harpoon gun?"

"No, because it's not."

"Then why would what I do be considered 'magic?"

"A harpoon gun is human technology. What you do isn't. At least as far as I know. You weren’t like… made in a lab, were you?"

He gives a grunt and scratches at his neck again. "Typical human. A tiger has claws it uses to defend itself and catch prey that come naturally to it and not to you, but do you consider it magic? Well mine is no different. We evolve different from your kind, but we're not any sort of mythical. Just because we're not known to you doesn't mean we're some sort of wild outlier. Humans aren’t the end-all-be-all of intelligent life."

You consider his point, nodding after a few moments. "You're right. My bad. It's just... it's new to me. I'm just trying to understand. Is it rude to think of you as mythic? I don’t mean for it to be, it’s just-"

He huffs angrily before you can finish, scowling again. "We adapt to our environment, same as you. Typical human arrogance. You all think you’re so intelligent and so learned. If you haven't heard of it, it must not exist, right? The mighty human race, epitome of knowledge despite knowing nothing at all!”

You break up his tirade before he starts going off, raising your hands defensively to disarm him. "Fair enough! I didn't mean to offend you or imply something offensive. Sorry! I’m still learning."

He says nothing, but the rage building within him begins to deteriorate. At least you're smart enough to recognize you're stupid.

Another stark silence, the sound of waves crashing and wind blowing is all that passes between you. A gale brings in a new bout of smells; salt and slight sulfur, the same scent that’s comforted you throughout the entirety of your life. You inhale deeply, relishing in the peculiar sense of nostalgia the sea offers you, even knowing the danger you're literally facing.

The sounds of the waves pushing and pulling with the tides relaxes you, lulling you into a sense of contentment. Leaves rustling and waters bristling on the surface. The sand stuck between your toes. The breeze in your hair. The call of the ocean.

You can't see the look of peace that overtakes his features, but he can feel it too. Eyes closed, a rare look of tranquility settling across his face as he turns from you and faces the horizon and the open water.

The wind eventually dies down and you break the unspoken moment of serenity between you. You make the choice to speak.

"Why do you hate us so much?"

His eyes snap open and you are made instantly aware of your folly.

Wrong choice.

"I'm not surprised.” He hisses, shoving away from the rock with a look of disgust that tells you that you’ve made an egregious error. “Typical human. You know nothing."

With a flick of his tail and another splash of water directed your way, he's gone, submerged beneath the water with nothing but a ripple headed off into the sea from beneath the waves. Even several minutes later when you bring yourself to peer over the edge, you can't see the silvery glow of his hair or the deep crimson of his eyes.

He's really gone.

It doesn't bring you the comfort it should.

You sit on the edge for a few moments, even rolling the dice on dangling your feet in but nothing slippery attaches itself to your ankle or threatens to drag you below. Orange tinges the horizon and birds begin to chirp, you realize it's time to go home. You don't feel the peace of mind you usually do as you begin the long trek home.

Taglist: @dubliinwaltz, @lemonzoey

#Shigaraki Tomura #shigaraki x reader #BNHA #Shigaraki #Siren!Shigaraki #I got told I'm not tagging these with the right tags to reach the x reader audience so if you have any advice lemme know

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barnesbabee · 4 years

Text

You’ll Never Be Royal - Choi San x Reader

Summary: A Prince learns that apparently he can’t have everything, and all it took was a fit of jealousy.

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Words: This one lenghty as fuuuuck I was enjoying it

Genre: Angst, some Smut and Fluff

A/N: I wanna bring different scenarios here ://. Enjoy 💖

REQUESTS VERY MUCH OPEN

P.S: I know this is very different from what I usually do, but if I have to write one more “and he was very jealous of the way the other member was touching her” I think I’ll bang my head against the wall. I hope you like this little change tho!!

---- THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST ANON ----

You walked along the stone road surrounded by the pretty lilac colored tulips Prince San had asked to be planted. You took in the scent of the beautiful flowers as you made your way to the well, to collect some water.

“Miss Y/N!” A voice behind you called, startling you, almost causing you to drop the bucket in your hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’ve startled you Miss! But I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

You smiled softly at the guard in front of you. You found it amusing how they managed to keep all of that armor on under the burning sun.

“It’s alright Mingi, may I help you?” You asked.

The guard scratched the back of his neck and for a second he looked at if he wasn’t sure about what he was about to say. Mingi was always entertaining to be around: a man this tall and intimidating, someone who’d been in the front line of battle countless times seemed to be two different people sometimes. He was ruthless and scary with a sword, but around the kingdom he was a true gentleman and got embarrassed easily.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard but the King has allowed who he considers to be the best men of the Royal Guard to attend the ball tonight and I was invited...”

You smiled brightly at the man and cheered at the announcement. To be recognized by the King, it was an amazing thing.

“I was kind of hoping you could accompany to the ball? I didn’t want to go alone and-”

Just as you were about to accept his invitation a very rude man made sure to interrupt the nice moment.

“I’m sorry Mingi, but Y/N will be on duty tonight as we’ll need extra assistance for the event. Y/N, I need help with my attire, meet me in my dressing room right this moment.” The Prince said, turning his back immediately after and heading inside the castle.

Mingi’s face fell at that and you could see a sad expression take over his otherwise smiley face. You placed a hand on his cheek and smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry, I promise that one day I’ll let you take me to a ball.”

Mingi placed his hand on yours and brushed his thumb on the back of your hand, while reciprocating the same smile.

“I will be waiting.” He told you.

You then backed away and started walking to the castle, knowing that His Highness wouldn’t want to wait. You hurriedly made your way to the room you knew he’d be in. You knocked on the door before placing your hand on the doorknob and turning it, pushing the door open in the process. As soon as you stepped in the room the Prince had you pressed against the wall.

“Did you like it, hm? Did you like the guard’s attention!?”

You pushed him away and slapped him. The previous sexual tension that roamed in the air was replaced with a much heavier kind of tension. The Prince’s hand flew up to his cheek, caressing the red spot, still not believing what had happened.

Only a crazy person (or one with the wish of being beheaded) would dare harm a prince, but you had had just about enough.

“What is wrong with you Prince San!?” You asked.

Even though you wanted to yell and berate, you couldn’t. You had to maintain your cool if people found a maid speaking like that to a member of the royal family the consequences would be preposterous.

He licked his lips, placed his hands on his hips, and looked at you, fuming with anger and with an indescribable mixture of emotions displayed on his face.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

You took a deep breath and tried to compose yourself, although it wasn’t easy.

“Then I’ll illustrate the picture for you My Highness. Mingi kindly invited me to tonight’s ball. A nice, eligible man whom I enjoy spending time with asked me to accompany him, and you burst in and decided to turn down his invitation on my behalf.” Your voice was severe and condescending, and your eyes never left his.

“So you were about to accept!? You were going with him to the ball!?”

You couldn’t believe the man in front of you. If he did rise to the throne the whole kingdom would be fucked. How could he be so idiotic!?

“Prince I don’t even know where to begin! Yes! Yes, I was going to accept his proposal, and I will accept every single one in the future because Mingi is a good man and could be a good husband in-”

The Prince pushed you against the wall and looked deep into your eyes. His eyes were widened and his face expressed betrayal and panic.

“Marry him!? You want to marry him!? What about me!?” His voice had risen a bit much at this point and he started yelling.

“You!? I don’t see how this concerns you. You made it pretty clear that whatever relationship I might’ve thought we had was merely from my head, since we ‘were just fucking’.” You said, mimicking his voice and antics when he had told you.

He slowly let go of your wrists and his expression softened.

“Y/N I’ve explained it to you that I can’t marry a maid...”

Tears started welling in your eyes and you looked at him, as if shooting daggers at the beautiful man trying to reason with you, but somehow failing tremendously.

“Exactly! And I can’t believe you’re supposed to be a King yet you can’t see something so obvious! And what!? I’ll just serve as something to fuck into until you find a nice Princess that’ll eventually replace me!? San I am a living person! I’m not one of your things, I will not, and I repeat, I will not wait around and turn down every good man that comes across my way because you want both of both worlds. Well, I’ve got news for you My Prince, you can’t have it. You can’t fuck a maid on the side and prevent her from getting married just because you don’t want to put at risk your crown.”

The Prince was visibly taken aback, no one had ever talked to him in such a way. Although you were controlling yourself and trying not to yell some of your words came out loudly, while others came out as sobs. Countless tears streamed down your face and fell on the red carpet which you stood on.

"But I- I don't want that! I can’t have that happen!” The Prince yelled shamelessly.

“And why is that?” You asked through gritted teeth.

There was a pause. It was only a mere seconds, although it felt like an eternity. The Prince took a deep breath and inched closer to you, grabbing your chin and making you look him in his sincere eyes.

“Because I don’t want you with anyone that isn’t me. I can’t stand seeing you with other men and I can’t stand seeing anyone flirt with you and I certainly didn’t appreciate Mingi talking to you that way, because I love you, Y/N.”

San’s lips encountered yours, in a soft, simple kiss. You wanted to continue, you wanted to wrap your arms around him and let him do whatever he pleased, but this time it couldn't happen, this time it was different. You pressed your palms against his chest and pulled him away softly.

The Prince was visibly shocked at your antics.

“And what will you do about it?”

Your question was met with silence. Nothing. Prince San could do nothing about the fact that he loved you. It was unthinkable to share the throne with a... maid. His feelings were pure, however worthless it seemed, as the crown weighed more in his heart.

You nodded as you looked down at your feet.

“I thought so too... I will be on my way, excuse me Prince San.” You bowed slightly at the man and left the room, holding back your tears.

His name now sounded bitter in your mouth, and you hated the way it fell from your lips.

You pushed the door open and made your way to the maids’ rooms when you bumped into someone’s chest. You wiped your tears with your apron and bowed to the person.

“I-I’m sorry.” You apologized without even looking at them, hoping they’d let you go peacefully.

To your dismay, the person grabbed your shoulders.

“Miss Y/N? Are you okay?”

You’d recognize that mellow, deep voice anywhere. You moved your puffy, red eyes to look at him.

“Ah, Mingi! Yes, yes I’m fine.” You paused for a second and bit your lip, considering if you should say what was on your mind, but eventually decided that for once, you’d favor yourself “And Mingi, if the invitation is still up, I would love to accompany you to the ball.”

The soldier’s face immediately lit up, and you swore that his smile was brighter than any star in the sky. His expression quickly changed into a confused one.

“But the prince said-”

“I have talked to the Prince, do not worry.”

He smiled once more and kissed your cheek.

“Well then, I will be awaiting you in front of your room at 6 PM sharp, m’lady.” He joked and left you.

You hurried to your small room, composed of not much. It had only a queen-sized bed, that you shared with another maid, a small vanity where you kept your powders, and one big, dark chest where the both of you kept your garments.

There was not much to choose from, as you had barely anything formal, but you settled with a long tulle, empire waist dress, with three-quarter sleeves that had ruffles on the hem. The neckline was a straight cut and had the same ruffles. The dress itself was simple, except for the ruffles and couple small beads around the waist, there was not much to it, but you liked the way it fit you. The whole dress was baby blue and every applique and detail was beige.

You applied a little powder on your face and put up your hair with a gold pin. The butterfly pin was the only valuable thing you owned, and it had been given to you by your mother.

Soon after you had finished your hair, a knock sounded at your door. You opened it, revealing your pair for the ball. You’d never seen Mingi in a formal attire, and you were surprised. His body fit well with the vest, and although you weren’t a fan of the frilly shirts, you had to admit that he pulled it off. You were surprised to see his face partially covered with a black mask however. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hands.

“Is it a masked ball? Oh but I don’t have-”

Mingi cut you off by showing his left hand. He held a mask, similar to his, yet much more bedazzled.

“Worry not, for I’ve thought of everything.”

You smiled at his kindness and blushed a little, as he reached behind your head and tied the mask’s ties. He backed away and took a good look at you.

“It’s a shame we have to cover our faces, everyone deserves to see how beautiful you look tonight.”

You covered your face and giggled.

“Mingi, how shameless.”

He extended his hand for you to take, and so you did.

“I’m afraid I can’t help it around you.”

You blushed once more, and fortunately it was hidden by your blush. You walked silently with Mingi to the ballroom, which wasn’t very far.

Before you entered the room you came to a halt.

“Mingi, I must say I’m quite nervous. I have never been to a ball or any of the sort.”

The male had a soft expression as you told him this.

“Neither have I, dear, but I’m sure you’ll do beautifully.”

You tried to hold back your smile and resumed your walk. Once you arrived in the big room, you couldn’t believe how magic it looked. The ceiling was like one of an abbey. The silk curtains on the big windows were a beautiful shade of yellow, almost like it was gold, and the beautiful, exaggerated chandelier lit up the whole room. You swallowed nervously, and entered the room filled with Lords, Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses. You felt like you didn’t fit there, you knew you didn’t fit there, and being in a space like this reminded you of Prince San, and how he had made sure to tell you how unfit you were for a Queen.

“It just doesn’t happen Y/N! You’re not fit to be a member of the court!”

You shook his voice away from your head and focused on Mingi instead. One of his hands was placed on your hips, and it fit like it belonged there, and the other held your hand, beside your shoulder, while your hand was on his bicep as you danced to the music.

Mingi was a clumsy man, and you found it charming on him. How could a soldier, one that had fought more battles than there were years to his life, one that had killed and seen people get killed, be so adorably clumsy? You giggled at how hard he was trying to dance accordingly, making him blush. It wasn’t perfect, no, but you were having the time of your life.

And because a maid can’t be happy (or so it seemed) your entertainment came to a halt.

From the corner of his eye, Prince San spotted a very familiar figure holding tightly onto his guard’s arm, and he prayed that it wasn’t who he thought he was. He approached the couple a little more, and upon hearing your laughter he was sure it was you. To say he was furious was an understatement. You had disobeyed him, you had gone against his words to be with another man on top of it all.

San approached the two of you and ripped your mask from your face, throwing it on the ground. You and Mingi pulled away from each other. You were shocked and sad, while Mingi was visibly upset about the Prince’s rudeness.

“I fucking knew it!” San growled through gritted teeth.

The Prince grabbed your wrist and started pulling you away, but Mingi grabbed San’s arm viciously. The two men stared intensely at each other, as if they were silently fighting for you.

“Mingi... I’ll be okay, don’t get in trouble because of me.”

The look on your face broke him. You looked so hopeless... He was about to protest, but you shook your head no and so Mingi let go with a sigh.

San harshly pulled you away from the crowd and into a room in the back, used for storage.

He took his mask off and looked at you, his look piercing your soul.

“You disobeyed me”

“Rightfully so. Despite what you might believe Prince, you don’t own me.”

The Prince took small steps towards you, and for every step he moved closer, you moved one back, until your back hit the wall. His lips hovered yours and his hands held your hips.

“Oh, but I think I do... I might just need to remind you.”

He pressed small kisses to your neck and you tried to push him away, but to no avail. His grip grew stronger and his kisses turned into bites, and eventually you stopped trying and let your hands fall limply beside your torso.

“Hm, my feisty girl stopped fighting?” He whispered in your ear, unbeknown to him your current state.

He only became preoccupied when he heard a sniffle from you.

“Is it any use if I do? It’s become clear that you must have it your way...” You whispered.

You were tired. You had no more patience or energy to go against him, it had been more than proven that he wouldn’t let you fall for Mingi.

“What? Y/N no, please I didn’t mean to-”

Your eyes locked with his, your look of hopelessness more evident now than ever.

“You didn’t mean to what, San? Ruin my night? Constantly belittle and control me? Make me feel unworthy of love because I can have no other man but you, and somehow I can’t have you either?”

Usually you’d be yelling. You’d be hitting his chest and making sure you got your point across, displaying no weakness whatsoever, but you couldn’t handle it anymore. It had been almost three years of whatever that was, and you had reached your breaking point. Your sobs echoed in the room as San looked at you in disbelief.

“Y/N I-I didn’t know you felt like this, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing. Say nothing and pretend you’ve never known me. From now on I’m nothing but a maid to you. We are not friends nor are we lovers, we are nothing, like we’ve never known each other. From now on I am nothing to the Prince.”

Disgust, anger, and a bitter coldness dripped from every single word you spoke at the man. He had no reply, and you didn’t give him much room for one, as you immediately left the small room after your rant, and ran back to the comfort of your room, apologizing to a very confused Mingi on the way.

The second you closed the familiar door behind you, you fell on top of the bed and let your eyelids flutter away the tears, as you slowly drifted to sleep, not even bothering to remove your dress.

You were woken up not very long after however, by a soft voice speaking in your ear.

“Miss Y/N?”

Your eyes peeled open, and you almost didn’t recognize the man in front of you. He held a lamp in his hand, illuminating his features under the thick, brown hood just enough to see who he was. But then again, you’d recognize that chiseled jawline and pink plump lips anywhere.

“Did you just call me... Miss? Did you just come in my room and wake me up after I’ve made it very clear I want you very far away from me?” You asked confusedly.

The man standing beside your bed only laughed.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you told me you wanted nothing to do with the Prince, but you consider having something to do with... San?”

‘San’ seemed a little nervous at the question, as he patiently waited for your reply. You sat up in your bed, not quite understanding what he meant. You observed his outfit, and noticed he was dressed quite informally, even if it was way past three in the morning.

He took a deep breath, before explaining himself.

“I’ve been rude, and I’ve been a fool. I’ve wanted everything and I hadn’t realized that my everything was you. If I must give up the crown to win your heart back and prove my worth, so be it. Let’s run away, Y/N, together.”

He extended his hand, and for a second you thought that that was a prank for sure, it had to be. Either that or a dream. But it felt so real when you touched his hand, everything felt so real...

“Are you serious, San?” You asked.

San wanted to kiss you, and tell you how serious he was about it, but he didn’t want to trespass, not again.

“Never have been this serious.”

You smiled widely, a smile that expressed true happiness, grabbed his face, and pressed your lips against his, in a passionate kiss. When you pulled away, San kissed your forehead and covered your body with a hood much like his. You interlocked your fingers and silently made your way into the barn, so you could take one of the horses without being spotted.

You hopped on the horse with him. Your arms encircled his waist, and both of you had smiles plastered on your lips, as you wandered into forever.

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colorseeingchick · 4 years

Text

Extremities

Summary: A fire alarm kicks you and your classmates outside in the middle of a chilly winter- and all your luck has just about run out. But in the midst of the icy situation, your best friend Kuroo manages to warm your heart.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, “unrequited” pining

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: based off something that my good friend used to do in high school, but upon further reflection, was probably MAD sus to everyone else. Anyways hope y’all like it hehe. <3

Why is it that people only manage to start chemical fires in the winter? The blaring of the fire alarm rings in your ears as you carefully hop in the deep footsteps pressed into the snow beneath you- trying very hard to ensure that the snow doesn’t accidentally hit your socks or sink into the soles of your sneakers. The cold was already seeping into your exposed skin, slowly pricking and biting at your arms and cheeks.

Of all the times for a fire alarm, it just had to be during gym. While everyone else had their winter uniforms on, you were stuck in your gym shirt and shorts. Just your luck. You bury your hands into your underarms, attempting to cling onto any remaining warmth your body could generate.

If you were going to be stuck out here, might as well be with any friend you could find. Looking for Yaku amidst the herd of tall 3rd years felt like a lost cause, so instead, you look for the beheaded giant that you call your best friend. Finding him never really seemed to be a problem for you. He stuck out for a variety of reasons, but at the moment, his wack hair was the most prominent.

You hop in footsteps as you make your way towards the spikes of raven black hair, weaving through the other students. Once you’re finally by him, you tug on his sleeve as a form of acknowledgement. He responds by looking at you and smirking (it was supposed to be a smile, but with Kuroo it always ended up looking like a smirk.)

Before you can say anything you hear a teacher say, “We could be out here for anywhere between 10 to 20 minutes class, so try and hold out until then,” while slipping mittens onto her stiff fingers.

“Yaku says most of the team is on the other side of the building with him. So I think it’s just gonna be us over here,” Kuroo types away at his phone while informing you.

You shiver and nod, the skin on the back of your neck begins to tingle as another gush of wind blows in your direction. You let out a deep breath, focusing on the crystallizing vapor that appears like smoke in front of your mouth- trying to distract yourself from the aggravating cold.

I really struck out in terms of luck, huh. You feel the cold start to climb your exposed legs, making your skin feel hypersensitive. You tried to move around in circles, doing an awkward lil shuffle, to try and keep the cold away.

“Are you waddling in a circle because you wanna be a penguin, or because you enjoy looking dumb?” Kuroo’s snarky voice pulls you out of your own head.

“Bold of you to assume penguins don’t enjoy looking dumb,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“Well yeah, when they do it it’s cute,” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

Are you saying I’m not cute? You don’t ask it. Not out loud.

“Listen, it’s not my fault there was a fire right when I was in the gym.”

“Aren’t we required to bring our track jackets to gym though?”

“I left it in my locker because I thought I would get too hot…” you know how it sounded as it left your mouth.

“So you didn’t listen to instructions?”

“...”

“This is your fault then.”

You scoff, visibly annoyed, which only causes Kuroo’s smirk to widen. That, of course, pisses you off more. He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

“What class were you in? Chemistry?” you change the subject, still slowly waddling while hugging yourself.

“Yeah. The fire was from our room.”

“What even happened?”

“Someone didn’t clean their beaker correctly so there were remnants of previous chemicals. When we were doing our experiments today, it just so happened to be the wrong combination- so it started the fire.”

“Don’t be shy, Kuroo. You can tell me you’re the one who started the fire, I won’t judge too hard,” you tease.

“Tsk, please. I may be an idiot but I’m not that irresponsible…” the faintest of pouts pulls at his lips.

You hum softly, and quietly say, “I know.” Considering everything that Kuroo was- clumsy and irresponsible wasn’t him. He was one of the most chaotic people you knew- only outdone by Bokuto- but he always took good care of the people around him. You usually witnessed this firsthand as the manager for your school’s volleyball team, watching him in all his captaining glory. He kept it together when they couldn’t. And he definitely kept it together when you couldn’t. Kuroo may not have been clumsy, but you definitely were.

While you’re lost in your own head, Kuroo hears his name being called out. “Oi, Y/N, I’ll be right back. One of my lab members is calling me over. Don’t freeze to death in that time”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You dismiss him.

But now in this moment alone with no annoying cat to distract you, the cold starts to overtake you at a faster pace.

Dizzy from walking in circles, you attempt to shuffle side to side. You did little to pay attention to where you were going, though. Without realizing, you misstep, tripping over your own shoe, left foot digging into a fresh pile of snow when trying to catch yourself- the soft white fluff encasing everything below your ankle.

Shit.

The cold that had been nipping at your exterior had suddenly soaked your entire shoe and sock through- permeating through your skin and now racking your entire body with an aggressive wave of iciness.

********************************4ish minutes later***************************************

Kuroo doesn’t know about this catastrophe on his walk back over. Instead, he’s internally planning on how to continue your teasing banter, his demeanor annoying (it was supposed to be a playful one, but with Kuroo it always just ended up being annoying).

“Oya, did the cold freeze you stiff or what.”

Any patience and energy you had left has frozen over.

“I’m fine,” you deadpan.

Kuroo pauses. ...Oh no, he thinks.

If Bokuto has his emo mode, you have your moody mode. It’s a lot less predictable in comparison to Bokuto, but just as easy to remedy. A little bit of attention or a nice distraction usually does the trick.

“You’re cold,” Kuroo blatantly states.

“I'm not.” Lie of the century and a dumb answer. But on instinct, you just felt like arguing.

“I can see you shaking.” You’re indeed shaking like a leaf.

“Then there’s something wrong with your eyes then...go see an eye doctor or something.” l a m e comeback- but your brain is now freezing up, too. You don’t want to agree with him. If you do, he’d probably just lecture you for not following directions and tell you to own up to it rather than sulk. He would be absolutely correct in saying so, but you really don’t care for logic right now.

Kuroo huffs, taking a broad step into your little waddle circle and grabbing your shoulders to turn you around so you’re facing him. You shuffle back a bit at the sudden closeness, not that it did much to create distance between you two. It’s at that moment that you also realize the wind is no longer hitting your face- Kuroo’s blocking off the breeze with his back.

“Give me your hands.” Kuroo gently grabs your wrists, which were tucked under your arms. He pulls your hands up to his chest level and then proceeds to wrap his hands around your fingers.

“Kuroo wh-what are you--”

“Warming your extremities.”

“Hah?”

“Your extremities, your fingers.”

“My… what?”

“When you get cold, most of the heat in your body centralizes to your core to keep your internal organs warm. So that means the extremities of your body, such as your fingers and toes, get the coldest the fastest. They become prone to frostbite as a result and…”

Everything Kuroo says made perfect sense. Probably. You couldn’t really tell because everything also happened to be going in one ear and out the other. Even the sudden bout of irritation you had felt had suddenly disappeared. You can’t focus on anything but his hands.

They’re markedly bigger than yours. Your fingers feel so tiny in his grasp. They’re calloused from all the volleyball. His grip is strong, unmoving, but it isn’t crushing or tight. Above all, they radiate warmth. Your stiff and numb fingers regain feeling, soothed by the heat of your best friend’s hands.

You want nothing more than to look at them. You want to just see his hands wrapped around your fingers. But there was no way you were going to let Kuroo in on the fact that the physical contact stole every bit of attention you had. So instead, you just opt to blankly stare at him, pretending to listen to him nerd out.

“... it’s the most effective way to mitigate the most harmful effects of the cold. We learned all this in biology, don’t you remember?”

Still completely clueless about what Kuroo's saying, you just hum in agreement.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t listen to a word I said did you.” He squeezes your fingers slightly to refocus your mind on him speaking, rather than… whatever you were daydreaming about.

“Oh- uh… yeah. Sorry for spacing out…” you turn your face away from him. Spacing out was a usual occurrence for you, but for some reason when Kuroo brought attention to it this time, it had you feeling a lot more embarrassed.

He scoffs a little bit, but his voice softens as he says, “You can space out, that’s fine, no need to feel weird about it, y/n.” He squeezes your fingers again while gently stroking the pad of your pointer finger with his thumb. Flustered as it makes you, it's also very calming. Calming enough that you’re able to make stable eye contact again.

“I’m sorry for getting moody with you, Kuroo…” you murmur, sheepishly gazing up at him.

His eyes are unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize for everything, y/n. It makes me feel a little weird... Just, like- say thank you instead.”

You cock your head to the side, confused by his comment.

He takes a deep breath, the condensation thick in front of his mouth. “You saying sorry all the time, it makes it seem like you think you’re a bother or something. You’re not.” This is getting too serious for his liking. A heart to heart in the middle of a fire drill? Not happening. He has to lighten it up. “ So...instead of putting yourself down, just praise me instead. Trust me, I love every ego boost I can get.” His signature Cheshire grin slowly emerges, prompting you to roll your eyes. “So don’t say, ‘sorry I wasn’t paying attention in biology 2 years ago-’ say, ‘thank you for re-educating me like the great tutor you are, Kuroo-kun~~’”

He was a great tutor. He’s been helping you with science for 3 years.

“Or! Or- ‘sorry for letting a volleyball smash into your face,’ you can say, ‘I’m thankful I didn’t damage your gorgeous face-’”

That incident was completely accidental but hilarious anyways.

Kuroo’s nonsensical yet insightful rambling continues, and it helps the embarrassment dissipate from within your chest, amusement taking its place.

“Oi! You narcissistic cat.” Kuroo stops his rambling and just stares at you. “Thanks for being there for me… and putting up with me no matter how emotional I can be..”

Kuroo’s face twists into a smile (yes- a smile! Not a smirk this time) filled with genuine happiness. “No problem. Anything for you.”

Anything, huh.

“Do you not feel cold anymore?” Kuroo quickly realizes his hands are still enclosed around your fingers, now gently resting against his chest.

To be honest, your upper body feels like its on fire. Your face is hot and your heart is pounding like you had run 5 miles. By contrast, your lower body is frozen solid. Your skin is probably extremely cracked, and its stinging. Your feet are also blocks of ice, the revolting feeling of soaked sock ever-present. The two extreme sensations leave you feeling really uncomfortable. But your hands don’t feel hot, though. There was just the perfect amount of warmth- a tingly sensation buzzing through them and faintly running up to your heart.

“Uh, not as much. My feet are messed up but my upper body isn’t as bad.”

“Your feet? You mean your legs?” “No, my feet.”

“Heh? I get your legs- ‘cause of your shorts. But what happened to your feet? I thought you were stepping in other footsteps to avoid getting snow in them.”

“I was but uh I- kinda tripped and stepped right into the snow.”

“...”

A snort. “Dumbass. How do you even trip over your own feet?”

“...oh shut up, nerd.”

The beeps of a loudspeaker cut off your banter, indicating you could all go back inside.

“Finally!” You sigh in relief. Although you would never admit it, a part of you didn’t wanna go back in yet. Which is stupid because HELLO you’re gonna get frostbite at this point. But you really didn’t wanna pull your hands away from Kuroo. Not yet.

Physical contact had always been pretty limited to slaps on the backs during the good games and pats on the shoulders during the bad. This type of closeness was a first, but was it also going to be the last?

Regardless, you knew it would be sus if you, the person who was now essentially a walking ice cube, lingered outside longer than literally anyone else.

So you pull your hands out of his strong, warm, welcoming hold.

“I’m gonna go pour some hot water on my legs and change my shoes… I’ll see you during practice, yeah?”

Before he could respond, you turn around and hop away in the deepest footprints you can find.

You don’t seem as off as you were earlier, but now you were acting weird in a different way. Kuroo stands there for a second, but once he realizes that he can’t figure you out, he just sighs. Clueless as ever, he shrugs, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and then heads in.

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

As you situate yourself in the bathroom and wipe down your legs with a towel soaked in hot water, you let the series of events finally sink into your slowly dethawing head. You aren’t sure if your face is warm to fight the cold or because of embarrassment.

Pleasant as it was, you knew you couldn’t dwell on the things that just happened with Kuroo. Not for too long, at least. He was one of your closest friends- but just that. So you would have to freeze away whatever wack feelings that were dancing in your chest. It would be better that way for now.

That’s what you’re gonna tell yourself, at least.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu oneshot #haikyu fluff #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo oneshot #haikyu imagines #haikyu oneshots #haikyuu fluff #nerdy kuroo #should i make a part 2?#haikyu pining #colorseeingchick writes

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

Nie Huaisang has a conversation with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian about Lan Xichen

The very last thing that Nie Huaisang wanted in life was to deal with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. Already as individuals they could be difficult to handle, but as a unit they were simply unbearable. It wasn’t just their married bliss that was annoying (though Nie Huaisang, who’d had to give up on ever having that, certainly did find it annoying enough) but more so their tendency to support each other and bring out the worst in each other.

The best too, of course. Which, come to think of it, was even more annoying.

So Nie Huaisang did not want to go anywhere near those two, but he also knew from experience that they had no regard for boundaries and private property if they thought they were in the right. A servant was called to look after Jin Rusong while he continued drawing, and Nie Huaisang left with Nie Funyu.

“How upset do they look?” he asked his first disciple.

“Nie zongzhu, how should I know? One looked annoyed and the other was smiling, but they’re always like that.”

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth. There were layers to Lan Wangji’s lack of expressions, and Wei Wuxian’s smiles could express anything from actual joy to murder intent. He prided himself in being able to decode at least some of that. After dealing with Jin Guangyao for so long, these two were easy to read.

“Go see if Zewu-Jun is awake,” he ordered Nie Funyu. “If he’s sleeping, let him sleep, I’ll deal with those two. If he’s awake, ask him if he wishes to see them. Make it clear he won’t have to if he doesn’t want to.”

“He’s their problem,” Nie Funyu objected. “Let them take him home and be done with it.”

“He’s my… guest,” Nie Huaisang said, unsure friend was the right word anymore, not after everything, not when Lan Xichen had called him Nie zongzhu as if they were strangers. “I’d be a poor host if I just handed him over to the first people who asked for it.”

Nie Funyu frowned, unhappy with that decision, but obeyed. Nie Huaisang went alone to the throne room, and asked for his new guests to be brought to him.

From the moment he stepped into the room, it was obvious that Lan Wangji was worried for his brother but trying to hide it. As for Wei Wuxian, who stood right next to his husband, his smile had sharp edges that Nie Huaisang did not like in the least. It was clear to him that these two were expecting the worst from him. Nie Huaisang could not exactly blame them, all things considered, but it still upset him.

“Huanguang-Jin, what a pleasure it is to have you here!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed as he went to sit on his throne. “And you brought your husband as well, how lovely! You know, normally I’d complain about guests dropping by unannounced, but I’m getting quite used to that lately.”

“Where is Zewu-Jun?” Lan Wangji inquired with a hint of impatience.

Nie Huaisang opened his fan.

"Resting I hope, or else our doctor will be very cross and probably take it out on me. He was very tired when he arrived last night."

"So you don't mind if we go check on him?" Wei Wuxian asked with a dangerous smile.

"I've sent someone to warn him," Nie Huaisang replied, fanning himself with calculated indolence. "If he wishes to see you, he will. Otherwise, he won't. It's up to him."

There was the slightest hint of a frown on Lan Wangji’s face at that answer. Nie Huaisang interpreted it as worry, and felt annoyed. He had never, at any point in the past ten years, done anything to threaten Lan Xichen. And most of what had happened in that damn temple had been entirely out of his control. It certainly wasn’t Nie Huaisang who had let Lan Xichen go confront Jin Guangyao alone, thus allowing for him to be tricked and kidnapped. The only risk Nie Huaisang had taken that night had been to cut his own leg so his brother’s corpse wouldn’t be sealed away before having obtained his revenge… and even that had been mostly calculated, because at that point Wei Wuxian had proven that he could easily handle the situation anyway.

Nie Huaisang had never purposefully done anything to cause Lan Xichen pain.

But of course, he knew too well that another had claimed the same, and caused great harm nonetheless.

“We will see him,” Lan Wangji insisted.

Nie Huaisang shivered, and glanced toward the door, hoping that Nie Funyu would soon return and save him from this. Of course, he couldn’t be so lucky.

“Hanguang-Jun, I’ll be very frank with you,” Nie Huaisang said.

“That’d be a first,” Wei Wuxian noted.

Nie Huaisang glared at him, more annoyed that it could once have been said as a joke than by his former friend’s distrust.

“Listen, you’ll be cross. I know you’ll be cross!” he sighed, fanning himself faster, letting his voice rise as if in fear. It took little effort. Lan Wangji had always scared him a little since they were young. “You’re going to be so cross at me, but I have to say it anyway, because you’ll be more cross if I don’t say anything. Hanguang-Jun, I am not a very clever man, but even I can see that your brother is unwell. Very unwell! And I am very worried of course, because he’s my friend, even if I’m not his anymore. And you have to understand… well, this is the part that will make you cross,” Nie Huaisang explained with a nervous chuckle. “But Hanguang-Jun, seeing him this unwell, seeing that he left his home in such a hurry, seeing that you’ve come here in pursuit of him… of course you understand that this doesn’t look very good, right?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed, visibly so, and Wei Wuxian dropped his smile.

“Are you accusing us of something, Nie zongzhu?”

“Of course not!” Nie Huaisang squeaked, fanning himself so hard that his wrist was starting to hurt. “All I’m saying is that it is very odd, and I don’t want to act carelessly when I have no idea what has caused his current state of health.”

“You know what caused it,” Lan Wangji retorted.

Nie Huaisang’s fan stilled, hiding his face, giving him a chance to grimace. Maybe Nie Funyu had been right to say that Lan Xichen wasn’t his problem. At the same time, he could not sit there and watch someone he cared about be in worse health than he ought to have been, and just trust that the people who were looking after him were doing the right thing.

Not after how things had turned out the last time he’d blindly trusted in people’s good will.

He didn’t think Lan Wangji would ever do anything to harm his brother, but he hadn’t thought that Jin Guangyao was capable of it either.

Thankfully, before the conversation could get worse, they were joined by Lan Xichen himself.

When he entered the throne room, Lan Xichen had to be supported by Nie Funyu, who looked as if he were eating lemons at having to help that man for whom he held little respect. Nie Huaisang made a mental note to give his first disciple a few days off. Between having Wen Ning come so often and now Lan Xichen, he had really asked a lot of Nie Funyu lately.

“Brother!” Lan Wangji exclaimed, elegantly rushing to Lan Xichen’s side so he could be the one helping him instead.

The instant he was freed, Nie Funyu brushed his arms, as if feeling dirtied. Nie Huaisang glared at him for it, for which his first disciple shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Is Brother unwell?” Lan Wangji asked.

“A little, yes,” Lan Xichen admitted, leaning harder against him than he had with Nie Funyu. “Nie zongzhu has been taking good care of me, and had his doctor check that nothing is wrong. I’m sorry I caused you worry, Wangji. But you should have told me about A-Song.”

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had the good taste of looking embarrassed over that, while Nie Huaisang nodded without even realising. Of course they should have told Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian could be excused for not realising, he hadn’t been there for all this, but surely Lan Wangji ought to have known better.

“I feared the effects of the news,” Lan Wangji soberly said, his nearly toneless voice managing to convey that recent events rather proved he’d been right to be worried.

“And I wish I could have heard about it in a less abrupt manner,” Lan Xichen replied, not quite a reproach. “I understand your concerns, since I have made certain things difficult for you recently. Understand my concerns as well when people keep secrets from me.”

Lan Wangji flinched, his eyes darting toward Nie Huaisang who pretended not to notice and started fanning himself again.

“Brother knows now,” Lan Wangji said. “We can return home.”

Lan Xichen hesitated, and tried to catch Nie Huaisang’s eyes, in vain. The younger man was pretending to be fascinated by the movement of his fan.

“I actually would like to spend more time with Jin Rusong,” Lan Xichen carefully said. “If that causes no trouble.”

“Well, he can come home with us too,” Wei Wuxian suggested.

Nie Huaisang froze, the breath knocked out of him by that proposition. His grip on his fan tightened to the point he could feel the wood start cracking under his fingers.

"Absolutely not," Lan Xichen said, his voice still gentle but with a firmness that Nie Huaisang hadn't heard since the temple. "As I've already told Nie zongzhu, I came here to see Jin Rusong, not to spirit him away. It is my understanding that his cousin is satisfied with his care, and I have not seen anything to make me think A-Song should be removed from the Unclean Realm."

Again, Lan Xichen tried to meet Nie Huaisang's gaze, who pretended not to notice.

"You just said you wanted to be around Jin Rusong," Wei Wuxian complained, clearly confused. He paused a moment, and frowned. "Zewu-Jun… are you trying to ask to stay in the Unclean Realm?"

"If Nie zongzhu allows it."

This time, Nie Huaisang could no longer avoid looking at Lan Xichen. He shivered at finding those golden eyes on him. Lan Xichen still looked too frail, too tired, but right then there was something of his old calm and determination back.

"Of course I allow it," Nie Huaisang heard himself reply. Then, feeling the shocked gaze of the other men (shocked and furious in Nie Funyu's case), he quickly added, "It would make Jin Rusong so happy to have his uncle Lan here. And aside from that, Nie Zhilan would murder me if I kicked you out. You're her patient now, and I'm not quite stupid enough to cross her."

Lan Xichen stared in obvious surprise for a moment before his expression shifted into a smile so warm and earnest that Nie Huaisang had to look away again. He just couldn't bear to see Lan Xichen smile at him this way again, after everything else.

"Brother," Lan Wangji calmly objected.

He said nothing more, but when Nie Huaisang glanced ahead, he saw the Twin Jades staring at each other, locked into one of those silent conversations they had sometimes, so different from his shouting matches with Nie Mingjue and yet very similar in nature, or so Lan Xichen had told him once.

This argument ended with Lan Xichen smiling almost smugly as he still leaned against his brother who Nie Huaisang could have sworn was pouting, however slightly.

"I will gladly take Nie zongzhu's invitation," Lan Xichen announced. "Thank you for allowing me this whim. I will do my best not to be a burden on Nie zongzhu."

"Lan zongzhu, you could never be," Nie Huaisang replied. "Though I think we have made you stand long enough. Nie Zhilan will not be happy that you left your bed without her permission. Funyu, could you direct Lan zongzhu, Lan gongzi and Wei gongzi back to my room? Now that we know Lan zongzhu will be staying I will see to have a room prepared for him, but for now my room is still the best option for him to rest."

Although he did not object due to the presence of people he so clearly counted as enemies, Nie Funyu glared at his sect leader. Nie Huaisang had to hide a grimace behind his fan. There was a lecture about security and safety coming to him in the near future, and perhaps this one would be deserved.

Still, Nie Funyu asked the others to follow him, which they did. Wei Wuxian lingered a moment at the back of the group, as if he might say something, but he quickly caught up with the rest when Nie Funyu called for him. Left alone at last, Nie Huaisang closed his fan and slumped on his throne, feeling drained in a way he hadn't been since that night at the temple.

A full day of sabre practice would have been less exhausting than that.

So Nie Huaisang, always too ready to indulge himself, took a moment to recuperate from this conversation. He was half certain he would end up regretting everything he'd said, but that was such a familiar feeling that he easily ignored it. Then, when he felt ready, he put on a smile and left to find the head of staff to let her know a guest room needed to be prepared for a long stay, another for just that night, and that they'd be having guests for dinner.

Said dinner, when it arrived, was a less awful affair than Nie Huaisang would have expected. Certainly Lan Wangji was rather sullen the whole time, but Wei Wuxian made up for it by being aggressively friendly in a way that Nie Huaisang had missed. After a period of awkwardness, he found himself exchanging careful banter with the man who had once been his friend, almost as if things were back to what they had once been in Gusu.

More importantly, Lan Xichen had gotten permission from Nie Zhilan to leave his bed and eat with them as long as he did not overexert himself. It warmed Nie Huaisang's heart to see the other man so radiant, Jin Rusong sitting on his knees.

Lan Xichen hadn't stopped smiling once since the little boy had given him a painting, which he explained was a terrifying monster from a story read to him in class. Lan Xichen had received it as if it were the long lost work of a great master, and Jin Rusong had refused to be parted from his uncle Lan for even a second after that.

And Nie Huaisang, who just some months earlier might have sworn he no longer had a heart, found it beating hard in his chest at seeing those two people so dear to him look this happy together. He could not even feel jealousy when Lan Xichen had to retire early, still unwell in spite of his improved mood, only for Jin Rusong to ask to sleep with him. There was just something right about the sight of Lan Xichen holding the little boy's hand as a servant led them to Lan Xichen's room.

“You were right,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing Nie Huaisang to look away from the door and pay attention to the guests still in his company.

“I usually am, but it always surprises people,” he retorted without heat. “About what, though?”

Wei Wuxian nodded toward the door where Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong had just disappeared.

“You were right about him. Lan Zhan will need a while to admit it, so I’m saying it for both of us. You said that it would be good for Zewu-Jun to know that Jin Rusong was alive, and that he’d want to know and to be with him. You were right.”

"Hanguang-Jun was in seclusion for a lot of Jin Rusong's life, he could not have known," Nie Huaisang replied, biting back a remark that Lan Wangji had been freed from his punishment by the time the child died, and so should have witnessed his brother's grief. "And I know I am not the most trustworthy of people, especially on certain subjects."

Wei Wuxian grinned, and poured him some wine.

"Nie-xiong, you're not wrong, but I'm starting to think you might not be quite right either. Now come on, have a drink. A-Song can't denounce you to your doctor anymore, you can have some fun."

Nie Huaisang snorted, and grabbed the bowl of wine.

"Wei gongzi, you're still a bad influence, aren't you?" he mocked.

He felt a little lighter when Wei Wuxian only cackled at that, the same way he used to do when they were young.

He had missed having someone to laugh with.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin rusong #mdzs #jau writes #finally getting close to the awkward domesticity I've wanted to write about /o/#jin rusong lives

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ccwastaken · 4 years

Text

Jeff Gets Forcibly Adopted

A short story I wrote a while ago based around the mansion au. Warning for a fair few curse words.

Word count: 4160

"Fucking popcorn..." Jeff muttered to himself as he walked down the darkened street. He picked at his teeth using the kitchen knife he used for throat slitting and blood spilling. He grunted in frustration and dug the knife in harder. It slipped suddenly upwards and hit his top teeth. "AH- fuck-!" He sucked on his top lip for a moment. No blood- good.

He licked his teeth. The piece of popcorn was dislodged! Yay! He smiled in satisfaction and lowered his arm, then froze. He got that feeling again. Not the urge to kill- that was way different. It was the feeling of being watched.

He walked in a circle slowly, looking around confusedly. "Yo who the fuck is followin' me?" He called out.

"You have no need to be afraid." The voice that replied was deep and elegant sounding. Jeff stiffened in surprise. He wasn't expecting a reply. "I've been following you for a while, Jeff. I was hoping you'd come here."

"That's really fuckin' creepy, Mr stalker man." Jeff replied. There was a soft chuckle.

"Well if I were to approach you directly you'd attack me, wouldn't you Jeff?"

"How do ya know my name?" The boy snarled back.

"Everyone knows your name, Jeff. You're a murderer. You're in the papers."

Jeff glanced around suspiciously. "Where even are you?" He asked.

"Drop the weapon and I'll let you see me."

Jeff arched a brow. He looked down at the knife in his hand, then dropped it. He stuffed his hand into his hoodie pocket and curled his hand around the handle of his second backup knife. It was duller, but would do the job. "Aight, c'mon out Mr I-Stalk-Fifteen-Year-Olds." He called.

It was still for a moment, then he saw movement. The tree standing in one of the yards down the street suddenly moved. The branches moved like arms and legs until Jeff realized it wasn't a tree at all. Out stepped an incredibly tall creature. It wore a pristine black suit and had pale white skin. And absolutely no face to speak of.

"What the fu..." Was all Jeff could mumble as he stared. He stared in disbelief.

"You may know me. They call me The Slender Man." The creature spoke. "I'm known for stealing children away. For bringing them to the woods, never to be seen again." Jeff backed away. "That's a lie, of course. I don't steal children, I take them in and help them. And they are seen again in fact." The creature tilted its head at Jeff. "I understand if you're freaked out."

"I-" Jeff gulped. "What- what in the sweet fuck-" was all he could bring himself to say. Slenderman stepped a little closer and held out a hand.

"I mean you no harm. I'd like to help you, Jeff. You'll have a roof over your head, warm meals, clean clothes," Jeff looked up at him. "A family, of sorts."

Jeff stared at the outstretched hand for a few seconds. Slender was- actually surprised. He thought it'd be harder to convince this boy.

And then Jeff yanked out his knife and slashed at Slender's wrist. He stumbled back and hissed in pain. The cut wasn't deep, and definitely wouldn't kill him- he doubted anything this boy had could kill him, but still.

Jeff lunged himself at Slender, knife poised to sink straight into the creature's abdomen. Slender moved quickly to the side. Jeff stumbled forward and managed to whirl himself around. He stumbled back, barely managing to not fall. He glared at Slender and ran at him again. He lunged again and-

He was suspended in the air. Jeff looked up in surprise and realised why. The Slender Man had grabbed him with a black tendril, which was wrapped around his midsection. Jeff tried to slash at the tendril holding him, only for a second one to grab his wrist, restraining him.

"Fighting won't help either of us." Slenderman said. "I have no wish to hurt you, and killing me is impossible."

"I don't want your help." Jeff snarled. He struggled in vain against the tendrils. Slender moved him so he was being held the right way up.

"Yes but you need it. And I think you'd like it, among other people." Slenderman replied, his hand over the cut in his wrist. Jeff glared at him. "When was the last time you put on clean clothes?" He asked.

Jeff frowned. "Why does that matter?"

"It doesn't, I'm just assuming you'd like to have a wardrobe of clothes that aren't bloody and don't stink of death."

Jeff glared at the monster holding him. "You're a dick." He growled. Slender might've smiled in amusement if he had a mouth. He turned and walked down the yard he stood beside. He stepped over the small gate at the side, then over the one in the backyard, into the woods. Jeff struggled behind him. "HEY! HEY PUT ME DOWN!"

Slenderman ignored him.

Jeff stared at the disappearing neighborhood and began to panic. This creature was supposed to steal kids, right? Was that what was happening? Was he being fucking kidnapped? He struggled and kicked against nothing. Was this thing going to kill him? Oh- oh no he was going to die wasn't he?

He tried to pull the tendril around his waist off, but it didn't work. He knew it wouldn't but it was still worth a try. Another tendril grabbed his free wrist, restraining that hand too. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to calm his panicked breathing.

He wasn't held for very long. Only ten, maybe less, minutes. He was set down. His knife was pulled out of his hand and one of his wrists was released. He turned around to Slenderman, still visibly panicked. Out the corner of his eye he noticed light, and a building of some kind.

"I'm sorry for forcibly taking you-" Slender's deep, elegant voice was softer now, more gentle. "I usually try to convince people but- I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with you."

Slender gestured to the building in front of them. It was gigantic- practically a mansion. Jeff stared. The light coming from the windows looked warm and welcoming. The door even had a welcome sign on it. He was still scared as all hell but- the place looked...homey. Like someone could actually live here. He gulped as Slender stepped towards the door and opened it. The tendril around his wrist tugged him gently, and he stepped forward slowly.

Slender was already talking to someone when Jeff crossed the threshold. "You need sleep Ben. And you shouldn't be letting him stay up so late, Jack." Jeff hid himself behind the cryptid's long legs and merely listened.

"Ah it doesn't 'urt 'im, slend. 'Sides, 'e's showin' me somethin' in 'is game!" The voice that replied had the thickest British accent Jeff had ever heard. It was kind of gravelly too, but the inflections sounded like the person was usually very bubbly. The kind of person who smiled a lot and liked to laugh.

"Yeah!" The voice that replied was more American sounding, and way younger. "There's this glitch that'll-"

"I don't want to hear it. It's way past your bedtime." Slender replied. The younger voice groaned. Slender looked behind himself, down at Jeff. "Oh- actually Ben, wait. I want you to meet someone."

Jeff tensed as Slender stepped aside and very, very gently pushed him forward into the view of the other two. He registered the sound of the door closing behind him.

In front of him was a large living room with two comfy looking couches and plenty of chairs. There were actually three people in the living room. The first was a- a mime? Possibly a clown? He had black hair, a striped cone nose, suspenders, puffy, striped sleeves and feathers on both his shoulders. He was entirely black and white. The second was a boy around his age with blonde hair and abnormally bright, blue eyes. He wore a green sweatshirt with blue jeans and held a game controller in his hands. He sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the couch from the mime. The last was a kid, probably older than him, who was lounged out sideways on one of the armchairs. He was dressed fairly casual. A grey hoodie, blue jeans and sneakers. What was abnormal was his grey skin, claws, fangs, oh and the fucking three tongues hanging out of his mouth as he snored.

"This is Jeff. He's around your age, Ben." Slender said. The boy - Ben, waved over at Jeff.

"Hi." He greeted. He smiled, then looked up at Slender. His smile dropped. "A-Are you hurt?"

The goofy smile that was on the mime's face dropped and he looked over at Slender too. He didn't look worried, more- curious?

"It's nothing serious, don't worry. It's my fault in all honesty I should've assumed Jeff would have a backup weapon hidden away somewhere." Jeff shoved his hands into his pockets as Slender spoke. These two seemed to look up to Slender, right? So presumably, hurting him made Jeff public enemy number one. Great.

He was definitely leaving as soon as possible.

He was snapped back to his thoughts by the thick British accent again. "Feisty young'n, eh?" Jeff looked up. The mime had somehow moved over to him in seconds without Jeff even noticing. He stepped back in surprise, then realised the mime was still on the couch.

"Jack, you'll freak him out doing that." Slender scolded. Did this thing treat everyone in this house like a kid? Weirdo. The mime's face moved away, and Jeff realised the mime, presumably called Jack, had an extendable neck. Not weird at all.

"Eh, 'e's no pansy I'm sure." Jack shifted on the couch and lay down, crossing his legs. His head flopped over the arm of the chair. "No' wiv a face like tha'." He winked at Jeff, who glared back at him.

"Be nice." Slender hissed back. He looked over at Ben. "Now you, bed."

"But can't I-"

"No, Ben. You're a growing boy. You need to rest."

Ben groaned and turned off his game. He got up and moved over, shutting off his console. As he walked past Jeff towards the stairs he gave him a look of distrust. Jeff watched him go.

Slender walked past Jeff and through another door next to the couch where Jack lay. Jeff opened his mouth to ask Slender if he should follow, then closed it. He didn't want to seem like a needy child or anything- he needed to be tough, establish that he wasn't a wimp. So, instead, he leaned against the nearest wall, crossed his arms, and busied himself with looking around idly.

There wasn't much. The place looked- well, like a normal house. Extremely big, but normal. Jeff frowned at the photos on the walls. There were more kids. Slender and Jack were in quite a few. Ben was in a couple. The grey three tongued boy appeared often too.

"So, Jeff." Jack interrupted Jeff's thoughts. He looked at the monochrome brit. "Wha's yer story then? Dead? Immor'al? Murderer?" Jeff opened his mouth to reply but was cut off. "Oooh maybe ye're a ghost tha' go' murdered an' now ye're a murderer!" His black and white eyes shone with excitement. "Tha'd explain yer face."

"...I'm alive. And human." Jeff replied.

"Ah-" Jack looked at him. "Then I guess I go'a...face the fact that ye're just normal, eh?"

Jack stared at him, waiting for a response of any kind. When he didn't get one he frowned. "Ah, c'mon, tha' was bloody hilarious!"

"At least I'm not the one with the striped nose." Jeff responded coldly. Jack stared at him in horror.

Slender emerged from the kitchen, with bandages wrapped around his injured wrist. He looked down at Jack.

"What are you pouting about, LJ?" He asked with a sigh.

"'E insulted me nose..." Jack muttered back. He curled up, his arms crossed as he sulked. Slender would've rolled his eyes if he had any. He looked over at Jeff.

"Follow me." He said. As he walked towards the stairs, completely ignoring the unhappy British mime pouting on his couch. Jeff didn't spare Jack a glance as he followed the giant faceless cryptid. They turned right and stopped at a door at the end of the hall. Slender pushed it open and ducked inside. Jeff followed.

It was a bedroom. A simple one. Wooden floorboards, maroon walls and simple wood furniture. The bed was big with clean white sheets and soft looking pillows. Jeff looked around, confused. Slender looked at him.

"We'll get you more things as time goes by," he said. "Hopefully it'll work for now?"

Jeff looked at him, surprised. He got his own room? "Uh- yeah. It's fine." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced around.

"Good." Slenderman grabbed something from the bed and held it out to Jeff. "There's a bathroom just across the hall. You'll be sharing it with Ben and Toby. Is that okay?"

"Uh- yeah." Jeff took what Slender was holding out - a towel and clean clothes. Jeff frowned.

"After you shower come down to the kitchen, okay?" Slender said. "Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?"

Jeff looked up at Slender in thought. It- had been a while since he'd eaten something that wasn't snack foods or ready made meals. "Yeah- yeah food would- food sounds good." He glanced away. Slender seemed to smile despite his lack of mouth.

"Good!" He moved past Jeff. "Oh and put your clothes in the laundry basket."

And with that, Jeff was left alone. He waited a bit for something to happen, but nothing did, so he left the room. There was one door across the hall. Jeff walked over, opened it, and stepped inside.

The bathroom was fucking huge. Half of the left wall was just bath tub. It looked big enough for maybe three people. Pretty deep too. "Jesus this place is fancy." Jeff muttered as he locked the door behind himself and took the room in. There was no windows, so he couldn't exactly escape. Not that he wanted to. Not yet. He'd at least shower and eat first.

Jeff wasn't concerned with really cleaning himself, though he definitely would make use of the fancy looking body wash on the shower shelf. He turned on the hot water and sighed contentedly. The whole on the run and homeless thing kinda made it hard to enjoy a nice hot shower. He sat down on the floor of the tub and curled up, just enjoying the warmth. He must've lost track of time because there was a knock on the bathroom door. He looked up.

"Jeff? You okay in there?" It was Slender.

"Uh- yeah."

"Ah- alright. I don't want to rush you but try to hurry up, okay? Your food will go cold."

"Aight." Jeff called back as he stood up. He grabbed the body wash and cleaned himself off quickly. Then he grabbed the shampoo and conditioner and did his best to clean up his hair. It wasn't much, and his long black hair was horribly knotted and tangled, but at least he tried.

After stepping out of the shower he checked in the mirror to make sure his black hair dye hadn't washed itself out yet, then put on the clothes he'd been giving. Fluffy black and white socks, black boxers, striped pyjamas, also black and white, along with a long sleeved white shirt with three large Zs embroidered onto it.

...pyjamas.

Fine- they were comfy, so he'd put up with it. After depositing his old clothes into the laundry Jeff stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. He hadn't been able to take the place in before. The door closest to his was covered in stickers of all kinds. Jeff brushed over them, instead focusing his attention on a white sign on the door. It simply read "Beware: Dumbass moron ahead." In black lettering. Jeff looked at the door beside it. It was painted green and had three yellow triangles on it. Underneath were some letters that read "Ben".

He walked down the hall and looked at the other doors he passed. One was painted red and white with the words "Laughing Jack" on it, and the other, directly in front of the stairs, had vines on it, decorated with different coloured flowers. Past that was a pink door with "Sally" on it and a blue one with black drips painted on. Huh.

Jeff walked down the stairs slowly, taking the place in again. The house was as quiet as the dead, save for the quiet snoring of the three tongued creature sleeping in the living room. As Jeff tiptoed closer to the kitchen he could hear the thick British accent again. He paused and pressed his ear against the door.

"Ye shouldn' 'ave underestimated 'im."

"Yes I know- quite the clever boy, honestly. He's very capable too. He shows promise."

"Ye talk abou' kids like they're projects."

"Perhaps." There was a pause. "He's been alone for two years you know. He's probably on edge, being in a domestic setting again."

"Maybe." He heard someone sipping something.

Once it was quiet again Jeff pushed the door open slowly and peeked in. Jack and Slender looked up at him as he stepped into the kitchen. "Uh-" Jeff began before he was cut off.

"Ah! There you are." Slender chirped in greeting. His happy demeanor was- unnerving. You'd think his very existence would be horrifying but he was nothing but pleasant. "Take a seat. I made soup, is that okay?"

"Uh- yeah." All of this felt weird. Really weird. Jeff walked over and sat in the chair Jack pulled out for him. A black tendril placed a mug in front of him. The liquid in it was a white-ish yellow colour. Jeff arched a brow.

"It's real good. Try i'." Jack said next to him. Jeff took the warm mug and sipped from it. The liquid was thick and warm. It was milky and sweet and soothed his throat as he swallowed.

Oh. Oh wow. Whatever this was it was delicious. Jeff chugged back maybe half the mug then put it down with a satisfied sigh. Jack chuckled next to him, which made him tense. He pushed the mug away and sat up, folding his arms on the kitchen table and looking disinterested again. "Yeah it's- it's nice."

Jack laughed louder that time. "Ah 'e's a fine lad, Slender." He said loudly in between laughs. Slender chuckled to himself and set a bowl of soup in front of Jeff.

"I'm glad you like it. I didn't know if you'd like tea or not and- well cocoa would just keep you up so-"

"'E's thankful, Slender." Jack interrupted.

"I know I know-"

Jeff grabbed the spoon he'd been given and ate the soup silently as Slender sat down again. It was quiet for a bit until Slender spoke up. "So- Jeff," the boy looked up from his meal. "There's a few things you should know about living here." Jeff tilted his head as Slender spoke. "Besides me, Jack and Ben there's a few others here. There's Sally, Toby and- well another Jack. He's the one sleeping on the chair inside."

Jeff nodded. He didn't plan on staying here long but- it'd be worth it to listen.

"They might be frightening at first but they're all harmless. Sally is a little younger, so be nice around her. We have homeschooling four days a week and clean the house on Sundays." Slender looked at him for a response.

"...uh-huh?"

Slender didn't seem to have planned a response to that. He cleared the throat he may or may not have had. "Is there any way we can make you more comfortable here?" Jeff shrugged. "Any allergies?" Jeff shook his head. "Maybe you-"

"Slender, 'e doesn' wanna talk." Jack cut in. "Let him eat up and sleep." The mime looked at Jeff. "We'll figure i' all ou' in th' mornin', yeah?"

Jeff nodded. Jack smiled and looked back at Slender, who sighed quietly. "You're right. My apologies." He said. "Though after you're finished eating there's a couple other things I'd like to do, then you can sleep."

"Okay." Was all Jeff responded with, along with another nod. It was relatively quiet as he ate, though Jack tried to start a conversation a couple times, Slender never really let it go anywhere. "Uh- I'm finished." Jeff said after a bit.

"Ah! Good." Slender stood up. "Jack, clean up his dishes for me will you?" He asked as he left. Jack sighed and grabbed Jeff's bowl and mug. His arm stretched over and placed them beside the sink. The mime sighed tiredly and rested his head on his now normally proportioned arms. Jeff wanted to say something but- couldn't think of anything, so they sat in awkward silence until Slender came back.

He placed several bottles that rattled as they were placed down, and a spray bottle, on the table. Slender pulled out Jeff's chair.

"Can you turn around for me?" He asked. Jeff arched. Brow but did as he was told, his back facing Slender.

And then he realized what was going on. A hairbrush was dragged through his damp, knotted hair. Jeff hissed in pain. "Sorry, sorry," his hair was sprayed with something that smelled of apples and brushed again. Jeff winced. "I'm sorry I know it hurts I'm trying to be gentle-"

The hairbrush was pulled away. Jeff's breathing was shaky as he relaxed slightly. He heard a snipping noise and moved quickly to his feet.

"Jeff-"

"YOU'RE CUTTING IT?!"

Slender seemed to wince. "It's knotted really badly- I won't make it too short."

"No- no you can't-" Jeff stared at him, suddenly panicky. Slender lowered the scissors he was holding.

"How about you show me how long you'd like it? Would you like that?" He asked softly. Jeff stared for a few moments. His breathing slowed and he relaxed.

"...okay." he murmured. Jeff slowly sat down again. He reached up and grabbed a piece of his hair. "Just about there?" He asked nervously. Slender nodded.

"Alright."

Jack watched Jeff as Slender cut his hair. The boy stared at the floor and gripped onto the edge of the chair tightly. The mime frowned and reached into his puffy sleeve, pulling out some candy. "'Ere kid, ye want some?"

Jeff looked up a bit and slowly took one of the candies, a butterscotch and unwrapped it. He tossed it into his mouth. He mumbled a "thank you." and continued staring at the ground.

It took maybe half an hour for Slender to cut, brush and style Jeff's hair back to something decent. A mirror was held down in front of him. "How does it look?"

Jeff looked up and stared at himself. He- it actually- looked nice. His hair hadn't looked this good since...before he'd- y'know- killed his parents. It was a little longer now, but it looked the same as it did then. "It- it's nice."

Slender would've smiled had he a mouth. "Good!" The mirror was pulled away. "Can you look up for me?" Jeff craned his neck upwards at Slender, who was holding a small white bottle. "I'm just going to give you eye drops, okay?"

Jeff didn't protest, though he did flinch as the drops hit his eyes. He looked back down. Wow- wow those felt great- his eyes always felt like they were burning and just- generally not great, but those drops seemed to work wonders. He smiled a bit. Jack noticed this and looked up and Slender, flashing him a toothy grin.

"One last thing before you sleep, Jeff." Slender said. Jeff looked up at him. The faceless cryptid held out a glass of water in one tendril, and a handful of pills. "Just some vitamins to make you stronger and such."

Jeff took the pills and water and hesitated. Taking pills from a stranger was dumb- even Jeff knew that but- Slender was so caring- more caring than Jeff's own parents had been.

He took a swig of the water and tossed the pills into his mouth. He gagged as he swallowed them, then sipped the water some more. "...thank you." He murmured. Slender patted the boy's head.

"You're probably exhausted," he said. "Why don't you go to bed?"

Jeff nodded and stood up. He looked at Jack for a moment, then Slender. "...gnight." was all he could think to say, though he wanted to say something more- well, meaningful. He left the kitchen, walked upstairs and shuffled into his room. His door looked extremely bare compared to the others. He padded over to his bed, lay down, and buried his face in his pillow.

He was asleep in minutes.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #slenderman #Laughing jack #ben drowned #slender mansion #writing

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thebeautyofdisorder · 4 years

Text

Dangerous Game ~ BBC Dracula, Gate Scene AU

@festering-queen Requested a “what if” scenario if Agatha stepped over the line a bit during the convent gate sequence, and Dracula was able to get his hands on her. This could have gone MANY different ways, and the first couple days of thinking about this were literally just me debating the many options I had on my hands, but this is what I settled on - hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: blood, threat of death, vampirism, nudity, you know - everything that applies normally to Drac

Word Count: 3,118

It happened in an instant, far quicker than she could react. For all his snarling and threats, Agatha had the vampire keening like a starving pup - helpless, angry, feral with hunger as her hand outstretched in an offering of her blood to his seeking tongue. She observed him with sudden calm appreciation as his eyelids hung heavy, feeling a fleeting swell of power that she nearly got to appreciate, even. But just as her grip lessened on the handle of the knife, prepared to drop it and back away and cease to taunt the beast while she was ahead of the game, those blackened eyes shot open and met hers with such mocking clarity that it halted her in her tracks, the triumph in her eyes faltering into sudden, heart-stopping dread.

It was too late, then. Agatha was too close, she’d known it, and had trusted that in his blind desperation for sustenance that the Count wouldn’t take note. She had been very wrong. Without so much as a growl, his hand shot out and grabbed for the knife and her hand all in one grip of his gigantic fist, yanking her over the ephemeral threshold, her feet barely skimming the ground with no chance of catching traction.

The screams and gasps from her sisters rose up behind her in chorus of panic, but even in all that chaos for a fraction of a second Dracula didn’t even acknowledge that he’d gotten the nun into his clutches, too occupied in using her hand as a vehicle to better press the sharpened steel to his tongue, licking it clean. It was only when she stepped back towards the “safety” of the iron gate and tried to yank herself free did she feel more than hear him chuckle in dark, mocking glee, and a gasp was torn from her throat, her world spinning as he pulled her into his grasp. Her back might as well have hit stone for all his bloodied chest gave on the impact that she felt rattle her own bones, both her upper arms suddenly constrained in a bruising grip. The knife lying useless on the ground near her feet, Agatha found herself forced to watch her sisters cower in terror and worse - look on her in pity.

“It seems fortune doesn’t always favor the brave, does it Sister?” He leered from behind and above her, grinning down at her in a manner that might have passed for charming had his teeth not been forged into sharp, jagged points. His breath smelled coppery and disturbingly sweet, and cringe from it though she did, for a strange, mad moment she almost wanted to ask him about it, before remembering that there were definitely more important things to worry about at the moment than understanding the vampiric anatomy. Currently the fact that she was forced very snugly against said anatomy and was probably about to die a very painful death for the luxury.

His focus left her quickly though, watching over her shoulder as the Mother Superior tried to force a brave face, her short frame standing in front of the gaggle of girls as though she could actually forge a barrier between them and danger. All but her.

“Well? What’re you waiting for, ladies? Your sister’s been captured, you’re all ‘armed and ready.’ You outnumber me, clearly.”

“Honestly, they’re nuns not idiots,” Agatha scoffed at him, before addressing them directly - just in case, seeing some of them start to stir antsily. “Stay back!”

“Come now. Not even one of you? What righteous warriors you make,” he continued to mock with disappointed laughter, laying out his lure as Agatha watched helplessly as her anxious sisters looked more unsure by the moment.

“Isn’t that what that god of yours is always going on about - self-sacrifice for the greater good, defending the helpless, blah blah...blah. You are knights, you have your swords, the frightened princess is seconds away from being eaten…”

“Oh please,” Agatha mocked, turning her head to glance between his self-satisfied smirk and the faces of her friends in frank disbelief.

“Who’s going to slay the dragon?” Dracula challenged in that melodious whisper, tightening his hold on her visibly, causing her to hiss as what could only be described as claws began to dig into her flesh through the thin fabric of her habit.

“Do not rise to his bait - he’s only trying to lure you out,” their matron, having gathered her wits, echoed her earlier sentiments, but with the authority to actually enforce them, and despite the sinking feeling in her gut, Agatha looked at her with genuine thanks as the girls began to slink back. She would not be the reason for their deaths, and that at least she could make peace with.

“Give it up, dragon - I’m the only nun you’re getting out of there tonight, so just kill me and get it over with,” she exclaimed stubbornly, turning her head to look up at him where he still stood behind her, watching the sisters retract with an exaggerated pout.

He laughed, throaty and low, turning her in his grasp to look her in the eye.

“Oh no one likes a martyr, Agatha - isn’t it?” he purred, and her eyes widened a margin at hearing her name on his lips.

“So you heard,” she persisted, squaring her jaw, not falling for any more of his intimidation tactics. How much worse could her circumstances really get, anyway?

She was armed, as well, to be fair. The wooden stake was in her pocket, and if he would just not grip her arms so tightly, she might have been able to put up some kind of fight - but as though he genuinely could read her mind, his grip on her left arm tightened to the point of bruising while his hold on her right turned feather light and faltered as he shifted his hold from her upper arm to her wrist, pulling her palm up to his mouth.

She had entirely forgotten she was still bleeding, but clearly the vampire had not, and the split flesh gave a sudden throb at the reminder, just before she felt him drag his tongue over the seeping wound, a hum of pleasure that was nothing short of obscene reverberating against her hand. She hissed, her fingers flinching in fruitless effort against his hold, though the sensation wasn’t exactly pain, even if it wasn’t far from it. It was a bizarre tingling that made her squirm, though there wasn’t anywhere to go. She cursed him under her breath in her native tongue and she was surprised to hear him chuckle, drawing back from her hand though he still held it aloft, never far from his lips.

“Ooh. You’re really not very good at this nun thing, are you, Agatha?” He asked mockingly, before looking up at the stars thoughtfully and licking his lips, her eyes drawn to watch his throat work and swallow in the firelight.

“Agatha Van Helsing where in the world did you come from?”

“You seem to know everything else, why don’t you tell me?” She shot back bitterly, fighting off the panic in her voice. So that’s all it took, a few drops of blood and her inner workings were laid bare to his prying eyes? Frightening, sure, but mostly infuriating.

“Holland, right?”

She glanced sideways at her sisters for a fleeting moment, and gave a nod to Mother Superior, hoping she would take his pre-occupation as a sign to begin to bring the other girls to safety, but she didn’t dare let her focus stray from the vampire long enough to watch.

“As I’m sure you heard in my accent. I know detectives that could volunteer twice that information in half the time. Surely you can tell me something more interesting than that.”

“Are you challenging me, Sister Agatha?” He asked, though despite the hint of a growl that still lingered in his voice, he looked wholly entertained by her open defiance despite the fact he could have killed her already. “You do enjoy dangerous games - you must be bored to tears in this place.”

“As though you don’t enjoy showing off,” she challenged dryly, looking him over with clear accusation, though her eyes didn’t stray past his chest before retreating upwards once more. “Come on. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Agatha watched as he took a moment to process what she could only assume were her own memories, seeing multiple small reactions flit over his features. She should've rightly tried to use this distraction to her advantage, feeling his grip on her lessen a hair - but she knew deep down it would just end in a quicker death for her in the end. She still wasn't sure if that would be her best option.

Surely it was the most Catholic choice she could make - but if she were going to sacrifice herself "for the greater good" as he had so quaintly put it, now was not the time. Not when she could learn more, and not when she was so sure to fail any attempt she could make to destroy him or even save herself.

Count Dracula's mouth suddenly broke into a wicked grin, ripping her from her thoughts. Not a good sign.

"And? Still waiting." She pressed, impatiently.

"Well, if it makes you feel better Agatha, your "training" might do your sisters some good after all," he stated musingly, watching a few of them retreat back within the walls of the convent, clearly unconcerned now with slowly but surely losing his audience.

"And why is that?'

His brows rose as he looked down at her almost fondly.

"Well, you left undead Johnny in the same room as his bleeding fiance, of course. I can't imagine his appetite taking long to surface. If you think I'm a fright when I'm hungry…"

Agatha had to fight back the urge curse again, if only because it would entertain him too greatly. Stupid stupid stupid…

"Jonathan Harker would sooner stake himself than harm Mina, you know that. Apparently it's all that moralistic willpower that made you so fond of him in the first place," Agatha dismissed him stubbornly.

The Count sighed, looking over her head towards the upper level of the nunnery.

"Mm. Truer words never spoken, I'm afraid - it'll distract him for a little while I suppose."

"What do you mean? Surely dying twice is enough," She asked, no longer hiding her concern.

"Curious little thing, aren't you?" He mused, almost inwardly, using his hold on her to drag her further back from the gate, so they were standing far out of earshot from the other nuns and they could see the flickering light in the window where Agatha had last abandoned his 'bride'. He held her fast against him with one long arm while he pointed up at the window. She might’ve seen a shadow pass just below her eyeline, but she couldn’t be sure.

"He tried. And failed. The undead cannot commit suicide. Call it a curse, if you will. He'll be out for a little while, definitely wish he were dead, but unless little Mina drives the stake in herself, he will wake up and when he does...he will be weak and he will be hungry. Now if you trained your troops well enough, maybe they'll be prepared…"

His head tilted, studying her face, which she was sure was full of many things for him to appraise, hating herself for it but far too distracted by her own thoughts to mask them. If she didn’t know better, his smirk almost retained a hint of pity.

“Or perhaps Johnny will surprise us both, he is a lively one. Now - “ he immediately led off from his passive attempt at comfort, turning her in his grasp so quickly, Agatha wondered if he was really so unaware of his own power or if he was still delighting in showing it off to her alone.

“I would ask you to invite me in, but we both know very well even if I promise not to slaughter your family that you won’t. Even if it means a rabid infantile vampire may tear a few of them limb from limb, you are far too stubborn to ever do anything that I ask of you, nor would you believe any promises I make,” the vampire began, sizing her up seemingly as he spoke with a chuckle as mocking as it was appreciative.

“Who would?”

“And threatening your inevitable death will get me nowhere, you religious types are always far too keen to sacrifice yourselves.”

“Trust me, Count Dracula, in comparison to hearing you babble nonsense for another half hour, it would hardly be a sacrifice,” Agatha spat out before she could help it, fruitlessly trying to create some distance between them despite his grip on her - she about cursed herself once more, but apparently instead of angering him, all she’d done is amuse him again.

He’d let out a surprised laugh, melodious and loud, so she was sure the others would’ve heard it from downwind. Wonderful, now if she ever did get back (unlikely) she’d have ‘consorting with the devil’ to deal with - more than usual.

“Agatha Van Helsing, what am I going to do with you?” He breathed, and she realized with mounting dread that he really didn’t even know himself.

“Honestly, you didn’t even have a plan when you showed up here, did you?” She couldn’t help but ask, furrowing her brows. Why was he so calm?

“I typically don’t need one, but it seems you wanted to make it difficult for me,” he stated softly, the accusation clear in his eyes, though it was almost playful in nature now.

Without the growling, bestial thing that had met her at the gate, she was just being held by a bloody, naked aristocrat staring down at her with a fondness that was completely foreign, and she found herself more disturbed by his approval than his threats. Those she had expected, this...she wasn’t sure how to navigate.

“Do you think your sisters would be so brave without you? Should I find out?”

Even seeing that he was baiting her, Agatha knew there was literally nothing stopping him. He could kill her now, just to get her out of the way. Probably preferable, because otherwise he could just disable her. Knock her unconscious, break her leg, rip out of her tongue - whatever would stop her from stopping him. And the sad truth was that she didn’t know. Most of those girls were young, helpless things, just there for intimidation in numbers. They would crumple in the face of genuine threat, no matter how strong their belief or their wills.

“Leave them alone, and I will come with you willingly.”

“Who says I want you to?” He returned too quickly, his face a mask of indifference, though the curiosity twinkling in his eyes was a dead give away to his intention. He just wanted to see how she would respond. To see if she would show desperation, or weakness. He was toying with her, just like she had toyed with him. God help her, for her sisters’ sake, she was going to have to let him. For now.

“You have a long way to travel, Count Dracula. And while I’m sure you can manipulate Jonathan into doing whatever you like, having a half-crazed ‘infantile vampire’ in your charge for a long voyage would only draw attention to you and fail to provide you any sustenance. Besides, no one in there would be any use to you. Most of them have spent their entire existence locked within those walls. Their lives are hymns and prayers and chores and guilt and nothing else whatsoever. Take me and you might actually learn something.”

“Perhaps. But you would also try to kill me the first chance you get,” he accused in a whisper, that hint of wicked amusement still never leaving his voice. Apparently attempted murder was a novelty to for him.

“Are you saying that actually frightens you?” She accused, quirking an eyebrow, turning his challenge back on him.

“Careful,” Dracula warned, eyes narrowing as his grip on her tightened a hair, apparently capping his amusement at being called a coward, though he didn't disagree directly - information she decided to retain for later. If she would see later.

He was silent for a long moment, enough to begin to worry her that he'd refuse her entirely. But slowly his lips twisted up into a satisfied, if resigned smirk, taking one last look up into that window before returning his focus to her fully.

"You drive a hard bargain, Van Helsing, but I suppose you do have a point. The devout do always leave a bit of an...aftertaste."

He let loose one of her arms, at least, though immediately reached up and pulled at the ties of the white fabric that was serving its purpose, blocking her throat from his view, yanking it and her wimple from her head in one swift motion, that pulled at her hair and made her yelp slightly. His lips twitched, but he seemed to choose not to acknowledge it.

“But you nuns tend to draw a lot of attention in your own right, especially while unconscious…”

“I’m sorry?” she clarified irritably, still narrowing her eyes as she used her free hand to push her hair from her face. She considered using it to slap him with instead, but considering she would likely just end up with a broken hand for her trouble, she resisted the urge.

“Oh, I’m not going to have you straggling along behind me out in the mountains, Agatha, that would be positively uncouth. You understand…” he drawled, his gaze having dropped from her eyes and now locked onto the column of her throat with that same heavy-lidded intensity she saw at the gates. Feeling his large hand tracing her collarbone, she swallowed, forcing herself to be still as he loomed over her, now even more so than before it seemed.

“How kind of you,” she snarked, though her words were no longer registering to him at all, and she watched in the lantern light as his eyes clouded with red once more, and those long, cold fingers curled around the base of her neck, making her shiver.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to make you last,” he assured her with finality, that bestial snarl thickening his voice once again, and the last thing she felt before sinking into a hazy sleep was the sting of sharp teeth sinking into her flesh, followed by that same tingling she’d felt earlier, until she felt nothing at all.

------

I’m just going to tag all the people I normally tag when I make Dracula stuff, or anyone I think MIGHT want to see it based on your interests, feel free to ignore me if you’re disinterested.

@hoefordarkness @allis143 @punk-courtesan @dracula-s-bride @charlesdances @chrsitophwaltz @vlladtepes @bellamortislife @fuukonomiko @serindiyoza @alma37 @profiler-in-courage @lamourcommecesttoujour @hyacinth-meadow @guardianbelle @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @claesbang @undead-notunreasonable @bangtheking @vissidarte213 @mood-adlock @onyxthevampire @the-sign-of-tea @feralstare @leah-halliwell92 @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @girlonfireice @chelsfic @imagineandimagine @the-last-legs-last-leg @moonwalkerkari @river-soul @drsherlockmoffat @dwacuwa-is-baby @mysticaltimemachinewench @hopipollahorror @beyond-antares @bloodspatteredprincess @pullthedamnlever @ss9slb @gatissed @mitsukatsu @le-fay-87 @flyingleapdisco @desperatefrenchwriter @crowley-needs-a-hug @crazytxgradstudent @garlicbreakfast @kandomeresbitch

Okay, if I didn’t tag you it’s just because I got tired of scrolling my notes before I reached you, haaa. My bad. Or tumblr won’t allow me to tag you for some reason.

#bbc dracula #dracula bbc #dracula 2020 #dragatha #agatha van helsing #claes bang #dolly wells #my writing #requests

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dastardlydandelion · 3 years

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respice finem

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced violence and abuse

part one link

obligatory irl inspo link

Max keeps pacing up and down the diameter of the room. She stretches her hands over her head and Billy thinks her protective hovering is starting to bug the nurses. They both stayed overnight but Billy’s at least taken a couple breaks. He got himself some Doritos from the vending machine. Borrowed and smoked a cigarette even though he virtually quit a couple years back. Took a short drive to a Kmart up the road and bought Max a change of clothes, supposing he wouldn’t able to get her anything of her own if her home was wrapped in caution tape.

“You wanna go down to the cafeteria, maybe? Get something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Okay…did you know they have a gift shop? Wanna go check it out?”

“No.”

“Do you—“

“I’m not leaving, Billy.” Max’s eyes glitter in a stubborn glower.

“Oh, but maybe you should, sweetheart,” Susan says softly. “You’re getting restless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should get out of this stuffy room. Go for a stroll, stretch your legs. I would if I could.”

Pure heartbreak flashes across Max’s face and Billy feels his own lurch.

“Oh dear, bad joke.” Susan frowns and flaps her hand, the tube connecting it to the IV pouch swaying gently in the air. “That was in poor taste, I apologize. But I do think you need to get some fresh air, Max. I’ll be fine.”

Max pauses. Her hands come together and she taps her thumbs together as she mulls it over.

“I’d feel better if you stayed here.” Max shifts her gaze to Billy.

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” he says honestly. Max is obviously wired and getting more antsy by the minute but Billy is the opposite. He’s wiped out after driving for several hours straight and aching from head to toe after scrapping with his dad.

“…alright,” Max relents after a very long moment. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

She gently swipes the back of her hand over her mother’s cheek. Susan blinks contentedly and hums in approval as Max trudges off to the door. She leaves. Susan's gaze flickers to Billy and then down. She frowns at the guardrail of the bed and uncertainly pushes at it with her palm.

“What’re you doing, Sue?”

“I don’t need this. I’m not going to roll out of bed.” She continues pushing at the guardrail but her efforts are weak and uncoordinated. Even if she had more power and precision behind her pushes, Billy’s pretty sure these things aren’t designed to be collapsed from the patient’s position.

“It’s fine, just leave it alone.”

“No,” she refuses, eyes narrowing. “It’s in my way, Billy. It’s separating us.”

Something knocks loose inside his chest. Billy hasn’t seen her in three months. He hadn’t been particularly sure he’d ever see her again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it a go. Here.” He sighs out and messes with the thing and after a couple tries and a few silent shrieks from his very sore shoulders, he finally figures out how to get the damn rail lowered, adjusting it accordingly.

“Thank you so much,” Susan breathes. “Now it's easier to do this.”

She stretches out her slender fingers and rests her hand upon his knee. She gives it a couple dulcet pats. Her pinky pokes inside the fraying tear in the denim, soft pad of her fingertip cool against his skin. Billy swallows, wonders how much he is allowed to touch. She wouldn’t be this affectionate with him if she knew.

“It’s my fault Neil found you and Max,” Billy admits, heart pumping guilt like sludge in his veins. “It’s my fault he almost killed you.”

“What?” Susan stares at with owlish eyes.

“I wanted to send Max a gift in the mail,” Billy explains, speaking slowly and plainly. “I hid it under my bed. My dad saw it when he raided my room looking for some shit he thought I stole from him. That’s how he got your address. I tried to stop him, Susan. But I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Billy.” Susan signs, rubbing her lips together. Her hand travels from his knee to his wrist and she gently pushes up his jacket cuff. Billy doesn’t stop her. He watches her eyes darken at the sight of the bruises.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You said it was a gift for Max?”

“Yeah…new skateboard.”

“I wish you would’ve just driven over to drop it off. Because if you came over, you would’ve seen how nicely we decorated our little duplex…you could’ve seen my darling little gnomes sipping tea and these delightfully clever novelty magnets Max found for the refrigerator. You could’ve sat on our couch and while it’s a bit worn— we got it secondhand —it’s very comfy. Maybe if you saw how nice everything was and sat in our cushy, comfy couch, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

Billy gapes at her, noncomprehending. He just confessed he’s the reason she almost got killed. That it's his fault his dad literally broke into her home to beat her to death with a wrench. And Susan doesn’t seem angry at all. He knows she's on the good shit, but still. She's not out of it. She heard what he said. Ahd she is frowning but it’s a more fretful expression than anything, dimple between her eyebrows, forehead crinkled in concern.

“I waited for you, Billy.”

Oh.

“We talked about this before you left, Susan,” Billy gently reminds her. “I told you why I chose to stay. Remember?”

“You wanted to protect us,” she murmurs, thumb chary as she rolls it over his bruised wrist. “Me and Max.”

Billy solemnly nods his head.

“Mm…” Susan’s eyes rove the room and then settle back on him as her lips curl into a doleful smile. “How well do you suppose that turned out?”

Billy’s eyes travel along the chest tube to the rectangular drainage unit on the floor, the printed numbers and increments he doesn’t really understand. Glances to her legs elevated on the pillows. The right one was more badly broken. Not badly enough to require surgery, but still too swollen for a hard cast. The swelling in her left went down and Susan got fitted for a cast just a couple hours ago. The dark purple color she picked matches the massive bruise that currently blooms across most of Billy’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He bows again even though it hurts, it hurts, he’s goddamn sore but not as sore as he is sorry. Billy feels the knot tremble in his throat and he is possibly more sorry than he’s ever been anything else in his life. There is a beast in his belly with a thousand guilty eyes and shame in every one of its silent, miserable cries.

“No, no, raise your head. Don’t— it’s not your fault, Billy.” He feels Susan’s hand sweep the fringe from his face in a few quick motions, delicate and deft. “Won’t you look at me?”

Warily, he glances up. Susan’s eyes are misting up as he feels his own stinging again. Shit. Max is going to kill him if he makes her mother cry.

“I am the one who needs to apologize," Susan declares. "For the life of me, I couldn’t convince you to come with us. I failed you.”

“What?” Billy scoffs in disbelief. “No, that’s not on you. I’m stubborn, I’m—“

“I am the adult,” Susan cuts him off, voice sharp even as her hand rests against his cheek lamb gentle. “The real adult, you're barely twenty. You did what you thought was best but I’m older and I knew better, and I couldn’t make you see it. I let you stay, I left you in the lion’s den.”

Billy doesn't really see it that way. He doesn't feel like a child, doesn't want to be treated as one. And he's no longer Neil's legally, albeit he's been nowhere near financially independent. Couldn't work for a long time after that gruesome nightmare turned reality that was the worst fucking Fourth of July ever. Had to fork over all his paychecks to Neil even after he could go back to work— supposedly put toward residual medical bills insurance didn't cover, but hell if Billy truly trusted any excuse Neil could and would hold over his head. In any case, that's not entirely why he stayed with Neil. And staying with Neil wasn't even exactly the same thing as not going with Susan and Max, but abandonment wasn't a factor in the equation at all. He doesn't feel that way, how could Susan think that?

“You left me the address,” Billy pointedly reminds her and he does not let himself crane his face into her touch even though it’s cool and soft and he feels his stomach loosen with this, this featherlight clemency so careful and sweet.

Because of course he knows why he was left the address and it was never so he could mail packages.

“I should’ve grabbed you and dragged you to the car.” Susan doesn’t sound like she’s kidding.

“You could’ve,” Billy breathes and he’s not kidding either. “You’ve seen me get grabbed, Susan. I don’t fight it. Not in the house. Never did…not until he found that address.”

Susan’s thumb brushes away the tear that spills over, unbidden. Billy reaches out and does the same for hers.

“I’m not mad,” he promises in earnest.

“Neither am I. In fact, I’m…” Susan trails off, exhaling heavily as she draws her hand back from his cheek. “I don’t know, Billy. He was going to kill me. Maybe both of us and I could never say that I’m glad that happened because I am not. I am not glad Max had to see and do what she saw and did. I am not glad that at present, I cannot even stand without assistance. But…you’re here. You’re here because of what happened. Because of what happened, Neil…I never have to worry about Neil again. I never, ever have to look over my shoulder worrying about when he will find me because he already did.”

“That’s one way of looking on the bright side, I guess,” Billy mutters, voice hollow.

“Your father has done all the harm he will ever be able to do, to any of us, and now we’re together again. Isn’t there something to be said for that, Billy?”

He swallows thickly, nodding his head as he places his hand on the bed. Susan’s fingers slide over his and that’s how Max finds them when she returns.

“There you are,” Susan welcomes, smiling warmly. “That was a bit longer than fifteen minutes.”

Max freezes. “Did you need me?”

“No, honey, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just happy that you took a good break.”

Max visibly relaxes and shuffles over, lightly squeezing her mother’s upper arm. “I saw Neil.”

Billy exchanges a look of shock with Susan.

“Yeah, he had a new guard today and we talked for a couple minutes. Cool lady with a cool name, like some Greek Goddess name. She gave me a dollar for the vending machine and let me in his room.”

“Are you okay?” Susan frowns, worry crossing her features as her lashes flutter.

“Yeah, Mom. Neil doesn’t scare me anymore.” Max leans in and presses another kiss to the crown of her Susan’s head. Billy’s never seen her more affectionate than this, so doting and tender with her injured mother. “It was actually good. To see Neil like that…to know I did that. It confirms it, I guess? I mean not that I didn’t know, because obviously I know I didn't dream or hallucinate what happened, but…”

“Seeing is believing, perhaps?” Susan tilts her head, mussy red tresses shifting over the pillowcase.

“Yeah, like that. Seeing is believing, I guess. I saw the neck brace and the handcuffs and now I’m…well I’m not gonna turn into a badger every time you want me to take a break.” Max’s mouth quirks, expression sobering when she glances to Billy. “Are you gonna see him?”

“I don’t know,” Billy answers. He keeps thinking about it.

Maybe he’d feel better like Max does. Maybe he’d feel worse. He thinks he’d hate himself if he wound up having some scrap of sympathy. He thinks maybe he’d rip the pillow out from under his father’s head and smother the rest of the life out of him. He thinks he would have the opportunity to say everything he’s ever wanted to say but worries that he would not have the words, worries they may dissolve on his tongue with that stern, steely stare that’s shackled him all his life.

“Not yet,” Billy decides at least.

“You look weird,” Max bluntly blurts, scrunching her nose.

“That’s not nice,” Susan protests in mild reproach.

“It’s not mean,” Max counters, shrugs a shoulder as she looks back to Billy. “You okay? Is it hard being in a hospital again?”

Susan too raises a brow.

Billy reflexively lifts a hand to his chest, curls his jacket in his fist until the button presses uncomfortably into his palm. Few things in his life had been more challenging than his hospital stay and it wasn’t even being in pain or sick or weak, then weaker, then stronger and still in pain— it was sterility. It was being cooped up. It was no privacy whatsoever and never the right noises. It was everything being terrible except Max and Susan even if Max and Susan being around constantly was sometimes terrible but never, ever because they were terrible because they genuinely weren’t and— and now they’re all here again with some of the details rearranged.

Billy realizes that’s the hardest part, maybe, that the details are rearranged. Discovers that maybe it is worse to see someone you care about hurt than hurt yourself. He cannot speak but maybe they know, maybe they can read it in his face because then Susan’s reaching up again, brushing gentle fingertips over his scabbed up knuckles until he relaxes the death grip on the jacket balled into his fist.

“If you decide you want to see Neil, I’ll walk you to the door,” Max offers.

“Thanks,” he manages, terse but sincere.

“And if you want to see him, Mom, I’ll—“

“I don’t,” Susan breaks in, vehement and almost nervous, hand retracting from Billy’s and clasping fast to the opposite above her chest, IV tube swinging again. “I don’t, Max, I really, really don’t.”

“Okay,” Max promises her immediately, gingerly draping an arm around her in a reassuring embrace. The closest to a hug she can manage. “You don’t have to. You never, ever have to see him again, Mom. If you don't want to, you don't have to and that's that. I won't let anyone make you.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth as she leans into Max as much as she can, releasing a shaky exhale. Billy’s taken his breaks. They finally got Max to take her break. He thinks maybe Susan needs a break too.

“You wanna see what’s on tv, Sue?” he suggests.

‘No news,’ Max mouths at him above her head. Billy blinks knowingly.

“Sure,” Susan agrees, relaxing and shifting a bit as Max lowers her arm. “Um...maybe the animal channel?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see what nature is up to.”

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #max mayfield #neil hargrove #my fic tag

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flufflebones · 3 years

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some more fun hcs about delphine [mc 1.... closest 2 my heart since ive used her in various settings for a While]! it’s a little long so im slapping it under a cut but its all sfw and all very much in good fun.

you know, mostly. i only really got two headcanons down and one is brief/about michael and the other is about pets in the devildom

- can and will fight michael do you think they saw the angel/anni event and were ok with it? yeah? no! just going to kick him hard enough in the shin to....... probably bust their own foot but its FINE

- has an approximate accumulated f*ckton of devildom native and possibly (definitely) magical pets

[The list:

Sosig / Sausage - Hellhound - Gift from Beelzebub!:

A beast of considerable size and [reportedly] god awful temperament, bearing charcoal fur and the lingering [faint] scent of sulphur. More vulpine than canine, their frames are typically gaunt, with the flames that fuel their bodies licking out from the ends of their tails, their ankles and wrists [on their normal quadrupedal legs], the inner portions of their ears [leaving them at a disadvantage when it comes to hearing], their somewhat visible / open ribcage, and the corners of their mouth.

Despite this general introduction, hellhounds are wildly varied and have a number of breeds and variations in recent history, typically intended for one of three purposes.

Companionship - These hellhounds are typically smaller in stature and less sturdy, with a tendency to bond strongly to one or two masters [with some consideration/leeway for those close to their master: See- Cerberus]. Arguably the most docile of any class of hellhound, they are still dangerous if not raised correctly, and have a nasty bite. Though not a true classification and with no formal means of training a hound to do so naturally, some companion hellhounds serve as a psuedo service dog, heavily attuned to the needs and potential problems unique to their primary master. This isn’t to say that they are an alternative to service animals, or anywhere near as well trained, *of course*, but the devildom is hardly the safest place for a regular human realm animal; And sometimes, you’ve just got to work with what you’ve got.

Sport / Show - Typically very much breed standard. While raised to tolerate handling and grooming, these traditionally built hellhounds are temperamental at best and borderline terrifying when their willful nature comes in direct conflict with a demonic handler who bit off more than they can chew. Heavily regulated, and typically owned by the elite.

Protection - The devildom is dangerous, and nobody is questioning that. Demons with a knack for animal handling [or demons who can afford to hire someone skilled with animals, of course!] breed and train these creatures to guard many things; People, places, objects, etc. They’re typically territorial and hard to train as a rule, as one cannot allow for a beast such as this to be tempted by treats or good petting from *anyone*, yfm?

Sausage is a bit of a mixed bag. Born from protective stock and bought by Beelzebub after overhearing Mammon trying to convince Lucifer to get Delphine/my mc a pet [who lays eggs, we’ll get there, that he can sell for a massive profit]. Being the youngest present brother at the time, anything capturing his interest other than food is both welcomed and encouraged in an attempt to positively reinforce him to not put the devildom at risk of a famine.

Delphine unintentionally raised this brick house of a hellhound puppy into a sort of in-between of companion and protector, with him being very social, very sweet, and *fairly* defensive and willful if things aren’t going his way. He’s typically the one to step in most successfully to motivate her to move around [yes, moreso than the brothers!] and do her day to day tasks, and is probably the best way to find out if something’s wrong with her-- Past being able to just kind of drag her off due to their size differential, his general wit and ability to communicate his needs and wants have led to unexpected food deliveries, blankets spread over her shoulders, and human world medicines arriving a few days before she shows any real signs of illness that she can see.

He’s also spoiled as all get out. If you’re sharing a bed/couch/blanket/etc with her, you can bet Sausage is soon to follow. Sorry, Mammon! He loooves table scraps and is almost as bad as Beel when it comes to eating things he shouldn’t [and looking too cute to be scolded about it too heavily].

Rocky - ... That’s just a rock, dude. - Gift from Belphegor:

It’s really hard to tell if Belphegor is messing around when he presents Delphine with a rough hewn black rock bearing two googly eyes, a pair of hilariously out of place crystalized horns, and a pair of similarly out of place crystal wings, but I swear on all things unholy, he’s doing it for a reason.

Though not... Really sentient, initially, Rocky just needs a good, possibly year long charging. Soulstones are sort of... Weird, in that they are inert and lifeless for as long as they remain with the boulders from which they are harvested. but typically-- After being exposed to a single party’s magical runoff and signature for a year or so-- absorb enough energy to come to life, their coloration and mineral makeup adjusting to fit the nature of the being they owe their life to. Delphine’s takes the form of a celestine and blue goldstone peryton; A winged stag. With crystalized wings and antlers, Rocky would almost look majestic; If it weren’t for the fact that the googly eyes have remained a feature that she has never been able to figure out how to remove. Soulstones are typically quiet observers, not requiring active care to thrive but delighting in contact [especially immediately post spell casting or magic use]. They are attuned to the needs of their magic bound masters, and typically exude an air of-- if not positive-- reassurance.

In Delphines Little Canon Divergence Corner, it’s likely that rocky coming into her care is one of the first of many attempts at reconciliation that Belphegor makes with her post chapter 16; And it honestly really, really sets him back, like, even when she returns to the human realm. Forgotten but included in her luggage, it’s a few weeks into her settling down on Earth that she finds the dinky little stone, and an overload of magic-- Possibly emotionally sourced, possibly due to unresolved tension/a discussion that never got to happen because he was being a little jerk about it-- sets off the transformation, which occurs overnight.

She recognizes the little stone figure when it approaches her in the morning, and one of her first texts about it is a simple, succinct “WTF” + an image attachment sent to Belphegor, specifically in the dead of night with the intention to wake him.

Henry “Pogchampion” 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, A.K.A: “Pip! Minette! Beans!” - Infernal rats - Gift from Leviathan:

A note: If you don’t care for rats or you’re more familiar with their popular association with illness or disease/classification as vermin, and are only capable of thinking of them in that context, I don’t care. I am specifically talking about rats in the context of them being pets-- And good pets, at that. If you want to talk about how much you wish they were dead/didn’t exist, thats not my problem. Just don’t do it on a post discussing them as a pet, or I will block you!

Anyway!

Leviathan is probably the most appropriate person for them to get pet recommendations from, but her asking never winds up a necessity; When he finds out that he’s got another pet enthusiast in the house, he’s *all* about it, and when he finally [very unsubtly] weasels his way into the information he needs, he gets them to come along with him to what’s supposed to be a routine supply trip for Henry that just *CAN’T* be accomplished online. It’s a trip to *a* shop, but not what she’s expecting, especially when she gets to meet a handful of very curious, very playful, larger than a medium sized dog mice and rats. These guys are very much pests turned pets, with a small niche of hobbyists raising them and breeding them for temperament and overall health and disease resistance. Very social and very intelligent, they tend to thrive best in groups if one is not devoting all of their time to them as an individual. The type Leviathan recommends are on the smaller side, with cloudy, soft fur and sweet temperaments. And massive teeth, nubby horns, spade tipped tails, and very large, typically bony or leathery wings.

Levi is... Probably the one who wanted them, really. They get a little big, and tend to like to roughhouse, and they chew like nobody’s business-- And while he can’t risk his figures or merch or other Otaku Trappings or wires for everything in his room, he *CAN* risk Delphine’s. Plus, Sausage needs a friend, right? Or three?

They pick up three, all of whom are sisters, and all of whom on paper are named Henry “Pogchamp”, 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, since he *is* technically the one paying for them and at least gets to do that much. Even when they start being named Pip, Minette, and Beans, in casual conversation, he can still hold on to the fact that they’ll always be Henries in his heart of hearts.

Sausage loves them to bits, for the record, but their interactions tend to be supervised/very brief even without the worry of him being able to harm any of them due to the general (and very appropriate) ill advisement of large predators interacting with smaller prey animals. It’s cute, sure, but it can be dangerous, and Delphine (and Levi, to a lesser extent, because he’s using the excuse of them being friends to keep Lucifer off of his ass for adding another animal to her menagerie) isn’t about to risk it.

Sweets - .... A black cat? That glitters? - Gift from Satan and Asmodeus:

Small, sleek, and independent, Sweets is probably the pet people see the least of all of Delphine’s little collection-- Though that doesn’t mean she’s not well loved. A pet project between Satan and Asmodeus, Sweets isn’t *technically* a cat; They’re a being comprised of shadow, somewhat similar in nature to a familiar without the connotation of them technically being a demon slash demonic. Who just so happens to have been enchanted to appear like and generally function in their day to day life as a cat. That sparkles, the only concession Satan was willing to grant Asmodeus in return for his help obtaining the materials necessary to create the little beast (and in return for him taking the heat when Lucifer inevitably got pissy about it). Given its unique nature, very little is actually known about the little being of shadow past basic care and assumptions based on its generally feline behavioral patterns. The rats scare the hell out of it, however, and it tends to be out of sight except when called, hiding in shadows and only occasionally emerging on its own.

... Oh, and be careful. Satan hasn’t told Del yet, but it seems that the belly rubs this shadowy kitty offers tend to bite off more than they can chew if they’re not careful. Asmodeus thinks its horrible. Who wants a pet with a massive maw of teeth in their stomach? Satan desperately wants to use this quirk in Sweets’ nature for a prank. Delphine already knows, but is playing dumb for the sake of faking surprise when its formally revealed.

Elysia - Gilded Crow - Gift from Lucifer and Mammon:

SO, i”M going to keep this short because i’ve been writing this for several hours at this point on and off and i really really want to be ready for my dinner when its ready, but!

Elysia is a sort of... Special circumstance. Literally. Devotees to Mammon-- And yes, there *are* people who think he’s a legitimate demon lord, the only people really allowed to treat him like garbage are his brothers and a few choice officials too strong to be eradicated as any lesser demon might have been-- with a background in magical augmentation specifically enchanted this line of crows to reflect that which is most valued by their Lord; Riches. They’re technically not legal due to their status as something of an organic money generator, but a select few in a small flockare kept under the watchful eyes of the Demon Lord and his immediate family, and those who have been trusted by his family members. This is where Lucifer comes in.

Understandably, Mammon is not allowed to have care of his flock, though he certainly wouldn’t be the worst at caring for them. He’d just also be selling their products illegally, and you can’t have that!

Elysia wears a small enchanted band comprised of dull, unimpressive iron-- The kind of thing Mammon would neither notice nor have interest in. This band is enchanted, and serves as a sort of storage space for any of Ely’s dropped organic components. Talons, feathers, eggs-- Everything is automatically absorbed into the band, rendering the bird borderline useless outside of being a gorgeous pet, and a gigantic nuisance.

Lucifer hates to admit it, but he really is a fan of the large, intelligent, gorgeous creature; And Mammon thinks it’s really funny to teach her to take shiny things (like grimm, loose jewelry, gum wrappers, etc), even past the sentimental value of the bird itself and what her kind represents to him.

Delphine adores her, too, and is about as good an influence on her as Mammon is-- Teaching her to speak, in some capacity, simply by repeating certain words or phrases to herself as she does things in the day to day, especially during feeding time. It’s all fun and games, until this pretty golden bird calls Lucifer a ‘motherf*cker’ while she thinks he’s out of the room while visiting with Diavolo for an update on her health.

#long #obey me #obey me mc #obey me mc headcanon #obey me headcanons

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lastluvbug · 4 years

Note

told you I was gonna come with a new request! =D mind doing another Scarabia, along with a Diasmonia one? The reader has the same kind of past as the one in the last request, but I just wanna see how you would write it in their perspectives. You can make them into one or separate stories, it doesn't matter to me so go ahead and go all out! Oh and if you can make a added part where it was near the time when they found a way to get home, that would be great, thanks so much! =D

Thanks for the requests @sanata101!! I’ll do my best!

Warnings: mentioned abuse and self harm (please love yourself), language, toxic behavior. If sensitive, please do not read!

A Sweet Melody (Diasomnia)

Normally, Yuu would’ve found herself anywhere but here.

The night hadn’t sat well in her gut, long since given the opportunity of relief from its seemingly endless feast upon itself, and as such, Yuu couldn’t manage even a wink of sleep. She was somewhat jealous of Grim, who snored soundly, lost in his sea of slumber. She couldn’t help but envy that he had nothing to prod at his consciousness in the late hours, nothing to worry himself over, or remember.

So, quietly as she could, Yuu snuck away from Ramshackle, and into the brisk wind that whipped at her hair and chilled her skin, still clad in her sleepwear. She wasn’t sure exactly where she planned to go, all she knew was that she sought a way to remove the worm that had been planted too firmly in her ear.

Her skin crawled with nolstalgia, eye tingling with the reminder of the glass that had so cruelly sliced away half her world. She’d merely been a child when her father lashed out one night, stealing a part of Yuu that she could never replace, and as time ticked forward, she did as well.

It came as a shock to her when she found herself standing in the illusive Mirror Chamber of Night Raven College. Of all places to go, she chose here? Yuu had only been brought into the area a scarce few times before, and not of her own accord, having been forced by a too excited Grim to check it out. She wanted to excuse herself, to speed away from the decision that lay in front of her, but the way it bent and warped before her very eyes kept her grounded, the magic visible even beneath a blanket of water.

Yuu shakily reached towards the Dark Mirror, only stopped by the tear that dripped down her cheek. “How could I...? After everything that happened... how could I go back..?!” She thought, clenching her fists as she withdrew her hand. “I shouldn’t be here.” She turned on her heel, tramping back to her rundown dorm, all the while pressing her palms to her head in order to squeeze out the memories that brought a pounding headache along with them.

When she creaked the door to her room open, Yuu suppressed her sigh, finding that Grim was still sound asleep. She tucked herself back into the dense warmth of her bed, grimacing at how the little monster barely even stirred as she lifted him up to make herself comfortable. Her eyes fluttered shut, a finger tracing over her damaged lid with a feather light touch. Ever since that day, Yuu hadn’t had a single peaceful night, any small bump or whistle in the wind causing her to jump to alertness.

A long while later, her consciousness gave way, allowing itself to sink into oblivion.

<————>

Sirens, water, blood.

To Yuu, that was the only thing she could remember clearly, like a movie playing too vividly in her overactive head.

Sirens; the blues, yellow, and reds that flooded the house as the ear piercing screams signalled the arrival of the emergency vehicles. The sound kept her awake night after night, plaguing her dreams that soon flitted away altogether. It sounded like—like the shrieks of her sister, of her mother, the last that their voices would ever create.

Water; streaming down her windows as she sat broken at the sills, stuck in a home that had long since been referred to as such. It wasn’t a home, it was her prison. It carved paths down her young cheeks, one horribly marred by the hand of someone she once held dear to her heart, the only constant that could be relied upon.

And blood; there was always so much of it. Pooling on the white tile flooring, staining the sheets, dripping over mounds of muscle. It was hers that was spilled first, and soon, it was of her sister and mother’s. Long after that blood had been washed away, Yuu often found herself holed up in the bathroom, dragging new trails across her skin with anything she could, whether that be a blade, or a dirty shard of glass.

She couldn’t seem to climb the boulder of self doubt and blame, never gaining an inch before it grew, scheming new reasons as to why she’d never amount to anything more than a guilty murderer.

Yes, that was what her father used to call her. A murderer.

“It wasn’t my fault...right? It wasn’t me!” Yuu screamed to no one in particular, staring at her hands.

“Oh, but it was these hands that led to their demise, wasn’t it?” A deep voice grumbled, grotesque like nails on a chalkboard. “It was you who made that—that noise you were so insistent on creating. Always with that damn harp, strumming away like everything was fine. Look around Yuu! Does everything seem fine?!” Her father growled, and suddenly, Yuu was no longer in the black of her subconscious, rather in that kitchen that reeked of death.

“I j-just... I wanted to make you happy... I was never enough! I just wanted to be enough for you!”

“For him? What about us? Did you forget about me, Yuu?” Her sister cooed, standing in front of her, battered and bruised.

“Did you forget what you did to us? If it weren’t for you, we’d still be alive!” Her mother joined, the family finally complete in all its broken glory.

“I-I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry! I never meant for this, you know I never—“ Yuu dropped to her knees, clutching her head.

“You can’t hide from your past! You can’t hide from what you caused!” The bleeding mother wailed, each syllable sharp as a prick from a needle.

“You’ll always be a filthy murderer!” They said in unison, Yuu shooting her head up with panic striken tears clouding her half view.

“Take the punishment you deserve!” Her father boomed, raising his hand above his head, a bottle clenched tightly in the meaty fingers.

Yuu could do nothing but throw her arms over her face as the weapon was swung with deadly precision, racing faster and faster on its fatal track until—!

<————>

Yuu screamed as she jerked awake, sweat beads trickling down the sides of her face as she twisted her fingers in the sheets that stifled her with too much heat.

“Yuu? What’s all the noise ‘bout...?” Grim whined, rolling over and peeking an eye open.

She sucked in a shaky breath, raking a hand through her hair. “I-I... I think I–I need a w-walk. Yeah, a walk. Go b-back to sleep, I’ll be back in a little bit.” Yuu said, voice quivering worse than a dead leaf in the wind.

“Are ya sure? You don’t sound like you’re—“

“I’m fine! I just need to get some fresh air, that’s all. See you soon, Grim.” She intervened, giving him no time to respond as she lifted herself from the bed, practically racing out the door without so much as a coat.

The silent night was of little calm to the distressed girl, her bare feet slapping against the cold stone paving the path she walked over. Even as she wove further and further from the dorm house, and away from the dim light provided from the lit lanterns positioned haphazardly around the place, her wire thin thoughts didn’t allow her to notice the guest she entertained as she relived her nightmare.

That was the first vision she’d seen after clocking out in a long, long time. So long, in fact, Yuu had begun to believe that she was incapable of dreaming. The marks over her wrists and thighs tingled, none so uncomfortably as the scar blemishing her face. Out of habit, she hid it beneath a sweaty hand, wishing for the umpteenth time that some magic power would wash away the record of her father’s woes. Of her own failures.

A harsh wind whipped at her hair, rustling through her already thin clothing and sinking ice into her bones as a shiver crawled over her skin. Yuu pulled her arms across her body, hands rubbing her arms as she attempted to create even an inkling of warmth over the deprived flesh. Only now did she notice how far she’d wandered from...the only place she could call home in her twisted wonderland.

“Did you come with a plan for the chill, or are you just a fool?”

Yuu nearly tripped over her feet as she spun, ignited by the hyperactive moon. “Ts-Tsunataro!” She called, startled the appearance of the towering faerie. “H-How long have you been out here? Were you following me?”

“Ah, mortals and all of their insistent questioning,” he chuckled, horns glinting in the moonlight, “no matter. Please, cover yourself with this. You’ll catch your death if you remain dressed that way in this weather.” He shrugged off his blazer, largely oversized for Yuu’s frame.

“A-Ah... of course.” She extended her hand to grab the covering. Just as she was about to pull her second arm through the sleeve, a gloved hand gently took her arm, keeping her from completing the simple act. She kept silent as Tsunataro rotated it to expose the underside, pale and littered in thin ladders of scars.

His eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he reached out for the other arm, only to have it pulled away by Yuu, who hid herself behind a curtain of hair. “...Why? Why would you do this to yourself?” He asked, and if Yuu didn’t know any better, she would’ve believed that the confusion held in his voice was genuine.

“You wouldn’t understand...” she replied weakly. “...the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. I’m as ugly on the inside as am out, I don’t deserve anything more than the dirt on the soles of my shoes.”

The dark haired man froze, still as a statue as he processed the words, her arm still gently gripped in his large hand. Yuu stared at the smooth cement, at her pale feet in the too bright light, refusing to meet his eye.

And, each action executed with an elegance Yuu could never hope to possess, Tsunataro took her other arm, his hands sliding down to envelope hers as he kneeled, only somewhat shorter than she was standing. “I’ve seen many a peculiar incident in my lifetime, some so bizarre they seem impossible, but this my dear, is unbelievably false. You need not hide your face, for such a work of art cannot be praised unless the light frames its beauty.” He released a hand to cup her cheek, tilting her head to sweep away the bangs and reveal her teary eyes.

“Y-You... you shouldn’t lie, not for me. There’s no truth in anything you say...!” She sobbed, making no movements to wipe away her liquid sorrow.

“Once again, undeniably false. It astounds me to see that you fail to notice the perfection you carry within your mere existence. I’ve seen maidens from near and far, all come to win my hand, but never someone as fair as you. You may bear a past laced and threaded with horrors only few are opportune to see, and you may bear the scars and bruises from the times when you fell. But, the very fact that you stand here before me today, bathed in the light of the moon and glittering like a star, is the proof that you not only fell, but you rose to become something greater. I see no truer beauty than that, Yuu.”

The girl was silent, a cascading waterfall dripping to the pavement as she stared at the kneeled man, for once unashamed to show her face in its entirety. She could voice no words as she weeped, falling to her knees as well as pressing herself into the bigger body, hands clasping the fabric of his chest as she buried herself under his chin.

Malleus Draconia was for once at a loss for a plan. So, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around the trembling girl, tracing lines up and down her back to soothe her cries. “I-I—I just...I d-don’t want to be a-alone anymore!” She screamed, voice cracking like the glass of his heart.

“Shh, you don’t have to be. I know what it’s like to take the hard road with no one to guide you, believe me, I know. But you don’t have to be. Tomorrow, look for the people wearing these colors. They will be the ones to keep you company while I cannot.” Malleus instructed, gesturing to his green-and-black armband.

“T-They...will?”

“Yes, I promise it.”

“T-That sounds...nice. Thank y-you, Tsunataro.” Yuu whispered, her cries reduced to pitiful hiccups.

“Whatever you require, my dear. Now, hush, and close your eyes. You must be incredibly worn out.” She listened, noticing how she was, indeed, exhausted. She barely recognized as she was lifted bridal style, a fuzzy feeling raising goosebumps along her flesh as she snuggled closer to the warmth radiating from her savior.

The world faded away, one sense at a time, until the thankfully dreamless slumber rewelcomed Yuu, sweeping her away to a world where naught mattered but the darkness and its tantalizing hand.

<————>

The cafeteria chatter greeted Yuu’s ears as the smell of all sorts of foods mingled in the air.

She stepped into the bustling room, dodging students as she held Grim in her arms, looking down to the band that was tied around her wrist. After she had awoken, she wanted to believe that the encounter the night before had been some crazy dream her mind had conjured up, but was proven wrong by a lime-and-black colored ribbon tied loosely around her wrist, reminding Yuu of the promise that had been sworn.

“Do you see them, Yuu? I just want to get food already...” Grim pouted, crossing his arms.

“N-No, I don’t... I thought Tsunataro said they’d be here...” she faltered, standing on her toes to try and glimpse around the taller students around her.

She jumped slightly, trying to locate the colors that should’ve normally stuck out like a sore thumb. She was so focused, that Yuu nearly tripped over herself when her vision was blocked by two red eyes dancing with amusement. “Woah—! W-who are you?” She stammered, leaping back a step.

She stared a little too intensely, intrigued by how the boy was quite literally hanging upside down in midair, his black and magenta streaked hair falling around his face as he chuckled, uprighting himself and sinking to the floor. On instinct, her gaze was quickly diverted downwards as she tilted her face away from his, hiding her scarring. “Kufufu, relax, young one. I’m Lilia Vanrouge, the proud vice of Diasomnia dorm. You don’t need to hide your face, I know who you are.”

Yuu looked up, seeing nothing but his gentle smile as her tense shoulders slumped, continuing to shadow her eye as Grim stirred in her embrace. “Fgna?! Aren’t you the guy we saw before Leona’s crazy beast mode during the Magift championships?” The monster exclaimed, so restless he nearly fell from Yuu’s hold.

“Hm? Oh, I guess that is true. Commendable job on handling that, by the way.” Lilia congratulated, clapping his hands as he smiled. “Now, I heard from a certain someone that you were in need of companionship, correct?”

“U-Uh, you mean this?” She held up her ribbon. “I s-suppose that’s right...”

“Fufu, no need to be so timid. Come, I’ll lead the way.” Lilia waved his hand, gesturing for her to follow as he disappeared within the crowd.

“I guess it can’t get any worse...” She thought, quickly trailing after the shorter senior.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at a rowdy table, Lilia bowing teasingly as she stood, a sweat drop almost visible on her forehead. “Silver! You cannot sleep in the cafeteria! You’ve already woken for the day, what if the young master requires our assistance?!” A boy with pale green hair yelled, gripping someone with chin length grey hair and shaking the life from him.

“Sebek, quite down... you’ll disturb the peace.” He yawned, pushing himself away from the green haired boy.

The latter gasped dramatically, fists clenching as he lifted them into the air. “You dare order me around?! Why I ought to—!”

“Ahem. Sebek, Silver, would you like to explain or shall I turn yet another blind eye to this?” Lilia coughed, staring blankly.

“Lilia-san!” The two instantly straightened out, Sebek’s temper cooling as Silver rose to alertness. “Apologies, Lilia-san. We weren’t aware of the...guests.” Silver bowed his head, completely oblivious to the hot glare Grim sent his way.

“By all mighty... in all my years of teaching you two, have you not learned a thing about manners? Introduce yourselves!” Lilia scolded, wagging a gloved finger in the air as Yuu took her spot at the table.

“R-Right! I’m Sebek Zigvolt, first year Diasomnia student. Very nice to meet you.” Yuu nodded respectfully, fidgeting with Grim’s tattered tie.

“...Silver, second year from Diasomnia, as well. Sorry for the mess you had to see before.”

“I-It’s alright... I’m Yuu, though I’m s-sure you already knew that...” she mumbled, Grim seated on her lap as she ran a hand over her eye absentmindedly. She was only torn from her meddling as silence wrapped around the table, something that from her short time of sitting with the group, Yuu could tell was uncommon. When she looked up, she felt her ears redden to find that both Silver and Sebek were staring at her, sharing unreadable expressions.

“I-Is something the matter?” She asked, a knot tying in her throat.

“N-No! Nothing at all!” Sebek refuted, shaking his head from side to side.

“No offense or anything, but why are you here?” Silver asked matter-of-factly, Yuu flinching at the tone.

“A-Ah, w-well...I—“

“Ms. Yuu here has been awfully lonely, as most of the students avoid her like the plague, the terrible oafs. So, as said by our dear lord, we shall be the ones to provide her company!” Lilia revealed, once again clapping in his oversized sleeves as he took a seat next to the girl.

“What?! Lilia, you do realize she has no magical powers whatsoever, correct? How could we bring her under our wing when—“ Sebek’s outraged voice trailed off as Yuu felt tears sting her eyes.

It was the same thing everyone always said. She wasn��t enough, she was never enough.

“I-I’m so sorry, I should just leave...! I-I’m sorry to have taken your time like this.” She stood to go, breathless as she held back sobs. She was about to storm away, off to her first class, when someone snagged her wrist, keeping her from running.

“Wait! Please, wait Yuu.” Lilia called, taking both her hands similarly to the way Malleus did the night before.

“Why...? I-I don’t want to bother a-anyone, I’m sure just associating yourself with someone like me tarnishes your reputation!” Yuu argued, Grim holding onto her leg protectively.

“No, no no. Don’t speak like that. Reputation be damned, I say. Why does it matter what anyone else thinks? Come back, I know those two are a little hectic, but I promise you, once you get through their walls, they’ll be there for you through thick and thin. Just... give it a chance, alright? Do you think you can try that for me?” He asked softly, the busy cafeteria blind to the exchange.

“I...” Yuu took a deep breath, steadying her shaking voice. “I don’t know what I can promise you, but I can try.” She said, earning a cheeky grin in response.

“Come on, let’s go back.” Lilia smiled, letting go of one of her hands to pull her back towards the table.

As soon as the dramatic first year noticed the pair heading back over, he stood, easier to read than a book with the emotions spilt across his face.

“Lady Yuu! I deeply apologize for my previous words, it was wrong of me to speak that way.” Sebek near shouted as Yuu sat back down.

“I-It’s alright... really. Right, Grim?” Yuu noddd, her tears having soaked back to the dam behind her eyes.

“Grr... You knucklehead better watch that tongue of yours from now on! Got it?” He growled, shooting daggers at the much bigger student.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He may be emotional and dramatic, but unfortunately, he’s not an idiot. It won’t happen again...” Silver added before Sebek could reply, yawning as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Silver!” Sebek yelled, slamming his palms on the table.

As the antics continued, and the clock ticked by, Yuu found herself enjoying the jumbled company more than she thought. Her mind was steered away from the reminder of her horrid past, and for the first time since the accident, she forgot about the cicatrice that had disfigured her complexion. And, perhaps best of all, she found herself creating small giggles she had no idea she was still capable of making.

<————>

When the bell tolled the end of breakfast and the beginning of the first class, she was pleasantly surprised when Sebek walked her to the room, finding that they shared the period, as well as many others. Throughout the day, she reunited with Silver and Lilia, whether it be at lunch, or in the never halting progression of her magic filled classes.

Each of them comforted Yuu in their own way; for Lilia, it was through kind words and subtle encouragement. Everytime he notice her falling into the abyss of her thousand pound thoughts, he whispered her sweet nothings, taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze to let her know that she had someone to rely on.

For Silver, it was through soft touches and physical reminders. Whenever they shared a period together, he’d often doze off, slumping onto her shoulder and using it as a pillow. The few times he managed to stay awake, he would smile and use his pen to scribble little pictures and doodles in the corners of her assignments, to which Yuu would grin and return the favor.

For Sebek, it was through firm support and voiced praise. Applauding her when she answered questions correctly, cheering when she rode her broom properly in P.E, he was there to congratulate her on the smallest of things. He even offered to personally escort her to each classroom, guaranteeing that she wouldn’t be messed with by any of the students who dared poke fun at her outward appearance.

By the time the last bell of the school day reverberated off the intricately designed walls, Yuu had to press her cool hands to her eyes to slow the rise of water pooling in the sparkling orbs. It was too much—they were too much. It was all—all too similar to the way her... her family used to be! She didn’t want to lose anyone again, didn’t want to place her trust in those who didn’t deserve it! She’d failed to protect what she loved most once before, and she’d be struck dead before it happened again. Every beating she took, every meal she sacrificed, and for what? So that she would just lose it all in the blink of an eye?

What if... what if they left her too?

What if she was being used, again—

“...uu. Yuu. Hello? Anyone in there?”

The girl in question looked up, startled by the voice. “...Huh...? Silver?” She gasped, noticing how Grim was missing as the grey haired boy laughed inaudibly.

“Sleeping in class is my thing, you doofus. C’mon, I have something I want to show you.” He extended a hand, Yuu taking it after a minute of consideration.

“Where are we go—woah!” She yelped as she was dragged by the agile Diasomnia student, zipping through the halls in a blur of color as the speed brought a grin to her lips.

It wasn’t much, but the wind in her hair and the temporary high of running was enough to spike her adrenaline, in the kind of way that was addicting as opposed to way driven entirely off of fear.

All too soon, Yuu was brought to a complete stop, only caught from tripping by Silver’s sturdy grip. “Huff... w-was the running... necessary?” She panted, regaining her composure.

“Shh... look.” Silver simply instructed pointing.

Yuu followed the direction, and felt her heart burst with adoration at the scene unraveling before her.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard, Yuu stared with nary a trace of malice in her gaze as there, laid against the apple tree, Malleus slept silently, the only sign that he was even alive being the calming breaths that heaved through his chest. Yuu covered her mouth, turning away the laughter that threatened to spill from her pink lips.

Little animals were all over the great fae.

Birds decorated his horns, in a variety of blues and reds and yellows, while critters splayed themselves out over his lap, sandy brown chipmunks and greyed squirrels quarreling over tree nuts nearby.

“Is this an everyday occurrence for Tsunataro?” Yuu thought, stepping into the courtyard.

Silver followed after her, and once she took a seat by the slumbering boy, Silver gave her a little nod before stretching out over the wooden bench, basking in the late afternoon sun that made his hair shine like a newly polished sword.

Reaching out, she gingerly brushed away a few locks of ebony hair, scaring a few of the animals away. Malleus stirred, eyes fluttering open sleepily as he shook off the rest of the little creatures. “Hello...” Yuu cooed, withdrawing her hand and placing it on her lap as she sat on her knees.

“What a shame, really. Lordy here never gets a full night’s rest anymore, always staring at the moon like a love struck puppy dog.” Yuu shifted, falling back onto her hands as the enigmatic vice yet again dropped upside down in front of her.

“L-Lilia? How long have you been here?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“A while. I was the one who told Silver to get you, right, my boy?” Lilia smirked, cackling as Silver grunted and sent a thumbs-up as his approval.

“I’m sorry to wake you, if that is the case the—“

“Young master!” Came the familiar cry of Sebek, who practically raced over to the bench where Silver sat. “I’ve been looking everywhere! You can’t just disappear like that, you’ll put yourself in danger!”

“Oh hush now, Sebek. You’ll scare the doves.” Malleus yawned, exposing his sharp canines for a brief second.

“The doves aren’t anything to be concerned with right now... ah! Hello, Yuu! Apologies for failing to notice your presence sooner!” The green haired guard said with just a touch too much emotion to seem genuine.

“H-Hi...?” She waved timidly, a small but identifiable smile on her lips.

“My dear, I’m deeply sorry for only now making an appearance. Just as the day and night chase each other in a never ending cycle of time, my identity comes and goes. During school hours, I’m needed elsewhere.” Malleus said, Lilia having wandered off to pester Sebek and Silver.

“It’s alright, I figured there’s more than just me to entertain in your life,” Yuu shrugged, smoothing out her clothes.

“Fufu, indeed. Tell me—at the very least, did they behave?”

Yuu watched as the three goofed off, carefree chatter and laughs floating about the courtyard. “Well... Sebek is loud, and sometimes a little overwhelming. Silver is always sleeping, and doesn’t have a very strong attention span. And Lilia... he’s unpredictable, hopping left and right without so much as a plan to fall back to.” Yuu admitted, a pleasant breeze sweeping through her hair.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but... it’s not all bad. They all—they all remind me so much of my family...!” Yuu felt her voice crack as her tears returned yet again. “Silver—ha, Silver reminds me of my sister! She was so young, and...and she loved to draw. She would always doodle little pictures on my papers, and I’d always get so mad at her for it...” she wiped away the fat beads, sniffling.

“What about Lilia?” Malleus prodded, urging her to continue.

“Lilia-san reminds me of my mother. His smile, the way he quietly encouraged me when I felt like I wasn’t enough... I haven’t felt her embrace in so long, I often find myself wondering if she was real at all!”

“And... Sebek?”

“Sebek? He... well, he reminds me of—of my... my father. Before he is who he is now. I can barely remember it, but I know for a fact that he used to cheer for me whenever I got full marks on a test. I know he used to patch up my bumps and scrapes, he wasn’t always the man who... who sat around drowning himself in liquor!” The tears were so thick, Yuu couldn’t see more than a blurred mess as she hiccuped, rubbing over her scar.

“Yuu. Come here.” Malleus opened his arms. An invitation, to which Yuu wordlessly accepted by flinging herself into him, sobbing her heart onto his uniform, tears dampening the fabric.

“I don’t...! I don’t want to go back! I don’t care that Crowley found a way to get me home! I can’t go back!” She lamented, feeling Malleus tense below her.

“He...what?” It was clear that no one had been aware of this turn events, no one besides the headmaster of Night Raven and Yuu herself.

“Please... I don’t want to go back to a place where I’m not loved. To a place where I’ll forever be subjected to... to ridicule, and mockery. Please, please don’t let me leave.” Yuu begged, unaware of the crowd she had gathered.

Silver and Sebek stood dumbfounded, both gaping as Lilia watched speechless, a dark look shadowing his normally mischievous face.

In that moment, all four boys made a choice. They made the choice of compassion.

Malleus crushed Yuu in a hug, a hand over the back of her head as he pulled her flush against himself. “Shh. You don’t have to leave. You’ll stay with us. You’ll stay here, where you’re safe, and you don’t have to hide anymore.” Malleus promised, dropping the embrace to look Yuu in the eyes, absorbing all of her fractured beauty.

“I... can stay?”

“Dearest, remain here, with us. You never have to be scared again. Not ever.”

Yuu pried herself away from the broad fae, sitting on her knees and for the first time, seeing a picture so clearly, it was as if her vision returned to her after all this time.

She saw the faces of her family in them. She saw the innocent bliss of her sister, the serenity of her mother’s forgiveness, and the pride of her father. She saw the acceptance, the realization that this was now her family.

No more blood. No more tears.

She had a place she could call home, and it wasn’t even a place. It was in the arms of these four people.

Yuu had finally found her lost melody.

Holy wow, I am so, so sorry that this took so long to finish! I’m still working on the Scarabia duo, so keep an eye out for that!

I hope you enjoyed, and once again, thanks for reading!!

Stay lovely!

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #yuu/mc #mc/yuu #angst #twst grim

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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itsthe-neo-zone · 4 years

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Wands and Potions - NCTdream & WayV

Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the chapter.

Warnings: read the warnings in the masterlist linked above, song recommendations can be found there too.

A/N: Thank you to those who appreciate and support this piece of work! You know who you are, and thank you to my wonderful followers and taglist! you make this possible.

Chapter 16:

“I wanted to ask you about something.” Selene whispered; she didn’t have to be loud; she was sitting on the edge of a log in the clearing near the edge of a small island on the black lake.

“Fire away,” Yangyang was behind her, plaiting her soft locks, the feeling of the gold-like shimmer beneath his hands calmed him slightly. He was about to reveal his thoughts and deepest desires to her.

“Is it true, the whole dark arts thing.” She breathed out Yangyang could feel how she visibly tensed beneath his gaze. He looked down at her shoulders, the way they curved in slightly. She felt vulnerable around him. “You’re taught the dark arts?”

The exasperated sigh she heard from him was worrying her and his silence increased the level of anxiety in her tenfold. She felt his slender fingers let go of the strands of hair she let cascade down.

She had ever gone this far away from castle alone. “Yes,” he murmured; he took his steps to come stand before her. “I’ve done things… that are regrettable, but I’d never try to harm anyone.” Crouching to be at eye level he looked into her eyes with full sincerity.

“It’s alright.” she crooked her head to the side breathing out, the stray strands of her hair fell down past her eyes “You’re not scared?” he asked puzzled, his eyes wavered slightly looking anywhere but her.

“No,” pulling up all her courage she smiled at him, assuring the slender figure before her. “I’m not.”

“Even if I tell you I know of the unforgiveable curses.” He was a little sceptical in mentioning them.

“Even if you tell me about those.” Selene didn’t hesitate she answered immediately letting him know she trusted him, it scared her a little, but she believed he was good inside. He never judged her for being a half-blood and although it was difficult for him, he maintained their friendship.

“So, why did you bring me here?” Selene looks around. She knew of her whereabouts, but she was confused, why specifically here?

The two continued walking along the path into the woodland sitting on the island, the neighbouring patch of land had the grave of the preceding headmaster of Hogwarts. They began talking, Yangyang explaining what he believed and where his affiliations lied.

“Gellert Grindelwald was right. He had a plan to keep us away from hiding. All wizard kind. Durmstrang students look up to him, we recognised him as our leader.” Yangyang glanced around, they wandered off into the main coppice, letting themselves get caught in the magnificence of the nature.

“Do you think like him, do you believe that wizard kind deserve to rule, that it’s your birthright?” Selene was wondering, she wanted to understand what he believed to be his right. She wanted to get her thoughts around his ideals and beliefs.

“I do.” He walked up to a certain tree gathering from its leaking sap. “Tree sap must be quite rare where you come from.” she comically pondered, Yangyang grinned turning to face her “Just a hobby.”

“So, you think there are powerful wizarding families that would be willing to continue Grindelwald’s noble work?”

“Definitely, I’m surprised your family isn’t in on it too.” Selene chuckle; she thought of her obsessive blood supremacist mother and her family.

“Don’t be, I’m sure they’re a part of it, my family is intense when it comes to this kind of ordeals.”

[01:36PM]

Selene had been spending the rest of the free afternoon she had in the empty potions room. Professor Giverlein left the empty room letting her know there were no more potions classes that day leaving her with everything she could ever need.

“There’s no way I’m going to get this?” Selene whined thrusting her digits past the sides of her head rubbing her sore scalp. She was beyond stressed.

Sleepless nights, Chenle and his problems on one side. Rose and Albus with their family stress on the other; her own family ordeals tugging at her, the prophecy the portrait spoke about, the lestrange manor invitation, Yangyang and his affiliations to the return of the Ancient Sacred 28 and then Scorpius and his solemn depression. Selene was trying to solve too many problems at once.

She felt as if it was all coming back, as if the matters were taking her physical body and heath as tribute she was going to regurgitate. Holding it in, she lifted the elixir the potion she had been working on secretly aside her schoolwork.

The bitter after taste was awful but she withstood it for the benefits the potion would give her. This was old magic; you’d give something up for the taking of another. In this case it was her blood.

Selene hid the bubbling liquid in the cauldron, she lifted the rusty metal towards her shelf setting a lid on top and pushing it inwards quickly to sheath the brewing of the elixir. She took her seat back at the edge of the table.

Selene was reminded of the tournament happening from the exaggerated shouts and yells from the harbouring window. The voices came from students a year or two older, closer to Yangyang’s age. Selene sat there dazed for a moment. It was getting closer to the winter break, meaning the deadline for the potion project was creeping nearer.

Playing with the leaves of the daisy root; Selene remembered what she had gone through to get the foliage. She recalled what Chenle did for her. He saved her from the hell she was going through, twice. That should prove that he cares.

But why do I still hate him for his harsh words and cold demeanour?

[06:17PM]

[Selene Pov]

“I got your message. What is it?” I rushed to the library. Moving past tables I saw a crouched lyra she was shaking, and I mean shaking. Almost vibrating.

“What on earth happened. And why did you send that idiot Irene to tell-” I stopped my whining because I realised this was real, she was in tears and it looked like anymore and she’d lose it all. I lifted her up swinging the robes she had on the floor over her shoulder blades.

Olivia comes rushing into the library, I could hear the frantic panic in her voice as she desperately wanders about the immense hall of the library.

“Oh thank heavens you’re here!” I speak agitatedly my voice breaking, “Olivia what’s happening to her.”

“He found out!” Olivia crouched she grabbed the girls palm, “Hopefully this works.” She pulled an elixir out of the robes pocket taking a couple drops and setting them on the girls wrist.

“Who found out?” I was panicking, I should be keeping my calm but the view before my own two eyes was scaring me.

“Se-Selene, he saw, it- I didn’t. he saw E-everything.” I hushed her, “It’s alright, I understand. We’ll solve this.”

It looked like Olivia understood what lyra was blabbering about, the rush in her hands and movements forced me to lift the dropped unknown potion and take care of the small container and its excess drops.

“I’ll explain later but you have to get Scorpius right now. Do whatever you need to do he must come here right now.” I nod already running off I pushed past the main library doors not caring or even asking questions on my Scorpius had to be there.

I was running even faster than I had when I heard Scorpius’ voice in my head, using every force I had in the rest of my body I managed to clear the thoughts for a couple more seconds sending a energy fuelled message to the blond slytherin boy.

“Where are you going?” Jade yelled after my speeding self, she watched me turn towards the dungeons of the castle, following she tried to catch up but as a speeding bolt, the only thing she caught was my maroon hair trailing off behind me.

I reached the entrance of the Slytherin common room. It was guarded by two gargoyle statures and a password. Never being down here before; I panicked. Lyra didn’t look like she had much time before she was out.

Catching sight of the one person I didn’t want to be around, I groaned. Why him, why Chenle of all freaking people? It just had to work that way, turning around to face him I forcibly pushed down any form of resentment and dignity I had.

“Where is Scorpius?”

“Look what the snake swallowed? It’s Selene Adams, have you come to apologise?” Jisung who was next to the blond spat smirking, the smug grin on his face annoying me more than it should.

“I’m not here to apologise to anyone.” I glared back at him; his words made me feel like shit. “Where’s Scorpius, Chenle?” I repeated my question my body language visibly showing I was under a time limit.

“Tell me?”

“Selene they’re not going to help.” The familiar echo from behind me voiced down the damp and dreary corridor. “Jade please help me, lyra has fallen and Olivia sent me to get Scorpius, its urgent.”

She nodded pushing past the two; specifically Jisung. “Ill get him now, wait out here.”

“Be fast. Please!”

I paced up and down the width of the small corridor, Jisung’s face immediately changed realisation dawned over his sharp features and he quickly followed the dark raven female; leaving the blond boy standing a meter away from me.

It felt awkward. I didn’t want to talk to him or even be around him. Though I could feel his penetrating gaze it pervaded my head trying to understand my thoughts, defiling me.

“Stop that.”

“What? Stop what?” he sneered his voice was back to the usual the voice he always had; the softness that was once there when we were at the mansion was nowhere to be found. I guess snakes venom spreads fast, especially of that snake is Rosier.

“Your staring.” I snapped back.

“So now I can’t use my eyes, and who said I take orders from you? Filthy half breed.” His words took me back to the times I’d let myself be lectured and broken down by him.

I wasn’t going to answer but the look of pure aggravation on my face said enough. Watching the now appeared Scorpius drag me off was enough to let it slide, lyra was more important anyways.

“You can tell me what happened later and why I’m desperately needed when Lyra’s the one in trouble but now we need to get to her as fast as possible.”

After pulling Scorpius on a wild goose chase to the library then noticing Olivia took Lyra to the lunch table on the outside of the castle gates and into the gardens past the wooden bridge. I had finally made it completely emphysematous.

“What is it, what is going on?” the blond boy was extremely confused and shocked. His movements were extremely erratic.

“You’re going to have to sit through this one, Scorpius.” Olivia spoke she was hesitant. Weary to all his reactions.

“Do I go? Or what do I…” after catching enough breath I ask the unanswered question. It seemed like this was a private ordeal, I was unsure of whether it seemed ok for me to be here.

“You’re related to him; he may need some ‘moral support’ through this.” Olivia hissed she was put in an uncomfortable position; I could see it myself. She lifted the lifeless right arm that belonged to lyra.

The cold wind brushing past our stiff bodies allowed me to lean into Scorpius for warmth and comfort. Though I think he was the one who needed comfort now, he looked extremely anxious.

“Do you know what’s happening?” I look into his eyes leaning over his shoulder. Scorpius gleams smiling lightly at my pouted facial expression.

“You look cute.” He mumbles, pulling me down to sit next to him. He sighed, it seemed like he had a rough day today. “To be completely honest, I don’t know what this is about, but I have a bad feeling about this if my predictions are correct.”

The unease was evident in the way he stations himself waiting for Lyra to wake from her deep slumber.

“Why did you ask me to bring him here?” My question was directed to Olivia, but I couldn’t take my eyes of Lyra her tired and overworked emotional toll showing through her face. I was stupid not to notice, the glimmer once in her soft eyes no longer there.

“I should have been there for her like she did for me.” I muttered voice breaking, it sounded weaker than it should have. Watching the ravenclaw witch wake her up from the antidote of the elixir she looked shaken and dissipated.

“Selene, Scorpius?” her voice was barely above a whisper, lyra woke up but she was still in a haze. “I’ll let Lyra explain, just give her time to awaken.” Olivia added letting lyra sit up, I moved to help the brunette witch. My friend, a sister to me.

After giving her a few moments to calm I spoke up nudging her to speak gently. She had energized just enough to talk. But as soon as she looked up and into Scorpius’ eyes the tears started. He was shocked, his lips trembling wanting to say something but unable to speak.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I was truly disordered, completely flummoxed. The two were reacting lie they had shared some sort information. Everyone was reacting strangely. Even Jade was understanding her eyes flashed when she heard of Lyra being hurt.

“I think I know, but I’m unsure…” Scorpius was as still as a stone sculpture at this moment. “And it’s scaring me.” He breathed looking at her weak shivering fingers before him, they laid on the table as she sobbed, “Is it a possibility that I’m- I mean, that you’re…

Her voice was incredibly shaky, she yearned to hug him but it was difficult... Everything was telling her not to push his limits.

“I wanted to, -really- I wanted to tell you for so long. But fath-father didn’t let me. He kept me away too. I’m so sorry.”

@ajuniceuajuniceu @kkuljungwoo @sensiblebutch @kangkinoa @nctzen2020 @mystic-jungkook @merryandhappylele @bcbymingi @mochischeeks @rilakunma @jaehyunspaghetti @commentgirl @99jjh @johnnys-wifeu @misaraem @apricottulips @h2ogamergirl @angelsnowflake

#nctdream series #wayv senarios #kpop fanfic #nct hogwarts au #nct chenle #wayv yangyang #NCT 127 #nct fanfic #nct wayv #wayv x reader

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nightofthemeteor · 4 years

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Uchiha clan/Senju clan

(Also here on AO3)

Izuna was blindfolded. He hated being blindfolded.

Alright, so he’d made a little bit of a mistake. Maybe he’d been just a tiny bit too reckless, sneaking around the borders of the Senju camp, trying to gather some information the Uchiha could use in their future attacks. His Sharingan should have given him an early warning, but Izuna supposed the Senju clan must have grown sneakier with their traps lately, because he hadn’t seen this one coming – probably the work of that tricky asshole Tobirama. Now Izuna was stuck here, blindfolded with a cloth covered in chakra seals, hands tied with more of the same to prevent him from weaving signs, waiting for Butsuma Senju to decide what to do with him. From the reputation of the Senju clan, Izuna had actually expected to be executed immediately – he wasn’t certain what had stayed Butsuma’s hand, but by logic, they had to be keeping him only long enough to interrogate him. Which meant that, at fourteen, he might be spending his last night on earth alone and tied up in an enemy camp. But it was fine; it was all fine; he was just going to wriggle out of these bindings and be on his way, no problem. Just as soon as he could loosen this stupid blindfold.

“Quit moving,” hissed a sudden voice in the darkness.

Izuna went still, just for a second, his heart pounding in surprise – and then, just to be contrary, resumed his squirming with renewed vigor. The voice above him sighed. Abruptly, Izuna’s wrists were seized and held still despite his thrashing; in an instant Izuna felt the cords binding his hands tighten and then go slack. Before he could fully register his freedom, his blindfold was torn away as well to reveal a face in the murky darkness in front of him. Brown hair cut to the shoulders, brown eyes and an anxious expression: Izuna recognized him instantly as the Mokuton user Senju Hashirama, oldest son of Butsuma and one-time friend of Izuna’s brother.

“Put me under a genjutsu so I can talk to you,” demanded Hashirama in a whisper, and Izuna immediately activated his Sharingan. Once inside his genjutsu, Hashirama would be under Izuna’s control – no matter the Senju boy’s intentions, he would be powerless in Izuna’s world. Just to confuse him, Izuna shaped the genjutsu world to mirror the real world, making use of the bare glimpse he’d be afforded in the darkness – and as a final touch, Izuna replicated himself until the room was packed with Izuna clones, all armed with kunai pointed at Hashirama’s throat.

“That’s much more comfortable,” said the real Izuna, twirling an illusory kunai in his hand.

Hashirama held up his hands to show he meant no harm, though they both knew he could do no harm to Izuna now even if he wanted to. “Relax, Izuna,” he said. “I’m here to help you escape.”

“Thanks,” Izuna replied, and held his kunai idly out in front of him. The clones surrounding them all leveled their kunai in unison, Sharingan spinning in myriad pairs of eyes. “But I’m not interested in walking into any more traps today. So tell me – why, exactly, would you help me?”

Despite the thicket of knives surrounding him – fake knives, of course, but their bite would feel quite real – Hashirama looked serious but unafraid. “I’m betraying my father to do this,” he said. “But I don’t want the conflict between our clans to escalate the way it would if we killed Tajima’s son.”

“Please,” scoffed Izuna, “You’ve already killed my younger brothers. What would killing me matter?”

Hashirama actually flinched visibly at this, but held his ground and replied steadily, “I’ve lost brothers to the Uchiha, too. I know how it feels. That’s exactly why I want this killing to stop.”

“So you’re sparing me out of pity? Is that it? Try a better lie, Senju.”

“I’m serious,” said Hashirama, eyes fixed on Izuna amid the throng of clones. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Izuna snorted in disbelief and directed his army of clones to move in closer; Hashirama didn’t react, even as the nearest kunai blades began to gently brush his skin. “Let’s say I believe you,” Izuna said, watching Hashirama with Sharingan-enhanced eyes for the barest hint of a tell, anything that would reveal his true intentions. “Letting me go buys you nothing from me. I’m your enemy, and that means once I get back to my clan, I’ll get right back to trying to destroy yours. You let me go now, and one day I might kill your father, or your brother.” He jabbed his kunai out, stopping a hairs’ breadth from Hashirama’s eye. “I might kill you. So tell me, why would you do this?”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself,” Hashirama breathed, and for a moment Izuna could feel his chakra pressing against the genjutsu, not quite enough to break it, but enough to let Izuna know he wasn’t as fully in control as he had thought. Feeling dizzy, Izuna backed up a step, and his line of clones lowered their weapons. Then, in the blink of an eye, Hashirama was back to normal, looking as harmless and placid as ever. “You’re right,” he told Izuna. “If I let you go, you might kill me or my family, one day. Or, if I don’t let you go, your father and brother might come here and kill us all in vengeance. All these things might happen, or they might not. There’s only one thing I know for absolutely certain: if I let you die now, Madara will lose his last remaining brother.”

“And what do you care if he does?” demanded Izuna, shaken.

“He doesn’t deserve that,” said Hashirama, simply.

So it was about Madara – and really, Izuna could have guessed that. He didn’t understand what kind of strange obsession Hashirama had with his brother, but he also couldn’t spot a lie anywhere in Hashirama’s insane reasoning. “Fine. What did you want to tell me?”

“You have about ten minutes before the next guard shows up. There’s a gap in our patrols due east, so head that way until you’re out of the trees. Sunrise is in two hours. Think you can make it?”

That probably meant Izuna should head due west instead, and avoid whatever trap was laid for him – but as if reading his mind, Hashirama said, “If they catch you, they’ll make you tell how you escaped, and then we’ll both be dead. You can trust what I’m saying. Oh, and you’d better punch me in the face or something on your way out.”

“Sure,” said Izuna, relishing the thought. “I’ll make it nice and convincing.”

Hashirama grimaced – it probably wasn’t hard to tell what Izuna was thinking, that time. “Leave me in a nice genjutsu at least, will you? And…give your brother a message for me. Tell him – ” He paused, biting his lip in thought. “Tell him: ‘we’re still the same’”.

“Whatever,” Izuna muttered, having absolutely no desire to get in the middle of whatever was going on between his brother and the obviously crazy, unfairly powerful heir to the Senju clan. He was going to have to keep a closer eye on Madara after this, that was for certain. Izuna saluted lazily, threw out a casual, “See you on the battlefield, Senju,” and melted away, back into the real world.

Hashirama’s instructions turned out to be legitimate, and though Izuna did manage to make it back to his clan, he never did deliver Hashirama’s message. But years later, on a cratered battlefield, when Izuna felt his life draining slowly through the ragged wound in his belly and watched Hashirama extend a hand to Madara, he would remember this conversation and answer his brother’s desperate look with a single nod of assent.

---

Tobirama thought he’d concealed his presence perfectly. But had had to grudgingly admit, as he held his hands in the air in surrender, that the bodyguard of the Tsuchikage – Mū, he remembered – put him to shame on that score.

“Don’t try anything, Konoha spy,” said Mū, from behind the wrappings covering his mouth. Tobirama wondered if those wrappings had anything to do with the way he disappeared so entirely, fooling even Tobirama’s finely honed sensory abilities.

“I’m not a spy,” Tobirama protested tiredly, knowing as he said it that it was probably futile. Alright, he’d been sneaking around the outskirts of Iwa territory, but only to make sure the newly-formed village wasn’t trying to do anything stupid – like collecting additional tailed beasts to add to their arsenal. “There’s no need for us to fight; I’ll leave of my own free will.”

Mū’s eyes, practically the only part of him left uncovered by the wrappings, narrowed in suspicion. “Your presence here is in violation of the agreement between our two nations.”

“A mistake on my part,” Tobirama acknowledged. “Won’t happen again.”

“No,” said Mū, “It won’t.”

A tiny dot of bright white light appeared between Mū’s hands, and in the blink of an eye expanded into a glowing white cube… and Tobirama finally recognized the deadly Jinton wielded by the Tsuchikage. Shit, he thought, trying to keep his panic at bay – had he known that Mū could do that? – and in the instant he had before the jutsu was released, he cast his senses out, searching desperately for a Hiraishin tag near enough for him to reach. There was nothing, nothing for him to jump to – he reached for one of his tagged kunai, knowing that by the time he managed to throw it, he would already be reduced to dust – there was a bright flash of light, and Tobirama had only enough time to regret that his life would end in such a stupid way –

The next thing he felt was the sensation of being suddenly and violently lifted into the air. Surprised to find himself alive, Tobirama realized he was inside of a bright blue, gigantic fist, suspended in the air; directly below, a perfectly square crater now marked the spot where Tobirama had been standing a moment before.

“Mū of Iwagakure, I believe,” said a voice from above him.

Tobirama groaned inwardly. Relieved though he was that he’d been rescued, he was less than delighted to find that his rescuer was none other than Uchiha Madara.

“Uchiha Madara…-sama,” said Mū, looking as though the honorific tasted bad in his mouth. Tobirama immediately felt a little better: the upside of being rescued by Madara was that now Mū had to deal with him, too. Tobirama knew from bitter experience it wasn’t easy to stare down an enemy when said enemy was towering over you from inside of a glowing, blue, half-skeletal Susano’o. Nevertheless, Mū tried his best. “You’re trespassing on our territory!”

“Trespassing? Me?” said Madara, almost completely deadpan. “I was simply on my way back from the peace negotiations I was conducting with your Tsuchikage. Negotiations we all want to succeed – isn’t that right, Mū? So,” he continued, giving the Iwa shinobi no chance to reply, “You will overlook this little incident, and Konoha will overlook the fact that you tried to kill the Hokage’s younger brother.”

He couldn’t quite tell, but Tobirama thought Mū was grinding his teeth behind those bandages. Still, there was nothing he could do; no shinobi in their right mind, aside from his brother – and there was honestly a debate there to be had about whether Hashirama really had a right mind – would cross Uchiha Madara without very good reason. Eventually, Mū dipped his head and said grudgingly, “…Very well. But if I catch you in Iwa territory again, I won’t be so lenient.”

“Yes, yes. Run along, now,” Madara replied. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mū.” Not that Tobirama knew for certain, but he was pretty sure whatever concealment trick the Iwa shinobi had been working earlier was enough to fool the Sharingan. However, the abilities of the Uchiha were still mysterious to the clans outside of Konoha – and even Tobirama, who had been fighting against the Sharingan all his life, really had no idea what kind of grotesque jutsu Madara could perform with that Mangekyō of his. In any case, Madara’s veiled threat seemed to work: Mū leaped into the trees behind him instead of melting into his surroundings the way he had before, and Tobirama could feel his chakra moving rapidly away.

Before Tobirama could do or say anything, the blue fist holding him up abruptly evaporated, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. Dusting himself off, Tobirama looked over at his rescuer in annoyance, only to see Madara down on one knee, clutching his eyes with one hand, the remnants of the Susano’o dissipating around him. Tobirama took an uncertain step in his direction. “Are you…alright?”

“I’m fine,” snapped Madara, though he certainly didn’t look it. He managed to get to his feet, unsteadily, and when he finally brought his hand away from his face, Tobirama could see both hand and face were smeared with blood. A chill ran down his spine: more confirmation, as if he needed it, that the Mangekyō was as poisonous to its users as it was to everyone else. Although, on the other hand…that jutsu had just saved his life. Tobirama had his beliefs, but before all else, he had to acknowledge the facts.

“…Thanks for your help,” he managed to grit out.

Madara looked as uncomfortable to be thanked as Tobirama was to be thanking him. “Yeah, well. I only did it for your brother, so don’t go thinking you can count on it. Can we just get out of here?”

“By all means,” said Tobirama, relieved, and jumped into the trees, Madara following closely behind. They headed in the direction of Konoha, but it was slow going, with Madara still shaky on his feet as they leapt through the branches. Ordinarily, Tobirama would have ignored him. Even with the founding of the village, it was difficult to forget the injuries Uchiha and Senju had done to one another in the past – and Madara had never been able to overlook the fact that Tobirama had nearly killed his younger brother. But Tobirama’s curiosity overcame his better judgement and made him ask, “Did that jutsu always take so much out of you?”

Madara, concentrating on his footing, only grunted in reply. That was all Tobirama had expected to get, but to his surprise Madara told him, “It gets worse every time. Eventually I’ll go blind from it.”

“Huh…and you wasted one on me?” Antagonizing Madara like this was a bad idea, but…it was also pretty entertaining.

His travel companion spared a moment to shoot a bloody glare in Tobirama’s direction. “Like I said, it wasn’t for you,” and then added almost to himself: “I don’t want to find out what losing his last brother would do to Hashirama.”

Now that, somehow, was both completely out of character for Madara and also completely what Tobirama would expect from him when it came to Hashirama. And with that thought, a large number of anomalous observations suddenly clicked into place, forming a satisfying but also entirely horrifying conclusion. “You must really love my brother,” Tobirama said, before he could think about what he was saying.

He was treated to the sight of Madara completely missing his landing on the next branch and plummeting ungracefully through the canopy. Tobirama, one hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing, peered down to see Madara standing sideways on the trunk, glaring at him. “Tobirama, if you say one more word about that, especially to your brother, I will trap you in a genjutsu until you die of old age!”

Tobirama had to force down laughter again, and wondered if this was what it felt like to go insane. Much as it turned his stomach to think of an Uchiha – particularly this one – pining after his brother, he was deeply enjoying this new leverage he suddenly exerted. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he called down, trying unsuccessfully to keep the amusement out of his voice. Really, he should be considerably more horrified – but then, he’d already more or less come to terms with the way Hashirama was around Madara, the ridiculous lengths he was willing to go to for his childhood friend. Discovering this was almost a relief; in some ludicrous way, it made a lot of sense.

While Tobirama was pondering this, Madara gained the high branches again and set off towards Konoha, not looking at Tobirama or waiting for him to follow. Trailing behind him, Tobirama considered something completely novel for him: voluntarily helping Madara. On the one hand, it would destroy his new leverage; on the other hand, watching his brother and Madara trip over themselves trying to figure this out would probably be unbearable. It was going to happen, inevitably, of that much Tobirama was certain; he could at least hasten the process. And – well, Madara had just saved his life.

“Hey, Madara,” he called ahead of him. No response. “You know he’s in love with you, too.”

At that, Madara’s shoulders stiffened, a little, but he didn’t turn around, and his only response was a gruff, “I told you to shut up about it.”

He’d probably just made things worse – oh, well. Tobirama wondered if Izuna had already come to the same conclusion as him; Izuna, of all people, would definitely share this mix of revulsion and amusement. Tobirama resolved to have a chat with him when they returned to Konoha. If he had to deal with the inevitable fallout of this disaster in the making, it would at least be nice to have a cup of tea with someone while watching the whole thing unravel.

#i've had the idea for this one on my mind for ages!#it was nice to have an excuse to write it #hashimada happenings 2020 #may 11 #hashimada #naruto #my writing #thank u to my gf for proofreading the last part and only minimally making fun of me

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spacehologramcollection · 5 years

Text

Request; Kombat Kast and marking their territory.

Well. Some of these are fluffy and some of them are pure filth. So, everything is under the cut. You know the drill. Warnings; Smut, NSFW, sexy-times, mentions of biting, marking, kinkiness etc. 18+ under the cut. GIFS are not mine and do not belong to me.

· Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi); SFW; He gives you a necklace, one with a spear-head charm on it. On the back it’s got his initials and yours. When he gifts it to you, he’ll sit you down in the Fire Gardens, watching as you unwrap it. Before carefully placing it around your neck. This is just so everyone knows, who you’re dating. Because he isn’t risking losing you. Nobody going to fuck with you when they see that. Ain’t happening. NSFW; He’s not overly keen on leaving marks on your body, why would he want to do that? But. Sometimes, on the occasion he’s feeling a little more adventurous, he would not be opposed to marking your collar-bones. He’ll fucking go to town if he has to. He loves the sight of them, but he leaves them, just so he can see them. There more to remind him and make his cock grow harder.

· Kabal; SFW; Matching. Shark. Tooth. Necklace. It takes him forever to find one that’s even remotely like his. His has some extreme sentimental value, his dad gave it to be him before he passed away. He’s the eldest so he got it. Whilst he was looking, he gave you his, just to get you used to having one. But yeah, when he finds one very similar, he’ll put it on you. He even points to it, shouting to Kano that you’re his. And if anyone tries anything on with you, or they insult you, or even fucking look at you wrong. He’ll shove a hooksword so far up their arse. And he’ll do Kano’s dentist a favour and knock his bastarding teeth out. NSFW; Love-bites everywhere. Fucking hell. You look like a fucking leper. ‘Not too many on my neck’ turns into a challenge for him ‘Of course not Princess’ Yeah, you’ve got a big one on the junction between your neck and collar. More on your thighs. You’re sat there, admiring his handywork and smiling. He’s such an endearing bastard. If you’re not 110% down, he will try and abstain from leaving them in prominent places.

· Kung Lao; NSFW; He likes to leave scratch marks on your back. He’s a sucker for being a bit of a bottom, just laying back and watching you ride his cock. So, he’s totally down for him clawing at your back. Nothing says you’re together, than having some deep-set claw marks on your back. It’ll put anyone off trying to fuck with you, unless they want a rather sharp hat to their face. Who knew one Monk could be so kinky? You sure as fuck didn’t.

· Kenshi; SFW; He’d give you one of his old bandanas. One that he’s had for a while. He has multiple ones, but he’d want you to tie it around your arm. Just so people know that even though he’s blind, he can fucking sense them checking you out. And he ain’t having it. Their thinking of slapping your arse? Not in this fucking lifetime. But yeah, he’ll insist you wear it everywhere. A piece of him with you always. NSFW; He loves to spank you. He knows nobody can really see them, unless you’re wearing some booty shorts. But, he knows people will know somethings up, when you can’t sit down. He’s a sucker for slapping your ass. Plus, he can sense your cheeks blushing, when people ask why you aren’t sitting down. People, mainly Johnny, have figured it out. That he’s been a little rough with you. He’ll never hear the end of it, but, at least people know you’re together.

· Sub-Zero (Kuai Liang); SFW; He gives you a Lin Kuei medallion. One that attaches to the belt of your clothes. Or, it’ll attach to the Uniform he’s got you. You’re the S/O of the Grandmaster, people deserve to know how important you are. And that if anyone tries anything on with you, whether it be intimidation or an attempt at flirting; he will not be having any of it. You’re to be treated with respect and dignity. NSFW; Leaving visible and prominent marks are not as his cup of tea. At all. But, he will on the occasion he’s been slightly rougher, mainly pinning you down, accidentally leave blue frosted marks on your arms. He’s incredibly sorry, he didn’t mean to do it. They’re not painful, in actual fact, they heighten your orgasm. So, you aren’t complaining. He still feels bad… but he does love the way they frame your wrist. Reminding people, that you are the Significant other of the Grandmaster.

· Bi-Han; SFW; Like Kuai, he gives you a Lin Kuei medallion, however, his comes attatched to a velvet blue choker. So, this is a little risqué, since its kind of like, collaring. Borderline though. Think Yennefer’s from the Witcher, but blue and with their symbol. It reminds other members, and outsiders at that, that you are taken by THE Grandmaster. And he does not take lightly to anyone intimidating or flirting with you. NSFW; This is very Kinky and is taken straight from his NSFW alphabet. One of his major kinks is light choking. If you’re into it. So, if you’re down, he’d leave similar frosty markings (Much like Kuai) on your neck. Good job he got you that choker. But nothing screams that you’ve both been intimate than that. If you’re not down for it, then he’s understanding and will instead leave a frosty handprint on your ass. These last fucking hours. He’s such a dick.

· Raiden; SFW; How does he ensure that everyone knows you’re dating him, exclusively, well, the way a good should of course! Well, he’s actually not sure on this custom. He does end up consulting the Elder Gods. For advice. They have no words. What the fuck is he asking them for? No time for this, even though they get an eternity. Asks Hanzo and takes inspiration from him. Gifts you with a charm bracelet. Lightning bolt charm, staff charm, hat charm and most importantly, a heart and an infinity symbol. He’ll live forever, and he’ll carry his love for you all the way through that. NSFW (This is for Dark!Raiden, since you are all thirsty for him!); He would be into leaving marks on your neck, collarbones and anywhere visible. He needs people to know that you’re together and you’re with him. If they mess with you, then let the thunder fucking take them. He will show no mercy.

· Erron Black; SFW; So, what does a cowboy give his Baby-Doll? Easy, a matching hat and bandana. Hey, look, you’re dressed the same. He needs everyone to know you’ve already got yourself a partner for the rodeo. Him. Hell, he’d get you a pistol just like his, custom made, just so people know. You’re Erron Black’s Sweetheart. And don’t nobody fuck with them. He doesn’t expect you to wear them all the time, but he loves it when you wrap the bandana around the neck. NSFW; He’s a sucker for a good love-bite, so he’ll be leaving them on your neck. See, good job he got you that bandana. It’ll hide the marks! But, if you wanna parade them around, then be his guest. He’ll fucking love it, if you’re stood talking to Jade, whilst he’s talking to Kotal and he can just spy them. They make him a little distracted. He has no idea what Kotal said but it sounds good to him.

· Jade; SFW; Her love for you is strong, she’s a loyal woman and she intends to make her intentions clear. You’re hers and hers alone. She isn’t into sharing, she has to now share her friendship with Kitana. Which she’s fine with. But you’re hers, and if someone tries to flirt or make you uncomfortable, they will be strongly disciplined. So, she makes it very clear, by gifting you with leaf shaped pendant made of Jade. This could not be clearer. It’s made of her namesake for Christ sake.

· Cassie Cage; SFW; A Phonecases that’s custom made, it’s just a bunch of those trashy hearts and pictures of both of you. Some of them goofy, some of you both looking amazing and ready to hit the town! She’ll also update her Social Media to make sure people know you’re together. She’ll also add it into her snark. Like Kano is flirting? ‘I’ve got Y/N, why would I settle for a scumbag with scabies?’ type snark. Oh, and the phonecases are matching, she has one two! You are that couple. Co-ordinated outfits are also a thing she likes. Like not he same but ones that complement each other’s.

· Skarlet; NSFW; She’s a bit of a sucker, literally, for leaving bitemarks. She wants big red marks all over you. It’s her kink, something she loves to do. They stay for a long time too. She’s just got a talent for them. You’re the only thing she has, and she will not risk anyone harming, hurting or flirting with you. She’ll crack that whip and split their ass in two if they do!

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bakugouscentedcaramel · 5 years

Text

Broken things

bakugou and GN!reader angst, hahaha I have a final tomorrow and here we are

Warnings: Sad bakugou, mentions of violence, crying, nightmares

Bakugou has been silent since your return from the hospital. He kept his distance from you, much like a kicked puppy. The gap between you two was so large that it was kirishima that had returned you to your shared apartment.

Bakugou hadn’t even visited you.

You were understandably upset. Not at your wounds, but at your husbands apparent disinterest in you.

Was it the visible scars?

Truth be told you couldn’t remember the exact way you had gotten them. There was a villain, a lot of fire, and then, nothing. A big black hole where your memories of the event should be.

Though, you do remember amidst the black, was Bakugou howling in agony.

If he had gotten hurt, why didn’t he stay at the hospital then?

Too many questions you’d have to rely on him for.

Easier said then done since your dear husband hasn’t even looked at you.

It’s been days and Bakugou has done everything in his power to stay at least 100 feet away from you. Even at night in your shared bed he kept as close to the edge as humanly possible.

You figured it was a form of self punishment. Bakugou was your husband, your light and love. He most likely blamed himself for your injuries, his thoughts were probably along the lines of failing to protect you.

You were a hero, it is inevitable for you to get hurt while on duty. He knows that, you know that.

So why has he decided to keep away from you?

Truth be told, it was affecting you negatively. You starved for the touch of your husband. But every attempt had ended with him rejecting your advances and leaving the room.

Once, he caught you brushing your hand over the still raw mark on your cheek. The look in his eyes was unreadable before he turned his back and left the apartment for hours.

Perhaps it was the scars....

Your thoughts had kept you awake for some time that night. You listened to the rhythmic breathing of your spouse at the opposite side of the bed. Was bakugou really interested in your looks alone? The tips of your fingers found the scar on your face. You brushed the rough and raw skin. At first it didn’t bother you, it was a badge of pride that you survived what tried to hurt you.

But if your husband refused to even be near you what was the point?

You were so deep in your self loathing you nearly didn’t notice the panic from the male in your bed. He breathing had become erratic enough for concern. You sat up, ready to come to his aid when he started thrashing. His muscles twitch, as if facing an invisible foe. Your form inched closer, and you started to hear your name tumbling from his lips.

“(Y/n), No no no please.” Your husband whimpered and then stilled.

Your heart twisted. He was having a nightmare. The moonlight from the window had given you a clear look of the sheer desperation on his face.

He twitched again with another broken whine. That’s when you decided to wake him.

Gently, you shifted to place a hand on his overheating shoulder, “Katsuki,” you called gently, “Katsuki my love, wake up.” Your knuckles had begun to brush his cheek when he woke with a howl of your name.

Quickly he sat up, startling you.

“Katsuki.” You called to him again to try and snap him out of it. He was somewhere else entirely. Terror had his mind in its tight grasp and it had him frozen. His crimson eyes were wide and glassy. His body was shaking violently.

You’ve never seen him like this.

Against your better judgement, you cupped his sweaty cheek, ignoring how utterly feral your husband looked. As if on instinct his hand snapped to grab your wrist.

Bakugou’s eyes were locking with yours. Yet his mind remained anywhere else.

You said his name again, this time recognition has dawned on him. His gripped on you fell away and he turned away from you.

You could have swore you heard your heartbreak.

“Are you alright Katsu?” The trembling in your voice was obvious, but you swallowed the lump in your throat. Something was wrong with your husband, and he wasn’t talking about it.

The explosion hero turned back, shock and surprise on his face. It took a moment, but finally he spoke, “why are you asking that?”

“Katsuki you had a nightmare and I-“

He cut you off with a sad bark of laughter, “No. you shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t be asking if I’m the one whose ok!” His face fell into his hands as he shook his head, “I’m the one who hurt you. I have no right....no right to be anything but OK.”

His words only added to your concern and confusion. Was it because of his grip on your wrist? You weren’t hurt at all. Not even a bruise.

“Katsuki, it was an accident, I’m alright-“

“No! You’re not!” He snapped and finally looked at you with his tearful red eyes.

Oh.

“I hurt you! How can you be asking if I’m alright when I nearly killed you!” He was shaking again, this time with sobs rather than fear.

Suddenly the black void in your memories was filled.

The villain was facing off with bakugou, and you gave whatever support you could with your own quirk. During the battle the villain had taunted him, causing his anger to boil over completely.

You were unintentionally caught up in the crossfire.

A powerful explosion had gotten you and sent your body flying. Bakugous scream was from his realization of your state rather than himself getting injured.

When your thoughts returned to the present your husband was staring at his hands, still trembling.

“I-I thought I killed you.” He whispered, “I thought that I was the reason you died.” Bakugou had shut himself down as his thoughts and feelings had finally surfaced, “when I saw you. When I saw what I did....(Y/N), it broke me. I can’t hurt you again. I can’t....I can’t!” He faced you, his entire being was drowning in guilt and desperation.

You understood now. His distance wasn’t because of disinterest, it was from remorse. He’d been shouldering this weight ever since you got hurt. There was a fear that had been choking him this entire time.

Slowly, you reached out and took one of his trembling hands in yours. It broke your heart seeing your husband look like a cornered animal ready to bolt. He was terrified of ever hurting you again.

Very carefully, not wanting to force Bakugou into anything, you put his hand on your cheek. His thumb landed right on your scar and he swallowed.

“You’re not hurting me,” you said, reaching for his other hand, “I can name plenty of times where you saved me too.”

Instead of your face, you put his open palm on your chest, right above your beating heart, “you feel that? It means I’m still here, I’m alright Katsuki.”

The sob that ripped through the explosion hero had caused a physical pain in your chest. He pulled you to him as he wept. His arms had wrapped around you in a tight grip as fat tears streamed down his cheeks. You let him hold you, missing the contact with the one you loved. He needed to hold you, to prove to himself that he wasn’t going to bring you harm again.

You shifted, only to cup his face in your hands and wipe away his tears and kiss him lightly. That action alone caused another cascade of weeping. He wasn’t going to be OK. Not for awhile.

Your injuries had destroyed him.

Now you had to help build him up again.

------

NXNSNXND WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT???

#valvent #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #mha imagines #mha x reader #submission #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #angst #oof #HOW DARE YOU

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ecoamerica · 30 days

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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