#edit: another very very good sign is that he's much smaller than me and a trans man who is getting back into the gym | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 4 years

Text

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged.

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play.

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode.

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold.

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you.

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

3K notes · View notes

junghelioseok · 4 years

Text

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

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doctorbeth · 4 years

Text

Stripes the 50 year old tiger

This will be a longer post, because it’s all about the details, and there was a lot of going back and forth with photos and emails to get Stripes and his stripes just right. So be sure you’re comfy when you sit down to read it. :-)

***************

Stripes person first wrote to me back in December about her tiger, Stripes, and his companion RedEye the snake. Both were starting to feel their age, but as she said,

“ As you can see Stripes is in the most need of repairs. Personally, I’m guessing that a full recovering is needed, but I’m certainly no expert and will follow your advice. Here are some pics which show Stripes fur disappearing and soon he will be bald. Amazingly he has no damage that I can find. His ears need some stuffing, but they have never been tall, firm standing Teddy Bear ears.”

Here are the diagnosis photos she sent:

As you can see, his belly section was pretty good, but his furry parts were wearing and fading. His person really wanted his fur recovered, in an orangier rather than tanner fur, and she opted for him to have a spa too.

Here he is in his bubble bath:

Once he was dry, he got restuffed and of course, got a heart with a bit of his original stuffing. Here’s his heart being made:

Then it was time to choose furs. As some of you know who’ve been reading for a while, usually with tigers we use a solid fur of the preferred background color, then add the stripes by hand afterwards. Here were the best fur options:

His person opted for the orangier, furrier one.

Stripes got recovered, and some smaller wounds on his belly were sewn. Then, it was time for hand striping. I did some basic striping, and then sent photos for feedback:

His person’s first response was:

Beth, you’ve made me cry at work. I’m absolutely over the moon with Stripes new look!!! Holy cats he’s looking beautiful!! You are AMAZING!

But I was asking for striping feedback, and she happily provided it:

The stripes. Thank you for being so conservative. :) I would like to add some more stripes. I’ve included an updated pic that shows where I would like some stripes added.

Tail: Could you put 2 stripes in a ring pattern around the tail? They continue the black spots you started. I also noticed with other Gund tigers that the ring was painted at a slight angle or sprayed as 2 “halves”, not a straight ring that looked like a raccoon’s tail. (pics) I know that there was more black at the tip of the tail, but I don’t think the whole tip was black.

Back Leg: I’ve continued your 3 spots into stripes.

Body: I’ve added 2 stripes, but if you will notice stripe #2 is in the shape of a ‘V”. (I remember this detail as a child) The stripes do NOT have to line up with the fabric underneath. They didn’t before. :D

Face: I’ve added a short stripe above Stripes’ right eye. This detail always gave him a slight serious look without being mean. (not a lot of slant to the line, if any) I have always loved this detail about him. And I’ve elongated the stripe on his forhead.

Beth, I’m pretty sure we will be adding some more stripes to the back, especially his head but I thought we might tackle this bit first.

She closed with:

Again, I just absolutely can’t thank you enough for your beautiful and loving work on my best friend. I have been showing people the before and after pics for the last 5 hours. I’m so happy!!!

So back to drawing stripes on Stripes I went. Here are the next batch of photos:

Stripes person was thrilled:

Stripes looks spectacular!! I mean he is just awesome with the stripes that you’ve filled out.

She wanted just one more stripe. She sent a photo, but it was in another format, so I won’t put it here, but she also described what she wanted very well:

So I just have 1 more stripe for you. If you look at my pic, you will see that I’ve drawn a line over the small black dot that is on his forehead. In the last pic you sent me you can still see that it’s just a spot and not a stripe. Could you lengthen that spot into a stripe for me?

Please note the position. When you are seated facing Stripes, this stripe includes/starts at the black spot and runs towards the right. You have a pretty stripe that’s higher on the head already placed on the left so this one goes off to the right and is the same length as that one.

Adjustment made, I sent another photo (you can see the printout with her line instruction next to him):

Her response:

Perfection Achieved! I’m so so happy!!!! How many exclamation points can I put in an email to show you how perfect Stripes is!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So Stripes got packed up and headed home to a grateful human and snake. Here he is at home with his pal, RedEye:

His person was soooo happy! She wrote a very long thank you, with a history of Stripes and RedEye, and I don’t want to edit it, so I’m copying it entirely here for you to read. But you can skip it if you want and just know she was happy!

Hi Beth,

Sit back and relax. This may be a little bit of a long happy read. :D Please feel free to use any content or pics from my emails for your blog.

I waited anxiously for Stripes to arrive. Yes, my husband signed for the box and I couldn’t wait to get home!

And so the moment has arrived. I brought Stripes best friend Redeye in from the bedroom to help me open the package. We open, I close my eyes dig in past the packing peanuts and pull out our best friend. Oh My Goodness! He is beautiful! bright! and colorful! He practically glows! I see his face. Yes, yes! It’s Stripes! I see the same face I’ve gazed into and loved for 50 years. And that’s when the tears start. Crying, mouth open in shock but my husband says he’s never seen me happier. ..After many long years, I can finally cuddle my friend again.

Beth you have given me back something I thought I would never have again. I love Stripes so, but I couldn’t, didn’t dare to pet him or cuddle him. I had to be so gentle, so afraid that I was doing more damage to him. But now all that is over! I can sleep with my buddy by my side. I can take him on vacations again! I’m tearing up just writing this. I can’t express my joy…absolute joy over the work you have done. Stripes looks like a beautiful and bright toy again. Thank you Beth. Thank you so very much.

…And I’ll be sending Redeye to you some time in February. I’ll be sure to email you first to start the process.

And here’s a little history about Stripes. Stripes was a Christmas present in 1969. I have always loved tigers and I was in deep love the moment I saw him. He has enjoyed play tea parties with me, and watched drive-in movies sitting in the back window. He has looked over the candy hauls that I collected during Halloween and been in a beautiful oak tree during the crisp dry autumn. (Carefully placed on a towel, but he needed to experience a tree. He is a tiger after all.) He has been with me in Japan for a year and traveled all over the US northwest looking out of a train window. And he has done all these things with Redeye by his side.

--But let’s face the facts, in the last few years my friend was disappearing before my eyes. There was good fortune that his seams were okay but the fur was coming off. His stripes were completely gone in areas. He was looking more yellow everywhere. And I dared only to pat him. That’s when I began to search for help to restore my friend and so I found Realms of Gold on the internet.

Beth has been wonderful, corresponding with emails and working out details by sending pictures back and forth. She listened to my input and was absolutely amazing at applying the stripes in the right places. We actually discussed exactly where to put them. :D I trust Beth’s skills so much that I will be sending Stripes best friend Redeye along soon. He was amazed and so happy with Stripes look, that he can’t wait to go to Realms of Gold!

Okay Beth, this may be a little serious but I wanted to express my honest feelings, and let you know why this has been so important to me.

With my 2 stuffed animals loosing hair and looking tired a sobering thought occurred to me. If something happened to me, what would happen to them? We have no children to give them to. We can’t donate them because being so worn out, no one would take them. And the thought that they might end up in a garbage bin was too much. Of course for me, my goal was to pet, play and enjoy them again. That goes without saying. But now, seeing Stripes beautiful bright colors, I am happy and secure in knowing that years from now, I can donate or will him to a children’s home where he will continue to be loved. (I have several friends who grew up in orphanages and we think it’s a wonderful idea.)

Thank you so much Beth!!!!!!

I don’t know about all of you, but that made me smile all day. :-)

#stuffed animal repair #stuffed animal hospital #stuffed animal cleaning #stuffed animals #tigers #tiger #stuffed animal tiger #toy tiger

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rowanaelinn · 3 years

Text

Fire on Fire - Chapter Seven

chapter six / chapter eight

no one kills me after that, thank you very much <3

btw it’s midnight, i wrote that in two hours and it’s not edited so sorry in advance for that too

Rowan gently knelt down to put Aelin in the shower, her small arms let go of his neck to fall back by his side.

"I'm going to take your shirt off, is that okay?" Rowan asked gently, his voice barely louder than a whisper. She ignored him, her eyes fixed straight ahead with tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Aelin?"

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Rowan took the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, she raised her arms to help him but it seemed to take all her strength. She was only in her panties, sitting on the floor with her legs bent in front of her. She put her head on her knees, her arms around her legs as if it was going to protect her, as if she wanted to make herself as small as possible so that she could disappear.

"I'll be back in a second." He told her and went to his room to grab a shirt and a pair of boxers. He didn't know where she kept her clothes and he didn't want to invade her privacy any more than he already was. She hated him so the fact that he was going to see her naked was enough, she didn't need to know that he had gone through her underwear. He also took some water and towels to rapidly clean up the mess in her room.

The two minutes alone she had while Rowan was in his room and hers did nothing to calm her tremors. He took the shower palm and knelt down in front of her, she looked at him and for the first time, Rowan smiled at her. It wasn't a big smile or a pity smile, it was small and full of understanding. I know how that feels.

She didn't say anything but he could have sworn her body relaxed slightly. He turned on the water and adjusted the heat, not too hot but still (too) warm. He had noticed that she liked her shower hot because of the steam that came out of the bathroom every time she came out of the room.

The water splashed on his pants but he didn't care as he began to run the water over her arms and shoulders. She stayed still as she let Rowan take care of her, as she let the man who had been an absolute dick to her see her in her most vulnerable state.

He turned to access her back but what he saw made his heart stop for a second. Her back. That was the moment he realized he had never seen her back, no matter what he wore, it had always been covered and now he understood why.

There were two scars on the length of her spine, one at the top and one at the bottom, the same spine that wasn’t totally straight. Softly, he traced the shape of the first one and her entire body stiffened. “Please, don’t ask. Please,” Her voice was shaking and weak. Her back had been broken, he was sure of that. The scars could only have been caused by surgery. What the hell happened to her?

“I’m going to wash your hair now,” he only said and took all her hair in hand to wet them. They were soft, so soft that he may have spent more time than necessary to get them wet. He took his shampoo, not wanting to waste time looking at which of her bottles was shampoo. Gods, she brought so much product. Rowan only had shower gel and shampoo, thinking that's what everyone else had. Then Aelin Galathynius arrived, bringing shampoos, conditioners, hair care products, castor oil, and a bunch of other stuff he didn't even know the name of.

He ran some lotion through his hands and as gently as possible, he began to massage her head. She leaned her head to his touch and her breathing calmed down. Good.

He frowned as his fingers brushed against a piece of skin that did not feel the same as the others when touched. So that she wouldn't recognize his digging, Rowan looked at her scalp. A large scar was present on the right side of her head, hidden by her hair.

His breath caught, imagining all that could have happened to this woman. Quickly, his eyes searched for scars elsewhere on her body and he found a few on her arms, he couldn't see her legs from her position. The marks were not as large as those on her scalp or back but they were still there.

What the hell.

But she had asked him, begged him, not to say anything about her back so he would apply the same principle to the other scars.

He continued to massage her scalp, longer than necessary but she looked so rested that he didn't care. If it made her feel better, he would wash her hair all night.

After a few minutes, he pulled her hair back a little and gently rinsed her hair full of product. From this angle, he could see her cheeks and he noticed that there were no more tears on them, which was a good sign.

Quickly but still gently, he applied soap to her back and arms, not wanting to touch her where he would have to move her position. She had found a position where she felt safe and he would not take that away from her.

He turned off the water, rising above her and when he looked down, her eyes were already open. He'd looked at them too many times, blamed himself many times for that, but they fascinated him. Today, Rowan noticed that the blue of her eyes looked deeper and seemed to take up more space than usual. The gold was almost impossible to see. He was used to seeing the opposite, the gold grew whenever she was upset, making her eyes look like they were on fire.

He didn't smile, and neither did she. He knew that at the slightest sign of pity he would show, she would break again.

This type of breakdown she had today was not casual and he knew it, she didn't panic about her condition once and that proved Rowan right. She was used to it.

He wondered what her dreams had shown her tonight, what her mind had chosen to torture her with. It was at that moment that he regretted everything, regretted being the worst possible person around her. Not because he thought he had something to do with her condition, that kind of pain was deeper than mean words, but because maybe, if he had been a better person, she would have confided in him.

He had been so focused on pushing her away from his life that he had been blind to the possibility that he could just let her in. He shook his head, he was pushing people away for a reason. If he had any lesser friends, he would be alone now. Fenrys, Lorcan, Vaughan, Connall and now Aedion would never let him leave them, no matter how many times he had tried.

Rowan wondered if Aelin ever had anyone who fought for her the way his friends did. Sure, Dorian, Aedion, and Lysandra were here but did they notice every single thing Rowan noticed about her? Or were they wronged by her smile and the arrogance she used to hide her pain?

“Let’s get up, okay?” He said as he held his hands toward her. She looked at them and seemed to wonder what to do, he let her think, keeping the neutral expression on his face. After a few seconds of thinking, she let go of her legs and put both hands in his.

A surge of electricity passed through his body at that moment and Rowan was sure she felt it too. He used a little strength to make her stand up, her legs still a little weak. He took one of the towels and automatically Aelin raised her arms slightly, letting Rowan wrap it around her. He took another towel and had Aelin turn on herself, slowly, he began to rub her hair to dry it.

He took the opportunity to rub the towel lightly on the back of her neck and shoulders, helping her dry herself. She did nothing, just waited for time to pass, but Rowan saw that her gaze was no longer fixed on the horizon, lost in thought.

No, she was aware of what was going on around her, aware that he was there, and it didn't seem to make her uncomfortable. He left her the time, taking his hairbrush and start to untangle the small nodes that formed in the shower. It should have been more delicate.

He cringed when one of the knots didn't unravel directly, pulling Aelin's head back but she said nothing, letting him do it.

"I brought you something to wear," he said after he was done, she looked at him with a confused look before shaking her head slightly and nodding. Before he could do anything she dropped the towel that wrapped her body to the ground and removed her last piece of underwear. Rowan quickly turned around, giving her some privacy. It's not like there was anything sexual about seeing her this way, there was nothing attractive, he just wanted her to be comfortable.

“You don’t believe me,” her voice was flat, without any emotions in it. He turned his head with a frown to see her with his shirt on. It was huge for her, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the sigh. “For the scholarship.” She specified.

Well, that was random. He didn’t think about the conversation they had in the kitchen last morning at all. But if she was ready to talk, even if it was something as random as that, then he would talk. He shook his head, “I don’t, you’re right.”

“They don’t give scholarships to people like me.” No, they didn’t. “I told everyone I had one, and they believed me.”

“But it’s not true.” He said and she shook her head, confirming what he said. “How do you go to college, then?”

“My professor, Arobynn Hamel, pays for me.” Her voice was smaller than it had ever been. There was something about the way she said his name that bothered Rowan. He knew Arobynn Hamel, everyone did, he had read some of his books, he had even produced a quite good movie a few years ago. He also heard more than once Lysandra and Aelin talk about Professor Hamel.

“Why do you lie?” He asked her without judgment in his voice, only pure curiosity. It was weird for a professor to pay for a student that wasn’t one of his children, but Rowan remembered Aedion talking about Arobynn Hamel and Aelin knowing each other long before college, maybe he was a family friend? “Why lie when someone clearly cares about you enough to pay for your education? Your uncle and cousin are worried sick you’re going to lose that scholarship, you could make them feel better.”

She took a deep breath as if it was hard to speak. He was sure nobody knew what she had just told him, he could be okay with only one secret if she wanted to stop talking now. “Because the furthest they are from Arobynn, the safest they are.”

“What does that mean?” He asked but from the look on her face… She was done talking. She wouldn’t say anything more and it annoyed him, but he could respect that. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said and she nodded.

“Can you stay with me a little?” He knew how god damn hard it was to ask for help, but this little human being in front of him just did, she was strong enough to ask for something he never had the courage to ask in a decade. So he nodded, following her as she slipped in her bed, sitting at the end of it.

She had been honest with him tonight, more honest than she had been with anyone, it was only fair he was honest with her, too. “I had a nightmare,” he started. It was easier to speak without any lights on, even if he could feel her gaze burn his skin. “That’s how I heard you, I was already awake.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, he even wondered if she wasn’t asleep. “What was your nightmare about?”

“You’ve got your secrets, I have mine, princess.” She laughed softly at that and he wanted to get on his knees to thank all the gods for that. It wasn’t a big, strong laugh, but it was one. One he would cherish.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“No,” he said, honestly for the first time in his life. “You?”

“No,” her voice was quiet. “It’s weird. To answer that question truthfully. People don’t usually expect another answer than “yes” when they ask you how you are.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

“I’m scared, Rowan. And my little trick to contain the fear isn’t working lately.”

“What trick?” He frowned even if she couldn’t see it. He felt her feet close to his leg under the comforter. He stood up, took her feet and the cover, and lifted them. He sat down again and this time Aelin's legs were on him.

“My name is Aelin Galathynius and I will not be afraid,” she whispered. He turned his head toward her, a brow raised and a small smile on his lip.

“So, you say that and it works?”

“I had the same conversation with someone a few years ago,” she laughed, moving to get comfortable and maybe to lean into his touch. “But yeah, it does. Or when it doesn’t I just laugh at myself.”

He just smiled at the dark, “Sleep, Aelin.”

“Can you stay tonight?” She asked. “I don’t want to be alone.”

As he squeezed her ankle he said “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

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

It was still dark when Aelin woke up. The events of the night before came back to her mind with flashes, making her stand up suddenly. Rowan was lying in bed, the dim light of early dawn allowing Aelin to see his sleeping head tilted to the side.

What has she done?

What the hell has she done?

As quietly as possible she got up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and her phone from the coffee table. She tiptoed out of the room, giving one last look to the man who had taken care of her yesterday after being a total bastard for almost two years. She didn't know what he wanted from her but she had already given and suffered too much. It wouldn't happen again.

She put on her shoes and went outside, starting to run. She listed in her head all the things she had confided in Rowan last night.

Arobynn, the scholarship, Sam's sentence...

You don't have to be alone anymore. What did it mean? She had been alone for years, no matter that she was in a room full of people, she was always alone.

Everything he said to her before last night, all the scornful looks he gave her... Everything she said...

Yesterday he told her he knew how it felt, did she hate him because he was a mirror of herself? Of the part of her that she hated the most?

She didn't care, continuing to run even though she was out of breath until she found herself in front of a familiar front door which she knocked on loudly for several seconds.

She had to run because she didn't know what was waiting for her in her room, didn't know what was going to happen. Yesterday changed things and Aelin hated change and she hated not knowing something.

The door opened and Aelin could see that he was surprised, she smiled at him but it did nothing to ease his confusion. "Aelin? What the hell are you doing here? Did you run? It's seven miles!"

"Can I crash here for a few days?" She asked out of breath. She didn’t know what she would do if he said no but she didn’t have to wonder about that for long.

He didn't hesitate before letting her into his little house. "It's your home too."

“Thank you, uncle Gav.” He smiled at her and kissed the crown of her head before she walked up the stairs to Aedion’s room. The moment her head hit the pillow she was out.

————

tag list:

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass fanfiction #fire on fire

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cloud-9ine · 3 years

Text

Through a Golden Lens (pt 1)

⤷ pairing - hawks x (fem) reader

⤷ fandom - bnha

⤷ warnings - some language, hawks flirting, reader’s cynicism

⤷ summary - reader is a bitter, overworked photographer at a hero press agency with little patience for her newly assigned muse- hawks

⤷ word count - 4.5k+

⤷ notes - i have lots of ideas so this is probably going to be a multi-part series. also new to tumblr so this might not be the best

⤷ pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

“Mr. Hawks! Please look this way!” his heavy lidded eyes rolled to the side as another blinding flash burned through his vision.

“You look perfect, thank you!” it was hard to smile for their benefit, but he managed. Hawks had attended countless of these events for the press. It had been exhilarating at first, with the rush of adrenaline from the cameras and the lights and the endless stream of compliments solidifying his place in the public eye.

Nowadays, it was less thrilling. After a while, they all seemed the same- each one blurring into a senseless flare of cameras and hollow accolades.

He was bored, to say the least.

“Mr Hawks, would you like to come and see? I’d love to hear your opinion on this set!” with a practiced, easy smirk he nodded. It was easier to pander to the artist than to criticise their work.

He looked good, but when did he not? The shoots were easy to glide through. All he had to do was pull a boyish grin, ‘make love to the camera’ as the photographers always liked to spout. It didn’t really matter what he did: the public would eat up anything with his face slapped on to the front. They all looked the same to him, anyway.

“Looks good,” he wondered why people were so easily satiated by shallow praises, but as he stared at the younger lady’s blush, he couldn’t help but realise that maybe it was him who had something to do with it.

Hawks couldn’t help his gaze from drifting to the door. His skin prickled in the humidity of all the moving bodies in one enclosed space and he longed to take a step outside and stretch his wings in a way that wasn’t to pose for a magazine.

For a moment, he felt like his prayers had been answered when the door opened, letting in a stream of natural light to breach the artificiality of the modelling room.

”(L/N)! You were supposed to be here over three hours ago!” the woman in front of him exclaimed, ripping the camera away from his view and marching to the figure that appeared in the light. He blinked in surprise: this entire shoot he hadn’t heard her raise her voice above anything but a low mumble when conversing with him, and now she was positively fuming.

You stared down at your co-worker through honey-tinted shades, expression unamused.

“Yeah, and I was also supposed to be out of this job three years ago. We don’t all do what we’re supposed to, cupcake.”

For a moment, Hawks thought you were a model. Tasteful cream turtleneck tucked into heavily creased mocha skirt, caramel beret perched on your head. There were a few metal, classy looking rings wrapped around your fingers, but as far as he could see, no wedding ring. It was pretty standard style for those who worked in the arts, but somehow you wore it so well.

Your hair was a little dishevelled, and the dark circles under your eyes combined with the coffee cup in your hand were obvious signs of a rough night. His eyes locked on to the loopy black handwriting on the brown band around the cup.

(L/N) (Y/N)

You were no model, but Hawks couldn’t see the difference.

His wings beat lightly behind his back as he glided over, weaving through the other photographers and models scattered around the area.

“Hey there, I’m Hawks,” he said smoothly, voice saccharine as he spoke to you. Your attention turned to him as you glanced at him from above the frames of your sunglasses, seemingly unimpressed.

“This the new boytoy, Mizuki?” you asked, eyes raking up and down his figure. Hawks was never one to shy away from the gaze of others, but the way you were inspecting him made him feel so exposed.

“Show some respect,” Mizuki muttered, voice lowered at Hawks’ presence but glare still piercing. You sighed, sparing one last glance at Hawks before snatching the camera out of Mizuki’s hands, leaving her scrambling for the device as you walked away.

“Lemme see what you’ve got already,” Mizuki’s face grew red, half from anger towards you, and half because of the embarrassment of being diminished in front of Hawks.

“(L/N) y-you can’t just come in three hours late and take over! I’ve already done the shoot and Hawks has already expressed that he is pleased with the outcome,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and shooting the shorter woman a glare over your shoulder.

“There’s no way you’re gonna force me to come into work and make me sit here doing nothing,” you sneered, waving the camera around almost teasingly, “you wanted someone actually skilled to do this shoot, and here I am. Let me do my thing,” without waiting for a response, you left, thumb fumbling with the dial that allowed you to scroll through the photos.

Hawks was impressed. You hadn’t bat an eye when you saw him, and while you were very clearly very late, you were confident in your skills and obviously took your job seriously.

“Who was that?” he questioned, wings spreading slightly as his eyes chased after you. Mizuki bowed her head, remorse filling her expression.

“I apologise for her impertinence. That’s (L/N), she was who your original photographer was supposed to be today, but when she didn’t show up I had to take over,” she huffed, “she’s been like this for about a year now, and the boss is prepared to fire her if she keeps it up. So you’d think she’d be able to pull her at together for you, Mr. Hawks...”

After a while, Hawks tuned out her whining, eyes curiously trained on you, surveying your furrowed brows and expression pinched with annoyance as you studied the photos. Although they looked good enough to him, it appeared that you didn’t share the same sentiment.

Hawks didn’t have time to avert his eyes when you turned your head, gaze locking on to his. You raised a slightly suspicious brow, but otherwise didn’t entertain his actions.

“Mizuki, why would you use cool lighting?” you called over your shoulder, not even sparing the decency to turn around and face the person you were addressing. Mizuki frowned, moving to your side. Like a magnet, Hawks did the same, peering over your other shoulder. You eyed him from the corner of your vision for a second before tapping the screen.

“What do you mean?” you sighed at your co-workers words, evidently frustrated.

“Considering you have bird boy over here in dark academia, accented in warmer yellows, using cool lights will bring out too much of a contrast. We need to match the accent colours with warmer lighting, or use a overlay,” you muttered, seemingly addressing yourself more than the two of them. Mizuki just shook her head.

“That would just oversaturate the image,” you snorted, giving her the same patronising look an adult would give a child if they tried to outsmart them.

“Not necessarily. I could spot-reduce saturation in highlight areas during editing. Or, if you really want your contrast, I could neutralise the warmer shades by using a blue, or compliment them using a red,” Hawks didn’t miss the way you said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. Mizuki looked agitated, her frown growing deeper.

“Even so, we only have white backdrops. That would be a jarring contrast. You’d need something darker or more clustered to make it work. If you wanted a backdrop change you probably should’ve come earlier,” she spoke with a formality that obviously stemmed from Hawks next to her, but you paid no mind. You were silent for a moment, and Hawks could see your eyes narrowing as you were thinking.

“I need a natural background, huh?” you mumbled, thumbing the buttons on the camera. With a shrug, “alright, bird boy, come on, we’re leaving,” Hawks blinked in surprise as you spun on your heel, a grin breaking onto his face. Finally, he got to leave.

“Whatever you say, boss,” you shot him an irritated look.

“Don’t call me that. I’m 22, not 40,” his feathers ruffled up. “Hey, I’m also 22! What a coincidence, right?” he grinned, winking at you. You just responded by rolling your eyes.

Mizuki spluttered, trying in vain to get either one of you to stop as Hawks trailed after you.

“L-Look, you can’t just leave-” you turned, shoving the camera back into her hands, a mirthless smile on your face.

“Watch me,” your voice was cold, goading her to try and stop you, “bird boy, out, now.” Hawks didn’t have to be told twice. Some of the others whispered and muttered as they realised what was going on, but they all fell quiet when you shot them a sharp glare.

He breathed in the fresh air with a content sigh, his chest feeling lighter now he was out the cramped room. The amber glow from the late afternoon sun kissed his tanned skin as he stretched his arms above his head, his forearms flexing slightly under his dark blazer. His eyes shut in bliss and head tilted back, exposing his sharp jawline.

You eyed him slightly, eyes trailing across his features. Now that you had actually left, you were a little lost on what your plan was. You didn’t regret storming out of there, though, nor did you even consider turning back to apologise.

You took your own camera out of the dark camera bag slung across your body, careful not to scratch it on the tripod, and focused the lens on Hawks. It was smaller, a little more compact than the ones Mizuki and the others were using, but you found that it was much better suited for portrait work.

The click of the camera shutter brought Hawks out of his stupor, eyes snapping open and immediately landing on you. Your attention had already been diverted to the screen, studying your work.

“The modelling room is stuffy, I’ll give you that,” you mumbled, zooming in on his face, “but you can stretch while we walk,” Hawks leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the shot.

“Aw, you make me look so good, I’m flattered!” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be,” you took a large sip of your coffee, moving down the pathway as you thought. Hawks scrambled after you, his wings puffing out when he reached your side. You couldn’t help but gaze at the bright red feathers as he unfurled his wings, a small, happy chirping noise rumbling at the back of his throat once they were fully spread behind your back. They were warm, you noticed, feeling the heat through your turtleneck.

Your vision was filled with a cheeky smirk painted on full lips, Hawks’ face appearing in front of your eyes. Your eyes narrowed as you sized him up.

“See something you like?” you rolled your eyes as he purred.

“Not in the slightest, bird brain,” his wings beat behind his back, hand clutching the fabric on his chest.

“Oh, how you wound me!” Hawks cried, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly, which you quickly covered with your coffee cup.

“I’m sure you’ll face a villain that will do greater damage than I could,” he hummed, angling his face towards the sun.

“So, where are we headed?” you chewed on your bottom lip, slinging your camera over your shoulder.

“It can’t be anywhere with lots of traffic, you attract a lot of attention, you know?” it was a rhetorical question, but Hawks’ chest still puffed out in pride at your words.

“Thanks, it’s because of my raging-”

“Shut up,” you cut him off, “either way, I have a pounding headache and I do not have enough shits to give to put up with your fan girls today,” with a sigh, you rubbed your temples. Hawks stared at your clenched teeth.

“Hey, why do you-” “I think I know where we can go,” he frowned.

“You know it’s not polite to interrupt people like that-”

“Sunflowers.” your tone dripped finality as you faced Hawks, a brazen determination in your eyes he hadn’t seen until now. It made his breath hitch in his throat.

Breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and eyebrows furrowed when you sped your pace, gulping down more of your coffee.

“Uh, what?” you waved a hand dismissively.

“There’s a sunflower field in Fukuroi City, I think it’s west from here,” the tiniest of grins etched onto your features, “it’s gonna be a lot more interesting than the rest of those blank background. Plus, the yellow will compliment your clothes, and with the sun low in the sky I’ll get my perfect warm lighting,” you explained. Hawks wasn’t sure exactly how much of a difference it would make, but the idea seemed charming, and it was more exciting than being perpetually flanked by a white screen.

“Sounds good,” he chirped, “although, to be honest, you could take me out anywhere and I wouldn’t mind,” you rolled your eyes.

“That’s a shame, because I don’t intend to hang around any more than I have to,” Hawks pouted, crossing his arms.

“Come on, I wanna know more about you!” you bristled.

“Good for you.” the two of you fell into a beat of silence before Hawks smiled, undaunted.

“I’m sure I can win you over somehow,” shaking your head in disbelief, you lifted the cup to your lips, before looking down disappointedly when you realised it was empty.

“I don’t have enough coffee for this,” you muttered. Hawks’ expression brightened.

“That’s an easy fix: your agency is around here so you must know there area pretty well,” he spoke nonchalantly, as if he was on a casual lunch date and not in the most expensive outfit you’d seen in your entire life, “what’s the best place to grab a coffee?” for a moment, you looked taken aback, before shaking your head.

“Best café in these parts is the Sunset Hour,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck, “but as much as I have no inhibitions regarding bunking off work, that’s a little too far away. I need to take this pictures before the end of the day or Mizuki’ll submit those crappy ones she took in the studio,” Hawks nodded in understanding, smile never faltering for a second.

“Well I gotta get you your caffeine fix somewhere, so what’s the second best?” your expression scrunched in thought for a moment, before you jutted a thumb over your shoulder.

“There’s a Starbucks across the road,” he snickered seeing your blank expression.

“Not exactly where I would want our first date, but I suppose it’ll do,” rolling your eyes, you shoved the empty cup to his chest, which he gripped almost instinctively.

“Good thing this isn’t a date, then,” Hawks grinned, sending your empty cup on a feather to the nearest bin before chasing after you as you crossed the road. You didn’t spare him a single glance when he appeared at your shoulder, nor when he reached over above your head to open the Starbucks door from behind you.

“So you’re saying we can have our first date somewhere else?” with a shallow sigh, you shook your head.

“What I’m saying is that there’s not gonna be a first date. Not between us,” his chest tightened. God, you were so mean. He’d be into that.

The inside of the Starbucks was a mix between modern, western architecture and traditional Japanese woodwork. The equipment was all cutting edge, and the tables and chairs were made with a sleek mahogany, but the windows were framed with bamboo shutters, and the backroom was separated with shoji sliding doors. It was an curious blend, one that you studied with an interest. The deep, earthy scent of roasted coffee beans heavily imbued the air, filling your nose with the aroma of something far more familiar.

Given it was the late afternoon, and most people tended not to drink caffeine after 2pm, the patrons were few and far in between. Good for you, at least. It meant you wouldn’t get- “Hawks? Sorry to bother you but can we get a picture?” your head turned at the voice that rung out.

Two high school girls stood to your left, hands clutched together in front of their chests and a dark pink coating their cheeks. With a small sigh, you took a step forward in the small queue. Hawks smiled with all the faux charm in the world, an obvious change in his demeanour as his pride spiked.

“Of course! And just as it happens, I have my personal photographer here who can make sure your photos look amazing as you two do!” it took you a moment to register what he had said through the excited squeals of the girls before he clutched your shoulders and pulled you forward, causing you to stumble slightly.

“Your what?” he sent you an audacious smirk, willing you to play along as one of the girls handed you her phone. Your first instinct was to decline, but as you met the eyes of the girls, so eager and bright, you couldn’t find it in you to disappoint them.

Taking a couple steps back, you lifted the phone, slightly angling it so the picture looked more natural, and not that of a celebrity and their fans (even if it was). You squinted angrily at the poor lighting, but tried to rectify it the best you could. The girls looked a little tense, but Hawks was a natural. A liberal smirk played on his lips and shoulders rolled back, relaxed. Even with the low lighting, the highlights on his cheekbone and jawline were indescribably perfect, and you weren’t sure if the credit should go to you or his god-like genes.

“Wow, that’s perfect!” one of the girls cried, her body appearing by your side. You hadn’t even noticed her moving, “thank you so much!” you just nodded, handing her back her phone and crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at Hawks.

“If that’s all, ladies, we best be ordering,” they nodded frantically at Hawks’ words, sharply bowing and spouting their thanks to the two of you countless times. They left the Starbucks, but even outside you could still hear them fawning over the picture. He faced you with a grin, but you couldn’t muster up a smile.

“Don’t go around telling people I’m your personal photographer,” you sneered. He pouted, looking genuinely disappointed for a second. “What, you don’t wanna be mine?” “Not in the slightest.”

“What will be your order, Miss?” the barista had directed the question at you, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. You weren’t surprised, but a small swell of annoyance grew in your mind.

“Can I have a mocha with a double shot of expresso?” Hawks chuckled.

“Might as well have an expresso, you know. You’re basically just taking a shot of caffeine,” you shrugged.

“It’s my favourite drink. I like the chocolate taste,” he looked at you with round eyes, a small squeeze in his chest.

“And you, sir?”

“Oh, I’ll have the same, then,” he didn’t miss the way your eyes darted to him. The barista nodded, tapping for a couple seconds before turning back.

“That’ll be 660 yen,” “I’m paying,” Hawks blurted, even before you could offer. You were silent, a small nod in the affirmative rocking your head. As he handed over the bills, he chuckled. “You know, not that I mind, but usually couples would argue over who’s paying,” you rolled your eyes.

“We’re not a couple,” you watched the barista prepare your drinks, more of a way to occupy yourself rather than a genuine interest, “besides, you’re a lot richer than I am. I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m sure you can lose 600 yen and still be good,” he hummed happily.

“No disagreements there.” “Are you two eating in or taking out?” the barista asked, in the midst of securing the plastic lids to the top of the cups. Hawks’ eyes sparkled as he turned to you with an excitement you assumed only appeared in children.

“Hey, we can-” “Take out,” you responded, giving a now deflated Hawks a challenging look, “I will leave you here if I have to.” the blonde grinned. “You wouldn’t. You need me for the pictures,” he sang, voice jovial.

“I don’t care about you that much. The sunflowers are probably less annoying subjects anyway,” oh. With no warning, his heart beat sped up, his wings puffing out slightly. Sure, he wouldn’t mind if you were a little nicer to him, but your insults were like a breath of fresh air. There was no doubt that Hawks loved the limelight, loved the popularity he got, but the relentless ass-kissing got old after a while. You kept him on his toes. Even if he was just constantly chasing after you every time you brushed him off, he didn’t care.

“Put those away, bird brain,” it was then he realised his wings had spread further than he intended, stretched out on either side of him. One was curled right around his face, and he almost felt himself blushing as he pulled them in. It was just animal instincts, he assured himself.

The rest of the journey was filled with a one-sided conversation of him talking and commenting on what was around you, with no response from you except the occasional witty retort or light-hearted jab at his expense, each one making his heart flutter. It wasn’t too long before you had arrived, the chain link fence around the plot stretching high above your head and corroded with orange rust.

Rows and rows of bright yellow sunflowers stretched to the horizon, an immense display of summer vitality. The fragrance was potent, a sort of cloying sweetness that you didn’t hate. And just as you were about to enter, you knew you had made a mistake.

“Oh.” Hawks stared at you incredulously, attention switching from your taken aback expression to the sign posted on the gate.

“You didn’t check to see it was open?” you looked up at him, allowing him to survey a tinge of remorse he hadn’t recognised until this point.

“Look, how was I supposed to know? This place has always been open at this time since I was a little kid,” you rubbed your arm, brows furrowed. Hawks sighed, rolling his shoulders back.

“Well, the sun’s too low to go anywhere else outside,” he shrugged, “it’s no biggie, I guess. Those other photos weren’t too bad. Hey, now that we’re free, do you want to- what are you doing?” your foot was halfway in the gaps in the gate, the wedges on your heels making it hard to climb.

“I’m not wasting my day for nothing,” you growled, fingers curling around the metal, “get climbing, bird boy,” with a soft sigh, smile gracing his lips and a warm feeling in his chest, Hawks spread his wings.

“I think you’re forgetting something that’ll make this a lot easier,” you felt a cool draft on your back as Hawks flapped his wings, the feeling being quickly replaced by the warmth of his chest as he pulled you in. A foreign emotion coiled in your stomach, but you convinced yourself that it was just the flight.

One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other supporting your knees, and all Hawks was thinking that such a gentle flight never felt so calming.

Your feet tapped against the soft soil, sinking in to it slightly when the hero placed you down. You nodded your thanks.

“Let’s go over there, I want the sun coming in from the right,” Hawks nodded, content to just follow your orders. You pulled the tripod from your bag and set it up, adjusting it to your liking as Hawks looked around, trying to think of a pose.

Once everything was ready, you turned your attention to Hawks.

“I want to humanise you,” he grinned curiously as you walked over.

“What do you mean by that?” he nearly gasped when you grabbed his chin, angling his face to the side and slightly up, towards the sun. You took a step closer, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He bit his lip, hands trembling as you tugged slightly, trying to mess it up a little.

“All the photos I’ve seen on you always put a huge emphasis on either your wings or your hero status, and I don’t really see why,” you mumbled, placing one hand on his jawline while the other fixed his hair to your liking, letting a few strands fall in front of his eyes, “I think that just creates a divide. If they wanted you to seem angelic they should play that up, not just have it the norm,” you huffed, “anyway, I wanna put the emphasis on you and not your wings. So ideally if you could tuck them behind your back that would be wonderful,”

Hawks nodded, disappointment filling him as you stepped away. He made sure not to move as he awkwardly folded his wings over each other and pulled them in, glancing at you with a look of apprehension. You just nodded in approval, leaning down to your camera.

You took plenty of shots, allowing him plenty more opportunities to feel your hands on him (and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it).

“Hey, why were you so late today?” Hawks dared to question while you were analysing your photos. You were perched on a bench, appreciating your work. The late sun cast a golden sheen on his skin, the spattering of glimmering rays highlighting his face in all the right places.

“I was sleeping,” you responded, deleting an out of focus shot. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” “Just as it sounds. Figured if they were gonna make me work so I could only have three hours of sleep a night it was gonna be on their time, not mine,” he frowned, taking a seat next to you.

“They shouldn’t work you that hard,” you shrugged with a hollow laugh, blank gaze in your eyes.

“What am I gonna do? Have them fire me? As much as I hate this job it’s the only thing that pays for my coffee in the morning,” he was silent as you stood up, stretching your arms behind your bag before tucking everything back in your bag.

“Did you want to be a photographer?” he questioned, only to be met with a forlorn smile.

“Maybe at one point.” the two of you lapsed into silence before you sighed.

“Well, I’ve gotta submit these to Mizuki, and I’m sure you need-” Hawks caught your wrist, spinning you back around.

In the glow of the sunset, you looked almost ethereal. Your eyes gleamed, and cheeks warmed in the orange flare. Sunflowers framed your form, and the words caught in his throat, nearly stopping him from saying anything at all.

“Come work for me.” he blurted. You snorted.

“No.” all he could do was smile as you hopped back over the fence, not waiting up for him.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.”

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dragons-bones · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write Entry #3: Cider and Gold

Prompt: scale || Master Post || On AO3

So this ended up veering in a similar direction as yesterday’s fill, but ultimately I thought it made a nice contrast, and there’s always my editing phase in October if I’m not ultimately pleased with it later on.

Ehll Tou’s pretty bare warehouse had been transformed over the last year into a proper lair: assorted spaces for her various crafts (the kitchen very carefully built to keep it sealed from anything from her little foundry or alchemical lab), the guestrooms for her friends, storage spaces, and of course, her own personal roost. Building the walls and cupboards and tables and decorating had been such fun, but almost as fun had been trading with the residents of the Firmament: her sewn and sawed and smelted goods for pretty glass chimes to hang in her windows, or a sturdy chair for Hautdilong, or a plush embroidered pillow to add to her nest.

Truly, the best thing about being smaller and not as pointy as other adult dragons was the ability to burrow into a giant pile of pillows and blankets for a well-deserved nap and not worry about anything tearing. Such a lovely invention, the pillow.

(She wondered, sometimes, if Ratatoskr had enjoyed soft things. But neither the First Brood nor their elder children nor her sire nor her sire’s broodmates answered such questions; pillows and rugs and comforters could not withstand the passage of time like metal or stone, and if Sohr Khai had ever had tapestries as pretty as the ones that now adorned her own walls, she would never know.)

But recently, with Arvide and Synnove's help, she had partitioned off the front entrance of her warehouse into something resembling a shop front! Some Ishgardians wished to commission her, offering gil in exchange for the items she made, which was both flattering and bewildering. (Though not unwelcome; gil would make acquiring her supplies much easier, after all.)

[I am proud of my skills and crafts,] she had said, [but I am not yet a master!]

“It's the novelty, I suspect,” Synnove had said, rubbing at the ears of the carbuncle around her neck.

Arvide had nodded his agreement. “Aye, the ability to show off to that they owned something made by a dragon.”

Ehll Tou couldn’t say she didn’t understand. Dragons were as boastful of men, of course, just not of possessions. But she had agreed that if she wished to accept commissions, it would be wise to set aside a small portion of her lair’s space to meet potential clients, so that they did not intrude upon the sanctity of her workshops or nest. (Another similarity between dragons and men, though among dragons one didn’t necessarily bring a stranger to one’s lair at all, or let them within.) Arvide and Synnove had rigged a door-ringer for her that would work just as well for social guests as it would clients with a bronze bell that could be clearly heard even in the forge all the way at the back of the warehouse, and with Hautdilong, she had carefully painted a sign to put next to the door advertising when she was open and accepting work.

Today, when her cheery bell rang, Ehll Tou was in her woodworking shop (its walls and ceiling as tightly made as the kitchen’s, for the damage here could be more ruinous than spoiled food), and she looked up from planing a mahogany plank for a bookshelf ordered by Marcelloix and Audaine. She cocked her head and glanced at the chronometer on the wall, thrumming thoughtfully; no clients were due by to check their orders, and it was late enough she should consider taking down her sign and dimming the lights of her little foyer. Curious, very curious.

She set down her planer and shook the sawdust from her claws, grabbing a feather duster she kept to brush away any woodchips or shavings that stuck between her scales before she tracked them all over the rest of the warehouse. That done, she exited the woodshop and closed the door behind her, and trotted quickly down the length of the building, flapping her wings once to allow her to glide a short distance to finally reach the front. She turned the knob and stepped into the foyer-shop, a brief purr escaping her as she did; good, the new hot water pipes were doing an excellent job keeping this room as warm as the rest!

Another dozen steps to the warehouse’s front doors and she hauled one open, peering out into the evening gloom—and nearly squawked like a gull in surprise.

[Ser Aymeric, hello!] she said, pushing the door open wider. [Come in, come in, be welcome!]

“Good evening, Ehll Tou,” Synnove’s mate said, smiling, as he stepped inside. “How do fare tonight?”

[I am well, thank you,] she said, shutting the door behind him. [You’re allowed to the friends’ door at the back, you know!]

Ser Aymeric laughed softly and removed his gloves. He wasn’t dressed in his armor; today must have been a Parliament day, then. “I am aware, thank you,” he said, “though today I’m here on business rather than pleasure, and I felt it rude to use the excuse of friendship to intrude upon your valuable time.”

He had such nice manners. The moogles could stand to learn a thing or two from him, and then perhaps she would consider bending the rules for them as she was about to do for her friend’s mate now.

[Nonsense,] she snorted. [Give me a moment to the put the sign up, please; I do not have tea at the moment, but I do have a cask of apple cider.]

Once the sign had been brought inside, the doors locked, and the foyer lights dimmed, Ehll Tou led the way to the kitchen, briefly pausing to allow him to hang his coat up, and poured them both mugs of fresh cider once they were settled. There were still some cherry scones from her last baking experiment, too, that had survived Hautdilong’s taste-testing, and she plated those to offer, too.

Ser Aymeric murmured his thanks, and made similar appreciative noises as her friend had at the first bite of scone, so Ehll Tou mentally noted that recipe should be properly recorded in her “make more often” cookbook. As the elezen sipped at his cider, she crouched on the other side of the kitchen table so they were roughly at eye level.

[How may I be of assistance?] she said.

He swallowed his bite of scone—oh, they needed to bully the moogles into taking etiquette lessons from this man right now—and smiled at her. “Synnove’s nameday is coming up quite soon,” he said, “and I’d like to seek your assistance in making a gift for her.”

Ehll Tou perked up, a churr of excitement burbling in the back of her throat. She had been asked to make nameday presents for clients before, but never for a friend! [Did you have something in mind already?]

He reached into his pocket, and placed two items on the tabletop with a soft clink: two pieces of golden metal, shaped similarly to a dragon’s scales, only a little smaller than his hand. “These are two pieces of the lining on my armored surcoat,” Ser Aymeric said. “The armorers had performed some repairs, and removed these as they weren’t as sound as they should be any longer. I thought they might be repurposed into something and asked to keep them.”

She cocked her head from side to side, reaching out to delicately pick up one of the scales and hold it between her claws. She hummed thoughtfully as she examined it, twisting her hand from side to side, watching how it caught the light. It wasn’t of a material she immediately knew—she would need Arvide’s opinion, or perhaps Stephanivien’s—but it was quite pretty, and if it had once been armor-quality, it would be sturdy.

[There are a number of things that come to mind,] she said slowly, mind whirring. [Let me get my sketchbook and graphite, and let’s see what we can come up with together.]

Ser Aymeric’s smile was warm and pleased, and Ehll Tou promised to herself that she would make this one of the best nameday presents she would ever make.

(But she would make one for Synnove, too, that came from just herself. And give the Highlander a piece of her mind for not telling that her nameday was approaching!)

#ffxivwrite2021 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ehll tou #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #dt's writing

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sour--disposition · 3 years

Text

Across The Miles

harry lewis x fem!reader

please check my masterlist to see if my requests are open

(gif from the amazing @sdmngifs)

You stepped off the plane and were met with the dreary skies that seemed to always plague England. Simon had told you he and JJ would meet you outside of the baggage claim to help you with your bags and take you home.

As soon as you’d wrestled your cases off of the conveyer belt, you walked towards the big exit sign, looking very much like you’d just stepped off of a long haul flight. Donned in sweats and a Sidemen Clothing hoodie with a travel pillow hung around your neck, you weren’t going to be winning any fashion awards any time soon.

“Y/N!”, JJ and Simon called from the other side of the large arrivals hall. You grinned, waving manically at them as you walked over as quick as you could. You dropped you hand luggage down next to your cases and flung your arms around both of them.

“I’ve missed you guys!”, you smiled up at them once they’d released you. “I can’t thank you enough for giving me this opportunity. And letting me live with you guys? I mean... there isn’t enough words to thank you!”, you gushed.

You’d met Simon, JJ and the rest of the Sidemen at the 2017 Upload event and had stayed in touch with them ever since. You’d been planning on moving in together for quite a while, but finding a time when the three of you were free enough to facilitate moving an entire human and her belongings across the Atlantic Ocean was harder than first imagined, but the minute that the three of you had decent schedules, flights were booked, you’d handed your notice in for your apartment in New York and started packing up your things.

By the time you’d been moved into the spare room, your room, it was nearing 5pm. “We were thinking about grabbing dinner with the rest of the guys? They’ve all missed you and I know Freya and Talia are dying to see you”, Simon said from the door frame.

“Yeah, sounds good”, you smiled from where you sat on the floor, surrounded by your clothes as you tried to organise them.

“You don’t have to do it all in one go. Why don’t you grab a shower and get changed and then you can have another go at this once were back from dinner?”, Simon suggested, the exhaustion from the day beginning to become clear on your face. You nodded, putting down whatever it was you were trying and failing to fold and took yourself off for a shower.

Of course, the guys took you to Nando’s. With there only being a handful of the restaurants in America, and none in New York, you made a point of going whenever you were in the UK. “Are you excited to see Harry?”, Simon poked at you from the drivers seat, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

“Wait, what!?”, JJ exclaimed from the passenger seat, struggling to turn around and face you in his seat. “What’s this then?”, he pestered, reaching out to shove against your knee.

“It’s nothing”, you said pointedly, glaring at Simon.

“Oi, so Simon knows and I don’t? Bit unfair”, JJ sassed, pulling a face at you.

“Simon knows nothing”, you told JJ. “He’s getting ideas in his head that I haven’t said anything about”, you said, eyeing Simon again.

“So, was I just supposed to ignore one of my best friends’ names popping up, literally non-stop, on one of my other best friend’s phone?”, Simon quipped, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just saying what I see, is all”, he shrugged.

“Okay, sue me, I’ve stayed in touch with Harry. Have you guys forgotten that I’ve literally just moved into the same city as all of you and your friends?”, you snipped.

Simon grumbled in defeat, all whilst JJ’s eyes followed the back and forth between the two of you. He sat there with a massive grin on his face, and you just knew that he wasn’t going to leave this alone over dinner.

When you walked into the restaurant, you were greeted by a round of hugs from all the guys, being given the eye by Simon and JJ when you looped your arms around Harry’s frame. You were hugged by Talia and Freya as well, when the guys finally let you go.

“It’s so good to finally see you again in person”, Freya beamed. “Discord and twitch just don’t do it after being friends for this long”, she pouted, eliciting a laugh from both you and Talia.

The group sat down at the table, smaller groups of people all chattering amongst themselves. “How was your flight?”, Harry asked from the opposite side of the table.

“It wasn’t too bad, I’m kinda used to it now, I guess? I mean, 8 hours is 8 hours so it was pretty dull, but I managed to get a few movies in”, you smiled.

“Oh yeah?”, he asked.��“What did you watch? Am I gonna be disappointed?”, he asked you with a laugh.

“Of course you’ll be disappointed, you don’t like watching films”, you laughed happily. “I finally started chipping away at my Disney plus watchlist, so I watched Up and both of the Incredibles films”, you told him.

You kept chatting with Harry, along with Ethan, who was next to Harry, and Vik, who was next to you, until your food came. Once people had plates in front of them, chatter died down significantly, only the occasional comment here and there made itself known.

“He likes you too, you know”, Simon commented as he drove the three of you home. You’d been bundled into the backseat, wrapped up in JJ’s jacket as you were practically falling asleep on Vik’s shoulder.

“No, he doesn’t, Simon”, you denied sleepily, eyes drifting closed as you rested your head against the cold glass of the window.

“And how do you know that? He doesn’t even know that you like him, so how could he have turned you down?”, Simon asked.

“Because he’s Harry. I’m just some small timer from New York that you guys seemed to adopt after Upload”, you told him. “Look. I’ll get over it, I just need you to stop bringing it up so that I can actually forget about it and ignore the mushy feelings”.

As soon as Simon pulled the car to a stop, you climbed out and started making your way to the lift. You leaned heavily against the wall of the lift as it hurtled the three of you up to your floor. “Thanks for the coat, Jide”, you smiled tiredly, hanging the jacket up on a hook by the door. “I love you and all that, but I’m off to bed. My eyes are melting”, you groaned, waving your hand roughly in the direction of your room. Simon and JJ only laughed at you, wishing you a good night as you trudged down the hallway.

What you’d quite easily admitted in your half awake state wasn’t mentioned again, much to your relief. You got on with filming you ‘I’ve moved house!?’ videos and ‘Guess who I live with?’ clickbait titles. You started streaming more with the the girls, since you were finally in their timezone, and even dropped into the occasional Among Us stream with whoever was playing that night.

You settled into life in London well. You were surrounded by your friends and you doing what you loved with the people you loved. You’d felt more at home in the short months you’d lived in London than you ever had in New York. There was only one problem, though...

The Harry situation hadn’t resolved itself.

Which is why, when Simon came and asked you if you’d be in a video where he sets you up on a blind date, you couldn’t see a reason to turn it down. Worst case scenario, the date went horribly and Simon got a funny video of it. It wasn’t like you’d ever had to see the guy again.

You sat in front of the camera with Simon. “So, before I can send you on this blind date, I need to know what to look for”, he said.

“Erm - someone who’s funny, easy to get along with, can take a joke. Someone who won’t be intimidated or annoyed about me having quite a few male friends, someone who’s supportive of my career...”, you listed, trailing off when you realised who that described to a tee.

“And what do I need to avoid?”, Simon asked. If he had noticed any similarities of your description to Harry, he chose to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Someone thats going to be ashamed of me and my career or is going to want me to take my attention away from Youtube and Twitch. It’s one of the most important things in my life and I love what I do for a living and I’m so lucky that I get to do this for a living, so avoid someone that’s going to try and come between me and that, I guess”, you told Simon.

You knew that you weren’t going to find the love of your life doing this. It was more than likely going to be another single youtuber that Simon had roped into his video with the promise of a great video title and some decent content. But it would be nice to get dressed up nice and have an evening away from editing software or your stream deck.

Simon had told you where to go and when, he’d also told you to dress “all nice like”. He’d set the date up at a cocktail bar that you’d been wanting to visit since you’d moved to London. You only agreed to it once you confirmed that the expenses would be on him because top shelf liquor was on the bottom shelf in this place.

You picked out a dark green satin dress and paired it with some strappy silver heels. You took advantage of the opportunity and filmed yourself getting ready so that if things didn’t go too horrifically, you could post a ‘get ready for my blind date with me’.

Sitting down and chatting to the camera as you got ready took longer than you’d expected. You were rushing around, stressing about your Uber not being there quick enough to get you to the bar in time.

“I’ll drop you off”, JJ offered, already heading over to pick his keys up. “And that way, if he’s a weirdo, you don’t have to worry about waiting for another car to come get you”.

You climbed into the Porsche, thanking JJ for what might have been the fiftieth time since leaving the apartment. “You can stop saying thank you, Y/N. I offered”, he chuckled as he drove out of the parking garage. “You look lovely tonight, whoever Simon’s got you set up with is lucky”, he told you, sending you a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Jide”, you smiled. The rest of the car journey was shrouded in a comfortable silence, disrupted only by the radio. “I think it’s just around this corner”, you said, pointing out of the front window.

JJ pulled up by the bar and came around to help you out of the car, causing you to laugh. “You don’t have to escort me in, J”, you told him lightly. “Why are you acting like an over-protective dad?”, you whispered to him in a giggle.

“Just trust me”, he told you, rolling his eyes softly.

You kept your arm looped through JJ’s as he walked you down the pavement. As you neared the entrance to the bar, you saw a figure standing outside, looking around nervously. That must be him.

“Harry?”, you asked. You turned to JJ, “I think there’s been a mistake. I’m supposed to be on a blind date”.

“Surprise, I think”, Harry said awkwardly, scratching his arm.

“Look after her, Harry”, JJ told him sternly. JJ dropped a kiss to the side of your forehead. “Call me or Simon if either of you need anything, yeah?”, he said before he turned and walked back to his car, leaving you and Harry alone.

“I promise I’ll say something, I think I’m just still trying to process what’s going on”, you laughed awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of your clutch in your hands.

“I can maybe clear things up over a drink? Simon’s paying”, Harry said lightly, reaching his hand out to you. You smiled and nodded, letting him take your hand in his and guide you into the bar.

Once you’d got your drinks, Harry lead you to the terrace garden out the back. It was decorated with flowers and muted fairy lights, making for quite the romantic atmosphere. Harry pulled the tall chair out for you and held his hand out to help you up before walking to the other side of the table and sitting opposite you.

“I - uh. Basically, I asked Simon’s advice on how to ask you out and he said that whenever he brought me up around you, you shut him down. So he came up with this idea. I totally get it if you want JJ to come back and pick you up after this drink, I just couldn’t not try... at least once”, Harry said, sounding dejected as he finished.

You put your hand over Harry’s that rested on the table. “I won’t be calling JJ, Harry. I’m over the moon to be here”, you told him with a smile. “I only kept shutting Simon down because he’s been trying to interfere since the day I landed in London. I was convinced that you wouldn’t like me so I just tried to... I don’t know... get over it, I guess”, you told him. You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks as you spoke, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, Harry asked quietly, rubbing his fingers over the back of your hand absentmindedly as he did.

“Are you kidding? You’re part of one of the biggest youtube groups, have a successful youtube channel, you’ve been someone for so long. And I’m just... what? A newbie who got adopted by the big boys in London. I never thought you could”, you said, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Y/N, you’re amazing”, Harry boasted. “You’re an amazing streamer and your youtube content is quality. Okay so I’ve been uploading longer? And? It doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. And believe it or not, I like the you I see off camera, you know”, Harry said shyly.

“I guess I owe Simon an apology then”, you smiled at Harry, who took your hand in his.

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gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

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THIS IS PART 8 NOW :)

Of "Time to rest your weary head" (or 'Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday'!!!!)

Check out the whole story here

Since last chapter was so short, I made this one bigger - and I absolutely love writing through Gwyn's perspective. I always try to be as mindful and careful as I can when I write her POV and address her trauma, but if there's anything you feel could be done differently, please let me know! :) and thank you so much for reading. Your support means everything to me <3

HEY GIRLS @katiebellf @starbornsinger @madie2200 check out my new chapter!!! and if you wanted to be tagged on this too, feel free to comment ;)

A few days passed by, and Gwyn could say she was already feeling at home in the House of Wind. She continued attending the services at dawn, pushing herself at training, then having lunch with Nesta, Cassian and sometimes Azriel, and at last spending her habitual hours in the library doing research work for Merrill before returning to the House. It was a routine she was kind of used to by now, and it made her happy.

She hadn’t been to Velaris after dinner with the Inner Circle and was secretly growing impatient to visit it again. She was planning to go shopping with Nesta and Emerie, but didn’t summon courage enough to invite them. Something about strolling around the city streets at dusk made her a bit nervous. Although she didn’t feel like admitting it out loud.

She was proud of herself, because she truly felt she was overcoming her fears. These last months were ones of a slow, but effective healing journey. She felt herself being less intimidated around others, mostly males like Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand was more distant, but even the worry she felt at dinner that night had faded. She saw Azriel almost every day and nothing seemed to have changed between them; so she believed in Rhys’s word when he promised her not to tell him.

Something caught her eye and interrupted her line of thought. She was sitting in a comfortable armchair by the fireplace at the House’s private library after a particularly exhausting afternoon, trying to read a not-too-smutty book Emerie had lent her, and immediately raised her head from the shadow near her feet to the door, where Azriel stood by.

“How long have you been there?” She asked and quietly hoped her blushed cheeks went unnoticed by him.

Surprisingly enough, sharing a hallway with Azriel didn’t mean they saw more of each other. He was so quiet she couldn’t detect his presence in his room, and usually she woke up before sunrise, so they didn’t meet each other until breakfast. A part of Gwyn couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated by that.

“Not much.” He said, stepping into the library. She motioned him to seat on the armchair across from hers, and so he did. “Actually, I just came here to ask you something.”

Oh.

She felt something flunk in her chest; it’s been a while since they last met at the training ring late at night, and that was because lately her nightmares were keeping themselves at bay. She remembered their last encounter, his hazel eyes shining under the moonlight as he stared at her from across the room, and they sparred in silence almost until the time of her service.

He didn’t seem different around her, although she could notice him staring at her sometimes with a glimpse of emotion in his eyes. And she felt she was becoming better at hiding her feelings when near him; oddly, something had calmed inside her. That urge and nervousness weren’t the first things to come to mind anymore, and she was content to enjoy their friendship. At least that’s what she kept telling to herself. There were some nights in which her dreams were filled with cedar scent, a pair of hazel eyes looking at her intensely, his beautiful hands on her hair…

She shook her head slightly and forced herself to meet his stare, the firelight making his face look golden; an elegant, handsome angel staring straight at her.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to know if…” His throat bobbed once, and she couldn’t help noticing he seemed nervous. Him, the Shadowsinger, nervous. He rephrased it, staring intently at the fire.

“The Velaris Philharmonic Orchestra will be performing tomorrow. They were in a long undetermined hiatus during the last fifty years, and now they’re back.” His brows furrowed, eyes filled with anger at what had caused it. “I used to go there every other night. And I was wondering… Since you said you’re meaning to leave the House more often, if we, well…”

She tried to suppress her chuckle at the way he fought to find the words. Instead, there was a timid smile on her face when she hesitantly interrupted him:

“Are you asking me… To come with you?”

He finally tore his stare away from the fire to meet her; those hazel eyes filled with something resembling hope.

“Would you like to?”

And damn her if his smile didn’t make her heart and her chest heat up when she responded:

“I would. Very much.”

Suddenly the room felt smaller. She swore the lights dimmed a bit, and all she could think and see was the silhouette of his face and his eyes. Those eyes that’d seen so much, endured so much, and now looked at her, as if trying to vocalize something without saying anything at all. They stayed like that, lost in each other for what seemed like eons, before he cleared his throat.

“So… I’ll let you to your book, then.”

Those words sounded forced, as if he didn’t in fact want to leave. She gave him a smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. Stay.

His shadows were all around her now, gently circling her shoulders.

Just as he meant to leave the room, she found herself stating:

“I’m glad you listened to it. What I said about restraining them.” She gestured with her head towards the shadows, and reached for one with her finger. The tendril seemed happy to be touched and wrapped itself in her hand, to what she giggled. “I really like them, you know.”

When she looked up to Azriel, he had a cryptic look on his face, watching in wonder the interaction in front of him.

“They like you too.” His voice was filled with a hidden emotion, and his eyes twinkled.

She smiled at him. “You can stay here for a little while, if you want. I’m not going to bed for a couple hours yet, and I must admit I’m not completely captivated by this novel.”

Even though he had that cool, unreadable mask on almost all the time, she could still see him restraining his surprise. And the way his lips tugged upward told her she was right to assume he didn’t want to leave just yet.

“What’s it about?” He asked while sitting again.

“Well” She skimmed distractedly through the pages, calming her racing heart. “She is a healer from a land up in the North, and he is a tradesman from the South. There’s a curse that connected them since birth, but they don’t know it yet. And that’s what leads them towards one another, the urge to break this curse.” She traced the title, reading the name of the author. “It’s good, just not as good as Diane.”

She casted him an amused look as he laughed quietly at her criticism, shaking his head:

“Because no one will ever compare to her.”

“Never.” She agreed dramatically, and his laugh turned into a grin. “Emerie and Nesta think I’m exaggerating, but I mean it. I must have read her books like ten times by now.”

His eyebrows shot up, clearly interested. “She must be great then.”

“Wait a second. Five hundred years and you’ve never read her?” Gwyn couldn’t hide her astonishment as she gasped.

“Why is that such a surprise?” He leaned back in his chair, that small smile never fading from his face.

“Well, is just… You had plenty of time.” She teased.

“My life is busier than you might think, Berdara.”

“Well, be that as it may, this can no longer go on. You must read it.”

Before he could answer, she called the House to deliver her the stack of Gadot’s novels that were in her bedroom. Her private collection.

“Start by this one” She handed him a copy of And So the Story Goes, that had magically appeared in the table between them “This is my favorite.”

He reached for the book, and she watched as he flipped through the pages. She would admit that sight made her heart flutter once again. The book she had ever since she was little, that she read alongside Catrin, one of the only things she asked Mor to grab her after everything. Its edges were worn, some pages marked and underlined. To have Azriel hold it in his hands…

“You can read it at your own pace. And don’t worry, I have a spare” She showed him the copy Diane had signed her, a newer edition, that beautiful inscription that she knew it by heart in its front page.

I hope you find out what you knew all along.

“I can see you read it a lot.” He stated, musing through the pages and stopping at some passages.

She leaned forward to slap his arm. “What are you doing? Start at the beginning!”

He laughed out loud at her exclamation, his eyes meeting hers.

“Ok, bossy. I definitely will.”

After a few hours of talking and laughing together, she felt the tiredness taking the best of her.

“Goodnight, Az.” She said when she stopped by the door. Even during their conversation, he still held the book, keeping it close to his chest.

“See you tomorrow, Gwyn” She had just turned away when she heard him. “And thank you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder and saw him lifting the book. “Anytime.”

And when she finally shut the door of her bedroom, she couldn’t stop the light feeling on her chest.

***

On the next day, she knocked on Nesta’s door. It was the afternoon, and both Cassian and Azriel were out paying one of their routine visits to the Illyrian camps.

That morning, at service, Gwyn felt like she was flying. She sang like those ancient hymns were all that was left in the world. Even some other Priestesses had commented on that after it was over. And at practice, she couldn’t help her grin when she spotted Azriel across the training ring. And couldn’t help the blush that crept onto her cheeks when he almost immediately turned his head to her, the corner of his lips tugging upward.

She woke up thinking about their meeting at the library, their casual conversation and bantering. She didn’t feel an ounce of discomfort when they were together; everything was so easy. He knew her, her story; he had saved her, for Mother’s sake, and he didn’t make her feel like porcelain, like one blow could shatter her.

Instead, she felt braver and confident when he was around. They could still talk and laugh together as if they hadn’t shared that terrible experience in the past. Mindful of each other’s traumas, indeed, but... It still was light. Trustful. She hoped he’d read the book; she could secretly picture his eyes flipping through her markings and notes. She wanted him to know that part of her.

“Come in” Nesta said from within, interrupting Gwyn’s reverie.

She opened the door, only to find her sister sitting comfortably in an armchair by the window, book in hand and a cup of tea in another. Her training leathers were displayed on the bed, as she thought of training afterwards.

“Hey” Gwyn greeted. She didn’t know where to start.

Aside from Rhys, no one was aware of her recent discovery about the mating bond. Of course, that didn’t stop her sisters from smirking mischievously whenever Azriel was around, at training or during meals. Gwyn knew both Nesta and Emerie had picked upon whatever she was feeling towards him, but they were kind enough not to inquire in public.

“What’s going on?” Her brows furrowed as she got up of her chair.

“Nothing.” Gwyn took in a deep breath. Out with it, Berdara. “I was wondering if you could borrow me a dress.”

Nesta squinted her eyes, and raised an eyebrow as a slow smile started to appear on her face. Cunning, as ever. “May I ask what for?”

Gwyn herself didn’t know. When she found herself alone with Azriel for a moment during training, she had asked him what outfit would be suit for the occasion. He just shrugged with a half-smile, and reassured her she didn’t have to worry about it. But even so, she wanted to look decent for a night out.

“I’m going to Velaris tonight.”

Nesta gasped quietly, and Gwyn could see her eyes were shining with pride. “Alone?”

“No.” Gwyn went to sit at the trunk by the bed. Seeing that Nesta was still staring at her with that knowing smile, she added “Azriel’s taking me to see the Velaris Philarmonic Orchestra.”

She watched as her sister gave her a broad smile, and couldn’t help the blush on her cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing” Nesta hummed back, as she opened the doors to her wardrobe. “Just the two of you?”

Gwyn nodded, standing up and joining her sister in front of her rack full of clothes. So, so many outfits, a myriad compared to Gwyn’s scattered ones. “I don’t know what one’s supposed to wear to the theater. Even less so to watch a live orchestra.”

Nesta huffed a laugh, but her eyes were fixed on the garments in front of them as she scrolled through her various dresses. “Well, I do.”

They spent the next few seconds in silence, as her sister skillfully searched through fabrics. Strangely enough, Gwyn didn’t feel as nervous to have told her as she thought she would. But she was certain Nesta was only waiting for the right moment to fill her with questions.

“Oh, wait. I know.” She passed Gwyn and went to the trunk by that king-sized bed she shared with Cassian. The thought of her sister and her mate didn’t make Gwyn blush the way she once used to, but now the predominant feeling was that she could have that, perhaps. One day. That thought alone made her stomach flutter.

“Here” Nesta drew a burgundy midi dress out of the trunk. “Try this on.”

The V-necked laced bodice wasn’t too tight around the waist, and it had a light and also lacey skirt that draped around her knees, showcasing her legs. It was modest, and yet delicate and elegant.

When Gwyn looked at herself in the mirror, Nesta standing behind her as she zipped her up, she was breathless. It’s been a long, long time since she wore a dress, and this one fitted her perfectly. Alongside with the necklace, her freckled skin and hair, it made her feel… Beautiful. Stunning, even.

“You look splendid” Nesta stared at her through the mirror.

“Thank you.” She turned to her friend, who grabbed her arms and hugged her. She could see she was having fun.

“Do you have shoes to match this?”

Gwyn tilted her head.

“I could use my flats.”

Her sister shook her head, and reached for a matching pair of ankle-strapped scarpin heels under her bed. “Now there you go.”

Suddenly Gwyn felt an urge to cry. She was so happy to count with her sisters at moments like these. It made her excited for the ones to come.

“Hey” Nesta seemed to notice her tearful eyes, and urged her to sit next to her by the bed “Are you ok?”

She nodded and sighed. “I’m just… Happy. I’m nervous, but it feels good to know you girls have my back.”

“You know, Gwyn” Nesta grabbed her hand, her tone gentle. “I was going to say that you didn’t have to do this if you didn’t feel like it, that Azriel would understand…”

The thought of her declining his invitation made her heart ache. She didn’t once consider it; she was just glad to be spending time with him. That hewanted to spend time with her. Just as she opened her mouth to state that, her sister went on:

“But I can see that you want to do this. And I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy for you. And I can’t wait to know all about it when you get back.”

Gwyn squeezed her hand and gave her a cheeky grin:

“I’m excited, Nes.” Her words were barely a whisper as she confided.

“As you should. Now go” She nudged towards the door, smiling. “Go have some fun.”

#gwynriel #gwynriel supremacy #azriel x gwyn #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #i live for gwynriel #gwynriel headcanon #gwynriel fics #gwyneth berdara #azriel and gwyn #azriel #post acosf #acotar #I LOVED WRITING THIS AND NEXT CHAPTER IS EVEN BETTER #oops i already have like 2 more chapters written in advance #thanks as always for your support #and reblog this if you really like it to reach more gwynriel stans!

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ready-to-obeyme · 4 years

Text

[OM!] All Demon Brothers + Undateables as Babysitters (Part 1)

Scenario: For the sake of the exchange program (probably), the entire cast is now in charge of taking care of kids ranging from infants to pre-K children at a daycare with you. Headcanons on what type of babysitter they would be + whatever cute shenanigans that may occur

Note: Baby fever!! Inspiration is the entirety of Gakuen Babysitter/School Babysitter. It is literally the cutest anime I have ever watched in my life and I highly recommend it if you want a cute feels-good, slice of life!! Some of the kids I may have based off of them, but you don’t need to watch it to understand this! :))

why do i always make my headcanons so long

Part 1 has the 7 Demon Brothers

[Part 2] has all five Undateables

Lucifer

This was probably Diavolo’s idea so he has no choice but to go along with it, much to his dismay

He already thought humans were fragile, and now they were going to take care of the smaller, younger ones?

His face scares 90% of the kids on his first day as a babysitter, which kind of hinders his job because every time he tries to help them clean up or change diapers, the kids start crying

The other 10% who are not intimidated by him claim him to be the Big Bad and play fight with him all the time, and considering his attitude, he’s a pretty perfect villain in their make-belief play so he’s won their hearts IMMEDIATELY

Generally a pretty strict baby-sitter who is listened to without having to repeat himself; his power and authority is unyielding (and also he’s just plain scary even if he doesn’t mean to be, and lowkey he likes the power he has because the kids remind him of Mammon sometimes)

It’s honestly a big debate whether he should just give up and ask for help or power through, but if he’s just babysitting with you, pleads with you to please help him because he’s so lost and why do they scream so loud and not that he would ever admit to it, but he is a tiny bit hurt that he can’t seem to have the kids trust him

Once he’s told that he should smile more and speak more gently, he implements it with mixed results (at first), but it’s a significant improvement from the first few days

During a moment of rest, he’s sighing when a baby crawls up to him and sits in his lap without warning, and he’s a goner

Literally has the hardest time trying to train his face not to look so pleased or happy, but his smile is so soft (and he will not hesitate to kill any of his brothers that see him like that, but for you and the undateables, he’ll just be embarrassed)

Loves infants and how trusting they are of him despite how scary his face may seem sometimes-- the epitome of unconditional love and he’s just… very tender

Probably ends up being the respected babysitter who’s super cool to all the kids but slightly unapproachable (unless you’re a babyyyy) but eventually climbs the ranks in terms of babysitters because he vouches for them if they do need him

Mammon

The kids have decided that he is the biggest kid on the playground and now to assert dominance, they must beat him up

Which is what they do-- or as much as they can with their tiny fists and miniscule strength and the fact that Mammon is a literal demon

You just stare at Mammon as he cries on the ground, whining at how the kids ganged up on him and you’re just like…. They’re literally <4 years old.

Despite that part, Mammon gets along with all the kids really well!!

He talks to them as normal and calls them ‘brats’ but they all know he’s soft for them so they kind of take advantage of that? But only a little bit because they don’t like seeing Mammon cry either

You forget who comfort the other more at this point, the kids or Mammon

Mammon is the best person to call for if the kids want to play around because he’s pretty animated himself and goes along with whatever the kids want to do

You might have to reign them in a little yourself, because you’re not quite sure Mammon really knows what’s actually dangerous for them

“Mammon, please only carry one kid at a time please, you’re scaring me”

“Huh? You know I can carry all four of them on my head--”

“Please”

Suuuper popular with the kids even though he kept complaining about them to anyone who would listen that he had to look over these tiny humans

But the moment any of the kids ask for his help or do something cute, he’s the FIRST one to go and help because ‘you need the GREAT Mammon’s help? Guess you can’t help it after all…” and he just likes the fact that he feels reliable to these kids

He might… actually save money to buy these kids Christmas gifts?? Will maybe cry if they bring little Valentine's Day candies (that their parents probably told them to give but shhh let him dream)

Leviathan

May or may not be hyperventilating as he hypes himself up to go into the daycare and meet the kids

He tried to brush it off to his brothers that they’re just kids and he doesn’t care if they like him or not because it doesn’t matter to him because he’s just an otaku-- but my god he hopes they like him

Little does he know, the fact he lets them play on his game consoles (whether or not they actually know how to play) wins them over immediately and breaks the ice

They find him super interesting to talk to and he ends up a pretty popular babysitter because he talks to them like adults (yes, even to the babies)

Catch him giving a bottle to a baby while talking to them in baby-voice (that he adopts not on purpose) about his favorite TSL season

One of the biggest reasons why the kids love him is because he really listens to them even though their rants and blabbing doesn’t always make sense

When he does talk about his interests (or it slips out, as it does), the kids are genuinely interested in what he has to say and that’s when his mission to convert all of these kids to watching anime and reading manga started

“Reading manga is going to help them develop reading comprehension!!”

Probably brings his entire stash of (kid-friendly) manga-- probably the magical girl anime with Ruri-chan-- and has the kids dig in

It does have some negative repercussions because kids aren’t exactly good at handling precious material, so things do rip and break and Levi had to excuse himself to go outside and mourn his lost

But the fire of his mission burns brighter than the sadness over what he has lost (besides, he would never bring limited edition/1st edition things outside his room so these things are replaceable)

If Halloween rolls around, the kids will exclaim that they want to be [insert character] from TSL or another anime and Levi may shed tears of happiness right there and then

Will make it his side quest to make costumes for ALL the kids-- especially if they can’t afford their own and will encourage them to be whatever they want to be!!!

He’s literally leading an army of newly-created weebs/otakus that look up to him in the daycare and the power he has over these kids is so formidable some of his brothers are actually a little jealous HAHA

Satan

Acts casual about the whole thing and is actually casual about it

He hasn’t necessarily spent much time with kids, but he figures he’d be able to do it-- and he’d be right; considering how natural he is with people in general, I doubt kids would be much different, especially if he talks to them like adults and respects their opinions

Is definitely the type of babysitter some of the kids end up having a little baby crush on, considering how charming and prince-like he can be with his gentle tone of voice

Not that he’s perfect-- some kids are just brats and he does get angry at them but he only needed to snap once before the troublemakers all learned not to mess with him

Despite that, he would most likely be the ones to keep an eye on the troublemakers, because it may be a sign of a troubled home (not always, but… well, he would know best, wouldn’t he?) and he’d want to reach out to them if he can help them in any way

What he loves to do with the kids-- and you can probably guess-- is have Story Time!!

The kids are so excited to circle around him before naptime and listen to him read storybooks, doing voice overs and dramatic/animated readings; the kids are so intently listening and giggling at the funny parts

At first, he attempted to bring all his books over to the daycare, but he had to put some back when you tell him these kids are literally three and probably don’t have the reading comprehension required to read Quantum Physics-- so he provides picture books instead; anything he procured from the human world

Really encourages the kids to try their best to read and, if he has the time of day, tries to teach them basic things like the alphabet, how to spell out each words etc (you may call him…. Sensei)

Adores their imagination too because he knows adults could hardly compare at times and he encourages them to make up their own stories and he’d help them write it down

Uses a lot of tactic like these to encourage their education and their development-- he loves books and the impact they’ve made on him and he wants these kids to be able to experience the same things

Asmodeus

A little hesitant at first because kids can be super cute and great for pictures but… they can also be super gross and kind of mean; and he’s seen both ends of the spectrum so he’s not really sure what to expect

Then one of the kid compliments his hair clip shyly and shows their own similar hairclip and he’s sold because obviously they have the cutest kids in the world

Hair undone? He’s there

You wanna try out painting nails? Oh hun, he’s got you-- free make-overs for EVERYONE-- except maybe the infants, he doesn’t wanna ruin the natural baby smell and softness they have going for them

He wants to encourage ALL the kids to express themselves so he sometimes brings old clothes he doesn’t wear anymore so they have a fashion show/runways

ALWAYS encourages the kid to wear what they want because gender norms who???

If ANY and I mean ANY parent comes up to him and talk about him letting them wear non-gender conforming clothes he WILL go off on them because they are LITERALLY KIDS-- let them express themselves and have fun

Kinda grossed out by snot and diapers tho so you’re gonna have to help him with that; and since the universe knows that he hates getting dirty, he’s probably the brother most likely to get peed on while changing a diaper

You have to force him back into the daycare after that incident because he refuses to come out of the bathroom after changing into clean clothes

But he is so captivating that the kids usually don’t cause trouble when he’s around, and also similarly to Levi, he talks and listens to them blabber while he’s doing their hair so it’s always pretty soothing

Probably ends up in charge of the creativity hour and cooing over everyone’s art project, encouraging them to sprinkle as much glitter as they want, use as many colors as they want-- as long as it makes them happy!

Beelzebub

Considering he’s the sweetest and physically the strongest, he’s actually pretty concerned about hurting them, and asks you to help him adjust to this new role so that the kids will be okay (you know he’ll be fine, but if saying yes to helping him will make him feel better, you say it)

Beel keeps to himself as a babysitter for the first few-- oh idk-- hours before some of the kids figure out how STRONG he is and he’s the best thing since sliced bread

The kids start to literally hang from him, testing how strong he really is, and are all delighted that he can hold all of them in and from his arms; he’s a little worried he’ll drop them, but since the kids are so excited about it, decides to lift them only a little high just to please them

Happily, he eventually gets used to knowing how to deal with them, and it helps that the kids are so polite to him

He’s the ultimate Big Brother figure to them, much to his surprise since he’s used to being the younger brother, and it makes him really soft inside that these kids actually look up to him and rely on him

During free play, he has definitely carried at least six kids on his back when they play horsey and not break a sweat and throws the babies up in the air playfully (and carefully) and let them pretend they were flying

He’s their protector, making sure that they’re playing safely, even though he went a little too ham on the protection, grabbing a kid by the scruff of his collar because he was running and beel was afraid of him falling and scraping his knees

“It’s okay Beel, they can handle it--”

“Are you sure?? But they’re so tiny and fragile--”

Changes diapers pretty handily after the first time; has definitely tried the baby formula and ate the entire bottle by accident before feeding a baby

Makes sure the kids are nice to each other, especially siblings, and that they eat; you tell the kids that if they eat their vegetables they’ll grow as strong as Beel, and that’s the FASTEST you’ve ever seen picky kids eat them in your LIFE

Belphegor

“Alright, nap time, everyone!”

“Belphie, they just arrived;;;”

Honestly just thought this entire thing was a hassle because kids in general take a lot of work and he just doesn’t want to put that sort of effort into something he didn’t sign up for

But since you’re there, he may as well try to be proficient enough to be well-liked enough to not cause a fuss and be able to babysit with you

He’s the type of babysitter who converses with the kids and pretends he doesn’t know something so the kid tries to teach him-- and honestly this give the kid a chance to be confident in their skills and also lets Belphie not do as much work to keep the conversation alive so win-win

As you can probably guess, is definitely in charge of enforcing nap time… by napping with the kids-- gotta learn by example right?

There are probably mats that the kids lie on but whenever Belphie lies in the middle of them, they all end up rolling and curling near his side; when he wakes up he’s always surrounded by a sea of kids and he’s so confused and he can’t move unless you wake up the kids for him

The most efficient babysitter out of all of them because efficiency means less effort and time taken to change a diaper, clean up a spill, or wipe a kid’s nose

Doesn’t understand why the kids keep wanting to interact with him but he’ll always indulge them in the end regardless of his nonchalant attitude

He actually finds a lot of them endearing when they talk about the things they like to do and about their daily life because it’s always interesting to learn about their perspective on things

When it’s creativity hour, the kids like asking him to doodle something on their paper (it can be a small chibi or caricature or just some animal) and it always makes them super happy; you watch him crack a smile as he sees the kids try to copy his drawing right next to it

If any of them are interested in stars, will gently show them the constellations in books and watch as they fascinate over them as he did before

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #School Babysitters #last post for the day #i need to focus on hw HAHAHA #very indulgent hcs

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gingeralepdf · 3 years

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Walk On By - Part 2

A/N: yay!!!!!! another installment in the shroomrry cinematic universe is here!! i want to say a huge thank you to el ( @harrytheehottie ) and brailey ( @daydreamsofh ) for being excellent beta readers and supporters. <3 <3

and thank you to everyone who has shown my writing love. i truly appreciate it so much. i hope you like this part just as much as the first one. :-)

if you haven’t read part 1, catch up here!!

🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: just under 5k

**September 15th, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

The brakes on your car squeal as you pull into the last empty spot along the curb and shift into park. The music from your radio comes to an abrupt stop when you turn the key back to shut the engine off. Your head hits the headrest behind you before you empty your lungs into the silence.

Cars drive past on the street to your left. It’s just past five thirty, so all of the after work traffic is in full swing.

You’ve been avoiding this errand for two weeks now. There’s a record that you’ve been wanting to get your hands on ever since one of your coworkers played it at a work function. After looking through shelf after shelf in all of your favorite shops in L.A., and even making some calls to shops in surrounding areas, they’ve all come up short.

This seems to be your very last resort. Right across the street, sandwiched between a donut shop and a hair salon, is Jupiter House Records. From what you remember, this shop has a really good selection and variety, but the handful of unpleasant interactions you’ve had with the owner have been enough to make you look somewhere else. You’ve been stubbornly avoiding this place for years. Now you have a whole other reason for not wanting to spend hours in this store digging through to find your favorites or discover new ones.

Harry works here.

You haven’t seen him since he showed up on your doorstep to return your address book. The conversation you had with Jenny when she came home from work that evening plays through your mind again.

Both of you plop down on opposite sides of the couch in your living room. You sigh and take a big sip from your glass of wine before explaining the whole interaction to her, starting from the moment you opened the door to the moment you saw him drive away in his car.

Jenny grins. The only sound in the room comes from the ticking of the clock on the wall as you wait for her response. “I think he likes you.”

You squint. “That’s what you’re taking away from all of that?”

Her eyes widen and she springs forward, almost sloshing the wine out of her glass when she sets it on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re telling me he saw the ‘If lost please return to..’ in your address book and decided to make a trip to our house to return it to you in person, when he could have just sent it in the mail?”

You can feel a crease forming between your eyebrows and you take in a sharp breath, fully prepared to counter her point, but she barrels through.

“And he wanted to ‘make sure you were okay’. Out of all the dealers that we’ve met, how many have just shown up at our houses to check up on us? Zero.”

You press your lips together. You can’t argue the fact that this alone sets Harry apart. However, this doesn’t mean he likes you. Maybe it just means that he’s the kind of person that goes the extra mile for the people he does business with. He could have easily left you and Jen sitting on the sidewalk after the concert, but he decided to help, to do what any other good-natured person would do.

“And let’s not forget how he threw the paper on the doorstep so you wouldn’t have to walk all the way down the driveway.” Jenny clutches her chest and swoons.

Scoffing at the way she’s adding dramatics, you challenge, “How do you know he didn’t show up here to see you?”

“He didn’t ask about me, did he?”

“No,” you begrudgingly mumble into your glass.

She grabs her glass from the coffee table and gives you a knowing look. She’s made her point, and the more it lingers like the aftertaste of wine, the more conflicted you become.

You’ve spent more idle moments than you’d like to admit since then thinking about the night you were sitting outside of the Forum. Thinking about what possessed you to lean in and study his face so closely. Was it solely the effects of the drugs? If that’s the case, then why do you want to go back to that moment so badly? And why didn’t Harry pull away? Did he really blush when you were staring at him? Was his heart really racing when you gave him a hug, or was that just your wild imagination?

The honking of a car brings you out of your thoughts. You take a deep breath and trill your lips. There’s a slight break in traffic. If you don’t get out of your car and cross the street now, you fear you’ll stay here stuck in your thoughts all evening.

With a huff, you rip your keys from the ignition and push your door open. You cross the street, walking with a purpose, and make it to the sidewalk.

The full strength of your nerves doesn’t hit you until you’re just in front of the store and the glass door swings out with a simultaneous chime of a bell. Your heart drops from your chest to your stomach and you freeze on the sidewalk to avoid colliding with the man exiting the shop.

When he stops to hold the door open for you, it takes you a moment to gather yourself. You mutter a ‘thank you’ as your hand firmly grips the cool metal of the door handle. Almost like you’re using it as a crutch to get you through the threshold.

Your shoes meet the shaggy mustard yellow carpet, matted down by years of customer traffic.

A woman that looks about your age greets you from behind a counter to your right. You return her half smile and she goes back to flipping through the magazine on the counter in front of her. The nametag on her floral shirt reads ‘Nora’. Behind her is a door with a red ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign taped to it.

Underneath the counter that she’s leaning on is a glass case holding records and cassette tapes, all marked ‘deluxe’ or ‘limited edition’. Spread out next to them are a few t-shirts, buttons, and stickers with the store logo printed on them.

You weren’t expecting it to be so quiet. Right now it seems like you and Nora are the only people in the store. The coast is clear. You can relax a bit. The adrenaline rush you were feeling on the other side of the door has now been replaced by the whirring of the air vents and David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” playing over the speakers.

You turn to your left to take in the rest of the store, meandering into the first row of record shelves.

The large window taking up the entire front wall lets in plenty of evening sun that warms your skin through your shirt. More shelves, each one three tiers deep, line the rest of the walls and create aisles in the middle of the room.

Signs hanging from the ceiling above each section indicate the genre. The one you’re standing next to is labeled ‘new releases’ with a smaller font that reads ‘alpha by artist’. Other sections are labeled country, rock, disco, classical. Your eyes land on the back corner of the store where the funk, soul, and jazz sections are.

You make your way over while pulling your sleeves up to your elbows.

Unsure of which specific section the record you’re looking for will be in, you decide to start on one end of the corner and search all the way through to the other in hopes of finding it.

You fall into a familiar routine of searching through the first tier, then the second, leaning over to search through the top tier, and then taking a step over to start the whole process again.

Once you’re about halfway through the soul section, the bell on the door chimes again. You can’t be bothered to look, not wanting to lose your place.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Goddamnit. Your hands freeze their movements and your heart begins to race all over again. You know exactly who just walked through that door.

“Harry,” Nora admonishes, “I finally have a date after two months and you’re gonna make me late.”

Harry’s mumbled response is drowned out by the loud creak of the door behind the counter, but judging by Nora’s gasp and the unmistakable thwack of a magazine, maybe it’s better left between the two of them.

You begin to slowly file through records again, this time not paying much attention to what you’re doing. More-so to give your hands something to do and appear busy while trying to hear the rest of their conversation.

Nora sighs, “It’s been really slow today. Hopefully it’s a slow night for you.” All you hear is some shuffling before she adds, “Oh, boss wanted me to remind you not to play the music too loud.”

“Did he? Dunno what he’s talking about,” Harry says, feigning innocence.

Nora laughs, “Whatever.”

The next thing you hear is the jingling of keys and footsteps across the carpet.

Harry raises his voice from the back room, “Are you gonna punch out?”

“Will you do it for me? I’ve gotta go.”

“Sure.”

The bell on the door rings and Nora yells from the doorway, “I left three boxes in the back for you to restock!”

“Oh thanks,” Harry yells back with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Bye,�� she sings as she walks out.

The door slams behind her. The bell’s high pitched ringing seems to hang in the air.

Silence falls on the room when the song playing over the speakers stops suddenly, making the room quiet enough to hear the traffic outside. You hear a needle drop and after a few seconds, the opening guitar notes of “Can You Get to That” by Funkadelic begin to play. The corners of your mouth turn down to fight a smile when the volume is promptly turned up much louder than what it was when you walked in.

You take a sharp breath in, realizing that you’re going to have to turn around at some point. Surely you can’t just stay in this corner and keep your back turned to him until the place closes. You don’t know what you’re going to say to him. Will he even recognize you after not seeing you for weeks?

There’s not much time to decide what to do when the sound of footsteps approaching on the carpet is getting closer to you.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you hear his voice.

“Finding everything alright?”

You turn your head to the left.

Harry is standing a few shelves apart from you with a box propped between the shelf and his hip. The sunlight from the window shines through the ends of his hair and the sleeves of his white t-shirt when he grabs a record from the box and reaches out to carefully wedge it back into the right place. You scan down to where his shirt is tucked into a pair of dark brown corduroy pants, and further down to see a pair of dirty white sneakers peeking out from the ends of the flares. When he turns his head to the box again, you notice that his mustache is significantly thinner from the last time you saw each other.

Heat rushes up your neck and onto your face when he glances up at you.

His hand pauses in the air and his eyebrows raise slightly before the corners of his mouth do the same, revealing just a hint of his dimples. His head tilts back and he blinks in surprise. “Oh… hi.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding when he addresses you by name. Mirroring his smile and turning your shoulders to face him, you reply, “Hi. I… didn’t know you worked here.”

A flat out lie, but thankfully he doesn’t seem too suspect about it.

He frowns and looks down at his shirt, pulling it out in front of him to reveal his nametag. “Hm. M’ afraid I do,” he says flatly.

A breathy chuckle leaves you, amused at the way he’s effortlessly making sarcastic remarks like this with you and his coworker. Quite different from the stiffly awkward interactions you’ve had with him. It’s like you’re seeing him in his natural environment. Him being at ease is having the same effect on you.

“Do you need help finding anything?” he asks, continuing his previous actions, this time with a soft smile.

“Actually, yes,” you clear your throat, “I’m looking for this specific record. I’ve looked all over for it by now. I’m pretty sure it should be in one of these sections if you have it, but...” you trail off as you cast a glance over your shoulder to the shelves you have yet to go through.

“I can take a look in our inventory. Save you some time?”

Of course. Why didn’t you just ask about that when you first walked in? “Sure. That would be great.”

Harry hoists the box into the crook of his arm with a faint grunt and you follow him over to the counter. After setting the box at the end of the countertop, he walks to the other end and reaches underneath the register, pulling out a large beat up binder with ‘inventory’ written on the spine.

It lands on the counter with a plop, probably due to the huge stack of paper inside, separated by multicolored tabs.

“What’s the artist’s name?” he asks after opening the binder to the first page.

“The Equatics.”

He pulls on the ‘A’ tab and folds it over.

“Oh, sorry, it’s Equatics with an ‘E’.”

He tuts and shakes his head before tracing his finger down and pulling on the ‘E’ tab. “Equatics with an ‘E’,” he mumbles.

You fold your lips between your teeth.

Now you’re thankful for the loud music filling the room as you’re standing wordlessly in front of the counter watching him flip through the pages of the inventory binder. Hair hangs in front of his face as his head is tilted down to scan over the pages, all filled with scribbles, arrows, and notes in the margins written in blue, black, and red ink. It all means nothing to you, especially looking at it upside down. You can only imagine how tedious it must be to keep up with.

With his left hand pressed flat against the counter, the expanse of his arm is right in front of you. Hopefully he can’t feel your eyes surveying his tattoos, at least the ones you can see from this angle. A small cross on his hand, an anchor on his wrist, the tail of a mermaid, a delicate rose near his elbow, a heart just beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

He inhales sharply and clears his throat into his fist, “Looks like we do have it. It’s actually in our as-is section.” As he’s speaking, he spins the binder in your direction and slides his finger almost to the bottom of the page to point out where it lists the artist, album title, and the section it’s in.

Despite the relief that comes with finally finding something you’ve been searching for, your face falls a bit. You know that ‘as-is’ is often just a nice way of saying that something is heavily used. “Does that mean it’s… damaged?”

Harry hums and tilts his head to the side, not meeting your eyes until he responds.

“Not always. Honestly we’re pretty much required to put stuff in that section even if it’s just the sleeve that’s messed up. Sometimes the record itself is still in great condition. You can still find some good stuff in there.”

“Okay. Where’s the as-is section?” You don’t remember seeing a sign for it when you walked in, unless you just overlooked it.

“Right. It's, uh, down this hallway here. Kind of hidden.”

Harry rounds the end of the counter and you follow him over to a doorway covered with a ruby red beaded curtain. Harry pulls it to the side and steps through first, pausing to hold the curtain back for you. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and step into a long hallway that extends to your right.

He releases the curtain, letting the beads crash together, before starting down the hallway.

Both walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of cassette tapes, with each row of shelving just tall enough to fit their size. There’s so much packed in this long stretch of narrow space, like a condensed, fluorescent-lit cornucopia.

“I had no idea all of this was back here,” you comment, slightly dumbfounded that you probably would have overlooked this hallway entirely if it hadn’t been pointed out to you.

“Yeah, lots of people think it’s off limits because of the curtain. I need to put some signs up or something.”

As you’re walking behind Harry, you realize you were too distracted before to see print on the back of his shirt, let alone make out what it said. Bold purple font reads ‘MY MIND IS UP ON THE MOUNTAINS’ with a smaller font at the bottom that reads ‘(and i didn’t even have to climb)’. The words are surrounded by a sun, a few flowers, a picture of a mountain, and two mushrooms on the bottom.

A smirk creeps onto the corner of your mouth at how incredibly on the nose it seems for him. It makes you wonder if anyone here knows about his other job, or if he’s hiding in plain sight.

Once you’re both about a third of the way down the hallway, there’s a gap in the shelves on the right filled by a nondescript doorway.

“Here we are.” Harry stops and reaches on the other side of the doorway to flip the light switch before stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in first.

You step into a small room. It only contains two long folding tables pushed against opposite walls. Rather than fancy, neat shelves, the records here are stored in milk crates and cardboard boxes lined up on the tops of the tables. It almost looks like you’ve come across a garage sale.

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips to the side as you walk up to the first box at the end of the table closest to the door. When you reach in, Harry speaks up.

“I could help you look for a bit, if you want.”

Harry’s now leaning against the doorframe, running a hand against his jaw. Do you see a slight tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks as well?

“I don’t really have anything better to do. Plus this section... isn’t really organized,” he continues.

You bring your attention back to the box in front of you, a sharp breath escaping your nose when you turn the Johnny Cash record back to reveal a Mozart one behind it. “I can see that.”

“But if you want to look around by yourself I understand, I can leave you to it,” he says, already slightly backing up into the hallway.

“No, I wouldn’t mind the company. You could take that table and I’ll take this one?” Your own words surprise you as you’re speaking them. Moments ago you had been dreading crossing paths with him again, but now that you’re having a moment that feels comfortable, you find yourself wanting him to stick around longer.

A curiosity is growing in your mind, wondering if Harry is feeling the same way, if that’s why he offered to help, if that’s why he slowly joins you in the room and mirrors your position at the table behind you so you’re not standing back to back.

You both search through the crates without a word, only the faint sound of the music from the front room coming down the hallway. Meanwhile, your thoughts are going back and forth between Jenny insisting that this man likes you and talking yourself out of that idea, insisting that he’s simply being nice, doing his job.

“How have you been?”

The question catches you off guard, taking a moment to realize that he’s actually said it out loud. “Um. I’ve been good. Nothing exciting going on, just working a lot. You?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’ve been working a lot too. Where do you work? Don’t think I’ve asked you.”

“Do you ever listen to KIIS-FM?”

“Yes?” He responds, possibly thinking that you’re trying to shift the subject.

You smile to yourself, “You’re welcome. I’m a sound engineer there.”

“Oh shit,” he says enthusiastically. “That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

Briefly turning to look at him, your smile grows wider when you read the interest and excitement on his face. An expression you’re seeing for the first time in him, and it's because of something about you. Your heart flutters and you turn back to your table.

“Most days, I do. It can be a real dick fest sometimes though. Not in a good way.”

Despite mumbling the last sentence, Harry seems to still pick it up.

He barks out a laugh. You turn, eyes wide, to see his shoulders shaking and him covering his mouth with his hand.

When he turns back to you, clearly making a lot of effort to compose himself, he places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh yeah, the way you laughed really convinced me,” you lightheartedly roll your eyes.

“No it’s just… the way you said it was really funny,” he says, chuckling through his words. He continues, “So you studied engineering at UCLA then?”

Your eyebrows crease as his words hang in the air. You guess it’s not wild to assume that people who live in L.A. have attended UCLA. However, since you’ve never mentioned any kind of schooling to Harry, you can only gather that he’s making that assumption from the UCLA t-shirt you were wearing when he showed up at your house.

“I thought I remembered Jenny mentioning that you both went there.” His tone is cautious now, hesitant even. Like he’s picked up on his own blunder.

You decide to brush over it and simply nod, “Yeah, that’s how we met, actually.”

You return to looking through the crate in front of you. You gasp when you see the familiar red cover of the album you’re looking for.

You feel Harry turn around behind you. “Find it?”

You pull it from the crate. The bold red cover with a blue-grey circle in the middle, running your finger over the lines and arrows creating rings around it with a few stars placed here and there. You turn to smile at Harry, holding up the record in place of an answer, too excited to form words. The paper dust liner crinkles as you slide the plastic disc from the sleeve. Holding it by the edges, you tilt it to the left, to the right, and hold it up closer to the light to inspect it. Your shoulders visibly fall when you spot a long scratch running from the middle to the edge.

“Oh no,” you whisper, bringing the record closer to your face. You lightly run your finger over the scratch. It doesn’t feel rough, you actually can’t feel it at all. A fraction of hope is restored knowing that the scratch isn’t too deep into the grooves. However, there’s no way to know if it’s unplayable unless you actually try to play it.

Harry seems to read your mind. “You could test it out on the player up front if you want.”

“Really?” You spin around, seeming to shock him judging by the way his upper body slightly jerks back. “I mean-- I would appreciate that. If it’s not too much--”

He shakes his head, “It’s not a problem.” He walks toward the door where he waits for you to gather everything up.

The front of the store quiet once you both emerge from the other side of the curtain.

“I liked your choice of work music, by the way,” you say once you’ve both made it back to the counter, hugging your record to your chest.

“Oh yeah, Maggot Brain. S’ a fun album.”

You lean forward to rest your forearms against the smooth wood of the counter, waiting while he takes the record off the player to make room for yours. “Do you listen to a lot of funk music?”

“I do. I’ve never really understood why some people aren’t into it. What’s not to love, right?”

“Exactly! My coworker showed me this album and I think it’s one of my favorites now. It was recorded by this group of high school students in seventy two. They won some studio time in a contest or something and they really made the most of it.”

“Hm. M’ excited to listen to it now.” He stretches his hand out, “I’ll take that.”

You hand over the album. “Could you start it on track two? I think that’s my favorite one.”

“Sure.” He places the record on the player and carefully moves the needle in place.

A warm feeling washes over you when you hear the familiar soft guitar and drum beat at the beginning of the song. You both stand in place as the bass line comes in and all of the instruments’ parts crescendo.

Once the beat drops and the main guitar comes in, Harry turns to you with raised eyebrows and an impressed smile.

“Amazing, right?” you ask through a chuckle.

“It’s really good.”

“I know! And I don’t notice the scratch at all. It sounds perfect.”

“S’ exciting. I’m glad you found it.”

He walks over to where you are and starts to inspect the sleeve, turning it over to read the back. He adopts a similar position as you, forearms resting on the counter as he taps his fingers on his bicep to the beat of the song.

“That guitar part is amazing.”

He’s leaning close enough now that you can see a hint of stubble along his jawline and his upper lip. His cologne, a swirl of vanilla and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. He looks up when you don’t respond and you avert your eyes immediately.

“I think so too,” you mumble.

“I find it crazy how something really amazing can be right in front of you for so long and you never notice it or you just keep missing it.” A pause. “This has been in the back room for… I don’t even know how long, and I probably never would have listened to it if you hadn’t been looking for it.” Another brief pause as he scratches at his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. He shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s weird, but I think about that kind of thing a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s weird. That can happen with… so many things, too.”

“Like people.”

His eyes quickly dance over your face. You swear they linger on your lips for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“Like people,” you repeat. “And I think it is good to think about that stuff from time to time but… it can get overwhelming. Sometimes it could even distract you from the things you’re enjoying now.”

Your eyes do the same motions, glancing all over his face, lingering on his lips, and then back to his eyes. This feels extremely reminiscent of the night you were sitting outside of the Forum, when you were practically nose to nose after you had taken a whiff of his hair. You had been telling yourself that the gravitational pull you felt that night was solely induced by the shrooms. However, you seem to be feeling it again now as your eyes trace over the plane of his cheek, the tip of his nose, the arch of his lip.

A slight crease between his eyebrows slightly contradicts the almost tender look in his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak.

Unfortunately he’s interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on the wall behind him.

You flinch at the sudden noise and Harry huffs in annoyance before clearing his throat into his fist.

He walks over to the player to turn the music down before answering the phone with a simple, clipped “Jupiter House.”

He covers the receiver with his hand and mouths ‘sorry’ to you before holding up a finger and going into the back room, closing the door until it's just cracked behind him.

You release a heavy sigh and rub your temples.

After a short conversation, Harry comes back and hangs up the phone.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, untangling the cord from his fingers. “Are you happy with this, then?” He asks, pointing to the record player.

“Uh- yes. Yes. I am.”

You go through the transaction in silence, watching the way Harry slides your record into a brown paper bag and the way he makes your change. At this moment, you’re wishing Harry came with a cartoon thought bubble over his head so you could know what he’s thinking right now. What exactly did he mean when he said ‘like people’? What was he about to say before he was interrupted?

He carefully folds and creases the paper, but instead of handing it over, he pauses, hands poised on the top of the bag.

“Sorry, I forgot something.” He opens the bag again and crouches down behind the counter.

“What--”

Before you can get your question out, his hand reaches into the glass case between you, hovering over the merchandise that you noticed when you first walked in. He picks out a button and a sticker. You hear them drop into the bag before he pops up from behind the counter.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I know.”

His smile and his voice are reassuring, absolving your confusion in a matter of seconds.

“Thanks for your help. It was nice running into you,” you smile, taking the bag and holding the record to your chest once again.

“Take care. I’ll see you around.” He smiles.

You back away from the counter and push open the door. The bell rings in your ears one last time.

*********************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 2, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

-> STAY TUNED FOR PART 3 <-

#shroomrry #my writing #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles reader insert #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #drugs tw #alcohol tw

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milkbaer · 3 years

Note

Hi! I found your post and, if it's okay to you, I'd like to send a request! My request is maybe a bit "unusual", so feel free to tell me if you don't like it! It's a Matthias/Female Y/N but... platonic instead of romantic. I'd love to see a cute friendship. This the situation: "After a year, Matthias meets the young doctor who saved his life and, this time, it's his turn to save her." Thank you so much, free to tell if you want me to change it!

Summary: 1 year ago Matthias made friends with the doctor, who saved his life. Now it’s his turn to save yours.

Pairing: platonic! Matthias Helvar x doctor/physician, fem! Reader

Warning: not edited

Wordcount: 3.4k

A/N: I’m very sorry it took so long and it’s probably not exactly what you’ve wished for, but I hope you still enjoy it! The cursive parts play in the past.

Wandering through the woods with his drüskelle, Matthias wondered why sticks and stones felt eerie familiar to him. The young man couldn’t remember having ever roamed these woods. The ground was covered in leaves, bushes and stones, white and brown trees all looked the same to him. A forest was a forest, there was nothing special to it.

But why did he feel like he had been here before? Passing trees, bigger and smaller rocks felt so familiar to him. Was it possible to know and remember these kinds of things? Woods looked the same after all – they were full of dirt, leaf covered grounds, shrubs, stones, trees and other flora. There was nothing striking about forests, especially not this one.

But why did Matthias know this specific tree, and this certain rock formation?

Had he been here before?

“Stop daydreaming, Helvar,” one of his pals called to him, acting as if he was ranked higher or older. But they were all roughly the same age. Young, slightly unexperienced – some more than others – drüskelle, wandering these woods. “Hurry up.”

Matthias didn’t question it when they got ordered to split in two. Scattering into smaller groups was more effective than looking for witches in a big batch. And after all witches where the reason why they were roaming this strip of land.

Witches were always the reason.

He got paired up with a boy roughly his age, maybe 1 or 2 years younger, Matthias couldn’t really tell. They both stepped through the woods, careful to not make any major telling sounds like the infamous crushing branches with the weight of their bodies. His younger drüskelle ambitiously looked for any sign of the godless enemy - or just a sign between all this greens and browns in general - while Matthias couldn’t escape the haunting feeling of having roamed these corners before. Could he really distinguish mossy trees and stones?

Didn’t they all look the same?

But then why told him his brain that he knew this place without further clue?

„Drüsje!“ Matthias heard the young boy cry, following his cracked voice with big, fast steps.

It was cold and yet he was sweating so much. Was it even sweat? Matthias didn’t know but his hands felt awfully wet and sticky. His body hurt but what bothered him more was his itching dry throat, making it impossible for him to utter any coherent words. “I need you to talk to me,” someone said and all he knew was, that it wasn’t one of his comrades.

He felt pressure on his body but couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

What happened?

Matthias didn’t know.

But he tried to talk but all that came out were dusty mumbles, lips sticking together. It didn’t feel like talking but the voice encouraged him to go on. “You need to get out of here,” he heard. “This might hurt a little.”

It didn’t hurt a little. It hurt a lot.

Pain washed through him, and he didn’t know he was able to, but he screamed. Matthias couldn’t tell what was happening exactly, all he felt was pain. A long, torturous stab went through his body, he just couldn’t tell where or why, or how it happened.

It just hurt.

He didn’t know until he saw you, pinned to the ground by the knees of his comrade, telling him that he had indeed found a witch. “I’m not a witch!” You cried at him, trying to toss and turn around but the young drüskelle kept you steady on the forest ground.

“I found her in the bushes,” he told him in Fjerdan. At first it had looked like the young boy had the upper hand, pressing you effortless to the ground with everything he had learned Djerholm. But Matthias could hear by the slight shake in his voice and the change of breathing that it wasn’t as easy as it looked to keep you pressed against the ground. “She keeps claiming that she isn’t a witch, but I know one when I see one!”

Matthias should say something, he knew that. But he couldn’t do anything else but stare at you, while parts of his memory began to unfold. He had been here. But how long had it been? He remembered the cold wind, pain everywhere and your voice telling him that he needed to get out of the woods.

“I am not a witch!” You hissed at him. Matthias remembered that you told him the same when he woke up in your house and accused you of using healing powers. He knew that not all Ravkans were able to craft magic.

But one: You never knew.

And two: A witch would tell you that she isn’t one, right?

When the young drüskelle ignored you to inform Matthias further on you being a drüsje, you spit at him. Both surprised and disgusted he hit you with his elbow before wiping it off. Matthias couldn’t stand it but halted when he almost ordered for him to stop. You needed his helped. He owed you. It was the least he could do after you saved his life. But it would be too suspicious of him to simply stop one from hitting the enemy.

“That’s enough,” he said instead. The younger drüskelle was confused and by looking at his face Matthias could tell that the boy felt offended, but when he told him to leave the job to him and go look for another, he obeyed. But not before handing you over to him. It wasn’t comfortable or painless, Matthias didn’t treat you as if you were made of porcelain. He needed to keep the façade up while shackling you up, until he saw the boy leave.

“Drüsje,” the tall blonde spat at you. His head spun, his body felt sticky and hot, and a fire was burning in the room, keeping it warm. He laid on a soft, comfortable bed – comfier than the one he had in the Ice Court. His body was bandaged and bleeding, apparently. You stood before him, looking both exhausted and offended, with gauze and linen in your hands.

You didn’t understand much Fjerdan, not even at the boarder but you knew what drüsje meant and you weren’t one and never had been. “I am not, and I told you that before!”

The whole ‘being a witch or not’ discussion was going on forever and it was tiring. Not even showing him your medical supplies, all very used and made for people with no unholy powers, made him stop his accusations. You were really getting tired and bored of this strong, injured man. He didn’t stop his rant until you threw a dripping wet cloth at his face.

“Thank the saints, you shut up,” you said while he removed and looked at the wet rag. For a minute he wouldn’t stop looking back from the cloth, dripping onto his lap, to you. It seemed he was absolutely bewildered by your action. “As your doctor I’m telling you to stay calm, or else your wounds will open again, and I hate ruining my good work.”

“Do you understand me, Fjerdan?”

He looked at you.

“What have you done to me?” It wasn’t really something you expected to hear from someone, who’s life you had saved.

“A ‘thank you’ would be appropriate for the saviour of your life,” you told him, scooting closer. “And now sit back, I need to change to take a look at you.”

You meant to gently push him down with your fingers, but he didn’t budge. Rather the tall, wounded man kept staring at you, looking more confused than ever. Didn’t he know what happened? That he got injured, most likely by inferni? Instead, he tried to get up, only sit back immediately, hissing in pain.

“I guess that’s what you get for treating a man.” It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so frustrating, that most men reacted the same way when their got fixed up by a woman. The Fjerdan wasn’t the first stupid, hurt man you encountered in your life.

“What have you done to me, witch?” You sighed annoyed and chose to simply ignore his words. Taking the wet cloth to dab his face, he scooted away, eying you and the rag warily. “Stay away from me,” he hissed.

This was really getting annoying.

You whacked his head, made use of his baffled state by pushing him back down onto the pillow and began to gently clean his face. The cuts on his face looked much better already and the little burn too. “Did you–did you just hit me?” You had ignored his dazed stare and continued to do so, focusing more on patching that rude guy up.

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor,” you said, trailing further down, inspecting every cut and burn for a sign of infection. But they were all doing great. “I know what I’m doing.”

When you reached the part of his body, that was mostly covered in dirtied gauze and linen, you ordered for him to sit upright, which he refused. You thought of hitting him again, but you discovered there was no need for that. He shot up when your fingers barely touched his bandaged torso, hissing about how you, a witch, should stay away from him. Having heard these accusations a million time by now, you simply continued with your work. “As I thought, the cut has teared a bit.”

The look you gave him was very telling, even he understood that it was his fault. “Told you to stop turning and tossing around. See,” you said, dabbing his opened wound and making him hiss in pain. “That’s what you get for accusing me a witch.”

After that you put some ointment on, stitched it back together and took care of his burns. His flesh still looked red and very sensitive, but it looked much better than before. While he had been unconscious you had managed to remove the necrotic pieces successfully. You knew that some batches of skin would never look the same again. However, you were glad that most of it hadn’t been as bad as it looked.

Matthias was very confused that you used normal equipment for his wounds. He had expected for witchy healers to use … well, witchcraft and forbidden things.

“You still get called a witch these days?” Matthias asked while escorting you back to your house, careful that no other drüskelle saw him sneak away a ‘witch’.

You scoffed, looking offended as ever for being called anything human. The past year he hadn’t noticed it, but now he knew that he had missed you. “Only by Fjerdans, apparently.”

“I don’t know why you always accuse me of being one. Am I simply as stunning as a Grisha or do you tell that every Ravkan woman you meet?”

Matthias chuckled. “I tell that every Ravkan woman.”

You whacked him on his chest, regretting it as soon as pain welcomed your wrists. Matthias simply enjoyed your bothered expression but not the hiss. The young drüskelle must have hurt you. He wasn’t a doctor but even he could see the forming bruise on your face, and it looked nasty.

“How often did that happen now?” Matthias asked you, looking as concerned as he sounded. Drüskelle often roamed near the boarder towns and villages. It was the easiest way of capturing witches for the fair process. But it they simply accused you based on your looks or activities – collecting firewood, herbs and other stuff you needed as a physician – then your home wasn’t save for you anymore. When he had been stubborn enough to be convinced otherwise then other drüskelle might carry you to the Ice Court.

“After you, hmm …. I think today was the third time?” You told him, sounding perfectly unbothered as if trained witch hunters weren’t a match for you. Back then Matthias wasn’t but he had been injured and confused. Maybe today’s youngling would’ve managed to carry you to back to Djerholm.

“You know, they’re no match for me. The last one didn’t even saw a glimpse of my fists and feet before I outrun him,” you said proudly, knowing very well that these encounters were indeed a problem. One, you might one day not solve.

In memory of Matthias rubbed his brows. “Do you still hit your patients?”

You gave him a – not to threatening but you loved to believe otherwise – side-glance. “Only if I need to.”

Nipping at a cup of soup with not much taste Matthias looked at you, mixing a new ointment for him. Your medical skills were amazing; however, your cooking was not, he learnt that much in the weeks he had spent at your house. The meal you made him tasted like boiled water with pieces of uncooked potatoes in his mouth.

“How do you keep yourself alive?” He asked. Over the time Matthias had grown comfortable around you. It was weird. You two grew from witch accusations to something other’s might call a friendship. Usually, you didn’t make friends with your patients. It kinda happened with Matthias.

Maybe certain circumstances require a certain outcome.

You didn’t look up from your work, you never did when you had your eyes on something. Matthias learnt that much. “Huh? I manage like everybody else.”

“Really?” He took another sip of his uncooked potato water, wishing it was something different, something tastier. He tried to ignore the tasteless cooking malfunction in his hand, instead he focused on your skillful hands, grinding herbs and other ingredients. “It is a miracle to me.”

“Why’s that?” You mixed them all together with a pinch of fat.

“Because you can’t even cook potatoes. They’re still raw. – Can you cook at all?”

That made you look up, hands smeared and stained with different ingredients. You even had some on your cheeks and nose. “Excuse me? Are you really questioning my cooking skills?”

Matthias raised a brow. “There’s nothing to question, they simply don’t exist.”

Seeing your offended face he fished a cut potato, with two fingers, out of the cup and threw it at you. It landed in your new lotion, spilling some of it on your hand and wooden table. “See, rock hard.”

“Are you insane? That salve was for you!” You fished the tuber out of the bowl, hoping that the drops of soup hadn’t influence your mixture too much. With a spatula you tried to save it. Scooping parts, you believed were stained, out and stirring it again until it looked good in your eyes. “You’ve more luck than wit, Matthias.”

“You need to boil them in water or throw them into the fire until they’re soft,” he told you, ignoring your concern for his treatment. “You can’t eat them like that.”

Annoyed you huffed. There were more important things than the cooking time of tubers. “I don’t have the time for that.”

Matthias looked at you baffled. Through the weeks you had only three different patients besides him. “You don’t need time for that.”

Carefully let Matthias you down onto your old, rotten armchair, propping up your leg with firewood. He wasn’t a physician, she sat injured in an old chair before him. But from all the years as a drüskelle he knew at least how a sprained ankle looked – and felt – like. He knew sprained all too well and the pained sounds you made whenever he touched your foot was quite telling as well.

“Do you’ve something to cool?” Matthias asked you, the expert, since putting some ice on it was the only idea he got. From his experience he knew that ice was good for both swollen ankles and bruised faces.

“Try drenching a cloth in water, they should be there in the drawer.” Following the wave of your hand Matthias found them quite easily … after rummaging through some cabinets.

“Wait,” you told him when his hand was near the drawer with different kinds of self-made ointments. “Take one of the lotions too–uh, I think it was the first one.”

He nodded, doing so as you said, bringing you a wet cloth and the first tin from the tray. As he wrapped the rag around your bruised ankle, the touch making you hiss, you opened the tin and smelled at it. The odour was awful, telling you that this was the right mixture. When Matthias opened it, to rub it on your ankle, his face scrunched up as the odd smell hit him.

“Are you sure it’s the right one?” He asked, trying not to puke from the stench. It even bit his eyes, making them all teary – he couldn’t even describe this godforsaken smell, but it was more than awful, even worse. “Shit, that reeks!”

“Well, of course it does. It has to be,” you said, completely unbothered by the odour that began to spread in the room. Your poor nose was already used to stuff like that. “If it stinks you know that it’s going to work.”

With a grin you watched him taking care of you – and suffering in the process. One would think a drüskelle would’ve seen, done, and smelled more gruesome and brutal things. But here he was, sitting in the house of a friend, doing his best not to puke.

“Did the stuff you gave me reek as much?”

“Even worse.” You grinned proudly. “But see, it worked.”

Matthias couldn’t remember the smell of it. His mind was foggy when it came to all that pain, which was a good thing he thought, since he must’ve smelt awful. He didn’t want to remember that.

“Are you okay?” Matthias wasn’t a physician; he wasn’t even close. He probably made more damage than ever mending people. But it looked like he had done a good job with you, his doctor and friend. “Is there anything more I can do?”

You smiled, which was barely visible under the large piece of meat Matthias has brought you to cool your face. “You did well. I only need to rest for some days, and everything will be fine.”

“So, you’ll run around, letting drüskelle catch you?” It was meant as a joke, he knew that, and you did too. But none of you could bring up a smile, not even a little. There had been something serious, something chiding in his flat, joking tone.

“They won’t catch me,” you chuckled drily, trying to ignore the changing mood of the room.

“Yes, they will.”

“No.”

Matthias sighed. “You need to leave.”

“No!” You cried in protest. “This is my home. I won’t leave! The people need me, I’m their doctor!”

“Other people need you too!” His voice carried almost the same volume as yours, even though he had wanted to remain calm with his friend. You were just so goddamn stubborn. He wasn’t always there to save you.

“Like whom?” You scoffed. “You?”

Yes.

“Other villagers need medical treatment too,” he said instead. Matthias knew that his care for you wouldn’t change much, especially not if he expressed that you were an important, a live-saving friend for him. You wouldn’t believe it. Mostly because you hadn’t seen each other in over a year and he wouldn’t be able to take you with him all the time. Djerholm was his home but not as a drüskelle, not really.

“So, I should just leave the ones here?”

“Y/N,” he sighed. “When I was with you, you only had like five different patients. They don’t come to you. They rather go to the next village.”

You knew that this was true. You always hated to admit it, but you mixed far more tinctures and lotions than you could use, mostly because there wasn’t much to do here. Most villagers rather walked hours to get treated by an older, male physician than you. You never knew why they didn’t trust you as much. Maybe they suspected you to be a witch too.

Still, you didn’t want to leave.

You weren’t a witch. You were a physician, what where they going to do to you anyway?

“Y/N, please.”

“Tell me,” he said, body all healed by now. Some patches were still a tint of red, but they’d probably stay like that. Otherwise, Matthias felt fine, maybe even better than ever. “Why did you save me?”

He had asked himself that for months. You were Ravkan, he was Fjerdan, your countries were at war – not the best soil to grow a friendship on. If he was in your potion, he wouldn’t know if he had let himself die. As enemies it was the most logical thing to do, right?

Right?

But then neither he or you were soldiers and fought in the war. Matthias only caught drüsje. He would help others survive.

“It was the right thing to do,” you said, preparing everything for his leave.

“But–“

“A life is always worth saving. Especially when you find a friend.”

#matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar fanfic #matthias helvar imagine #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows #grishaverse fanfiction #sab fanfic #matthias helvar #grishaverse scenario

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yikeslads · 4 years

Text

A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader

Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun.

Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3

Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!

And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3

Now let’s get started!

It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.

It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.

From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he regarded you.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”

His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.

“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.

It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.

“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.

You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.

“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.

“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.

“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”

A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.

“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.

Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.

“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.

“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.

“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.

A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.

“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.

You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”

Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.

A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.

Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.

“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.

“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”

A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.

“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.

You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.

Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.

“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.

Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.

Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.

Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.

“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”

Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily. He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.

Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.

With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.

It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.

“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished, hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.

It was time to start up the cleaning process.

~~~~~~~~~~

A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.

“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.

“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.

“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”

“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.

“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.

The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.

Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.

#sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #yandere sero hanta #yandere sero x reader #yandere sero #tw: noncon #tw: somnophilia #yandere #yandere x reader #bhna #yandere bhna #yandere bhna x reader #weed smoking #reader insert #mha #yandere mha #smut #yandere smut

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linniewritesficz · 4 years

Text

Tooth and Claw // M. Y. G.

Hybrid Yoongi x Fem. Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Violence, blood, basically all the injuries that come with fighting and shit, death (but not a main character so no worries), I guess you could call it animal abuse since he’s part animal, reader almost gets assaulted

Summary: Predatory animal hybrids are rare and illegal in your society, but that doesn’t stop some people from rearranging the DNA of orphans and then selling them on the black market. Min Yoongi was one of those orphans who was “adopted” as a baby and turned into the monster he believes himself to be now. Because of his panther DNA, he is an incredible fighter and is feared in the underground fighting rinks his owner forces him to participate in. He has given up on living a normal, comfortable life free of violence and constant running from authorities that want to get rid of his very existence. That is until Yoongi meets you.

Author’s Note: I’m supposed to be finishing the first chapter of my Prince Au but,,,,,,,,,,,,,,I had this idea and had to get it out. It’s barely edited and mostly written at some ungodly hours of the morning, but I loved the idea so I ran with it. Its on the long side so grab a snack! Um also, the ending is a little up in the air so if you want a part 2 let me know :) Enjoy! xx Linnie

Bright fluorescent lights blind Yoongi for a split second before he hears the deep growl of the grizzly bear hybrid that was placed in the pit with him. The familiar smell of sweat, alcohol, and blood coupled with the fear of the young hybrid in front of him fills Yoongi's senses. He could tell that he was no older than maybe early 20s. This was his first fight, and with Yoongi’s track record, it would most certainly be his last.

“Place your bets, gentlemen! The panther or the grizzly!” the man with the megaphone announces to the crowd of men who were most certainly not gentlemen in any translation of the word.

“Win this fight, kitty, and you might get something good to eat tonight!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at the slurred words of his owner. They were obviously lies, fully knowing that he would be given the bare minimum of calories needed for survival tonight and locked in his too-small cage.

“Didya hear me kitty? Useless bastard!” This was his owner’s philosophy: an angry and hungry hybrid is a winning hybrid.

Before Yoongi has the chance to react like he wants to, a scantily clad lynx hybrid is kicked across the dirt floor holding a sign announcing the first round was beginning. The men in the stands above them begin cheering and yelling obscene statements towards the female hybrid and she scurries away to climb out of the pit, much in the same way his opponent would be carried out of dead in a matter of minutes.

Yoongi readies himself, lowering his center of gravity and extending his claws. Although he was usually smaller than his opponents, he possessed superior agility and speed, leading to his gruesome victories.

Yoongi notices almost immediately how unsteady his opponent is on his feet. He is tall and broad, but top-heavy and will be easy to take down with a strategic pounce on his back, forcing him to fall on his stomach. After that, it would be an easy win. Yoongi would use his claws or his sharp teeth to rip into his opponent’s neck and instantly causing him to bleed profusely. It would kill him in approximately 10 minutes and another win would be under Yoongi’s belt.

“Your winning streak is over, kitty” the grizzly hybrid spits and bares his sharp teeth at the smaller man.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who’s about to die,” Yoongi says calmly but narrowing his eyes while his sleek black tail flicks angrily around his ankles.

After the horn sounds, it doesn’t take long for the younger fighter to move towards Yoongi, and for Yoongi to quickly run and slide in between his opponent’s legs. He easily swiped at his hamstrings, slicing through the fabric of his pants and into the thick muscle of his leg. The grizzly howled in pain and spun around clumsily to face Yoongi, bleeding and limping severely. Yoongi glanced up to where his owner was leaning over the railing of the pit, him receiving the signal to keep going. He nods and prepares to deliver another blow to his opponent.

In the process of the exchange between Yoongi and his owner, the grizzly manages to swipe at Yoongi’s face narrowly missing his eyes. Yoongi dodges a second blow, raking his claws across his opponent’s arm. Another painful, but ultimately minor injury. He knows that the men watching him fight are here to watch a show, and although this was his first fight with a grizzly bear hybrid, he was proving to be an easy opponent. However, he gives them what they want until his owner gives him the signal that it is time for the fight to end.

After nearly 10 minutes of playing around with the grizzly hybrid, Yoongi is panting and wincing in pain from a painful swipe to the shoulder the younger opponent manages to get in. However, the other is in much worse shape. Both legs are bleeding profusely while claw and teeth marks litter his neck, arms, and back. It is here that Yoongi looks up at his owner who nods.

Yoongi’s ears flatten against his skull and every hair on his body stands at attention as his eyes narrow.

“I’m done playing games with you. It’s high time we end this.”

Yoongi’s ears flatten against his skull and every hair on his body bristles in preparation. Before his opponent has a chance to turn around at the sound of his voice, Yoongi is running at full speed towards him. He leaps onto the back of the grizzly and sinks his teeth into his neck, meeting tough muscle as he tries to rip it from the body. In a rage, the hybrid begins to try to shake Yoongi off of him and successfully manages to do so, causing Yoongi to be thrown at full force against the wall of the pit.

Although mildly disorientated, Yoongi launches himself off of the wall and on to the shoulders of the grizzly hybrid and flips off of them before grabbing onto the fencing that covers the makeshift ceiling.

The grizzly roars and grips his neck before looking around frantically. “Where the fuck did you go you fucking coward??”

“Up here, asshat.”

Looking down at the grizzly, Yoongi grins wickedly before dropping down on top of him and sinking his teeth into his fleshy neck once again. It is this time that he is taken to the ground fully and is knocked unconscious. As the crowd cheers above him, Yoongi manages to finally rip open the grizzly hybrid’s neck, delivering the fatal blow. Another victory.

In an instant, it seems, gunshots ring through the room as people yell “Cops!” and begin to scatter. Yoongi has little time to react as he rips himself away from the dying hybrid in front of him and begins to climb out of the pit to hopefully make it to his owner before a bullet does. It takes two, albeit painful, leaps to make it to the top of the pit and onto the sticky ground of the room.

“Where the fuck is my panther?” the drunken words of his owner rip through the chaos and Yoongi’s ears perk up at the sound.

Although the piece of shit he calls home is the last place he wants to be, there really is no other choice unless he decides to run. Yoongi begins to move towards the sound but only stops due to the sight of his owner desperately trying to fight off two police officers. Yoongi stiffens. These men want him dead. His very existence is a threat to them and if given the chance, they would not hesitate to shoot him on the spot. So Yoongi runs, faster than he’s ever run before. And he doesn’t look back.

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The alleyways are almost as dirty as the fighting pits, offering a small sense of familiarity to Yoongi as he tries his best to tend to his own wounds. His shoulder is throbbing but the best he can do is not move it as he licks at his knuckles. Knowing that he did not get far from the fighting pits, Yoongi is on edge and is constantly looking over his shoulder as he walks down the dark alleys knowing full well he could be found at any minute.

Eventually, he settles himself beside a large dumpster and breathes a sigh of relief into the night. I did it, he thinks to himself, I’m finally out of that hell hole.

New scents and sounds flood Yoongi’s system as he attempts to fall asleep, but he knows it will not come easily as his heart is still beating rapidly with his panther instincts still on high alert. Every scurry of a mouse or shout from a bar in this distance makes Yoongi’s eyes snap open. He knows he needs to get farther away from the fighting pits for him to be safer.

It is not until about three in the morning when Yoongi’s shoulder stops bleeding and his eyes become heavier with sleep. He leans his head against the dumpster and begins to fall asleep. Suddenly, a sharp distress cry wakes him again and he jumps to his feet, ready to flee. There is no way the police could catch him if he leaves now, but Yoongi stops in his tracks as a new scent fills him.

This scent, coupled with a strong smell of fear and whiskey, is sweet and unlike anything Yoongi has ever experienced in his life. His tale flicks around his ankles, but not angrily, rather indicating his curiosity and need to know more about whatever person or object is producing that scent.

“C’mere baby. Just wanna taste is all.”

“Get the fuck off of me! Fuck! Help!”

From where he’s standing, Yoongi can see a burly man hovering over a smaller figure. Although the two are dimly light by a flickering street light, he can clearly see that the larger figure is incredibly drunk and is not listening to the words coming from the second person. Yoongi can tell that neither one of these people are hybrids and that the second person is a female, the one producing the scent that has peaked his interest.

Yoongi can feel an intense push to run over to the two and pounce on the man that is seemingly attempting to assault the girl.

No, you’re hurt you fucking idiot. Do you want to die on your first night of freedom?

Fighting within himself, Yoongi lets out a deep growl, one that was different than his usual growl that would be used to intimidate his opponents in the fighting pits. This one come from a different place. Not one of self defense, but of an overwhelming need to protect the girl from any and all harm. It scares him, but he pushes the fear back before running at full speed towards the two, giving into his primal instincts.

In an instant, he pins down the large man and snarls in his face.

“She said to get the fuck off of her. If I ever see you touch her again I will personally rip every limb from your body. GOT IT?”

Underneath him, the drunk man trembles and lets out a shaky breath.

“F-fine! Ok! I won’t touch your bitch!”

Standing up, Yoongi watches as the drunk man runs off as best he can towards another bar, presumably to find another woman to harass into the night. It is at this moment that Yoongi is filled with the scent once again and he turns around to find you backing away from him slowly.

He opens his mouth but as he does, his vision blurs and a sharp pain runs from where his shoulder wound is through to his entire body. Yoongi stumbles, no longer the fierce and agile predator but instead a very injured man in need of serious medical attention. As his eyes roll into the back of his head, he doesn’t notice small but strong arms catching him before he falls and slips from consciousness.

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“I didn’t know what else to do Tae! He saved me from some drunk asshole and then passed out. I couldn’t just leave a hybr- Yes I know it’s dangerous. Yes thank you for your insight.... Look if you’re not gonna help me I’ll call Namjoo- Thank you.”

You hang up the phone and sigh as you rub your temples.

“Stupid stupid stupid! You fucking brought home a goddamn hybrid knowing full well you have no business handling a hybrid. You fucking dumbass!”

“Who’s the dumbass?”

Whipping around, you find the man, no hybrid, that saved you the night before standing in your living room instead of passed out in your room like he was ten minutes ago. He looks pale and scruffy, his black hair completely disheveled and matted in some places. You notice how he clutches his right shoulder and how the ripped shirt is stained with dried and fresh blood. There is a look of fear and curiosity in his bright amber eyes that make you cautious to approach him.

“I-I have a friend on the way.. He’s in veterinary school and can help with your wounds,” you look down at your feet before looking back up at the hybrid in front of you. “Thank you for saving me last night.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, and instead looks around the room to inspect every object and corner. He is scared and in an unfamiliar environment, you assume this has to be normal behavior, right?

“Where am I?” his voice is scratchy and low, like he hasn’t used it much in a while.

“Um well, you passed out after attacking that drunk guy so I dragged you to my apartment.”

“Why do you smell like that?”

Your eyes snap up to meet his. “Pardon?”

“You smell different. And it’s not because you’re a human. Why?” the hybrid narrows his eyes at you and takes a step forward.

In response, you step backward and gasp as your back hits the countertop. As the predator takes another step, your attention is shifted to the turning of your doorknob.

Taehyung takes one step into the apartment before he is met with a sharp hiss and growl coming from the hybrid that now is aiming his aggression towards him. He jumps in fear and slams the door shut behind him.

“Shit (Y/N) you didn’t tell me he’s a predator!! You said he was a house cat!!”

“He is a cat!”

“Call me a house cat again and I’ll rip your arm off.” the hybrid spits in anger.

“Well then what are you??”

“I’m a fucking panther. Are you dense? Who are you?”

Taehyung cautiously sets his bag down and slowly holds his hands out for the hybrid to sniff. “My name is Kim Taehyung. I’m just here to help you, buddy. I’m going to school to specialize in hybrids, ok? My friend, (Y/N) here says you saved her. Now she wants to save you, but you gotta trust us.”

A moment passes before the hybrid speaks again, this time his voice is small. “You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?”

His words make your heart ache for him. This hybrid was obviously abused and made to think all humans would treat him like whoever had owned him in the past.

“We’re not gonna hurt you. Can you start by telling us your name and where you’re from?”

“Yoongi, Min Yoongi. And I don’t know where I’m from. The only time I was ever let out of the house was when my owner would take me to the fighting pits.”

“That must be why you’re so injured,” Taehyung says, mostly to himself. He turns to you. “(Y/N), can we use your bedroom? I’m gonna need some space to work.”

Hours pass by before you see Taehyung exit your bedroom, removing a pair of surgical gloves and running a hand through his hair.

“You owe me. Big time.”

“I’ll buy you dinner from that fancy French restaurant you like so much! He didn’t hurt you, right?”

Taehyung shakes his head, “No, but he did threaten me with my life multiple times. You’re making me rethink my dream job, but it’s fine.”

You reach out to hug your friend and he accepts, falling into your arms and sighing. While you want to comfort your friend, the only thing you can think of right now are Yoongi’s earlier comment about your scent. Thoughts like that don’t cross your mind, but due to the hybrid being obviously taken aback by your smell it is something you cannot shake.

“Hey Tae, you would know better than me. Are hybrids sensitive to smells? Like specific smells that a person or another hybrid can give off?”

Taehyung releases you and looks into your eyes. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

You clear your throat and look down at your shuffling feet. “The hybr- I mean Yoongi said earlier that I smelled different. And not human different.”

He cocks his head to the side, like he always does when he’s deep in thought. “Well, some animal breeds mate for life and it is often based off of pheromones the two are producing, like wolves and swans. But hybrids are generally not bred like that,” Tae pauses for a moment, “The only way it could happen is if a male hybrid’s DNA is modified specifically to suppress his animalistic need to mate with multiple females.”

Your eyes glance over to your bedroom door, the only thing separating you from the panther hybrid that is sleeping soundly. There was no way whoever bred Yoongi to be who he is was that advanced in DNA modification. That doesn’t make sense.... Doesn’t it?

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

Note

Do you think BigHit pays attention to how much things to show to be able to "please" each ship, esp the maknae ships? For example, If a run ep/any content showed a little bit more of vmin, it will somehow highlight jikook or taekook next. For sure, the boys are not faking their interactions, but do u think BigHit consciously monitor these interactions and edit it in a way that can avoid violent reactions from diff ship groups? Sorry I cannot word this ask well. 😕 I'd love to hear ur thoughts.

Thank you so much for the amazing question! And your wording was really good and clear so don’t worry about that.

I think the first major thing we need to remember is that BH is a company, and a company’s main purpose, above all else, is to generate revenue. Which isn’t a bad thing in this case seeing as, depending on how much BH makes, so do the members since their contracts, compared to others in the same industry, have some great percentages in their favor.

With that in mind, the answer to your question is a very simple and straight forward yes. BH monitors and plans things accordingly to please (paying) costumers, in the context of this answer, shippers. Fan service and showing certain interactions in certain ways are a great marketing tool that every idol agency uses for decades now, it isn’t anything new or revolutionary in any shape or form, though it’s clear that the type of fan service the BTS members do nowadays has changed in comparison to earlier years, like Jimin being required to perform shirtless at an award show.

In the context of this answer when using “ship”, I simply mean two members interacting with each other and are liked together by a certain community of people, and not actual pairs that have (in my opinion) chances or signs of being real (in a romantic sense) at all, except for vmin and namjin, since those are the only two we see as fulfilling that criteria of romantic potential and are the only two we focus on on this account. But that at large is a post/discussion for another time.

When it comes to showing different interactions between ships, or even really any kind of duo or trio in the group, editing and what does and doesn’t get shown certainly plays a role and follows some kind of idea as well. A good example of that would be how following the release of Dynamite there was a bigger “focus” on J*k*ok, seeing as they had their own moment together in the choreography and we were shown more of their interactions/”moments” in content around that time. But, while that satisfied one major ship and its devotees, it didn’t satisfy another, so it needed to be balanced out. Which is exactly what BH did.

More below the cut since this got a little long:

If you look at the Break the Silence: Persona movie commentary done by the members, the maknaes sit together in the middle of the sofa (and the screen) with JK between vmin, meaning that both major ships could pay attention to their two members and be “pleased” at the same time by any and all interactions or “moments”. A counter argument to moments involving all three of them working in a positive manner would be the Dynamite performance at Jimmy Fallon (x) that ended with the members skating around on roller-skates where at one point the maknaes were together, JK holding Tae’s wrist while Jimin had his hands on Tae’s hips (?). It was a cute and funny moment of them just helping Tae since he can’t skate, but it caused a plethora of negative/awful reactions among those who ship one and the other “main” maknae ship with, in both cases, either Jimin or Tae being on the receiving end of awful accusations, insults, and alike. Then again, to balance out J*k*ok Dynamite content, we can look at the BE-hind Story video where JK and Tae sat together and were seen interacting more, while Jimin interacted more with Yoongi, where Yo*nm*n is also a rather popular ship.

Perhaps it sounds mean or calculated or like I’m badmouthing other ships as just “tools”, but the thing we have to keep in mind is that every piece of content is planned in a certain manner (BTS are seven people after all so you can’t just tell them to do something and hope it’ll just magically work out somehow), is filmed by a giant crew of staff from stylists to PDs and lighting crews, and while there are certainly also genuine interactions between the members, simply because they enjoy spending together and interacting, being close and have no issue touching each other etc, many of these things are not really anything that would really count as “intimate” moments due to the nature of the content itself. But shippers oftentimes ignore that in favor of enjoying whatever content of their ship they are given, which makes sense, as vminnies and namjinists we do too, but we also know that BH certainly has a hand in what is and isn’t shown, and the way in which it is shown.

Look at the trailer for Memories of 2019 and the famous J*k*ok moment that was front and center. From a marketing standpoint it was a genius move since it made sure that shippers would go and buy the DVD regardless of its price. Look at what we’ve gotten for Winter Package 2021 so far, J*k*ok being playful in the trailer, T*ek*ok squished together in the picture on IG, and J*k*ok next to each other, along with Seokjin, in the preview pictures on Weverse. Of course, there was also a picture of Yoongi and Hoseok together (a popular ship) as well as Namjoon with Yoongi and Namjoon with Tae (far less popular), but those three aren’t really selling arguments the way the major maknae ships are. Even vmin isn’t, seeing as the vmin community is much, much smaller than the other two maknae ships, and also vmin moments are often times written off as ‘friends’ interacting anyway and thus not taken seriously (or being paid attention to), if you know what I mean.

(Admin 1: I, for one, would really love to own the 5th Muster DVD because I love the concert itself but also because the famous vmin dancing together to Spring Day sequence is immortalized in picture form in the photobook, so I’m not innocent or “different” in any way since I fall for this marketing stuff just as much as everyone else.)

But on the other hand, there’s also content that isn’t as controlled by BH as pre-recorded and edited videos or DVD’s, as in their vlives or live content, like the BE/LGO release day vlive in pajamas where, sure, the members were given a general plan of what they’ll be doing and a timeframe for it, but certain things seemed more spur-of-the-moment and unplanned, like the vmin lipstick moment (Tae putting on the lipstick was planned, but the final executions likely wasn’t) and the way the other members reacted to it. Or things they do at concerts, which some of it is surely also rehearsed and planned, we saw Hoseok ask JK if he’d do a heart with him at some point during one of the concerts, as example, or Tae and Seokjin planning their typical moment that happened at every concert, but other ones are more in the moment and not controlled.

When it comes to concert DVDs, that is again a different story seeing as a camera can only show as much at a time, so the editors are presented all the footage from the concert and then decide which to show and which not. So, if we see an interaction between JK and Hoseok, for example, at the same time somewhere else Namjoon might be dancing with Seokjin or vmin could be doing something, but we’d simply never know since they can’t show us everything.

That, in a way, is also the case with actual concerts where there’s a difference, somewhat, between concerts that get filmed for DVDs or streamed online, and those that are not. Something that comes to mind would be a vmin moment during Best of Me in Busan on the day that didn’t get filmed where they skipped the first half of the choreography and vmin stood together, half of that sequence being just visible in the background while JK is the primary focus of the cameras that are shown on the side screens, and this whole thing only happened this one time and never again. (x) That’s a moment that, in my opinion, isn’t planned, or other similar moments where vmin change the choreographies (even if just a little) to do something together, like during Spring Day during WINGS Tour Final where Jimin adjusted his solo moment so that he ended up in front of Tae. (x)

youtube

There’s also this whole mythos I’ve heard/read about a lot about how supposedly at some of the not filmed Japanese concerts (where I’m not sure if people mean LY:SY or just LY) had some crazy moments between the members (in the sense of “ship” moments and alike) BUT I couldn’t find any proof of that, so if someone perhaps knows anything about this, let me know.

Finally, there’s also things like Bon Voyage and In the SOOP which, you’d expect that they would be less edited and less controlled, but even here a selection takes place of which scenes are shown and which are not. Something I find interesting is how the first half of In the SOOP feels very different to how the second half does when they return to the house after being gone for a few days. In the first half vmin (as well as namjin) seemed to “satellite” around each other and interact much more, playing ping pong or doing things together in some shape or form, but in the second half that was (nearly) completely gone and neither interacted much with each other, if at all. We even had Jimin who outright refused to join Tae and Hoseok on their car adventure, or we saw Seokjin wake up Namjoon to go jogging yet never got to see said jogging happening (if it did happen, that is).

So, to sum all of this up: Yes, BH definitely monitors and guides the way certain things are and aren’t shown in order to achieve certain things or avoid certain reactions, though it’s a complex balancing act and doesn’t always work out. There are things that are unplanned and not controlled, of course, but there’s also a fair amount of marketing play involved.

After all BTS aren’t rookies anymore, instead they are giant household names and their actions and words move people, move money, and on top of that they are still idols, and part of what it means to be an idol is differentiating between your idol appearance/persona (so what we see in screen) and your personal private life, which is usually kept as secret as only possible. How much they themselves choose to share of their real selves and real feelings toward each other is up to them (as well as up to BH and how much they “allow” them to/don’t edit out). But that, too, is a whole other discussion for another time.

#answered ask #answered by admin 2 #bts #marketing is quite the tricky beast #discussion

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3pirouette · 3 years

Text

Fic: Worthy (or Five Times Steve Talked to People about Time Travel and One Time He Didn’t) (1/1)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: “What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

A/N: I started this on August 8, 2019. I have revisited it various times since then, fixing things that were misremembered after we got Endgame on DVD and fixing tenses. It feels more appropriate than ever right now to post, though. The first section, with Wanda, was written back in 2019. I’ve made minor edits, but her words have been around LONG before WandaVision was even announced. Obviously, by the ending, AU.

Also, I KNOW I skip potentially the MOST important person he should be talking to, but Steve’s conversation with Bucky from this fic actually got pulled out and turned into it’s own fic/universe: Six Dates, Times, and Places. Read that if you need some BFF Steve and Bucky.

~*~

Steve woke up at night in cold sweats, still feeling the vibranium cracking under his fingers as he tried to recenter himself, as he tried to remember where he was. The small tent on the edge of the former battlefield wasn’t much, but it was better than he’d been used to when he was in the trenches, and it was enough for now.

He let other people, better equipped people like Pepper and Strange and Sam handle the big stuff- the cities and the government and the publicity and the how of everything they did. He was never really prepared for what happened if they brought everyone back, he admitted it to himself now on dark nights when he woke up with his heart racing, that he never really thought they’d do it.

He headed up the clean-up: walking through the destruction and trying to put some order to it, helping dig out the bodies of good men and women who lost their lives, who wouldn’t be brought back by a snap, helping destroy the tech that Thanos had brought so it never fell into the wrong hands. He and Wanda spent their days putting right what went so very, very wrong.

Even with everything nearly done, with the building nearly ready for renovation and every lost soul accounted for and laid to rest, it didn’t seem over. It had been weeks, and yet the years before seemed like moments. He spent his days moving like a ghost, going from task to task, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After it was over, when the clean-up was deemed done and it had been decided it was time to move on, Wanda was the first person he said anything to as they stood together on the ridge, overlooking the old Avengers headquarters as it was bulldozed to the ground. “I should probably feel happier,” Wanda mumbled. “At peace.”

Steve sighed, looking at the scorched dirt beneath his feet: it was ruined. Nothing would grow there for years after the hit it took. “You don’t have to feel anything.” He looked at her, unsurprised to find tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. “I don’t.”

“I’ve thought so many times about…” The words caught in her throat, but she took a deep breath and continued, “About sneaking into Bruce’s lab and taking that stone. The time stone…”

Steve didn’t say anything, just waited for her to finish: he was afraid that his own selfish desires regarding that stone would just fuel her own.

“But going back wouldn’t fix it,” her words were as much for his benefit as her own. They both knew it was far, far too tempting.

“You don’t think so?” He played the devils advocate, and it felt good to let it out. “You don’t think that maybe you two could just avoid it all? Or even stop it all?”

“After this?” She looked over the dead land and shuddered. “The way I understand it, it would always happen, would always come. And I just…” Her voice broke, and there was a darkness in her eyes he was uncomfortable with when she turned to face him. “I just couldn’t live through that again.”

Wanda turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at him. “We deserve more,” she whispered. “We’ve lost everything to make this happen. We deserve more.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was enough to remind him that those dark thoughts were just that- thoughts. And those thoughts would have consequences he wasn’t ready to pay the price for, or so he told himself.

Deep down, he felt like he deserved something, too.

~*~

The next time he discussed time travel was with Bruce and Hank. Pym was describing the use of his newly altered regulators while Bruce was constructing a smaller platform. This would be the last time, they both said over and over, that it would be used. Pym planned to destroy all references to the quantum realm in his work and Bruce had been working with Fury and Shield to carefully control the flow of information about what had happened.

“Son, please tell me you understand how dangerous this little trip of yours is going to be?” Pym asked him softly, laying both his hands on the table as he looked him right in the eyes. For a minute, Steve felt like he was back with Erskine- Pym had the ability to see straight into his soul the same way that man did.

“I understand, sir.” Steve nodded, trying to hide every morsel of dark thought, every late-night inkling and every dark moment. He was going to bring the stones back, return, and… and… He doesn’t know where he fits in in this new world, doesn’t even know if he wants to, really, and that must be what Pym saw on his face.

Pym narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t move. The silence stretched so long that even Bruce stopped what he was doing to look over and watch. “Ask your question.”

Steve could barely hold the façade of surprise for a breath before it fell. He let the pretense fall away: his shoulders hunched, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he felt like a different man. He felt like Steve, the broken veteran, and not Captain America, the superhero. “How much… how much damage can I really do?”

Before Pym could speak, Bruce put down his wrench and had his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know that look, Steve. That’s the look I had about a million times before I left every place that ever meant anything to me.”

Pym slid a stool over and sat softly, his face grim. “There’s not much that you could say that would surprise either of us, so I suggest you come out with it.”

Steve looked at them, their faces as open and honest as his was at every grief management group he ran during the dusted years: they were waiting for him to say that he wasn’t coming back because he wanted to take his life.

But it was more like he wanted to take his life back. It hadn’t been his since Erskine accepted him into Project Rebirth, he just didn’t know it then.

“Don’t I…” He stopped, staring at his shoes. It took a lot for him to look up, into their eyes. “I don’t feel like…” He stopped again and took another deep breath. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever understand. He wasn’t sure if they could.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and it bumped against him compass. His lifeline. His reminder.

He knew their stories. If anyone could understand, they would.

He pulled the compass out and opened it gently, putting it on the table. “Her name was…”

“Peggy Carter,” Pym finished. “She busted my balls as the head of Shield, but she was on my side when it counted.” Pym turned the compass gently, noting the slow spin of the broken dial.

Bruce looked at Steve, sadness in his eyes. “Steve, I didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t want anyone to know.” He shrugged, taking the compass in his hands. “She died, right before the bombing and the signing of the Sakovia Accords.”

Pym stood, the scraping of his chair cutting off anything either man would have said. “You were… a lot skinnier when you met her, weren’t you?” He stepped next to Steve, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kinda sickly, too.”

Steve laughed, a slight smile on his face as the memory hit him. “I wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life.”

“Director Carter kept this picture on her desk of a skinny, kinda confused looking GI.” He looked up at Bruce, “I asked her about it one day. I knew she had a husband that no one ever got to meet, and that he was at least 6 inches taller than her based on the glimpse I managed of him once when I showed up at her house unannounced.” Hank began to circle the room, hands coming out and fidgeting. “She said it was someone she knew during the war, and that it was a reminder to never take a single thing for granted. Now, most people assumed it was her brother who was KIA.” He turned and looked at both men, a smirk on his lips. “But the way she smiled when she looked at it: it wasn’t sad and it wasn’t sisterly, either.”

Pym picked up a vial of the serum, looking at it. “Bruce, correct me if I’m wrong, but to be as honest as I can be, we really don’t know what kind of damage you could do if you go back and…” he chose his words carefully, “don’t stick to the plan.”

“Uh, that’s true. We really don’t know how this works; I just know what Strange and The Ancient One told me. That if we put them back, it should kinda… fix itself.” Banner shrugged, unsure if he was as onboard with what Pym was implying as Pym seemed to be.

Pym almost looked happy as he continued to think out loud. “We don’t know the rules. For all we know, there are no rules to it. The Quantum Realm is… nearly unknowable. But the way she looked at that picture…” He sighed, placing the vial back in its rack. He looked Steve in the eyes, open, honest, and unjudging. “You’ll have enough to get back, if you want to.”

Pym went back to his computer, and Bruce went back to his tinkering, and Steve never heard another word on the subject from either of them.

~*~

His first stop in the past was the sanctum. He wanted to meet the Ancient One, to see her, to hear what Bruce had told them for himself directly from her.

She didn’t disappoint. She took the stone back, letting it float into the locket she wore with no more fanfare than if she were asking him about the weather. “So, I assume you prevailed?”

“We did,” he confirmed, sitting when she gestured for him to join her in the library. “There were still losses…” he sighed deeply, thinking of Tony, “but we won.”

She sat quietly, waiting expectantly as the tic of the clock was the only sound between them for long minutes. “In your time,” she whispered gently. “Your question is not something that can be rushed.”

“Do you know what I’m going to ask?” He leaned forward, letting Mjolnir rest on the floor, the case full of stones next to it.

“No,” she tried to smile but it fell flat. “I can feel the anger and frustration coming off you in waves, the defeat, the… fatigue. You did not come to me first out of convenience.”

He looked away, still unsure of where to start even though he had said it a million times over in his head. In the end, he blurted it out. “What if I stay?”

He’d caught her off guard, for it wasn’t remotely what she thought he’d ask. She sat straighter; eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”

“What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

She looked at him, wonderment in her eyes, “You never planned on giving up your whole life.”

He tried to laugh it off. “The things you don’t understand when you’re barely more than a kid, right?”

“You had hopes and dreams, just like any other man out there.” The Ancient One stood, stepping toward him. “Why that surprises me, I’m not sure. Even Gods are men at their very core. Even I was once a woman with hopes and desires.”

“It feels wrong to say these things out loud...” he let his hands fall to Mjolnir, afraid to try to lift it. Every day since the battle he’d been surprised that it still comes so easily to his hand.

She came closer until she was kneeling before him. “And yet they must be said.” She waited until he met her gaze. “If you go back to your time, my future, what waits for you?”

He took a deep breath, leaning back, eyes far away. “Friends. Duty.” He sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Putting the world back together and finding our place in the universe.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And what waits for you if you go back to the past?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t… I don’t know if…”

The Ancient One put her hand on his. “What do you hope is there?”

Steve smiled briefly, the words out before he can stop them. “I had a date.”

“Love,” she whispers, almost disappointed.

“And understanding,” Steve pipes in quickly. His words grow passionate as he continues. “She knew me better than anyone ever has- she knew me before this,” he gestured to himself, not for the first time wishing his muscles were a suit he could shed to show people just what he was like, and why it’s so significant that Peggy understood him back then, “and she still stood by me. I got the feeling… I got the feeling that even if the serum never worked she still would have liked me. No, I’m sure of it. She was smart and beautiful and everything I ever dreamed my future might be.” He stopped short. “Don’t... don’t I deserve that, after all this?”

“The universe doesn’t deal in ‘deserves’ Mr. Rogers.” She stood, her voice flat and perfunctory. “If it did children wouldn’t die of cancer and good men wouldn’t die in religious wars.” She kept her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. “The universe deals in balance, though, and I feel you are due for some rest.” She reached down, lifting the case of stones and handing it to him, but she did not even attempt to lift the hammer. “Go on,” she waited as he gingerly lifted the hammer, his breath coming easy after it was in his hand. “I cannot tell you anything for sure. But I can tell you the sanctums you know of are in existence back farther than you could imagine. Should you feel things have taken a turn for the worse, do not hesitate to find me.”

Her smile was gentle, and somewhat forced, but it made him feel just a little better.

~*~

The soul stone disappeared from his case as soon as he materialized, and he didn’t stay to find out why. He understood the toll that place could take, and he had so very little left to give.

He left so quickly he didn’t hear the Red Skull whisper his name on the wind.

~*~

Once on Asgard, he thought about just putting the hammer down and letting Thor find it, but he decided that wielding it might just get him out of trouble if he was caught trying to make his way into the palace through the underground tunnels Thor told him about.

The only person who saw him was the one he least expected.

“Why did he send you?” Loki asked from behind the forcefield. “Unless… he isn’t…”

“No, he’s not dead.” Steve supplied the information wearily.

The god paced his cell, “You’re from the future, as well, then?” He smiled at the soldier. “Thor was looking a bit… pudgy.” His voice and face showed his confusion and slight repulsion at the idea. “That’s not the Thor running around with his little girlfriend up there now. I know that much.”

“Things went…bad.” Steve didn’t know how much to tell the man. He believed Thor when he said Loki wasn’t the villain they pegged him to be, but he also was still very wary of the god. “We…did what we could.”

“Could you be any more cryptic?” Loki sat on his bed, leaning back, amusement in his voice. “Interesting development, though, there,” he pointed to Thor’s hammer, “You must truly be something to wield that.”

Something must have changed in Steve’s face, something barely perceptible, but Loki saw it. “You doubt yourself?”

Steve knew he shouldn’t talk to him, and yet, there was something alluring about the trickster. “I’m… concerned I won’t be… worthy.” It sounded lame even to him as it fell out of his lips.

Loki laughed. “Who is?” The trickster paced. He started to speak, then changed his mind with a dramatic shake of his head. He stopped, crouching behind the forcefield so he was eye to eye with Steve. “Whatever it is rattling around in your head… You’re leaving Mjolnir here, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Then does it really matter if you’re worthy?”

Steve looked at the god, his mind clicking slowly around the idea that perhaps his own morality didn’t matter. He tilted his head and regarded the hammer. “This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted purely for myself, and somehow that seems wrong.”

Loki stood, smoothing out his coat with a huffed laugh. “You’re talking to a man who has been politely described as a narcissistic megalomaniac. The only things I’ve ever really wanted were for myself. I learned that lesson young.” He looked Steve right in the eyes. “If you don’t want it for yourself, whatever ‘it’ is, no one else will want it for you.” Something sad fell behind Loki’s eyes though his face didn’t change. “No one will just give you what your heart desires, not when you’re giving them what they need. They’re thinking about themselves, not you. Sometimes, you have to just take it.”

The revelation settled like a rock in the pit of Steve’s stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow it felt right. ‘Captain America’ served a purpose. He filled a hole that needed filling by someone and as long as he was there, they were going to take advantage of that.

He didn’t need to take over the world, as Loki had attempted, but he needed to take what he deserved before there was nothing left to have.

Before there was nothing left of him to enjoy it.

~*~

With each step through the Lehigh base he kept thinking one thought: this is too easy.

There were less guards, less people, than when he’d been here last, and theoretically, if he’d done things right, that should only have been less than a few minutes ago. He tried not to dwell on the knot settling in the base of his stomach as he swiftly moved to put back the tesseract.

He almost had it slid in nice and tight when the voice came over his shoulder. “Jarvis said he saw you. I thought the man was nuts, but he refused to leave.”

Steve let his head fall, his hands on the edge of the glowing box. “Howard…”

“I didn’t tell anyone, just cleared out the base.” Steve heard the soft footsteps as his former friend joined him. “Said I needed to run a dangerous experiment.”

Steve turned, taking in the tight and so much older face of his friend, unsure of what to say. Howard shoved his hands in his pockets but just continued. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure you’d come back, or if Jarvis had ever really seen you in the first place, but here you are, putting back something you stole from me. Without even a hello?” Howard laughed darkly, pointing at his suit. “You get tired of the red white and blue, or are you serving another nation now?”

Steve pressed his hands to his own chest, his head falling down and his eyes squeezing tight. “It’s a long, complicated story, Howard. And I don’t know how much I can really say.”

Howard shook his head, disappointed. “Can you tell me who that man was with you? The one who couldn’t even remember his own name?”

Steve couldn’t look at him, pain coursing through him at the loss of his friend. “No.”

Howard waited until Steve looked at him, cutting him close with the hurt in his voice, “Can you tell me why you never told me you were alive?”

Steve nodded. “That much I do owe you.”

Howard bobbed his head, really taking in the appearance of his friend for the first time. His eyes went wide as he looked at Steve and found the things he tried to not see before: the new lines along his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the way the lines around his mouth had deepened that all signaled not only was this not a social call, but the man was not all that well. “Ok, well, I’ve got a bottle of scotch in my desk, that’ll have to suffice for me.” He tipped his head, “Let’s go.”

The hallways were deserted, and Steve lingered his eyes just a second too long on Peggy’s door, which had only blackness behind it.

Howard noticed. “I sent her home, too. She doesn’t know why and I’ll catch hell for it tomorrow.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. A few more steps and they were settled in Howards office, Steve on the almost comfortable chair across from Howard as he sat behind his desk, pouring out two tumblers of scotch. “So, can you tell me how I managed to look for you for years and here you are, waltzing into my facility and stealing the tesseract?” He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a hearty gulp. “Though, since you were putting it back, I guess you were just borrowing.”

Steve took the other tumbler from the table, holding it in his hands but not drinking. “I’m honestly not sure what I can or can’t say that doesn’t risk changing things.” Steve stopped, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “But what the hell, right? If anyone’s going to understand this… will understand how important it is, it’s you, right?”

Howard shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “There’s a good chance I’m your guy.”

Steve took a second, eyes lost in the whiskey. It wouldn’t do anything, but the idea of it somehow gave him courage all the more. He drank it like a shot, swallowing and putting his glass on the desk. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

Howard set his elbows on the desk, leaning over it, intensely curious. “How about at the beginning… How did you walk away from that plane crash? We looked for you for-“

“I didn’t,” Steve interrupted, solemn. “I spent almost 70 years in the ice.”

Howard sat up straight. “But you’re…”

Steve couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I told you it was a long story.”

“That’s why you’re worried about changing things.” He leaned forward, hands in fists. “You managed to time travel?” Howard shook his head, his eyes glazing over as he thought. “Is that like a… normal thing in the future?”

“No,” Steve replied right away. “It was a last desperate attempt to…” he took a deep breath. “A lot of people had died, half of…” He took another breath, not really sure how to explain it all. “It was more than just our world at stake.”

Howard pushed back, eyes wide. “Other…planets?”

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The future was… interesting.”

Howard reached over and lifted the bottle of scotch, the liquid only half filling it. “We might need more than this…”

Steve laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. “For this story? Yeah.”

~*~

An hour later Howard was pacing the length of his office, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from running his hands through it, and half a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Howard laughed and leaned back against his desk. “It’s a fucking mess is what it is.” Howard turned and put both hands on his desk. “I can’t believe it actually fucking worked.”

Steve felt guilty. He hadn’t mentioned Pym, not knowing exactly how the two were relating at the moment. He hadn’t named Tony, either, just called him ‘an inventor’ and later Iron Man and gave no indication to his friend that his son would end up dying to save humanity. But there were some things he wasn’t ready to risk ruining, some things he couldn’t quite yet face. “That’s… not the worst part.”

Howard turned his head, his eyebrows at his hairline as he looked at his friend. “There’s more?”

Steve looked at his folded hands, feeling guilty. “I want to stay.”

“Is that inherently a problem?” Howard searched his face, hoping for some hint. “You are, technically, more from this time than you are that one.”

“I… don’t know.” He sighed. “I was hoping you would.”

Howard sank in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Like, if you stay, you become your own grandfather or something like that?”

“Well… not quite, but yeah.” Steve’s teeth were set on edge. Of all the people he knew, of all the people he’d asked about this, Howard would be the one to give it to him straight.

Howard tented his fingers, eyes un-focusing as he thought about the problem.

The phone rang and Howard ignored it, looking at his friend. After five shrill rings he lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, silencing it. “What did… what did the scientists who were helping you say about—” He was cut off again as the phone rang once more. With a sigh Howard put it on speaker. “Hello?”

Jarvis’ anxious voice filled the room, startling Steve. “I’m sorry sir, but I couldn’t stop her without risking serious bodily harm.”

Howard’s face soured, “Stop who?”

The door behind Steve crashed open. “Howard you bloody wanker this is absolutely ridiculous. You ship me off for no reason when I have serious work to do. You’re not even doing an experiment are you? No, you’re drinking and—"

It was when she looked down that she got her first glimpse of him, and it ripped the words from her mouth.

He stood, slowly, and tried to smile, even though he could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. “Hi, Peg.”

Her breath caught and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before the only thing she could think to say fell from her lips. “You’re late.”

~*~

End Notes: To keep track, here are the five times: 1. Wanda 2. Pym/Bruce (Yes, they count as one, sue me) 3. The Ancient One 4. Loki 5. Howard. And the one time he didn’t was Red Skull. I don’t write this trope that often, so… yeah.

This was all written LONG before Loki came out. Just in light of all the silliness going around I felt like I needed to post, and hopefully some of you needed to read it.

Let’s keep fandom happy and enjoyable, friends.

#Steggy #Steggy Fic #3P writes stuff #Salty as hell and I'm going to write fic about it

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