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livelaughtouya · 1 year

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Catch me if you can // Dabi x Reader

Summary: After Endeavor discovers his oldest son cannot be the one to surpass All Might, he decides his future grandchildren could carry on his legacy. He finds an ice user for his son to marry once he comes of age. What he doesn't expect is for Touya to pass away in a fire. Already stuck in a contract with your parents, he moves the marriage contract to be with Touya's younger brother. You and Natsuo manage to post pone the wedding so the two of you can adjust to adulthood before settling down. When the U.A. students have a training camp in the woods you are quick to volunteer. To your surprised you greeted by a ghost of your past.

Word count: 3,605

Warnings: FAB reader agnst, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending

You had been a part of the Todoroki family for as long as you could remember. After Touya’s parents had found out that he was not compatible with his quirk Endeavor was quick to find a way to still make his son useful to his overall goal. If Touya was meant to have an ice quirk, then he would find an ice user for his son to marry.If Touya couldn’t have the quirk Endeavor wanted, then potentially his grandchildren could. Your parents wanted to ensure that you would live a comfortable life and when the number two hero approached them looking for an ice user for his son to marry when he became of age they were quick to agree. Soon after that you had weekly visits in the Todoroki household.

For the first few months Touya wanted nothing to do with you. All that he would speak about was how he would rather be training with his father than staring at some “stupid girl”. Your parents would always give you a gentle rub on the shoulder to assure you that the ill tempered boy would eventually be friendly to you. It took a lot longer than you had hoped, but he did.

“Maybe if I am nice to you my father will start training with me again,” he huffed as his snow white hair blew back against the wind as the two of you trekked up the large hill to where you knew he liked to play with his fire. You crossed your arms with a pout at the fact he had planned to only be kind to you for his father’s attention.

“Or,” you butted in, “you could be nice to me because you could actually have a friend.”

“I do not need to have friends. Especially weak friends like you.” The icy glare he shot back at you over his shoulder made you frown. Finally fed up with his behavior, you decided to show him your quirk. You put a large wall of ice up in front of him causing him to come face first into the cold surface. A smirk shot across your face as he felt flat on his butt. “I am not weak,” you spat looking down at him. He simply smirked back up at you as he held his hand to the ice wall and melted a hole into the so the two of you could walk through it to your destination.

“Ice, huh?” he asked as you trailed behind him, “I see why my dad chose you.”

After you finally stood up to him he was more willing to let you in. Day after day turned into you learning more and more about the boy your parents had told you that you had to befriend.

You only got two more years with him after that. You recall the pained look in your parents’ eyes when they had informed you that Touya had died in a fire. That was your first heartbreak. Touya had become your person since that day in the woods. The one person that knew every detail about your life and all of your dreams and fears.

The next heart break came only a few weeks later when your parents had informed you that Endeavor and them had decided that instead of marrying Touya you would marry his younger brother Natsuo instead.

Natsuo laid across your bed as he watched you pack your bag for the U.A. training camp you had volunteered for. In the last decade of Touya’s passing, you had decided that you weren’t going to get close to Natsuo the way you did his brother. You decided you would never let your heart break the way it did that day again.

“Where are you going again?” Natsuo asked, tossing a tennis ball up and down that he found on your bedroom floor.

“Somewhere in the woods. I can’t remember what the name of it is. I just know Eraser Head asked if I would be willing to chaperone during the kid’s training,” you replied as you folded a pair of shorts to stuff into the large bag in front of him.

“You spend more time with those kids than you do me and we are the ones supposed to be getting married next year.”

You shot a glare in his direction in response making a smirk spread across his face. The two of you didn’t want to marry one another. You wouldn’t let feelings more than friends develop between the two of you and he wasn’t complaining about it either. Natsuo was able to fend off his father from forcing the two of you to marry immediately after he had turned eighteen. He reminded his father that he wanted a degree and you had plans of becoming a hero. Endeavor was willing to give the two of you a few years to adjust to adulthood before he had forced the two of you to become one. In those years, Natsuo got into a school he was happy with and you graduated U.A. and began working in Endeavor’s agency. You were usually permitted to volunteer with the kid’s at U.A. after Shouto had begun his studies there. You knew it was just a ploy for his father to get some idea on what the teachers there were training for him on. Shouto didn’t mind having you there though. He knew that you wouldn’t spill too much to his father.

“You look at me too much as a sister to be excited about us getting married,” you gave him a playful smirk as he began to fake a gag.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, covering his face, “I don’t even want to think about having kids with my sister.”

You scrunch your nose up in disgust at the last sentence he spoke. The two of you would have to conspire another plan to postpone your union another few years.

Being in the woods reminded you of the days of training with Touya behind his father’s back. A bittersweet smile crept its way across your face as thought back on all the times you and him would go back and forth throwing attacks of bright blue fire and shiny ice walls at one another until you were lying side by side panting for breath. You felt a gentle nudge on your shoulder as you walked through the training grounds. When you looked to its source you were greeted with blue and gray eyes. “Hi, Shouto,” you said softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder making him make a face of disgust before shrugging you off of him. You let out a small laugh letting your arm fall back to your side.

“You look upset so I thought I would give you my company,” he said blankly, not looking you in the eyes.

“I appreciate it, but I am fine. You should be enjoying this moment and spending time with your friends.”

He was silent for a moment. You knew this usually meant he was looking for the right way to phrase a question he wanted to ask. “Are you thinking about your wedding?”

It was your turn to think now. You knew you weren’t thinking about your wedding, but you also know you were not willing to speak to Shouto about Touya. You couldn’t tell him that you wished that Touya was still here. Maybe if he was he would be here walking beside you and Shouto, helping train the next generation of heroes. Maybe the two of you would be planning your arranged wedding right now. Maybe you would have had one or two future heroes right now. You shook those thoughts out of your head before turning back to your favorite ice and fire user.

“I am very excited and honored to marry Natsuo. I wouldn’t be sitting here looking glum if I was thinking about becoming a Todoroki,” you smiled, giving him a nudge.

“You are such a liar. Anyone that knows my family, does not want to be a part of it,” he replied in his usual bluntness. A breathy laugh left your lips as you turned your head to pay attention to the trail.

“I do enjoy being a part of your family,” you admitted, “I love Nastuo, Fuyumi, and you.”

It was Shouto’s turn to smile at you. He didn’t need to reply for you to know he loved having you around as well.

You shot a panicked look at Aizawa as you looked at as you got the telepathic message regarding the villain attack. The two of you immediately shot out of the classroom to help fight against whoever had intruded on the students’ training session. The two of you stopped outside of the building. Anxiety creeped its way through your body as you both noticed smoke pouring from the top of the tree lines where young heroes were attempting to improve their skills. A voice pulled you out of your thoughts. The two of you went to turn to see who it belonged to only to be greeted by hot flames. The only words you could pick up were “stay away” as you and Aizawa were greeted with hot flames. Aizawa shot upwards and you threw up a thick wall of ice to take the impact of the flames. You let out a breath of relief before looking up to ensure Eraser was fine. His eyes were red as he pulled the raven haired villain to the ground with a knee to the face, demanding what he and the villains wanted. Shortly after Tenya and a few kids came shooting out the woods. “Stay back,” he shouted, shooting a wall of ice in their direction to keep them from getting any closer to the man behind the attack. “I wonder if you can save them in the end,” you hear Dabi say. Your eyes shoot back to him only to see that he began to dissolve into Aizawa’s scarf. You realize quickly that the man in front of you was not the real villain and your feet take you racing into the woods. You could hear Aizawa’s heavy footsteps stomping behind you. You heard him stop as he came in contact with Midoriya. You didn’t bother to be a part of their conversation. You knew there were still other children out in those woods. One of them being Shouto. You heard Mandalay’s voice through your head granting permission to use their quirks against the villains. You sucked in a sharp breath thinking about these young kids going after villains that have killed people.

You felt a pair of eyes on you making you stop. The glare burned into the back of your head. As you turned you were greeted to a hot hand squeezing your throat, tackling you to the ground. You were quick to shoot a cylinder of ice up, sending your assailant up and away from you. You crawled to your feet, feeling the burning scratch marks on your throat. You watched as your cylinder began to melt in front of you. Steam covered your makeshift battle ground from the cold to hot contact. You only knew one villain in the League with a fire quirk. “Dabi,” you spat, trying to find him in the mist. The only sign of him was a blue glow coming through where you believed to have thrown him. “Endeavor’s ice user,” he called back. The nickname sent a bitter taste in your mouth. The idea of being a pawn for your future father in law made you sick, even though you knew it was true. There was another ball of burning blue fire shooting your way and you were back on the offense. For a moment, it reminded you of all the hours you spent as a child battling Touya’s flames with your ice. You could never beat him as a child. Every fight ended up with your face in your hands with a pout. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when Shouto started actually using his fire where you got to practice fighting fire users again.

You shot another wall of thick ice up to block the impact of the flames. You heard a bitter laugh come from Dabi as his fire died down. “Is that all you know how to do?” It sounded almost like he believed you were too boring to be fighting him. Anger welled up inside of you. Who was he to make you out to be weak? You began shooting sharp ice spikes in his direction. You could hear pieces of his clothes ripping as he tried dodging your ice spikes. “I am not a weak opponent,” you yelled, encasing him in your ice. You began stalking towards him, forming an ice sword into your hands. You pressed it to his throat as he kept his head down. A light chuckle left his throat before he looked up at you. It was the first time that you had ever been so close to him. His eyes were familiar. You stopped in your tracks, just staring.

“Touya,” you let out a pained whisper. You barely noticed his eyes widened before they sunk back into his bored expression.

“Are you concussed, stupid girl? The name is Dabi,” he scoffed. You watched as he began to melt your ice. You were too frozen to do what you knew you needed to do. You began studying his features. The shape of nose and jaws. The deep blue of his eyes. The way he stalked towards you. If it wasn’t for the black hair, and purple, marred flesh and the shiny stables holding his skin together, he would be exactly what you would imagine Touya to look like if he hadn’t died. You sucked in a breath as he had managed to stand merely 4 inches away from you. The smell of smoke filled your lungs as you looked up to his face. He was staring down at you, blue eyes boring into yours. Before you knew what you were doing, you had your arms squeezing into his sides in a tight hug, as tears burned your eyes. “Touya,” you cried, burying your face into his chest. You could feel him tense up. If this wasn’t Touya, Dabi probably would have assumed you had lost your mind. He doesn’t push you away like you thought. Instead, you feel his hands gently on your shoulders, you could tell he was contemplating what to do. He slowly peels you off of him. He takes a step back, almost as if he is scared of what either of you will say next. There is silence for a few more moments.

“I am not Touya,” he says bitterly. The name Touya comes out like it burns his tongue. You know better though. You know Touya. His mannerisms, his attitude, the way he speaks, the way he tries to play it off like he doesn’t care with a hard ass attitude.

“If you’re not Touya, then kill me,” you challenge. The man in front of you grimaces before shaking his head.

“I did not come here to indulge you,” he scoffs.

“Sounds like you have a soft spot. I know you won’t kill me. I also know you won’t tell me what happened to you,” your voice is barely above a whisper. You're still too stunned at the fact that your friend that had died is standing right in front of you, years later.

“I need to get back to my mission,” he replies boredly, completely ignoring your words from before. He turned on his heels to walk away from you. Sudden rage filled you. You were quick to make a small ice building trapping the two of you in it. Dabi walked face first into the ice, falling flat on his butt from the sudden impact. “Deja vu,” he huffs under his breath, hoping you didn’t hear him. You did though and a sudden smile spread across your face as you ran back over to him, pulling him into another hug that made him tense up.

“You ARE Touya,” you wail, squeezing him tighter. He can feel his white shirt being soaked with your tears. He lets out the breath he was holding in as he finally caves and wraps his arms back around your waist. He knows this is a bad idea, but he couldn’t resist indulging in this. He missed you a lot more than he was willing to admit. He only ever got to see you on the television screen as you celebrated capturing villains alongside his father or when the hero gossip channels spoke on your engagement to his brother. Both of those topics would usually put him in an awful mood that made everyone in the League avoid him.

“I am Dabi now,” he reminds you, pulling you off of him for the second time in the last ten minutes. “You can not say anything about this. Plus it’s not like anyone will believe you.” There is a smirk on his face at the last sentence. He knew he was right. His father would probably burn you alive if you had attempted to even bring up the name Touya in front of him. You both knew that.

“You left me,” you whispered, playing with the zipper of his jacket. His facial features soften as he looks back up to you.

“I didn’t mean to,” he replies with a soft voice. This is the first time he has seen anyone express any form of remorse and sadness over him disappearing all those years ago. He shouldn’t be surprised though since it is you. You have always shown him kindness, even when he was a little asshole to you. “I see my brother has been taking care of you though. I am sure you guys are looking forward to being married.” He sounds bitter. You were supposed to be his. The only gift his father has ever given him that wasn’t supposed to cause him pain. Yet here you were with a big diamond on your finger that screamed your heart belonged to Natsuo.

“Please don’t remind me,” your voice was sad. He didn’t like it. He also didn’t understand it since every time he saw glimpses of you and his younger brother the two of you always looked so happy. “We’re just doing this because of our parents. You know that. If you would have stayed, it would be you in Nastuo’s shoes. Though, I am sure you would be doing the same exact thing as him and coming up with more and more reasons to keep pushing the wedding back.”

He wouldn’t though. He knew he wouldn't. The only person who never lost hope in him and continued to cheer him on was you. Touya knew you still saw the good in him, otherwise you would have blasted him to a different planet nearly twenty minutes ago so you could go and protect those kids in the woods. He would have married you the second the two of you were the age to legally do so. He wouldn’t tell you that though. He knew better. He knew you deserved better. Being with him now would just lead you to even more heartbreak than what he had already caused.

“I have to go,” he whispered, “I have to do this job to get to my end goal.”

“You don’t have to,” you argue back softly. You didn’t want to end this reunion. You didn’t want him to leave you alone again. “You don’t have to stay with the league. You can come home.”

Touya shakes his head. He couldn’t have you pleading with him to stay. He is in too deep to his plan now. He has killed too many innocent people to get out of this scotch free. The only home he would have if he left the League would be a prison cell. He didn't want that. He knew that you didn’t want him to be in there either. Maybe even more than you didn’t want him to continue a life of crime. He is almost positive that you were rooting on Dabi’s arrest before you found out his real identity.

“I am leaving now,” he tells you tapping on your hips to get you to stop straddling him from the hug you previously forced him into. You reluctantly get off of him and he gives you a forgiving smile as he reaches his hand on a section of your ice to melt an exit. Before he can you grab a hold of his other hand. He looks back at you softly to see what you need before he departs. There is worry in your eyes and maybe even forgiveness.

“Please tell me what you and the rest of the league are doing here?” you plead, hoping the goal isn’t to actually kill the students of U.A. That’s when you catch him shooting you a devious smirk that hints he is about to say something that will piss you off. He melts a piece of ice big enough for him to escape before he indulges your question.

“I gotta give you another reason to chase me down, princess. So I’m kidnapping Bakugou,” he winks at you before setting a wall of fire in front of you so it’d be harder to get to him.

“Touya,” you scream in rage as you hear him laugh back at you.

“See you later, pretty girl,” he shouts back, “catch me when you can!”

#dabi #dabi x reader #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi angst #touya angst #touya todoroki angst #touya todoroki x reader #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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sugawara-sweetheart · 4 years

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𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 (𝔪)

witch!akaashi keiji x female yandere!reader

warnings: tw dubcon, tw yandere, aphrodisiac use/tw drugging, murder, violence, nsfw, sub!akaashi, restrains, body worship, begging, orgasm denial, breeding kink

word count: 4.3k

day 7/9 of candy corn

love didn’t matter to you. it didn’t need to. your world was magic- a coven of tightly-knitted witches and spending days in your cabin, brewing bubbling potions of liquid luck, liquid death, liquid fortune and liquid love. love was pathetic and minor compared to the fluttering magic that swam in your veins, that was produced in coloured sparks from the tip of your wand- enough energy to harm, to kill, to cure, to do anything your heart desired. you didn’t need the thrill of love when you had the thrill of magic.

that is until you meet akaashi keiji. a new apprentice joining the coven, he quickly attracts the attention of the eleven other witches- not for being a man as such, but for being absolutely beautiful. he’s pretty with his gunmetal blue eyes, intelligent with his crafty healing magic and studies that far surpass an apprentice of his level. for the first time in your life you sink into an abyss of love, you’re put under a love spell when you’re consumed by akaashi keiji.

he’s all you can think of- every waking moment of every day is filled with this insatiable infatuation with akaashi. even as you work on your potions and study thick, leatherbound spellbooks, all that permeates your mind is the magic of akaashi, his beautiful face and his gentle voice ringing in your ears. you need him, you want him so much that you can’t bear to be away from him. that’s why you offer him the sweet little amulet as a ‘welcome gift’ to the coven, it’s for your own peace of mind to have it illuminate gold under his black robes when you gaze into your crystal ball, watching him at work in his cabin through the mist of the crystal, your own sparkling eyes and wide grin reflected in the orb. you say it’s fate whenever you ‘coincidentally’ run into akaashi at the apothecary or the tearoom and then insist you get your tea leaves read together, that the future can hold surprising things with a flirtatious wink that makes the apprentice smile as he agrees. akaashi must have some sort of interest towards you, he must feel the fiery connection of love and lust that burns between you both, because he always lets you into his cabin with a warm smile, offering you a cup of tea as you sit in his armchair, watching him work over his potions and ancient books. it feels right, to be sitting in his home with the fire burning beside you and admiring how pretty he looks in fiery tangerine candlelight. of course, it’s a bother that his black cat always seems to hiss at you whenever its around but you don’t let that get to you, not when a simple smile from akaashi fills your heart with so much warmth and makes you forget everything else that isn’t him.

that’s until you’re on your usual evening walks, strolling towards the general area of akaashi’s cabin within the thick woods. you’re bubbling with excitement, you always do whenever you approach his cabin- but it’s not on purpose. oh god no, you’re not a stalker or anything, you just can’t stop thinking about him and what he’s doing and you want to be able to look at him and his beauty to soothe that insatiable need to be around him, even if you just have to peer through his windows, hoping he won’t look at the darkness outside for too long to see your eyes staring back.

but you stop in your tracks when through the misty windows, illuminated by orange candlelight and the fire in the hearth that you know feels so warm compared to the icy chill of the forest, you see two faces instead of one. akaashi’s blue eyes are sparkling as he gazes at someone else- someone who isn’t you. a pretty young apprentice you recognise to be kaori suzumeda.

dull hurt first aches within in you. and then it’s anger. how could this happen, how could akaashi lie to you with all his kindness, his promising smiles and his sweet, respectful nature only to now be with kaori, his lips stretched out much further than they ever did with you, his deep blue eyes so much softer, his hand wrapped around hers as they stir the cauldron together. it makes you sick. the fury and bile is bitter as it rises with you, nausea swirling as you watch them with deep, anguishing heartbreak burning from the centre of your chest like hot, molten iron.

you can’t let it happen. you can’t lose akaashi, you can’t let him deny your love and ruin what’s supposed to be.

kaori doesn’t put up much of a fight. after all, you’re much stronger as a more accomplished witch. but it wasn’t much of a sadistic thrill of accomplishment to see her body crumple under the curse you shoot from your wand straight into her back, making her fall straight to the muddy ground of the forest. you’re thankful to be blanketed by the dark with the curse binding her body and it’s so rewarding to see her wide, fearful eyes begging silently as you creep over her, mouth stretched open in a silent scream of horror. maybe she’s begging for akaashi to save her but he’s safely cooped up in his cabin mere metres away. the thought makes you smile.

“you stupid bitch.” you hiss, venom rife in your voice and hatred burning in your eyes. it’s not like it matters. it’s not like she’ll have a voice to tell anyone. “did you really think you could take what’s mine?”

fighting with hands is the lowlife way of non-witches, but the sickening crunch of your fist meeting kaori’s face makes you smile. blood sprays from the broken skin, her body still with the curse but you know she can feel every hot nerve in her face alight with pain- she just can’t scream for help, her powers immobilised too with her wand flung out inches away. “akaashi won’t want you now.” you’re still not done yet, smiling as you hold out your wand, the anger still burning in you.

some time passes before you’re stood on akaashi’s doorstep. it’s late into the night, the sky pitch black with the only light in the forest being the silvery glow of moonlight spilling through the trees. the door opens swiftly after the first knock, a pleasant smile on his beautiful face which quickly fades as he blinks at you, evidently surprised. it makes the wound in your heart hurt more. how much more was he going to hurt you, after you’ve consistently shown him nothing but love? how could he be so ungrateful?

“y/n-san.” he says, glancing behind at you at the darkness of the forest. “it’s late, what are you doing here? it’s not safe-” you laugh, tilting down the hood of your cloak as you smile at him sweetly.

“i’m an accomplished witch, keiji, i can protect myself. and please, we don’t need formalities between us.” you continue smiling at him, ignoring the craving ache in your chest and trying to hold back the bitter tears of your heartbreak as you wait for that nod.

“of course. please come in, y/n-san.” he holds open the door, letting you cross into his cabin and smile as the warmth fills you. it feels so right to be here- and of course you come more often than akaashi thinks- with the mixed aromas of his potions hanging in the air, the wood creaking beneath your footsteps, dust from his thick books fluttering in the light.

akaashi doesn’t notice the red staining your knuckles. or the wet hem of your cloak or that you seem to have the outline of two wands instead of one in your pocket. he waits patiently for you to choose your favourite armchair by the fire as he sits beside you on the other.

“what brings you here then?” he enquires, eyes narrowing as he studies you. it makes your heart flutter- he’s worried perhaps? maybe he can see the hurt he’s caused and he wants to make amends, but you’ll sort it. he doesn’t have to worry, you’ll take care of him.

“i was just feeling so lonely, keiji.” you murmur, tracing your finger along the leather armrest as you pout, batting your lashes at him. “do you know what it feels like to be alone?” you have to hold back the urge to be sick at the image of akaashi and kaori filling your mind- that vile, putrid image of them smiling at each other so lovingly as they worked on a potion together. no. akaashi and you needed to be doing that together, you and akaashi were true love. it’s her own fault, you tell yourself as your nails pierce into the thick fabric. if she hadn’t gotten in the way…

“i understand that.” akaashi sighs with a small nod. “i’ll make you some tea.” warmth again. you smile and nod, following akaashi’s body with your eyes as he walks into the kitchen. you can hear him clattering about with some pots and pans and finally he returns with a tray carrying two warm cups of peppermint tea. he places it down on the table before you when you suddenly pout, looking at him with rounded, pleading eyes.

“could i possibly have some biscuits too? it’s been a while since dinner.” akaashi chuckles at your words, nodding as he disappears into the kitchen once again and that’s your chance to take out the little vial from your pocket. the vial filled with pink glittering potion, that smells of musty books and ink and fresh linen, that smells of akaashi. you’d been considering it for a while but now the time was right, you’d never been so desperate for akaashi to finally love you back that you pour the entire contents into his teacup.

you’re saving him.

the pink liquid swirls as it dissipates into the deep green tea just before akaashi returns with a plate of choc chip cookies, smiling as he places it down before you.

“help yourself.” he says before he’s reaching for his teacup. you watch eagerly, stomach swimming with anticipation as he brings the porcelain closer to his face before he pauses, eyebrows tugging together slightly. “that’s strange- it smells of honeysuckle.”

you want to cry. honeysuckle- the one scent you despise. the one ingredients you refuse to include in your potions. the one smell that burned in your nose with the metallic taste of hot blood on your tongue when your fist met flesh and black magic trickled from your wand. you force yourself to smile. it’ll be okay. your heartbreak will be soothed once akaashi sips from the cup and makes everything right.

“i don’t seem to smell anything.” you say and he shrugs, brushing away the thought as he takes a sip.

the effect isn’t instantaneous. it grows heavier and heavier, his eyes growing warmer and glimmering with every sip, his tanned cheeks flushing pink the more he drinks and you know his mind is growing hazier, consumed more and more by the thought of you. nothing makes you feel happier than seeing him gaze at you with a beautiful, unrestrained warm smile, his words flowing freer as he speaks to you. it’s happening. he's going to love you.

the porcelain shatters when it hits the floor, the last dregs of tea spilling over the floorboards and darkening the little spots. you watch it with a smile growing on your face as you slowly turn to look at akaashi.

he’s lost. his blue eyes are wide, face full of lustful need before he’s scrambling over to you quickly, shoving the table out of the way with the tray falling carelessly to the floor as he kneels by you, grabbing your hands and clinging to them.

“y/n,” his voice is so sweet. so smooth, like pure honey and your heart thumps as he gazes at you so softly, so desperately like you’re a fucking goddess. “you’re so wonderful.” he tenderly cups your hands, kissing the back of them softly with his eyes still locked on yours, fluttering lashes casting a shadow over his smooth, flushed cheeks. “i love you. become mine. i need you to become mine.” his voice grows louder with a needy whine and you’re stunned- this is the most emotion akaashi has ever shown, and it’s all because he loves you! he loves you so much finally with just a little help of liquid infatuation. it feels right.

“i’m all yours, keiji. and you’re all mine.” in another world it would’ve been romantic. true love, as your lips meet with hunger, fervour and passion, lust burning in your tongues that thrash against each others- but it’s all manufactured with magic. not that you care- akaashi’s lips taste sweeter than you ever imagined, his hands groping you desperately and trying to pull you as close to him as possible. he mewls when you grip his black locks of hair and tug his head back, smiling with your lips wet as you admire him. so beautiful. everything you wanted finally being gifted to you. akaashi looks like pure enchantment- his cheeks are dusted with pink, cherry lips swollen and slick and nothing but pure adoration swimming in his deep blue eyes.

“y/n-” he whines, his hands gripping your hips as he leans into the chair, kneeling between your legs. his lips feel magical pressing kisses into your neck as he buries himself into your warm body and it’s then you notice with the heavy pants against your sensitive skin, he’s grinding himself desperately against the chair for relief. “i want you so bad. please, y/n. let me have you- want you so much!” seeing him so needy for you sends burning heat straight to your core, a moan almost escaping you from seeing akaashi like this- it’s better than all your lewd fantasies, better than even creating magical illusions of him to satisfy yourself on nights when you particularly crave him.

“oh, my poor baby boy.” you coo, standing up and tugging akaashi to his full height. he’s sighing and whimpering, his eyes pleading like a poor little puppy that it makes you feel so fucking powerful as you force him into another heavy kiss. it stings with possession, your nips against his swollen lips clinging and bruising as you push him into the armchair, tugging his robes from him and unbuckling his belt with haste.

“y/n!” he cries, voice louder than you ever expected. “i want to make you feel good!” he pants as you slide the robes off his bare chest, running your hands over his smooth chest as he whines with need before your hands tug at the waistband of his pants.

“you don’t need to worry about that, baby boy.” you purr as you kneel between his legs before pressing a tender kiss to the soft inside of his thigh. “let me take care of you.”

you have to move quick. the tea had diluted the potion so you’re unsure of how much time you really have left to keep akaashi under your love spell, how much time you have left for him to gaze at you with all the love in his eyes, like you put the stars and the moon in the sky. it feels good, it feels right and everything you’ve ever wanted to wrap your hand around his pretty dick, mouth salivating already. he’s long and thick enough for you to know he’ll feel good, the head a light pink, leaking silvery orbs of precum. “just relax for me, that’s a good boy.”

akaashi’s fingers are digging into the leather armrests, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watches you wrap your lips around him, moaning at the sweet taste of him. your name falls from his lips like a spell, hips jerking as a loud, deep moan resonates from him, pretty eyes rolling to the back of his head. you watch him for every reaction, drinking in and burning the sinful images into your mind- how he groans when you trace the veiny underside of his cock with your tongue, when you sink down further, bobbing your head and coating his dick with a glistening sheen of saliva, one hand trailing down to stroke your pussy and the other fondling his balls. rubbing your fingers against your clit makes you moan around his cock, your tongue sliding and curling around his sensitive dick to make him groan aloud, sweat beginning to moisten his forehead.

“y/n- it feels so good-” he breaks off with gasps and pants, head falling back on the edge of the chair and his body jerking as you continue to suck, cheeks hollowing with the lewd, wet sounds echoing in the room. “god- so good!” you almost think he’s crying, that his dizzying love has reduced him to a mess already but it feels so good. akaashi is yours. he’s all yours, and he loves you just like you always wanted.

you release your lips off him with a pop, drool connecting you to the head of his cock as you wrap your fingers around him, slowly stroking with your saliva as lube as akaashi hisses, looking down at you with nothing but desperate, cloudy need in his eyes.

“y/n- let me cum!” he gasps, cock twitching in your hand and you laugh coldly as you wrap your fingers tighter around his shaft, eliciting sharp hisses from you as his body tenses.

“no.” he’s stunned at the hard edge in your voice, jaw dropping open as you stand up, not letting go on his wet, throbbing dick grasped in your clutch. something akin to lustful fear fills akaashi’s face as you lean down to meet his eyes, yours dark and swimming with possession. “this is your punishment.” he looks confused before he’s gritting his teeth, willing himself not to come and warm, exhilarating satisfaction fills you. it makes you feel wetter, your panties soaked even with such little prep- it’s just the effect akaashi has on you. everytime you pleasure at night to the thought of him you always come so hard so fast. he’s just truly enchanting. like true love, it’s no wonder you were enamoured from the very start.

“please let me cum.” he whispers, eyes wide and pleading. “i’ll be your good boy- i just- fuck, i need to cum.” his hands reach out to grasp your hips but you’re quicker; one hand still tightened around his cock, the other slips into your pocket quickly to pull out your hand. with a quick flick, leather straps extend out of the sides of the armchair, locking around akaashi’s wrists to bind him. he gasps, staring at them in shock before turning to you.

“i’m going to fuck you.” you smile, tracing the tip of ypur wand along his jaw as he shudders. “and you are going to sit there as i use your cock, not being allowed to touch me at all.”

it’s exactly what you’ve wanted all this time. the hungry, lustful stare akaashi gives you as his hands writhe against the restraints, whining and his hips jerking when you release his cock, the need to orgasm long faded.

“y/n- please, i need to touch you-” he groans, eyes raking over your legs when you hoist up your robes. “please, let me touch you! let me love you!”

“you do love me, baby boy.” you beam as you straddle him, moaning at the sweet sensation of his cock rubbing along your folds before you line it up with your entrance. you could almost cry- you’re here straddling akaashi, inches away from his beautiful flustered face as he moans out loud, aching to touch you. “say it.”

“i love you.” he chokes out as you sink down on his cock, hissing at the stretch. the lack of prep makes it burn more but the pleasure still tastes so sweet- electrifying, enchanting, a spell. it feels real.

“a-again!”

“i love you! i love you!” akaashi breaks off with a groan at the feeling of your warm, tight walls enveloping him, his eyes fluttering shut as you smash your lips against his.

it feels perfect. his cock fits perfectly inside you, stretching you out so well and filling you up so good you’re gasping and moaning into akaashi’s lips, eliciting needy whines from him as you thread your fingers through his hair.

“fuck, baby boy.” you groan into his skin as you trace open-mouthed kisses along the column on his neck, his cock throbbing inside you. “you’re just perfect for me, aren’t you?” so wonderful, so obedient and good, akaashi nods, a trace of a smile lingering at your words.

“want to be so good for you, y/n.” he murmurs, gasping when your teeth pierce into his fragile skin, tainting it with blotches of red and purple as you begin to bounce on him.

it’s euphoria. akaashi’s cock fills you up so well every time you bounce on him, his thick length hitting all the right spots as you cling to his shoulders, muffling your moans by sucking and biting possessive marks onto his neck and chest. he moans wantonly- loud, breathy moans that sound like a beautiful symphony to your ears, only making you wetter as your slick trickles down his lap, coating his dick and balls in a sticky mess.

“y/n- god, you feel amazing! you’re so good to me.” he pants, his hips jerking with the feeling of your walls clenching around him. “i want to touch you, please. i love you-” you cut him off with your fingers prising at his jaw, long nails scraping into the skin of his cheeks as he groans with the pain, looking like pure sin with his loving eyes blown wide with lust.

“can kaori fuck you like this? can she make you feel this good?” you hiss. you’re riding him fast, ignoring the burn in your thighs to focus on the sweat pleasure of his cock rubbing at your spongy walls, the perfection of finally being with the man you love so much. “answer me!”

“no!” akaashi cries, his pink face contorting as he pants. “no, only you! fuck- it’s only you, y/n! please let me cum!” his cock throbs inside you and you’re growing closer to the edge, the satisfaction of his words amplifying the sweet, electrifying pleasure.

“good. you’re mine, all mine.”

akaashi’s moans are muffled with your fingers probing into his mouth and like you’ve always wanted, he’s your obedient lover, wrapping his lips around your limbs and sucking them, tongue curling over your fingertips as you rut against him faster, adamant on tipping you both over the edge. your moans are too much now- you can barely choke out any words and the pressure in your body is building, heavenly pleasure feeling so good. he loves you. akaashi loves you. you see it in those wide blue eyes that don’t dare tear away from you, lips wrapped around your fingers, moaning at the pleasure you’re giving him as his hands scratch at the leather, itching with the need to touch you.

“cum for me. my precious baby boy, cum for me. fill me up with your sweet cum,” akaashi’s almost choking on your fingers, gagging as you push them deeper whilst you lean close to his face, catching his sensitive ear lobe between your teeth. “cum deep inside my pussy and fuck a baby in me. let me have you forever.”

akaashi cums hard, whining around your fingers with drool spilling messily from his lips as your walls clamp down hard on his twitching cock. your body tenses as you rut your hips desperately, crying out as you ride out your high with your wetness gushing messily from your tight cunt, akaashi’s cum spurting deep inside you. it feels dizzying. white pleasure. magic.

akaashi is finally yours.

he doesn’t remember the events. it stings a little, to have to redress him when he’s fast asleep, tuck him back into his armchair before you know the potion will wear off. but you know it’s right, it’s true love- tonight had proved it so it’s a kindness, you tell yourself, to place the tip of your wand on his forehead, letting the warm tingles of the spell you whisper wash over his mind.

it’s a couple days till you next see him, and akaashi smiles bright as you meet him in the forest- a smile brighter than before. but that’s what happened when you served justice- you had only corrected kaori’s evil manipulative acts, untwisted akaashi’s mind so now he could love you freely, just like he always should’ve!

“any news?” he asks as you sidle up beside him, wrapping your arm around his.

“no, unfortunately.” you make sure to grimace. “they found her wand in some back alley near the apothecary but heard nothing.” he sighs with disappointment as the two of you start to trudge along the forest, the leaves and branches crunching under your feet, the tall trees obscuring the grey sky.

“that’s a shame.” akaashi hums. “of course, all we can do is search for her...i’m worried though.” you have to bite back the green ropes of jealousy that threaten to unleash. of course, you couldn’t wipe away all his feelings- but it was enough to dim them.

“i understand, keiji.” you hum sympathetically, rubbing your hand soothingly along his muscular bicep. “we all love kaori too- but i’m here for you.” you meet his eyes with a warm trusting smile, but he doesn’t notice the ice in your eyes.

“i’m glad i have you, y/n.” he smiles, twining his fingers with yours.

it’s not like you’d let him have anyone else.

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chewiedon · 3 years

Text

REGRET | TSUGIKUNI M.

the rq didn't go exactly how it was written, but I had no idea what they were supposed to talk about, taxes?

REQUEST: Y/N has been married to Michikatsu Tsugikuni for 5 years and has lived a happy life with her 2 children and husband. One day, her husband decides to leave all 3 of them behind to join the Demon Slayers, he deeply loved Y/N however his jealousy was far stronger, and thus 2 years pass. On a cold night Y/N sits at the top a cliff near her home, with her oldest child dead due to a monster that attacked their old home at night. She wonders how her husband is doing and amidst her thinking a demon approaches ready to attack. Michikatsu kills it and reveals that he had gone back just 2 months after to discover the house reeking of blood and both his wife and offspring missing, and that he had been searching for them. He offers Y/N his haori/kimono (??) in fear that she will grow cold and they just talk.

You and your family didn’t have much money, but you were happy nonetheless. Your husband was a hard worker that took care of his and yours child, everything was perfect. Another child was due in a few short months, and both you and your eldest were ecstatic. In your point of view, but there was a growing concern in your stomach that continued to plague you the growing days. Your husband, Michikatsu’s brows seemed more furrowed lately, and his training has been frighteningly more intense. At first you didn’t mind, you were glad he was improving on the things he was passionate about! Things only seemed to go downhill from there, to the point where he’d pass out for hours on end from exhausting himself too much.

The afternoon was surprisingly quiet, your toddler sat behind you while you folded clothes. You couldn’t help but eye your husband that laid on a futon that was in the other room. He ended up passing out again after training under the hot summer sun. Before you realized it, you were staring at his unconscious state. A gaze with increasing concern.

“Okaa-chan!” A squeaky voice interrupted your focus, “I’m hungry! Let’s have lunch soon!” The child that sat behind you tugged on the fabric of the kimono.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Yuki. I’ll get some lunch going for us then, what would you like to eat?” You smiled sweetly to the child, before quickly setting the sheet that was in your hands down onto the ground.

“Rice balls! Rice balls! Rice balls!” Yuki cheered behind you, dancing as she did so.

“Shhh, you don’t want to wake Otou-san do you? Let’s let him rest,” You reminded her with a sweet tone, your smile only grew as she put her hands over her mouth.

Soon, the afternoon had come to an end and the day had gotten darker that was accompanied by an evening chill. Yuki was munching on some leftover rice crackers that she had found, enjoying the evening before it got too cold on the engawa. Heavy but quiet footsteps were heard, turning around you were met with the intense eyes of your husband.

“Michikatsu, I’m glad you’re up now. I’ll get started on dinner soon,” You said, looking up to him with a gentle smile present on your face.

He gave you a small hum of agreement before watching you scurry off into the home, leaving him alone with Yuki. Unbeknownst to you, he had a massive burden on his shoulders that was eating at him. With a soft sigh, he took a look at his daughter who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“Yuki-chan, it’s time to come inside,” Michikatsu requested, his voice monotone and dull.

The girl let out a small hum before standing and dusting off her purple kimono, then heading inside, her father following behind the girl. You could be seen starting a fire on the clay furnace that was in the kitchen. The kitchen was hardly that though, it was a small room filled with wood and sticks and a furnace. You were spaced out while looking at the straw and wood that was burning, waiting for the water set above it to start boiling.

“(Y/N)?” A rough voice took your heads out of the clouds, turning your head to look over your shoulder meeting your husbands’ intense eyes once more. “Can I talk to you?” He added.

You let out a small hum, he squatted down to your height where you were crouched close to the floor. He grabbed your face, his fingers around your jawline which forced you to look at his face. You let out a small yelp of surprise when he yanked your face closer to his, the tips of your noses mere millimeters from touching.

“I have to talk to you, it’s important.” Michikatsu said, his voice strict and filled with reason. You couldn’t do anything but clench your jaw in anticipation.

Putting your hand around his wrist to support your weight, “What is it, is something wrong?”

“No, I’m going to leave soon. Final selection is going to start the day after tomorrow. I need to surpass my brother and join the Demon Slayer Corps.” His voice wasn’t as monotone, but took a more serious approach.

You let out a small hum, your brows furrowed in frustration. “So… You’re going to leave?” It was more of a rhetorical question, because you already knew the answer.

“Yes,” His voice and expression were unwavering as he stared deep into your eyes.

“Tomorrow?” You whispered with caution, you couldn’t deny the frustration that was bubbling inside your stomach.

He nodded, and you hummed back. His grip on your jaw loosened allowing you to move and continue with what you were doing before, your husband was leaving. You didn’t want to try and stop him, you respected his wishes to leave and the last thing you wanted to do was hold him back. But… What about you? You had Yuki to take care of and you lived about an hours’ walk away from the closest village. Not to mention you were 3 months expecting another one of Michikatsu’s children. The extra workload seemed stressful, but you should be able to adjust smoothly. Demon slayers make good money if you can do it right, but money shouldn’t come at the risk of your husband's life. Not that he was doing this for money, he was doing it so he could surpass his brother, you decided to respect his wishes. You kept quiet and served him and Yuki dinner, and Michikatsu told the petite girl while she chewed on her wooden spoon.

“Eh? Go away? Where? How long?” Her eyebrow creased, tears swelling in her eyes. Yuki then started to sniffle and rubbed her eyes before her father could answer her, “I don’t want you to leave! It’s no fair!” She claimed.

“I don’t know how long it will be, but I promise to visit when I can. This is really important to me, Yuki.” He paused and waited until Yuki looked at him, “I need you to take care of your mom for me? Can I count on you?”

“Yeah… Yeah,” She was still a sobbing mess, all you could do was smile at the two.

But, why now? Why not a week prior so he could help prepare for you and your daughter instead of just leaving you high and dry. You knew as his wife it was your duty to support him, but you couldn’t help but feel a little negative.

And you had every right to.

How long ago was that? One, maybe two years ago?

You depended on Michikatsu to protect you if something like this were to happen, even though he had no way of doing so. How would he know this would happen? It’s not his fault… So why when your life flashed before your eyes you held on to your vision of Michikatsu.

There was blood, so much blood. You woke up to the blood curdling scream of your eldest daughter, a demon had sunk its teeth into her neck. You shook, and you ran. You grabbed your youngest who cried in fear from the fresh blood of his sister that was on your face.

“Hah? You think you’re going somewhere?!” It sneered at you, dropping Yuki’s lifeless body on the floor as if she was some kind of dog toy. You had your son tucked into your chest and ran as fast as your legs could manage, this unknown adrenaline kicking into your body. It only lasted so long, tripping over a larger rock and falling on your side. You felt a searing tear of the flesh in your leg, the burning sensation of the skin being ripped open. You screamed, hoping some Godsend creature would come and rescue you. Another rush of adrenaline had kicked in as you kicked the monster away with all your might, and the chase had begun once again. You forced your legs to move, you subsided all pain and resisted the urge to limp. Tears made way to your face as you had begun to cry out of fear that this demon would end up taking you and your sons’ life away. Running through the woods, no shoes or socks, you prayed. You prayed for your husband to come back before you died, you’d do anything to see his intense eyes again.

Michikatsu, why did he have to leave? No, it’s not his fault because he didn’t want to live his life in a small shack that stunk of breastmilk. He wanted to live his life. You can respect that, but not now. Your lungs began to become sore, and every part of your body felt like it was on fire. How long have you been running? Is the demon still behind you? You knew if you slowed down or stopped running you probably wouldn’t be able to start running again, you were finally out of the woods and into a big clearing. Long grass that was up to your hips bathed your figure. Your legs went from a sprint to a walk, then crashing onto the floor. Your child’s cries rang in your ears as you tried to soothe it between heavy breaths, you laid on the ground with him in your arms trying to muffle his cries with your chest. You couldn’t hear anything but the now muffled and softer cries of the child, and your own heavy breaths. Your lungs were still on fire, and your body fell completely limp. Your eyelids were beyond heavy, the stinging in your leg pulsing with more pain by the second. Your entire being was numbed from the exhaustion.

Everything was hopeless at this point, you were going to die here from blood loss or that demon is going to come and kill you both. You couldn’t go and get help, and your son was way too young to do anything like that safely.

“(Y/N)?! (Y/N)!” At this point you refused to believe your ears, you lifted your head above the grass to see a tall figure yelling out your name.

Hope swelled in your chest, as you began to recognize that tone more and more. He came. He came back. Michikatsu came back!

“Michi-” You weren’t able to speak or move as a pulse of pain spread throughout your entire body.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)! Where are you?” You raised your hand, it shook in the air as your husband ran to your limp body.

The first thing he did was hold your face to his, touching his cheeks to yours making sure you were real. He held you tightly, but not enough to hurt you.

“Is he okay? Where’s Yuki?” He lifted his head as if to look around you for the small girl.

Grief swelled in your chest, “Gone, the demon got her… I’m so sorry.” Was all you could manage to say, warm tears made their way freely down your cheeks. You whispered bitter apologies over and over to him.

He hummed, stroking the side of your face, “It’s okay, you’re alright and that’s all we need,”

He wrapped his haori around your shoulders once he noticed your shaking. Burying the remains of your eldest daughter was hard, but the hardest part was cleaning out her room where her blood stained the wooden floors. Michikatsu stayed and soothed you the entire time you were crying as you scrubbed her liquids out of the wood. He didn’t know what to do except pat your back and tell you it was going to be okay.

And that’s all you really needed.

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer angst #kokushibou #kny x reader #kny x reader angst #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #michikatsu tsugikuni #x reader #reader insert #anime x reader #kny x reader domestic #domestic reader

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tarantula-hawk-wasp · 3 years

Text

Not to write supernatural fanfic in 2021 but I keep thinking about those nuns

There’s a boy digging up your grave.

You’re watching him distantly, behind the part that’s dead and angry and smashing candelabras and making bloody tears drip from the eyes of the crucified Christ onto the pages of the book you once so loved.

He digs up your grave and pries off the lid of your coffin and looks at your humble bones, your arm broken a dozen years prior, your plain clothes - the bloody habit stripped away in death. He stops.

Then he digs up the grave beside yours. Your Sister - but you both stopped using that title for each other, the sisterhood of the habit surpassed by the intimacy you found in each other.

You’re not really together as ghosts, smashing up the dormitory at the same time is as close to togetherness as you get but vengeful spirits aren’t really spending eternity together.

The boy opens her coffin as well. He stands on the mulch and grass at the foot of the shafts between your graves and he stares and stares and chokes a sob. He’s young and the part of you that can still feel aches in recognition as you see the wet in his eyes.

You may still hold to the love of God above but the Fathers on earth are not so unconditional.

The boy scrubs his face with a dirty hand, grinding soil into the tear tracks. He looks at his watch and back at your graves and suddenly there is a spark in his eyes. He looks up defiantly, maybe at the distant cross on the steeple of the church, maybe at the black car parked a little closer.

He jumps down into your grave again, pulling out a knife and cutting the lining of your coffin free from the tacks holding it to the wood. It makes a sort of bag - a cradle - for your bones. He bunches the ends and lifts the bundle, bones are not very heavy without the weight of mortal flesh.

You are curious now, the pages have stopped tearing from the psalmbooks in the church and the cracks in the statue of Mary stop growing.

He drops your bones on top of hers. There is a muffled crunch, her ribs all shattering, but you are combined in one final exquisite union.

He anoints your embrace with gasoline slopping from a bottle. The strike of a match is loud against the backdrop of his heavy breathing.

You think of your schooling and Achilles and Patroclus and their charred bones sharing one urn. You wonder if they still teach the Iliad in school and if this boy saw himself in those pages.

You are gone and the fire reflects in his wet eyes. He looks afraid.

#John Winchester’s journal #john winchester’s a+ parenting #I don’t know what tags were using for this stuff and I’m not mutuals with any of the big blogs but #also I don’t know what possessed me to write in 2nd person #I guess the ghost of a lesbian nun possessed me #my writing

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

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Inception: Chapter 5

"Pft! I-Ahahaha!" You were doubled over the table trying to stop yourself from choking on your food while Ajax crinkled his nose in disdain. The two of you were at Xinyue Kiosk for a late-night dinner that he had insisted was his treat. You've only ate at fancy food places like this every once in awhile; these meals were so freaking expensive! Your initial hesitance to join Ajax on the basis of money was soon overshadowed by the entertaining sight sitting across the table.

"Tch...tsk..." With every effort, he grew more impatient and frustrated. It didn't help that you were watching and laughing at his incompetent efforts to use chopsticks! "Ugh! Forget it!" He gave up and stabbed one of his sushi rolls rather violently before shoving it into his mouth with a pout. Ajax turned away from you as his face grew redder and redder, but he couldn't help glancing back to see the smile on your face and the tears of joy rolling down your cheeks. Well, as long as this brought you joy...at his own expense...He let out a huff before reaching for his drink. At least whatever bitterness you held towards him last week seemed to disappear.

"I-I can't believe you...! I can't take it!" At long last your laughing fit died down enough so you could breathe, and you reached up to wipe your tears away. "Pft...! I'm sorry, but this is too funny!"

"Yeah yeah," Ajax sighed yet again, his confidence deflating like a balloon and his posture slouching. What a way to impress a girl. He should've went for the fork first!

Noticing his sudden change of attitude, you slipped out of your seat and joined his side, leaning over him. "Here," you swiped the chopsticks off of his plate and placed them in his hand once again, this time so they were in the correct positions. "Now you've got the right hold on them." Your fingers were still draped over his while you guided the sticks to another piece of sushi.

Contrary to your concentration on helping, Ajax was a bit more flustered than usual and it wasn't because of the chopsticks. For some reason his heart fluttered at the sudden lack of distance between the two of you, just like that night under the light of the Mingxiao lantern. 'You think I'm in love with childhood friend? My my my, Mr. Zhongli, perhaps you've finally lost your marbles after spending so much time with mortals,' he recollected. No...there's no way Zhongli's right about this. This is all a fluke! But your hand was so warm, no doubt because of your pyro vision...how long had it been since he felt such gentleness from another person? The closest he's ever come to human contact was by beating his foes senseless! And when was the last time he had a genuine hug? It's been years, he realized, since before the inception of my Fatui status.

"There, see? You'll get the hang of it." He snapped back to the present when your hand quickly left his. Whatever light had begun to gleam in his eyes faded just like the heat from your touch, and he watched you sit back down at your end of the table. "You're not completely hopeless at chopsticks," you smirked.

"You're right, ojou-chan. One day I'll surpass you when it comes to these cursed utensils!" He hid his feelings by attempting to put your lesson to use, but failed drastically again and again. It was obvious he didn't pay attention to a single thing you had told him to do! The boyish desire to one-up his best friend made you giggle again.

Somewhere behind the decorated divider that made up your private dining space sat the eyes and ears of the wolf. Following Master Childe around proved to be fruitful just as expected; while the harbinger often held private meetings and dinners to get closer to clients, this one felt different based on all the others that Charlie had followed him to. There was a distinct familiarity--one that Childe was definitely not faking for the sake of deceit and was shared with the mysterious girl sitting at the other end of the table.

I see, thought Charlie while his ears strained to pick up the other noncoherent whispers on the other side of the screen. He'd been following Childe around all week and had quickly picked up on the harbinger's avoidance of his own men so that he could spend time with you. Clearly, this woman must hold a special place in Childe's heart--an old flame, maybe? Regardless of the specifics of your relationship with him, it would make the most sense for you to be the vigilante Childe has neglected to capture; the merciless blood-thirsty harbinger would've gone in for the kill if it were any other person, but since it's you...you'd be protected. Sheltered. Allowed to get away with tormenting the Fatui since you're so close to Childe. You're untouchable.

Of course, this was all just a theory. To properly identify you as the vigilante Master seeks, he'd have to follow you around instead.

A chill ran down Childe's back out of nowhere; something's wrong. While he continued to struggle with the remainder of the sushi, his gaze darted to every which-way to identify anything out of the ordinary. He was sure the two of you weren't followed, and he had made every effort possible to avoid his subordinates on the way here, even setting up a private room that isn't too common in the Kiosk. Still, he couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. You noticed the sudden tension in the air around him, and stared until he noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing," his voice lower than a minute ago, "Please excuse me, ojou-chan. I need to use the restroom." He slipped out between two of the dividers and froze once he was out of your sight. The remainder of the room was deserted. How odd...the tension in his shoulders slowly faded as he was put at ease.

"Excuse me," a petite voice drug him out of his thoughts and he was greeted by the waitress. She held a silver platter with a pair of matching deserts on it. "Oh, have you changed your mind on desert after all?"

"No, not at all. Please, allow me." He took the tray from her and watched her exit the room. With one final skeptical glance around the room, he returned to the inside of the dividers.

"Oh, and before I forget," Childe began to dig into a delicious chocolate desert you didn't remember the name of but seemed to be some sort of cake. "I have a business trip coming up at the end of this week in Mondstat."

"Oh really? That sounds fun. How long will you be gone?"

"For a few days at the least. Actually, I was wondering if you'd join me."

Your forkful of chocolate-something froze in midair. "...Join...you...? But I don't have anything to do with your company...I'd be a distraction, don't you think? Plus there's my business with the funeral parlor and I don't think I can request days off on such short--"

"I've already spoken to Zhongli about it. He and Hu Tao cleared you as of last night. So, what do you say? Wouldn't this also give you the chance to visit some of your friends there anyway?"

"Well...yes..." you mumbled with a slight blush.

"What do you have to lose? Think of it as a much-needed vacation. You work too hard from what I've heard from Zhongli! Besides, we can use this opportunity to learn more about each other, don't you think?" Seeing your hesitation, he let out a defeated chuckle and shrugged. "Of course, that's if you want to come with me. If not, I understand."

"I..." Well if my superiors approved, then I guess there's nothing wrong with taking a trip, right? "Okay, I'll come with you."

................................................

The quiet peacefulness of Liyuan wilderness was disrupted by an exhausted groan and the dragging of feet. "Ugh, since when was it ever this hot in Liyue?" Your clothes were soaked in sweat from the summer-like heat despite your vision granting you resistance, but Childe appeared mostly unbothered--mostly. He didn't show it, but when you'd look elsewhere he'd often pull at his collar and reminisce of the harsh winters of the Motherland. "Thank the archons that the sun is finally setting."

"We've already passed Wangshu Inn, but it's not too late to turn back and spend the night there. Are you sure you want to sleep in the woods, Reed? You'd be passing up the chance to cuddle me, you know." He reveled in your half-disgusted, half-flustered reaction while you struggled to fully comprehend his words.

"Q-Quit it! Like I've said before, this wouldn't be my first trip to Mond. I have no problem lying on the ground! Or are you saying you can't handle it?" Flipping the subject onto him did no good at hiding your flushing skin; the arrogant smirk on his face proved it. "...Why don't we stay here? There's the creek nearby, and a clearing up ahead."

Childe eyed the surrounding area and set his pack down. "If the lady insists." The pleasant aroma of packed food filled the two of you with delight. "Shall I begin cooking dinner?"

"I wouldn't mind," you practically drooled. Ajax's cooking was amazing! After that initial dinner when both of you reunited, he would sometimes surprise you with homecooked meals to take home and man were you excited for the next time he offered. A toy seller and a cook...his younger siblings must live a luxury! "I'll get some water!"

The creek wasn't too far away--perhaps some fifty feet or so. The crystalline waters murmured quietly over the pebbles and stones, some spaces louder, others quieter where the fish gathered. If it wasn't getting darker by the minute and the threat of hilichurls wasn't so prominent, you could've stayed here much longer. Not that hilichurls posed that much of a threat to someone acquainted with your fighting skills, but you've only come across them once or twice, and the giant ones could easily bulldoze through you if given the chance.

Once the pot of water was full you rose to walk back to your little makeshift camp. Ajax had insisted on bringing fresh produce since the trip to Mondstat wasn't a particularly long one and the trip was rather straightforward. Maybe he was going to make stew? Whatever he chose, you just hoped none of the food spoiled from the sun beating down on the packs all day.

By the time you got back, Ajax had already managed to start a fire and was humming some unknown tune while preparing the produce. You couldn't help but raise a brow and tighten your hold on the pot. "Um...really?"

"Hm?" His eyes slid to you, then back to the fire. "Oh! Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Don't worry, Reed. It won't bite you."

"I'm not coming close enough to feel the heat on my skin. Here," you thrust the pot towards him and he made sure to grab it before the water spilled over. Your light footsteps got quieter the further you strayed from Ajax and the fire, taking shelter beneath one of the far trees where your packs lay.

"Relax, ojou-chan. I won't let it hurt you." A small chuckle escaped him before he resumed his humming session without a second thought or noticing your silence.

You really don't remember...You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. What did they do to you, Ajax?

Your silence carried on until the crickets duetted with the occasional hoots of a nearby owl and the crackling of the fire weighed heavily on your mind. "I'm sorry, ojou-chan."

"Mm?" He had stopped rambling about some disagreement he and a coworker had about communication and was now looking directly at you.

"I'll put out the fire," he moved.

"No, you need to stay warm."

"I wouldn't say that." He drug out a blanket from his pack and laid it in the space between where he sat by the fire and you, who sat at the tree behind him. "Here. You'll lay on that side, I'll lay next to the fire."

Your eyes narrowed at the flickering flames behind him. "Is that even safe?"

"Well if the fire ever gets out of control, you or I can put it out," he reasoned and pat the spot next to him until you reluctantly obliged. He didn't lay down until you were settled in with your back facing him. Silence befell the campsite until he took a deep breath. "What's on your mind, Reed?"

It took a few minutes for the answer to come out. "Do you not remember our last encounter before my mother and I left Snezhnaya?"

"Now that you mention it, not really." He remembered a vague goodbye, but nothing else about it. It was sometime right after he returned from the abyss if he got his timeline correct. Feeling a tad nervous for whatever reason now, he let out a small laugh. "Could you possibly enlighten--" You rolled around so you faced him and met his gaze with tears. That's when his memory came rushing back.

"Ajax! Ajax!" You ran at him full speed with hot tears spilling down your cheeks until you collided with him in a tight embrace. "I--I thought they got you too!" He seemed to freeze under your touch, so you pulled away to look him over. He appeared tired and wild for lack of a better term, with eyes as wide as saucers like a snow leopard meeting a human for the first time. He was different, but you couldn't put your finger on how.

"'Too?'"

"The Fatui," you sobbed. "A day after you went missing, my house...my daddy..."

His words came out as harsh as the cold with not a hint of his kind demeanor shining through. "Spit it out."

"You know how my daddy fights against the Fatui in my town? They burned my house down and...and daddy..." Was your face red from crying all day or from the cold? "...he burned with it." Ajax didn't seem injured, so some of the stress weighing your shoulders down dissipated a bit now that you knew your dear friend wasn't hurt.

But instead of Ajax explaining where he was or consoling you for the loss of your father, a horrid giggle pierced through the snowscape. It was inhuman, what with its pitch sending an icy chill down your spine and instantly replacing your expression of sorrow to one of confusion and horror. "Ha...Hahahaha! Hahahahah!"

"Why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"

"Ahahaha! Silly Reed," he chided and pat your head like one consoles a younger sibling, "in this world, only the strong survive. Your father wasn't strong enough." The girl before him trembled at his words. "He was too weak if he died like that."

"Th--This isn't funny, Ajax! Cut it--OW!" You were shoved into the snow with an unfamiliar strength. Ajax never raised a hand at you, even when you two played together. What was he--

A dangerous glint danced in his eyes like the fire that consumed your house two days ago. "No, you cut it out! You're gonna get yourself killed if you keep acting weak. The world has no mercy on people like us. It's kill or be killed. Do you understand that, Reed?"

"Why are you...What is the matter with you?! Don't you care? What did the Fatui do to you?! Who even are you?" Hot tears rolled down your cheeks until the cold froze them in their tracks. Yet the boy that stared down at you was uncaring, cruel, and held no life in his eyes.

"It wasn't the Fatui," he muttered to himself. "Hurry up and get on with it already. What was really so important that you needed to tell me your dad died?"

"My mama and I...we're leaving tomorrow. I came to make sure you were okay and to say goodbye. We won't see each other again, Ajax," you finally rose to your feet and clenched your fists. "But you don't care, do you?"

"No. I don't. Leave me alone already."

"I..." Ajax blinked several times as he processed his long-forgotten memory. "I'm so sorry, Reed."

"If you're so sorry, then tell me what happened. What did the Fatui do to you?" Even in the dark, you could see a hint of sadness in the depths of his eyes. "If they hurt you too I swear...I swear I'll make every single one of them pay." Heat radiated from your body at the thought. "I promise." Yet even as you said this, there was another, darker, more bittersweet emotion in his expression.

"I...fell into the Abyss." Those were the only words he muttered before rolling onto his other side, facing away from you. And though you didn't really understand what he meant, his empty tone struck a cord within you. Warm arms gently wrapped around his torso with a heat softer than the campfire that lulled him to sleep.

#genshin x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia fluff #childe tartaglia #wesimpforxiaoupdates #genshin impact

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puppywritings · 3 years

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fidelium - johnny suh x gender-neutral reader masterlist

⇢ synopsis: you can’t wait to spend the weekend at johnny’s house. your boyfriend was a bad boy, and a motorcycle rider to boot. things were new, thrilling. perhaps more thrilling than you bargained for. you come to learn that it’s a lot more difficult to leave than to stay.

⇢ word count: 6.8k ⇢ trigger warnings: death, guns, toxic relationship involving manipulation, objectification, arguments. sexual elements and implied sex but no explicit scenes. ⇢ warning: the relationship displayed in this fic is in absolutely no way healthy or ideal. it’s one red flag after another. if somebody disrespects your boundaries, threatens you, objectifies you, manipulates you, or anything of the sort, they’re not a good person to be around and they don’t deserve to stay in your life. the contents of this fic may be upsetting to read.

⇢ a/n: this is my piece for @du0tine‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab. intended for 18+ audiences. i also want to say, it’s not my intention to romanticize or glorify toxic, harmful, or abusive relationships - this is purely fiction. this writing also doesn’t reflect the real johnny suh, who i’m sure is a lovely person and would never engage in this sort of behaviour.

taglist: @prettyjaems @ethaeriyeol @1-800-seo @neonun-au (sorry if i forgot anyone i’m super disorganised w my taglists atm)

Johnny Suh didn’t fit your usual dating criteria. With his black leather jacket, heavy lace-up boots, and hulking motorcycle, he was a bit of a bad boy. And there was something exciting in that. You’d met him late one night, in the bar where you worked. You’d served him all night - rum and coke, his drink of choice. He certainly caught your eye, at first. He was handsome, with his brown eyes twinkling and his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. But it wasn’t until the two of you started talking that you became interested. It was a quiet night, and Johnny insisted on sitting at the bar in front of you. He was teasing, charming. And when he gave you his number at closing time, you actually tapped the digits into your phone, rather than just discarding it like you usually do. Unlike the rest of your patrons who thrust their contact details upon you, when it came to Johnny the interest was mutual.

So, while it was true that Johnny wasn’t quite the typical man you went after, the relationship had been going well. He’d been nothing short of a gentleman in the duration of your relationship, though he still thrilled you with his affinity for the more reckless things in life; late-night motorcycle rides, drinking just a little too much and partying all night. He took the mundaneness out of your life - he made your life an adventure.

Towards the end of your shift that Friday evening, you found yourself getting jittery; you checked the time every five minutes, and a swarm of butterflies was building in your stomach. Johnny was picking you up after work on his bike, and it was all you could think about. You almost ran out of the establishment, when the clock struck ten, marking the end of your shift. Your heart swelled at the sight of Johnny in the bar’s parking lot, leaning against his motorcycle with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted you, affection glowing in his eyes and his smile.

“Hi,” you beamed, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking in his warmth. He picked you up immediately, holding you tight and spinning you. “Johnny!” you giggled, fingers grasping the cotton of his white t-shirt.

“You ready to meet my boys?” he asked you, punctuating his question with a kiss on your nose. He was referring to the friends he considered family; he lived with them, in a rather large house on the outskirts of town, from what you’d heard. They were special to him, and you knew it was important to him that you got along with them. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely terrified. You knew it’d be okay, though. If they had Johnny’s approval you were sure they’d be good people. Plus, you could never be too scared with Johnny’s hand in your own.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you responded with a smile.

“Hop on,” he instructed you, tossing you a helmet and putting on his own. At the beginning of your relationship, he’d given you his own helmet, forgoing his protection for the sake of yours. You hadn’t liked this - this display of his reckless attitude that surpassed thrilling and sat nicely in the territory of dangerous - and so you’d pestered him until he bought a second helmet.

You secured your rucksack on your back, prepacked with all the clothes and toiletries you required for the weekend you’d be spending with your boyfriend, before climbing onto the large black bike behind him. Johnny had been driving you around on his bike for a number of weeks now, but you still weren’t quite used to it. The mix of fear and exhilaration, both from the wind whipping past your ears and from the sensation of your chest pressed flush against Johnny’s back, your arms tight around his waist. It made your heart race. The feeling you got from riding a motorcycle embodied everything that Johnny was: dark, exciting, intoxicating, addictive.

Johnny hadn’t been lying when he said he lived on the outskirts. The bright lights of the town centre were far behind you, and even the streetlights had begun to die out. You were alone with the moon and starlight now. The neatly paved roads gave way to rough muddy lanes. The built-up urban surroundings gave way to empty fields, then to a dense and seemingly endless forest. The bike’s headlamp shone a path through the trees, guiding Johnny to his home. Though your partner clearly felt familiar here, the environment sent chills down your spine - you could’ve sworn you felt eyes on you, peering out from the darkness. When your journey ended, at a solitary house looming tall against the dark backdrop of the forest, you were thankful.

“Here we are,” Johnny welcomed you, helping you off the bike. The house was bigger than you could’ve expected. The term mansion wouldn’t be amiss.

“So,” you commented, looking up at the structure, illustrated by the silver moonlight. “This is where you and your biker gang live?” You looked along the line of bikes, queued up around the house. They were of different styles and sizes, though (with your limited knowledge on motorcycles) they all looked rather impressive.

“I keep telling you, we’re not a biker gang,” Johnny corrected you, with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “We’re just a group of friends who live together, and just so happen to ride together too.”

“And if that’s not a biker gang, what is?” you teased.

“Zip it,” Johnny said gently, and you complied. “Here, I’ll take your bag.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you commented, passing it to him. You braced yourself, as he led you into his home.

It was warm inside, much warmer than out in the chilly woodland. From what you could tell by looking at the entranceway, the place was tidy and well-lit. Your boyfriend led you down the hall, into an open-plan kitchen and living area, where Johnny's friends were sitting around the television.

"We're home, guys," Johnny announced, drawing their attention towards you.

"Hey, look what Johnny brought home!" one of them called out, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

"Watch it," Johnny warned, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. "Y/N is all mine. You can look, but you can't touch. In fact, you can only look for five seconds at a time."

“These are the boys” Johnny introduced you to them. “This is Jaehyun, Ten, Mark. And that’s Donghyuck. My protege, right kid?”

“That’s right, John” the boy grinned up at Johnny from where he was sitting.

You gave a shy wave as you looked around at Johnny's friends. Though he had named them all, introducing them, it was a redundant act. You'd asked to see pictures of everybody prior to that night, not wanting to get lost amid a sea of unfamiliar faces. You saw Jaehyun, with his dimples and broad shoulders; Mark, with pronounced cheekbones and a delicate nose; Ten, with a feline-like beauty; and Donghyuck, full cheeks and long eyelashes.

"I think we're just gonna turn in for the night, right Y/N?" Johnny spoke, looking down at you. "See you boys tomorrow."

You waved at Johnny's friends, with a polite, "Bye." The boys chorused their goodbyes back at you, and Johnny led you away.

You couldn't help but admire the house as Johnny guided you to his bedroom, your hand in his. The place was huge, grand. You weren't sure under what circumstances Johnny and his friends acquired this house, but it can't have been cheap.

"And this," he led you inside, "Is my room."

The room was a fair size, with several tall windows and a four-poster double bed. The matching furniture looked sturdy and high-quality, a dark antique wood.

"This is impressive," you told him honestly. Johnny beamed in pride; he was always looking for praise, and you were happy to feed his ego.

Johnny lounged on his bed, laying back propped up on his elbows. "Come feel how comfy my bed is," he invited you with a smirk.

"Johnny Suh, you are not smooth. I know that's just an excuse to get me into bed," you said, falling beside him.

"If you knew it was just an excuse," Johnny asked, pausing to plant a kiss on your jawline, "Then why'd you join me?"

"Because," you tell him, "Maybe I want to be in bed with you."

Johnny gave a low chuckle, before kissing you again; a line beginning at your jaw, trailing down to your neck, and ending at your collarbone, making you gasp and lean into his touch.

"Johnny," you purred, your voice full of want.

"Let Johnny take care of you, baby," Johnny hummed. You obliged, submitting to his touch and surrendering to the pleasure.

Coming down from your high, you collapsed against Johnny’s bed, smiling as you looked up at your boyfriend who lay beside you.

“You’re perfect,” Johnny told you, his dark brown eyes gazing deeply into your own. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, only for Johnny to tilt your chin back up towards him. “It’s true,” he reiterated.

“I’m not perfect,” you denied, wrinkling your nose.

Johnny pecked your lips. “You are. My angel.”

You looked at him, lying beside you in his bed. His sex hair was immaculate, perfectly tousled from rolling around and from your fingers tugging on it. His lips were plump and pink from your kisses, and his collarbones were decorated in pink splotches. He looked beautiful, he was glowing, and you couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Hey,” Johnny says suddenly, sitting up and untangling himself from the blankets. “Let me give you a massage.”

“It’s okay, babe, you don’t have to,” you waved away his offer. He seemed deadset, however, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

“I insist. Roll over.” You obeyed, lying on your front and allowing your boyfriend to straddle your waist. His hands pressed into your skin, rubbing deeply into your muscles. The sensation was pleasant, you had to admit. Mostly, you just enjoyed the proximity between you and Johnny, and the feeling of being taken care of by someone you loved. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to slip away and ease into the feeling.

You weren’t allowed to slip away for long, however, as your phone began to buzz, startling you. The vibrations against the hardwood of Johnny’s bedside table conjured a harsh screeching noise. You lifted your head, peering at the screen.

You lifted your torso, as much as you could with Johnny’s weight on you. “Oh, it’s my mom. I should-”

“You can call her back later, angel,” Johnny said, pushing you back down onto the bed. The action was gentle, but Johnny didn’t need to use much force to manipulate your body; your boyfriend worked out, and bordered on freakishly strong - at least, in comparison to you. His buff arms held your shoulders down, preventing any movement. "This is my time to pamper you," he explained, resuming the massage.

"Okay," you tentatively agreed. "I'll call her back later." You got the sense that this massage was much more for Johnny's benefit than for yours, but if it kept him happy, then so be it.

“Good morning, angel,” Johnny greeted you. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the light in his bedroom. With a groan, you stretched your muscles, stiff from sleeping. “I brought you a cup of coffee.”

You looked to your boyfriend, smiling at you as he entered the room, a mug in each hand. You couldn’t be sure how long he’d been awake, or what time it was, but he was dressed already, beige cable-knit sweater and loose jeans, with his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. It was a contrast to his usual greaser bad-boy image, and the sight warmed your heart. He looked cozy, soft. You smiled back at him, sitting up and letting the covers pool around your waist.

“Morning, Johnny,” you beamed at him, accepting the cup of coffee he handed to you. You took a sip and moaned in delight. Your boyfriend made a mean cup of coffee, perfectly sweet without being overbearing. He sat beside you on the bed, caressing your cheek lightly.

“I was thinking we could go out for a walk,” he suggested, before taking a swig of his own coffee. “It’s a nice morning.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

A while later, fully dressed and hand-in-hand with Johnny, you found yourself venturing through the forest that surrounded the house. There were a few man-made footpaths winding between the trees, but for the most part, you were truly in the middle of nature, an environment completely untouched by humans. Birds flapped their wings, rustling in the trees, and creatures whose species were unknown to you scrambled to run away in your wake, paws pounding on the forest floor. Johnny had been right; it was a nice morning. The sun filtered through branches and leaves, casting light and warmth down upon you, and the air was clean and fresh.

“It’s so nice out here,” you commented, looking around at the greens and browns that encompassed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “I’m lucky to live here.”

“You really are. I’d walk through here every morning if I were you.”

“You’re lucky, too,” Johnny acknowledged, squeezing your hand. “You’re dating me. You can walk here whenever you want as well.” You smiled, your heart swelling at his words.

“It really is isolated, huh? Your house?” you remarked, peering around at your surroundings. The nearest road was so far away that you couldn’t even hear the rush of cars from where you stood.

“Yeah,” Johnny confirmed. “It’s not easy to get out of the house.” Why anyone would wish to escape this peaceful surroundings, you had no idea. It felt so far removed from the hustle and bustle of everyday life; your usual troubles felt so distant.

The sun had risen higher in the sky by the time you returned to Johnny’s house, and you realised you hadn’t even brought your phone with you. You hadn’t even thought to check the time once since you woke up. This was so out of the ordinary for you, particularly on a Saturday morning, when you’d usually be lounging in your apartment scrolling through social media.

The house had woken up by the time you stepped through the front door. It had been silent when you left, though now it seemed that the entire household was up and about.

“Where have you been, John?” Ten called out, as the two of you entered the kitchen.

“Just out for a walk,” he explained, taking a seat at the kitchen island, where you joined him.

“By the way, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” Ten greeted you, smiling sweetly.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you returned, smiling back politely.

Johnny leaned in close, stage-whispering. “It’s really not all that nice to meet him. He’s a pretty lousy guy. Into some real weird stuff. Has probably killed a guy.” Ten gave Johnny a pointed glare as he departed the kitchen, and you giggled at your boyfriend’s antics.

“So,” Donghyuck asked, his voice somewhat muffled as he peered into the open fridge. “What do you guys have planned today?”

“Hmm. Not much,” Johnny answered. “Have some lunch, take it easy.”

“I want to shower first,” you announced, stretching your arms above your head. The physical exertion of your outdoor walk, along with your heated activities the night before, had left you feeling a little less than squeaky clean.

“We should do that together,” Johnny suggested, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek, which flamed at his proposition.

“Okay,” you giggled in spite of yourself. Johnny was the only man, since you’d been twelve years of age, who was capable of reducing you to such a blushing, giggling mess.

“Let’s go,” Johnny invited you, smirking as he stood up and held out his hand. You took it, and laughed when Donghyuck fake gagged and Johnny stared at him with daggers in his eyes. You allowed Johnny to lead you, your hand in his, all the way upstairs. After retrieving your toiletries and change of clothes, you joined him in the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

“The lock is funny,” he told you, leaning over you to fiddle with it. “You really have to twist it-” he grunted, “There we go.”

You smiled, bunching up his shirt in your hands and pulling him closer towards you. He looked smug as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips sweet and commanding. Your hands went under his shirt, ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, which tensed delightfully under your touch.

Johnny pulled away, his eyes scanning up and down your body, setting you alight with his gaze. “Why don’t you doll yourself up for lunch, huh? I want to show everyone how beautiful you are.”

“Okay,” you nodded, agreeing to his suggestion. He captured your lips again, and you smiled against his lips. “We need to shower, baby. And no funny business.”

“No promises,” Johnny grinned, his eyes twinkling. When he took his shirt off, however, your request of no funny business went completely out the window.

Sunday morning came all too fast, as your weekend with Johnny came to a close. It had been peaceful, relaxing, a greatly needed recharge, and you weren’t quite ready to return to your regular life. Walks through the city rather than through the woodland, and shifts in the bar all week long.

"I wish you didn't have to leave today," Johnny said, pouting as his fingertip traced shapes along your forearm as you lounged on his bed together.

"I know, babe, me too," you agreed. His eyelashes looked long, fanned across his cheeks as he gazed downwards.

"You should stay," Johnny suggested, a hopeful lilt to his voice. "Just another day or two?"

You shook your head at him. "I'm working all week babe, it's easier if I just go home. I can stay again next weekend."

Johnny sighs, an irritated huff, retracting his hand from your arm. "You don't wanna stay with me?" he asked, looking up at you with hurt in his eyes.

"It's not that I don't want to, John, it'll just be complicated. You'll have to give me a lift to work, and it's so far that I'll have to wake up a lot earlier."

"You don't even sound like you're going to miss me," he pointed out. His voice had a tinge of anger and it frustrated you in turn. He was acting so petty - you hadn't seen this immature side of him before.

"Of course I'll miss you, Johnny," you assured him with a roll of your eyes. "But we can see each other next weekend, okay?"

"Whatever," Johnny scoffed.

"Whatever?" you asked incredulously. "Johnny, you're acting like a child."

"Sorry. Sorry I'm going to miss my partner because they insist on leaving me."

You shifted away from Johnny, swinging your legs off the bed and facing away from him. "This is stupid," you muttered.

"I'm stupid?" Johnny exclaimed.

You rubbed your eyes in frustration. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to." Johnny jumped up from the bed, swiftly storming past you and exiting the room, complete with exaggerated stomps and a hefty slam of the door.

“God!” you cussed, in irritation and disbelief. You couldn’t believe he was acting like this. This side of Johnny, bitter and bad-tempered - you couldn’t say you enjoyed it. If anything, his outburst had only made you want to leave more. You cursed the complete and utter isolation of the place. You could hardly leave and catch a bus - you’d get lost if you even tried venturing out into the woods. Johnny was your ride home, and you didn’t want to face him. You weren’t even sure if he’d oblige, if you asked him to take you home.

You stood, scanning through your options, and your feet led you out of Johnny’s room. Down the hall, to the room you were sure belonged to Donghyuck. You knocked on the door, two uncertain taps.

“Yeah?” Donghyuck’s voice called out from within - bingo. You pushed the door open apprehensively. The room was smaller than Johnny’s, though still a decent size. He had a large television mounted on the wall, hooked up to a gaming system that looked rather impressive, to your amateur perspective.

“Oh, Y/N,” he remarked, sounding surprised and pausing his video game. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you prefaced, stepping into his room and closing the door behind you. “Johnny and I… had a bit of an argument. I was wondering if you could give me a ride home?”

“You fought?” Donghyuck asked. “What about?”

You sighed “It’s nothing. Something silly.” You didn’t particularly want to divulge the details to Donghyuck - you didn’t want to end up badmouthing Johnny to his friends.

“Hey, sit down,” he invites you, patting the space beside him, on the end of his bed. “Come play video games with me. Take a minute to calm down.” You hesitantly joined him, taking a seat on the end of his bed. “Think this through, Y/N, it’s probably not a good idea to storm out.”

You picked up the controller Donghyuck gave you, holding it loosely. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Johnny wouldn’t be happy if I left without saying anything.”

“That guy has a temper,” Donghyuck commented under his voice. You felt inclined to agree, after the way he’d acted that morning.

“How do I play?” you asked, examining the controller in your hands. Donghyuck leaned over, running you through the controls and rules of the game. The other boy pressed play, and you were flung into the game headfirst, forced to learn and adapt to the fast-paced course of the game. You didn’t know how much time passed, but by your fourth round of the game, you were laughing and shouting along with Donghyuck, all thoughts of smothering boyfriends erased from your mind.

“Feeling better, huh?” Donghyuck asked, beaming at you.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding. “Thanks.”

“One more round?”

“I should probably go talk to Johnny,” you denied apologetically. “But thank you.”

“Any time,” he smiled, holding out his fist for a bump, which you obliged.

“Bye,” you bid him, before departing his bedroom and moving down the hall. You stood for a moment, outside Johnny’s bedroom door, taking a deep breath and bracing yourself.

When you pushed open the door, you found Johnny already standing in his room. You approached him slowly and with apprehension, speaking in a calm and gentle tone. “Hey, Johnny? I’m sorry for blowing up earlier.”

“It’s okay,” he assured you. His composure surprised you, after the volume of his outburst earlier. He didn’t look at you, nor did he turn around to face you. He stood before his dresser, apparently very focused on something inside it. “Why were you in Donghyuck’s room?”

Your eyes widened a little. He didn’t sound mad, nor did he have the right to be. But something about the situation, or perhaps about his demeanor, made you feel a little jittery. You didn’t know he’d been watching you. “Oh. Um. He was just convincing me to stay.” You cleared your throat, feeling the need to change the subject. “What are you doing?”

“Come look,” he beckoned you. You joined him, peering down into the dresser which he seemed so enthralled by.

You gulped. The open drawer was like something you’d find in a museum; it was lined with crimson velvet, and several vintage-looking pistols were laid out in it. They ranged in size and style, the smallest being the size of your palm and the largest stretching to the length of your forearm. “I… I didn’t know you had guns.” The sight of them made your heart race. If you were being honest, you’d led a rather sheltered life, and had never been in the presence of so many weapons. It made you feel uneasy.

“I don’t use them. They’re only collectibles.” Johnny picked up the smallest gun, and you flinched. He glanced at you, and the look in his eyes was undetectable to you - it wasn’t offence, nor regret, but his eyes definitely glinted with something. The way he handled the gun, you weren’t sure if you bought the ‘collectibles’ line. He handled it with such ease and grace, that it almost seemed like he was born with a gun in his hand. Though it was small, compact, barely the size of your hand - and it appeared even smaller in Johnny’s palm, which dwarfed it - you found yourself stunned and shivery, thinking about the damage it was capable of. Did Johnny collect bullets, too? you found yourself wondering.

You averted your gaze, discomfort taking over, and noticed that your phone lay atop the dresser. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You weren’t sure where, exactly, you had left your phone, but you were certain you hadn’t laid it there. “Hey - my phone-”

“Oh, right,” Johnny said, placing his gun back in the drawer and closing it sharply, twisting a key which sat in the keyhole, locking it away. “Your boss called. He said you don’t have to work tomorrow. That’s great, right? You can stay the night - you don’t have to leave.”

You nodded, feeling a little sick but faking a smile anyways. “Great.” You were tired, physically and emotionally. You felt bad for even thinking it, but you wanted a break from your boyfriend. You wanted some space. He was making you feel uncomfortable, bordering on unsafe, and you found yourself craving the security you felt in Donghyuck’s room.

“Um, I’m gonna take a shower,” you conjured the excuse for an escape.

“Okay,” Johnny accepted it easily, smiling widely. He wrapped his arms around your waist, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t be gone too long, alright?”

“Alright,” you nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he released you. You would stay another night; it wasn’t worth upsetting Johnny over.

You had to admit that you felt a lot better after showering. The warm water had relaxed you, along with the familiar and comforting scent of your shampoo grounding you and bringing your emotions to a calmer, neutral level. You were standing before the bathroom mirror, applying moisturiser to your face, when you heard a click. A turn.

The broken lock.

Before you could act, Donghyuck was before you, staring at you with wide eyes. You let out a yelp, turning around, though most of your skin was hidden beneath your towel.

“Fuck, sorry! I’m so sorry! Don’t tell Johnny about this!” he blurted.

“It’s okay,” you responded, cheeks flushed. You weren’t sure Donghyuck had heard your forgiveness, however; you’d heard him dash away while your back was turned. You laugh awkwardly to yourself at the mishap, before closing the door again and making certain to twist the lock properly. It had only been a silly mistake, you reassured yourself. And he hadn’t seen anything, besides your bare shoulders, which was hardly a great reveal.

You shook your head, before drying and dressing yourself. The poor boy had been so flustered, and you had to admit it was sort of endearing.

“Nice shower?” Johnny asked when you returned to his room, lying on his bed atop the covers.

You nodded, joining him on the bed. “I feel so relaxed now.”

He pulled you close to him, kissing your lips gently. “Jaehyun’s making dinner for everyone, it’ll be ready before long.”

“That’s nice of him,” you murmured, laying your head on Johnny’s shoulder. “Poor Donghyuck, though. We had a really awkward moment in the bathroom, I don’t know if he’ll be ready to face me.”

You felt Johnny tense, his muscles going hard beneath you. “What do you mean?”

“He walked in on me showering. I don’t think he saw much, but-”

Johnny sat up abruptly, causing your head to fall back on the bed. “He fucking what?” Johnny hissed.

“Johnny, it’s fine,” you insisted. “I was wrapped in a towel-”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Johnny cursed, standing.

“Johnny,” you spoke firmly, grabbing his arm in a tight grip. “Stop. I said he didn’t see anything.”

“I fucking hope not,” Johnny growled, sitting down once more. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, stroking your face lightly. His hand was trembling. “You’re my angel,” he said. “I don’t want anybody else seeing you like that.”

“It won’t happen again, okay? I’m all yours, I promise.” You placed your hand on top of Johnny’s, soothing him with your touch. His temper, flaring again. This wasn’t something you liked much about Johnny, and you hadn’t been all that glad to meet this side of him. But, you bargained, nobody was perfect - you certainly weren’t. Besides, you had been ready this time; your firm tone and gentle touch had helped to calm him.

Johnny stood up, rubbing his face with both of his hands. You heard him release a shaky breath.

“Please calm down, Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he said, nodding certainly. “I’m calm.”

“Let’s go get dinner, yeah?” You stood, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, squeezing your hand a little too tightly.

Johnny’s rather sour mood remained all throughout dinner, as evidenced by his clenched jaw and the protective hand he laid on your thigh. His sullen demeanor made him somewhat of a bore to be around, and you found yourself laughing and joking with his friends; you’d be happy to consider Donghyuck a friend, and Mark was hilarious too. Johnny didn’t seem to like this, however. You spent the last portion of the meal in silence, quietly eating and staying close to Johnny’s side.

Even afterwards, as you watched a movie with the group, Johnny refused to relax and let go of his needless worries. Everybody was laughing at the movie, but you couldn’t help but notice that Johnny hadn’t even cracked a smile the whole time. In fact, you didn’t even think he’d been watching the movie; his eyes hardly left you, flitting between your face and your body. As though if he stopped watching you, something horrible would happen. As though he were keeping guard.

He pulled you closer towards him, though there was very little space between the two of you on the couch beforehand. His lips connected with your cheek, before straying down towards your neck. You felt your skin heat up in embarrassment, although all eyes in the room were still trained on the television. Johnny wrapped his arm around your waist, using his strength to lift you onto his lap. You squeaked at the sudden action, earning inquisitive glances from Johnny’s friends, which only fuelled how flustered you were. He held your body close to his, squeezing you. His breath tickled your neck, sending shivers down your spine, before he sunk his teeth into your skin. You hoped your muffled moan went unnoticed, but your eyes were shut tightly so it was unknown to you. You squirmed in Johnny’s lap, thighs clenching together tightly.

In another show of Johnny’s strength, or perhaps just his relative power in comparison to your apparent weakness, he lifted you swiftly. The abrupt movement surprised you, and you gasped sharply.

“Y/N and I are going upstairs,” Johnny announced to the group, and you silently allowed him to guide you away.

“Because,” he continued as you two left the room, “I can take Y/N any time I want.”

“Johnny!” you scolded him, mouth agape with humiliation as his boys hollered in your wake. He ignored your cries of reprimand, scooping you up off your feet with a grin on his face.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, carrying you away to his bedroom. You sighed in fond exasperation, laying your head against his chest. You condemned his announcement of “I can take Y/N any time I want,” but the fact remained true that he could certainly take you then.

Monday morning. You were growing terribly bored of this big, old house in the middle of nowhere. Spending time with Johnny was nice, when he wasn’t baring his angry possessive side. Although you really liked him, you found yourself wanting some space. And so, when you woke up before Johnny, you left his sleeping form behind, pulled one of his oversized sweaters over your head, and set out to explore the enormous house that had become your confinement.

Nobody else was awake, or so it seemed when you ventured downstairs and poured yourself a glass of juice. You felt itchy, agitated. Even when you settled on the couch, the sense of calm you desired simply refused to fall over you. With an agitated sigh, you advanced throughout the house, exploring the ground floor. You had learned that all the bedrooms were on the first floor, and so you’d been wondering where one specific door led. Off the left of the hallway, aside from the kitchen and living area, and the ground floor bathroom.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, as did the floorboards when you stepped through the threshold. The room was dark, though you identified the furnishings of a study when you squinted your eyes. You moved to the far side of the room, drawing open the heavy red curtains thereby illuminating the space and releasing a cloud of dust at the same time. You waved the cloud away, choking.

There was a sturdy desk, littered with boxes full of clutter, accompanied by a rickety chair that looked like it would fall apart if you put any weight on it. You gasped a silent “wow” as you took in the wall opposite the door, lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, crammed to the brim with books of every size. You approached the extensive library, examining the titles. You didn’t recognise anything, apart from a few classics, but it was still an impressive collection. You began to wonder whether one of the boys had inherited the property from an older relative - none of them seemed particularly studious or academic, at least not enough to warrant an assortment of books this great. You trailed a finger along the spines, accumulating yet more dust. The books, much like the room in its entirety, had sat untouched for a long time.

“Boo!”

You shrieked, spinning around with your arms raised in defence, only to sigh in relief and clutch your heart. “Donghyuck! You scared me!”

The boy bent in half, in stitches at the fear he’d instilled in you. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist!” You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter; it was just so infectious. Even minutes later, you were cackling while wiping tears away from your eyes.

“So,” Donghyuck spoke, as his laughter died down. “What are you doing in here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, still smiling. “Just exploring, I guess.”

“I don’t think there’s anything interesting in here,” Donghyuck claimed, looking around at the books.

“Really? It seems like hidden treasure to me.” You peered upwards, at the higher shelves, before standing on your tiptoes and stretching upwards, reaching for an eye-catching book with a golden spine.

“Careful,” Donghyuck murmured, placing a hand on the small of your back to steady you as you strained.

You heard Johnny’s growl, a split second before he entered your field of vision, entering the study and shoving Donghyuck away from you.

“Johnny!” you cried, feeling helpless and out of control as he squared up to the younger man.

Donghyuck had his hands raised in surrender, looking at his friend with concern tainting his expression. “Hey, man, calm down,” he attempted to pacify Johnny.

“Stay away from Y/N,” Johnny yelled, right in Donghyuck’s face

You leapt into action, maneuvering your way in between the pair, palm flat on Johnny’s chest. “Johnny, look at me,” you commanded him firmly. There was a fire in his eyes that you didn’t recognise. It flamed, bright and angry, threatening to burn anything and everything in its path. It scared you, and you resisted strongly against the urge to cower before him.

“Come on, Y/N,” he bit, gripping your forearm tightly. Potentially tight enough to bruise.

“Come on where?” you asked, stumbling as you struggled to keep up. He tugged you out of the room and down the hall, as you tried not to trip over your own feet.

“We’re going for a walk. Put your shoes on,” he demanded, arms crossed, waiting for you to obey.

“I- Johnny- What?” you sputtered. “Can I at least go upstairs and get my coat?”

“No,” he denied flatly. You rolled your eyes, slipping into your shoes. Wasting no time, Johnny pulled you out of the house, slamming the door behind you. You followed after him, your heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty, anxiety, and speechless anger, as he marched you out into the woods, only stopping when you reached a clearing a good distance away from the house.

“Something’s going on between you and Donghyuck,” Johnny stated with hard certainty, as though it were fact. His face was flushed red, veins prominent along his forehead. He looked at you expectantly, but you had no idea what he wanted in response.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly. You couldn’t help but yell at him. “Johnny, what are you talking about? You’re my boyfriend. I like you. But not when you act like this, Jesus Christ!”

Johnny advanced, closing the gap between you, and you flinched when he regained his grip on your arm. “You need to stay the fuck away from Donghyuck, okay?”

“This is such a huge overreaction!” You tried to struggle away from his grip, but he was far too strong, his will iron.

Johnny leaned in, impossibly even closer to your face. “I brought you here, as my baby, to show you off to all my friends,” he hissed. “And you let them get their grubby little hands on you? I thought better of you, Y/N. I thought you were fucking faithful.”

Your heart raced, pounding wildly with how badly you wanted to get away from him. You didn’t think you could forgive him for this outburst. You just wanted to leave. “You’re fucking insane,” you shouted at him.

Johnny looked disgusted at your words. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Me?” you asked incredulously, finally shrugging out of his grasp. “Me, don’t talk to you like that? Listen, Johnny, I’m not your shiny little toy you can show off to your friends. I’m a human being. And you have no right telling me who I can and can’t talk to.”

“Come here.” Johnny was looking at you, his mouth a straight line, his eyes cold.

“Why?”

“Come here,” he repeated, and you hesitantly took a step forward, afraid to disobey him when he spoke in such an angry, demanding voice. Johnny reached out, gripping you by the arm before spinning you round quickly, pulling you close to him. Your chest was pressed tightly against his back, his arm across your chest, locking you in place. You could feel his heavy, ragged breathing.

“I’m not happy, Y/N,” he jeered, whispering into your ear harshly. “You’re my angel, and you’ve upset me. Maybe you aren’t such an angel after all.” You thrashed, but his grasp on you only tightened. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Johnny, please,” you begged, your voice nothing but a hoarse whimper.

“Let me talk,” he hissed at you. “You’ve hurt me. And I need to show you - I need to hurt you back.”

“What are you- let me go!” You continued to flail in his hold, kicking out your feet but failing to do any real damage to him.

“Shh, it’ll only last a second,” he hushed you, his lips touching your ear and sending shivers down your spine. You felt him fumble behind you, and found an opportunity for escape, but it was no use. His grip on you was iron-tight, unrelenting. Johnny jabbed you in the chest, slightly to the left of your sternum, directly over your banging heart. You looked down, choking on a sob.

One of Johnny’s pistols, the so-called collectible item, was pressing into your skin.

“Right in the heart, Y/N. That’s where you hurt me.”

“Johnny, please!” you cried, struggling in vain. Tears blurred your vision, and spit flew from your mouth as you pleaded with him. “Let me go, Johnny, I’m sorry!”

“Goodnight, angel.”

You heard the gunshot before you felt it. In fact, you hardly even felt it at all. There was a bang, your ears rang, and then nothing. You collapsed, falling limp in Johnny’s arms. His angel.

139 notes · View notes

asscandles · 3 years

Note

Hello !!! I really liked ur writing (also the fandoms you do are chef's kiss) and i wanted to request for Mondo, Togami and Fuyuhiko (separately of course) with a very touchy (short 👀 I'm like 5'0") reader, who likes to squish their cheeks, hug them and give lil smoochies, sit or have the boys sit on her lap and other stuff like that? (It'd be cute if it were a mutual crush situation but I don't mind platonic either) Thank you sm in advance if you write it !!

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ!! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ + ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ

Mondo Owada

Honestly, he never thought he would ever be in this position.

Him? The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader? Receiving a constant supply of affection?

Ridiculous. Improbable. Impossible.

Oh, but don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the attention. But after he accidentally shouted at you in embarrassment when you complimented his eyes, reflexively crushed a pencil and consequently showered you with the splintered wood when you ambushed him with a hug, and fled from the premises after you innocuously offered to massage his shoulders… the idea of you sticking around in his life seemed unfeasible.

But here you are.

It doesn’t take him long to grow accustomed to the attentiveness and devotion you always treat him with.

“So, we should close off this area and tighten our control around this neighborhood. Oh, and maybe--”

“Uh, sir? What’s… um… What’s..?” One of his men tentatively pointed to where you were clinging to Mondo’s back, legs constricted around his waist and arms looped around his neck, blinking blankly at the man standing before you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mondo didn’t even flinch. “Anyway, as I was saying--”

Mondo really doesn’t mind when you cling to him in public. In fact, he appreciates the warmth of your body and the unexpected sense of security that holding your hand gives him.

But, he starts to draw the line when you stand in front of him while he’s sitting, smiling sweetly as you squish his cheeks and giggle about how adorable he is. He always flushes a florid shade and averts his eyes from yours. He would never tell you, but whenever you do that, he feels so defenseless, something that the rest of his crew should never know about.

That’s why he tells you to keep such intimate actions private. When you two are alone, you can squish his cheeks and pepper his face with kisses as often as you want. You understand this, and you’re always ecstatic whenever you walk in on him somewhere he’s alone.

You’re so short he loves it omg.

He thinks that watching you struggle to reach his face with your lips is so funny. He will often poke fun at you by either pretending to not see you or lifting his chin even higher. When you finally give up and try to storm away with a huff, he captures you in his arms and lifts you off the ground while you grumble indignantly.

Okay, but when you press yourself against him and wrap yourself in the loose fabric of his jacket so that it covers both of you? BITCHHH he melts.

Due to your short stature, you often find yourself seated upon his shoulders. At first, Mondo was taunted by his friends for quote-on-quote “having his head buried between your thighs,” but Mondo easily dismissed their teasing. He knew that your intentions were nothing less than pure…

Even if he initially was nervous and sweaty at the idea of being so… so close to you.

Mondo always treated you as if you were made of glass. Since you’re so small and he’s so muscular and tall, he always feared that a single bump or scratch would absolutely eviscerate your bones and pulverize your internal organs. For a while, he had been worried that he would forget about his own strength and accidentally hurt you. So, it did take him a little longer to reciprocate your affectionate.

That being said, he nearly flipped his shit when you nonchalantly asked him to try sitting in your lap. His brain was pumping out ideas at ninety miles an hour, but his lips could only communicate half of them, leaving him stuttering and nearly choking on his saliva. He was certain that he would crush your body beyond recognition if he tried.

No way. No. No. Absolutely not.

He’s cool with having you seated on his lap, though. In fact, he even encourages it. Having such a stunning gem to show off to his men during meetings stokes the flames of confidence within him, often resulting in a shit-eating grin and a protective hand on your shoulder or around your waist.

You get unlimited access to Mondo with his hair down, you lucky bitch.

You’re absolutely bewitched with how soft his hair is as it slips through your fingers like rivulets of water, the opposite of how it feels when it’s gelled into his usual hairstyle. You spend a lot of time combing your fingers through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. Mondo finds it extremely relaxing, and he often comes to you whenever he has a headache or needs an extra push that will lull him to sleep.

Byakuya Togami

Before you appeared in his life, he had never been subjected to genuine love and sentiment. In his world, it was either surpass or be surpassed. Mercy was not an option, and competition was all he knew. As a result, he views everyone around him as inferior and lesser creatures.

When you first started to show kindness to him, he thought that you were merely pitying him because he spent so much time by himself. This led to him holding you at an icy distance and shooting scathing remarks in your direction.

However, you were steadfast in your determination to make Byakuya a part of your life. It took some time, but soon enough, you had earned a place in his heart.

He wished that he didn’t know how it was possible for you to have become such an essential part of his life, but he did. No matter how many times he told you that you were annoying, a distraction, or disgusting, it was clear that you were absolutely unaffected by it. You knew that his dislike of you wasn’t personal. Your tenacity is what caused his harsh words to dissipate in his throat and him to surrender to the prospect of developing a relationship with you.

You were strong, and he understood that now.

It definitely takes him a long time to accept your clingy nature, and even then, he sometimes feels suffocated by the surplus of affection.

It doesn’t mean that he completely brushes you off. It just means that you have to be more sparing with your ministrations.

He sees nothing wrong with allowing you a quick hug or to hold his hand in public. If anyone says anything about it, he will deadass act like nothing is happening. He knows that if he acknowledges it, the chances of him becoming openly flustered will skyrocket.

He would never be able to live it down.

Anything else you would like to do to him, he prefers to keep it private.

Wow, that sounds suggestive.

Whatever, let’s proceed.

He’ll gripe and complain about you being heavy, but he never pushes you off or directly tells you to get off when you burrow your way beneath his arm and curl into his side while he reads. He’ll just sigh and settle his arm around you with the tiniest, most discreet smile.

He can’t help but chuckle to himself when you remove his glasses so that you can wear them instead. His chuckle flourishes into a genuine laugh when you promptly yank them off, your stomach churning in protest of your warped vision.

When you hold his hand in private, you pay a lot of attention to his fingers. You toy with them, marveling at how strong they are despite their slender appearance.

So, kisses are a thing.

“What was that?”

“Uh, a kiss.”

“Revolting… Do it again.”

A common thing, actually.

You plant kisses everywhere that you can: his fingertips, his cheeks, his shoulders, the back of his hand, his nose. He never fails to blush red as a rose, often pulling away and pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

If you want him to complain in mock disgust, press a sloppy, prolonged kiss right in the center of his forehead.

If you want him to squirm, brush the softest kiss you can manage to either his collarbone or the shell of his ear. Biiiitchhhh…

ANYWAY, THAT’S NOT THE POINT--

Surprise, surprise. He loves poking fun at your height. How shocking. How absolutely unbelievable.

Like Mondo, he finds amusement in watching you balance on your tiptoes as you try to kiss him. You, however, combat his devious snickering by seizing his crossover tie and yanking him down to your height, catching him off guard. Then, all he can do is inwardly grumble about his blunder while you press a kiss to the corner of his lips

He once actually sat on you to trap you after you tried (and failed) to tickle him. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh gleefully and wrap your arms around his waist to anchor him to you. Since you were enjoying what he deemed a punishment, it was no longer pleasurable for him. He finds it embarrassing to voluntarily sit on anyone’s lap--let alone the lap of someone remarkably smaller than him. He sees it as a role of submission. Need I explain more?

He won’t complain if you sit on his, though. Well, I lied. This bitch complains about everything. It’s more like… he won’t reject you if you end up on his lap.

But about a half hour into whatever the hell this “cuddling” thing is, Byakuya discovers that the combination of your weight and body heat is an interesting catalyst for the onslaught of fatigue that he’s been procrastinating for the longest time.

You happen to doze off first. But upon awakening, you notice that Byakuya’s head is resting against yours, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. His book is closed beside him.

Ngl, you thought he was actually going to rock your shit the first time you squished his cheeks. His frosty glare was enough to make you draw back in shock, but it soon disappeared, accompanied by a sigh from him.

“You have one more opportunity to do that. Don’t waste it.”

Oh, you definitely don’t.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu

Someone is???? Smaller than him???

!!!!

That one inch of height makes him feel so powerful omfg.

Because of his job, he would rather keep any kind of affection hidden behind closed doors. The only people who he would let PDA slide around are those in his immediate circle, like his family, Peko, and whoever else serves directly under him.

He just wants to keep you safe, and he feels that the best way to do that is to not make it known that he has a soft spot for you.

You smile at the way his aloof, callous demeanor switches to a gentler, more amicable one when he sees you waiting for him to finish whatever job he’s been tasked with. His perpetual scowl melts away, the wrinkles of irritation blemishing his forehead smooth, and his distrusting, narrowed eyes round with an almost childlike, innocent delight.

You enjoy the latter side of him so much that it isn’t uncommon for you to cling to his waist and drop like dead weight, forcing him to drag you with him across the floor if he wants to return to work.

“Hiko… You can’t leave..!” You whine. “I’ll miss you..!”

“I’m sorry…” He huffs, taking another step while you’re dragged behind him like some ragdoll. “But I have things I need to take care of!”

You eventually sink into a heap on the floor when he reaches the door, making a half-hearted attempt to hold on to his ankles.

He chuckles and squats down in front of you. “I’ll be back later.” You sit up and sharply turn your head away with a pout. He gently yet firmly seizes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing you to look at him. “Promise.” His eyes are gentle, but you know he’s serious. You reluctantly release him.

“Okay,” you mumble. “Please, be safe.”

You know the, “When I was your age…” thing?

Yeah, Fuyuhiko does that shit. But, he does, “When I was your height…” instead.

A fucki.ng pO w e R trip.

He really likes the feeling of having you on his lap. It makes him feel like he’s actually capable of offering security to someone. Bonus points if you straddle his lap and hug him close in return, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Back-hugs? Back-hugs.

The first time you snuck up on him and embraced him from behind, he almost knocked you tf out. But over time, he’s gotten used to it. That doesn’t mean you don’t manage to catch him off guard from time to time. Feeling him jolt and hearing him yelp in shock when you wrap your arms around his waist never fails to make you laugh. One time, you laughed so hard that your legs gave out and you tumbled to the ground, accidentally dragging him with you.

Whenever he’s stressed, kisses always seem to be the cure. Sprinkled across his cheeks, tracing the edge of his jaw, following the shell of his ear, pressed to his fingertips--you name it. Whatever you have to offer, he’s more than happy to let you have your way and shower him with love.

You pay special attention to his freckles. Whenever he’s had a taxing day, you vow to kiss each and every freckle on his face. When you’re lulling him to sleep with his head in your lap, you smooth a feather-light fingertip over his cheeks, playing connect-the-dots with his freckles.

But there are just some days where he needs to be the baby, y’know? On those days, he likes laying with his face pressed into your stomach and his body curled into your embrace. You watch over him lovingly, tracing the designs shaved into his hair with a curious finger and slowly massaging his scalp.

He needs reassurance every now and then, verbal or otherwise. You are always more than willing to oblige, filling whatever role he needs at the moment.

He always takes necessary precautions, such as locking the doors and drawing the curtains, before he allows himself to strip his soul bare and lay all of his impurities before you. This is a side of him that no one else must know about. Otherwise, his reputation would take a massive blow.

Speaking of “baby,” it’s no secret that Fuyuhiko positively despises his baby face. You, however, adore it. You like to squish his cheeks and coo about how cute he is. He never resists you, and will even play along by puckering his lips at you if he’s in a good mood. It doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t like his face, but if you seem to be fond of it, then maybe it’s not all that bad.

But if anyone else even thinks about touching him in such a manner, then that’s it.

Their ass is grass.

246 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 3 years

Text

something part 3--calum hood

A/N: This is it! The final piece! Thank you for bearing with me while I took you on this rollercoaster of emotions and for being so kind while I took my break. Much love💕

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: drinking, mentions of smoking weed, dealing with heartbreak, sexual situations

Part one || Part two

***

Five months have gone by and Calum tried to push the idea to publicly date Missy away as best he could. The guys even tried to help, but inevitably he was forced to say yes. Calum’s reading over the itinerary he and Missy have to follow over his morning coffee. He takes a sip remembering when she was brought in to discuss the arrangements. It was the Monday following the best and worst weekend of his life with Y/N.

Calum’s body language is screaming ‘leave me the fuck alone I’m pissed’ as he sits slouched in the chair, arms folded against his chest and his hands in fists. His facial expression mirrors a rock, hard and unforgiving as Missy walks in with her manager and the band’s PR liaison. He watches her with hard eyes take a seat next to him, Calum purposely shifts his chair far away from her. She frowns slightly then smiles politely to the rest.

Calum listens as the team discusses the arrangement. How it will benefit both the band and up the ante on her modeling career.

“To be tied with one of the most desirable bachelors will increase magazines wanting to feature you,” Christina the liaison explains excitedly. Calum can’t help but snort.

“Pair her with Styles’ then, he’s more notorious than I am,” Calum grumbles.

“We couldn’t get in contact,” Missy’s manager says, her voice clipped as she narrows her eyes at Calum. “It will boost record sales for your music—”

“And we want the first single to be the love song, ‘Through the Dark.’”

Ashton, Michael, and Luke’s heads whip to Calum who has become even more outraged. It can’t be that song; he wrote that about Y/N.

“With the new romance rumors and the song, it will be a hit in no time, probably surpassing the charts of Ariana Grande and Styles combined.”

“No, we’re not having that be the single,” Ashton tries to dissuade the agreement that neither member of the band was a part of.

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t written about Missy,” Calum says. His voice is as monotonous as his face. From the corner of his eye, he sees Missy look at him with a quizzical look.

“So what? No one will know except the people in this room. The relationship will last about eight months, until the album is officially released, and touring starts. You’ll inevitably break up because Missy will be too busy modeling around the world and you gentleman will also be touring. Everybody wins.”

There’s grumbles amongst the band, Calum’s jaw clicks in anger. He turns his gaze to the window, sees the clouds rolling in as his private life is being scheduled like he’s some sort of robot. He closes his eyes thinking of Y/N, and how she looked in that flower crown and then how she looked with the petals scattered in her hair like she was some type of goddess. Then he sees her with tears in her eyes.

“Calum?”

He opens his eyes and turns at the sound of his name. It’s just him and Missy in the conference room. He’s getting really tired of hearing his name if it’s not from Y/N’s lips. She moves a little closer to him in her chair, an apologetic look on her face.

“Kind of surprised ‘fake dating’ actually happens. I’ve heard rumors and look, they’re true.”

“Imagine that.” He rolls his eyes.

Missy feels the iciness in his tone, and she tries again.

“Look, this is weird for me, too. It was all my manager’s idea which is insulting because if I need a fake boyfriend to get more modeling gigs then her faith in me isn’t all that great. I don’t think of you that way—”

“Your kiss at my party said otherwise.”

“I was drunk, I’ll kiss anyone. And…all right, maybe I did have a crush on but when that girl—”

“Y/N?”

“Right, her. When Y/N showed up and I saw the way you looked at her…I couldn’t compete with that. I don’t want to come between you two.”

“Too late.”

“What happened? Maybe I could talk to her—”

“I don’t really feel like talking about it, Missy, all right? She’s not even talking to me, so I highly doubt she’d talk to you. The woman of my dreams ended things before they even began, and I couldn’t even tell her I love her.”

Missy’s quiet for a moment then offers a kind smile.

“Sounds like you want to talk about it a little….”

He pushes away from the table in a huff then stops with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll play this act if it helps you in some weird, twisted way but it means nothing to me. We’ll do all the proper pap shots and appearances but no physical contact whatsoever. Those are my limits.”

He storms out as he hears a quiet ‘okay’ and the guys are waiting for him down the hall. They try to reach out for him, but Calum continues walking.

Calum looks down at his notebook, sketches and doodles of flowers are scattered about the page. Their stems and vines looping through the words that are constantly running through his head. He takes a long drink of his coffee, letting the bitterness warm his insides.

After the meeting with management and Missy, Calum called Y/N. He texted her. He knocked on her door. It wasn’t until Crystal told him to give her space did he really back off. He knows Y/N didn’t mean what she said. That night they shared was something special. From how she was so perfect with his untimely manner to how she took care of him while he had allergies from the flowers he picked. And finally, to the way they connected.

The radio in his car is still broken, but he doesn’t listen to music anymore, he can’t because it reminds him of Y/N. Everything reminds him of her.

It’s not like Missy is a bad person. She’s actually become a good friend to Calum and respected his boundaries he set up for their ‘relationship.’ The only touching that happens is by her with her hand holding onto his arm, and even that is just for pictures. No hand holding, no hugs, no kisses.

She’s gaining the hype her manager wanted and Calum has remained off social media as soon as it started. When he’s not rehearsing with the guys or doing PR with Missy, Calum’s secluded himself to his home and music room all while being viewed like a goldfish in a bowl.

So, he writes. He writes about flowers in hair, flowers pressed between bodies and flowers held together by a chain. He also writes about strawberries. He hasn’t eaten one since he kissed her last.

Y/N’s been keeping herself busy, well, as much as she can. Everywhere she goes she’s reminded of Calum. Especially when she opens her closet and sees the small wooden box she placed his bouquet of flowers and flower crown in. She couldn’t find it in herself to throw them away.

That first week after what happened with Calum she spent it crying and listening to sad music. Her heartbreak had her rethink of past moments with Calum. All of the ‘what if’s’ are now ‘will nots.’ Which is way too close to ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ for her liking hidden in the petals of the flowers.

She ignored his calls and texts.

The first time she saw them together was a month after the whole ordeal. She thought she was in a good place and as she was scrolling through Instagram on her lunch break she saw the first picture. Calum and Missy were walking along the pier going in and out of shops. They were wearing sunglasses and Calum didn’t really show much emotion but if he knew paps were around, he never did.

What Y/N zeroed in on was Missy’s hand on Calum’s arm.

Her heart fell into her stomach and she closed the app without even reading the caption. She deleted her Instagram and Twitter apps that day.

When she got home she opened the box of flowers, their scent mixed in with the cedar wood twisted her heart. Very delicately, she lifted the bouquet from the box. Calum’s chain was still wrapped around the now dry, frail stems.

She should throw them out. She almost did. She couldn’t. The dried flowers were the only reminder that what happened between her and Calum was real. That it actually happened. How could she let that go? Even if he was the one that got away and kept getting away?

“You did this Y/N,” she muttered to herself placing the flowers back in the box. “You made him leave before you could get attached.”

The next day there was a knock at her door. Not expecting anyone she peeked through the curtains and saw it was Ashton with a pizza box and a plastic bag.

“Ashton…what are you doing here?” she asks upon opening the door.

“I come bearing gifts of the heartbreak kind,” he grins sheepishly holding up the box and bag.

“Is that a champagne bottle I see in that bag?” she asks seeing the slender neck and gold foiling.

“It is. And caramel ice cream.”

“All right. You can come in,” she allows stepping aside so he can enter.

“So,” he sighs falling heavily against the couch. The pizza box is open on her coffee table, he has a glass of water while Y/N is holding onto the bottle of champagne. His hazel eyes take her in, “how are you?”

“That’s a loaded question,” she scoffs pressing play on the Marvel movie. She decided on Infinity War. “It’s been a month, so you think I’d be okay. I was told that however long you were with someone, that’s how long it takes to get over them divided in half. So, if you’re with someone for a year, you should be over them in six months. Calum and I were…’together’ for a day so it should have been twelve hours, right? But nope.”

She takes a long chug of the champagne until it makes her eyes water from the bubbles. The sweet nectar bites at her tongue and teeth.

“Who told you that math?”

“An old boss of mine,” she shrugs.

“Well, it’s stupid as shit. There’s no time limit for how you fall for someone just as there’s no time limit for you to lose feelings. You have feelings when you have them.”

“We went on one date, Ashton. I shouldn’t be this bent out of shape over that.”

“Hey,” he pinches her shoulder affectionately until she looks at him. His face softens. “You and Calum always had something between you. From an outside perspective, I get why you both danced on that line between friends and something more. You’ve both been hurt and there was always something in the way.”

“Or someone,” her eyes drop at the thought of Missy. Then she thinks of the photo she saw of them and rubs at her eyes, so the tears won’t come.

“My point is,” he stresses grabbing hold of her hand, “you’re allowed to feel hurt and sad and angry.”

“I’m trying so hard to not feel that way all the time, but it…it’s so consuming sometimes.”

“I know. Before you drink the whole bottle, eat some pizza, we’ll watch the movie and we can talk some more, okay?”

About halfway through the movie Y/N’s hugging the ¾ full bottle against her chest as a comfort object. She never drinks her sadness away, she knows how dangerous that is, but it feels nice to have her head not feel so full because all her thoughts are tumbling out to Ashton. His arm is around her shoulders in comfort as she leans into him.

“You always thought there was something between us?” she asks.

“I didn’t think, I knew.”

“What’s the difference?” she stares at him quizzically; the bubbly made his words confusing. Ashton smiled at her response.

“He’d always tell me how he wanted to ask you out. He’d ask if you were coming to any dinner or party we had. But he was scared to ruin your friendship and in my opinion, I think it scared him how close you two got so fast.”

“Hmph,” she slumps against the inside of his arm.

“Your song played while we were driving that night, you know.”

“Yeah? Which one?”

“Drive,” she giggles at the comedy of it all. “He gave me wildflowers with his chain around it and bought me a flower crown.”

“It sounds like a great night.”

“It was! But then he got sleepy cause he was allergic to the flowers, then he passed out on me. But I liked it…” she takes the last sip of her champagne then pouts that it’s empty.

“One is enough for you,” Ashton chuckles placing the bottle next to the pizza box. He settles back next to her and they watch the movie for a moment.

“I saw their picture today,” she says somberly. “I know it’s fake. But they’re both a catch…so it’ll be no surprise that it’ll become real.”

“Y/N—”

“It happens all the time Ash,” she shrugs. “I’m the person before everyone’s happy ending.”

“That’s not true. Look at all you and Calum have been through together. This damn arrangement is a roadblock for sure, but you two are the final drive.”

“That…kind of makes sense. I can’t tell,” she shakes her head.

“It’d make sense a full champagne bottle ago,” he mutters but she hears him.

She nudges him in the ribs playfully until they’re both laughing.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says and moves down the hall.

Ashton checks his phone to see Luke is trying to console Calum, too. It was hard for him to act with Missy today. Luke reports that Calum has had only one drink but is smoking a lot of weed to help clear his head and wants to drive to Y/N’s house.

When Ashton has finished replying to keep an eye on him, Y/N is standing next to the couch. He looks up at her to see she has her arms wrapped around herself, her lower lip caught between her teeth, but he hears the quick gasps of her sobs.

“I really hate this, Ashton.”

“C’mere,” he opens his arms to her and hugs her tightly.

“It’s really hard being lonely.”

She cries into his shirt, finding comfort in his embrace and friendship.

Y/N’s found a good friendship with Max from work. Nothing romantic at all, but he makes sure they do a lot of fun things together. It’s been almost five months since that night with Calum and when Y/N comes across a photo of him and Missy together, Max is there to take her to the beach or a movie to distract her mind.

Now when she sees photos of them it doesn’t make her go in her closet to look at the wilted flowers. It’s still a sting in the thorn of her heart but it’s more bearable. The first single off their new album was ‘Through the Dark’ and it made her cry. Max found her laying on the floor of her room with it playing on a loop, the box of flowers unopened but lying next to her. He laid next to her and held her hand as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She’s meeting up with Max at his place for lunch and she was craving the chicken Caesar sandwich from the bistro on the pier. It wasn’t until she saw her that Y/N remembered this is a favored spot for Calum and Missy to be spotted and there she was. Standing off the side of the counter looking gorgeous in a spring dress.

Y/N tried to keep her head down as she ordered.

“And what’s the name?” the cashier asks.

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Y/N? Oh, it is you!” Missy says suddenly next to her.

“Got it this time, thanks. We’ll call you when your food’s ready.”

“Thanks,” Y/N mutters. She takes a deep breath and turns to Missy. “Hi.” She looks around the shop expecting to see Calum and trying to prepare herself to come face to face with him.

“He’s not here,” Missy says quietly glancing around the shop as well then grabs Y/N’s wrist pulling her to the far end of the sandwich showcase. “He’d actually hate me for even talking about this…and to you but…I’m so sorry. For everything. My manager came up with this PR stunt.”

“You don’t have to explain, I get it’s for publicity,” Y/N tries to get away from this situation as quickly as possible while also keeping herself together. Her neck is warm, and her breathing has accelerated in a slight panic.

Missy grabs her wrist again but pulls her into the women’s bathroom. Y/N’s affronted at the boldness of Missy’s actions.

“It is all publicity, I swear! I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Calum but he’s miserable. We’re friends now and all he talks about is you. How funny you are and kind you are. He really misses you,” Missy continues with a frown.

Y/N sighs. She really does seem nice but she’s still keeping her guard up. How could she not?

“He really cares about you, Y/N.” Missy stresses squeezing Y/N’s hand for emphasis.

“Missy, look. I appreciate you telling me all this. You… you actually seem really nice and genuine which makes it that much harder for me to dislike you.”

“I get that,” Missy nods her head, “but he really, really cares about you.” Her eyes grow bigger each time she said really, and Y/N gives her a confused look.

“Yeah…you um…you said that?”

“No, he…ugh he’s going to hate me, but he loves you. ‘Through the Dark is about you. He told me you’re the girl of his dreams when we met the Monday after his party. I’ve felt horrible all this time.”

Y/N stares at Missy while she processes what she just heard.

“When did he tell you that again?”

“His party was Friday, and we met that Monday to discuss the logistics of this stupid ploy. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for kissing him in front of you! I was drunk, I’ll kiss anyone, and I told him I did have a small crush on him but when I saw the way he looked at you it went away. I swear!”

“He really said he loves me?”

“Yes! When we’re not out getting photographed he’s always writing in his notebook and drawing flowers in it. Not that I’ve read anything,” Missy adds in a rush. “It’s just over his shoulder I saw it a couple times before he closed it.”

“Yeah but that was months ago, I’m sure he’s already caught feelings for you.”

“No, he hasn’t. Trust me. He’s become more like a brother to me, honest. I’ve been trying to force him to talk to you and our ‘contract’ is up in a few months anyway for the album release. I want to break if off early publicly so you can finally be together but he’s so stubborn he won’t.”

Y/N laughs lightly at how fast Missy talks. She’s not sure if it’s out of keeping this all to herself for so long or if that’s really how she is, talking a mile a minute.

“Thank you for telling me this, Missy. I…I can’t believe I’m telling you this since we don’t really know each other but I love him, too. I’ve loved him for so long but I’m the one who pushed him away. I’m the one who told him to do this deal with you because he and I only had one night together,” Y/N explains.

Missy’s eyes widen and she squeals in joy. “You love him too?! Oh, this is great. I’ll arrange for you two to meet up and—”

“Missy, Missy! No, no don’t do that. It’s been too long,” Y/N shrugs. “I doubt he’d want to see me.”

Missy plants her feet on the ground firmly, her face turning very serious very fast. Y/N’s a little taken aback at the fierceness in her gaze.

“Do you want to be with him?” she asks.

“Um..yes.”

“And you love him?”

“Yeah…”

“Then let me help you fix this, please. It’s the least I can do for coming between you when it wasn’t my plan to do so in the first place.”

Y/N takes a deep breath. She’s really starting to like Missy; she has a good heart.

“Okay. How can you help?”

“They’re all planning to go to the Invisible House for a week. I can’t go because I have a shoot to do in New York, but Ashton told me that Calum will be there a couple days before they all arrive.”

Y/N mulls it over, her mind thinking of ways to make it up to him. To apologize. To make him realize how sorry she is and how special he is to her. That despite all the hurdles and messes they’ve been through, that something they have is meaningful.

Then, she gets the perfect idea.

“Do you know when he’s going to be there?” Y/N asks and Missy smiles.

“I know all the details, Y/N.”

The drive to the Invisible House is pretty boring without his radio working so he hums to himself as he drives. Calum’s glad he decided to head there a few days before the rest of the group shows up. The pictures are immaculate and he’s excited to try out the hundred-foot pool.

He texted Missy when he was leaving, and she responded with an encouraging text in return.

‘Have fun! Let me know how everything goes 😉’

He’s confused by the winky face but appreciates it all the same. He’s glad to have her as a friend.

When he arrives at the building it’s dusk, the stars are just dusting the sky and the house is a glowing violet in the desert air. He stares at it for a moment, taking in the beauty of the panes of glass, breathing in the cool desert night. If they were all here a year ago maybe Red Desert would have been Purple Desert.

He shakes his head in disbelief. He’s starting to sound like Luke.

He grabs his belongings, two suitcases and a duffel bag and makes his way to the entrance. Ashton and Michael will be bringing the instruments for a jam session, so he didn’t pack his bass.

Once the door is unlocked, he’s mesmerized by the space before he hears music playing. Was that supposed to be playing? He sets his things by the counter and walks further in. The pool is lit up in a light blue and purple with glowing white lotus flowers floating on the water.

There’s flower petals beneath his feet as he walks the length of the pool. It’s a sweet aroma that fills his nose. Then he panics and thinks Michael has this set up for Crystal. He does not want to walk in on them having a private moment, but that’s hard to do in a glass house.

When he’s at the halfway point of the pool, the soft music becomes a bit louder and he recognizes the drum and guitar chords of Something by The Beatles. His mouth goes dry as he comes to the living area at the end of the pool to where Y/N is standing.

There’s petals on the carpet and she’s holding a white flower in her palm with a flower crown on her head. He’s at a loss for words.

“Hi,” she welcomes quietly.

“Hi…what are you doing here?” he wishes he didn’t ask such a dumb question.

“I should have rehearsed this beforehand what I wanted to say but I had to make sure this was all perfect before you got here. Um, I’m here for you. I know it’s been so long, and this is all my fault in the first place. Pushing you away and I thought I was protecting myself.”

She takes a step forward.

“I’ve been a mess without you, Cal. I miss you, so much it hurts. I think of you all the time, and that night we spent together. Your necklace is still wrapped around the flowers you gave me and that’s what made me think of doing this,” she gestures to her flowers on display all around. She takes another step forward. Closer to the step of the living area, closer to Calum.

“We’ve had our fair share of messes with each other. And it’s my fault for the last one so it’s my responsibility to rectify it. I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, how much that night meant to me.”

Another step forward and Calum is reminded of that night in his room. How he came to her, now he’s the one on the receiving end. He watches her with bated breath, and he knows she’s nervous (like he is) by the way she’s playing with the white flower in her hand.

“And the more I thought about the messes we’ve been through it made me think of the Lotus flower. It grows through the mud but when it breaks through, it’s this vibrant and full flower,” she takes two steps and is right at the edge of the step. She holds up the flower.

“And it’s like we’re the flower. We’re growing through the mud and I called it quits before we really bloomed. And…” she takes a shaky breath then laughs nervously, “this sounded romantic in my head but now it sounds super cheesy. But when I heard you were drawing flowers it made me feel like we were still connected.”

She doesn’t say anything more and neither does Calum. Then, when she looks up at him it all makes sense. What they’ve been through these last several months, that was their mud.

“Can you say something?” she whispers, “I’m starting to feel like an idiot and that this was a really stupid idea—”

He lifts her up to his level connecting their lips together. He brings her against him, and she wraps her arms around his neck, their lips getting reacquainted with each other. She tastes like strawberries and smells of flowers and he’s filled with bliss. He feels whole again.

“I love you,” he gasps when they pause to catch their breath. “I should have said it months ago, but I was scared. I thought it was too soon.”

“I love you, too. I’m so sorry for what I said that day. I wish I didn’t—”

He silences her with another kiss.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I understand why you did it, sweetheart,” he cups her cheek and gazes into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have walked away like I did.”

“We really are a mess,” she laughs brushing his curls from his face.

“A beautiful mess,” he corrects sucking a kiss from her lips then holds her against him in a tight hug. He never wants to let go.

“Was this too much?” she asks moments later.

“No, it was perfect, thank you for doing all of this for me. I’ll be honest,” he stands up straight to look at her, “I thought I was walking in on Michael and Crystal.”

Y/N laughs and continues laughing until Calum kisses her and she’s left gasping.

“How about we try out the pool?” he mumbles.

They spend a good forty-five minutes in the pool. Soft touches and kisses are exchanged until they reconnect as one. They’re surrounded by the glowing flowers and the ripples they create from their movements. Words of love are spoken and moaned, echoing throughout the space.

They transition to the bed that is also covered in flower petals. Calum kisses down the length of her body, his lips ghosting over her core. Their eyes lock as he attaches his mouth between her folds, his tongue swirling around her bud.

Her legs squeeze around his head on their own accord as she’s vibrating with pleasure. The moans are continuous as he works her over into her second orgasm of the night. When it surpasses, she’s giggling quietly as Calum peppers kisses to her thighs.

“Wow…”

“That good, huh?” he remarks, his lips smacking against her skin bounce off the walls.

“Yeah but…” she rises up on her elbows to look down at him. “Is that all you got? You told me you’d make me cum eight times when we were in your bathroom. Or was that just talk?”

“Oh, you want to be a little sass, huh?�� he bites down on the fleshy part of her thigh. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” she smirks.

“Because now I’m going to make you cum ten times.”

“Okay, Cal, I was just jo—OH!” She falls back against the bed as she’s already filled with intense pleasure.

Suffice it to say, Calum did make her cum nine more times. The overstimulation and her noises got him riled up and he had to be close to her again. He made love to her slowly and tenderly. He gave her gentle kisses and she molded to him.

Before she fell asleep he was stroking her face after she drank some water, he really exhausted her.

“How did you know I was going to be here?”

“I ran into Missy at the bistro I love. She explained everything,” she replies sleepily. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open. “I like her, she’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“I think she and Max would get along,” she yawns snuggling closer to him.

“I’ll take your word for it. You can go to sleep you know.”

“I want to keep talking to you,” she squeezes his lower back.

“We can talk all day tomorrow. And tomorrow night. And the next day, and the next…”

“Mmm, that sounds nice,” she smiles closing her eyes. “I love you, Cal.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Two days later the rest of the group arrived, and it was a happy albeit awkward reunion because Calum and Y/N were still naked in bed. They spent their time eating, watching movies, and having sex as much as they wanted. It was perfect but also took a lot out of them.

They were both fast asleep until their names were shouted, and Calum scrambled to cover Y/N up.

“I’m glad to see you, Y/N but I’ll hold off on the hug until you aren’t naked with Cal,” Luke laughs.

“We’ll go bring in the rest of the stuff,” Ashton giggles then winks at Y/N.

“Please tell me this was the only place you had sex,” Michael asks peering at them both with narrow eyes.

“Umm…”

“Ugh!” Michael throws his hands in the air. “You guys better not have left messes anywhere!” he complains walking back towards the main kitchen area.

Calum looks over the wall separating their ‘room’ from the rest of the house and turns to her.

“We’re done with messes, yeah?” Calum grins down at her and she nods bringing his face closer to hers.

“Something great came from the mess,” she agrees and slots her lips with his. They’ll have to be super quiet now.

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lyranova · 3 years

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Children of the Future:

Chapter 10: Finding Maelie

Hi guys! Sorry i haven’t been active here lately, I’m hoping that’ll change soon and i’ll be able to post more for you guys this weekend 🥰! Here’s chapter 10 and I hope you all enjoy! Also if I forgot to tag anyone please let me know!

Taglist: @eme-eleff @crazyclownthanos @jovialnoise @talpup @simpingforthisonedeer @melissa-novachrono @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @bowandcurtsey (i couldn’t remember if you wanted to be tagged or not Aine 😅) @ckjwnnbc

Word Count: 3,216

Warnings: None

———

“ Where was the last place you saw your sister?” Gauche asked as he, Grey, Yami, and Aloys stood outside of the Castle. They had all agreed to help him look for his sister and, of course, it had to be now that he wanted to look for her. The dark haired boy frowned in thought as he tried to remember.

“ Back home. Right as we entered the Time Gate, she was right next to me, but when I woke up she was gone.” He muttered the last part softly as he looked away. Grey walked over and placed a gentle hand onto his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

“ It’s ok, we’ll find her I promise!” She told the boy confidently, Gauche tilted his head slightly, Grey was much more confident and comfortable around Aloy’s then anyone else. Maybe because he was a little timid like her? Or was it because he was her, no, their son?

“ Ok, that gives us almost nothing to go on.” Gauche said with a sigh and the boy glared icily at him.

“ ‘Almost nothing’ is better than completely nothing, y'know.” He grumbled, Yami quickly cut between the two before Gauche could retort.

“ Look, if you two are gonna squabble and bicker I’m going to send you both home. Together. Where you have no option but to speak and spend time together, understand?” Yami threatened, the two nodded but continued to glare at each other. He turned to Aloys.

“ Where did you wake up?” He asked, the boy looked around for a moment.

“ Somewhere deep in the woods. I came through the east side of the Capitol so I’m assuming the East Woods.” He said with a shrug, he wasn’t the best at directions so he easily could have been mistaken, but it was his best guess at the moment.

“ Alright then, let’s start there.” Yami said as he stepped onto his broom. Gauche and Grey did the same and Aloys sat behind Grey on her broom. The four quickly took off into the air and headed towards the East Woods.

“ Captain,” Gauche called as he flew up next to him. “ You know it’s a long shot we’re going to find anything there right? Even if we happen to find the exact spot where the kid woke up.” Gauche pointed out, Yami looked over at him and nodded.

“ I know, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.” Yami countered. Gauche looked away, he knew the Captain was right, even though he didn’t want to admit it. He fell back a few feet and flew a little behind him. Yami shook his head and let a small sigh escape his lips.

So much for getting back home early.

——-

Charlotte looked around the house with a confused frown; where was everyone? She seemed to be the only Captain to have arrived so far, and the kids were nowhere to be seen. She looked down the halls before placing a hand on her hip, where could they be? She looked up as she saw a flash of pink outside the kitchen window. She tilted her head before walking out the side door and heading to what one would consider a backyard. She quickly dodged as a spell went flying past her head.

“ Be careful Josslyn you could’ve gotten someone killed if you don’t learn to watch where you’re aiming!” Hikari shouted, Charlotte frowned as she approached the two girls, were they training?

“ Geez, tone it down Hikari, it’s not like anyone got hurt. Oh hi Captain Suke-, I mean, Captain Roselei.” Josslyn said as she suddenly noticed the blonde Captain approaching them, Hikari turned around and smiled at her ‘mother’.

“ Josslyn, Hikari,” Charlotte nodded at the two before standing in front of them with her arms crossed.” What are you two doing?”

“ Training.” They answered in unison, both girls looked at each other before laughing a bit, they did have the tendency to answer at the same time. Charlotte smiled softly before nodding.

“ I saw, you’re both pretty good. But,” she turned to Josslyn. “ Hikari’s right, you have to make sure your spells are perfectly aimed and well timef, otherwise an innocent might get caught in the crossfire.” Charlotte lightly reprimanded the pink haired girl, who looked away and muttered under her breath before walking away.

“ I’m gonna train on my own for a while.” She threw over her shoulder to the mother and daughter, Hikari went to open her mouth but Josslyn cut her off. “ I’ll be right over there so you can see me, I promise I won’t run off.” She added, Hikari closed her mouth and nodded before turning to Charlotte.

“ Where are the boys?” The blonde asked, Hikari looked around for a moment before her eyes landed on them.

“ They’re over there, by the looks of it Alistar is teaching Ace about what kind of plant that is.” She chuckled and Charlotte laughed a bit as well.

“ He really loves plants doesn’t he?” She asked, she had only known him for less then a day but considering he told her about what all plants the spices in the kitchen had come from and their origins, that was the little information she was able to gather from the white haired boy. Hikari nodded.

“ He does, it’s one of his many quirks. But he doesn’t go on and on about plants all the time, only when he sees one that he feels like telling you a bit about.” She chuckled again, Charlotte tilted her head a bit.

“ He seems like a very nice young man.” She tried to sound casual, but she was digging for information on the two, but only just a little. She quickly shook her head, ‘What are you doing Charlotte?! Their love life isn’t any of your business! You’re starting to sound like one of your girls!’ She scolded herself but she saw the dark haired girl nod in agreement.

“ He is. He’s probably one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, but there’s a little more to him than just that. He’s smart, brave, kind of quiet, and despite all the challenges life has dealt him, he always tries to smile.” She told Charlotte fondly before shrugging a bit. “ He has the second biggest fanclub in the Golden Dawn, right behind his dad, and I tried to get him to go out on a date with a couple of girls from his fan club. But he wouldn’t do it.” She added with a small sigh and shake of her head, Charlotte looked from Hikari to Alistar curiously.

“ Is there someone who has his heart already?” Hikari frowned in thought for a moment before shaking her head.

“ I don’t think so, I’m his best friend, so I would think he would tell me if there’s someone he likes already.” Hikari said, he would tell her right? I mean, after all they’ve been through and all the things they knew about each other, he was bound to tell her if he had a crush on someone? Right? Hikari shook her head quickly before changing the subject.

“ Why aren’t you and my dad together already?” She watched her ‘mother’s’ face turn a bright shade of read and she began to stammer nervously, apparently she wasn’t expecting the question.

“ B-Because,” Charlotte looked away. “ Because I’m not strong enough yet, Yami deserve’s to have a strong capable woman by his side. One that can protect him just like he protects everyone, one that can stand on her own and be his equal in every way. I’m not there yet I’m afraid. But,” she smiled softly before looking at her ‘daughter’. “ I think I’ll get there eventually, it’s just going to take some time and, as Yami put’s it, I’ll need to surpass my limits.”

Hikari smiled, she was proof her mother was right that she would eventually get there. But there was also worry in her smile. She was worried about how her, and her friends, appearance here would affect the timeline. Would her parents still get together like how they did originally? Or would she somehow influence it? She didn’t know, and that made her nervous.

———

Gauche couldn’t help but wonder why him, why did he have to get stuck with Aloys?! The boy seemed to be closer to Grey so why didn’t the Captain send him with her? He couldn’t help but glare as the Captain divided the four of them up when they had arrived at the East Woods, if he didn’t put Grey and Aloys together because they had the same magic type then why didn’t he send Grey to go looking for the girl with Gauche? There was only one logical answer:

He was being punished for earlier, he had to be.

But now that the two were alone he could actually look at the boy. He seemed to be 16, his hair was a dark brown-ish blue shade, he had a similar body type to Gauche but shorter, if Aloy’s was anything like him he’d probably hit his growth spurt soon, he also seemed to be much more quiet now then he was earlier. From what he had seen back at the Castle, Aloys seemed to be nearly identical to Gauche, but now that he had settled down, he seemed to be more like Grey.

“ Stop staring at me old man, you’re making me nervous.” Aloys muttered as he glanced at his ‘father’, Gauche rolled his eyes and looked away.

“ Stop calling me an old man! I’m only 4 years older than you!” Gauche argued, Aloys smirked.

“ Still older.” Gauche growled.

“ The Captain should’ve sent you with Grey, she’s better at dealing with you.” He told Aloys, who nodded.

“ I wish he would have too, that way I wouldn’t have to deal with you old man.” Gauche quickly whipped around to glare at his ‘son’.

“ Momma’s boy!” Aloys turned to look at his ‘dad’.

“ Sister lover!”

“ What did you just-?” Gauche growled dangerously low when Aloys suddenly gasped and took off running past him. “ Hey kid, wait!” He quickly followed after him.

“ This was it!” Aloys shouted as he stood in a small circle of trees, he looked around wildly. “ This is where I woke up! Maelie! Maelie are you here?” He shouted as he walked into the center of the circle. Gauche pulled out the communication device and quickly gave Yami their coordinates.

———

“ You’re sure this was it?” Yami asked as he looked around, they were almost dead center in the East Woods, why had he been dropped here of all places? Hell, how did the kid not get lost in these woods? He watched as the umber haired boy continued to look around the area.

“ Yeah I’m sure, because I thought it was strange that all these trees were in a circle. It’s kind of ominous.” Aloys said with a shrug, suddenly a flock of birds came flying out one of the tree’s and Grey let out a shriek before hiding behind Gauche, who sighed and shook his head.

“ It’s just bird's Grey, and will you please stop clinging to my shirt?” He asked, honestly he didn’t actually mind her clinging to him, but he wasn’t about to let anyone know that. Grey only seemed to cling tighter to his shirt.

“ I-I’m sorry Gauche, b-but this place is just so t-terrifying!” Grey stammered, her eyes shut tightly and her face as red as a tomato. She wanted to go home. This place was much too scary and she didn’t like it at all, but she was somewhat comforted by Gauche’s presence. He always seemed to make her feel safer, even braver at times. Aloys tilted his head slightly as he watched his ‘parents’ but he didn’t comment.

“ It doesn’t look like anyone else was dropped here except you,” Yami said as he crouched down at the ground. “ are you sure you two walked through this ‘time gate’ together?” Aloys snorted.

“ Of course I am, I was holding her hand the entire time.” He explained, the other three frowned, if he was holding her hand, then how did they get seperated? Yami looked at the sky for a moment; it was beginning to get dark, they either had to find the girl quickly or call it a day.

“ It’s getting dark,” Gauche said as he also looked at the sky. “ we’ll have to call it a day for now and search again tomorrow.” Aloys began to quickly shake his head at his ‘father’s’ words.

“ No, No way! We have to find her! She’s only 9 years old, in a new and unfamiliar place! She could be hungry and scared or someone could grab her and take off with her!” Aloys shouted.

“ Yeah, she could be all those things. But she could also be anywhere in this city, or even anywhere in this country! How are you going to be able to find and look for your sister if you can’t see where you’re going because it’s too dark?!” Gauche shouted back, Aloys clenched his teeth and looked away; he knew Gauche was right, they wouldn’t be able to see much of anything in the dark, but she was his little sister, he had to find her. He promised.

“ W-What if it was Marie?” Grey asked softly as she opened her eyes and looked up at the brown haired man, he turned a small shade of pink and looked away. “ If it were her that were missing, wouldn’t you keep searching all the way until morning and beyond if you had to?” She heard him make a small noise in the back of his throat, he knew she was right, if Marie were missing there would be no stopping him until he found her.

Gauche looked at Aloys and saw a familiar, determined look. One he had on his face many times, especially when it came to something, or someone, important to him. He sighed and scratched the back of his head.

“ Fine, we’ll keep looking for the girl. But if we don’t find her by morning then we’ll stop and regroup. Got it?” He asked Aloys, who smiled and nodded in agreement. Gauche looked at Yami. “ Captain, if you need to, you can head back. We can handle this.”

Yami stared at Gauche and Grey for a moment before a smirk made its way across his face. He walked past them and towards where his broom was leaning on a tree.

“ Alright, if you need me you still have the communication device I gave you. So use it if you’re in trouble.” Yami instructed before he stepped onto his broom and lifted himself into the air and flew off into the direction of the shared house.

Though, he had a feeling they wouldn’t need to call for help.

———

Yami landed outside the house with a soft ‘thud’, it was already dark out, a small piece of him hoped that they found the girl and were on their way back. But considering she could be anywhere made him doubt they would be able to find her in one day. He opened the door and, just like this morning, everyone was seated around the dining table getting ready to eat.

“ Oh, welcome back Captain Sukehiro!” Alistar greeted warmly and with a cheerful smile, Yami nodded at the white haired boy before walking towards the other. Hikari turned to face her ‘father’ and she also smiled, Yami blinked a bit, he almost forgot her smile was the exact same as Charlotte’s. He gave her a small smile before he sat next to her.

“ Rough day?” Hikari asked before putting a piece of food into her mouth, Yami looked around the table and noticed everyone was either eating or had just finished and were cleaning up the kitchen. He shrugged.

“ Not too bad I guess. I had to inform everyone about being on the lookout for other kids, and lo and behold, I was called to Julius’s office again for another kid.” He muttered as he poured himself a small glass of wine and took a sip.

“ Zora already told us that,” Charlotte said as she walked in from the kitchen. “ Who was it this time?”

“ Grey and Gauche, their son Aloys attacked the Magic Knights guarding the Castle and of course Julius had to step in. He’s a chip off the old block when he’s pissed.” Yami said with a small smirk, it was amusing that when the boy was angry he acted just like Gauche, but otherwise he was more like Grey. He silently wondered if their daughter was the same way, or if she was the opposite? Hikari quickly put down her fork and looked at him.

“ Aloys is here? Is Maelie here too?” She asked as she turned in her seat, Yami let out a small sigh before shaking his head.

“ She’s lost apparently, Gauche, Grey, and Aloys are still out searching for her.” Yami explained before she suddenly got up and headed straight for the door, with Alistar right behind her. “ Where are you going?”

“ To help them look for her! I can’t believe you left them out there to search on their own!” She said angrily, her father was never this way, he never abandoned someone who needed help!

“ Now wait a minute-.” Charlotte started but was cut off.

“ No I won’t! Why did you leave them to look for her on their own, why didn’t you stay and help them?!” She asked Yami, he stood up and looked at her.

“ Because I trust them.” He answered simply. “ I know they’ll find her and they won’t stop until they do, I gave them a communication device in case they needed me. But I don’t think they’ll need to use it.” Hikari glared at him before turning around and grabbed the door knob.

“ Trusting them isn’t a good enough reason.” She muttered before pulling the door open and being greeted with a purple shirt, one she recognized.

“ Gauche?”

As the dark haired girl’s gaze traveled higher she noticed Gauche was carrying a small girl in his arms, one with dark blue-ish brown hair and wearing a blue and white dress.

He was holding Maelie.

“ See? I told you.” Yami smirked, even from a distance he could see Hikari’s cheeks tinted with pink. Alistar chuckled slightly before patting her on the shoulder.

“ It’s ok, everyones wrong sometimes.” He tried to comfort, but in a teasing way since it was very rare for Hikari to be wrong. She quickly muttered something under her breath as she moved to allow the Adlai family inside. Grey closed the door softly behind them before following after Gauche and Aloys.

“ Where can we put her?” He asked the Captain’s, Yami jerked his thumb to the left.

“ There’s a room where the girls are staying, she can sleep in there for now.” He said with a shrug, Josslyn sighed and stood up from the table.

“ C’mon I’ll show you.” The pink haired girl quickly led them down the hall, Aloys turned around to face everyone.

“ We’ll explain later.” He laughed, he seemed to be much more relaxed and at ease now that they had found his little sister. He turned back around and followed the others down the hall.

———

Sorry the ending isn’t the best, I couldn’t think of how to end it 😅. I might have a small scene where they find maelie in the next chapter but i’m not sure yet 😅. Anyway thanks for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

#children of the future #black clover fanfiction #yami sukehiro #charlotte roselei #gauche adlai #black clover grey #oc; hikari #hikari is not my oc #oc; josslyn #josslyn is not my oc #oc; alistar #oc; aloys #oc; maelie #chapter 10

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sweetbunnykook · 4 years

Text

Only You (8)

Word Count: 12,827 // angst (mention of physical abuse/harm, mention of child abuse/neglect, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of murder), smut (brief mention of cockwarming and masturbation), no fluff

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: I’m so sorry this took FOREVER for me to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please come scream in my inbox so I can scream with you! - 🐰

The red and yellow iron man figurine is snatched away from his clammy little hands, the harsh ridges of the plastic cutting across his palm to leave gashes that burned. Jungkook’s eyes are already glossy with unshed tears as he stares at the beloved toy in her grasp.

“Fucking useless piece of shit!” His mother screams, voice cracking as she throws the plastic figure at the man sprawled on the couch, a small pouch of belly fat pooling over his unzipped jeans. His dark disheveled hair and tattered clothing makes him look older than he actually is, earning a disgusted sneer from the woman. The head of the figurine hits the side of his arm but he simply glares at the child, and then at his wife, before turning away in silence. Iron Man lays on the dirty carpet, feet pulled apart, head dislodged from the neck.

“You think you’re the only fucking man in the world that works!? If I didn’t push out your bastard child, I would’ve left you years ago!”

Jungkook’s face scrunches into a frown, hiccupping as he gasps for air between sobs and hiccups. He knew he shouldn’t cry for the sake of angering his parents further but he couldn’t help it. Catching his mother’s attention, he steps back only for her to yank his small arm through the oversized superhero shirt and drag him across the living room. The child falls onto his knees, unable to help himself as the grip on his arms numbed his little hand in which he held his lunch bag.

“I’m sorry! Mama, I’m sorry! Mama!”

The soggy brown sandwich bag tumbles away from his grasp as his mother drags him into his makeshift room behind the sliding door of a storage unit. The shoebox-sized space is thankfully warm as it’s situated next to the hissing water heater. Jungkook’s mother pushes him onto the futon next to his school bag, empty cartons of milk, and mismatched socks.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking sound,” she spits, glaring down at the shaking boy who’d curled into the yellowed blankets in the corner. “You don’t want to upset mama, do you?”

Jungkook shakes his head, toes digging into the sheets below him. His ears are ringing, but he knew better than to disagree when her eyes become as red as the knitted dragon on his socks. Red means danger, red means silence.

The door slides shut with a bang and little Jungkook shakes and shakes, bent knees knocking into each other as cold sweat forms on his temples. He wipes his moist eyes with the back of his hand and curls into the corner, hunger pains wringing his stomach tight. He struggles to hold in his bladder and cries harder when he tremors once more and his pants turn dark with urine.

The room gets darker, the house falls steadily falls silent, yet there is still no food offered to him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as the only window in the room is nailed shut with wooden boards; only the small amount of sunlight shining between the rotten wood tells him when to sleep and when to dress for school. Looking at the dark gaps, he’s disappointed to find that it’s well past dinner time.

He can hear his parents screaming at each other between bouts of silence, their voices lowering gradually as exhaustion takes over them. He’s glad that at least he’s left alone. When the screaming ends, there is moaning, sounds of flesh against flesh, and silence once more.

They must have forgotten he hasn’t eaten, he thinks to himself as his frown deepens.

Jungkook knows they are most likely asleep but he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the peace – the silence – that he can finally enjoy. If it weren’t for his hunger, he would be perfectly content staying still. He closes his eyes to the world and wishes on the lonely lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that one of his parents will awaken and at least take pity on him to throw the sandwich bag in the room. The roaches might have gotten to it first but he wasn’t in a position to complain.

Wiping away the dried snot on his face with the back of his hand, Jungkook looks up at the spotted roof and imagines a big studio like the one Iron Man has. When he becomes big and strong, he would have a drawer full of chocolates and another one full of clean and cool clothes like his classmates. He would be so successful and so cool that his teachers will fall to their knees and he will never have to do homework again. Even Iron Man will come knocking at his door to spend time with him – that’s how cool he will be.

Despite the growling in his stomach, Jungkook giggles softly. He discards his soiled bottoms away from the futon, being extra careful not to let the wetness touch his backpack, and lets his big shirt fall over his knees. He then rolls over to cushion his head with the back of his backpack. At least in his dreams, he lived well.

Some days are painful but some days should be better, he thinks.

“It’s a miracle you survived,” Taehyung says one day as he hands Jungkook a bigger share of his rice ball. Jungkook rolls the sleeves of his black Busan middle school uniform up to his elbows, knowing the smell will be hard to get rid of if the loose seaweed falls apart in his hands like last time. The cheap tuna Taehyung stuffed it with smelled like gasoline and they made it a habit to hold their breaths as they chew. The mayonnaise at least helps the mouthfuls of fish slide right down their throats. No matter how strange his lunch boxes smelled, Jungkook never complained.

“I hate them,” Jungkook whimpers as he chew, leaning the heel of his sticky palms against the wet boulder beneath as his older friend rubs the tender sores on his neck with a free hand. Several bruises trail down his spine and Taehyung knows there are more underneath the uniform. “I just want to get out of here.”

Their naked feet, exposed under their rolled pants, dangle from the sharp layer of rock and moss protruding from the side of the boulder. The sound of ocean waves drown their voices and they find themselves shouting over its volume. Jungkook jumps slightly when cold water splashes over his toes.

“We’ll go anywhere you want.” Taehyung stretches his neck from side to side to undo the knots, his steel eyes landing on the grains of dry rice rolling down the rock.

Jungkook looks at his dearest friend, truly look at him, and grabs another rice ball from the canteen. He coughs slightly when the tuna goes down the wrong pipe, taking a swing of the water bottle from his opened backpack laying at his feet. It was hard for him to sit still when Taehyung says such things so frivolously. In fact, Jungkook found himself annoyed – annoyed that these fantasies are way beyond his imagination and annoyed that Taehyung might not mean what he says and Jungkook is just waiting around for leftovers like the rice ball in his hands.

Jungkook kicks the side of the rock as he licks his fingers clean, scraping his heel along the ridges back and forth. His bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “You’re going away to med school later too…we might not see each other even when you get to college. It’s like…ten years.”

Jungkook can just imagine it. Taehyung, the miracle from a small town in Busan who surpassed everyone with his razor-sharp intelligence and sly fox charms. He’ll walk up to a podium for a white coat ceremony to attend the nation’s best medical school. There will be cheers and flowers everywhere; he bet even the president will show up for the ceremony because Taehyung will represent the rags-to-riches fantasy everyone wants. He’ll go on to be a surgeon full of pride and joy. He’ll marry a naïve but rich girl from Gangnam who will pity his hardships and they’ll have five children together and live in a penthouse. They’ll live on the top floor where they can look down at the people passing by like they’re nothing but ants.

And as for him, he might still be sleeping in that same storage closet next to the hissing water heater.

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung pushes the half-full canteen towards the younger boy, giving away his share, and wipes his hands on his pants. There are three giant rice balls left and even some pickled radish at the bottom. The food offering doesn’t make the younger boy smile like he usually do, his brain is so full of worries it might explode.

Jungkook shakes his head at nothing. The future seems so, so far away, almost out of reach. He can barely image his life without Kim Taehyung, the only genius the sad little town has produced this generation who ironically became his best friend and caretaker. There’s been rumors that he’d skipped four grades and grew up speaking Cantonese just from watching films. Jungkook hasn’t confirmed these theories himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. He had a future as bright as the stars while Jungkook knew, deep in his heart, that his kind is bound to be in the sewers. He’s forever looking up at the stars that Taehyung can collect without lifting a finger.

“I won’t burden you, Tae. I’m just trouble.”

“You’re not,” he runs his fingers through Jungkook’s dark cocoa hair with his damp fingertips. The younger boy trembles slightly at the feeling, kicking his feet to hide how much he’s enjoying it. “That’s what they want you to believe…but you’re not. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

“N-No, you have to go Tae,” Jungkook puts the rice ball back in the steel canteen set between them and turns, serious all of the sudden. His voice is cracking and his leg shakes up and down as he tries hard to control the rage and grief boiling inside him.

He knows what will happen. When Taehyung leaves, luggage in hand, to whatever top-tier college in the country with a full scholarship, he’ll end his life. He’ll take the kitchen knife and plunge it deep into his heart and bleed out in front of his sad excuse of a mother. His father can join in on the crying, or the celebration, over his corpse once he wakes up from a drunken slumber. Actually, they might not even notice he’s bleeding. With the piles of newspaper and dishes laying around, Jungkook would be nothing but bones underneath all that garbage by the time they discover his body.

Taehyung, gripping the hair above the nape of the boy’s neck, keeps him in place like a bothersome cub. “I won’t leave you, Kook. I swear on my life I won’t. When the time is right, we’ll get out of here together.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately, weighing the sincerity on his ears. Feeling tears sting his eyes, he leans his forehead on the older male’s broad shoulders to hide his face and circles his arms around his biceps. Taehyung nuzzles his chin into the younger boy’s hair and smells the salt of the sea in his scalp.

“I’m useless,” Jungkook says at last. He’d decided that Taehyung was genuinely concerned about him after all and not showing off. Those words were not like the empty promises he’s heard many times growing up. “I’m not smart like you. I can deliver milk and newspaper and that’s about it.”

Jungkook rubs his cheek up and down Taehyung’s shoulder blade, scratching the little wound on his cheek until it burned. He can still feel the buckle of his father’s belt ripping a patch of skin off the top of his cheekbones. He had considered leaving that day without a dime to his name but knew better to stay.

Taehyung reaches behind him and tugs his backpack forward, choosing to instead comfort the boy through a gift he’s been wanting to give for some time. He shrugs Jungkook away, earning a pout as the boy wanted to hear more honeyed words of comfort. His irritation, however, is short lived when he sees a flash of onyx and silver in Taehyung’s hands. He watches as the film camera gleams under the tangerine sun, the cracks on the side oozing a type of charm only antiques have.

“This is grandpa’s camera,” Taehyung says as he sets the camera down on his friend’s lap. “I want you to take pictures of the things you love before we get out of here.”

It’s not a gift, but a promise.

“You’re giving this to me?”

He nods. “Don’t worry, he ran off ages ago. I wanted you to have it…I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it. There’s already a roll inside, it’s half used. I know you wanted that camera from Mickey’s but…this is good enough for now.”

Jungkook’s cheeks turn bright red as he holds the camera in his hands, brushing his thumbs across the protruding lens and the square of white plastic in the corner. He didn’t realize that Taehyung paid enough attention to catch him staring at things he can’t afford. It was equally humiliating as it is flattering that someone notices his wants and needs. Although the camera in his hands is not as fancy as the one in the display cases, Jungkook is more than grateful for he would not be able to afford the basic point-and-shoot camera on a delivery boy salary.

He can’t help but think maybe this will be Taehyung’s final gift to him before he goes away. Maybe the older boy is just taking pity on him because attachment is an illusion that slowly dissipates as absence takes its rightful place.

That rags-to-riches fantasy happens to those who are smart and sincere like Taehyung and not to boys like him – boys who stupidly spend hard-earned money on Iron Man comic books despite needing money to escape.

“I can’t afford to buy film,” Jungkook complains because he knows he’ll burst into tears if he thanked Taehyung. He peers into the viewer with one eye closed. He takes a shot of the waves dancing under their feet. The cerulean blue, their tanned feet, the black rocks – he can already feel excitement bubbling within him when he’ll make the time to develop the roll at the school photography lab.

“I have a box of unused ones in the basement. I’ll dig it out for you later.”

“Mm…okay.”

He points the camera towards the setting sun, taking a snap just when two birds fly past him. The film inside clicks into place with a satisfying snap, making him giggle. He turns at the waist and points the lens towards Taehyung, who stares into the camera with a disinterested amusement that tugs Jungkook’s heart a little more than he feels comfortable with. To please the boy, Taehyung holds a peace sign over his cheek, shielding half of his face as his eye peers past the ‘v’ shaped fingers. Jungkook takes the shot.

“Happy?”

He giggles louder this time. “Very much so.”

Taehyung takes the camera away, enveloping his large hand over the boy’s fingers. He holds the viewer up to eye level, seeing Jungkook nibble on his lower lip. He knows what the boy is thinking. There’s no way he can look pretty with the wound on his cheek, with the purple bruise blossoming around his right eye, the chapped lips split open from his nervous gnawing. Sensing his discomfort, Taehyung reaches over with his free hand and tugs at Jungkook’s hair tucked behind his ears. His deep mahogany-black locks bounces forward like a curtain, shielding the injuries without effort.

“Perfect.”

The camera snaps once more.

You curse under your breath after splashing your face with cold water in the office bathroom. Work has been absolute hell in contrast to the newfound heaven at home with Jungkook. You swear there’s a force in the universe set out to get you; as one part of your life heals, another part has its wounds reopen. When Jin called in sick for a few days two weeks ago, you did not realize how different he was going to be when he returned. Something about the way he looks at you these days leaves you paralyzed, often times leading you to work entirely in your personal office instead of the open cubicle like you usually do.

You assume that perhaps there is something going on in his personal life that can explain his passive aggression towards you and your coworkers. Taking pity on him through your own self-talk, you complete his share of the paperwork without complaints for an entire week without earning a single ‘thank you’ or even a smile from him. He often walked back and forth in the hallway, dialing his phone with an aggression that leaves you wondering if the screen even works with how hard he’s pressing. Knowing he was the type of person to need distance during hard times, you didn’t push it.

That is, until he’s suddenly calling in the middle of the night and dragging you out of break rooms. The office is already short on staff due to Sora’s absence, you didn’t need to be reprimanded for laziness especially after you carried his entire workload and apologized on his behalf for mistakes in the software he was supposed to fix.

Honestly, you’re not sure why Jin is cold one moment, hot the next, and then absolutely boiling on some days. But you’ve had enough of it and you’ve reached breaking point today when you heard rumors for the first time that your department, usually praised for its performance, has too many unprofessional workers (it did not take energy for you to figure out people are talking about your little cat-and-mouse chase with Jin). Thus, it was a relief when your former assistant shows up at the office and gives you a break from the cycle of avoiding your childhood friend while saving whatever reputation you have left here.

Pleasant and giving as always, Sora brings sandwiches for the people in your department with no pressure to have the favor returned. It’s the first time you’ve seen your assistant since she took her maternal leave; you almost forgot about her despite receiving occasional updates about her condition and even yearning for her when Jin disappears from his cubicle or stares at you from across the room. To you, she’s one of the best persons you’ve worked with so far in your career. Although Jin is great at handling IT issues that arise too many times for you to wonder if the whole job should be thrown away, it was Sora who brightens the atmosphere with her rambunctious laughter and messy desk in which she was miraculously able to get work done at an unmatched rate. Sporting a small bump beneath her floral wrap dress, she greets you with a kiss on both cheeks.

As you take her in your arms, you peer at Jin leaning against the office fridge with arms folded. His public questioning about Jungkook stays fresh in your mind and everyone else’s as they quietly glance between you and him between conversation.

Almost every time he chases after you, the first words out of his mouth was your boyfriend’s name. It got to the point where you wish you’d wake up from this nightmare that will pass when whatever in his life fixes itself. You’re sure his irrational behavior, arriving from nowhere with the suddenness of a car crash, is coming from something else in his life. You are sure, one hundred percent, that this is the kind of asshole behavior that somehow manifested in your male peers back in college, not that you were ever on the receiving end of it. Until now.

Currently, Jin seems to be deep in thought, sporting dark bags under his eyes. His eyes meet yours momentarily before you pull back and gasp at Sora’s belly with the vigor of a seasoned actress.

“Why do I have a feeling you didn’t just come to bring sandwiches?” You tease while your coworkers chuckle, turning their heads towards you for a moment before turning back to their plates. There are only a few sandwiches left on the counter as you couldn’t leave a conference call until much later unlike others. Actually, it was the same conference call from the person who was disrupted when Jin pulled you out of the room for an “emergency” days ago. You were too angry to even listen to him then, and even angrier now that you’re here smiling after apologizing with a bow just moments before.

With the merry atmosphere dancing in the otherwise cold break room, even your boss sitting at the end of the table has a difficult time asking people to head back to their cubicles and corner offices.

“No, I came here because I missed you,” she squeezes your arms, dragging you softly towards the table scattered with sandwiches of all types. How unfortunate the lobster roll – your favorite – is all gone.

“Please,” you scoff and she laughs with that hearty, sweet sound you missed so much.

“Actually,” she begins, “I’ve been thinking of staying at home to be a mother.”

Your jaw hangs. “You won’t be coming back after this?”

Her face falls slightly at your question and you immediately shut all your thoughts deep inside. You don’t understand the first thing about being a mother. It’s only reasonable you hear her out first. From the corner of your eyes, you see Jin walk towards the coffee pot and pour himself a cup in his chipped mug that brings a spark of annoyance in your chest.

“I do,” she sighs, “but…I found out I’m having twins. Just last week actually. This entire pregnancy was a bit of an accident and I needed time to rethink my priorities. My husband is more than thrilled we’re having twins, you know how he is-“

You nod in sympathy.

“-but it’s difficult for me. I already have a toddler and now with two more…I thought about handing in my resignation soon. I just wanted to see you all one more time before I do.”

You place your hand on her back once you see the tears in her eyes, leading her outside of the break room and into the small walkway where sunlight from the open windows gives you a better view of her solemn yet saccharine face.

“You do what’s right for you. But I understand it’ll be difficult for you to get another job if you need one later with kids around. Have you talked it over with Alex?”

At the sound of her husband’s name from your lips, her cheeks redden slightly.

“He’s glad that I’m strongly considering staying at home. He always wanted to have a big family and we’re more than financially stable with his salary alone. It’s just…I’m going to miss work.” She looks up at you, eyes watering even more. “It feels like I have a family here. Especially you, I feel like I have the little sister I always wanted.”

“Oh Sora,” you sigh, bringing her in your embrace once more and letting her cheek rest on your perfumed shoulder. She inhales the scent of soft geranium and jasmine, letting it calm her anxiousness only further amplified by pregnancy hormones. If the rest of your coworkers found out how emotional she’s getting, they all will follow suit and cry along with her. “We’re still family whether you work here or not. I’m always a phone call away and you know the team will be here to help you if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she sniffles, “I’m grateful…really, for everything.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you smile. “I can’t wait for the babies to arrive. From the bottom of my heart, congratulations on the twins, Sora. It’s such a rare and precious thing.”

She beams at you, eyes glistening, her smile stretching wider as she takes your hands in hers and gives them an eager squeeze.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. Just seeing the ultrasound for the first time was, god I wish you were there!”

“Me too,” you agree, turning your head to the side to see Jin peering at you from between the gap of the door and the column in the corner of the hallway. “Alex must be so thrilled.”

She rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. He’s baby-proofing the entire house right about now even though I’m not even due for another six months.”

You giggle with her, thinking back to the time you walked into your home to see Jungkook on all fours, rubbing sandpaper to the edges of your coffee table. It’s too dangerous, he said when you stand in front of him with a fist on your hip, you’ll hurt yourself. His strong arms bulge and flex as he works the wood with the ferocity of a mad man. You wonder if Alex is in the same position on the floor, religiously rubbing sandpaper back and forth against the corner of the wooden table.

“That’s so funny,” you muse. “Jungkook baby-proofed the house once and made a mess of the living room…and I’m the farthest thing from a clumsy child.”

Sora raises an eyebrow, elbowing you softly on the side. “Is he dropping hints? You have sex regularly, don’t you?”

“Shhh! Sora!”

She cackles as you turn back and forth between the open door and at her amused face.

“We’re not even married, or even engaged!”

“Well,” she shrugs. “Do you really need to be married to have a child these days? Men can have baby fevers way early in the relationship,” she muses, thinking back to her college days. She seems completely different from the emotional expecting mother just a few minutes ago now that men are the topic of the conversation. Classic Sora move. “I conceived my daughter just a day before Alex proposed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ears. For a moment, you think of your picture-perfect boyfriend on his knees rubbing your lower belly and cooing with his ears pressed up against you. “I guess not but…Jungkook and I aren’t ready for that yet. At least, for the time being.” You shake your head dramatically from side to side, bringing your hands up to your face. “All this baby talk is giving me ideas I don’t like.”

“Alright alright,” Sora waves her hand back and forth like she’s swatting away a fly. “I won’t be one of those annoying office moms that constantly pressure people into pooping out kids.”

You laugh, leaning your back against the wall.

A coworker from two cubicles down peeks his head out the door and urges for Sora to come back into the room. From the ruckus, you can hear your coworkers fighting over the last few sandwiches in a game of rock paper scissors. It seems people are also curious about the picture of her ultrasounds – which you didn’t realize were there before – scattered across the lunch table.

Everyone except for Jin, that is.

You turn towards the door as she waves you off and staggers into the room, just in time to maneuver around Jin who walks towards you while closing the door behind him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he pleads, peering down at you with a heavy, foreboding stare that wipes the remaining laughter out of your chest.

“Can we talk later?” You move to the side to walk past him, only to be blocked as he steps along with you. You really don’t want to deal with him today when you’re having a good time. You actually don’t want to deal with him at all, at your wit’s end.

“You don’t pick up my calls and you almost always leave before me, if not right away. When I ask, you avoid me.”

Every word out of his mouth is true and you feel sick being confronted with it all despite how valid your anger is with the way he seems to want nothing to do with you when he returned, then wanting to bombard you all five working days last week. However, you’re not sure if the sourness in your gut is regret or anger; regretful that you stayed away from Jin like your boyfriend asked or angry that he is slowly getting on your nerves with his recent behavior. Anytime Jin approaches, it’s never about work or even about your friendship and always about your relationship with Jungkook that he somehow sees as unhealthy and worrying.

“Sora is retiring, Jin. I want to be there for her.” You step around him, only for him to grab you by the elbow and drag you further away from the door. You push him away, glancing at the end of the hallway to see if anyone saw.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jin questions.

“No,” you whisper-snarl, looking back and forth from the door to your childhood friend. “What the hell happened to you? Why do you keep picking fights with me when you know I’m going to react the same way?”

He raises an eyebrow. “With you ignoring me?”

You can feel the anger in your veins making your nerves curl. For the past week, he had been insufferable. You’d never seen someone turn from a friend to a stranger so quickly after you have to bear the weight of his eyes following your every move, leaving you unable to do any substantial office work without errors. Even then, you assume he must have personal business to take care of and needed the well-deserved sympathy. After all, Jin has always been a hard worker and you’ve never once doubted his work ethic, especially in this company where he thrived from your recommendation.

However, his newfound aggression has you thinking back to your boyfriend’s warning about how little you know about men despite living with one. His glare sharpens every time you leave early to head back home or when you take a quick call from Jungkook during your lunch breaks. His eyes seem to follow you across the room as you move back and forth from the copier to your office. You think Jin would be over this little temper tantrum of his until, just yesterday, he’d thrown his cup of coffee in the break room sink while you were on the phone. The sound of porcelain meeting steel and the anger in his eyes was something you couldn’t forget about and in your heart you knew the fury extended past you onto your boyfriend waiting for you at home.

“I know you obviously have an issue with Jungkook.”

“So now you’re ready to discuss?”

“Discuss what?” You scoff. “You claim to be my friend who watches out for me yet you can’t even be happy that I’m finally with someone who cares for me. Jin,” you sigh in exasperation, “look, I know you let your paranoia or whatever get in the way but I promise you Jungkook isn’t a liar or a cheat like Namjoon. You’re overreacting.”

He crosses his arms. “Are you so sure about that?”

“About what?”

“Him not lying to you.”

You didn’t like how serious he looked at that very moment. You’d constantly teased about how his classic poker face he kept from his agent days is the reason why he’s been single since the day he was born. It’s a type of unique hardened face that intimidates anyone smaller than him. Now that this sternness is directed at you, you’re not enjoying a single moment of it.

“There’s no reason for him to lie to me.” You’re confident in that statement and he can sense it by the way your spine straightens and your eyes brighten.

It tugs his heart that you feel so strongly about another man when he knows the truth. It hurts him to know that you’ll be ruined by the files he received from Hoseok and Yoongi sitting in his flash drive. Above all, what hurts him the most is that he risked both of his former coworkers’ safety to verify his intuition, an intuition you easily brushed off to prioritize a months-old relationship against his life-long friendship to you.

On the other hand, you can’t fathom just how much Jungkook can possibly keep from you despite being the most sensitive and loving boy you’ve ever met. A little over two weeks ago, on your balcony, Jungkook had revealed everything you needed to know about him and the reason why he feels the way he feels. He’d trusted you enough to tell you something that affected him the most, that justified his habits you were once annoyed by, and that gave you the reason to become more than just his girlfriend. Sitting on his lap, kissing his scars, and listening to his words, you knew nothing can stop you from loving this boy you met under unwelcomed circumstances.

Really, it was ridiculous that you never noticed the signs before. Jungkook had always cowered to your anger, always the one to put your needs first before his, almost never raising his voice at you except for the few times you were oblivious to your surroundings and endangered your wellbeing.

And here, your friend, belittles you the longer he doubts the validity of your relationship with Jungkook.

Jin’s lips part but you manage to speak before him, stepping closer to him as you crane your neck to meet his unwavering gaze.

“I need to set this straight.” You put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate you as a friend, as someone who has been with me for a long time and looked out for me. I know you’ve always been good to me and I don’t hate you, even if I’m more than angry at you right now. I know you care a lot about the people close to you.”

You see him visibly soften at your words. The tender, loving expression on his handsome face makes you weak for a moment.

“But I need to draw a line here. I’m a woman who can make her own choices about what she wants. I don’t need you to be this…bodyguard stressing yourself to protect me from harm. I know what I’m doing and who I’m with. For god’s sake Jin, I’ve been living with Jungkook for months. If he’d somehow lied to me, I’d know by now. So please,” you beg, your eyes going back to the laughter coming from the closed break room door to your best friend’s piercing eyes. “Leave my relationship alone. Let me land on my feet after what Namjoon did to me. I’m,” you sigh, “so happy now. I’m at peace. So please…Jin,” you squeeze his arm. “Please. Can we just go back to being us?”

For the longest time he stays silent, his eyes moving across your face as if he’s looking for something important.

He finds his voice when you step away from him. “…I understand. I’m sorry…for making you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.” He takes your hands in his. “I’m really sorry.”

You offer him a small, sympathetic smile and bask in the warmth of his palms. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding you when I could’ve said all of this earlier.”

“I just-” he starts and pauses.

Jin looks out the window, focusing on nothing in particular. He can see the top of trees and similar silver rectangle buildings reflecting sunlight. He watches a few cars drive past the swirl path leading to the parking lot situated around the main entrance of the building. He looks back down at you.

“I actually wrote everything I wanted to say and…I was too chicken shit to read it out loud. I,” he clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. “I’m just going through a hard time. I know I’m taking all of it out on you. I’m really sorry, I really-”

“Wait, Jin,” you cup his face in your warm hands, immediately shedding all traces of anger and annoyance you carried for the last few days. Of course, your friend of many years would never hurt or anger you on purpose. He’s overthinking and lashing out when logic hits a wall of emotions, just like you had with Jungkook before. You’ve never seen Jin on the verge of tears until now and it’s tugging your heart painfully. “I forgive you, everything’s okay now, right? You’re still one of my dearest friends, I’m not going to be mad at you forever.”

Jin shakes his head. “No, there’s just…”

He freezes mid-sentence again, leaving you curious as to what his next few words might be. Jin’s eyes move frantically from his shoes to the trees outside. Sweat prickles his scalp as he considers the weight of what he’s about to do next, what he’s about to reveal to you. He’d considered and reconsidered his plans only to wing it all last minute. What good does thinking ever do for him? When Jungkook holds your heart captive, is planning worth the trouble? Or is it easier to play Jeon’s game with his unpredictability? Right now, Jin is convinced it’s the latter.

You watch as he digs into his pocket to reveal a small black flash drive the size of a rifle bullet. “Everything I want to say,” he swallows, “is all here.”

You feel glued to the ground by the weight of the object in his hands and by how intense his gaze is as it sets on you. If Jungkook can see you know, you know he would be furious. Jin takes your hand, revealing your soft pink palm, and places the flash drive in the center before curling your fingers around it. Even though the object itself is as light as a feather, the burden of his words lay heavy against your chest, restricting your ability to breathe.

He whispers your name softly like a prayer, rubbing his thumb across your enclosed fist. “Please read it all for me when you’re alone. I promise I’ll leave you and Jungkook alone unless you need me.”

“W-What’s in it?”

A love confession? Maybe Jungkook was right all along about Jin, about men.

Jin shakes his head. “Just read it. Alone. I went through a lot of trouble to make this for you. If you forgive me and want me to be the Kim Seokjin you grew up with, read it.”

Your fist tightens slightly as you take another step away from him. When you walked to the office this morning and found him staring into his mug of pitch-black coffee, you weren’t expecting anything more than the usual passive aggressiveness or being chased during lunch breaks between your boyfriend’s calls. You didn’t expect to stand here in front of him, wondering if the contents of this flash drive will confirm the doubts Jungkook had about him all along.

Noona, can’t you see he wants you for himself?

You dig your hands into your pocket and tuck the flash drive away, garnering the strength to finally look back into your friend’s eyes. Jin’s eyes are fixed on your pocket before they scour your face once more as if he were searching for something.

“What is it?”

How ironic that you’re the one asking the questions now.

Jin’s lips part just slightly before he digs his fists into the pockets of his black slacks and look out the window. It’s strange that he can’t find the words he wanted to say when he can finally be alone with you for once without raising the suspicion of others or, worse, Jungkook’s. The wind blows gently into the hallway, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves. He stares into the distance as you stare at him until a round of laughter interrupts your thoughts. You look at the break room door and then back at your friend who seemed to have turned to stone.

“I’ll make sure to read it,” you reassure him, unable to bear the silence any longer.

He turns back to you but his smile is sad. You gaze at him longer, unable to decipher anything that just happened in this lonely hallway. One thing for sure, you know the contents of Jin’s flash drive needed to be opened alone and whatever is inside affects you more than it’ll affect Jungkook. Something about the content is going to change you, alter your reality, and take the blissful filter you’ve been wearing for the last two weeks at home. The thought makes you feel queasy as if you have something dirty to hide, as if you’re committing adultery behind Jungkook’s back after he’d spilled his heart out to you.

It was Jin who turns on his heels and heads back into the room.

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up to the sunlight. It’s such a small and simple plastic tool costing just as much as a tin of mints.

Yet, it scares you so much you nearly miss your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Jungkook’s name flashes across your screen and for the first time, you hesitate to press the answer button.

Perhaps you thought too highly of yourself all along. How different are you really from Yori or Namjoon when you can keep a man’s secret in your pocket while you live with another?

So far, Jungkook has learned that fear is a strong motivator. It influences you, shapes you, makes you create paths where there isn’t one. It crawls up the walls and knocks on your window as a reminder that there’s always something lurking in the distance. It’s why Jungkook believes in never settling when things get comfortable.

When he asked Taehyung to make placebo pills, he had done so in fear that you would leave him. Yet, this does nothing to settle his nerves. In fact, it makes him uneasy that he’ll get caught somehow as if the birth control pills he flushed down the toilet never melted. In his unease, he can imagine those eggshell white tablets sticking to the sides of the drain despite the chances being slim to none. One call from a neighbor about a clogged pipe and it’s over for him.

This is the nightmare that lingered in his mind before he’d sat you down in his lap and pressed your hand against the dent on his cheek. Three weeks ago, you listened to him attentively as he wraps you slowly around his fingers. He can smell himself on your neck, taste himself on your tongue, feel your touch so agonizingly sweet on his taut stomach. It pained him a little that you, the privileged girl from the world above, might trade love for pity. But you were so accepting and so understanding of his past, his dependency on Taehyung and you, that there was no way someone can come along and convince him you weren’t made for him. Making love to you, worshipping your skin and scent, has never been so otherworldly for him.

Sitting in front of the television and replaying the footage of you from the wedding that could have taken you away from him, Jungkook inhales and exhales slowly. He’d taken the time to clip Namjoon’s footage away so that all that’s left is you in the wedding boutique twirling multiple dresses to your chest, your soft wavy hair pooling over your shoulders as you do so. In a silk robe, you lift a ballroom dress up against the mirror, eyes moving up and down the charmeuse and tulle quickly to take in all its miniscule details.

He loves that about you. The way your eyes glisten and widen when something strikes your heart. It’s the same look you gave him, sitting in his lap on that damp balcony, running your thumb over the scar on his cheek.

It was especially painful for Jungkook to reopen his past wounds but in one way he felt the invisible weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t tell you everything – especially not about the strings Taehyung pulled for him to live a normal life – but he was satisfied that you didn’t mind one bit. He swears he could hear you purring and sighing softly underneath his chin, reacting with a slight gasp when he tells you how often he was hurt back then and how thankful he was that Taehyung took him under his wing. Although a small spark of jealousy ignited in his chest when you mentioned inviting his attractive friend for dinner once he’s back in down, Jungkook was more than grateful that you didn’t seem to mind how attached he is to the older man.

He wonders if you’d react that same way if he’d told you he’d lost his virginity to Taehyung a year into high school and that his first kiss happened on that same beach rock. He wonders if you’d react in the same sympathetic manner if you truly knew what happened before he was able to graduate high school before the world plunged into tar.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook’s hands tremble as he yanks the storage drawer open and dig out his shirts, undergarments, and jeans into the duffel bag. He has to make sure he doesn’t forget his winter clothes because he would be livid if he finally gets out of this house only to freeze to death on the streets. From between the cracks of the rotten wood plastered against his window, he can see Taehyung standing with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Taehyung looks around the house, at the rusted gates connected to the concrete walls that surround the perimeter, and the mailbox slumped over the garbage can. He looks at the messily covered windows and puffs out a smoke. There’s a similar slumped duffel bag next to his feet inflated with clothes and packets of food.

“I’m leaving.”

Jungkook’s mother attempts to grab him by the neck, unable to do so easily as he stands tall after he outgrew his middle school uniform. Her grip slips as fast as it comes.

“You ungrateful little shit!” She spits, reaching up successfully this time to grasp the ends of his hair as she shoves hard enough for him to stumble into the wall.

Relentless, Jungkook continues throwing his clothes, then his lunch box filled with coins and a wad of cash, into the bag.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?!” She sobs, throwing herself on the floor next to his shoes and dirty socks. She scratches the slits on her arms and proceeds to drag her nails across the floor. A wretched cry falls from her lips and Jungkook feels his throat clenching, his eyes watering. Rather than sadness, it was boiling hot resentment that keeps him silent.

He doesn’t turn to look at her. He knows she’s going to manipulate him, somehow, with her disgusting guilt-tripping shrieks and nail him against the wall to prevent him from moving.

She pounds the sticky floor mats with the heel of her palms, her voice hoarse. “I made you, Jungkook! I took care of you, I fed you, I bought your fucking clothes. And you’re leaving me with this fucking asshole,” she slams her hands down again, her head snapping towards the sound of the back door slamming open followed by heavy footsteps. His hands begin to sweat, causing the toolkit he grabs from the top of the shelf to slip and clatter on the floor.

In the distance, Jungkook can hear his father crushing a can of beer against the kitchen counter and throw it in the sink for him to clean like he usually does. No longer is he going to be yanked around like a puppet for these two sad excuses of a human being. How his mother was able to carry him inside her full term and give birth while smoking and drinking like a sailor is unknown to him. He’s grateful, at least, that he came out sane. He thinks with a sudden surge of anger that perhaps his mother’s need to have a punching bag was more critical than the inconvenience that the pregnancy caused her.

To her, his father coming back with the stench of prostitutes and alcohol always became his fault. It was his fault that his mother’s body isn’t as it used to be. It was his fault their marriage is dead. Above all, it was his fault for existing to remind them that they produced another good-for-nothing trash to add to the pile of garbage that is this town’s desolate population.

“I’m not coming back,” Jungkook grunts as he throws a camera and several rolls of film in the bag. “I never want to see you or dad ever again.”

His mother shakes her head over and over again, arms stretched towards the door as it suddenly slams open to reveal the lean yet pot-bellied figure of a graying man. His father looks down at the duffel bag on the floor, and then at his wife curled next to Jungkook shoes. His face seems lifeless – like a corpse – with bulging black beady eyes that reflect no light and a mouth set in a thin strip. It’s the first time in years that the man came to see Jungkook in the makeshift bedroom, usually taking the couch in the living room as his permanent place of residence. It’s where he drinks, where he watches the same television program about car remodeling, and where he demands weekly handjobs in his drunken stupor.

“You’re leaving?” He interrogates, voice low and tired as if he’d woken up from a slumber.

Jungkook nods, zipping his bag and glancing around the room to see if he missed anything. He didn’t own much but it pains him to leave his heavy stack of comic books behind. There was no way he could carry that with him across the country.

“Why?”

Jungkook looks at his father under the single light bulb illuminating the otherwise dark and swampy room. For the first time, he notices how similar they look. He has the man’s eyes, his soft yet chiseled jaw, and even the mole under the lips. If the man were several decades younger, they would be a splitting image of each other. The thought makes bile rise up Jungkook’s throat.

Why is he leaving? Was that even a question he needed to answer? One night with the Jeons and anyone will run far away. Jungkook has lived here for nearly a decade and a half and at no point during his residency was he able to remember a time when his body wasn’t covered with bruises or scars. It’s a miracle that he’s never broken a bone nor hospitalized after being whipped across his bare buttocks for years like a prisoner. The humiliation was far worse than the pain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jungkook retorts for the first time, gaze hardening. “I fucking hate living in this hellhole.”

His mother watches as her husband swings forward and slams his fist down on the side of Jungkook’s temples, knocking the boy against the open drawers. Jungkook splutters a ball of saliva and blood and digs his arms and legs into onto the ground the crawl away. Unfortunately, the room had only so much room for him to move. The stronger male pulls him by the ankles, dragging him back and flipping him on his back for him to see the belt buckle coming undone.

Jungkook crosses his arms across his face and shields his eyes away from the light and those deep black eyes. From the gaps between his forearms, he sees his mother crawling towards him and yanking his pants down, digging her nails so deeply into the patch of skin where his hips meet the waistband that the scratch marks instantly bleed.

“This boy needs to be taught a lesson!” He hears his father say with a voice as sudden and full of viciousness as thunder, the first lash coming down across his arm. He cries out, spine stiffening as a he gasps into the side of the bag. His breath is ripped out of his lungs. The second lash comes down shortly afterwards across his thighs where former bruises had only recently begun to heal.

“He does, doesn’t he?!” His mother encourages, no longer seeming as distressed as she was before looking down at his scrunched and tear-streaked face.

“When I am done with you, boy, you are going to wish you were dead. You ungrateful piece of-”

A stream of thick liquid splatters over Jungkook’s trembling body, a few droplets attempting to seep into his eyelids squeezed shut. His pounding head gifts him with a vision so hazy he might as well stare through a dense blanket of fog. When his arms come down at his sides to hold his temples together, he can feel his veins pulsing beneath.

It takes a full minute for him to even understand what he was looking at. There’s a muscular arm holding his father across the chest to hold the man’s spine straight and another swung over his shoulders as a silver scalpel, following a trail across the neck, stays lodged deep into the trachea. Jungkook sees another splash of red fall over his bare knees as the stream of blood falls to his feet. The smell of iron is thick in the air when his father, eyes bulging out further than he thought possible, slumps to the side.

Pulling himself away from the weight of the corpse at his feet, Jungkook watches the figure rip the knife standing tall from the man’s throat and plunge into the side of his frozen mother’s neck. He watches her pale, skinny limbs thrash as if she’s burned before she slumps down next to the futon.

With a feeling he can only describe as akin to relief, Jungkook looks up at his savior.

“I told you you’ll need me here.”

With soaked hands, Taehyung gathers the boy in his arms and leans him against the wall. He watches as Jungkook’s face scrunches in pain once more and stray tears make its way down his baby soft cheeks. He takes his trembling bottom lip under his front teeth and shakes as he whimpers like a wounded puppy.

He is truly a puppy, Taehyung thinks.

The older boy takes his place against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, watching Jungkook with the same enthusiasm as one watches a child take its first steps. Jungkook, wiping the splatters of blood from his face, exhales and sniffles loudly before crawling towards his mother. He wraps his fingers around the silver scalpel from her throat and pull until her skull knocks back down to the floor with a thud. Bloods seeps from her wound down to his fingers and, with a sudden strength, Jungkook lodges the sharp end of the tool into her heart. She must have been partially alive as a throaty gasp makes its way out of her mouth.

Her blood is darker than he remembered from the many period-stained panties of hers he scrubbed with his hands over the kitchen sink. It looked like tar, thick and warm yet lightweight as it drenches his clothes. Remembering his state of undress, he curls his fingers around the waistband of his pants and pull it up towards his hips and over the scratches at his side.

Jungkook grasps the knife once more to push further and relishes in the feeling of it hitting bone. He realizes, with wonder, that his parents don’t even look like corpses in front of him but like puppets.

Maybe that’s how they saw him when they were alive – like a puppet they could throw around without a care knowing it’ll live and die under this roof.

Jungkook takes the knife and stumbles over to his father’s body with enthusiasm, puncturing the man’s stomach and dragging the knife up towards the breastbone. More tar-black blood seep into the flooring, flooding the horizontal bamboo until it ran underneath the drawers and the small shelf holding his textbooks in a neat stack. He grips the knife and plunges, again and again, into the side of the man’s head, gasping only slightly when the bone gives away with a small crack like a camera shutter.

Jungkook situates himself on his knees, heels digging into his buttocks, and looks down at his soaked hands resembling red gloves. He examines his nails, the cuticles darkening as the blood oxidizes in the swampy room. He blinks a few times, watching the red glow under the dim lightbulb above him.

He’s imagined this moment many times before in his fantasies, some much more exciting and drawn-out than what occurred like a fight scene from a Bruce Lee movie. But none of those fantasies included Taehyung coming to rescue him like he had many times before. None of these fantasies included such quick and boring deaths. He was hoping he could say everything he wanted to say to them, about how much he loathed them with all his heart, how much he wished he could watch them boil alive like an insect in a summer pond.

They probably knew but didn’t care.

Now that it’s over, now that there will no longer be screaming and tiring cycles of starvation and receiving the belt, Jungkook is rather grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. And he’s grateful that his best friend of years has never really hid his experience from him. Taehyung just merely waited for his slow brain to catch up.

There’s only one thing he could say as the room falls silent and still.

“Is this what happened to your grandpa too?”

It was with a sudden intuition that Jungkook asked such a question.

“This…and a little more.”

Jungkook slumps down to the floor, looking past his shoulder at Taehyung, silently motioning him to come hold him.

Reading the silence without hesitation, the older boy crawls forward and envelops him in his embrace, keeping him tucked beneath his chin as two hands grip the underside of his arms. He shields the boy’s gaze away from the bodies, knowing that the first time is always the most poignant despite him taking it so well.

“They’ll know it was us.”

Taehyung brushes Jungkook’s bangs back and tucks the ends behind his ear.

“They’ll find us even if we left.” Jungkook continues. Without looking, Taehyung can hear the pout in his voice.

“Are you worried?”

Jungkook nods, fingers palming the thick ropes of muscle beneath his grip.

“Don’t be,” Taehyung chuckles, his long fingers brushing over the small sensitive patch of skin just behind the boy’s earlobes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook decides to take a long, cold shower after ending the call with you. It concerns him that you sounded exhausted over the phone but he expected it anyway as you’ve been working far too much this week. Your voice, so soft and gentle, makes him semi-hard enough that he finds himself palming the length of his cock under the running water to relieve his frustrations. It had taken him a substantial amount of self-control to refrain from asking for more time in the bedroom these days. As sweet as you are allowing him to nestle inside you and nuzzle you when you were too tired and sleepy to move, your exhaustion ultimately lead him to tucking you in his arms and make sure you at least get some sleep. God, how he wishes for you to run your hands over his chest and arms now.

Jungkook twists the shower knob into the wall and ruffle his dripping hair. He slides the glass door to the left, heaving a soft sigh as he examines the surface of the tub, the toilet, and the sink. The smell of sanitizing lemon cleanser still lingers in the air but he knows the scent will be long gone by the time you’re back from work. Next to the polished sink, he prepared a small basket of bath supplies – jasmine-scented bath salts, dried flowers, and a heart-shaped sponge – for you to pamper yourself when you drag your feet through the front door looking like death. Work has been rough on you and he was more than happy to handle all the responsibilities at home that you sometimes habitually do.

He grabs the towel folded over the slightly rusted rack erected next to the shower curtain (he reminds himself to replace that) and wraps the fluffy material around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs his cellphone just in time for it vibrates aggressively in his grip.

Head tilted to one side to make sure the moisture at the ends of his hair doesn’t drip on the surface, he answers the call with a smile.

“Tae!”

“Is she pregnant yet?”

Jungkook exhales softly, a smile dancing on his lips. The older Taehyung gets, the less he beats around the bush. “Not yet but she’ll be fertile next week, I think I’ll have better luck soon. How’ve you been? Jimin told me you were in Cuba…and Hong Kong too.”

He hears a sigh over the speakers and chews on his bottom lip. Oh, Jimin is going to get an earful for sure for blabbering his business around.

“I had to deal with a few people…listen,” his voice lowers suddenly, “has anyone approached you or your girlfriend recently?”

Jungkook walks into the bedroom, turning off the bathroom lights with his elbow on the way out. He sits at the edge of the bed, combing his hair back until the droplets trail down his spine and shoulder blades.

“Not that I know of,” he shakes his head, “why do you ask?”

When Taehyung doesn’t reply immediately, a pang of anxiety wraps his heart in a vice grip.

“I-is there someone after me?” He grips his phone.

A few thousand miles away, the older man shakes his head, re-evaluating what he needs to hide or reveal. He wants Jungkook to be prepared for emergencies but after discovering that this Kim Seokjin person is in the same city and, out of a strange coincidence that may not be a coincidence, worked in the same building as you, he’s come to a logical conclusion that makes the situation unpredictable. A basic background check tells him that Seokjin no longer works for the government nor does he have permission to access private health and criminal records of strangers. It explains why the man needed to contact Hoseok and Yoongi. The motive behind such an unethical behavior could also be because of you, Taehyung guesses when he scrolled through Seokjin’s social media profiles to see more than a few pictures of him and you at cocktail parties and birthday gatherings. It did not take much deduction to understand that Taehyung is staring at the jealous male figure that his closest friend complained of lingering around his precious noona. Perhaps the man is using unethical means to dig for the literal skeletons in Jungkook’s closet?

However, if Jungkook sees the man as a threat and if Seokjin has evidence in his possessions, why has neither of the men taken drastic action? Jungkook is far too immature (Taehyung admits) to not consider using his services to take care of a male threat. He seems unusually at peace with you now, leading Taehyung into a wall. If Jungkook isn’t truly threatened and if Seokjin hasn’t acted yet, the former agent is probably smart enough to realize you’re not worth the trouble of dealing with a criminal. The contents of Jungkook’s case must have scared him off. Yes, that’s it.

Taehyung mentally slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking through before calling and worrying the boy.

“Tae? Are you still there?”

That bug he planted in the software used to track juvenile criminal cases lent him more paranoia than relief. There were numerous times Jungkook and his files were accessed by agents that were actively filtering or attempting to study old cases to his annoyance. Maybe the pictures scared Seokjin off for good. Two weeks is too long of a wait to expose a man when there’s an abundance of evidence.

“You don’t have to worry. I was asking because someone messed up a shipment and my customer isn’t very happy. Sent some threats that sounded a little too serious than the usual.”

Jungkook exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. “…I mean…it sounded serious enough to worry you. Should I keep watch? Should I tell Jimin?”

“No, no need for that. I called to check, just in case. You know nothing is guaranteed in our line of work.”

The thought makes Jungkook upset. Nothing is guaranteed, but he hopes your devotion and Taehyung’s safety is. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without the both of you.

“Okay…” Jungkook looks down at his toes clenching into the floor. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, right?”

To that, Taehyung replies quickly. “Of course. We’re brothers after all.”

He smiles to that, brushing his locks back and standing. He makes his way towards the closet, fishing out a pair of black sweatpants and a matching cashmere shirt.

Hearing the ruffle of clothes through the phone, Taehyung makes the decision not to tell you about Kim Seokjin after all. With the expectation of pregnancy and Jungkook’s proneness to jealousy, he didn’t need more work on his plate. Despite the brotherhood, they each had their own lives after all and constant surveillance of the past would do more harm than good, reopen wounds that have longed healed.

“I’m catching a flight, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” Jungkook beams. He suddenly looks forward to the day he’ll introduce Taehyung to you if there’s business that needs to be done in the city. “Bye, Tae-”

The doorbell rings, prompting Jungkook to turn towards the opening where he can see past the living room to partial front door. By the time the bell rings a second time, Taehyung has already dropped the call. Jungkook makes his way out of the bedroom slowly, keeping his feet light.

Taehyung has already reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. Being approached by someone seems unlikely if this customer of his had expressed similar threats in the past. Yet, somewhere in his gut, he couldn’t fight the feeling that there’s something he isn’t noticing. And the answer to that feeling might be on the other side of the door.

When he reaches the panel, he presses the button next to the monitor to reveal the image of a neatly dressed middle-aged woman carrying a small, wrapped box in her hands. He can tell just from her clothes that she belongs to this part of the town – her posture itself reflects wealth and respect.

It took a few more blinks until he realizes who he’s looking at.

Mother-in-law!

The door opens with a loud clang, causing the woman’s head to snap upwards at the tall man smiling down at her. She notes his damp hair and handsome features – doe eyes, a button nose, pink shapely lips and aristocratic cheekbones. You sure know how to pick your men.

“Are you…Jungkook?” The woman inquires.

He nods eagerly, stepping to the side. “Yes, you’re noona’s mother, right? Please come in.”

He notices the hesitation followed by a pair of Celine heels clicking against the polished floors. He mentally rewards himself for dedicating the morning to polish the bathroom, the kitchen, and the parquet. The house smells a bit like lemon but the balcony carried the scent of orange blossoms that masked the unpleasant sharp notes of artificial fruit.

The woman’s eyes move across the living room, eyebrows slightly raised as if she was bracing herself to witness a pig sty instead of a home.

“What time does she get off work?”

Jungkook closes the door and hovers an arm across her back to lead her towards the sofa. She’s about the same height as you, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. He silently hopes the furniture doesn’t smell like sweat as he’s been melting there with the television on for the first half of the afternoon.

“A-about nine, she’s been working overtime for this week.” His knees hit the side of the couch but any hint of pain is overridden with the need to impress. “Please take a seat, I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, although the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jungkook backs slowly towards the kitchen and then jogs to the fridge, yanking the door open and fetching a cool bottle of water. His hands shake when he fishes a glass from the dish rack, making sure he chose the glass without the uneven bottom. He should have refunded the entire set months ago when it came with such a frustrating defect.

He quickly pours into the cup and wipes any stray droplets on the side of the glass with the back of his hand. She thanks him under her breath when he sets the cup in front of her with a wooden coaster propped underneath. She takes the glass in her hands and take a small sip, smacking her lips together as if she’s tasting wine.

Jungkook struggles to look for the right words to say.

“I brought marinated crabs,” she thrusts the neatly packed box towards him, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jungkook’s smile couldn’t have been any larger as he takes the wrapped box from her with both hands. “Thank you so much…I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared. I wasn’t aware you were coming.”

At that, your mother clears her throat. “I came to talk to you about my daughter. Without her knowing, you see. I’m sure you know we…haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.”

Jungkook nods, placing the box on the table and gathering his hands in his lap. Despite keeping close watch on your every move, he’s kept in the dark about your family situation. He only remembers you shaking with laughter and tears when hearing about your mother maintaining close ties with the Kim family after what happened. Even though the woman hurts for her daughter, financial ties are hard to break.

“…Yes, I’m aware.”

The older woman sighs softly, dragging her gaze across Jungkook’s expression and posture. The boy certainly is polite but it was obvious he was not from the kind of world you’re from. She can tell by the way he fidgets and seem too eager to please; it was endearing but also pathetic to watch. He’s extremely sweet and charming – she admits – and overwhelmingly so. Unlike Namjoon, he seems to be much more expressive and sensitive.

She can understand why you took such a liking to him, why you could overlook the not-so-pleasant behavior that reveals his poor upbringing.

“I wanted to come to tell you…I found someone for her.”

He smiles, not understanding the woman for a few moments until her solemn eyes met his. He can feel his belly clenching as his stomach drops. He must have misheard, that’s it. “I-I’m sorry?”

Your mother takes another sip from her glass, looking around the house once more, as if she were stalling time, before planting her eyes on Jungkook’s appalled expression. She seems guilty, at least, that she’s said such a thing to the boy although she’s never once held a high opinion of him.

“I’ve been looking for a suitable partner for her.” She continues. “I am aware she is rightfully upset with me and she won’t listen to me, much less talk. I know she was seeing several men before she became…serious with you.”

Jungkook can feel his stomach churning.

“You must know by now what kind of family she comes from. There are some…things that are expected of her to respect our traditions. I know it’s entirely unfair of me to-”

Jungkook stands, turning away from her as he brings a hand up to his mouth. His temples pulse with nausea as her voice grows louder.

“-come here and ask for you to understand! What you did to Namjoon did irreversible damage to my daughter’s reputation and as a mother,” she shakes her head from side to side, “I can no longer sit still and watch her make a terrible mistake”

“I…” Jungkook starts, his heart hammering in his chest. “What I did to him…I would never do to noona. I’d never hurt her o-or even think about doing such a thing.”

The woman sighs, her eyes devoid of warmth. “I know, darling. I do trust that the incident happened because you were protecting her feelings. I can appreciate your sentient. However,…she’s my only child. As a mother…as her only parent…I have to make sure she’s on the right path.”

Jungkook turns, his eyes glazed as he bores into the box sitting on the couch. This wasn’t a present given for pleasantries, it was brought to cushion her true intentions.

“Jungkook…” The woman stands to stretch her arms out and hold Jungkook’s hands under her warm palms. He’s paralyzed, whether or not it’s from her insulting logic or from her general disapproval of him, she doesn’t care to know.

“I’m not your enemy. I know you love my daughter, I’ve heard of how much you’ve taken care of her. Please understand that-”

His ears are ringing. Jungkook can feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry because he knows, deep down, how incompatible he is with you considering the two very different lives you both have led. Did you phone your mother for the first time in months behind his back after he told you about his past? Did you pretend to be okay even if it scared you?

It’s like your mother reached into his core and pulled every shred of insecurity he carried within him. Every night for the last few months, he felt like he was given permission to consume the forbidden fruit that is you, knowing there are consequences to his consumption. Your devotion, your promises, your endless compassion towards him – is it all going to turn into a mirage?

He knows since the very beginning that in many ways he’s incomparable to Namjoon and even some of your rebound lovers he had the displeasure of following around. A glance at a man’s wristwatch and he could tell whether they belonged to your world or not. Jungkook can only hope that the struggles he’d faced would give him the leverage others don’t have. He is willing to risk it all for you and make sure you won’t ever have to experience a single morsel of pain he’d endured.

“Can you give me a chance?” Jungkook pleads, voice small.

Suddenly, anger flashes across your mother’s face but as quick as it came, it disappeared. He could tell she was struggling to keep herself in check after several months of you ignoring her calls, her incessant demands to maintain the family image, and the burn of needing to sneak around your schedule to reach your new apartment herself. It’s the pent-up frustration of having the family pride stepped on again and again by you that has led her to this moment.

If he were your guardian, he’d also be worried too. He can forgive your mother just as he had forgiven you many times.

“A chance?” She fumes.

Jungkook nods. “I promise I won’t disappoint you…I-I have a business and I’m more than willing to be the sole provider-”

The woman’s hand tighten around his relaxed fists.

“Jungkook,” she grits. “You are not hearing me. I don’t want her marrying into a family out of our circle. We have an established tradition of-”

Jungkook scoffs, ripping his hands away. “No, ma’am. You are not hearing me.”

Her eyebrows come together as her foundation-covered wrinkles deepen with a frown. She watches Jungkook walk across the living room to the hanging picture of you and your father. You were a mere child then, staring naively up at your late father with wonder as your little fists reach up to take the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

Digging his hands inside his pocket and running his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he turns to the woman.

“I’m asking for a chance because I’ve already decided to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

#bunny:fic #yandere bts #yandere fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #only you #chapter 8 #i had to make a super hard decision to take out the smut that I wrote like over a thousand words for *WHEEEZEEEEE*#there will be smut in OY9 tho i GUARANTEE #pls don't come for me with pitchforks lmfao

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lixiefe · 4 years

Text

Ivory Gates

l.mh

⎆ Words: 15k+

⎆ Summery: Lee Minho, the feared and monstrous warlock in the outskirts of sequestered magic, proficient in thaumaturgy and eminent for one and only deed; kidnapping the princess at least once a month. It seemed like the grotesque magician had an unhealthy obsession over the princess, smitten or not, who knew? But it was established that said warlock did bear strong passion for the beautiful princess.

But they all had it wrong, because Lee Minho wasn’t a big fan of the betrothed princess, neither did he forcefully null her into slumber and bound ropes around her wrists to abduct her every month. Instead, the only thing he wanted was to achieve another glimpse of the princess’ knight, clad in thick armor with fierceness in your eyes and a prominent ambition to execute the evil warlock at all costs. And that’s what enchanted him the most.

⎆ Genre: strangers-to-lovers, fantasy, magical universe, angst, fluff (a lot of drama basically), self-insert.

⎆ Warning: violence, grotesque themes (a little bit), minho is vicious but soft.

⎆ Credits: the below aesthetics are taken from @/academia--nut. And a few quote-like lines are inspired by pinterest searches (unknown source), so if you fine any similarities with any quotes you’ve seen before, that’s probably it. (i don’t like doing this but it just fitted so much, i couldn’t resist the urge)

Also, great thanks to @pinkchcn for being an excellent beta reader for this work (crap) i’ve pulled out. A few of her hilarity would be written at the end, to support this rollercoaster of a fic. anyway, thank you again bub!

Prologue: The boy

Once upon a time, there lived a quiet boy. His magical powers surpassed many and his passionate soul entrapped everyone’s favor. He was praised, favored and loved for the flame his palm erupted. Villagers passed by him with fluttering smiles, ear to ear praises passed above their bucket of fruits and glances thrown in pride. Until one day, the sky fell upon his shoulder under crevassing dawn as smoke emerged from the roof of his house, blazing fire swathing the wood and pillars and there resonated a single cry amidst the painful silence of flame.

The little boy couldn’t do anything to save his home, nor his parents. And the only resonation of the trauma was the despair turned into monstrous rage in his chest, one that overpowered every other emotion he harbored. After then, gazes turned hateful, words of scorn floating around the air with every step he took, every tear he shed. Because in everyone’s eyes, the fire was an involuntary result of mis-controlled power under his veins. And thus the boy was the cause of his own demise in the eyes of society.

And there was nothing he could do to salvage their misconception.

But one day, hope came in the shape of a man, pale white in complexion and sporting a look of utter pity. He came to the boy, patting his back as he spoke, “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your disgraceful pity,” said the boy.

“I do not pity you child,” the man replied as he pointed at the front to the flying specks of dirt polluting the pathway. “You see, you have such immense power. It would be such a waste if it was to be used for nothing. The only compulsory is to realize the magic that courses within you, channel it into a tamed flow of fire.” His finger followed as a man sprinkled water over the polluting dust, the air getting cleaner by the second. Tamed and resurrected of it’s daily purity. “Just like this.”

The boy followed his gaze as the man now looked into his eyes, a precise promise of surety evident in the firm gaze he maintained. “I know who initiated that fire.” The little boy spurted up at this, eyes wide in curiosity and clouded with the vengeance his mind chanted. “You do!?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I – I need to kill them. Tell me where,” his eagerness baffled the man, but what disclosured him more was the raw hatred subjected in his eyes, the strong will of revenge under the moist of his irises.

“What you should ask me, is how. How would you even encounter them, much less defeat? They are much stronger than you.” The man stated, reclining his hands to himself.

The boy sneered, fury blazing in the depths of his breaths, “There’s no scenario of defeat here, sire. They deserve death. Burned from within and screaming with the pain I inflict upon them, right until they fall breathless.”

The man was utterly bewildered at his words. How such a young child could bear such strong darkness and could spew such words of cruelty was out of his mind. But nonetheless, he’s even more impressed and even more determined to have this boy under his custody. “Boy, you are agile and emergent. Allow me to show you true power, and help you to salvage your parents.”

And that’s how Lee Minho, a crucial fire bender acclaimed magic with the provision of his patron and developed into a powerful warlock. A thaumaturge too spectacular to defeat, but too cruel under the spell of darkness in his soul.

Therefore, just as his patron promised, on said day and said time, teenager Minho vanquished the defective cult of flame tribe with fire under their skin. He wore a sadistic smile, had his veins iridescent with the flame erupting from his fingertips and shot fire of revenge into the luxury of those killers. Mentioned area was then stripped of life as his rage subjected the settlement into black mist of after-remains and squalls of their cries that resonated through thick silence.

Thus, the little boy who cried under boulders covered in moss, now grew to be the most dangerous and feared entity of evil.

What people thought to be vicious, they wanted to probe and kill.

But anyone who went near the sanctity of his home returned with empty eyes and a body that didn't breathe; or with faint life speckling in the back of their eyes and wounds covering their skin; all from the snap of mere fingertips and every sip of wine that Minho took. Until, there was no more intrusion among kilometres in his life.

Years had been fine, but he was getting tired of such a lifestyle.

Lee Minho was bored.

Days passed by in tedious ways, with the same chores and same words following suit of everyday sunrise and sunset. There was nothing interesting in his days that he could fanny about, much less be engaged with.

Until he's wandering along the outside garden area he's not supposed to step foot into. It was just a simple, thoughtless planning initiated from spectacular boredom; however, the walk hadn’t been as tedious Minho surmised it to be. Instead, he caught his eyes fixated on a soldier dragging their sword along the ground with harsh, continuous friction. The noise it made was unpleasant, but accompanied with the somber whistles emitting from your pouted lips, things weren’t irrational anymore.

Hidden behind the fur of his cape, Minho’s lips followed the shape of yours, curling into a worm shape as he tried his best to push air through his lips. But no sound emitted, only an annoying, raspy resonation of forced breath hitting the air. His mimicking halted as soon as you sat down on the ground, looking up at the sky with a type of expression Minho can’t look through. Your sword by the side, your fingers played with the leather fabric on your pushed up knees. He watched as you diverted your eyes downwards and leaned your face on your knees.

Minho’s brows furrowed, what were you doing? And then he saw your pull yourself tighter, shoulders reverberating up and down as faint hiccups surrounded you. He was even more discombobulated at that, brows sketched together and trying his best to articulate your emotions. But then, the faint sounds gradually turned into painful cries and you were shaking on your spot.

You were crying. You were in pain.

“They’ll kill me,” he heard you say among choked whimpers. “And I will die being the princess’ knight.”

And then after a while, he saw you pull yourself together, callously wiping the tears caressing your face. Taking a few deep breaths, you smiled to particularly no one. Minho’s eyes followed as your hand picked up the thin sword and swung it back into your sheath. And then, you hurtled to a run. Minho’s hands instinctively spread forward as to follow your back, but you were gone. Armor’s tail flying behind and the band of your hair shredding loose as it spiraled behind, gently careening along the wind.

After you left, Minho’s mind wandered to thoughtlessness, the only thinking expanse focused on you, your unclear eyes and your running silhouette. Princess' knight? He thought. Would you come to save the princess if she were to be in danger? Would you come to rescue her if she were to be abducted?

Maybe he'd be able to see your features a little more clearly, would be able to observe your eyes and the way your lips moved. It seemed like a luxury he wanted to obtain, wanted to treasure. After all, the beating of his heart was something that made his resolute stance unsure and made him repeatedly question why the blood rushed to his heart faster than usual.

Maybe you'd casted some magic over him to make him feel like this. But then again, how could you? You radiated no power, there was simply no smidgens of magic around you. You were just a human in normalcy, proximate with your moral qualities and strength, but no super-naturalism.

What happened to him?

And then one night, Lee Minho abducted the over qualified, praised princess of Galvarsi.

“Who are you? Where am I? Am I getting killed? I am a Princess! You cannot possibly threaten my kingdom like this!”

The brunette woman continues with her resistance and squabbles, timely thrashing against the thick rope that forced her wrists together. She continues screeching into the silence, constantly yelling and gritting her teeth as if fierceness could pave to her escape.

“Shut up.” Minho speaks, short and orotund. The princess arrives to a halt, lips turned downwards in a depreciative scowl as she maintains premonitive silence. A second or two for the peace of the warlock's ears.

“How dare you speak to me like that!? Do you even know who I am!?”

Minho resists the urge to seal her lips shut for a solid minute and spare himself a little quietness. Albeit exasperation fills him to the brim where he desires to smash the wardrobe against the floor, but he hadn't no ill intentions. So he initiates another abbreviate, but louder, “Shut up, princess.”

But with visible annoyance.

The princess sneers, “Haa! Show some politeness. How impudent! Have you no manners!?”

Minho's eyes are wide in bafflement, astonished how someone had decided to point a finger on his rather rude demeanor; and utterly confused how the tiny woman felt no fear to impolitely scold their possibly dangerous abductor. After all, no one dared point impudence in Minho's words, nor raise their voice of admonishment at someone like him. A disastrous warlock at that.

However, he maintains brutally forced calmness, “I beg Your Highness very much politely to shut the hell up “

The princess seems to be much more enraged as she shouts a series of unladylike profanities to her disrespect and raises a storm over the rudeness in Minho's tone. Her mere voice jounces off the walls and straight into the warlock’s ears, all too painfully. And Minho sighs an extremely irritated huff, swishing his finger and casting a seal over the pink tinted lips of the princess as he solemnly walks away.

“You'll be free when your knight comes to save you.”

“She’ll be free after I save her, your highness.”

Those were your last words when you abruptly stomped away from the grand hall, mounting onto your horse as you galloped away to your doom.

The warlock’s castle, in it’s dementing and horrific glamor, was the euphemism of something you’d strongly want to avoid. But this was your job, this was your punishment. So you gulped down the chilling fear and walked closer to it. It’s entrance wasn’t grand, at all. Instead, the thin frames of the huge door were entangled with pirouetting ivory branches, dark and tiny flowers doing injustice to ‘adoring’ it with their poisonous appearance. It looked every bit rusty and old, and more so of whimsical antiquity. But you disregard it anyways.

Wandering through the dark hallways of the castle, you come to a spacious hall, a familiar figure sitting on a chair in the middle, “Princess!” you yell.

She instantly looks over at you, but there’s no excitement, no relief for being finally saved after how many possible torture (so you thought). Instead, she yells over in mild desperation, “Yes! Untie me, please.”

You do as she says, hastily unbounding the knot tethering her wrists together. You keep great watch as you do so and prepare for any possible attacks from indiscreet angles so that you don’t actually end up dying how they had tasked you to. You look into the eyes of the princess. She wasn’t a slight bit bothered, nor struck with a traumatic concussion you’d expected her to. There was only nonchalance in her eyes, as if liberty wasn’t something she wished very dear. And you wondered what had happened here that she was so indifferent about her captor.

She suddenly finds interest in your eyes, peering with an intensity that had you doubting your observation traits, because you couldn’t tell what on earth she was about to say. “Prince….Felix. Was he worried? Did he say anything about me?” She asks.

Prince Felix, the other piece of the madly in love soulmates the entire city envied. Lee Felix was the third and underrated prince of your lovely neighboring kingdom, Rawajk. Lee Felix was a subdued prince who preferred to hide himself under his room’s roof, and came out only for his meal or daily practices; in a word, he was underqualified. But then, in a twisted hassle of degrading your king by offering him such a downcast prince, that too, born third in row with a concubine instead of the queens, it somehow became an astronomical union. And the castle halls quite greatly supported them both. By the time their engagement was to be announced, Felix was frankly more expedient than the second prince, who was rumored to be the best offspring. In all, Felix was the princess’ beloved betrothed she couldn’t spend a moment without.

“Yes, he’s been greatly concerned. He would surely have my head if I delayed a minute more,” you answer as you toss the worn ropes away onto the floor. The princess silently squeals. You clasp her hand into yours, standing her up as you speculate for any unnecessary, inscrutable sound or view that could threaten your safety.

“There would be no one. The purpose of my captor has been generously achieved. Return the same path you came from.” The princess states. What on earth..? You almost blurt out of curiosity, because what even was their motive? And how is it so easily achieved? You wonder. But that’s none of your business. It was a royal affair, something you’d rather not entangle yourself with.

“I see.”

Saving a princess has never been so easy.

Eyes that sparkle under the faintest of light, not with positivity but with utter trenchancy towards life, a type of sarcasm that vanquishes all hopes and leaves one with nothing but a blank canvas. Nonetheless, Minho can’t be any less charmed as he watches you through the oval mirror, a small smile adorning his face like never before.

The mirror zooms into your face as you free the princess, and Minho watches. He watches as your ponytail gracefully falls in front of your shoulder, watches as your hands tremble in the slightest way, but you do your best to conceal it under swift movements. There is terror in your eyes, one that he doesn’t like at all.

He efforts into hearing the wave of your thoughts, but his expectations are squished into nothing. There were bloodsheds, numbers of screams and tears of lament, but there was also insurmountable disappointment, self-loath for being fatally unserviceable and a plethora of fear, but for what he didn’t know. The smile of his face transforms into brows knitted with displeasure, why did you sound so dejected in your head? Why were you learning to accept death as an outcome of something he couldn’t reach? You were terrified, scared and haunted out of your dreams, for what he badly wanted to figure out.

But he satisfies himself with the subtle view of your features as of now. He was undeniably right to presume that you’d be breathtakingly beautiful, because even the mirror’s hue turned pink as it showed a close view of you. Perhaps, the mirror was a practical spectra of his feelings, but he hadn’t known what pink meant yet.

Maybe, just maybe, you were an enchantress, because he was so strangely and so impeccably captivated.

Minho abducts the princess again soon after, being a silent ghost as a captor for the second time.

And the third time, sun bats over thick clouds and the princess is found absent in her chamber among the chilling rain that bestows over earth’s surface.

“Aha, hello batface. Long time no see. I missed your buns tho,” the princess jokes, prodding around the hall’s floor as she skips about. Minho huffs an exasperated sigh for the umpteenth time, but cannot help feeling a little amused at the woman’s childlike antics.

Chan widens his eyes from the corner of the room, baffled at the princess’ blatant witticism. But Minho doesn’t notice that, instead he knits his brows at Chan, asking for a silent reply on why he seems rather unusually surprised. However, the man only eyes Minho’s bottom, inclining the boy to stumble back a few due to his ludicrous gaze.

The princess seems to catch onto that, immediately snickering as she says, “No not those buns, the food. The bread buns, batface’s guardian.”

Chan’s face scrunches up even more at that as he mumbles a series of incoherent complaints on her ridiculous nickname. However, Minho voices it out, “Who are you calling batface?” He speaks, impassive and bushed like the miniscule strength of his finger.

“You of course. Don’t you have a mirror? Confirm it,” she deadpans, slouching on the chair in the middle of the hall as she props one leg above the other with a gaudy comfort Minho was sure he didn’t provide.

The warlock respires a deep breath, “I’d rather not.”

The princess then takes her eyes off of him, now walking around the edges of the hall and peering over to the rooms situated within. Chan shoots the warlock a wave when he walks away, leaving the two together in unappreciated silence. The princess, as she looks around, pirouettes over to face Minho.

She offers him a mischievous smile and Minho wishes for all his willpower to hold on for a few more days for your sake. For you, and for his unfigured feelings, he will do it.

“You do me a favor, batface. Prince Felix is so caring with me everytime I go back, aaahh. I feel like you’re aiding my marriage.”

Again.

“Of course I am not-”

The princess jumps on her heels, hands adjoined and mouth running on a dangerous pace as she continues, “The prince is amazing! Did you know he’s won so many battling contests? And he’s so very handsome too. He might not be the best but he’s all I want.”

Her cow eyes are a wonder to Minho, and the way she speaks about her fiancé is an idiosyncrasy for him. Despite his blatant unwillingness, he listens, hears all the indiscriminate praises spoken about the particular lad and all his normalcy turned into brilliance. That’s a perspective he can’t really grasp. Why was the princess so undeniably smitten by a fellow prince?

A tap on his shoulder brings him back to reality and he pivots behind, noticing the princess eyeing him observantly. She smiles and Minho expects a little peace, or anything that doesn’t trigger his nerves.

“You’re quite the eye candy too, except that ugly cape and your horrible fashion.”

But alas. The princess doesn’t seem to be capable of offering peace.

“I don’t need you commenting on my appearance.”

The irritation Minho expresses is unfiltered, but the godforsaken princess can’t be less bothered. She continues to smile with full gums and exasperates him further.

“Oho, but I will. Expect more of me, will you? I actually love how your hair looks, and you’ve got such delicate features too.”

“Shut up, princess.”

“Alright, you’re boring.”

ii.

You’ve never been much vengeful, nor have you had uncontrollable complexity of rage. Because you’ve been raised under every circumstance, every convolution and taught to endure any kind of inferiority complications, and the torture that came with it. But you’ve never experienced such unfairness, nor such injustice in any part of your life.

But you’ve held the frustration in and forced back the tears when the officials spoke about conspiring a clean death of yours, masked by faux stories they’d brew by convenient situations. But it was hard. Very much when you’re not allowed to sneak a glance of the people you loved, not allowed to even know whether they’re alive or not. It becomes much more than the torment subjected upon you every day, with every minute that passes and every second of further conspiracy.

For them you’d do. You’d try your best to stay alive for them, with the hope that you’d get to see your mother smiling at you, your family rejoicing for you. But they were hopes, hopes left unclarified.

So the only thing you could do is, live and fight your way through the conspiracy, by hook or nook. Maybe a miracle, or by a sudden wonder, you’d be able to dodge the clutches of death if you work hard enough; even though being a knight was the most unsuitable occupation for you. By far, you’ve managed. Even when they sent you to a deadly warlock's den, into the mouth of inevitable death, you have survived; much courtesy to the humble villain who did close to nothing sort of harmful.

At this point, you guessed that maybe the governors are the one purposefully getting the princess kidnapped. Just to get you annihilated.

But why put an important life at bait?

You sigh audibly, you’d never know their pesky brains and the absurd treachery they engaged in.

By this time around you’ve memorized the way to the hall and out pretty meticulously. But something is rather eerie this time. The silence is eccentric and the air permeates tension in the most sensible way. The hair on the back of your neck perks up as you walk through the dark pathway, hands rubbing against each other.

All you had to do was get the princess and leave from here, that’s what you’ve been doing and that’s what is supposed to happen.

Unless it doesn’t.

With great force, you feel a hand clasp around yours as you’re yanked somewhere through the wall. Albeit their force was apposite enough to effortlessly drag your weight with them, their hold wasn’t really choked or rigid; it was gentle, light and too subtle for someone to be causing you danger.

Perhaps it weren't danger at all, but you wouldn’t know.

Your black is slammed against the wall and hands pinned beside your head by a man you didn’t know. You dread looking up than the black cape flowing behind his knees. However, your apprehension rises by the minute as you feel his warm breath on your cheeks. He’s close, very painfully close. You’re every much scared the way an ordinary civilian would, but the man doesn’t exude menace how you’d supposed.

Despite the dread crawling at your stomach, you look up. Through your lashes, you see a pair of dark brown delicate eyes peering down at you in an emotion far different from threat. The glimmer of his eyes is the same as his subtle hold on your hands, careful not to hurt you. And when you look up fully, you’re awestruck.

Luminance dancing in the swirl of his chocolate orbs shielded by archly curved and silken lashes, you cannot help but be captivated by how he looks down at you. His eyes are somberly orphic, mysterious and entrancing; yet beyond ordinary understanding. You cannot help but notice a pervasive delicacy in the furrow of his brows, something unusual of a deadly warlock to ensemble.

For a man so adapt to killing, his eyes were remarkably soft.

Suspiciously beautiful pair of lips adhering to hesitation before he speaks fully, “Who are you?” he whispers.

Who were you?

What answer did he desire? You were an unwilling knight on the path to death anytime soon, but you were sure that wasn’t an answer he wanted to hear. So you keep quiet, only returning the intensity of his gaze.

He hesitates again as his lips stumble against each other. You’re astonished even more at how you’re focused on each insignificant cognition of his face, however, you really can’t help giving his eyes a second scrutiny.

For a man so adapt to killing, his eyes held so much innocence, conspicuously active and omnipresent.

“Why are you haunting me like this? Have you known me before?”

His whispers are almost inaudible, but that’s the privilege your close proximity offers when you barely make out his words to be cohesive.

The questions in your mind are uncountable, and your mouth is speechless as you tilt your head in confusion. His face nears you a little more, and his grasp tightens around your wrists bearably. He is so close to you that his dark brown fringes barely graze your forehead. You accumulate his expression to be torn, as confused as you and desperately looking for answers you had no idea of.

But his solution is you, the only foreboding to diffuse the complicacy of his mind he finds is through you. However, you’re in as much of the obscurity he’s suffering. “I do not know what you mean,” you attempt to answer.

Despite his harmless visuals, you’re still scared for your life and dreading that your last breath could be determined quite rashly, concluding that you could be killed in instant if your answer does not please him. But the warlock’s hold loosens as the words leave your mouth, so does the expression of his face. He seems dangerously inexpressive by the time your wrists are barely dangling off of his fingers. But the purity of his, is one thing that doesn’t falter even when they are empty and extracted of any potency he detained before.

An emptiness fueled by seclusion.

“Leave anything of yours here and take the princess.”

A different voice commands from an angle you cannot figure out. It’s certainly not his, because his lips stay in unyielding motion. His sub audible whispers gave little measure to his actual voice, and you wished with a minor candor that you’d hear how he sounded like. However, he doesn’t seem keen on speaking and you’re not inclined to do anything either.

So you do. You leave your handkerchief on the table with no questions asked.

But not before taking a good look of the warlock who now stares downwards, sketching the shape of his face and silken bouffant hair drooping down to his eyes.

Though unwilling, your eyes still fall upon his fingers that enveloped yours moments ago; traces of blue and impending flame pirouetting around them in oblique indecent shapes. You knew by then, the flame warlocks fire can never lie or pretend.

Because a warlock’s elemental secretion illustrates the stability and subjugations in their blood flow and nerves. Dismantled, obtuse portrayal means unstable emotions.

The warlock showed less than what he felt.

As you left, Minho brought his mirror in front of him. Just like the last times, he watched you search for the princess and drag her away. But this time, your eyes grew frantic with a sudden speed in your actions. This time, your steps quickened and so did the palpitations of your heart. This time, your head nestled in the clouds and so did your thoughts wander off to a certain encounter faced minutes ago. And just like this, this time too, Lee Minho lost sight of you in the woods.

The dawn breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of you, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath your running stallion. You gallop through the forest with the princess behind you, holding tight onto your waist as you swing the reins with a turbulent breath. Getting back to the palace as fast as possible was the utmost priority, as well as keeping the royal blood safe and sound. But your guts were telling you otherwise. Your stomach churned the more you heeded to the ominous gargle occurring within. You gulped a tensed one, hands and feet paranoid as you compellingly will yourself to swish the thoughts away.

The light provided by the dangling lantern in the princess’ hands is inadequate. But you make the best of your senses as you saunter through the lengthened grass. Even through mild panic brewing inside you, the sense of kinship this forest had with flora, of a primeval soul that expanses into everything that lives gives you little soothe.

Hordes of trees pass you in a swish with a tempestuous wind forcing you aback along with your incredulous speed. Perhaps, such a hurry was unnecessary, but the intimidation that canopies your heart is far greater than a speed you can control.

The mass of trees seem just fine and everything sounds out of danger too, but a smell of tepidness hovers in the air. Until, you begin to hear faintest steps of a running parade. Soldiers. That’s the first thing that occurs to your brain as apprehension settles in the middle of your stomach. The princess notices that a few minutes later as she lifts up her head from your back and asks light and low, “What happened?”

You gulp, “Soldiers, Your Highness.”

The princess returns to the comfort of resting on your back, sighing a breath of relief as she replies, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Your majesty the king has never sent aid for the three times I’ve rescued you.”

“What do you mean?”

The princess is only alerted when you clench your jaw, pure dread overtaking your features, “They’re here for me.”

You can hear her awe in bewilderment, now attentive with the comfort seeped out of her. “For you. To-to annihilate you?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“B-but why so suddenly, why would you even need to be executed? It threatens my safety too!” she asks, much- concerned.

You smile through the trepidation that covers you in a choked cloak, trying to gather as much assurance as you can and say, “They’d escort you back to the castle. I was appointed as your guard for the sole reason of getting killed by another well-trained knight. In a scheme of self-defense of course.” You surprise yourself by how simply you explain to her, no choked cries and no impending sobs threatening to leave your throat. Instead, you smile. “It seems I escaped death thrice, since the warlock didn’t kill me according to their change of plans.”

“No no, y/n, I say go back. Turn back right now!” the princess yells in desperation, hands taut as you feel them pull you back a little.

Even though turning back couldn’t be an option, because that appoints you as an ally with the forest’s warlock; and that is treason against the kingdom, punishable only by death sentence. However, there was only end for you no matter which way you turned to and whichever path of escape you adhered to.

There’s very less time for you to decide whether to return to the warlock’s den or not. Because as time passes by, the royal soldiers get impossibly closer and you near your doom. The princess is abundant to make you liberal and she constantly rushes you.

“But your highness, you need to be escorted to the castle. My life is inconsequential,” you reason with her as you refuse to heed to her orders. You had long accepted the fate of your inevitable death, and the choice of a short, neat death is better than prolonged days of torture to follow your execution. So you try to say more, “There’s no guarantee that the vicious man won’t kill me either.”

“There is no possible way in the universe that he can kill you. You of all people. Your life matters to me more than something as petty as simply returning to the hellhole,” she shouts under the air that slightly blurs her voice. She snags at your arm from behind, twisting the horse’s neck behind as you both stumble on the grass surface.

You attempt to balance the both of you among the spasmodic jerks when the horse takes turn without notice. “But princess-”

“This is the best choice, believe me.”

For once, maybe believing a kind royal won’t cost you bloodshed under a graying sky filled with radiant explosives. Even though the promise of trust was futile, you decided to obey by her words. Maybe once, for once.

And upon the forest floor so woven with ancient tree roots came a light filtered by the bouquet of foliage beside. But it’s not the belonging light of the sun breaking in the dawn; it’s the light of malignance, of death and endangerment and of what’s to come. The light accompanies virile hawks, shaking you to the core.

And suddenly, you’re rounded by several hard armored wicked bandits. The royals probably deemed it unnecessary to have the soldiers’ even wear an emblem. Or maybe it was their primal goal to sublimate this incident into a mid-forest bandit raid; to avoid hassle. So, here came your demise in the shape of dappled knights, menace protuberant from their mere movements.

One of them harshly yanks the princess off the horse, bounding her hands behind her back as he fluently cages her. “Now.” he orders.

This is it.

You embrace the future which is inescapable, inhaling a few deep breaths before the air stops running through your blood. You’re scared, terrified and still not as ready as you supposed you’d be. Because who can even be ready for death? There were so many wishes, so many hopes and so much you had yet to accomplish. You’d lived an entirely vain life until now, cowered under heavy scrutiny and submitted yourself into the conspiracy leading to this.

The princess’ screams are flagrant yet concealed in your ear as the men rise their arrows at you, all at once. You simply sit on your horse, unmoving yet scared; and with a formidable hope for help, anything to save you from vanishing off of the earth. But then the men pull against their arrows, narrowing their aim and pointing solely at you. Your terror is inexplicable, throat dry as consternation swallows you into a whole tight grip. Eyes shut close, you prepare for the arrows to pierce into you, tear you apart.

But after a few moments, your dread is masked under vicarious and malicious growls of blooming flame. And your eyes spat open, widened and flabbergasted. There is a ghastly orange grin, wavering and outrageous as it tears through the verdant woodland. Suddenly there’s unfettered flames devouring hungrily at the coppice, swishing and flicking in a dance without rhythm. They reach out to the sky like pallid, gnarled hands, as if desperate to latch onto the greenery and sear the earth away.

You can’t see anything in the blazing fire and by some miraculous reality, the fire does not graze you one bit. Instead it paves way for you when you stagger forward. The smoke engulfs you into a dizzy stature, eyes burning with the gas spreading in like wildfire. Violent screams resound and the royal soldiers are thrashing among the fire that targets itself towards them and them only. The cruelty here is mutual, yet you feel nauseous in the pained snivels of those men, brutally tortured to death.

And among the haze, you see the princess harmlessly approaching you; when suddenly, you’re encased into a hug. Never in your life would you have expected the princess, one of high social status and respect, to weep for you. But you acquiesce to the reunion, draping your arms around her and patting her back.

The princess tears away from you and there is a different smile on her face, one of care and relief. Perhaps foreign to you, but you can’t control how it touches your heart.

She cares for you.

Before you knew it, fire tainted the earth with grey, stripping the surrounding trees of the virescent beauty, leaving their gaunt, skeletal remains rooted to the barren soil as well as those of the men. The entire area had turned into specks of charcoal, grayed and ashened to where all there was, was stillness of burned woods and bones, like a great famished beast devouring everything in its path and belching out black. Except the land you stood on. It was still as fresh as before, the grass intact and only batted under your footsteps.

Terrifying.

It would’ve been abundantly terrifying for you if not for the cruelty you’ve witnessed before and the fact that you were, as strange as it was, untouched and safe. Never is the woodland silent, though it is quieter than any city; there’s always whistles and calls of rendezvous, always a forest sound.

But right now? There’s no sound except for your breath mingling with the remnant oxygen. There’s nothing, not a single speck of auditory evidence.

“Lee Minho…” you hear the princess whisper under stunned breath, clutching onto you even more as to balance herself. Your mind instantly rewinds back to when you’d met with black cloaked man in that vacant castle. You remember it clearly, bluish flame caressing his forearms like a splintered glove. Was it him?

“Who is he?” you ask, voice shaken.

The princess does not say but points ahead of you, eyes locked onto the front.

There he was. The same dangerous man with soft eyes and fire sheathed around his arms like faint fireworks dancing in the air. His blackness matched that of the earthly area, leaden and darkness shrouded with the most destructive veil. But oh well, not when he looks up to meet your eyes. Not when his eyes are glistening with emotions you dare not apprehend. Not when his reddish lips part ever so gently as breath relieves from him.

“I guess we have no choice.”

What choice would you even take?

iii.

What choice would she even take?

The princess walks beside you in slow, matched steps. You expected disheartment, or post-traumatic fear, or anything to prove that she’d experienced something so deadly for the first time in her life. But as you look at her, her face appears to be nonchalant, no sign of pessimistic emotions engulfing her into a silent state. And after a few, much not to your surprise, the princess whistles tunelessly with her puckered lips as she walks at front.

You’re not one to judge, because even after ferocity and thrilling carnage had been your side-path for the majority of your life, you were still undoubtedly scared. Scared of that breath loss, of that smoke reducing you to the face of the earth, of that fire that imperially spared only you and massacred your threats. But why? Perhaps it had been the birdcage the steering flame fabricated around you, trapped you in an inescapable cubicle, or maybe it was something else. But you knew for sure that it wasn’t the terror of those men, it wasn’t the brutality that eradicated them into nothing but scarred bones.

Indulged into your thoughts, you don’t notice when the princess runs up to the black clad man at front, a few hands away. You walk behind with your head in a segregating quagmire and feet moving continuously in a doubtfully symmetrical way, maybe a little unstable; and quite a little flimsy.

You feel fatigue settle in your aching limbs, desperate for some respite. Your brain screams at you as your knees buckle up with every step you take. You’re irrevocably famished, and very visibly parched to the core. You think it’s the fire; the fire that had perspiration trawling over your forehead like tears of rain-struck trees. Maybe it is the fire, when all you feel are insufficient solidity and suffocating intake of breaths.

You couldn’t walk anymore. You knew you wouldn’t be standing anymore when your legs gave out, nausea creeping up your abdomen as your head spun with thousand needles piercing at your head. Then with one step backward you crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings.

Though your body falls with a soft thud, the princess instantly turns around as she runs toward you. You wanted to speak out, say that you’re just fine, but words from your throat seemed incredibly hard to emanate. Gulps felt like trodden sand down your throat and esophagus unadapt to vocalization.

You hadn’t fainted, but you’re not deliberately awake either.

“Batface! Help!”

“What is it- Oh!”

It was like the most elegant, rich definition of voices, smothered with silken adverbs and ecclesiastical tones; as ironic as it could be. And then he speaks multiple words sketched altogether in measured cadences, “Do you hear me?” but all you can focus in your hazy state is the conciliatory timbre of his voice, something so assuaging that it soothes the uproar within your head.

You see him crouch down next to you, hands hovering above your cheeks as he speaks again, “Can you hear me?” it’s quietly pacifying when you focus on the ambiance of his voice, light and soft like a bellowing feather aerial above mountain breeze. It feels too serene, yet throbbing around your head like placate waves crashing into the shore.

You can only properly understand and place his words into comprehensible criteria when he speaks a little louder this time, cold fingers pressing against your cheeks, “Are you awake?”

Even as your head feels like haggard stones of excessive weight you try your best to move just enough to indicate that you were perhaps, mildly conscious. You feel two arms snake around your knees and back and you’re instantly hauled up into a shrimp in their arms. It’s much more comfortable than the uneven soil you’d laid on, and much more warm too.

You let your head lull to a side and rest against the crook of their neck, conspicuously contented and nestled into a muddled haze. And after that, you were out cold into deep slumber.

The princess watches Minho settle you into his arms as he begins walking. Though prepared, the princess is moved when he asks suddenly, “Do you think this happened because I..?”

“She….is not supposed to be wavered by that,” she replies, head shaking in denial. Then there’s a silence, not stifling and not uneasy either, just the three of you approaching the dark boulders surrounding the warlock’s castle.

The princess is highly intrigued by the face the cold-toned warlock sports; apologetic and strangely concerned. The considerations of his mind come off to the mien of his face in a very aphoristic way, expressing so much in just a furrow of brows and terse lips. And the princess knows very clearly that he’s adept on thinking that you’d fainted because of him, because of the terrible fire he caused with bare fingertips.

But you’re not one to be shaken by the fire. You’d faced many atrocious calamities of fate, much of it plain unspeakable. And so the princess rushes behind Minho, clearing her throat to gain attention. She then curves her lips into a reassuring smile, saying, “Maybe it's just the smoke.”

There’s a small hint of gratefulness in his eyes, one that could have initiated a reciprocal smile in any person’s face. But he only nods, considerate eyes casting on you who he carries.

“Maybe it is.”

Minho and the princess reach the castle as the sun glaciates through the splints of dawn. The warlock immediately stabilizes you in his arms as Chan’s eyes meet Minho’s in a known glance understood only by the duo. The princess excuses herself at the first step taken inside and trudges off to the room provided long ago.

The patron basks in the unusual expression his apprentice couriers, worried himself when he sees you cold unconscious in his arms. “What happened?” He asks.

“I….the fire.”

That’s all it took for Chan to escort both of you in a vacant room. At Chan's signal, the latter carefully lays you down on the adjacent bed, hand holding gently behind your neck. Even with eyes closed, it’s like nothing changed. His mind still performed somersaults at the sight of you, tranquility evident in the minutest features of your face. On your lids showed a rare peace, one that is unachievable in the scarcest way, on your cheeks flared dancing pink, one that comes with leisure conciliation and on your lips graced the faintest color with the promise of sweetness to come.

You were the opposite of him.

Minho’s eyes snap wide into reality when Chan pushes him back to rest a hand on your forehead. He closes his eyes in concentration, meditating into your mind. It’s all the same procedure he has done many times, the same curative he confers with his power. But Chan crinkles his brows in a way suspicious to Minho, as if- something was wrong inside your mind. Immediately, the warlock queries, “Is she okay?”

Chan opens his eyes, looking at the younger with assuration. He smiles scantly, “She most definitely is, she was just overwhelmed by the smoke. It must’ve been suffocating for her.”

It’s as if something doesn’t sit well with Minho. Chan’s assuration almost seems untrue and the smile he offers seems fabricated. It inclines Minho to think that perhaps it had been him behind your collapsing, it had been the dreadful fire, the excruciating rage implicated into the malignancy of its uproar. Perhaps you were scared, fainted out of repulsion. And you’d come to abhor him for that too, because that was the primary reaction of the people who witnessed his fiery curse.

“I see,” he replies, blank and in distrust.

Chan smacks his lips together, knowing exactly what was swirling among the darkness in his head. He sighs, “No you didn’t harm her. There’s no scratches on her body. Furthermore, look at the princess! Why is she skipping about?”

Minho nods, not believing him entirely but not distrusting him at the same time. “Look, it’s not your fault. Trust me.” Chan says one last time, much-serious. Minho knows his patron has no reason to lie to him, but cannot swat the nagging gaunt away from his guts. However, he nods again, a little more convincingly.

He then looks over at you, feeling conflicted like a ball of yarn; the stray strands of it being coherent and usable, the rest? Tangled into a mess of bird’s nest, endless and unyielding.

The castle’s master was heartless. There was no care in his heart, nor any positive emotions. But oh! He is bound in a spell by an enchantress. A spell that returns life to him, slowly, time by time.

And he feels very thoroughly when his heart resonates a profound beat.

Has it always beaten that way?

The first sight you see the next morning are two ridiculously exploratory eyes peering down into your own like repulsed cow eyes at the sight of red. The princess gasps in shock as you suddenly sit up on the bed, startling you both with how patently alert you seemed. “Where are we?” you ask, meticulously active with nascent panic.

The princess replies wide eyed at your impetuous apprehension, “We? We’re at the warlock’s house. Don’t worry he’s not one to fear.”

The warlock’s house? His mention itself smothers a blanket of relief upon you. You relax noticeably, back slouching as you huff a breath. The warlock didn’t seem like one to fear, instead he reeked of anything but harm. But you do not know the wonders of his mind, do not know if he has anything incongruous perked up in the clamp leather of his cape. However, the assistance and comfort he’s offered trounced most of the redundant doubts you had.

Chuckling softly under the slumber's trance, you say, “You’re fearless, your highness.”

The princess leans back, belched chuckles escaping into the playful air. You’ve never really heard the princess smile audibly, much less laugh off into the situation; unless it is with her majestic betrothed from the neighboring kingdom. Even so, they’ve always been discreet and secluded into where they were not hearable.

To see the princess smiling so nonchalantly with you, it made you feel something foreign, a form of happiness that you’ve succeeded to- even though unintentional- make someone laugh, someone who appeared to ignore the blemishes on your reputation and advance a hand of amiability.

Someone with the potential of becoming a friend of yours. It’s a nice feeling; quite triumphant when she erupts laughter like blooming sunflowers in the summer.

Soon enough, her laughs reduce to a simple smile as she states, “Since you’re awake, I will return to my chamber. Get well soon, yeah?”

You nod, reciprocating with a similar smile of assurance, “Yes, your highness.”

But then she frowns, coming up to you with a gentle flick on your forehead. You’re caught in the headlights, dumbfounded with the surprise of such a sudden attack. Your back leans backward and hand instinctively caresses onto the stinging burnish in the middle of your forehead.

“Oh please, don’t be so formal around me. I don’t think any of us have status while we’re here,” says the princess, lips puckered into a complaining pout. You quench the urge of smiling out at her adorably childish antics- quite reminiscent and invigorating, and very casual- like how you’d improvise fake madness in front of bosom friends.

But your royal practices nip at your gut and you hesitate, shaking your head with the improvisation of implicative denial. She frowns even more, now seeming downright comical, “I’m not so happy with this either.”

Right then and there, you were stripped off of all your choices; the only option left being compliant and abiding by her wishes. Even though it's unnatural for a guard to befriend a royal, you cannot help but feel a simple, supportive bond forming with the reduction of formal addresses. It's just a simple, gratuitous and illimitable companionship formed under unbound saint’s equanimity; without a dire need of social raise nor wanted by the advantages to come.

“As you wish, Mina.”

The powerful, haunting warlock of the dark forest; a precarious, feared figure by the people of social locality. But you, you saw more to him than just the danger, even though it was a major part of it. It seemed like an animate lie to assume him to be an aphrodisiac with a thrill of slaughter, or the definition of grovel madness driven into strong inclination for assassinating. But you didn’t really see the ill intention they’d subjected him to have, or the murderous impetuous and classic ‘merciless’ conduct.

It’s as if he wouldn’t hurt a fly if not necessary.

He’s as beautiful as a samurai sword and just as deadly, but his blade only biased for the wrong.

Suddenly, two fingers snap in front of your eyes, abruptly breaking you away from the daze you were intentionally trapped in. Looking up, you see him, his intrinsic morose leather cape hanging behind and his face clad in sarcastic worry. However, he doesn’t speak; only keeping a bowl of emerald sour looking tunic beside your bed as he sits down on the wooden table chair.

Oh, he was who you were thinking about!

Knowingly and quite voluntarily had you been indulged into appeasing your curiosities about him, that now, you feel the same mystery and the same urge of overthinking. Your cheeks color in a faint blush when you realize you’d put too much exertion on notions about him. Nonetheless, you pretend composure and say “You’re the warlock who kidnaps the princess.”

As soon as those words leave your mouth, you slam a manic hand over your mental forehead, irrationally cussing yourself for starting out so lame. The porcelain skinned man on the other hand, takes in your rhetorical statement and simply nods without much reaction.

So much for trying to start a conversation.

You heave a breath, looking straight into the beauty of those unhesitant eyes; unnerving and somehow gratifying, like the most expensively intricate graphite stones. His irises hem his eyes like darkened copper wires bent in flowers and spirals. It’s enchanting, way too nulling. You feel your lips drying before you mumble a ‘what to say’ low under your breath.

You needed to ask questions that had answers he could know.

You prepare yourself for the bracing to come, unsure yet fixated. “It is strange how you never showed yourself, much less hurt us. Why?” there’s no clean brows or ice clear orbs when you ask him that, such is his reaction. His crystal eyes are a tad bit stunned, unexpectant and reluctant in his answers, “What is it that you wanted?” you ask once more.

“It might not have been in the right way, but I have what I wanted with me. Close enough,” he says, lips stretching scantily when they meet each other.

The answers are a vague reflection under the shield of his lashes, it’s not clear, nor is it a cluster foggy residue. It seems he’s reluctant into providing a clear-cut answer, and instead settled for an answer to suffice the moment.

But you push further, “I am confused. What was it?”

The tiny smile he formulates turns into a left-sided smirk. He appears to ignore your query and instead maneuvers to gather the bowl of tunic in his palms. Just when you’re about to give up on the silence, he says in a low adverb, “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

“I see.”

With careful movements, he hands you the melanin bowl, “It’s medicine for any discomfort in your body. Headaches and soreness.” You nod and receive the disgustingly sour looking liquid.

It seems essential to drink it by the way he observes you and even though you’ve never properly taken care of your health, the peering man looked more than eager into confirming that you drank the unappealing greens. It’s mere appearance screams distaste and a month of repugnant burps after every meal.

Squeamishly, you take a sip and immediately grimace, face turned ugly from the incredulous taste staining your taste buds into hells. Monstrous, making anyone drink such disgrace of a medicine is monstrosity. You’re appalled far into depths you cannot decipher. But you gulp the dread down your throat and force the rest into your mouth, quite critically.

The way you curl your lips almost make the other smile, if not for your eyes that return to him soon after. Minho straightens himself instantly, indulging in a pretense that he hadn’t just been amused by the mawkish repulsion you displayed.

You, on the other hand, catch him rather diligently and instantly notice how his lips twitch to remain still. That brings upon a smile on your face.

“What are you called by?” you ask, smiling.

His name you ask? He, himself, wasn’t as sure on what to respond with, because his name has ever only been called by his guiding patron; to the point where he deemed it to be confidential for others. But looking at your unscathed brightness, and your unwavering curiosity to know him; it seems maybe it’s not so bad to introduce himself once.

“Umm, if you can’t say your name it’s fine too-”

“I am…. My name is Lee Minho.”

It sounds undeniably foreign to him when he spells it, never-present and extraneous. But it’s taken as a name, an introduction he’s bound to make.

“Lee…Minho?” Minho watches in undivided attention as your face scrunches up, looking convoluted. You were probably digesting the sound of it in your mind but he instantly assumes that you disliked how his name had sounded. It doesn’t offend him, instead, he stumbles to fix that and undo the overture.

“But you can call me whatever you want, even though you don’t have a reason to,” He injects hastily, hesitation in his voice as the density fades away at the end. When you don’t respond soon after, he adds again, “Just not batface.”

You suppress the unavoidable itch to burst into a laughter and let a modest grin grace your lips. “You have a very beautiful name. Lee Minho…..it sounds like you, doesn’t it, Minho-ssi?”

The way his name reels off your tongue in a simplistic, becoming way suddenly has him on the edge. Minho feels stilled, petrified in his own spot when a strange gurgle bubbles up in his stomach. It does not help how a certain pace takes over the beating of his heart, walloping in a strenuous run and never returning back. He feels as if he’s lost any verbal independence and rational discerning, so he blurts out the first thing that occurs to his mind scurrying miles per hour, “Your medicine.”

“Crap.”

So, she likes my name.

iv.

“It’s nice that your voice is the first thing I hear today.”

Minho smiles, partially sure that your half opened eyes cannot see the minimal happiness grown on his face. He takes pleasure in watching you shamble on your bed for a light morning stretch to grow out of the soreness of slumber. However, your eyes remain closed and a satisfied lopsided grin adorning the apple of your cheeks.

“It’s very endearing when you’re half asleep,” he replies after you.

And then you wake, the smile on your face more apparent and livelier. Minho feels his heart skip a quiescent beat when your eyes crinkle with morning light. A deep curve on your lips makes the world stop around you, a smile that enunciates a million butterflies in a split second. The precious dimple that crinkles and makes him question the functionality of his heart and brain. It was established in the corner of Minho’s consciousness that you had the greatest smile, a smile that made him feel happy about being alive, made him feel just a bit more human.

Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, it had already been a month since you’ve been living in the tranquil home. Minho didn’t have the slightest inkling on what happened to his cold and calloused heart. You felt like family the instant he met you, looked into your sympathetic eyes and spoke words of scarcity. Was it passion or joy; how could he convey this unusual feeling?

Your company was soft colors of nature, pastel and greens; sometimes yellows and sometimes a vibrant apricot; or the delicate browns and the sky that deepened to show him the stars. It felt like an earthiness that lasts a lifetime, sempiternal and extremely, seductively beguiling. And sometimes the soft colors smeared upon the brief conversations, lousy acts and breakfast under the sky that matched allies with you.

It seemed the sky turned a little brighter, the trees swayed with more vigor and the wind offered you gentle caresses. You were starting to believe in him, believe in his wind and his fire. Believe in the darkness of blameless intentions. And when you dragged him into your daily dosage of amusement, splayed water in Chan’s alcohol beverage and basked in the laughter that erupted you from his dubious face oh so effortlessly; then you noticed how breathtaking he actually was.

There was innocence in his sonority, and a lost childhood in his expressions.

He wore the smell of blood and death like a perfume. There was fire in his eyes; and ice in his veins. But you grew fond of him anyway, for he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns.

Minho’s patron, suspicious yet gratified, watched you turn the same pessimistic leather-caped warlock into a ball of mush. It was rather surprising for him too, to watch the man walking by your skipping form, wearing an admiring smile. He wondered if it was the same fiery soul who said he was the definition of hatred and abhorrence, who believed he was an uproarious definition of vengeance, of absurdity and unlikeliness.

It couldn’t be the same warlock who had empty eyes and passive speech. This one however, had twinkling eyes and a resonation of hope and solidarity.

It wasn’t the warlock anymore.

It was him, it was Lee Minho.

Minho’s enchanted and ancient mirror had that patina of age over the bronze frame, likewise the surface of the glass was splotched black in places. He observed and stared at himself, or at least the distorted image of himself on the obscure edges. The mirror showed him the boy the world saw, all they saw, somehow it didn't seem right. Inside he was fireworks and rage, love and frustrations, ambition and fear. All they saw was rippled danger and the ferocious brown eyes you dread looking into. He ran a finger over the frame, feeling its cool ridges and grooves and the layer of dust that clung to it in the past few weeks.

“Show me,” he commanded.

The mirror instantly lights up with a pinkish luminance as your walking reflection projects in the middle, pushing through the poisonous spikey branches in the eastern forest. It has been a malignant area, filled with traps and a haywire of noxious plants to fruits. It’s also the only pathway for the eastern barbarians to reach him and advantageously, the toxicity of it protects the warlock from them. Minho has always been told that it’s to be avoided at all costs by humans and feeble beings; since all they’d be forwarding for is demise in the deadly nature.

But you didn’t know that.

The mirror is harshly thrown on the floor as the frantic warlock sprints through his castle doors, a pirouetting fire already jeopardizing at his fingertips.

[ you ]

You’ve visited the forest multiple times already to know the trajectories of the near-woods. You’ve never crossed the safe region though, and never went past the invisible boundaries Chan settled. So nobody could foresee that one day, un-notified of your departure, you would sprint off to the greasy slopes in search of food.

In your defense, you didn’t want to seem like a lousy scrounger, or laze around the house as your daily chore. It was nagging at your principles; screaming at you to quit being a trifling. So helping out with garnering food was your chosen option.

But it didn’t seem to go the way you’d presumed.

The forest was evil and thickened with devilish roots sprouting into epitomes of utter endangerment. You realized that far after you’ve entered into the unusually long and prickly leaves swathing the sun to where even a speck of light cannot pierce through. It’s mildly terrifying, as it is dangerous.

Attending to your nerves, you notice a bit late when a hefty lithe limb approaches your neck at a ridiculous speed. You shriek in terror, eyes shut tight and unbraced for any harm that’s to come.

I should’ve stayed away, you think.

But the branch doesn’t even graze you as you’re shoved behind by a familiar grip and dragged into an immediate careen. The cape flying alongside you makes you affirmative of the hand’s identity. “Just run,” he says, hands never losing the grip on your wrist.

The tree’s limb is still chasing after you like a monster, feral and aggressive. Your heart beats out of sync along your breath when it expands into a different form and reaches impossibly close, almost in touch with your quiver. Minho yanks on your arm stronger and pulls your face into his shoulder. All you feel afterwards is a nostalgic heat enveloping your back- transparent and invisible but not hotter than the hand that pulls you closer; and that is however, something you cannot ignore even with all willpower.

It’s not something that burns, simply a perennial warmth that you don’t mind. And when Minho breaks out of the unintentional embrace and drags you away again, you look behind. The frontier of the region is burned into ashes and charred remnants of trees; It’s blackened and seared with dark smoke vanishing at the sky’s reef along with the limp thickness of the branch on the ground- nothing you didn’t expect from someone who bent fire at his will.

The one you now harbored unidentified emotions for, was deadlier than the terrestrial forest of death- lethal than any monster you’ve seen and any power that reduces earth to bones. However, he was kind as he was strong and he was the one you cared for so deeply.

That evening, beside a brook rimmed with the ornaments of petals and verdures, fiery ebony hands held yours with a smile. He said nothing, did nothing but provide you a strange confidence you never knew you had. So you told him in a low tone that you grew feelings for him; unmatched, unfamiliar and beautiful emotions. You told him in vague words the impersonation of a confession and looked at the vermillion sky. You told him, “I want a forever with you, in any way. With love or without, I’d simply stay beside you.”

Then his lips, in soft motions, replied, ‘not me.’ He said, “You cannot love me, for I am dust and danger and nothing more.”

To which you simply reply with, “The earth is dust and danger and nothing more,” then you look through the confusion etched onto his face and say, “And so you are my world.”

Maybe you were hallucinating in broad daylight, like a madwoman caught in inexplicable passion. In a trance like the fog of stark winter; in an other-worldly imagination cloaked with ocean waves. Because there’s no way that the next second transpires with supple lips on yours with the same craving as you and a hundred, thousand words conveyed with a mere movement. You hear nothing, sense nothing, and think only of the moment that stretches to time unknown.

You never knew the stars had a flavor until you kissed him. It turns out they taste like ambition and ancient fire, desperation and self-destruction, determination and darkness within- and the mind numbing fear of being left alone again. You're caught and magnetized into it, thrifted of your senses and surpassed the general capacity of feelings. Turns out you've never felt anything this captivating, anything this camouflaging- this deadly. It’s honey on your tongue and poison on your teeth, chastised on your heart and sinful on your mind- it's convoluting and clear like water.

And when he pulls you in deeper, holds you tighter- you forget to breathe.

“Good morning,” the princess says, somber and atypically soundless. You don’t see the usual gleam nor the characteristic smile on her face in the bleach of the morning. It seems strangely unusual that the princess, in the days wake, sounded demented.

Your head pivots towards her as fast as she enters the room with the gloom condensing her voice. “Good morning to you too,” you reply, mildly suspicious and also aware of the sudden change of ambiance she brought forth.

The Princess doesn’t speak, however, simply looking up at you with a pair of pessimistic eyes. It seems as though she is contemplating whether or not to disclose her thoughts to you, or tell you any of the unpleasantness her mind is negating through. “Is there something on your mind, Mina?” You inquire, mindful of the symptomatic signs she's enunciating.

“I feel a sort of premonition, it's something bad, something really negative and hopeless. It feels of danger- something that we cannot predict and something we are certain to lose.”

Her statement is confusing but it is nonetheless not an impossible probability. You know better than not assenting to her skeptical words in all importance. It is known in the Royal sources that the Princess was cryptically peculiar, born with a gift that hadn't been recognized or even occurred before in any historical records. And that is something that made her a peculiarity, an aberrant mutant among the Royals who discoursed of arrogance and narcissism.

Maybe it was something that made her different from all the palatial typicality. It was that and also her unmatched kindness, her welcoming demeanor- and her non-fabricated love for the prince.

“I will….do something about it. We can get through it right?” You motivate, trying to pry some hope in her.

But her response is rather enigmatic, and leaves so many questions lingering in your head for the next moments that unravel.

“It is unsure whether you are to survive it or not. Even a burning fire doesn’t seem to be an option here.”

Not even him?

But that cannot happen, right? Minho is powerful to an unimaginable extent, he could deflect even a royal battalion, so what’s to fear even if an unnecessary attack takes place?

All of a sudden, the princess shrieks in fear when a loud, booming explosion sounds in your ears- evoking terror into the both of you. You immediately dash out of the room, running down the halls with a frantic heart. Did it start already? You didn’t know any of what was happening, but you prayed that nothing happened to Minho- he couldn’t have been hurt. Chan wasn’t there as well, which meant reduced protection for the sanctity of the warlocks residence.

You desperately wanted to know what was occurring outside, what the source was of those blasting sounds battering against the ground; but it didn’t seem like any soon that you’d get to. You rush towards the nearest window and splay the blinds open. The sight is unlikely for you because- no, it wasn’t the royal army. Their uniforms weren’t a brash silver and red, their huge supplementary flag wasn’t one of an elephant. It was the colors of golden and blue splashed together in the battlefield below; the flag a fierce lion in the middle of gold-blue lines.

It was the neighboring kingdom, it was prince Lee Felix.

You couldn’t let Minho fight him, you couldn’t. it would hurt the princess too much, it would force her to hate him till her departure. That couldn’t happen.

But your doubts are already cleared when Minho shoots a powerful surge of bright yellow fire towards the army, Lee Felix just at front. You’re caught in fear for Minho’s life; he might be frighteningly powerful but prince Felix was an extraordinary sorcery practitioner. He had a nullifying ability- a power to ricochet any magical attacks with just a force of his palm. Which is why magic never worked against him, it was always martial arts and fist fighting to even scratch the skin of his body.

Minho’s fire would only come back to himself when it’s Lee Felix at front.

Just as you thought, prince Felix immediately summons a parapet of force, the incoming fire reverberating against the defensive veil. The fire, expectedly, bounces back towards the opposite side, extremely irritant- thrusting forward in arbitrary motions, swirling around the warlock as it closes in inch by inch. You see tension in his face for the first time, for a minute moment. But Minho puts forth both of his palms with eyes shut tight in similar concentration; you wonder what he was doing, if it was another offense that Felix would overthrow. However, the fire around him whirls back into his palm like an untamed tornado, getting sucked into the spaces of barely eight inches.

For all you knew, Lee Felix would prepare to get closer to fight hand on hand, make it physical. Because the opponent side wouldn’t be able to keep up with him anyways, for their power was one that he’d control. You had to prevent that, and had to avert Minho from encountering the prince at all costs.

The prince would show no mercy.

Your speed increases when you dash down the rest of the staircases and towards the lowest floor, mind screaming at you to run faster. Your feet stumble against the tabulate floors as you almost reach the outrange door. You sprint past it, and into the vast field out of the ivory gates.

Felix signals with an arm up in the air, circling his hands forward. He’s commanding the soldiers to charge arrows aimed for the warlock. You keep running and running, but never seem to reach them any closer. And then the arrows come forth like uncontrolled, furious ocean waves- drawing a half circle into the air as they pierce through. Minho swishes one finger in front of himself, engendering a protective barrier of fire right before the arrows make it into the one meter precinct he’s imagined in himself. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at how fast and constant the arrows are- they burn right into the fire and scramble to ashes on the ground. it’s useless to do so, but somehow prince Felix doesn’t stop.

What was he planning?

Through the corner of your eyes, you see the soldiers on the end row rounding up arrows with the tips made of white, solid metal- tungsten. The lustrous metal tarnishes in air, forming a protective oxide coating and had the highest melting point of all metals- where it cannot be melted by the heat of Minho’s fire. Unbeknownst of their strategic planning, Minho is subjecting the same amount of fire, not increasing and not decreasing.

He can be killed this way.

“Minho!” You yell just as the first batch of tungsten arrows shoot up in the air, advancing towards him mixed among the other mundane ones.

You watch the arrows collide with his barrier once more, wooden ones burning into the fire and the unique ones? Their steel almost melts inside Minho’s shield, but the tungsten arrowhead doesn't. They shoot onward like white bullets soaring through the air. You see panic in Minho’s eyes when he looks straight at you- afraid and yet courageous- not the fear of death you saw, it was the panic of seeing you here.

The bullet-like solids push through near Minho, almost all of them missing him by mere millimeters. You feel nearly relieved when the bullets- like a meteor shower- miss his body in a whole. But it is too soon of a happiness, and too soon to feel relieved.

Shock masks your face when you see his right shoulder fling behind to an absolute fall, the grass staining red so shamelessly. You hear him groan in the slightest, his fearless face coated with pain as he clutches onto his shoulder. The blood cannot be seen on his black clothes, but the way they stain his fingers and slide down drop by drop tells you that he’s bleeding obtrusively.

He was in pain.

The shield of fire around him vanishes in the instant he falls down and you rush towards him frantically. Tears sting at your eyes when you see him curling up on the floor, not even trying to disguise the pain behind a faux mask. “Please stop!” you scream at the prince who seemed to be preparing for another discharge.

The prince holds up a hand, immediately stopping the impending attack. You can sense that he is utterly confused why you’d be so desperate to save a traitor in such worry. But you don’t heed to him and instead reach for Minho with the little strength you had in you.

Your knees buckle up on the ground as you plop down beside the black-caped warrior, instantly gathering his head onto your lap. Your hands hover above his right shoulder, shaking, desperate. The tears don’t heed your permission anymore as they flow down your cheeks flawlessly, falling onto his neck.

“C-chan..” he whispers, voice hoarse. Yes, Chan, but where could you find him? Where was he?

“We..We need to get you back to the castle. Right now.” You say, getting ready to stand up. However, his blood stained hands hold yours in a gentle grip. He looks deep into your eyes, irises smiling in a joy you can’t figure out as he says, “Let's just..stay like this a little more. I’m so comfortable.”

You don’t know what he saw in this moment, or what he cherished so much in the pain spreading through his body. But you were convinced by just those few words. So you allowed him to look into your eyes as the teas fell, in a reasonless pleasure that only he discovered.

And Minho, was enamored by your grief. You were in pain with him, just like him, and accompanying him. You were sharing his wounds and motivating him to pull through with every fiber in your being. How is that? Why is it that you were so affected by a pain he cannot be less bothered with?

Minho’s eyes close slower than the prodding of laze on the ground, hands loosening around yours similar to the beats on the ground when the princess runs through towards her fiancé. His limbs goes limp when she begins speaking to him and the soldiers move aback, head falls back when the prince expresses shock at her explanations.

And his ears lost sound right when he heard vague and unclear, “The arrows were poisoned.”

v. End

“Can he…can he survive?”

“The poison has been removed, we just need to wait for him to wake up,” Chan replies to you. His irises seem unsure and his brows are furrowed; but you gather all of you to believe him. You needed to believe him.

However, the one question slips out of your without warning, “What are the chances of.. you know,”

Chan heaves a sigh, standing up as he gives your shoulder a reassured squeeze, “None, he will survive. I’m sure of it.”

He walks away after that, leaving you in the deafening silence. You can hear the fain crickets outside, the sound of wind and the howling of mammals. What catches your ears the most is his unstable breathing- labored, hushed intake of breath. It seems as if breathing is painful for him, like he’s staggering through every step to keep himself alive. His life force, his will-power, it all makes you wish harder that he survives, that he opens those placated eyelids and wakes up to you.

You rest your hands on his shoulder, softly rubbing your thumb against his shoulder blades and humming to a quiet, peaceful tune. You hope that he hears you, hears your heart and your desperations.

Please don’t leave me.

“Please don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

That night, you fall asleep beside his limp form; holding onto his hand as if it were your life force, your dependence.

The moon has never been happier for Minho.

The princess, upon meeting her prince charming, explains everything to him with you by the side. It’s almost like an untold duty of yours when you engage in incessant nodding, affirming everything the princess said.

However, even though foreseen, it shakes you when the prince states, “I will take you away from here, princess. And you too. Don’t worry, I am willing to help”; and that too, in a firm verdict that you can't refuse.

Unmatched footsteps impede your discussion, grabbing your attention at the instant. You notice Minho limping back here, his expression sketchy and very much obvious.

He heard you.

And misunderstood.

Then he says, “Would you care to come?” and you both return to his chambers, leaving the royal couple behind.

It is silent for a while, a miasmic silence, with the both of your thoughts galloping through. You doubt his thoughts though- he could be wondering about the earlier conversation, wondering if they’d leave together, wondering if you would leave. You open your mouth to clear your intentions, however, he breaks the silence and speaks first.

“If- If you want to leave with them,”

I was right.

“You don’t-”

Despite you trying to interject, he puts up a palm, halting you. His lips curve up in the slightest with deliberate gloom smothering it’s corners like snow in winter. However, he doesn’t look at you- eye downcast as he continues, “No, I truly understand. Nobody would really….prefer living with a…monster.”

A monster.

An abhorrence, a mutant, a calamity, a danger, a misfit- no, that wasn’t who he was at all. Even if he thought so, at every moment, in the morning and at noon, at night when the sun falls down- he might think the sun falls down to negativity, a pitch of darkness with no hope- but that isn’t true. Even if he thinks in every despondent way, he’s wrong.

And it hurts you.

You take a few firm steps, eyes obstinate with rage mixed in determination. You stand right in front of him, forcing him to look into your eyes when you say, “You are not a monster, Minho.”

A hopeless chuckle escapes him like tenebrous smoke, forlorn and like an act. “What else am I huh? A killer, a psychotic, a destroyer, a weapon. There’s nothing positive about me,” he says.

Your eyes soften, so does your heart; and you sit down beside him. You speak out the first words that come into your head without reluctance, “Everything about you is lovely.”

Minho appears to be frozen, stunned when you utter those words spoken with admirable formality- and with a cadency of unequaled honesty. He is even more stunned when he feels a gentle peck on his lips, succinct yet abysmal in ways he’d never have surmised. Your lips brush his, softly, delicately, like butterfly wings and the smoothest flower petals; just long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel your warmth and the taste of the small intimacy that lingered far after you’d reclined.

Your breaths could still be felt above his upper lips, elaborated and hushed intakes. He keeps his eyes downwards and onto your lips together in a sweet smile. What did he really do to deserve this? Kill, torture or avenge? He thinks this is utterly undeserving, but then again, how hurt would you be if he couldn’t love you back without a completely self-made guilt.

“I’m terrified,” you whisper, the smile now untraceable.

Minho flinches, the glint of his eyes dampening the more he thinks about the concise moment of bliss you offered just moments ago. You were terrified, of him, of his dangers;

“Then why did you kiss me?” What was the purpose of it? A goodbye gift? A final parting?

He sees that little smile again, and your lips part; a dreamy hue on you that makes him nostalgic. You cup his face into your hands, making him look up, “I think I feel too much for you, that I’m terrified of losing you.”

This time, your lips merge together under the moonlight; nearly chaste but demonically passionate. They chase after each other like moths drawn to a flame, like bees in search of their ecclesiastical honey, like a man starved in hunger. It was nothing short, nothing abbreviate- a long, proprietary collusion of time against your amorous bliss.

“Does this feel like a nice time for your senseless kissing?!”

Maybe not so long or blissful, but yes, it was worth the minute.

“I’m coming!” You say, hastily getting off the bed as you run off without looking back- shy and embarrassed with your cheeks heated up.

The princess looks back to a bewildered Minho, taking amusement in his widened eyes and tinted cheeks. “So would you follow your senorita, Mr. Pessimistic?”

The others sit in a conference in the ground floor hall, where the abducted princess was kept for most times. The place is rather sentimental, for it held so many memories- of the times Minho kept his mouth sealed shut as the princess’ lips kept running, of the times she was presented supper bread buns with Chan’s special decorating and of the times you kept coming with the same expression and took her away.

Now that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

“Would you like to come, Mr. Chan?” Prince Felix asks, the princess by his side in full cooperation. She jumps up before the latter can utter a sensible word, turning towards her fiancé as she says enthusiastically, “You won’t believe how much of a good chef he is! The royal food cannot even rest side to side by the bread bun he makes, they’re outrageously delicious!”

The prince laughs at her vigorous demonstration cocking an eyebrow towards Chan in a wordless question. Would you like to come?

Now would he come? He’s lived his life recruiting powers and imbuing then with his knowledge till they are turned into full-fledged warriors. He’s always been a vagabond, travelling from place to place and seeing the true world as it is. His longest stay had been with the vengeful child, who had no parents. So he took it as an unclaimed duty to take care of the child and to teach him his best, helping him achieve his revenge.

Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to do, but he doesn’t regret giving him a home, being his home- and turning him into his home.

After all, staying at one place for the rest of his life wasn’t something Chan would do; it wasn’t his cup of pastry. Chan wears an apologetic smile. “As much as I am flattered by your praise princess, I think I’m good,” he replies.

“But-” the princess interjects, a very evident pout scrunching into her face.

Prince Felix pats her side with a gentle touch, stopping her from continuing. He then looks up at her, giving her an assuring smile, ‘it’s his will’ he whispers softly. The princess’ forehead clears in understanding, but the little conflict is there, the little hesitation of letting Chan go out of her reach is still there.

“That’s that then. We’re taking your apprentice Chan.”

Minho, Chan thinks. It’s been so long of a journey with the little boy who grew up right before his eyes, from the peach-like short child to an attractive, grown man. It isn’t his forte to feel like a parent, but the ache in his chest is something he can’t really ignore. He feels proud, so proud that his trained warlock has come so far, has obtained a lover and is so evidently happy. There’s still a wee snitch though, a tiny sadness, reminisce or reluctance that he’s not going to live with him anymore, not going to see him nor take care of him.

Maybe he’s played his part and now it’s his turn to go back to his previous lifestyle. Travel around the world and discover new evolutions of beer and sweets.

But he doesn’t want to lose contact with Minho, not in his dreams, not when he’s alive.

“Tell him to write me letters,” he says, a bundle of emotions gathering at his face. His nose and ears turn visibly red, yet there is a smile of happiness on his face.

I’m going to miss that idiot so bad.

“Or at least inform me if he births another scoundrel.”

The prince explodes into laughter at that, walking up to Chan as he extends a hand of amity. “I’ll make sure of that,” he says, much-overjoyed. Chan’s eyes fill with satisfaction as he returns a firm shake to the hand of the latter.

“But promise me you’ll visit from time to time. He’s going to miss you, you know,” the princess states.

Minho is….going to miss him? He doesn’t know if he’s raised the kid good enough for the warlock to miss him, but one thing is for sure, he cannot bear to be apart from his long-life partner for too long. So yes, maybe a visit or two, maybe staying there for a few days too; he can do that.

“I’ll be glad to, Your Highness.”

At the end, Lee Felix appoints Minho as an unofficial advisor under provision and also a powerful war ally. He also offers him a rank similar to a commander, providing him the suited lifestyle and necessities. You were appointed as the lady-in-waiting and also a future governor for the Queen-to-be princess’ children. You are also released from remunerative enslavement and escorted into the kingdom of Rewakj, where it ruled democracy and sovereignty. Your family; your mother, father and a little brother, are liberated from servile enslavement too, and brought into Felix’s kingdom. Your father made an average living, and they were all, finally happy.

You had no strings attached to the kingdom that wanted to kill you, and were freed from every possible complicacy. And the princess too, was married to the humble prince in the following month. Their wedding counted your first appearance as a lady-in-waiting, and made you renowned to the royals of the kingdom.

Happy ending wasn’t that.

It wasn’t Minho and you living with your damn cat in the ‘nothing could get better’ scenario. Except that it could however. Chan visited occasionally, showing up unannounced and demanding Minho to write to him more often.

There were still complexities in life, hardships and quarrels, but you could get through them. Life wasn’t picture perfect, paginated smooth, you never expected it to be, but it was with a certain someone, someone who appreciated you and supported you.

And that was what you called a happy beginning.

~ end ~

Comedy from kai, a threaD:

a foreword: Mal, thank you for trusting me to beta this beauty i will now proceed to hate you for a while for putting Minho through that pain. I lof u, have a great daaaaaay <3 (ilyt mwah! thank you thank you thank youu for beta-ing this *whispers* c r a p)

kai to minho: no u little fuck i ain't letting u bleed out on me do u know i do that for a whole week every month bitch that's exhausting we're getting u ice cream u deserve it boo

kai to yalls: tag yourself i'm minho and mc is my cat trying to use me as a personal heating pad

kai to this fic: nvm I’m actually here

kai: a few screamings in her mother tongue BUT I FORGOT TO COPY THOSE. anyway she was...done.

YES WE ARE FINALLY DONE WITH THIS FIC, now, whohooooo.

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grimmseye · 3 years

Text

Test Flight

Read on Ao3 Here

Rating: Gen

Fandom: She-ra

Relationships: Hordak & Entrapta, Hordak/Entrapta (pre-relationship)

Chapter Characters: Hordak, Entrapta

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Season 2, Time for Entrapta’s thoughts and feelings about Hordak for 3000+ words

Tumblr don’t fuck up my formatting challenge

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As far as Entrapta could tell, Hordak rarely left his lab.

Lord Hordak. Hordak. She was supposed to bow, wasn't she, Catra definitely said a lot about that and she definitely used to but then she’d forgotten so — so maybe it wasn’t an issue. Hordak would have said if he cared, about the bowing or the Lord or anything else, he certainly had no issue huffing and puffing as she fixed the wiring in his lab.

So it was a rare sight, Hordak emerging from his sanctum. Entrapta sat at the edge of the transport they’d ordered, watching as the people of the Fright Zone skittered in a wide berth around them. Hordak stood tall, looming over her. She had to crane her head back just to look at him. When he caught her looking, one of his brow-ridges lifted, and she waved.

It was kind of cute, really, to think about him like this compared to just a few nights before: big, scary Lord Hordak who smiled when he told her about the stars.

This was their first joint project, not getting straight to the portal but testing their compatibility in the lab on something less important. The results so far had been promising. She’d gone as far as to add Hordak to her logs, finding that:

One, he’d quickly surpassed Glimmer, Mermista, Perfuma, and Adora on all levels.

Two, he had an advantage on Catra and Scorpia in common interest.

And three, he’d swiftly surpassed Bow in time spent together. That added up to a grand picture of Hordak being her friend, didn’t it? The data certainly said so.

As for their ability working together? Entrapta felt a warmth welling up in her chest, so strong she had to kick her legs against the edge of the transport until she was bouncing in place.

It was amazing.

Her bots had been the only things that came close to the role Hordak played now, handing her tools and stabilizing loose pieces while she bolted them in place. The first day she’d shown up in his lab, there’d been an apprehension in her chest. How many times now had she thought she’d made a friend, only for the next time around to go all wrong. She’d really thought she’d made friends — three friends, five, six of them.

And then they’d left her. Every one of them.

But walking into the lab that morning, she found Hordak hunched over a desk with her blueprints open on his data pad: another project sent for approval that she actually hadn’t started yet. He’d turned it over to her and said, “We will be building a prototype of this design.”

And then they had. Just like that.

Both of them fumbled at first, she thought. She kept bumping into him, he groped about on a table for tools that were in her hair. And then he said, “Put the tools on the table if you are not using them.” And she had said, “Tell me when you’re behind me so I don’t bump into you.”

And then they had done that. Both of them. And by the end of the working day, they were working smoothly around each other, the silence broken by Hordak’s grunts of “Behind you,” and the shuffling of tools on the workbench.

They built a prototype, criticized and refined its design, her suggestions were met with questions, counters, and proposals, his methods met her awe and her criticism—

“If you wire it that way, it’s going to burn out,” she’d told him, and when he glanced up and growled there’d been a pang, a seizure of anxiety in her chest and a voice that chanted you shouldn’t have done that.

“What would you propose?” He rumbled.

And he’d listened.

They’d done it. Together. And now it was time to test it.

And all of that meant that she had a lab partner. She had a lab partner. Sometimes that thought made her so happy she couldn’t contain herself. Sometimes it filled her with enough panic to gnaw her nails down to the quicks when she thought how she was only there to build weapons, only good as long as she was useful.

But that couldn’t be true, could it? None of the others told her about the stars.

And not just because chances were that they didn’t have any idea what stars were.

“Lord Hordak, sir!” A man ran up and snapped a salute. “We finished loading the transport. It’s fueled and ready for departure.”

Hordak grunted, “Hm. Good. You are dismissed.” He twisted a hand and the technician bolted, interaction done in a few quick seconds. She didn’t really get it — he was big and tall, sure, and his armor was impressive, but for all he growled and knocked tools off the table, he’d never done a thing to hurt her. Quite the contrary, she might be the happiest she’d been in her life.

Whatever their reasons, the soldiers scrambled to carry out his orders. There was a clatter as the hangar doors opened. Taking that as their cue, Entrapta swung herself through the open door of the transport, Hordak stalking behind.

The transports were pretty exciting: a wheel and pedal to steer but a data pad built into the dashboard that logged coordinates and known surroundings, scanned the area for threats. And the one they were taking wasn’t earthbound. Then she had to consider the amount of propulsion it would take to get this machine off the ground and keep it in the air — it made her eyes shine.

Hordak looked at her and she realized she was squeaking again. She bounced towards the controls, saying, “You have to give me the blueprints for these. Flying transportation could change the world! How does it work, tell me everything!” A thought struck her brain and she gasped, pushing herself up by her hair and into Hordak’s face. “Can I fly it?”

He narrowed one eye, stepping backwards. “I will handle launching while you observe,” he announced. “I can certainly explain the mechanisms at work once we do so, but for now it is not safe to fly without training first.”

Entrapta deflated for a moment, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face. Then Hordak cleared his throat. When she looked up, he was straight-based, arms folded behind himself and head tilted up and to the right, eyes directed away from her. She knew that posture well. “Once we are in the air, however... I believe it would be safe to let you take over the controls until we reach the landing point.”

“YES!” Entrapta leaped up, propelled by her hair. She grabbed the seat beside the pilot’s after that, throwing herself into it. “Let’s go, come on come on!”

She swore she heard him laugh at that, just a quiet chuckle as he took his seat beside hers. “Safety belts first,” he reminded her, as he clipped his into place. The seats were equipped with five point harnesses that fed over the chest and lap and between the legs. “Only the lap belt is required at all times,” Hordak explained. “The other three are for takeoff and landing, so you will need to wear all of them before we proceed.”

“Gotcha!” Entrapta buckled herself in. She knew objectively that her own lack of safety procedures were questionable — Hordak was regularly scolding her for getting too close to volatile machinery, even if the data said there was only a zero point zero zero three percent chance of destabilizing. But he’d put his foot down about it, and he was good at catching her when she got too excited to remember to put on the heat insulated gloves before grabbing a freshly-fired laser blaster.

When they were both strapped in, Hordak reached for the controls. A slow rumbling started up, making her heart flutter. She watched as Hordak began the takeoff sequence, walking her through each part in his low, raspy tones. He really had a pleasant voice, she mused.

Initially, Hordak was going over things she understood: fuel combustion, admittedly on a scale larger than she was used to working with — and a shortage of adequate fuel was part of the reason they could so rarely use these heavy transports. But she knew the mechanism behind it, and it gave her time to sit and observe him.

The more she looked, the more it made sense that he wasn’t Etherian. He didn’t match any of their known peoples, a face that resembled bone but was soft and pliable enough to speak and emote and could replicate a wider range of sounds than she knew possible in any humanoid species. His natural vocalizations included clicks and growls, occasionally even making a sound similar to a chirp to perform what Entrapta could only compare to echolocation. He’d found a bit of loose wiring deep inside their device that way. Despite that, he could speak Etherian common without issue, as well as the roaring language that Rogelio and the other lizardfolk used.

It would probably be rude to inquire about his vocal anatomy, right? Right?

Maybe she’d ask later.

She refocused as he started to get to points she wasn’t familiar with, leaning forward and watching eagerly. Those working in the hangar cleared the way, lights illuminating the path down to the opened gates and into the sky.

She screamed with excitement when their rolling forward began to accelerate, rapidly picking up speed to the point she was leaning back in her chair, eyes wide as the sky raced towards them.

Then they were out in open air. The jagged shape of the Fright Zone spilled out below them, and beyond that was the sea, glittering and blue.

She leaned as far forward as her safety belts would allow, giving a soft “Wow,” as she took it in. She unclipped all but her lap belts to get closer to the windshield, beaming as she said, “I’ve never been to the sea before!”

Hordak made a sound of acknowledgement, and Entrapta continued, “I’m not much for biology but there’s just so much down there that we haven’t explored. Actually much of Etheria in itself is unknown, when you consider the vast depths of the ocean, space, and then unexplored terrestrial locations such as the Crimson Wastes and the Whispering Woods, and even the Kingdom of Snows has only expanded so far.”

“That the denizens of this planet barely understand the rock they dwell on tells me all I need to know about them,” Hordak rumbled. Entrapta leaned back to look at him, finding herself smiling.

“It’s kind of fun, though,” Entrapta commented. “I mean, if all the discoveries had already been made, there’d be no questions to ask. Not knowing what’s in the Whispering Woods is what makes you want to explore it, figure it out! Maybe we’re a little behind the greater universe, but every discovery is worthwhile to me.”

Hordak glanced at her for just a moment, his ears perking somewhat. “... Perhaps,” he ground out. “Your perspective is…” He went quiet for a few moments, before settling on, “different. Personally I am content to stay far away from those wretched woods, as well as the ocean. However, I suppose that someone would find intrigue in unlocking their secrets.”

They were both silent for several moments, until Hordak said, “We are in a clear zone, if you would like to steer —”

“YES!”

Hordak took over the landing sequence, regardless of Entrapta’s wheedling. His face had pinched and his voice went low and growl-y enough that she bristled her hair at him but still backed away from the controls. At least she’d figured out how to launch the ship into a spiral, and she swore she’d heard Hordak laugh.

They might have even more in common than she’d believed, even if he refused to let loose. If Hordak was going to be the one who insisted on safety parameters, Entrapta could be the one to push limits.

For now, safety parameters won out once again and she watched Hordak bring them down on the offshore testing site. It was a desert island, and even from above she could already see the patches of burned or empty space where other weapons had been tested. A landing pad received them, the transport’s doors creaked upon, and Entrapta seized the data pad to link up with their very first invention.

“Introducing!” Entrapta announced, lifting up on her hair, recorder trapped in a tendril, “The very first joint project between myself and Hordak, designed to adapt to land, sea, and air via a series of problem and solution protocols, I have named her: Patty!”

She clapped her hands twice, and on cue Patty lurched forward. Entrapta flitted around Hordak to watch over his shoulder, barely catching how he tensed and shifted away in favor of Patty’s first steps. Or, first revolutions of her treads.

“Patty has three forms. The first, terran form, features treads that can move over all terrain: over rocks and mud and sand and ice, and ideally underwater! However, if necessary Patty can deploy thrusters in both its aquan and aerial forms! And oooooh she’s a beauty.”

Patty was a transport, the engine formed similarly to the skiffs with a body that was more sturdy, allowing its riders to use it for both movement and cover. This would advance the Fright Zone’s ability to expand into less favorable terrain, and potentially aid them in future battles against Salineas, Mystacor, or the Kingdom of Snows.

She looked over to Hordak, who was still observing Patty. “Bring it down to the shoreline. We will test first its aerial and then underwater capabilities.”

“You got it!”

They boarded a skiff — again, at Hordak’s insistence. Better, in his view, to use tech they knew was stable than to risk Patty giving out with them on board. They tracked her as she rolled down towards the shoreline, easily climbing over rocks and onto sand.

“The overland speed without obstacles is adequate,” Hordak began, and then tipped his head to speak into the recorder as Entrapta held it up, “however I believe we should attempt to increase its average speed without overtaxing the engine.”

“The problem with that is slowing down in time to get over the obstacles,” Entrapta pointed out. “Buuut… if we were to integrate some of the bots’ sensors into it —”

“— It could automatically detect these obstacles and adjust to the need without risk of driver error,” Hordak concluded.

They looked at each other, each with a smile. Entrapta’s was broad with delight, Hordak’s sharp and keen. It dropped away a moment later as he swiveled his head back to Patty, clearing his throat before saying, “Why don’t you activate its aerial mode now.”

“Right!” Entrapta leaped to it, chattering into the recorder as she issued the command. She bounced between her feet, laughing with joy as the chassis shifted and shuffled, making room for wings and thrusters, treads sinking into its body and replaced by wheels. The thrusters burst to life, and she watched Patty sail off the edge of a stone outcropping, into the air above the sea, and then into the sky.

She shrieked, utter delight swelling in her chest. “It’s working! She’s flying!”

“She —” Hordak made a face. “It is hanging severely to starboard.”

Entrapta puffed out a dismissive breath, flapping a hand at him. “We can fix that. The point is that she’s in the air on the very first flight.”

“Of course she is,” Hordak sniffed. “She is a product of both of our expertise combined.”

And there it was again. That swelling, too-big-for-her-chest sense of joy. She could hug him, considered doing it against her better judgement before discarding that. She tended to grab and pull without thinking, but he’d made his distaste for that clear. And he didn’t even shout when she inevitably forgot and grabbed at him again, just growled out her name and a reminder and she’d let go and it was fine.

Working with Hordak was simple in a way she found difficult to articulate, only that she felt different around him. More real, more herself, like she didn’t have to think about her actions, didn’t believe she’d understood him only to realize too late she was wrong.

The Fright Zone as a whole was a lot like that. Not quite as much as Hordak and his Sanctum were, but the bare truth was she’d felt more at home there than she ever did in Dryl.

The Horde was home to the outcasts of Etheria, she’d concluded. Their first allies had been the Scorpionoid kingdom, a family long ostracized by the other nations. The reptilians whose vocal chords couldn’t shape around Etherian common could speak and be heard here. Her own kingdom had slotted perfectly into place, a kingdom without a runestone given value.

She knew better than to think that what they were doing was good. It didn’t have to be good, it just had to feel good. She liked this place, liked Catra and Scorpia, liked Rogelio who lended a hand without a word when she needed to move something heavy, liked Octavia with the boisterous laughs and inquiries into experiments she didn’t fully understand.

She liked Hordak. She liked working with him. She liked knowing she’d get to do it again tomorrow, and again the next day, and that they’d keep working together to make something amazing, something that would let her see the very stars he’d told her about.

Entrapta tried not to dwell on the past much. The past was only useful to learn from the mistakes you’d made. But when she did, at night when there wasn’t something else to occupy her mind before she fell asleep, she came to one conclusion: she had never been happier. She had never felt more at home.

She drew in a deep breath and smiled as she puffed it out. “Ready to test the underwater capabilities, partner?” She asked.

Hordak paused for just one moment before answering, “Ready.”

It was scary, to think about ever losing this, to think about the ever-pressing what-if. What if this was just like before, like every other person coming to Dryl just for the weapons, never for the people and only for what they made.

But maybe this one would be different. It already was different, really, a brand new variable to take into account:

She’d never had a lab partner before.

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #she ra #spop #my writing #It's the Grimm

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