#but like without exasperation and judgement

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Wounds Of The Past

A week following his and his young lover's little getaway in pursuit of tenderness, Aesop Sharp finds the pain in his leg, the one that he'd been used to for more than ten years now, lessening...

I would be lost without my dear partner in crime co-author and consultant @tea-withjamandbread, as well as Maarty and her unwavering support ❤

Wounds Of The Past (14.3k)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), sexual themes (mentioned and alluded to), tooth-rotting fluff

It began in a flurry of shards and bright green liquid staining the floor of his classroom.

Aesop Sharp stared at the mess he made morosely - what a waste of a perfectly good phial of Wiggenweld potion. With a small huff, he waved his wand in the air lazily, and both the broken bottle and its previous contents vanished into thin air. 

It was a day like any other for the teacher. Well, a day like any other lately, that is. A mere year ago, his life was drastically different. Alright, maybe not so drastically - just like the previous years, Aesop taught potions at Hogwarts, he regularly got exasperated by the lack of quick wit and good judgement from his many students as well as his employer, he praised rather sporadically, but always truthfully and fairly, he spent time with his friends and colleagues, stayed up long into the night grading essays and pop quizzes, and brewed medical remedies for the Hospital wing. Which is what he was doing right now as well, actually.

And yet, there was one big change, and in Aesop’s eyes (but what’s more, in his heart), the change was so large and significant, the teacher felt like his entire life on this Earth was suddenly all new and exciting, and as spectacular as it was when he was a fresh adult with an idiotic amount of courage and all the doors wide open and inviting. 

His heart burned with love.

That’s what it felt like at least. 

A year ago, he was just beginning to feel the effects of one very special young Ravenclaw’s presence around him, and after many many months, during which Aesop’s heart bled because he knew that she’d never return the feelings he held for her, it turned out he was very wrong. Christmas Eve of 1892 was the first evening they spent not only in one another’s company, but also each other’s arms, lips hungrily chasing their counterparts for yet another, and another, and another scorching kiss. 

The following few months only further proved that this little clandestine romance of theirs was no silly infatuation or some mere temporary absence of sense and reason. Each kiss, each ardent embrace, each and every night spent talking in hushed tones within the comfort of one another’s warmth and the security of their arms, all of it made Aesop feel a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in decades. So yes, his heart did indeed burn with love, and it burned with the ferocity of the Fiendfyre spell, making him feel so warm and alive, he still occasionally worried about waking up one morning to find it had all been just one big dream.

And the previous weekend? Well… Aesop wasn’t able to keep a sly little smile off his face when he remembered the weekend… It had been nearly embarrassingly long since he was able to make love to a woman like he made love to his pretty young Ravenclaw. The several one-night sexual encounters he had a few years ago weren’t exactly satisfactory for Aesop in this regard. Of course, he was ever the perfect gentleman and both he and his partner, whatever any of their names was, experienced the pleasure and its sweet culmination during their short encounter. However, this pleasure was always short lived, and Aesop soon found emptiness and coldness replacing the previous passion. While his younger self had no problem changing women with the frequency with which he changed his socks, and grin while doing so, it would appear his current self was no longer interested in empty promises said in the heat of the moment, soon to be replaced by awkward goodbyes and lonely journeys back home. And so he stopped seeking out the comforts and joys of a woman’s arms. Whenever the appetite came, the potions master would simply chase it away with a cold shower, or indulge in the familiar, if lonely, comfort of his hand - no need to drag some poor woman into it and risk accidentally hurting her feelings, he thought.

To be honest, Aesop was sure that this was just how he’ll spend the rest of his life. Pointlessly chasing after the cure for his leg, as well as after students he often presumed positively suicidal, instead of doing the thing his friends and mother implored him to do so very often; Fall in love, be happy. Two goals he presumed to be out of his reach entirely.

But now he was both. And to those who knew him closely, it was, of course, absolutely obvious. And while a part of Aesop was frankly cringing at how transparent the former rather brilliant Auror had become in his joy, the majority of him was so high on this almost new feeling that he often couldn’t find it within himself to care.

How could he, when the memories of the weekend spent with his young sweetheart were this fresh in his memory? 

Hands carefully exploring the other’s heated body, mapping out each new uncovered inch as if it was a wonderful new land, full of various beauties and intricacies, freckles and beauty marks, scars, proofs of a life lived, lips eagerly tasting the other’s skin, gliding in tantalising and hypnotising patterns, ones that left shivers and passion in their wake. Two bodies moving against each other, two hearts beating the same frenzied rhythm, oxygen intimately shared, and moans of pleasure cutting through the silence of the room, only ever occasionally replaced by urgent words of love and desire and accompanied by the deliciously filthy sounds of their union.

Aesop decided that it was the best weekend he had in years. Then again, this was something of his young lover’s habit; making him feel the happiest he’s been in years, that is.

Just the thought of her was able to stop him from continuing to stare at the floor where just short moments prior lay the spilled potion and broken glass. And Aesop suddenly remembered just how he managed to accidentally break the phial.

Having brewed and bottled another large batch of Wiggenweld potion for the hospital wing (which was always in high demand, as students seemed to be positively intent on maiming themselves on their brooms during Quidditch… or during Crossed Wands duels. Or during a simple potions lesson on Germinating potion turned utter catastrophe because someone was too dull to read that they were supposed to add knotgrass dew after they added the dried salamander skins rather than before... Or during a perfectly ordinary dinner at the Great Hall….), he automatically took a few phials in order to put them into his magically enlarged breast pocket. 

It was a simple muscle memory for him - he brewed, he took a few doses for his leg, he had the rest delivered, and by the time he brewed again, he only had one or two phials left on his person, the new potions sliding into the pocket with ease.

Not today.

The first phial did indeed slip in without a problem. The second one, however, made a soft glass clanking noise when he tried to store it away, making him aware his pocket, though much bigger on the inside, had become full. Aesop let go of it before he fully realised it though, and the small bottle slid down his chest and fell to the floor. A slightly cathartic sound of glass breaking penetrated the silence of the dungeons and that was that…

Aesop automatically leaned against the potions station he was just using (the one his sweetheart used too - it was the newest one in the castle, after all, and the most reliable one), the clogs in his head turning. Pushing his hand inside his breast pocket once more, he began pulling out the Wiggenwed potions there. Six, seven, eight! How in Merlin’s name did he have eight potions in his pocket after… goodness, when was it he last refilled it? It surely couldn’t have been after he returned to his rooms on the Sunday a week ago, could it? 

He had returned with his sweetheart in tow, sneaking by the ghosts roaming the castle while its living inhabitants feasted on their supper at the Great Hall, and managed to restrain himself from marking the official end to their little getaway before inadvertently having to return to their day-to-day lives at Hogwarts, unsure of how much time they’ll be allowed to spend together, until he made sure the stash of potions he had on his person was refilled for the following week. 

Aesop shook his head. The idea seemed implausible. He was well aware that he had consumed more than a single vial of Wiggenweld potion in the last week; after all, he kept a supply in the chest at the foot of his bed and habitually took doses in his office. Yet, the thought lingered: had there ever been a time when he used only one of the phials he actively carried with him?

Upon further reflection, he realised that despite his deep scepticism, there was irrefutable evidence that he had consumed less of the potion this week - by at least a third of his usual consumption. And it did make sense, in a way. It had been a good week, on no day did his leg act up and bind him to a seating position because of painful cramps restricting him from standing up, which usually happened every other week.

It was… unthinkable. New and a little unnerving. Despite being all alone in the large classroom, Aesop scoffed - for more than a decade, the thing he wanted the most in the world was for his leg to stop hurting, and now… Well, it was hurting still, but instead of the sharp pain that shot from his knee all the way into his hip, genuinely feeling like the bloody curse was burning into his femur and hip bone, there was this sort of strange dull ache that was more annoying than anything else. Almost like the pain one gets after they’ve been sitting in a strange position for an extended period of time, like the sort of pain one could simply shake off…

Of course, Aesop wasn’t as silly as to attempt to shake his leg, in fear that the movement could potentially bring the worse pain back instead of relieving this more bearable one. Still, his curiosity was more than peaked, and after he made sure a couple of house elves would come to collect the few crates of Wiggenweld potion he brewed, he retired into his chambers.

He occasionally delivered the potions himself - after all, the Hospital wing was very close to his rooms. This fact was especially convenient during his worst days, as Norreen didn’t have to run through half the castle to administer some stronger potions to him. Aesop preferred to leave those in her care, as he couldn't trust himself to resist the stronger, more addictive potions instead of the harmless Wiggenweld. However, these episodes of his happened very, very rarely these days, luckily. 

No, Aesop truly didn’t have the time to hand-deliver the potions himself and chat up Noreen for a bit right now, he needed to look at the notes he had on the experimental pain relieving potion he took during his and his sweetheart’s outing. A part of him knew that he went over those notes a hundred times while he was brewing, and then a hundred more before he tested the first batch on himself. A part of him knew there was no way the potion could be the thing relieving his pain even now, a week after ingestion. It simply wasn’t possible - the first batch he brewed lasted for several hours, but he could very much feel his blasted leg again the next day… Then, during the weekend, he did think it strange it was working even after he woke up, but he had hardly the time to concern himself with his research when he had a very beautiful young woman to enjoy the privacy with.

Right now though… right now he needed to know. He needed to find the answer.  So that he could repeat whatever it was he did that made his leg get better. 

And for the first time, he realised that he no longer wanted to do so for himself - he had lived with that pain for a decade, and, in a way, he very nearly made peace with it. Such could be seen when one took a look at his journals - the past few years, he didn’t go through them nearly as quickly as he used to in the beginning. 

But now… Now the very idea that he could be healthy again, that he’d be able to walk by his beloved’s side, unbothered by an undignified limp, standing tall and proud like he once did, made his heart thump loudly in his chest… If his leg stopped hurting, he’d at least feel a little more deserving of her love. Less guilty about taking the absolutely incredible creature his Ravenclaw was for himself, and himself only… 

The professor unlocked the door of his chambers and stepped inside, the comfort of the space instantly washing over him. These days he was quite tidier than he had been a couple of years ago, and he let the house elves clean his rooms regularly - his shelves, as it turned out, were much more organised and able to contain more things when there weren’t empty liquor bottles haphazardly hidden away in them. Aesop still indulged in a glass or two every now and then, but he made sure not to overindulge too much, and got rid of the empty bottles promptly. After all, he didn’t want the young woman to think she was seeing some drunken bum.

He made quick work of finding his latest notebook even though he had quite a few of them now. Each and every single one was filled from cover to cover, each experiment he conducted well documented, the script with the hypothesis starting off neat and organised, and ending with scrawly, short notes, as he was getting more and more frustrated he wasn’t getting the desired results. The conclusion was once more written neatly, simply explaining that yet another cure idea became an absolute flop. 

However, some of them ended on a hopeful note - in his efforts to discover a cure, Aesop accidentally found a different manner in which the potions could be used. Experimental cure #87 turned out to be quite a brilliant cure for sunstroke, and #114 he brewed regularly, as it helped with Bai’s hay fever every summer. And, of course, then there were the experimental brews that weren’t a cure for his leg, but rather little ideas to at the very least help with the pain somewhat. There was Experimental pain relief potion #12, which he’d occasionally add into his bath, as it helped not only with the pain in his leg, but also in his entire body - very useful after a long evening spent bent over ingredients he was preparing. Then herbal ointment #4, which warmed his leg up considerably, as well as made the scar upon his skin itself less sensitive to touch. Aesop found it curious that the scar on his cheek never really hurt after the skin healed, but he supposed that it was because his leg got the full force of the curse, and his cheek was later struck from recoil. And, of course, there was that one brew that started out as a pain relieving potion, and accidentally ended up being a herbal liquor. Oh well, it worked quite nicely as an aperitivo if nothing else, Aesop shrugged.

The potions master found one of the last pages and peered upon the page. Experimental cure #164 was scratched out and Experimental pain relief potion #17 was written above it instead. In his own script he read the conclusion: ‘Despite its effect being strong enough to remove pain nearly completely for 4 hours, 37 minutes and 21 seconds, it began lessening rather rapidly afterwards. Return to original state occurred in circa 5 hours and 13 minutes following initial ingestion. Not ideal - rare ingredients, prolonged brewing time… However, works for intended purposes.’

It was a shortcoming on his part. Only doing one test, that is. That he could admit. Now he was on unfamiliar ground, and there was no clear way for him to be able to test the brew on another subject, to at the very least be able to say with certainty that repeated administration did indeed prolong the effects of the potion. Blast it. 

Well, he could at least examine the area to see if there were any signs of the potion's effects on his body. And so, Aesop Sharp walked over to the armchair next to his bed, took a seat, and used his wand to turn on the lamp standing beside it. Placing his wand upon the armrest, he began to unfasten his left boot, soon letting the heavy footwear slide from his leg and land on the floor with a thud.

His hands worked methodically, relying on muscle memory completely. He undid the straps of his suspenders from his trousers before unbuttoning them and pushing them down, sliding them just enough to be able to pull his left leg free. His pants were given similar treatment soon, and Aesop grit his teeth momentarily as the soft cotton slid down the sensitive tissue of his scar there. Aesop was glad to have invested into a high quality lock on his chambers, as he most likely looked just as ridiculous as he felt whenever he was examining his leg for any sort of change like he was doing now - literally half naked, the air of his chambers chilling the toes on his bare left foot, not to mention his family jewels on full display while his right leg was still half covered and booted. Best have no uninvited guests while he was this vulnerable.

He moved with his armchair slightly closer to the bed to be able to brace his left foot upon the mattress and examine his bad leg properly. There was some sort of foggy pale patch upon his scarred thigh, and at first the professor thought it was just some silly trick of the lighting until he turned his leg a bit to get rid of the effect and… nothing happened. The patch remained there. Upon closer inspection, it truly was some sort of strange skin discoloration, but it couldn’t have been something normal, like perhaps a pale patch left from a failed tan -  because where on earth would he be tanning in early April? And besides, the pattern was… the pattern was very peculiar indeed. Could it have been the potion’s effect? Surely not, he saw nothing of this sort after the first ingestion, and that was a week before he and his beloved left for their little herb picking excursion.

Besides that, when she undressed him and the two of them explored one another for the first time, he saw no such mark on his leg. The poor limb was like it’s always been, the scar red and angry, its lower part only just becoming less visible because of the thicker hair on his shins. Surely he would’ve noticed! And the second day, too, when he watched her head move between his legs, her mouth so sinfully and deliciously descending upon… Alright, now may not be the most opportune time to dwell on such thoughts, Aesop decided when he felt himself twitch slightly.

Had there been anything on his leg? Aesop couldn’t remember. To be fair, he had way more pressing matters on hand back then, and the lighting conditions weren’t exactly optimal for any sort of medical examination, the sun having nearly descended below the horizon, leaving an ethereal semi-darkness of pink dusk in its wake. 

Now however, he could see it quite clearly. Well, clearly… The pattern’s borders were faint, bleeding into his regular skin colour, and the discoloration had been the most obvious across the scar itself. The scar had still been angry red in many places, along its edges in particular, but where the pale patch was, it was almost like… the scar was paler as well? He used the tip of his finger to prod at the tissue gently, and, most surprisingly, found that it didn’t… Well, it didn’t really feel like anything, actually. His finger then slipped along the scar, over to a place that was much redder, and he hissed upon the stinging pain that followed. How strange...

It seemed the pale pattern was sort of wrapping around the scar somewhat, faint, but very much there, from the top of his injury over at his hip bone, all the way to below the knee. When the potions master squinted his eyes, he was able to tell the pattern apart from the rest of his leg easier. Hm… Aesop racked through his brain - the pattern was… oddly familiar… When had he seen it before? It surely wasn’t a symbol he’d seen among the Ancient runes textbooks, and it was not an alchemy symbol either. 

It was sort of like a swirl, like a part of a vortex. Where in Merlin’s name had he seen it…

Aesop closed his eyes.

Coldness seeping into his clothes, making him feel like it was infused into his very bones. The damp air of the dungeons. Suddenly, ethereal blue glow. A large unfamiliar chamber, with what looked like the reflection of the entire Hogwarts region in dark water. Four large portrait frames. A door with a glowing swirl upon it…

His eyes snapped open again.

No way.

Aesop nearly sprung to his feet, and very nearly tumbled to the ground right away, tripping over his own boot and trousers. He stumbled back over to his desk, threw open one of the drawers, and pillaged inside it until he found that one journal he was looking for, uncaring whether the other contents of the drawer flew left or right. For all he cared at that moment, they could very much just land inside the fireplace and he wouldn’t have cared. Less than a minute later, he was sitting back down, furiously flipping through the pages. Where is it, where is it?!

There!

A few of the pages within the notebook were drastically different from the others. Mainly because they didn’t contain any of his experiments or refined recipes, but rather his thoughts following one positively insane night that took place more than two years ago now… It was not one’s typical journal entry, there was no composition, some sentences weren’t finished, some didn’t even make sense to him anymore - goes to show how disturbed Aesop had been following the night. And who could blame him? Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the Wizarding world, the safest place in Britain, and yet, on that horrible night, the fate of the world as they knew it was at stake, and one of Aesop’s colleagues had lost his life…

The wizarding world was full of old wives’ tales of various levels of improbability and insanity. And that night Aesop found himself in the middle of one of them.

Ancient magic, only visible and accessible to a very few, nowadays nearly fabled, individuals. Yet another Hogwarts secret nobody had known about in centuries, and talk of sources of power so immense, they could very much destroy not only the school itself, but possibly the entire country or more, if they were to fall into the wrong hands. And Aesop put himself right into the middle of it the second he responded to Matilda Weasley’s urgent Floo call for aid, blast his lame leg.

The teacher observed the quick sketches and notes he scratched into the pages of his journal with his quill following the night, wanting to get his thoughts onto the paper in effort to perhaps understand them better. Among them was the spiral staircase leading down, which he had never seen before in his life, despite having been this far into the dungeons several times. Nobody really had a reason to roam there much, not even the students attending both Muggle studies and Alchemy classes nearby, as there was nothing of interest, just a few empty barrels and crates… Another one depicted a grand circular room, adorned with intricate details, ones that many a pure-blood family manor could be sorely envious of.

And then - open double doors holding the solemn darkness of caverns within, despite their beautiful appearance. While what Aesop found interesting those two years back was the cave system and the secrets that lurked behind those doors, right now he was more interested in the door itself, as it bore a very interesting symbol on it - the very same one that seemed to have been burned into the skin of his leg.

Aesop let the journal fall from his hands and slide from his right leg down to the floor, leaning back against the cushions of his armchair.

Fucking hell…

He had some sort of ancient magic attached to his leg, to his scar. Now that he knew what it was, one wouldn’t need his intellect to know just when it got there - after all, the memory of his and his sweetheart’s bodies trembling against one another with their first shared climax was very much fresh in his memory, and he adored to come back to it again, and again, and again. Another one of his shortcomings; he didn’t question the powerful surge of the Ravenclaw’s ancient magic wrapping around their very forms that first night, even after it turned out to be the only time it happened. He didn’t question what it might’ve done to him, or to her… Aesop was one lucky bastard that the magic hadn’t been destructive towards either of them… Could it have been? He knew the young woman used her powers during combat, actually even got to see her do so, which left him both impressed and slightly intimidated, but the magic that night, the feelings it filled his chest with… That was far from any sort of violent or combatant magic…

Still, he shouldn’t have perhaps figuratively shrugged his shoulders about it like he did. Now it was quite obvious that there was indeed some sort of effect, and, unlike with potions and spells, where most effects can be traced back to the ingredients in potions’ case, and to pronunciation and hand movements when it came to spells, Aesop very much doubted there was anything they could use to predict the future of this one. Would it get weaker as time passed? Or would it get stronger instead? It could, theoretically, get stronger - after all, Aesop only noticed it today, and was nearly certain it wasn’t there a few days ago… At least not this visible…

The potions master had no idea how it worked, and his chances to find out were minimal at best. His knowledge about ancient magic went only as far as Fig’s notes and his sweetheart’s own knowledge… which honestly wasn’t quite as much as both of them would’ve liked. The so called ‘Keepers’ were as enigmatic as ever, it was almost as if, without the threat of immediate danger, they lost most of their interest in teaching the young woman anymore. She did go to meet them occasionally, but has described the four portraits as being quite slow at lecturing her more on the subject of ancient magic. Like they were afraid the young woman might not use this knowledge for good…

All in all, somehow he doubted the Keepers would be able to find an answer to the question ‘Is it possible to heal something with ancient magic while having sex?’. Still, Aesop chuckled darkly, it’d be fun to see if portraits could faint.

The professor sighed then. He felt a little lost - on one hand, he was sort of ecstatic - his leg had been hurting less, and now that he was sitting down, he very nearly didn’t feel it at all. On the other hand, he… Well, he was rather afraid to allow himself to hope again. Each and every time he did, the disappointment that followed hurt all the more. 

He figured he should tell the young woman too. She had a right to know, considering it was her magic that managed to do something he hadn’t in a decade - long lasting effects. A week wasn’t a lot of time, yes, but it was still much longer than anything else he managed to brew throughout the years…

He needed to speak to her, he needed her to help him make heads or tails of the situation. He could go and find Diana to the Owlery, send a message… but that was entirely too slow. That is, he was too slow, the greater sooty owl herself was faster than lightning. Well, there was only one more way to get the young woman to come to him swiftly… Aesop used his wand to summon one of the heavy blankets he kept in his chambers, and draped it over himself in a way that would make it seem he was merely reclining in his armchair, wrapped up to fight the chill of early spring. When he deemed himself covered sufficiently, and of course after hiding his discarded boot underneath the blanket, he summoned a house elf.

“Please, find (F/N) (L/N), a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Send her to me - tell her it’s urgent that she comes, as there is a… an inconsistency in her NEWT essay…”

With a pop, the elf disapparated and Aesop was once again left alone in his chambers. He gazed into the flames in his hearth thoughtfully. This year truly is turning out to be drastically different from the previous ones, isn’t it… It was not long at all before he heard knocking upon his door. His sweetheart let herself in following his invitation, and immediately came to find him in his bedchamber.

His brain gave out momentarily and his thoughts ceased suddenly when she came into his field of view, looking so casually gorgeous in her crisp white shirt, simple striped tie, and her calf-length black skirt. 

She leaned against the doorframe with a sparkle in her eye, one that made Aesop’s heart throb. “An inconsistency in my essay, you say?” she purred, a smile spreading upon her face, before she began to walk towards him slowly, her hips swaying most invitingly. “I-...” Aesop forgot to speak for a minute, completely mesmerised by her movements. “Actually,” he continued, mouth drier than it was a moment ago, “while I adore the way you’re looking at me right now, it’s not the reason I called you here…”

And with that he pulled the blanket up partially, revealing his bare left leg. “Aesop, you’re not exactly helping in making me think you didn’t invite me here for some tender fun…” she chuckled quietly, and the potions master couldn’t help but feel a little smile forming on his lips as well. However, he only raised his maimed leg upon the bed like he’d done before: “Please come take a look at this…” Cocking her head to the side confusedly, the Ravenclaw walked nearer, soon enough bending onto one knee to look at what he was referring to.

“What is it? Has it worsened?” she asked, sounding concerned. “The other way around actually,” Aesop replied quietly, “take a proper look at the skin colour around it - what do you see?” The girl carefully placed her hand on an unscarred part of his thigh and leaned in closer, furrowing her brows.

Then suddenly, as if a switch was flicked, her eyes widened and mouth dropped open in a way Aesop would’ve almost described as comical in a different situation.

“I-... That’s-... How?!” she stammered, observing the scar and the pale pattern upon it.

“I don’t know,” Aesop replied truthfully, “I only noticed it today.”

Then, however, he saw an expression appear on the girl’s face, one that he didn’t expect. 

Terror.

“Oh no… no, no, no, no, no…” She began shaking her head, one of her hands coming to cover her mouth, and were those tears gathering in her eyes? “What, what is it, dear?” Aesop asked, his own panic rising. “This is bad, oh Merlin…” she only stammered on, having now gotten up and begun backing away somewhat.

“Darling, please,” The professor quickly grabbed at her wrist, gently but firmly, and started pulling her back towards him. She was breathing hard and looking terribly, terribly panicked when he managed to sit her down upon his healthy leg and wrapped his arms around her. Using one hand, he pressed her face against his neck, and used the other to draw deep circles into her back, making gentle shushing noises. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his collar: “Calm yourself my sweet. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

“Oh, Aesop…” she whimpered miserably, “I’m so, so sorry…” Aesop shushed her some more: “What are you apologising for? It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what’s gotten you worried. In fact, the pain has lessened considerably.” “That’s the thing, Aesop…” she lifted her head up to look at him: “I… before me, there was another woman, one who had my powers…I may have said something here and there about her before...” The professor listened carefully, not rushing her in her speech, merely looking into her eyes and continuing to stroke her back, “Um… Ever since she began school in her fifth year, like me, what she wanted the most was to rid her father of pain from losing his son - her brother… And after years, she was successful in her efforts. She pulled the pain right out of him. A-and for a while, it seemed to be all good… But then one day her colleague went to find her at her family home, and she wasn’t there… But her father was… He was barren of all emotion. Not just of pain, he didn’t have anything in him left! He became a body with no soul!”

Aesop gulped, much too loudly, feeling his own heart speeding up. Bloody hell…

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, as both of them panicking would help absolutely nothing, he forced himself to think about her words while once more closing his arms around her tight. Right… 

“Uh… You said that she was only successful after years, didn’t you?” Aesop asked, his voice quiet and as soothing as possible. He felt the woman in his arms nod her head against his shoulders. “Would you mind telling me how you know that?” His sweetheart took several deep breaths before raising her head again, not meeting his eyes this time: “I found a series of journal entries. This woman, Isidora Morganach, was helping heal people from the plague alongside a few other wizards and muggle doctors alike, but… But while she helped heal the people of their physical illness, she wasn’t able to relieve them of their pain of losing loved ones to the Black death… And so she, I don’t know, she made this spell that extracted pain from people… She’d use her wand, hold it to someone’s chest and pull out what looked like this dark wispy cluster. She’d proceed to breathe it in, and later store it away into containers made of goblin silver… The biggest one being-” “The Final repository.” “Yes.”

“Wait a minute, though-” Aesop said, feeling slightly less panicked. “If she managed to fill that giant thing to the brim with pain-”

“She extracted pain from others. From Hogwarts students, from anyone she could…”

“Then not all of them must’ve turned into soulless beings.”

“I-... What?” Her eyes, red from crying softly, finally met his own. “You heard,” Aesop spoke, feeling more confident, “that thing… it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with magic… and it wasn’t even the only one, you said Ranrok got his power from below the Rookwood castle. She must’ve really taken the pain of dozens, perhaps even hundreds - and if each and every one of them subsequently lost all emotion because of it, well, it would have been noticed! It would have been written down. That’s not something people could ignore! Did you… Do you know of anyone else who had their pain extracted by her?” The young woman in his arms thought for a moment before her eyes lit up: “Professor Fitzgerald!”

“Who?”

“She was the Headmistress here when Isidora was a student and later a teacher, as well as one of the Keepers - Isidora took her pain as well!” 

“And did she lose all emotion?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. Her memories only showed the immediate aftermath… I-... I have to ask!” the Ravenclaw was just about to rush away from him, no doubt into the direction of the Map chamber, but Aesop held on tight: “Just wait for a minute, dear. You also mentioned that you actually saw the process too. From, uh, from what I remember, there never came a point during which you pointed your wand at me, and extracted something from within me, did it?”

She thought for a moment: “No… No, there really was no moment like that… Can I… Can I take a look at your leg again?” With a small smile, Aesop finally allowed her to stand up and leave his embrace. She kneeled in front of him again and looked at his leg carefully. “This is… it’s also different,” she murmured as if more to herself than to him, “it’s not the dark wispy thing… and it’s not the red glow I saw Ranrok and his loyalists give off… But there is a glow…” Aesop’s eyebrows furrowed. A glow? He didn’t see any glow… Was she just talking about the fact the pattern was lighter than the rest of his skin, or…?

“I think it’s the blue one, I can’t… I can’t really see it clearly…” she kept on talking, even quieter than before. “Darling, I cannot see any glow…” he replied, still trying to see what she was talking about. “I… Well, you wouldn’t. I think only I can see it. Professor Fig couldn’t see it either…”

“Ah, right. However, you’re saying that it doesn’t look like the magic that this Isidora of yours was wielding when she extracted pain from people, right?”

“Right.” “So there is a chance I won’t be losing my emotions.”

“I… I hope so…”

“And so do I. Why don’t you, uh, why don’t you check up with the former Headmistress - perhaps her portrait will be able to tell you more,” Aesop said finally. His heart had calmed down somewhat, though his head was still reeling a little. His beloved nodded her head frantically. But then she looked at him: “You said it hurt less now, didn’t you?”

“It indeed does,” he confirmed, carefully touching the scarred skin. The Ravenclaw bit into her lip: “Um, we can trust Nurse Blainey, right? I mean, she’s the one who fixed me up after what… what happened in those caverns. Maybe you should, you know, show it to her?”

“Are you sure that’s not a waste of time? You just said you’re the only one who can see the glow.”

“It’s not that much about the glow, Aesop - she’ll be able to give you a diagnosis, or something, anything… We’re in a position where we could use all the information we can get…”

She had a fair point, Aesop thought. But such was the way of Ravenclaws, always believing that knowledge is key. Frankly, he was slightly through with healers running diagnostics on him only to put on that oh so compassionate face and tell him that they can’t do anything for him… But then again, could it be different now? He did trust Noreen to remain discreet at the very least - however, he also didn’t at all doubt that she’ll probe at him until she got as much information about this new… progress… And would she keep her discretion after he told her? Of course, his and the young woman’s relationship wasn’t forbidden, but still…

“Trust me, I too am cringing at the very thought of going to ask the former Headmistress about this, as she’s no doubt going to be very inquisitive… I may actually attempt to ask the other’s to leave, if it comes down to me actually talking about what happened - because I know both you and I know that this happened during… You know… The light vines and all… I think I’m able to talk to her about it, but I think I would die in embarrassment were I to speak to Rackham and Rookwood about such matters… Actually, all three of us would, in most likelihood.” “What about the fourth one?”

“I don’t know - I have a feeling he’ll insist on staying, though I wish he hadn’t.. To, I don’t know, make sure I wasn’t about to go down the same path as Isidora or something…”

Aesop shook his head. As if the young woman before him hadn’t proved her heart was nothing but pure… She proved it, in his own opinion, enough for several lifetimes. He knew of Isidora Morganach’s untimely but unavoidable death at the hands of one of the Keepers, and he knew with all of his heart that his beloved was nothing like this woman, there was not a single power-hungry hair on her head. 

“Run along - the sooner we’re done with these no doubt uncomfortable tasks we’ve got to attend to now, the sooner we’ll hopefully be able to breathe a sigh of relief… And hopefully have a strong cup of good tea. And perhaps a splash of Firewhisky. And biscuits.” Aesop was happy to hear the young woman snort silently. She raised herself up and looked at him: “I… um, I’ll see you at the Hospital wing then?” He gave a nod. And, just like that, he was left by himself once more. However, not before receiving several very lovely kisses, during which it took everything within him not to say ‘Damn that talking piece of canvas hag as well as any silly examination!’ and just have both of them stay in the comfort of his rooms for the time being. 

He sighed and threw the blanket covering his modesty back onto the bed before restoring his clothes the way they’re supposed to be, triple checking whether everything was decent before leaving his rooms to make the short way over to the Hospital wing. And when he did find himself at the very top of the stairs, Aesop had to throw a phial of Wiggenweld back - the pain was better, but it was far from gone, and stairs really weren’t doing it much good at all.

The Hospital wing was as it always had been - bright and airy, sterile but homely. The scent of various healing salves, potions and herbs wafted through the pleasantly cool air, and the sun of late afternoon poured in through the partly open window. To his massive relief, Aesop found that, surprisingly, there were no students currently getting attended to by the school nurse. How curious - Aesop could’ve sworn there would always be at least one half-maimed student here at all occasions.

“Quiet, isn’t it?” Came Noreen’s voice from somewhere behind him, making the poor man flinch ever so slightly. He turned his head to see the young Nurse peering at him from out of her office/bedroom. “Indeed,” he replied coolly, flawlessly masking his bewilderment at her sudden appearance and her startling him, “how so? Didn’t you have a minimum amount of whining teenagers you must have here at all times of day and night?” 

Nurse Blainey sneered lightly: “A third of Crossed Wands is worried about their NEWTs, a third is worried about their OWLs, Mr Brattleby included, and the rest are lost like forest bees on a glade without their organiser, so they daren’t set any matches that get actually dangerous. The most that happens to the lot who still go there to practice is a singed eyebrow, and they don’t really want me to witness that.”

“And Quidditch?” Aesop asked, reaching a hand out to lean a part of his weight on one of the beds.

“Well, we’ve only got Slytherin versus Hufflepuff left, don’t we? I hear Miss Reyes is making sure no member of her ‘Dream Team’ as much as sprains an ankle or pulls a muscle during their practices, so they’re in top shape for the final match, and you know Hufflepuffs - at least a dozen of them who are hoping to become healers are always nearby, just itching to get their practice in was any of the Hufflepuff players become injured. And me - I’ve got some well deserved peace at last. At least I had till you came in.”

Aesop chuckled.

—

As the Ravenclaw entered the Map chamber, a rush of emotions swept through her. Though she visited the room on a semi-regular basis, the frequency wasn't as high as she had initially anticipated it would be. The Keepers' reluctance to hasten their lectures, their occasional absolute absence from their frames, and the poignant memories of Professor Fig that flooded her mind each time she stepped inside all contributed to her subconscious avoidance of joining the four Keepers down here. And besides that, she was a busy woman…

The cold air nipped at her ears as she slowly descended the stairs leading to the spacious chamber below, she was quick to notice all four former professor’s stood within their frames. The atmosphere in the room was very nearly surreal, ethereal, as if time itself had no meaning within, there was no concept of day and night there. However, despite the four sentient portraits there, she always felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end from how unsettling the place was - each time she remembered the people on the wall were not actually there, that they weren’t trapped in those paintings, but had actually been dead and buried for centuries, the silence of the room felt deafening. Despite its lack of foes for her to defeat, no giant spiders, no rampant Dugbogs, the room actually felt scarier than many dark caves and ruined abandoned buildings when the Keepers were absent. Even Inferi would make the place feel less… dead.

She was swiftly pulled out of her macabre thoughts.

“Welcome back, Miss (L/N). It’s been some time since we last made your acquaintance,” spoke professor Rackham, his soft voice reverberating off the intricately patterned walls. The young woman swallowed and made her way across the large map of the Highlands around Hogwarts castle. “My apologies, professors - I was rather busy with my NEWTs and such…” she replied quietly before looking at the portrait of professor Fitzgerald, “Headmistress, may I… may I speak to you for a moment?”

The woman looked mildly surprised to be addressed specifically, but quickly schooled her features into a pleasant expression: “Certainly, Miss. What is it you want to talk about?” The young woman’s eyes nervously flicked around the other three portraits, the people within them regarding her with unabashed curiosity. “Actually,” she spoke, attempting to make her voice as neutral as possible despite the heat rising to her cheeks already, “actually I wondered whether I could talk to you privately…”

The Keepers’ expressions turned even more curious, and they too began looking around at one another. Finally, the Irishwoman cleared her throat: “Of course - after all, if a student wishes to speak with their professor in private, they’re fully entitled to.” Rackham and Rookwood both nodded in the Headmistress’ direction. “I shall check up on San’s tower then, make sure there are no more trespassers,” Rackham announced, slowly moving out of his portrait. “And I shall do the same with Rookwood castle. Still, such a terrible shame what has the good House of Rookwood come to, not to mention the once grand estate…”

Soon it was almost as if the young woman and the Headmistress were entirely alone, until: “I know you’re lingering just beyond the frame, San,” Fitzgerald said, her hands elegantly folded in front of herself. “I merely wonder as to why shouldn’t the rest of us know what you intend to speak to the Headmistress about. It’s not like either of us ever had shown any sort of unreliability, seeing as we protected what could possibly become the biggest weapon in the Wizarding world for centuries. Besides, four people, more experiences, a larger possibility of helping the student should she require it,” came from one of the empty-appearing frames.  The Ravenclaw immediately felt a wave of frustration, as well as more colour rising into her face: “I-it’s something of a private matter, Professor Bakar…”

After a few seconds of pregnant silence, there came a sigh: “Very well. Leaving you two alone…”

Finally, Professor Fitzgerald turned her gaze back at the young woman before her: “It seems we’ve got privacy now - what did you want to talk about, lass?”

Dear Merlin… This was going to be anything but easy.

“Do you remember how Isidora would rid people of their pain?” she asked. At the mention of Isidora’s name, the Headmistress visibly tensed. Nevertheless, she nodded her head. “What actually happened to her father afterwards? I mean - in one of the pensieve memories, after she rids him of his pain, he seems… relieved. Happy, actually. Grateful. But then, in Professor Bakar’s memories, he actually has no more emotions left… He’s like an empty husk of a human… I wanted to know if… Well, if Isidora taking his pain away led to the other emotions leaving as well.”

Niamh stayed quiet for several seconds, clearly considering her answer. Before she could speak however, the young woman added: “In your memories, I saw her take your pain too… You didn’t… You didn’t ever feel like you were losing grasp on your other feelings as well, or?”

“No, no…” the Headmistress replied softly, “no, I can’t say I have. I can understand where you’re coming from, though. After San… After Isidora’s death, we had a lot to deal with. A lot of damage to fix. We had to try and make the caverns as inaccessible as possible, make up a cover story for Isidora’s passing, and, of course, alter some of the students’ memories… It was only after we made sure that Isidora didn’t leave behind anything that could potentially lead any new wielder of ancient magic astray did San inform us of the state he found Isidora’s father in…

“We went to visit him, all of us, and found him quite like you described - an empty husk. Mind, he was alive and, well, he was functioning. He worked on his field in the morning, fed the chickens, took care of the house, cooked for himself, ate, slept… But he did so without a word, without a single emotion. And when we tried to speak to him, well… It was like he did hear us, but our words were like noise and nothing else…

“We… well, we did attempt to.. put the pain back… Percival found the jar of goblin silver Isidora used to store her father’s pain in, that evening she showed us. Only, well…”

The young woman was hanging onto every word, wondering and fearing.

“Well, Professor?”

Headmistress Fitzgerald heaved a long sigh: “He didn’t return to his original state… Instead of regaining his emotions, his personality, there was only one feeling he was able to experience - a blinding rage. Nothing else than anger. Not ten seconds after Percival returned the magic into Mr Morganach’s chest did he try to attack us, blindly and in wild-abandon. In the end the poor man had to be transported to Saint Mungo’s. We thought it appropriate even though he was a muggle, since his malady was a magical one. There was never any improvement, though…”

The Ravenclaw gulped audibly, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. Would this happen to Aesop? Would he… would he eventually lose his emotions, his feelings, his very identity?

“And what about the others… Isidora took many others’ pain, didn't she? Yours too… Did anyone else lose all emotion?” she asked and closed her hands into fist to stop them from shaking.

“No. I have lived for many years after Isidora’s death. That of her father too. She did remove some pain from within me, that of my husband dying… You know, when I first witnessed Isidora removing her father’s pain, I thought it was… kind. To take away such a heavy burden one’s been carrying for so long. But then I got to experience it myself. And at first, it did feel like a relief… but then I found that something felt missing. I didn’t feel any pain caused by my grief, but I also didn’t feel the same warmth and the sort of intensity I did before when I remembered my husband. The same love perhaps… It occurred to me then that… That pain is a horrible thing to feel, but at the same time it’s something that’s needed in order for us to be able to properly feel all of the other emotions as well. And it’s the thing that tells us we truly loved somebody. Without the pain of having lost my husband, I suddenly didn’t quite understand the other emotions I held for him.. And I rather think that it was the same for Isidora’s father, whose pain was such a great part of him, it was connected to all other aspects, and he, in time, became less and less balanced. Not in pain, but not happy either.

“It’s difficult to say what came first; whether it was Isidora’s want to ‘fix’ her father, or whether she was already consumed by her lust for power. As you surely remember, she would-”

“She would inhale the residue magic from the pain she removed…”

“Precisely. With each wisp of that dark power she accepted, she grew hungrier and hungrier for more. So she may have been simply tearing away at her father’s emotions to try and balance them out until nothing remained… or she might’ve taken all of them in one take, only to strengthen herself further… We shall never know. What we do know is that nobody else was stripped of their emotions this much, none of the students, none of the residents of various Hamlets we heard of…”

Looking up at the Headmistress once more, the young woman nodded her head. This was… good news, wasn’t it? That is that nobody else was stripped away of their humanity, of their personality and of their feelings. Perhaps it meant that Aesop too won’t be losing any of his. However, how big part of Aesop was the pain in his leg? And was the difference between physical pain and psychical one so large? Having lost Professor Fig those two years ago, the girl knew that mental pain can easily feel like the bodily one. Worse, actually. And Aesop carried both of them. Would the mental pain become lesser like the physical one did? And if so, just how large a part of Aesop’s sense of identity was it?

Niamh observed the student with deeply curious eyes, soon pulling her out of her thoughts: “Will you allow me a question now as well?”

Raising her eyes, the girl nodded, not quite prepared to speak yet. “Why are you asking all of this? That is, I could understand you asking all of this out of curiosity, being a true Ravenclaw, and that is admirable. However, I have a reason to believe simple curiosity is not the case this time. Why now? What happened?”

Taking a few seconds to gather her thoughts further, the young woman breathed deeply: “Before I answer your question, Professor, I have one more - Isidora would take people’s pain away using her wand. And the pain looked like this dark cluster of magic. Is it at all possible to… replicate this spell accidentally, wandlesly, with no intent on taking anything away, and, uh, without the dark cluster of magic?”

Niamh looked very confused for several seconds, actually opening and closing her mouth a few times as she thought about the answer to the strange question, before finally settling on: “I… I don’t know… Professor Rackham would’ve perhaps been able to answer that, being a wielder of ancient magic himself, but I… Well, logically, when it comes to spells, the same result cannot be achieved by using two vastly different techniques. Not to mention a vastly complicated spell such as this could not be performed accidentally.”

“But that is what happened, professor,” the Ravenclaw finally spoke, no longer able to keep up with this careful figurative dance the two were performing around one another, “I think I accidentally took someone’s pain away…”

“I…” Professor Fitzgerald made a stop, her eyes quickly getting suspicious: “What did you do?”

The young girl swallowed and closed her eyes: “Professor Sharp - he’s one of the teachers who aided in the battle for the Final repository - he was injured some decade ago, by a curse nobody was able to break. It left him with a maimed leg. He’s got a scar that goes from his hip all the way to below the knee of his left leg, in the shape of a lighting strike, and he has a limp…”

“How do you know how his scar looks-”

“Him and I… our relationship’s quite recently moved past the boundaries of teacher and student. We became involved romantically.” 

Niamh Fitzgerald, esteemed former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Sorcery was left staring with her mouth wide open. The young Ravenclaw would’ve probably thought it hilarious if the situation had been any different than it was. The woman who prepared her a trial so terrifying and terrific, perfected into the most macabre of details, and causing her nightmares for many nights to come, was staring at her like she just sprouted not only a second head, but also a third and fourth one, and all of them were of different animals.

“I… That’s…” Niamh grasped for words.

“It’s not against any of the school rules,” the young woman spoke quickly, “All that is stated is that all extra-curricular relationships between teachers and students must be prevented from interfering with the running of the school and lessons, and in case the relationship is of the romantic status, the student must be of legal age. Which I am.”

Professor Fitzgerald finally closed her mouth, but it was obvious this revelation left her a little shaken. A little part of the student revelled in this knowledge - for once she wasn’t the one left with wide eyes and trying to process what just happened. She, however, didn’t exactly have the time to let the former Headmistress fully process the new information she was given. Even so, though, given the period of time during which the older woman lived, she decided it would be wise to keep her words as proper as possible.

“Last week the two of us… Lay together, as a man and a woman do. And something happened that night - vines of light wrapped around our bodies entirely before slowly disappearing again. That hasn’t happened since. However, today we discovered that my magic had left a mark on him, on the scar on his leg. A paler patch of skin in the shape of the same symbol that’s throughout this very room. And underneath, I could see the traces of ancient magic, the blue glow. His leg had been hurting less than before, but the pain hadn’t fully left. We don’t know what we can expect from this development - which is why I came to you.”

Fitzgerald seemed to finally get her bearings then and cleared her throat: “Well… That’s… quite the news. I… Well, of course it’s good that you came to me, I’ll try to tell you all I know, but I warn you: it may not be enough. After all, Professor Rackham is the one who also bore the ability of ancient magic, and he’s therefore more knowledgeable about it than myself…”

The young woman cringed slightly: “I was aware that it might have been the case. However, given the… nature of the situation, I felt more comfortable discussing it with you, as a woman with a woman.” 

“Naturally,” replied the professor, a small smile actually appearing on her face. 

“I really need to know one thing though - are you certain there’s no risk of the professor losing his emotions, like Isidora’s father?” asked the young woman then, gazing up at the portrait. The former Headmistress sighed: “I of course don’t know that for certain… However, subjectively, I do not think so. After all, you said it yourself that the process was entirely different from that of Isidora - and it seems that instead of ‘taking’, you actually ‘gave’ something.

“Now, I am entering something of an uncharted territory here, but let me just say this: love is one of the strongest, if not the absolutely strongest, ancient magic there is, and intercourse itself can make one more… susceptible to powerful magic. You see, it’s when we are at our most vulnerable, our most open. In our day to day lives, we place a varying level of restraint on ourselves, etiquette tells us to behave and speak a certain way, and it can even go as far as to directly influence the strength of our magic. The more closed off, the more volatile this magic gets. Hence the unfortunate occasional cases of Obscurus. However, when we’re as open as we get during this ultimate act of love, it’s not unheard of for powerful magic to flow freely through our veins, and collide with the magic of our partner. Usually, it only serves to… heighten the sensations.

“Actual accidental magic during such a union is rather rare, but not entirely unheard of. However, it can get quite tricky to find mentions of it, as it is naturally not exactly a topic that is discussed casually, for obvious reasons. I’ll try to aid you to the best of my abilities. I even have an idea about how your situation came to be, but I cannot make any promises that what I’m saying is entirely correct.”

The young woman heaved a sigh of relief: “Anything is good, Professor.”

—

“Alright… now, let me take a look at that.” Noreen said after she’d finished writing down Aesop’s own findings and sent the parchment floating over to her desk, where she could pore over it later. She turned to face the potions master expectantly, raising an eyebrow when he remained right where he was, leaning against one of the beds, unmoving: “Well?”

Aesop scoffed: “What, do you want me to just drop my trousers right now?” The nurse rolled her eyes at the man: “Obviously not. Go behind one of the privacy screens, undress, lay yourself down and wait for me there. You can use the blanket to cover any sensitive areas.”

As Noreen prepared a blank report for her to fill in as she examined the professor’s leg, she had to roll her eyes again. Of course Aesop Sharp limped down the Hospital wing all the way towards the cots furthest from the door. “Make sure the doors are locked,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared behind the privacy curtain. 

“First he’s ready to drop his trousers right in front of the entrance, now he’d prefer this room to be locked like the bloody Gringotts…” Noreen muttered under her breath. The nurse gave him a few minutes to undress and make himself comfortable on the bed, all the while wondering as to how come there was such sudden progress. 

Noreen Blainey only started as the school nurse five years ago, only a few weeks after she finished with her healer studies, making her the third third newest addition to the Hogwarts staff, as well as the second youngest member of it. Matilda Weasley was rightfully slightly sceptical about accepting Noreen at first.

“I know you were a right hard worker when you still studied here, even by Hufflepuff standards, and I know you retained this quality of yours all the way through Healer school. Your instructors have nothing but good things to say about you.”

“Thank you, Professor.”“However, I am slightly worried as to whether you’ll be able to execute this sort of… authority over the students. I needn't tell you that while you and some others were indeed working hard while here, many others would do nearly anything to get out of class, even if for a quarter an hour. And some of them have quite drastic, though very creative, ideas on how to do so.”

“You needn’t worry, Professor Weasley, I certainly don’t plan on letting anyone who’d wish to skip class off the hook that easily. You know I was never the one to condone these kinds of actions.”

“That I do.”

Noreen was able to wash the Deputy Headmistress’ doubts within half a year.

Known for her strict attitude, students thought twice before pretending to be sick just to get out of writing a pop quiz they didn’t prepare for. However, those who were genuinely sick and/or injured knew that they could always rely on the Nurse to fix them right back up. Noreen also became popular with the Fifth and Seventh years swiftly, due to her open attitude on Wideye potion, and the female population of the castle knew they were always welcome to collect what they needed on their days. 

However, Noreen herself was surprised how the gruff Potions master learned to trust not only her expertise and professional judgement, but also her as a person fairly quickly. To be fair, perhaps she should not have been quite that surprised - after all, those few nights over the past years when she had to rush into his chambers, hauling several potions bundled haphazardly in her own dressing gown, to find the professor in a rather pitiful state, sweating, panting, sometimes screaming in the unholy pain he was in, that all stayed only between them, Noreen never spoke of it with anyone. Such was the physician–patient privilege, of course, but Noreen decided to go a step further, and only ever wrote what transpired during these nights in her records as ‘Night episode - potions administered’. 

She walked around the privacy screen to find the Potions professor lying down on his back on the cot - his coat and jacket deposited on a nearby hanger, so his upper body was only covered by his shirt and waistcoat. His bottom half was indeed covered by the white blanket, save for the teacher’s long left leg. Aesop had his hands folded upon his midsection and was looking straight up into the ceiling. However, before Noreen could as much as sit on a chair next to the bed and begin her examination, someone took hold of the handle on the door and attempted to enter. In vain.

A second passed before there was a knock.

“Unless you’re about to die, please wait outside,” Noreen called coolly, fully prepared to let whoever was out there wait since professor Sharp had such a high preference of privacy. 

“Uh, is Professor Sharp in there?” came a voice from the outside. The Nurse’s eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked at the professor to find him having risen himself up and leaning on his elbows. He gave her a slightly sheepish look: “Let her in.”

What?

Every now and then Noreen Blainey felt like she understood the potions master. And each and every time she was promptly shown she was mistaken. Oh well.

Using her wand, she unlocked the door and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. She knew who it was of course, though not so much because the young woman came around often, but rather because of what transpired around this girl two years prior.

“Miss (L/N). Your teacher is unwell, surely whatever you need can wait,” she attempted to dismiss the girl.

“Aes-” escaped her mouth before she quickly cleared her throat, “P-professor Sharp is unwell?” Noreen blinked in confusion. Before she could say anything else, however, Aesop’s baritone cut through the air: “I’m fine, (F/N). Over here.”

Now Blainey definitely didn’t understand. She briefly considered pinching herself to see whether she wasn’t in some bizarre dream in which the grumpy former Auror who had very few favourites among students, and who preferred spending his free time anywhere but in a company of a student, was inviting one of them to seek him in the Hospital wing, where he was lying half naked on the bed.

That is, she knew the two of them met up every now and then, ever since that escapade in her Fifth year, but she never would’ve thought they’d be quite this close… 

The young woman made her way over to the Professor’s bed, carefully watching the Nurse from out of the corner of her eyes. And as she rounded the privacy screen, a single look was all it took for Noreen.

She never thought she was going to bear witness to such a sight, but here she was - the moment the Ravenclaw entered the former Auror’s field of view, his eyes literally sparkled, and one of his rare smiles spread upon his roguishly handsome face. And the young woman wasn’t able to conceal her own happiness at seeing the older man.

Well, fancy that! Blainey thought as she watched the short silent exchange between the couple of them. Because it was rather obvious the two of them were a lot closer than she would’ve thought. Blast it - she owed 2 Galleons to Hecat now, having bet that the young woman would get together with the Sallow lad. Which was completely logical, seeing as the two of them seemed to be joined at the hip the moment the lass stepped into the bloody castle! Did the DADA Professor know with whom she’d end up instead? She didn’t say... Only said that she ‘very much doubted’ that the girl’s and Sallow’s relationship would ever leave the grounds of a platonic friendship… Blainey was so certain though, the lad stared at her like she was a holy picture for Merlin’s sake. Oh well…

And since the teacher obviously had no qualms about letting the young woman see him in his current state of undress (despite the fact that everything but his bad leg was hidden underneath the blanket), well, that was telling by itself. Noreen only sighed: “Alright. Get to explaining.”

She then finally got to examining the leg. There were several seconds of silence before Aesop spoke, his voice measured and careful: “do we have your discretion, Noreen?” The Nurse raised her eyes to look at the couple. How curious to see the two of them nervous. She wasn’t sure she ever saw the former Auror nervous - despite his limp and the occasional nightly episode, he was always proud, confident, intimidating almost. She was quite glad she wasn’t a student anymore when he came to teach potions, having graduated in the summer before he replaced Professor Sinclair. And yet, now he was looking at her nervously and with a nearly bated breath. The Ravenclaw was as well, and Noreen saw her hands twitching, as if she was focusing all of her energy on not coming closer to grab the Potions master’s hand.

“Well, she’s a grown woman, so she can do whatever the devil she wants. All I care about is whether both sides consent and nobody is forcing anyone into anything…” Noreen raised her voice somewhat at the end of her sentence, looking into the Ravenclaw’s eyes in a clear indication of a question. “I promise, Nurse Blainey, nobody is forcing anyone into anything, and I very much consent to what me and Ae-... what me and professor Sharp have…” Noreen scoffed: “Might as well call him by his name, seeing as you obviously call him that.”

The girl went slightly pink under the nurse’s gaze and used her hand to squeeze at her arm rather awkwardly. “Look, I don’t actually care all that much about how the two of you came to be, and I definitely won’t be running around the school telling people. Though the two of you best work on your stiff upper lips, as one look at the two of you was enough for me to figure you out, and I’m much better at seeing through people’s physical state rather than the emotional one. What I’m more interested in is what happened with the leg and what you have to do with it.”

“Not that easy, Noreen - not even we know exactly what happened,” Aesop said, audibly calmer now that he knew Noreen would keep his and the young woman’s relationship to herself. Speaking of the young woman, she perked up somewhat: “Actually, I was able to find something out… I think that I accidentally imprinted some of the magic I possess on your leg - that much we gathered, obviously. But I found that the ancient magic can be something of an energy source - a different kind of it ’powers’ Hogwarts as well, like the Grand Staircase. It’s the reason all of the places built by the Keepers look the way they do, spotless and like they were built only yesterday,  the ancient magic keeps them that way.”

Both Aesop and Blainey listened carefully. “I think that when the magic attached itself to your leg, well, the curse there latched onto it and started feeding off it rather than your leg itself - which would explain the pain lessening. As to whether this effect will last, whether it will become stronger or weaker - that I don’t know… However, given that the magic present within the Keeper trials and the Map chamber was able to last for at least four hundred years and doesn’t seem to be getting any weaker, I think this effect could potentially last…” 

Chills ran down the Potions master’s spine at his sweetheart’s words.

Blainey of course heard the full extent of what happened those two years ago. She didn’t necessarily understand all of it, but then again she didn’t have to. For her, the main thing was the result - therefore, she returned to examining the professor’s leg: “So you say the pain has lessened. Do you feel it right now as we speak?” Professor Sharp shook his head: “Barely. And even so, it’s more like… the memory of the pain, rather than the pain itself. It feels like it should be there, given it was there for more than a decade now, but instead there’s only a shadow of it.”

“And when you walk?” Blainey continued, carefully prodding at the scar tissue with her fingers, noting that Aesop made a small grimace whenever her fingers ventured onto the redder parts of the scar, but seemed to not feel her touch when she directed it at the lighter areas of it. What was ‘covered’ by the pale patch of skin looked like a completely mundane healed scar, and was gradually turning into the angry red where the pale patch ended.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young woman shift her weight from one foot to the other slightly uncomfortably, her eyes directed at Noreen’s hands on Aesop’s leg. The nurse rolled her eyes - of course, while Miss (L/N) was one of the more level headed students, not even she was immune to that nasty momentary flare of jealousy of witnessing another woman touching her beloved like so. “Do calm down, Miss, I’ve no intention to touch the professor in any other way than medical.”

Aesop raised his eyebrows and the girl got red in the cheeks once more: “I didn’t-...” “The good Nurse is merely having a laugh, don’t mind her,” the Potions master was quick to answer, in turn making Noreen roll her eyes some more: “What’s  walking like?”

“Walking hurts still, but considerably less so than before… However, it also hurts somewhat differently…” the professor mused out loud.

“That’s to be expected - in continuously insisting not to use your cane and instead just limping around, you have not done yourself any favours. Even should the pain in your leg that was caused by the curse disappear completely, it won’t change the fact you have walked in a way that minimised it for more than a decade, that’s damage done to your muscles, your very posture - it would take some time and a lot of exercise for you to return to normal walking. 

Aesop’s head was once again whirling - normal walking. Bloody hell, Aesop wasn’t sure the term would ever be applicable to him again. Was there truly a chance for him to walk normally once more? Instead of dragging his bad leg behind himself, undignified and weak (though he knew very few saw him that way), the hope of being able to walk straight, proud, his head held high, now loomed over him closer than ever before. And this time it seemed so real. It was a sweet siren’s call for the former Auror, and he was very nearly afraid to reach for it in fear of it turning into naught but dust before his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get himself back together if he decided to hope, truly hope, and then lose this hope again.

“What do you propose we do then?” asked the Ravenclaw.

“Well, I’m going to give you a list of exercises, which I implore you, Aesop, to try to do as often as possible, but within some sensible limits. There’s also trying to walk normally, for which another person should be present as well, so that they can correct your posture if need be, and be there for when you inevitably grow tired or the pain becomes too severe, for you to lean against. I presume that’s where you’ll come in quite handy, Miss (L/N),” Noreen listed, and Aesop’s sweetheart nodded her head vehemently. “Just don’t be foolish about it, Aesop. I understand that you must now feel anxious to start walking normally, if at all possible, as soon as you can, but there’s no point in maiming yourself because you tried to hurry up the healing process. Keep reminding yourself that you walked with a limp for over ten years now, you’re not going to prance about like a gazelle within a week. Overdo it, and you’re right back at the beginning.”

It was Aesop’s turn to nod his head.

“Now, this all only applies if whatever it is that makes your leg feel better holds, naturally. Shall it worsen, don’t try to force anything, you’ll only end up hurting yourself more.”

“Will do.”

“Now. How about you try to show us if you even remember how to walk normally?”

Aesop’s eyebrows shot up again momentarily before he dropped his gaze to his partially covered lower body: “may I wear my trousers before I do so?”

And so Nurse Blainey rolled her eyes the third time, now shaking her head as well in exasperation. The young Ravenclaw, however, seemed to be fighting the urge to giggle, perhaps even suggesting Aesop stays in his current state of undress. “Just your drawers for now - I want to see how the muscles in your legs react. I’ll even re-lock the door for you,” the Nurse offered dryly.

“How gracious of you,” replied Aesop in the same manner. Noreen excused herself then to place the report which wrote itself throughout the examination among the others - and then made a stop. After all, this was one that was better hidden, the knowledge of ancient magic carefully kept between the staff (excluding Black). Not to mention the whole bit about a rather clandestine student-professor romance. So, she instead decided to store the parchment in her office/bedroom, hidden away from prying eyes. 

“I’m only leaving for a short moment,” she called over her shoulder, “do try to control yourselves.”

Aesop only rolled his eyes and finally threw the blanket off his person, once more revealing himself to his sweetheart. However, before he could as much as reach for his pants, he made a stop. The young woman stepped closer before lowering herself to her knees before him.

“Darling…” he breathed out, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek as if on its own. She leaned into his touch shortly before dropping her head and dragging her nose over the parts of his scar that weren’t painful to touch. She proceeded to kiss them as well, something Aesop would never have imagined anyone would ever do.

“You know, when I was down there, talking with the former Headmistress,” she whispered, pressing one last kiss to the damaged skin before carefully resting her chin upon his thigh, “she said that every spell is, essentially, a wish. A wizard or a witch can go around waving their wand and shouting incantations, but it’ll be for nothing if they don’t wish to perform the spell, if they don’t wish to levitate or summon this and that. And that night... Although the magic happened by accident, my wish behind it was intentional. I love you deeply... What I wanted more than anything was to alleviate your pain, I wanted you to feel as good as you were making me feel. I truly meant what I said - I would love you under any circumstances, even if you were to limp for the rest of our lives. But I would be happiest if you didn't have to endure that pain. And I think that is the difference between what happened with Isidora Morganach and her father and the two of us… Isidora, she took. But me, I gave you a part of myself. And I want nothing else than to give myself to you in the entirety. If you want me…”

Aesop used all of his strength to pull the girl up from the ground then. He oftentimes thought himself cynical. Cynical, battle-hardened, life-toughened former Auror. This young woman, however, was able to do so few could. Slip by his defences using nothing but her honesty. Her kindness. Her love. And each time it got him hopelessly drunk on the feeling. He pulled her into his lap and chased her lips in a desperate kiss, whispering words of love each time he had to pull back for a breath. And just as she promised to give herself to him entirely, he promised to always strive to prove he was worthy of her, no matter if he was walking or limping.

Several minutes and many tender kisses later, there came a voice from behind the privacy screen.

“Please tell me you managed to put your pants on at least…”

—

“Alright, how is this?” the professor asked, breathing through the discomfort of forcing himself to walk in a way his muscles weren’t used to - normally, that is. He was partially leaning against his beloved, something he hoped would change soon, but his step was quite measured and fluid. There was the occasional lighter step, but other than that, the teacher was fairly certain he was doing a pretty alright job. “You’re doing brilliant, Aesop,” his sweetheart said softly, her smile obvious in her voice.

For the past few weeks, whenever the two of them found the time to be together following a dinner in the Great Hall, instead of immediately retiring into Aesop’s chambers, they shared a short walk around the Hogwarts grounds. They both knew paths nobody frequented after darkness fell, and they used it to their advantage. The potions master felt stronger every day. That is, he never truly felt weak, but his limp undeniably slowed him down. Upon Noreen’s insistence, he used his cane to get around during the day and further worked on regaining his strength. The results were visible already - his colleagues commented on his limp becoming smaller, his face not being as screwed up in pain every time he was faced with stairs. Stairs were still a problem, but each ascent and descent served to motivate Aesop further. 

The pale patch on his leg grew more pronounced, more visible - its pattern was undeniable now, and his scar turned entirely pink from the raw red. He no longer felt the pain of the curse, something he wouldn’t have thought at all possible a mere month ago. He stood taller, prouder. But most of all, he was grateful. Overwhelmingly so. Every single day he woke up, no matter if the sun shone into his bedroom from the other room or cats and dogs were raining outside, each morning he woke up, moved his leg, and realised that he didn’t feel the oh so familiar ache, he couldn’t help but grin like an absolute loon. And on those blessed mornings he woke up with his arms full of his beloved’s deliciously smelling body, he buried his face into her neck, prompting her to giggle at the prickly sensation of his beard on her soft skin.

It would take some more time for him to fully heal, to be able to walk like he had those nearly thirteen years ago, but Aesop was prepared to do whatever it took. After all, he did want his beloved to be able to lean against him for a change.

And, just like her, he wanted to give himself over to her fully.

Entirely.

---

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. You can check this story as well as all of my other stories over on AO3 as well ❤

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #reader insert #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #professor sharp x reader #professor sharp x you #healing #fluff #established relationship

[narukyuu]

The way Sam plays FCG recently gives me anxiety because I KNOW this little robot is going to wound my heart and I WILL die because of them.

#Fresh Cut Grass #FCG #critical role #fcg critical role #critical role spoilers #cr campaign 3 #The power of Friendship #we are the gods #someone PLEASE take him aside and have a long talk with him #but like without exasperation and judgement #because I really thinks that just makes them more desperate to prove themselves??? #they need someone who understands where they are coming from and what is driving them to sit with them and deconstruct everything #little therapy robot needs therapy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #anyway yeah I love FCG so much #I specifically want Orym to have a good long conversation with him #FRIDA is great as a contrast for FCG but perhaps just more confusing for them

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [2]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Go home, hyung, and think carefully about what I've said," Yunho insisted, ushering the dressmaker out of his clinic, "I really can't talk right now; I need to close up."

As Hongjoong made his way back to his shop, an internal struggle ensued between his mind and heart. His mind urged him to proceed with the job, reminding him he had no reason to be so troubled. Yet, his heart protested, insisting that it wasn't right. By going along with this, he would be complicit in someone's unhappiness.

Various scenarios played out in his mind as he imagined the aftermath of the makeover he was about to undertake. There was no doubt that you would attract attention from all directions, which wasn't the issue. He could picture potential suitors vying for your hand, but the thought unsettled him for reasons he couldn't quite grasp.

By the end of the night, his rational side prevailed, leading him to choose to proceed with the job. He concluded that entrusting another dressmaker with your makeover was out of the question; after all, he was the best in all of Joseon. You said it yourself; what you liked or wanted did not matter. If you were willing to comply with your family's wishes, then who was he to object?

He chastised himself for letting his emotions cloud his judgement. Despite feeling bad for you, he reminded himself that you were simply another customer. He shouldn't allow himself to be so affected by matters that were none of his concern.

Over the next few days, he dedicated himself entirely to crafting the most exquisite hanbok. He meticulously coordinated every detail, ensuring it would meet the approval of your family. As he finalised the sketch of your ensemble, along with the hairstyle and makeup he envisioned for you, he couldn't help but notice the absence of a smile on his drawing of you. It dawned on him that he had never seen you smiling, not even once.

Although a part of him entertained the idea of coaching you to flash a killer smile, his heart twinged at the realisation that any smile he coaxed would be forced, "Snap out of it, you idiot!" he scolded himself, shaking off the unnecessary thoughts and redirecting his focus to other aspects of the design.

In the meantime, Hongjoong's name seemed to echo through your days ever since his arrival. Your family would lavish him with endless praise for his dedication to his craft, simultaneously lecturing you for not being more courteous toward him, for expecting him to seek you out without you bothering to greet him upon his arrival. If only they were aware of the cruel words he had uttered to you recently. Would they still support him so fervently? Perhaps they would side with him and reprimand you even further for not showing him enough appreciation.

"My dear, why not try being a bit more hospitable today and give Mr. Kim a little tour during his visit, hm?" your mother suggested during breakfast, her tone tinged with exasperation, "It's hard to believe he's already been here twice and has only seen the library and your quarters. Take him around the gardens, at least, will you?"

You pursed your lips, feeling a hint of irritation rising within you, though you didn't show it, "But mother, he's here to work. He's not a guest. Why should we extend such hospitality to him?" you muttered, taking another bite of your food.

Haeun scoffed in response, "Are you even listening to yourself? Mr. Kim is doing you a huge favour. He even closed his shop just to come here for you. The least you could do is show him some courtesy," your father and brother instantly agreeing with her.

Feeling frustrated, you decided to keep your mouth shut, realising that nothing you said would ever satisfy your family when they teamed up against you to highlight your supposed shortcomings.

This is dumb, he's getting paid anyway.

"What a pleasant surprise, Miss Baek! How kind of you to finally greet me and offer to take me on a tour!" the dressmaker exclaimed with raised brows as he was met with your blank stare while you stood waiting by the entrance of your family estate.

Shaking your head, you gestured for him to follow you, "Trust me, Mr. Kim, it's not my idea, and I dread this as much as you do. Please endure it for a bit for the sake of pleasing my family."

He blinked, trying not to let your bluntness affect him. He should know better than to be surprised by your straightforwardness by now. Nodding quickly, he rushed to catch up to you, already several steps ahead, apparently unconcerned whether he was following or not as you began the tour, "Right, my lady! Of course!"

Amused, he chuckled softly to himself at your bored expression as you walked past main areas like the living hall and dining hall before reaching places he recognised. Speaking in a monotone, you pointed out, "You've already seen these places. This is the library, and my quarters are just over there, but you already know that."

Turning to him, you furrowed your brows, "Is there anything funny?"

Biting his lip to suppress his laughter, he shook his head, "Not at all, Miss Baek. Please continue," he reassured, finding your reluctance somewhat endearing.

His eyes widened in wonder as you both arrived at what appeared to be a small play area for the children, "This is a mini playground my father had our servants create for his grandchildren," you explained, gesturing toward your nieces and nephews who were running around joyfully, their laughter echoing through the air. Glancing over at you, he noticed a hint of envy in your eyes, as if you longed to experience the simple happiness the children were enjoying.

After a moment, you took a deep breath and shook off the sentiment, "Well, let's move on to other areas then. I'm sure you don't have all day, Mr. Kim," you said briskly.

Without giving him a chance to reply, you headed off in another direction. He sighed before running after you again, silently cursing you for keeping him on the move. Yet, despite that, he couldn't find it in him to muster any irritation toward you. There was something about your behaviour that felt refreshing. For once, he appreciated being treated simply as another person, rather than being placed on a pedestal for all his accomplishments or appearance.

Arriving at your next location, you remarked rather sarcastically, "Of course, we can't forget the most crucial place in the entire estate, the kitchens," your voice hushed to avoid attracting attention from the busy maids for fear of disrupting their work.

Just as you were both about to leave, a burst of laughter echoed through the kitchen, accompanied by a blunt remark, "I bet the young miss will end up divorced early in her marriage, even if she miraculously finds a suitor after the makeover Mr. Kim gives her. She's an absolute nightmare! What sane man could tolerate her for long?"

Hongjoong felt his blood boil at the audacious words, growling under his breath, "How dare they—" He clenched his fists and took a step toward the door, seemingly ready to confront them.

Surprised by his reaction, you reached out and grasped his wrist, causing him to look down at your hold before meeting your gaze with a questioning expression. You sighed heavily, "Forget it, there's no point in doing whatever you intend to do. I'm already hard to like as it is, and I don't want them to dislike me even more than they already do. Let's just get out of here, Mr. Kim."

Feeling a pang in his chest, he couldn't shake off the aggravation that washed over him at the acceptance in your tone. The realisation that you were well aware of everyone's dislike towards you, yet you had resigned yourself to enduring it, stirred an unsettling mix of emotions within him. Just how long had you been suffering all this alone?

When he remained rooted in his spot, you squeezed his wrist and whispered, "Please, can we just go?"

With a defeated expression, he squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, "Fine, as you wish."

As you both left the kitchen behind, his mind buzzed with unanswered questions. Why wouldn't you stand up for yourself? And why wouldn't you let him be the one to defend you? It frustrated him to no end. He couldn't comprehend how someone as strong-willed as you could endure such treatment.

The weight of your silence hung heavy in the air, leaving him feeling helpless and conflicted. He wanted to reach out, to offer some form of solace or support, but he couldn't find the right words. Instead, he walked alongside you in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to help you.

Glancing at him, you could easily discern his struggle to contain his annoyance. But what you couldn't understand was why he seemed more bothered by it than you, especially considering his apparent dislike toward you. Eager to move past the incident, you decided to follow your mother's suggestion and led him to the gardens.

"I hope you like flowers, Mr. Kim," you offered as you strolled among the blooms, "These are some of my mother's proudest collections, gathered from other provinces."

Relief washed over you as he appeared to be distracted, showing genuine interest as he examined some of the rare flowers not typically found in this area.

Giving him a moment alone, you scanned the area, straining to hear a faint meowing. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you spotted a cat stranded atop a tree. Without hesitation, you rushed forward, calling out, "Don't worry, kitty! I'll rescue you!" Your hands reached for the tree branch as you searched for a secure foothold to climb.

"Ooh, this one's pretty! Where did this come from?" he pondered aloud, his brow furrowing at the lack of response. Glancing up, he did a double take upon seeing you attempting to scale a tree.

Hastening over, he halted your ascent with a firm grip on your arm, "I turn away for one second and—have you lost your mind? What in god's name do you think you're doing?!"

Clicking your tongue in frustration, you pointed to the poor little distressed animal above, "Let me go. I'm going to save the cat, whether you like it or not."

The dressmaker sighed in exasperation, slapping a palm against his forehead as he observed the determination in your eyes. With a roll of his eyes, he relented, "Ugh, fine. Step aside, I'll do it."

You huffed, conceding to his offer, and relinquished your position. As he handed you the bag containing your latest hanbok, he rolled up his sleeves, muttering to himself, "I can't believe I'm doing this," before proceeding to climb the tree with surprising agility. However, he soon realised the tree was taller than expected, and panic gripped him as he reached the top, letting out a startled yelp, "Oh my god, this tree is way taller than I thought!"

"Quit wasting time and save the cat!" you urged, frustration creeping into your voice. When he shot you a glare, you narrowed your eyes and challenged, "If you're so scared, get down here then! I'll do it!"

"No, no, no, don't you dare! What kind of man would I be to let you do it, huh? You stay put and wait down there," he insisted firmly, before reaching out tentatively for the frightened animal, "Come here, kitty. It's alright, just come to me and you'll be safe."

With bated breath, you observed as his hand shook pitifully. Slowly but surely, the animal inched closer to him, bit by bit, until it ended up snugly in his arms. A sigh of relief escaped you as he succeeded. Holding the rescued feline close to his chest, he carefully made his way back down.

As soon as he handed the cat over to you, his legs gave out, and he sank onto the ground. His face was blank, as if he were still trying to process what he had just done. The last thing he expected when coming here today was to do something like this.

Seeing his defeated posture, unlike his usual composed demeanour, you couldn't help but let a smile sneak onto your face, eventually bursting into a fit of giggles as you replayed the scene in your head. At the sound, he glanced up, captivated by the melody of your laughter. Frozen in place, his heart skipped a beat as he beheld your smile for the first time, genuine happiness lighting up your features. At that moment, he realised your beauty, wanting nothing more than to see that smile more often.

How pretty.

Since that day, both of you appeared to have grown more at ease with each other. He abandoned the formalities, as you urged, and shed the false pleasantries. Finally, he felt comfortable enough to be his true self around you, letting his unfiltered thoughts flow freely and speaking his mind without reservation. You didn't seem to mind, especially since he hadn't intended any offence with his words.

While you wouldn't go as far as calling yourselves friends, there was a comfort in each other's presence that had developed. Even in moments of silence, there was never any awkwardness, only an unspoken understanding between you, a connection that required no verbal declaration; you simply understood each other.

Over Hongjoong's recent visits, a routine had formed. You would courteously greet him at the entrance before guiding him to your quarters. There, he would assist you in trying on the hanboks he had crafted, ensuring they fit perfectly and required no further alterations. He would experiment with different makeup and hairstyles, exploring which suited you best.

After weeks of diligent work to assemble the perfect ensemble for you, today marked the culmination of his efforts—the day he would finally unveil your complete makeover. With an array of hanboks he had brought from his previous visits, they were sufficient to constitute an entirely new wardrobe for you. This was the moment your family had eagerly anticipated, the outcome they had engaged the dressmaker for. He observed you scrutinise the items he had meticulously prepared, your expression unreadable.

"Are you ready, Miss Baek?" he inquired.

You shot him a look that seemed to convey 'are you kidding me', your lips pursed, "Does it matter? Just do what you have to, Kim."

With a nod, he began with your hair and makeup, his heart quickening with every movement under the weight of your attentive gaze, fixated on his handsome features. Unbeknownst to him, you held your breath whenever he moved a little closer to perfect your eye makeup. Cursing himself, he attempted to steady his trembling hands as he moved on to your lips, "Could you please look away or close your eyes?" he requested.

"Why?" you inquired, devoid of any jest.

He sighed, "Look, it's... it's distracting, okay? I find it hard to concentrate when you're watching me so intently."

Rolling your eyes, you acquiesced and closed your eyes, "And you claim to be a professional," you remarked.

For once, he lacked the energy to retort, his heart dancing with sensations he had never experienced before. Despite having applied makeup for countless women, he had never encountered such a physical reaction. Puzzled, he struggled to understand the inexplicable effect you seemed to have on him and his poor heart.

"Everything's finished, except for putting on the hanbok," he announced, placing his tools aside before excusing himself momentarily as your maids began assisting you with one of the most elaborate hanboks he had produced. Stepping outside your quarters, he was taken aback to see your entire family assembled and waiting. Bowing respectfully, he greeted them, "Ah, you've all arrived right on time. Miss Baek is almost prepared."

Hajoon stepped forward, extending his hand to shake the dressmaker's, "With your assistance, I'm certain she'll look stunning. Thank you so much for your dedication, Mr. Kim," your parents chimed in, expressing their gratitude for his hard work.

Suddenly, the attention shifted as one of your nephews pointed towards the entrance of your room, exclaiming, "Look, a princess!" All eyes turned to catch a glimpse of you.

A chorus of gasps escaped from your family members as they beheld the sight before them. Your family was overcome with awe, your mother and sister shedding tears of joy as if you had finally fulfilled their deepest wishes. Turning around, Hongjoong's breath caught in his throat as he took in your completed transformation for the first time, mirroring the astonishment of everyone else. You appeared breathtaking, meeting society's standards of perfection and seamlessly fitting into their expectations. Yet, the absence of joy in your expression failed to bring him satisfaction.

She's not happy.

In truth, a foolish part of him clung to the hope that you might still be impressed by your transformation once you had seen your beauty, despite knowing your reservations. He harboured a fleeting expectation that your initial reluctance stemmed from never seeing yourself adorned in such finery before, and that your perspective would shift upon witnessing your present appearance. But he knew he was wrong as soon as he observed your evident discomfort, your fingers clutching the hanbok's skirt tightly, your gaze averted while your family showered you with adoration.

Confusion enveloped him at that moment. He should have felt elated that his vision had come to fruition; your family's satisfaction with his work signalled the success of his mission. However, instead of joy, remorse consumed him; your family's praises fell on deaf ears, and all he could see was the despair in your hunched shoulders.

"Mr. Kim, this is utter perfection! You've truly outdone yourself! Please join us for dinner tonight before you leave! It's the least we can do for all the work you've put in over the past few weeks!" your father invited, excitement evident in his tone.

Normally, he would reject such offers, but he realised he wasn't ready to leave you just yet. With only you in mind, Hongjoong accepted, "It would be my pleasure, Official Baek."

Seated beside you in the dining hall that night, the dressmaker did his best to engage with your family members. However, his attention kept drifting back to you, noticing your silence as you picked at your food, showing little appetite. He grew concerned seeing you repeatedly reach for the wine glass, drinking more than eating. Haeun's disapproving glare didn't escape his notice.

"That's enough, maknae. No man likes a drunkard for a wife. With your enhanced looks, you'll be attracting a suitor real soon. Now's the time for you to start training to be a proper lady," she scolded.

Hajoon chortled, "Let her. Perhaps she'll be a better wife when drunk. That version of her might be more tolerable than her usual self."

To Hongjoong's dismay, your sister and parents joined in the laughter, despite your brother-in-law and sister-in-law exchanging apologetic glances in your direction. At that moment, he lost his appetite completely as he watched you quietly enduring it all, much like when the maids made fun of you.

Before he could inquire if you were okay, your father addressed him, "Mr. Kim, we apologise on our youngest's behalf for any trouble she may have caused you. Surely, she couldn't have been easy to work with. We will compensate you nicely for all your efforts."

Wanting to use the opportunity to stand up for you, he plastered on his most professional smile and spoke, "Not at all, my lord. Miss Baek has been an absolute pleasure to work with. She's remarkably selfless, unlike many customers who approach me solely for superficial reasons. Despite her reservations about fashion, she wholeheartedly complies for her family's sake. And I deeply respect her for that. The opportunity to make her clothing is reward enough for me. I consider myself fortunate to have such a client."

His response surprised everyone, including you, with its sincerity and absence of flattery or deceit. Your mother blinked, ashamed of herself for laughing moments ago, "Oh, that's reassuring to hear. Perhaps we should give her more credit for her efforts."

The atmosphere turned slightly awkward after the dressmaker's indirect words, making it clear he disapproved of their conversation about you. It seemed as though his remarks had prompted them to reflect on their behaviour, recognising the cruelty of mocking their own family member. Despite your usual straightforwardness, they understood that you truly never meant to hurt anyone's feelings. Guilt washed over them as they realised their earlier actions had been intentional and hurtful.

Absorbing the aftermath of Hongjoong's defence of you, a surge of emotion welled up inside you. His words resonated deeply, touching a part of you that had longed for such validation. No one had ever stood up for you in such a manner, not even your own family, who were supposed to be your closest allies. To hear someone speak so kindly of you, with genuine sincerity, was a rare and precious gift.

Looking up at him, you felt a warmth spread through your chest. Perhaps, in that moment, he had become more than just a dressmaker to you. Maybe, without him even realising it, he had earned the title of friend.

As he gently confiscated the wine glass from your hand and replenished your bowl with food, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips. His gesture felt like a moment of genuine concern that warmed your heart. Whether or not he realised it, he was showing you a level of care you hadn't experienced before, and it felt comforting to be treated with such thoughtfulness.

"Stop drinking so much and eat more, my lady. You'll be sick if you keep up like that," he lectured with a soft grin.

You wondered if this was his way of showing that he cared. Regardless, it felt nice to be looked after, to have someone pay attention to your well-being in such a simple yet meaningful way. As you took a bite of the food he had placed before you, a sense of gratitude washed over you, grateful for his unexpected kindness in a world that had often felt cold and indifferent.

After the meal, he said his farewells to your family but insisted on walking you back to your quarters before departing. Upon reaching your room entrance, you turned to him, saying, "Well, I'm here safe now. You can leave, Mr. Kim."

He scoffed lightly, "Would it hurt to have a little chat before I go?"

Taking a seat on the short staircase leading to your room, he patted the space beside him, gesturing for you to join him, "Come on. I don't know when I'll see you again after this. Let's just... talk."

Your heart felt uneasy at the reminder that today marked the grand finale, and with it over, his job here was considered done. He would have no reason to visit your family estate unless summoned. Reluctantly, you settled down beside him on the step.

Despite his desire to converse, there was a moment of silence as you both pondered what to say. The ambience was filled with the chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze as you sat side by side, your shoulders lightly touching. Mustering his courage, he finally broached the subject, "Be honest with me, Miss Baek. Do you hate my designs? I've noticed your unease since you put them on."

Gazing down at the vibrant hanbok adorning your frame, feeling the weight of the accessories on your head and the unfamiliar thickness of the makeup on your usually bare face, you let out a sigh, "I don't hate them. It's just... honestly, I don't feel worthy of such finery. They're undeniably beautiful, but they don't resonate with who I am. And if this is what it takes to attract a husband, I can't help but wonder... what good is a man who would only value me for my looks? What kind of marriage would that be? The maids had a point. Any man fooled by this appearance would likely end up divorcing me."

Frowning, he turned to you, seeing the rare display of emotion as your eyes glistened with tears, "That's not true, why would you think you're unworthy?" he questioned, genuine concern evident in his voice. Though he wanted to agree that a man like that did not deserve to be with you, he opted to address what truly mattered.

You let out a humourless chuckle, a sound that tugged at his heartstrings. It was unlike you to expose your vulnerabilities in such a manner. Perhaps it was the comfort of Hongjoong's presence or the effects of the alcohol. Or maybe it was a combination of both. You shut your eyes as your world began to spin, whispering, "I've never been good enough for anything or anyone. My parents made that abundantly clear since I was a child. Nobody has ever truly liked me, and don't pretend otherwise, I know you disliked me too. I just... I'm so tired. I want to be loved for who I am. Is that too much to ask...?"

It really isn't, my lady. I'm right here.

Your voice trailed off, a tear tracing down your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder, succumbing to exhaustion. His heart ached as he hesitated, then gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Once he was certain you were truly asleep, he carefully slid his other arm beneath your legs and carried you into your room.

The dressmaker felt as if his life hadn't been the same since taking on that job. It had been nearly a week since he last saw you, the image of your tear-stained sleeping face lingering in his mind as he tucked you into bed. A heavy weight settled in his heart as he silently bid you farewell that night, making his way home with a sense of numbness.

Every day after that felt unsettling.

The initial satisfaction he anticipated from accepting your sister's job offer eluded him. Thoughts of you consumed his mind relentlessly. He wondered about your well-being—whether you were eating properly, sleeping soundly, finding happiness. Despite his yearning to see you again, even just a glimpse to ensure you were okay, he knew he had no reason to visit the Baek estate. The job was completed, and he had received his payment in full. Alongside the surge in his reputation, he had earned widespread recognition for transforming the once pitiful youngest Miss Baek into the stunning beauty you are today.

Consequently, his business flourished. Recognising his inability to change the situation, he threw himself into his work, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Day after day, he laboured tirelessly in his shop, his pockets filling up, yet his heart growing emptier with each passing moment.

"Huh, who would've thought this day would come? It seems someone could rob you in broad daylight, and you wouldn't even notice," the sudden familiar deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he found Seonghwa standing right beside his work desk, "What's up with you, Kim Hongjoong? Need a break?"

"I told you, he's been acting all weird since he completed the Baek family's job," Wooyoung chimed in, appearing behind the general.

The dressmaker blinked, "Wh-what are you two idiots doing here?"

Seonghwa scoffed, "Oh wow, is that really the way to greet your friends who care enough to come check on you?"

Flustered, Hongjoong cleared his throat and returned to work, "Why do you have to check on me? I'm doing just fine."

"Are you really? That's not what Yunho told us. It sounds like someone's finally having girl problems," the investigator retorted.

The general grinned, "You know, for someone who gives so much relationship advice, you're rather terrible with matters of the heart when it comes to yourself."

With a sigh, the dressmaker rolled his eyes, "I don't have any problems. You two should worry about yourselves instead. Haven't you heard? Taken men have more issues than single lads like myself." The two had been exceptionally insufferable ever since the younger man had also begun courting his precious Miss Han, always borderline making fun of the rest for still being single.

"Really? So you're not bothered that Miss Baek has finally found a suitor?" Wooyoung teased. At that, Hongjoong dropped the pencil in his hand, head snapping up with wide eyes, "What did you say?"

His friends exchanged knowing grins before the younger one repeated, "I said, the youngest miss of the Baek family has finally found a suitor. The eldest son of the Yoon family has asked for her hand in marriage."

The dressmaker felt his heart drop, "The Yoon family...? Aren't they the ones on the verge of bankruptcy?"

Seonghwa nodded, "That's correct. I guess they must be taking the opportunity to forge a union with the Baek family to save themselves financially. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad now that the youngest miss is finally pretty enough to marry."

"Don't you dare say that about her; she's perfect the way she was. Her appearance doesn't define her," Hongjoong growled, glowering at his friend for the first time.

Rather than reacting negatively, his friends applauded his response, the older man smirking, "Congratulations, you're in love."

"I'm not—"

Wooyoung sighed in exasperation, "Listen, it doesn't matter to us whether you think you're in love or not. But if you aren't, I suppose it wouldn't matter that today is the day the Baek and Yoon families formalise the engagement. Do what you will with that information; we have a double date to enjoy."

At that moment, he came to the realisation that what he had been feeling all along was love. Looking back, he should have recognised the signs from the very beginning; despite his irritation with you, genuine anger never surfaced. The incessant thoughts of you had been consuming every moment of his life, a clear indicator in hindsight. Yet, he couldn't fathom why he had persisted in denying it. It was evident that he wasn't fooling anyone except himself.

The dressmaker's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he watched his friends leave his shop, "W-wait!" he called out, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, "Thanks, guys. I appreciate the help."

With a playful wink, the general teased, "Atta boy, go get your girl. I'm looking forward to making it a triple date next time."

God, I sure hope she feels the same.

Meanwhile, you wandered through the gardens of your estate, accompanied by Byungho, the eldest son of the Yoon family and your soon-to-be fiancé, a sense of unease lingered within you. The suddenness of his proposal, along with his family's involvement, left you in a state of shock. While you had anticipated attracting suitors after your makeover, you hadn't expected everything to unfold in less than a week. Despite Byungho's outward appearance of kindness, you didn't know how to feel about spending the rest of your life with him.

Besides, you weren't entirely clueless.

You'd heard all the rumours circulating about his family's financial troubles, stemming from a failed business venture that had left them on the brink of bankruptcy. You understood that his proposal wasn't solely motivated by your newfound beauty; rather, you were seen as a solution to his family's predicament. And since he was still unmarried, it would be like killing two birds with one stone.

Even as you walked alongside the man who was supposed to be your future husband, your thoughts were consumed by a certain dressmaker. Amidst the familiar scenery of the garden, memories of your shared moments played on a loop in your mind.

Like the cat you had rescued and set free, you couldn't help but wonder about both of them—the stray animal and its saviour. Did he ever think of you, even fleetingly? The maids had recounted the events of your final night with him; how he had carried you back to your room and tucked you in with care. You regretted being influenced by alcohol, wishing you had bid him a proper farewell.

Now, you knew you would never see him again—the first person to show you genuine kindness despite a rocky start, the first to truly care, the first you had considered a friend... and perhaps more.

I miss you, Kim Hongjoong.

Little did you know, he stood just outside the entrance to your family estate, struggling to catch his breath. He pleaded with the guards stationed at the gate, conveying the urgency of his situation, "Please, I left behind a crucial tool that I need to retrieve."

"We apologise, Mr. Kim, but the Baek family is hosting important guests today, and we cannot permit entry to outsiders without a valid reason. Perhaps you could return tomorrow," the guard explained respectfully, bowing his head in apology.

As he regained his composure, a sense of desperation gripped him. He knew exactly who those guests were and the purpose of their visit. He couldn't afford to wait until tomorrow; he had to be there to stop it all now. However, he couldn't reveal the true reason to the guards, fearing it would only lead to his expulsion from the premises.

Summoning his typically fearless demeanour, he planted his hands on his hips and fixed the guard with an unamused stare, "Listen, I have a significant client waiting on her hanbok for tomorrow. If I lose her business because of this delay, will you take responsibility for my losses? I doubt your salary could cover the cost. So, soldier, are you prepared to shoulder that burden?"

The guard swallowed nervously, "I-I..."

Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong pressed on, "All I need is a moment to retrieve my belongings. What harm could my brief presence possibly cause? Do you think the guests will be bothered by a mere dressmaker dropping by to pick up his things?"

Lord forgive me for deceiving this poor man.

Finally relenting, the guard stepped aside, "I suppose you have a point, sir. My apologies."

As soon as he was out of the guard's line of sight, he moved stealthily like a spy. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself and face a barrage of questions. His heart raced in his chest as he scanned every corner frantically in search of you. Inside, the living hall buzzed with activity, hosting both your family and the Yoons. However, you and the eldest Yoon son were conspicuously absent. Panic and protectiveness surged within him at the thought of you being alone with another man.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he discovered your quarters were vacant. The mere thought of finding you with another man in your room made his stomach churn with jealousy. Passing by the library, he was once again grateful to find it deserted. These were sacred spaces shared only between the two of you, and he refused to let anyone else intrude upon them.

Finally, a sense of calm settled over him when he spotted you in the garden with your prospective betrothed. Taking cover behind a nearby tree, he strained to eavesdrop on your conversation while contemplating his next move. Walking up to you and blurting out his feelings like a madman seemed out of the question. Not only would it be reckless, but he also had to consider what your family would think of him if he acted so impulsively.

He needed to devise a careful plan of action.

Perking up, his attention sharpened as he heard the eldest Yoon son's words to you, "My lady, we've been here for a while. Would you perhaps like to have some tea in a more... secluded spot?"

Hongjoong's blood ran cold at the suggestion, his fists tightening involuntarily until he heard your firm response, "I'm not in the mood for tea, Byungho. If you want some, feel free to go ahead and enjoy it yourself. I'll be right here." A surge of pride swelled within him at your characteristic straightforwardness.

That's my girl, you tell him.

A tense silence hung in the air before Byungho's frustration reached its boiling point, "Enough of this, I've had it with you," he burst out, "Do you honestly believe that just because you've become more attractive, you're suddenly something special? Do you know what men outside are saying about you? Sure, you finally look pretty enough to marry, but they would have considered you if only you were a couple of years younger. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror, you're old. Be grateful I'm willing to marry you. You have no right to be playing Ice Princess with me right now, you hear me?"

The dressmaker's blood boiled as he listened to Byungho's disrespectful tirade against you. Unable to contain his anger any longer, he emerged from his hiding spot and strode purposefully toward the two of you.

"Look who's talking," he interjected, his voice laced with fury, "If she's so undesirable, why the hell are you and your family here begging to have her hand in marriage?" He narrowed his eyes at the bastard, his words dripping with disdain, "Look at yourself, Yoon Byungho. You're going broke and are relying on a woman to save yourself. I don't think you should be the one to talk."

Byungho's face turned red with anger as he shot back, "Who the hell do you think you are? Wait a minute, I know you. Aren't you just a lowly dressmaker? You have no right to speak to me like that."

But Hongjoong stood his ground, undeterred by Byungho's attempts to intimidate him, "I may be a dressmaker, but at least I have the decency to respect others," he retorted, "Unlike you, who seems to think you can treat people however you please just because of your family name. Would you prefer to back off on your own, or would you like me to repeat your earlier words to Official and Lady Baek word for word? Do you reckon they'd still want such a son-in-law?"

As the tension between them escalated, you watched in shock, unsure of what to make of the confrontation unfolding before you.

You didn't know how to react when Byungho scoffed in disbelief, "Whatever, I can't stand her anyway," he said before turning to you, "And you, don't come crying to me when you can't find someone to marry."

"Oh, don't you worry, she won't," the dressmaker sneered, watching the despicable man huff and stalk off.

Still in a state of shock, you blinked rapidly, trying to process Hongjoong's sudden appearance and his unexpected action in ending your engagement so abruptly, "M-Mr. Kim...? What have you done?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, "What have I done? More like, what are you doing, woman?" he retorted.

"I haven't done anything," you fought back.

"Exactly! Were you really just going to marry that douche of a man if I hadn't shown up? Even after he said those things to you? Don't you want to be happy?" he questioned.

Massaging your temples, you struggled to understand his point, "I don't get it, Mr. Kim. What are you trying to say? You know better than anyone my happiness never mattered."

He ignored your question, "Of course, it matters! And what the hell are you wearing?!"

Confused, you looked down at the hanbok you were wearing, one of his designs, "What do you mean? This is your—"

"Only wear what you want and do what you want! Why should you be so unhappy? This is your life!" he interrupted, frustrated.

Exasperated, you sighed, "In case you haven't been paying attention, no man will ever want me if I were to—"

He cut you off, gripping your shoulders firmly as he looked into your eyes, "I do! I want to be with you, okay? Your happiness matters to me more than anything else!" he declared before bravely pulling you into his arms. He felt like he could finally breathe again when you lifted your arms to hug him back.

A week had passed since that pivotal moment, and it was remarkable how one single moment could alter the course of your life. Hongjoong's unexpected intervention had changed everything. Byungho's decision to call off the engagement had left both families in shock, particularly his own, given their desperate need for financial assistance. The bastard was more keen to preserve his reputation, fearful of the repercussions of his outburst towards you. Strangely, your family seemed somewhat relieved by the turn of events, although the reasons behind their reaction remained unclear.

Eventually, it became clear when the dressmaker approached them, seeking permission to court you. The knowing grins exchanged among your family members answered your unspoken questions.

Haeun's laughter, unexpected to both you and Hongjoong, was joined by Hajoon's, "I knew it! I knew there was something between you two! Your actions spoke volumes, Mr. Kim, especially your protectiveness towards her that night. We've been waiting for you to realise it."

Your parents nodded, "You have our blessing, Mr. Kim. So long as our youngest is happy. But ultimately, it's her consent that truly matters. You should ask her if she's willing."

The dressmaker hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he reached for your hand, "I did ask her..." His nerves eased when you willingly intertwined your fingers with his, "And she said yes."

And ever since that moment, he hadn't let you go for long, always claiming to miss you. Though you were too shy to admit it aloud, you felt the same. Now, as you stroll along the bustling streets of town for the first time in what feels like forever, his hand securely holding yours, he shows you around, "Come on, beautiful. There's still so much to see."

He slowed his pace, noticing the slightly overwhelmed expression on your face, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, "Are you feeling alright, darling?" he asked, scanning the surroundings, wondering if you were perhaps feeling insecure due to any stares, "Is it the hanbok? I promise I'll make an even simpler version next time."

You shook your head immediately, "What? No! I like this, Joong, I really do," you said, smiling down at the simple yet elegant pastel-coloured fabric he had picked especially for you. He had replaced all the previous ones he made for you with a new batch of minimalistic hanboks you'd prefer.

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he persisted, "Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything."

You chuckled softly, and he felt a flutter in his chest at the sight of your beautiful smile, "Of course, you know I can't lie to save my life."

His laughter echoed with realisation, "That's true, how could I forget?"

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you leaned your head against his shoulder, your favourite spot, "I was just thinking..."

"About what?"

You blushed, "About us."

As you reached a serene little bridge spanning over a gentle river, you both paused to admire the tranquil scene below, leaning against the ledge side by side, "What about us?" he asked.

Turning to meet his gaze, you softened, "I just find it amusing how we ended up like this, together. I recall how much you couldn't stand me when we first met, and I thought I'd never see you again once the makeover was done. Yet... here you are."

He grinned warmly, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, "Here I am, my darling. I was an idiot then, but I have no intention of ever leaving your side again."

Your heart brimmed with joy, a sensation you never thought you'd have the pleasure of experiencing. Similarly, Hongjoong felt a sense of pride as he observed you gradually opening up, becoming more at ease in expressing your emotions around him. He was proud of the progress you had made.

Caught up in the moment, he summoned the courage to finally kiss you. Truth be told, he had been searching for the right moment to share your first kiss but wanted to respect your boundaries. He knew you must have been new to all this, and to be fair, he wasn't much more experienced than you. While he had seen many couples throughout his life and displays of affection were nothing new to him, he lacked firsthand experience. He often wondered when would be the right time to take such a step.

Sensing his gaze fixed on your lips, your breath caught in your throat. Was the moment finally here? Were you about to share your first kiss? You closed your eyes instinctively as he leaned in, taking it as his cue to press his lips against yours.

Here goes nothing.

As your lips met, a rush of euphoria swept through him when he felt you kissing him back softly, enjoying the sensation of your lips on his. Slowly pulling back, you both broke into shy smiles, "That felt nice," he said, and you nodded in agreement, "It really did." Just as he leaned down again, intent on kissing you once more, you were both snapped out of your trance by the sound of a child yelling for help.

Reaching for his hand, you immediately pulled him towards the source of the commotion, only to find a little girl pointing to the top of a tree, "Help, please, somebody help my poor little kitty!"

You couldn't help but burst into giggles at the familiar scene as Hongjoong shook his head, "Nope, absolutely not. Someone else can help her," Pouting, you tugged at his arm, "Please, Joong? We have to help the poor thing! I'll give you a kiss when you do."

His jaw dropped before determination filled his being, "You know what? Deal. You best not go back on your words, woman."

Rolling up his sleeves, he approached the tree with a shake of his head in disbelief, "Goodness, the things I do for her," he muttered. But as he glanced back and saw the beautiful smile on your face, he realised he would be willing to save a thousand, no—a million more cats if that's what it takes to make you smile like that every day.

Anything to make you happy, darling.

If you haven't already read the first bonus chapter of TWTHH, please do so soon! I'll be working on the second bonus chapter after this hehe also, I hope you're all excited for Yunho's spinoff next!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i can’t close my eyes alone ; satoru gojo

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

#im not arguing w satoru gojo lol . whatever u say princess ! <3 #this is an old piece that i polished a lil (lot) phshdh so the writing might not b anything special but !! i kinda like this toru . #just sleep-deprived n grumpy <33 #gojo has this duality where he can be silly n goofy but then also serious when he needs to be… n kinda gruff…. #but then he also has this. Sincere Tenderness to him. that i think would bleed through w someone he loves #hhhhh i love this man w all my heart T_T #usually i make all my fics gn but. smth abt satoru gojo …. callling u his pretty girl………… yeah. sorry. for being this way #me personally i would fold immediately but i respect reader for trying #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you

[shanastoryteller]

Blessed Samhain, Shana! more Lady Mo or something else genderbendy?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Lan Xichen hasn’t seen Wangji this upset in thirteen years and he has no idea what could be the cause. He guides him to A-Yao’s private garden, mind spinning. If Xuanyu were in some sort of immediate danger, Wangji would not leave her side. He’s sure of that and it’s all that’s keeping him from marching back to Jiang Yanli and demanding an explanation out of her himself. He hopes Sizhui hasn’t noticed the commotion, certain it will cause his nephew to worry, but he doesn’t spare too much thought on it because right now his first concern is his brother.

Worryingly, when they come to a stop Wangji just continues to stare at him blankly.

“What happened?” he asks, resisting the urge to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. “Did you and Xuanyu get into a disagreement?”

Perhaps something to do with Jin Guangshan? Lan Xichen has long abandoned the idea that she’s some sort of spy, as has A-Yao, but that doesn’t mean her father can’t want things from her, can’t be trying to make things difficult for her. Perhaps Jiang Yanli was warning her and Xuanyu and Wangji had a fight about it? They fight often enough that he can’t imagine anything that would send Wangji running.

“I’ve done something terrible,” Wangji says tonelessly. “This is my fault.”

Wangji faced down forty Lan clan elders and received forty lashings all without admitting a single moment of poor judgement or regret. Punishments he accepts easily – culpability, significantly less.

“What are you talking about?” he demands, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. “What did you do?”

“Xuanyu,” he starts, then presses his lips together and shakes his head.

He would not harm Xuanyu. Even that spar that set half the clan to breaking the rules about gossip was not about harm. He’ll fight her, argue with her, spar with her, but Wangji worries and watches over Xuanyu constantly, vexed and surprised by her at turns, and Lan Xichen had felt aching relief when the woman his brother had been coerced to marry had turned out to be someone that Wangji couldn’t look away from.

He forces himself to sound calm. “What about Xuanyu?”

Wangji wets his lips and has to clear his throat twice before he can make himself speak. “She’s pregnant.”

Lan Xichen stares.

The relief is enough to make his knees week and his grip on Wangji’s shoulder doubles as a way to steady himself. “Wangji! You nearly gave me a heart attack! This is wonderful-”

“Wonderful?” he repeats, looking at him like he’s grown another head.

Some of that relief drains away. “Is it not? Is something wrong with the baby? Or Xuanyu? I know she was a little weak when you married, but she’s gotten so much stronger.” A terrible thought occurs to him. “Is she – she’s happy about it, isn’t she? She said that she likes kids and she’s so good with Sizhui, she must be happy.”

“I,” Wangji blinks, “I don’t – I didn’t ask–”

“Well, what did you say?” he asks in exasperation.

“I apologized.”

A-Yao isn’t here, but Lan Xichen feels the familiar urge to turn to him. “You apologized.” Wangji nods. “Xuanyu told you that she was carrying your child. And you apologized. Then left.”

He nods again, slower this time.

Lan Xichen grips the bridge of his nose.

“LAN WANGJI!”

They both turn to see Jiang Cheng headed straight for them, sword unsheathed and Zidian sparking, although that’s not the most alarming part. The last time Lan Xichen saw that look on Jiang Cheng’s face, they were on a battlefield.

This, at least, likely is Wangji’s fault.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #alexseanchai #untamed

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the One Eye

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, smut, angst, violence, trauma, mourning, mention of murders and victims ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment − she couldn't take her eyes off his face, his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, his almost white hair, his fair skin, his sharply outlined cheekbones. She looked at him and felt her heart in her throat, trembling all over, terrified and distraught at the same time, feeling a tightening in her chest.

"Are you disappointed?" He asked coldly; she furrowed her brow, wondering what he meant. She felt a shudder run through her body, his gaze impatient and full of resentment, as if he thought her reaction was due not to who he was, but to what she had seen.

His face destroyed forever.

She parted her lips but couldn't get anything out, her heart filled with anguish and a sense that he had used her, that everything he had said was a lie, a premeditated act to get closer to her and her father, that for those weeks he had been mocking her in his heart.

She felt the tears run down her cheeks.

She just lay back on her bed, not looking at him any further, wanting to preserve whatever remnants of dignity she had left, the sheet underneath her cold, almost burning her naked skin.

She heard him swallow loudly and turn his face to the side, impatient, the fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in exasperation.

"Don't leave until I allow you to. You are to stay in your chamber." He said in a matter-of-fact, impassive, unobjectionable voice and put on his mask, placing the hood over his head after a moment.

She did not look at him − she heard his footsteps and then the sound of the door opening and closing.

She clenched her eyes shut and burst into sobs, snuggling into the white pillow, thinking only of the fact that he had used her, played with her, taken pleasure in her unconsciousness, made her his mere whore.

He hadn't planned to marry her.

He had simply mocked her, given her what she so desperately needed − the hope that there was another life for her, one in which she would find peace.

She covered herself with thick furs and lay like that without moving, wondering if he was afraid she would run to her father and tell him everything, expose him to him and destroy his whole plan. She laughed and ran her hand over her face at the thought that he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't do that.

That she had dreamed that day would come.

The day of judgement on her father.

She shuddered when she heard someone's loud scream, then another and another − she rose to sit down, covered in furs and looked with big eyes towards the door, her heart pounding like mad.

They will come for me, she thought.

They will come for me, they will rape me and they will cut my throat.

She could hear people running, men in armour, the sounds of fighting and swords slashing, but no one entered her chamber.

She dressed quickly in her nightgown and put on her blue matted robe, tying it around her waist − she sat on her bed and waited, praying with her eyes closed, thinking of her younger brother, her mother and that she might meet them soon, in this life or the next.

It seemed to her that long hours passed before complete silence came − it was late at night when the door to her chamber opened. She stood up, stepping back, terrified, looking at a black-haired man with a light stubble in a knight's attire, all dirty from blood, looking disapprovingly at her.

"The King wishes to see you, my Lady." He said coolly, and she swallowed loudly, tightening her fingers on her arms.

The King.

My Lady.

She nodded, knowing she could not refuse, and felt some kind of relief that it would all be over soon.

She walked barefoot through the corridors full of her father's dead servants, guards and soldiers, and tried not to look at them or think that she had known some of them for years, that they were innocent, that they had wives and children waiting for them.

She was ushered into the great hall where her king-father was conferring with his advisors − it was now full of men in armour. She saw with disbelief the lords who were her mother's relatives and several of her father's ghosts, their masks removed, looking at her with curiosity combined with disapproval.

She swallowed loudly and gasped, noticing a man with a scar on his face sitting in a beautifully decorated old wooden chair at the head of the table, the stone in his eye glinting ominously.

Vhagar.

"How dare you look straight into the face of your King, traitor!" Growled one of the men, wanting to approach her and grab her arm − she stepped away from him, the cold, disgruntled, harsh voice of the prince spreading through the chamber.

"Don't touch her."

The man stopped in mid-step with a loud clack of armour, looking at him in disbelief, pointing at her with his hand.

"She should be searched immediately, Your Grace. She may be hiding a dagger in her sleeves, we do not know what she will do." He said quickly − the Prince raised his hand, thus communicating that he had ordered the lord to be silent.

"Leave us alone. Immediately."

"But, my King…" Cole started, but he looked at him enraged, clearly losing patience.

There was something strange and intimate about the fact that she could see him now so perfectly, so clearly.

She felt a powerful shudder every time she heard his familiar voice, the same one that had whispered in her ear for the last few nights, rooting into her with the thrusts of his hips, that she belonged to him, his warm, sweet wife.

She swallowed loudly at the thought, looking directly at him as she heard one by one the men left the room, the door finally closing behind them with a loud clatter of wood.

They were silent for a long moment staring at each other − she heard him hum under his breath as he looked away, trailing his fingers across the table top.

"I understand your disappointment and your grief. In truth, I have procrastinated too long, but I did it with our future in mind. I wanted the takeover of the throne to proceed without…unnecessary disruption and, as if to put it, dramatism." He said softly, but there was a chill in the tone of his voice that she knew so well from the first days she had met him − she knew that he had distanced himself from her as much as she had distanced herself from him.

She looked at him wordlessly, unsure of what he wanted to hear.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" He asked with a hint of irritation, his brow furrowed, his healthy eye watching her expectantly, wanting to draw out any response from her.

"Is he dead?" She asked dispassionately, calmly, and heard him let out a loud puff of air through his nose, stretching out in his chair with a loud creak of wood.

"I killed him a few minutes after I left your chamber." He said softly, cocking his head to the side, intrigued as to what her reaction would be.

"How?" She asked immediately, his tongue licking his lower lip.

"I cut his throat." He muttered with satisfaction, a kind of relief and delight in his voice. She lowered her gaze only to look at him again a moment later.

"Good. What about my brother?"

"He's in a safe place."

"I want to see him."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, his pupil narrowed.

"You'll see him once we get everything settled."

She blinked, swallowing loudly, wondering what else he might have wanted from her.

He tapped his pointing finger against his armrest a few times and hummed as if he was thinking hard about something − he was tense and clearly aiming for something, but she had no idea what he hoped for.

"We need to discuss the details of our nuptials and coronation in the coming days. They should take place as soon as possible." He said dryly, facing her in profile, gazing at the flames dancing in the fireplace. She felt her lips part slightly in disbelief, her heart beginning to pound like mad.

What?

"I don't expect your pity. I will not tell anyone about what has happened between us, I will spare myself this humiliation. Send me back to the monastery or wherever you see fit." She replied, feeling only weariness, only regret, only emptiness.

He looked at her in disbelief, as if she had completely lost her mind. She saw his jaw clenched in rage, his hand on his armrest tightened into a fist.

"Are you that disgusted with me?"

She laughed involuntarily at his words, fury shining in his eyes, he thought she was mocking him.

"With you? I'm disgusted with myself." She said touching her hand to her chest. "I believed you like a naive little child. Aren't you tired of lying?"

He looked at her breathing loudly through his nose − he rose suddenly with a loud creak of the chair against the stone floor and after a moment he was already in front of her, towering over her, his large hand clamped on her slender neck. She grabbed his wrist, looking at him pleadingly − he was panting loudly, leaning over her face.

"Lying?" He hissed, pressing her body against the table behind her, his free hand gripping the fabric of her robe and lifting it higher.

She squirmed, distraught and terrified as his fingers pressed between her thighs, beginning to tease her with sure, circular motions − she parted her lips, trying to catch her breath, her body shuddered. She felt her insides throb, reacting involuntarily to his familiar, longed-for touch.

He licked his lips with his tongue as he heard his movements begin to be accompanied by the quiet click of her moisture, his hand from her neck rose to her cheeks and clamped down on them forcing her to look at him the entire time he touched her.

"That's what you call a lie? Hm?" He growled, breathing loudly, gathering the wetness that flowed out of her with his fingers, only to slide two of them deep inside her.

She mewled helplessly, involuntarily spreading her thighs in front of him, moaning quietly when she felt him begin to deliberately rub the point inside her that was sending shivers through her.

"Don't you want this? Do you want me to stop? Come on, fucking get it out of you." He hissed, grabbing her by her hair, pressing his forehead against hers, sliding his fingers in and out of her in a quick, intense rhythm − she clenched her hands on the material of his leather tunic, panting loudly, no longer knowing for herself what she wanted and what she didn't.

"− ask your husband, tell him what you want − come on, you know I'll give you fucking everything −" He growled with some kind of desperation from which she drew in the air louder, her walls clenching on his fingers − she moaned, feeling the heat, wishing only that he would tell her that she was not part of his revenge.

"− please, husband − please, tell me you didn't plan this −" She muttered, she heard him sigh in relief when she called him what he wanted, his fingertips deliberately began rubbing the point between her muscles more intensely. He closed his eyes and chuckled under his breath in disbelief.

"− planned? − good gods −" He murmured lowly, looking down at her again, his thumb running over her hot cheek, her hips involuntarily responding to his every move, his tips digging into her fleshy muscles, increasing the pressure, making her squirm loudly as she looked up at him with her lips parted. "− I almost lost everything − because of you − for you − do you understand? − say you understand −"

He commanded and she nodded her head quickly, looking at him pleadingly, her hand rose to his scarred cheek and ran over it in a tender, gentle motion. She heard his weak groan, his soft, moist lips brushed hers uncertainly, then again and again until she threw her arms around his neck and they clung to each other like mad, their tongues and teeth clashing in a sticky, wet dance.

"− please −" She mumbled into his mouth, her hand sliding lower to the hard bulge in his breeches, feeling him tremble all over. "− please, husband −"

He slipped his fingers out of her and undid the buckle of his tunic, her hands reached quickly to the tying of his breeches, lowering them slightly, his manhood all swollen and throbbing.

She felt him catch her around her waist with one hand and sit her on the table in front of him, pulling her robe up − she spread her thighs in front of him and moaned sweetly, clasping her hands over his cheeks, feeling the fat head of his length forced its way inside her.

With one confident thrust he slid all the way inside her and then began to root into her with quick, sharp movements, their bodies slapping against each other loudly − she was so wet there that he slipped into her with ease. They embraced again and kissed greedily, she moaned loudly feeling his tongue deep down her throat.

"− you're fucking leaking − that's what you call lying? −" He hissed out between deep, brutal thrusts, his hands clamped tightly on her back embracing her tightly. She quivered before him, responding with her hips to his movements, feeling her walls clench around him at his words, his familiar, craved scent filled her nose, every time the tips of their tongues licked she could taste his saliva again.

"− you're mine −" He exhaled, clamping one hand in her hair, pressing his forehead against hers, rooting into her so fast and deep that they were out of breath.

"− my doom − my wife − my Queen −" He mumbled with some kind of tenderness, looking at her with his lips slightly parted. She felt a tightening in her throat and tears under her eyelids at his words − she grasped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him, feeling that a few more of his thrusts and she would experience the relief she yearned for.

"− fill me, my King − please, please, please −" She mumbled, hearing his low, surprised moan at her words, both of them were now just aggressively pounding their bodies against each other, pursuing their fulfilment − she threw her head back and sobbed as she felt the wonderful, hot pleasure shake her body at last.

"− yes, my King, yes −" She panted dreamily, her walls began to squeeze steadily around him, with a few helpless, deep thrusts he struggled to prolong what was inevitable and came inside her with a loud sigh of relief, pressing his welted face against hers, breathing loudly along with her, his length twitching and pulsing inside her.

For a moment they simply stared at each other − it was the first time she had seen him so close, his eyebrows, his eyelashes, his shining, healthy eye and the sapphire gleaming in his scarred eye socket. She ran her fingers gently over it, felt him flinch, felt that he didn't know himself what he thought of it.

"− I'm going to wear an eye patch every day −" He explained feigning indifference, as if expressing understanding and presuming that was what she expected him to do. She moved closer and placed a kiss on his scar, felt him tense up all over and swallowed loudly.

"− not in front of me − not in front of your wife − my husband will never hide his face from me again −" She whispered, snuggling into him and he just embraced her, pressing his face against the hollow of her neck, drawing in the scent of her with his nose, his soft manhood still pulsing gently deep inside her. He sighed heavily, as if a huge weight had fallen from his shoulders.

"I have a wedding gift for you."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #dark aemond #dark aemond targaryen #modern dark aemond #dark aemond angst #dark aemond smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell smut #hotd smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond angst #hotd angst #aemond fanfic #aemond kinslayer #prince aemond #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #aemond x oc #aemond x female #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

[foggysirens]

okay but dinluke are absolutely that couple who whenever someone does or says some stupid shit they just give each other ‘The Look’ - like the ‘are you seeing what im seeing?’ look, and it’s always perfectly on time and in synch, like it doesn’t even matter that din has his helmet on, they’re just so on the exact same brainwave when they deal with bullshit that whenever something happens and luke looks over he can tell from the tilt of his head that din is looking back at him, in an equal amount of exasperation/judgement/disbelief as luke is- and i love that for them but like in all seriousness (and ive talked about this before) i think that’s what makes dinluke as a pairing so interesting and compelling- it’s because they are so compatible! it’s because they would be able to understand each other on such a deep level. their character parallels are so vastly similar yet different in a way that lends itself to creating this dynamic where you know these two characters would be able to speak without speaking- connect and read each other in a very intimate manner because they fully know how the other thinks- even in the ways where they differ and it’s so so fun to think about

#dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #star wars #mj.chatter #they are that couple and they know it #i feel like they share that look a lot when babysitting kyle

[ghcstao3]

getting into a relationship with ghost, and just getting into the lieutenant’s personal spaces in general, soap expects ghost to be in regular life as he is in the field—meticulous, organized, kept to himself in every way possible. before the first time soap is allowed into ghost’s room, he expects everything to be pristine and unnaturally neat, adhering to regulation because ghost is nothing if not an incredible soldier.

soap has never been more wrong about something in his life. and that’s saying something.

ghost keeps things strewn haphazardly about. not an article of clothing is folded, instead just balled up and shoved into the provided storage. the only thing kept semi-organized? ghost’s collection of knives, of course.

and it’s funny, because it’s everything soap is usually expected to be but isn’t, and realizing that makes him think that perhaps he shouldn’t have made the same kind of assumption for ghost others make for him. because apparently no one’s judgement is exactly sound.

when they move in together, just a place for when they’re on leave, ghost makes sure to keep his disorganization to himself, knowing soap’s own habits. he isn’t dirty, by any means—he cleans dishes and messes and his things are still spotless amidst his chaos—but he’s certainly not tidy, either. but soap’s alright with it, because they find balance.

and also because it’s the reason they’re able to make a place feel like home, feel lived in even when they go months without stepping foot in that same place. because ghost leaves out that part of his personality reserved only for those closest to him, and soap finds it endearing and charming in some strange way, even if he gets exasperated every time ghost complains he can’t find something when his cultivated piles of things are almost always to blame.

then by the end of learning the truth about how ghost navigates keeping his space? soap decides he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #modern warfare #call of duty #over the years soap gains that mother’s superpower of finding things when ghost can’t #it’s his duty now

[luvrrszn]

broken promises, broken hearts

MIGUEL O'HARA x FEM READER

summary miguel o'hara, usually a man of his words, seems to break his promises to you very casually, leaving behind a broken heart

warnings angst, surprise pregnancy, unprotected sex (not explicit), asshole!miguel, not proofread

a/n idk anymore bro... requests plz i'm soo bored thanks baes

masterlist

you and miguel first started your "arrangement" when monthly spider-society dinners became a thing. how it became a thing? great question.

"lyla, we don't need to waste time on such frivolous matters like dinner events. spider-society was started to preserve the multiverse from any possible threat, not to have dinner parties." miguel grumbled.

"i told you, it'll boost morale. it'll also help you seem less...cold." lyla retorted, flickering on miguel's shoulder.

"i'm their boss, not their friend. get back to work, lyla."

"come on, miguel. it'll be beneficial for everyone, i promise." lyla was relentless, and miguel finally caved, groaning in exasperation, "okay, okay. can we get back to work now?"

miguel, needing a date to these frequent dinner events (or as lyla called them, dinner banquets), decided to ask you. his human assistant, the one he'd go to for help when he decided he'd had enough of lyla for one day. seeing no harm in agreeing, you said yes.

—

after a particularly stressful week, it was time for yet another dinner event. you wore an elegant maroon dress, with black pumps. miguel picked you up from your doorstep at 630pm, leaving the both of you with adequate time to get to the 7pm event.

now, you're sitting next to him in the car, fiddling with the fabric of your dress. it's been a few times since the first time you and miguel attended dinner events together, but somehow you always found a small part of yourself feeling nervous. you remember the first time you had met miguel.

"if you need anything at all, just call me. i will pick up, no matter what. any time, any place, just call."

the car comes to a stop, and miguel helps you out of the car. taking his hand, you step out of the car. as you step into the venue, you get goosebumps, the cold temperature against your bare arms. miguel notices, and takes off his jacket, placing it on your shoulders. you mutter a soft, "thank you."

—

after about three months of attending dinners together, the tension between the two of you grows. you can't deny that the two of you have chemistry, but you never act on it. he is your boss after all.

that's what you keep telling yourself. until one night, your self-control snaps.

and so does his.

the night ends with the two of you in his bed, your hands tangled in his hair and his name leaving your lips as what could be considered the dirtiest moan of all time.

the morning after goes like this:

you stir in miguel's bed, his sheets clinging to your body. next to you, he's still sound asleep, snoring snoftly. you turn to look at the clock on his bedside table. it's 5:08am. you get off the bed as quietly as you can.

you grab your bra and panties from the end of his bed and put them on, moving onto the hunt for your dress.

you find your dress on the floor next to the end of miguel's bed. you stare at it, your maroon dress resembling a puddle of spilt wine. snapping back into focus, you quickly pick it up and smooth it out. it's slightly wrinkled, but you put it back on anyway.

the spaghetti straps suddenly feel too much for you, and you become aware of every inch of skin that is exposed. not ready to face the judgemental stares of the people of nueva york, you grab a button up from miguel's closet and put it on over your dress. you take one last look at miguel, before grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes.

with that, you disappear from his apartment.

—

you spend the rest of the weekend mulling over what you had done. of course, not without a tub of ice cream and your best friend, stacy.

you wail, "what have i done? he's my boss, for goodness' sake! how am i going to face him when i return to work?"

"stop beating yourself up over this!" stacy chides. "you weren't the only one who decided to have sex. he didn't trip over his own feet and accidentally stick his dick into you, did he?"

you let out a little laugh as you both shovel more ice cream into your mouths.

—

when monday comes, you find yourself nervous as you make your way towards your desk. you remind yourself that everything will be okay.

until you realise that everything is in fact not okay.

you find all your belongings packed into a small box. your sonny angel trinkets (or naked babies, as miguel called them), your coffee mug, your collection of highlighters. you look around, confused. what the hell is going on?

you find a piece of paper under the box, which reads, "from today onwards, your assistance will no longer be required at spider-hq. thank you for all your contributions. miguel o'hara"

a wave of emotions washes over you. you're angry, sad, in disbelief, and heartbroken at the same time. you can't believe you lost your job over a mutual decision. you had worked hard to get to where you were, and you love your job. you don't know if you want to laugh, cry, or throw something.

you settle on leaving quietly and peacefully. picking up your box, you take in your surroundings, knowing that this is probably the last time you'll ever step foot in this building again.

—

in the next few weeks that follow, you throw yourself into work, friends, parties, anything really, as long as it keeps your mind off the pain that miguel caused. you got a job at the bakery near your house, and you enjoyed spending your days baking and smelling of cinnamon and sugar.

you're too busy to realise that you've missed your period.

you start craving things like pickles and peanut butter. which might seem normal, but it's not. because you usually hate pickles and peanut butter, and avoid them at all costs. what's worse is that you want to eat them together. but you brush the weird cravings off, choosing not to overthink.

you only realise something's wrong when the smell fo everything makes you want to throw up. even your favourite food.

you call stacy in tears, and beg her to come over and pick up some pregnancy tests on the way.

—

she arrives not long after, and takes out three pregnancy tests, all from different brands. you take them and disappear into the bathroom without a word.

it's not long before the timer you set for three minutes is up. you press the stop button on your phone, and turn to your best friend.

"stace, i can't look at it. i just can't. can you help?"

she nods, walking down the hallway and into the bathroom.

"oh honey," she lets out a breath. she walks towards you as you ask, "are you sure? maybe it was a fluke, maybe—"

"all three were positive." she replies, and wraps you in her arms as you begin to cry.

you don't know what to do. there's nothing online for what to do when you're pregnant with your boss's baby, the boss who fired you one day after sleeping with you.

you tell stacy you're keeping the baby, and she promises that she'll do everything she can to support you.

you spend the rest of the night eating pickles and peanut butter while watching movies.

—

the following months go like this:

baby shopping — clothes

maternity clothes shopping

pay raise at the bakery

baby shopping — crib

baby shopping — more clothes

baby shower

promotion at the bakery

the next thing you know, you're 6 months pregnant, and your spare room has been transformed into the most beautiful nursery ever. the nursery is a coastal-beach theme, the murals on the walls and ceiling courtesy of your college friend, maisie. your college friends come over to help you build the crib, and stacy gets her boyfriend to build a chest of drawers to fit all the baby clothes she bought for the baby growing in you.

it's always busy at your apartment, with friends always over to provide support and companionship.

as your belly grows bigger, your heart grows fuller.

—

"have you found out the gender yet?" maisie asks, sipping her mimosa as she sits opposite you. you drink orange juice from a champagne flute, and reply, "yeah, i found out today. i'm having a girl!"

"so it really is a girls' night!" stacy jokes, nudging you with her elbow as you grin back at her.

you can't help but get lost in thought, thinking of what could've been. you just know that miguel would've been such a good girl dad.

you, maisie and stacy spend the rest of the night laughing and watching disney movies. they stay for the night, saying it's to "prepare you for the future slumber parties", but deep down you know they really just want to stay over. you laugh, grateful for the friends you have.

you wouldn't have it any other way.

—

"bye maisie, bye stace. get home safe!" you call out after your friends as they leave your home. they chime a "yes ma'am", and you lock the door once they disappear round the corner.

you go to your fridge, trying to find something to eat for breakfast. you settle on some fresh strawberries and a mug of tea. your water just finished boiling as the doorbell rings.

without a second thought, you open the door and say, "it's been five minutes, did you really—"

you fall silent when you realise it's not maisie or stacy at the door. instead, it's miguel o'hara. you acknowledge how shocked he must be, seeing you stand in your doorway in your pyjamas, hair in a bun, hand comfortably resting on your noticeably large belly.

you see a flicker of surprise, hurt and anger in his eyes. he remains silent, until you let out a soft "come in". he obliges, taking his shoes off once he enters. you sit down on the sofa, motioning for him to join you.

this time, he stays standing next to your dining table.

"so, whose is it?"

put off by his confrontational tone, you lose whatever semblance of patience you had. you bite back, "whaddya think, sherlock?"

"that's impossible," he lets out a gruff laugh of disbelief.

"well, i distinctly remember you sleeping with me the night before you fired me, and i don't think i'd get that mixed up."

"why didn't you tell me earlier—"

"why didn't i tell you earlier?" you lose your shit, yelling at him, "you literally fired me the day after sleeping with me. what was i supposed to do, show up at your doorstep and say, hey! i know you fired me, but i'm pregnant, so now you gotta do something about it! how the hell was i supposed to tell you, and why the hell would i?"

you're out of breath by the time you finish yelling at him.

"i don't know what to say." miguel finally lets out a huff. "i don't know what to do."

"firstly, you could stop white-knuckling my dining table. it looks like it's about to break. then, you can sit down so we can talk about this." you sigh. you're tired of being angry. you rest your hand on your belly as your little angel kicks you.

miguel sits down next to you, and asks, "do you have a sonogram?" you nod, reaching over to rifle around in your totebag, producing a sonogram. miguel takes it from you gently, and looks at it. he hunches over, his face in his hands. you move closer to him, rubbing a gentle hand on his back.

"i'm so, so sorry." he whispers.

"it's okay." you reply, continuing to rub his back.

sure, it was unfair how you lost your job. but you were happy now, surrounded by family and friends. what use was there to dwell in the past? so you decided to move on. after all, there's only one direction to move in when you've hit rock bottom: up and onwards.

miguel gathers himself, rubbing his face with his hands before turning to you.

"i'd like to be there for you. i'm so sorry for what i did, there's no excuse for what i did."

"before i say anything, i'd like to know why you came over today. why today? " you reply.

"i was going through a tough time. i needed to sort myself out before coming to see you. before coming to ask if you'd would take me back. or rather, go out with me."

you were left in disbelief. you would never think that after six months, miguel o'hara would visit your apartment to ask you to go out with him.

you could tell that he was getting more nervous with every second of silence that passed. you decide that even though miguel screwed you over, you would give him a shot, and give your baby a chance at having happy, loving parents.

you finally break the silence.

"yes. to both."

—

two years later...

miguel o'hara is the best girl dad ever. your daughter is absolutely obsessed with him. you suspect she likes him even more than she likes you.

actually, you know she does. her first word was "dada", before she proceeded to burst into tears because miguel handed her to you.

now, you sit on the sofa, watching as your almost-two-year-old daughter shows miguel her new dolls. miguel proposed almost two weeks ago, but you still aren't certain if it was all a dream.

that night, as miguel settles into bed next to you after putting your daughter to bed, he puts an arm around you. stroking your hair gently, he whispers in your ear.

"in every universe, it's always you. only you."

#📓—juniwrites #miguel ohara #atsv #across the spider-verse #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara fic #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara x reader

[her-favorite]

RETURN; J. VALESKA

(HUSBAND)!JEROME VALESKA X F!WIFE!READER

WARNINGS: i mean it’s jerome so

WC: 3342

A/N: requested! i really hope you like it!! sorry if i got a little carried away in the beginning, i tend to start one topic and just dont stop 😭 also can we talk about how hot his hand looks in that gif omfg.

SUMMARY: You’ve spent your whole life with Jerome Valeska. When the both of you started a life of crime, he managed to fall dead in Theo Galavan’s hand. It was hard without him, but having your husband back in your arms was all that mattered.

-

It’s been over a year since Jerome died.

For over a year you’ve spent inside your house collecting, smelling, crying over his belongings that were still left with you. You both owned the house, or rather, Jerome threatened the actual owner to give it to you both, putting a gun to the man’s head. Obviously, the owner agreed, his body shaking as he watched Jerome’s wicked smile spread across his pale cheeks.

You and Jerome grew up together. It started when you had joined Haly’s Circus and you managed to catch his troublesome eye as he tended to watch you every now and then. You kept to yourself for awhile when you were younger since it was the first time traveling with the drama-filled Circus.

After a couple years at that hellhole (as Jerome liked to call it), you both grew close. You managed to bring out a side to him that he didn’t even know existed. Which brings you to the time that Jerome had been watching you from his trailer. It was around a year before you both traveled to Gotham and you grew more accustomed to the circus living.

The circus troupe had stopped somewhere that you couldn’t remember when you think about this memory, but the thought felt embedded in your mind. The exasperating ginger was sitting out in front of his parked trailer that he shared with his whore of a mother. Just a few years before, his pathetic excuse of a brother had fled, but Jerome didn’t want to think about that. He was sipping on some lemonade that he had stole from a stand further into the attraction, occasionally biting down onto the straw. His eyes followed the way you walked; your fast legs making their away across the grounds and towards someone’s trailer. You were visibly irritated by something, your body language and the stern expression on your face told him everything he needed to know.

At first, he was agitated. What were you doing going to someone else’s trailer? Why was his girl meeting up with someone else other than him? His face showed anger as he watched you from a distance. Your hand reached up and knocked repeatedly on the person’s door, managing to hurt your knuckles in the process. Once Jerome saw the man that opened the door, he felt his body erupt with rage. Your boyfriend.

Obviously, Jerome never liked the asshole. Maybe it was his clouded judgement that told him that you belonged to him and that you were only made to be with him. Or maybe it was because your boyfriend was an asshole. He never treated you with respect and he always tried to steer you away from Jerome. The ginger was more than displeased with the persistent actions of the other man. The amount of nagging and abuse he got from his mother already started the murderous thoughts that occupied his mind, and your shitty boyfriend didn’t help his tenacious thoughts.

At that point, all Jerome could hear were mumbles. He was far enough away to the point where you wouldn’t be able to see him, but close enough for him to see you. All he could make out was your backside as you faced your boyfriend’s trailer, seeming to release your pent up frustrations on the other man. It didn’t seem to be going well as your hands shoved him, the man tripping backwards slightly. Jerome immediately knew that it was your boyfriend’s fault. It always was.

An animated gasp left Jerome’s lips as he, not only saw, but heard the slap you left on the man. The loud sound of your palm smacking the guy’s face echoed in the cool air. Jerome put his fist over his mouth to muffle his laugh once he saw your boyfriend’s face. He was furious, to say the least.

Before he could get his hands on you, Jerome just couldn’t help himself. He quickly got up from his sitting position and jogged his way over to you. Upon hearing footsteps, you looked to your side to be met with your best friend. Or, rather crush. But that’s not something the ginger had to know.

“Heya, guys! What’s going on?” A smug smirk was cemented on Jerome’s face as he looked from you to your boyfriend. He had to stop the laugh that bubbled up in his throat when he saw the other man get even angrier. Jerome always knew how to push people’s buttons.

“This asshole cheated on me.” Your words were said with pure venom as you reached forward and pushed the man standing in front of you again. The glee filled expression on the taller man’s face quickly fell in response to your answer. His jaw tightened as he looked over at your boyfriend, well, ex. When the other man finally tore his eyes away from your angered ones, he saw the dangerous look inside Jerome’s. He was intimidated by the ginger. At first, it was because of how close the two of you were. That was until he heard the way he talked about certain people; the constant need to have your attention and the way he talked to himself about silent promises that he wanted to fulfill. Jerome was dangerous and the man knew that.

“What?” Was the only thing that left Jerome’s lips. He was frozen in his spot before quickly taking a step forward and wrapping his hand around the frightened man’s throat. As if on instinct, Jerome threw the man against the front of his trailer, his hand tightening around the sensitive structure. Threatening words and swears left the gingers lips, his grin widening as he saw the man cower underneath his hold. “If you ever lay a hand on her again,” He leans closer, his green eyes now filled black. His voice was coated with pure malice as he talked, “I will kill you.” Not blinking with a dead stare, Jerome uttered the final words to the man and then finally let go. Your ex fell to the ground, grasping his throat and took deep, fast breaths as he tries to regain his oxygen.

As Jerome takes a step back, away from the other man, he looks over at you. The look you had in your eye was different, something he’s never seen before. His grimace switched into a smile as he made his way over towards you.

“Y’know you’re my girl, right?” He whispers as he stands over you, his breath hot against your lips. Without speaking, you nod your head in response. “Good.” He smiles and swipes his thumb over your cheek. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing your hand and walking away from the scene. “Let’s get some cotton candy! I’ve been cravin’ it all day!” And just like that, Jerome was back to normal.

Some people would call the both of you crazy, at least that’s the word on the street. When Jerome finally went through with his plan about killing his mother, he was sent to Arkham Asylum. To your surprise, you weren’t. No one saw you as an accomplice to the insane ginger’s actions, which made the wait for your lover to break out from the old building dreadful.

As time passed and you sat on a hill that captured the sunset beautifully, you weren’t expecting to hear ruffling in the grass behind you. Whipping your head back to see who it was, a gasp left your lips and you immediately landed on your feet.

“Knew you’d be here, doll. This was our spot, after all.” Jerome grinned his crazy smile. He laughed loudly as he felt you run into his arms, squeezing him against you tight. “Y’know, all that time in the looney bin really got me thinkin’.” He starts off. You break away from the hug and look up at him as his hands settle on your hips. “I’m not making a whole speech, y’know I’m not one for words.” He smiles and winks, before continuing. “I wanna marry ya, Y/N.” The statement caught you off guard as your eyes widen and your lips part in disbelief. “I want’cha as my wife, doll. It’s been nagging at me since I got thrown into that funny farm. And blah, blah, blah, here I am!” He throws his arms out wide, before laughing. He knew you were going to say yes, you’ve never denied him before.

Immediately accepting his proposal, you gripped him so tight in a hug that he felt all of the new things he had to adjust to with Galavan and the Maniax just lift off of his shoulders. All he needed was you. That was all that ever truly mattered to him.

Days passed by since the both of you got married (a small ceremony with a persistent Barbara Kean that wanted to officiant the wedding and random, horrified bystanders being held at gunpoint as you both stood on the both of your hill together). It was sweet and nice; something that wasn’t really common anymore. It felt good to get a break from the chaos that Theo had you both commencing around the city. At least for you, everyone knows that Jerome can’t sit still without causing a little bit of trouble.

It was finally the night of the Gala and Jerome was more than ecstatic to be a ‘magician’. He paraded around your shared bedroom, loudly practicing new tricks. The ginger searched for your approval once he finished one and grinned wide as he saw you clap for him. Maybe it was because of the lack of attention he got growing up, but Jerome loved having you praise him. It was a new feeling; it made him feel warm inside. But no one needed to know that; not even Jerome liked to admit it.

Theo had chose you to be his assistant in the show, saying that your chemistry would be good and make it more believable. You had immediately agreed, wanting to always be by your ginger’s side.

Later that night, the both of you stood behind the curtain and waited for the cue. His green eyes searched over your body several times, ogling the way you looked in the tight pink clothes. When you jokingly called him out on it, he gave you a wink and said, “Don’t worry, doll, as soon as this is over, we’ll make some magic of our own.” He cackled with volume, only quieting down when you put a hand over his mouth. The last thing either of you wanted was to be caught too soon.

Once the both of you made it on stage, the plan was going perfectly. Everything went accordingly and you and Jerome were having the time of your lives. Finally, when your disguises were off and Jerome had thrown a knife into the deputy mayor’s chest, the sound of gunshots filled the vast room and screams were heard everywhere. You could hear Jerome’s laugh clear as day as he watched everyone shriek in fear.

Eventually talking on the phone with Detective Jim Gordon, Jerome managed to get under the man’s skin. Jim’s girlfriend was laying on the wheel as you watched your husband laugh into the phone and then straighten back up.

“I think that went well.” Jerome smiles and looks back over at you. A grin graces your features as you nod, silently agreeing with him. With a quick appearance from Theo Galavan, it wasn’t a hard decision to hit him in the head with the hammer that was conveniently sitting there. As more unfolded and Jerome called out for the one and only Bruce Wayne, the air seemed to tense up. When he finally got his hands on him, he held a threatening knife to the younger kid’s throat. You knew better than to disrupt Jerome when he had his mind set on something, so you watched him and maybe if you weren’t too focused on your husband’s actions, you could’ve stopped it.

The sight of a knife stabbing into Jerome’s throat made your entire body feel like it was on ice. Goosebumps filled your skin and a scream left your throat without you realizing. He fell to the floor with Theo still sticking the blade into him as Jerome’s blood gushed out of his mouth, dribbling up near his eye. The sight still haunts you to this day.

When Galavan finally stepped away from the other man, your knees buckled and your hands clutched Jerome’s suit. You begged and pleaded with him, with anything, that he wasn’t dead; that this was just a nightmare. A really horrible nightmare.

It wasn’t.

You watched him take his last breath as his eyes focused on yours. You convinced yourself that he wanted you to be the last thing he saw before he died; and you were left hoping that thought was true. His gold band on his left ring finger seemed to shine brighter than before as it reminded you that you were now a widow. No way in hell could you ever be with someone else when you were swooned by Jerome Valeska.

“I love you.” His last words were tight and quiet and barely left his throat, but they were crystal clear in your ears. It almost felt like you were the one being stabbed as his eyes lost their light and his body relaxed against the cold stage, his warm blood still pouring from his lips. You sobbed and screamed as your hands clutched his clothes. He wasn’t dead, he was just joking, like he always does. It was a ploy to get the GCPD out of here, right? It wasn’t real, it was just Jerome playing a sick, sick joke, like always. You would’ve done anything to be correct.

Before the police could catch you, you quickly fled the scene once people started to move again. You ran as far as you could, not stopping at the constant sirens crowding the night air. You knew Jerome wouldn’t want you to stay there and be caught; he wanted to be free, that’s what he stood for.

Now, this is where you were: sitting in your once shared house, curling up on the couch while you twirled the larger ring on your right finger. You had accomplished stealing your husband’s ring before you ran that night and you haven’t took it off since, even if the ring was too big.

It felt like a never ending cycle as you twisted the ring on your finger, your eyes captivated by the golden band. It meant more to you now. It didn’t just hold memories of the two of you, but it felt like a silent promise of you never letting go of him. Not that you ever could. Jerome felt like he was stitched into your heart, never leaving unless someone reached in and tore him from you. Even then, you knew you wouldn’t be able to let him go.

Your body straightened up when you heard a noise come from the entrance of your house. Ever since you ran from the sight where your husband was killed, you were off grid to anyone else in Gotham. No one knew where you lived, especially the GCPD or the other villains that roamed around now. To others, you weren’t a threat anymore. You never realized how much you depended on the ginger until he was gone.

“Knew you’d be here. Wow, I got two for two!” A loud voice and a cackle was heard behind you as your body flinched. You felt frozen in your spot as your head whipped back and your eyes met his. His eyes. Jerome’s. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, doll. Where’s my hug and the “oh my god, J, I missed you so much!’” Jerome wraps his arms around himself in a hug and then laughs when he’s done talking. “I’m guessin’ you haven’t seen my show?” Before he could point to the tv or even finish his sentence, your body bolted up from the couch and threw yourself at him.

“You’re here,” Your voice was breathless as your words were said with disbelief. You felt the vibration against your cheek before you heard the laugh that left him. His arms wound around your shoulders tightly, sighing as he felt your touch again.

“Yeah, toots. First thing that came to the ol’ noggin’ was to see my girl.” His right hand reached up to cup the back of your head and pull gently on your hair to make you look up at him. “Still as gorgeous as the last time I saw ya." Jerome smiles. You were finally snapped out of your daze once you took a good look at his face. Staples littered his skin, red circles hovered around his eyes, his skin was stretched and tight, and his grin was even more devilish as his smile was pulled to each side, making him look more intimidating.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” His voice grew defensive as he noticed the way your eyes stuck on different parts of his skin. On the way to the both your house, Jerome would’ve rather went through death again than think of you not loving him anymore. He thought that maybe you outgrew him, that maybe he was just a terrible phase in your life and now that he was gone you could do whatever you wanted. He never really considered the word ‘insecure’ before, until he saw the way his face was restructured now. It was weird and gross it even made Jerome upset. He couldn’t bare the possibility that you could feel the same.

“Nothing.” You responded quickly. Your hands moved away from his waist and slowly slid to his neck, not wanting to touch the sensitive staples. “You just look really good for a man that just came back from the dead.” You said, a small smile curling at your lips. Jerome’s neurotic expression switched to a grin at your words, his pearly white teeth showing.

“Good answer.” He mutters before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. The hand that was in your hair tightened slightly as he deepened the kiss. It was an odd feeling; the chapped skin on his lips set a weird texture against yours and the stretched out smile made it somewhat difficult to kiss him, but you weren’t letting anything stop you from kissing your husband.

Once you broke away from the kiss, you took the opposite ring off your finger and held his left hand. His green eyes focused on yours before looking down and watching you push his wedding ring on his ring finger. “Aw, you kept it, gorgeous?” He cooed and his smile became wider as he talked. His thumb rotated the ring on his finger as he felt his body warm up at the thought of you wearing it while he was gone.

“Of course. Everything that you had I still kept.” You answer, moving your hands back on his chest. He had a police uniform on as the leather jacket hugged his arms. He always managed to look good in anything.

“Good, doll. I’m glad.” His right hand moved over to cup the side of your neck as his thumb rubbed gently against your cheekbone. His already made smile widened as his lips curled up into a grin. He leaned down and pecked your lips once, before whispering, “I told ya we would have some fun the last time I saw ya, gorgeous. And I intend to fulfill that promise.” He laughs and leans back down to kiss you with enough passion that could’ve made you melt.

Having Jerome back with you was like a fresh of cold air in a warm room. Having your husband back with you made you feel like you were on cloud nine. You knew that the both of you had so much more ahead of you guys, and you couldn’t be more excited.

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan x reader #jerome x reader #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska x reader #gotham jerome #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska smut

[starshipsofstarlord]

“I’ve changed. Give me another chance.”

Summary-> Kai returns from Hell, realising that he has a lot of making up to do with the woman that he loves, although she doesn’t want to give him her forgiveness, he isn’t deserving of it after the destruction that he released (1.6k)

Warnings-> angst, mentions of death, loss of magic

kai parker works other tvd works main masterlist

He could feel the judgement through her eyes, it made him feel sick - guilty. There was nothing he could do take back his past actions, but he could be better for his future ones. She was always the one that claimed that he wasn’t an abomination, but now she was looking at him as though she had never thought that, as though she was like everybody else.

“Damon, how could you?” Her voice was hoarse as she squinted towards the vampire, exasperated by the situation before her very eyes. It showed that she was far past caring and had finally fallen down the hole of thinking Kai Parker was a monster. She’d been there at the wedding, she saw the destruction that he had caused, the carnage that had came from his endless chaos. There was bitterness on her tongue as she looked at him.

“Y/n, this isn’t about you and him,” it never had been, Kai thought, “we’re all trying to stop Cade. Mister lactose intolerant here included,” Damon cringed as he remembered Kai’s stomach problem in the diner, “so we might as well work together. It’s nothing personal and he’s the only one that can bring Elena back.” Of course, he had to be getting something out of it other than defeating the most dangerous enemy that they had faced.

Y/n was friends with Elena, but that had obviously never mattered to Kai, he only wanted to cause an outrage of pain, and she was the one still suffering from it. Her y/e/c eyes rolled as she crossed her arms, the only emotion boiling in her body being outrage. “And what, he’s going to be the one to turn me human again after I died along with his sister and countless others? You saved me Damon, and for that I am grateful, but this… this I’m sure as hell not.”

Kai’s eyes widened from her words, staring at her. Not only had he massacred the last of his coven and snapped the necks of vampires, but he had killed the only person he held any emotion for. It felt like he were being staked in the heart, he knew how it felt to be a witch without power, but now y/n wasn’t even that. She wasn’t a witch any longer because she had no time to heal, and she had succumbed to death with poison in her system. She’d turned, and he hadn’t even been there to hold her for her final moments.

“Y-y/n…” there was a lump within his throat, making it rather unbearable to even breathe. He had told her that she shouldn’t have gone to the wedding of Alaric and Jo, but she had never been one to listen. And then she had tried to stop him… It was all his fault, their powers collided as she grew weak, blood pouring out from the wound in her stomach from the splintered roof, and then she watched Damon kill him.

There wasn’t a single thing that he could do to make things right, he realised that. She should never have trusted him, otherwise dying from his fault wouldn’t have pained her so much. They’d been the Romeo and Juliet of the present, sneaking into the forbidden depths of romance despite the resent that her friends held towards him. And now that was over, and Kai knew that it would be a tough road to even get close to where they had once been.

“Save it heretic, there’s not a single thing that you could ever say to fix the damage that you caused. But we can all work together for the greater good.” A scoff escaped from y/n’s mouth at Damon’s words, followed by a roll of her y/e/c eyes. Damon was always so selfish, thinking of his closer circle of his brother and his lover rather than those that he called his friends. He should have understood y/n’s angry despair, he had experienced the same new bloodlust that chipped at his humanity.

But he had never experienced his entire beliefs ripped away from him; y/n’s magic was gone, and there was not a single route that she could go do to resurrect it. It had been the biggest part of who she was, and it was gone, much like how she wanted Kai to be. He’d betrayed her, broke her heart, and worst of all, caused the downfall of her existence. She had to hate him, otherwise she couldn’t stand herself for feeling anything else for him. “The greater good would be detaching his head from the rest of his body again.” She said ferociously, nostrils flaring as her breaths were laboured from her fuelled aggression.

“Ouch.” Kai muttered, feeling a pang in his heart from her words. He’d never wanted to harm her in the slightest, but for the majority of his life he had never gotten what he wanted. He wanted to beg her for forgiveness, and whilst he knew that he didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t help but allow the plea to fall from his lips. “I’ve changed. Give me another chance.” For a moment he wished he had said not a single thing as y/n sped towards him, boiling tears restrained within her eyes. She were vulnerable in his presence, Damon knew that as he stood in the background as a watcher. He wanted to intervene, to protect his friend who had become heartbroken because of this monster, but he understood that she had to do this - had to put him in his place.

“Damon, could you give us a moment?” What?! Y/n had to be delusional if she thought he would willingly leave her alone with Kai Parker, the man that had caused him to turn one of his best friends into a blood sucking creature. She’d supposed to have fulfilled the closest to a human life out of all of their friends, but all because of him she hadn’t gotten the luxury that they had all wished for. He was worried to leave her alone with Kai, she’d either fall down into the depths of her unreasonable emotions for him again, or kill him, and as much as Damon hated to admit it, they needed him at the moment.

“Are you sure?” He tried to read her eyes but she wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead her glare was directed at the heretic that had broken her heart all over again. Y/n was always and had always been one stubborn girl, she’d defended her relationship with Kai when it had first become knowledge to all of her friends, but she had always been loyal to those that cared most about her. Damon wouldn’t allow her growth after her death to be jeopardised all because of a sociopath that had feelings for her. Finally her eyes reached his, they were drenched with the pain and sorrow that her old lover had caused, and Damon finally understood that whatever she wanted to say to him or do to him was necessary. “Okay.”

Damon sent her a comforting smile, before finally and adamantly leaving the room. Kai felt a swell of hope rise in his chest when she looked at him, perhaps he could redeem himself in her eyes one final time. Kai took another dangerous step towards her, craving her personal space to be wrapped around him. “Can you ever forgive me?” His voice cracked, she had been the only person not to see him as a monster and he had messed that up to. It was the reason why a person dared not give a cat a mouse, it was life threatening, and she had died all because of him. She frowned, staring up at him with her stunning y/e/c eyes, shooting daggers into his form as though he were the enemy instead of Cade.

“Not in a million years.” She answered hun truthfully, gnawing on her lip as she held back the tears that had formed in her eyes. “It will take forever for me to ever want you back in my life, after what you did, I lost myself. You’re so damn selfish,” her hands pounded on his chest, in her attempts not to break down from the sheer anguish that his presence made her feel. “If you had just let bygones be bygones, there may have been a chance for us, but you couldn’t just let it go for once in your life, or for me. I know that I couldn’t have stopped you from killing Jo, when you set your mind to something it’s a fixation, and it doesn’t matter who gets in your way.”

“I’ll wait then.” Kai spoke seriously, daringly holding her elbows in his hands, staring honestly into her face. His eyes traced every crease that her confused frown burdened her face formed, taking in every detail even though she would never age again. “Forever will be here before I know it, and until then, I’ll do whatever you want, just to ease the pain that I have caused. I never had the intention to take anything from you, much less your reason to live, but I will try my best every day, just for you.” He should have known at the wedding that she would have entangled herself in the crossfire, and that she would have tried to stop him.

Y/n deserved so much better than the pain that he had given him, but as she had stated, he was selfish, and he needed her. He missed every fibre of her being that had tried to send him on the right track, but here they both were, monsters in their own flesh, mixed emotions moulded between them like a wall. If he’d had any sense, he would have understood that y/n’s stubbornness and loyalty had enhanced, and neither laid towards him, not after his murderous schemes. But he was adamant to change that, and fix himself into a better man for her along the way. He’d make her death have reason, so that after forever, they would have their fresh chance together.

#kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #kai Parker angst #kai parker oneshot #kai parker x y/n #kai parker x you #kai parker fanfiction #tvd x reader #vampire diaries fanfiction #vampire diaries x reader #tvd x you #tvd imagine

[jungk0oksthighs]

Pi Gasu | The New World

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - smut, angst, E2L, vampire!jungkook

Word Count - 7.7k

A surprise visitor makes a shocking confession that prompts you to visit Euphoria. Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, terminal illness, violence, light smutty undertones, threatened suicide

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Your neighbour still reeks of the undead.” Hoseok shrugs nonchalantly into his shiny purple flask, heart-shaped lips tainted by his drink of choice. Donor number 101018. The donor is female, maybe a woman around her early thirties. The disappointing aftertaste of stale blood trickles down his oesophagus and dissipates into his body that died almost eighty years ago.

Across the neglected living space Yoongi’s icy glare sticks to his unconventional choice of roommate. The pair have co-habited for almost four years and yet Hoseok’s lack of empathy, lack of humanity, still manages to get under Yoongi’s skin.

It’s no secret that vampires lack basic communicational skills, empathy even more so, in a way Yoongi knows he shouldn’t let Hoseok’s offhand bitchy comments bother him. Usually they do go unnoticed, but when you’re the centrepiece of said comments he finds it difficult to see past them.

“Looks like Jungkook didn’t entertain your warning after all.” Hoseok’s white teeth bare in a sinister grin, one that spreads from ear to ear and would make any other human uncomfortable in it’s presence.

“Yeah but why would he?” Yoongi scoffs, brushing the long brunette hairs away from his forehead, legs bouncing anxiously where he sits, “I’m not a hunter. I’m not even remotely a threat to somebody like him.”

“Somebody like him?” Hoseok parrots, brow quirking curiously, “Do elaborate.”

“I don’t have time for this shit.” Yoongi rushes to his feet, a drawn-out exasperated sigh escaping him. “You know full-well what I mean.”

“A vampire?” His roommate’s tone oozes mockery when he swills the contents of his flask round and round with slender, veiny hands. “You can say the word vampire Yoongi, it’s not a slur. It’s simply what Jungkook and I are. What we’ll always be.”

At this Yoongi bites back the urge to roll his eyes, knowing how much it infuriates his best friend. Truthfully he doesn’t have the energy to argue with him right now, nor does he particularly want to draw a sword in a battle he’ll ultimately lose. “I’m not a threat to Jungkook, of course he didn’t take my threat seriously. Clearly there’s more going on between him and Y/N than she’s letting on.”

The sea of possibilities is endless enough for your neighbour to drown and struggle to breathe. What is going on between you and Jungkook? Everybody knows humans fornicating with vampires is heavily, heavily frowned upon – in some cases completely illegal. But who is he to judge? He lives with the undead, his only real ‘friend’ being a certified corpse of almost eighty years.

Yoongi met Hoseok while working as a paramedic, when he was called to the scene of a house fire where everybody trapped inside was announced dead on the scene, their souls claimed by the roaring flames heating the night sky. Save for one man. One ghoulish looking, freakishly well preserved and eccentrically dressed man.

Yoongi knew straight away he was a vampire, he’d heard all about them and how you can spot them from a mile away. The warm sunset glow beneath their skin, their flawless features, and of course – their wine coloured eyes. Did he expect to find a friend within the monster who survived a house fire without so much as a scratch? No, he did not. But he did take an interest in him, having heard all about what a drop of his blood could do for someone in need.

At first Hoseok was hesitant to befriend the human, understandably so, until Yoongi confirmed the foundation of their ‘friendship’ was solely curiosity. Hoseok would provide the paramedic with blood samples to help save his patients in near-death conditions. Yoongi had a spare room in a judgement free space. It wasn’t ideal for either party involved, but it worked. It still works, mostly. Despite the fact Yoongi was caught medicating patients with vampire blood and fired on the spot, the two still remain friends.

“You can deny it all you want but I know you like her…” Hoseok calls out from the lounge while the other man walks away, even with his roommate’s back turned to him he can sense the annoyance and disgust, “You don’t play nurse for just anybody.”

Yoongi stills, taking a deep inhale. He doesn’t bother to glance back at the loudest dead man he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting, “I don’t want her to die, that’s all.”

That’s not all, not by a long shot. Yoongi has secretly admired you from afar since you moved into the building, taking an interest in your daily routine and what colour outfit you wear each day. He likes the little smile you give him when you wave, he even enjoys hearing the sound of that ridiculous early 2000’s pop punk playlist that seeps through your walls whenever you’re having a bad day.

It wasn’t until he saw Jungkook enter your apartment that he took it upon himself to be more present in your life. According to Hoseok, Jungkook is a very bad man. Dead man. Vampire. Whatever you want to call him, he’s evil. Though Hoseok has never delved into the specifics of how the two creatures of the night know each other. Hoseok doesn’t share anything personal about his past, and truthfully Yoongi has never cared. Up until now.

“Who says he’ll kill her?” In the blink of an eye Hoseok is standing in front of Yoongi, his masculine features eerily tugged up, amused, “Maybe he’ll change her.”

“That’s illegal.” Yoongi scoffs, “There’s no way she’d let him do that—”

“I’m sure she lets him do all kinds of illegal stuff to her…” Hoseok’s chuckle echoes like a sadistic villain in a movie, his grin widening, “If you want to be romantically involved with her you should—”

“Wanting somebody to stay alive is not romantic.” His retort laced with poison, veiny fists balling either side of his denim-clad thighs. There’s a stand off happening between the two friends, both parties exchanging heated eye contact before Hoseok’s nostrils flare, head snapping to the direction of the front door shockingly fast.

“Seems like your neighbour has a visitor…” His tone lowers, smile fading, “One of Jungkook’s creations.”

A series of loud knocks on your front door wins you to jump, cursing under your breath when you accidentally smudge the white varnish you’re painting your toenails with. Begrudgingly getting up from the sofa you drag yourself to the front door, praying to every higher power it’s not Jungkook standing at the other side of the wood.

‘If I had a soul it would already be yours.’

Jungkook’s heart-breaking confession plays clear as day in your mind, winning you to swallow. You haven’t seen him since, nor have you replied to his messages about making donations. Truthfully you can’t wrap your head around the events that transpired in his basement last week. Jungkook kissed you. What’s worse is how much you liked it, and how much it’s haunted your thoughts ever since. His lips on yours, the taste of his blood, the way your toes curled when he pinned you to a wall so hard that it crumbled around you.

And the way his fangs scraped the skin of your neck, almost biting you.

It’s with a lot of hesitance and mental preparation that you finally swing the door open, equal parts confused and relieved when you catch sight of Jimin standing before you. Every hair on your body stands to attention, guarding your suddenly cold shivering skin.

“Hi?” You’re frowning, as is he when his stern gaze flickers over your pink striped Hello Kitty pyjamas. “What do you want?”

You didn’t intend to sound bitchy and rude, it’s just that the only time you’ve seen Jimin out and about he physically shoved you into his car and took you to Jungkook. You’re not particularly dressed for such occasion tonight. Nor do you really want to see the owner of Euphoria either, not until you figure out what the hell it is he wants from you. And what you want from him.

Jimin smirks, taking it upon himself to lean against your doorframe, “Can I come in?” His crimson coloured eyes zone in on his fingernails and plentiful aged silver rings. It’s when he tucks the stray shiny silver hairs behind his ear that he glances to you again, seemingly growing impatient. “Please?” He grins, and your stomach churns.

“Why?”

He rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the doorframe with an audible huff, “I'd like to talk to you.”

“About what?” You cross your arms over your chest, standing your ground. If you let him inside he’ll have an open invitation for as long as your name is on the tenancy agreement. But as you watch his snake print Doc Marten tap the ground somewhat restlessly, your curiosity blossoms. “Is… Is this about Jungkook?”

At this Jimin’s smile darkens into something… sinister. Much like the setting of a cliché Halloween movie, the lightbulb in the hallway flickers behind him and his shadow grows in size. Sighing again, more exasperatedly this time, he buries his fists into the pockets of his black fitted suit trousers, visibly tensing his shoulders. There’s a mutual understanding between you, his crescent-like eyes already answering all your questions.

This is definitely about Jungkook.

“So. Can I come in?”

Much to the disappointment of your better judgement you find yourself nodding, lips pursing into a flat line before you pluck up the courage to speak. “Uh-, yeah come in.” You stand to one side, watching determined footsteps bring the first vampire you ever encountered into your home.

Despite the fact you weren’t expecting company tonight you still feel underdressed. Currently dressed in comfy pyjamas that drown your figure half-way through a selfcare evening, while Jimin’s wearing a snakeskin patterned shirt tucked into his slacks, perfectly matching his choice of footwear. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing tattoos you didn’t realise he had before. Much like Jungkook almost all his skin is littered with artwork, you catch yourself staring before he edges closer to your sofa. Sitting down.

“You know there’s a long term solution for remaining young and beautiful...” Jimin hums, taking your skincare products from the coffee table between his fingers with a scoff, “Does any of this actually work?” His eyes find yours, brows raised expectantly.

You bite back a laugh, not having expected such a normal conversation with the blood sucking demon currently wedged between two fluffy pink cushions on your sofa. “Umm. I think so, I mean I hope they do some of that stuff is expensive…” Your tongue awkwardly rolls over your teeth, “So… Is this about what happened when I visited—”

“Jungkook’s drinking your blood.” Jimin looks at you, through you, waiting for any kind of reaction.

“…What?” You whisper, heart hammering inside your chest strong enough to mistake the beat for palpitations. Palms sweaty, mouth dry. “What do you mean Jungkook’s drinking my blood?!”

At this Jimin audibly pops his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a distraction from the fact he’s rolling his eyes into the back of his skull again. Bored looking, unphased. “The vials of your blood you’ve been giving to him.” A single brow quirks, “He’s been drinking them.”

“H-how did-, how do you know about—”

“I found the empty vials.” He shrugs, chuckling softly to himself while adjusting his position, until his ankle rests on his knee, leaning back with a grin, “I could smell your blood in a blind line up without trying.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” You’re shaking your head, jumping to Jungkook’s defence a lot faster than you should, “He’s not drinking them, he’s running tests on them to see why my blood is… Different.”

Jimin loses it, throwing his head back in a fit of loud menacing laughter that makes you uneasy. He’s laughing so hard that he’s struggling to breathe properly, slapping his palm to his forehead. “The curse of humanity never fails to amuse me.” He snorts, too busy judging you to look your way. He continues, “Humans… So naïve. So painfully, obnoxiously ignorant to the world around them. Life isn’t a fucking fairy tale sweetheart.”

It's with a heavy heart and a sour taste in your mouth akin to battery acid that the penny finally drops, “There… There are no tests, are there?”

“Jungkook is many things, but a scientist?” Jimin’s still laughing, borderline hysterical at your naivety, “He’s no saint either, don’t act so surprised. He doesn’t have a soul much less a conscience.”

Anger floods your body like a roaring fire, prompting you to shift your weight between your legs, physically unable to hold still. “Why are you telling me this?” You snap, eyes glued to the man, the monster making a mockery of you in your own damn apartment. Pushing down your own emotions; the betrayal, the fury, the confusion. You try to keep your head blank of any incriminating thoughts about kissing Jungkook, knowing they’d be violated instantly.

The giggles stop, and Jimin’s voice deepens into something much more frightening.

He cranes his neck, hunching his muscular body forward on the sofa as if to get a better look at you. A look is an understatement. The way his icy glare drags up your pyjama clad body forces you to look away, until he’s standing before you faster than you can process. His nose is a hair away from your own, winning you to stumble back a few steps into the coat stand, knocking it over in a hurry.

“Sometimes it’s fun to play with your food.” A bloodthirsty smirk tugs the corners of his plump lips, “Nice seeing you Y/N.” A dreamy, satisfied sigh slips from him before he disappears.

That liar. That evil bastard.

You feel violated, disgusted and scared. Why would Jungkook lie to you about testing your donations? Why would he? Why would he ask you to you touch yourself? In his presence none the less.

‘Arousal makes the blood… sweeter.’

His words torment you like a painful mantra, like a sad song from your past. It all makes sense. The need, the urgency, the demand for you to keep donating. You feel like a fool for not connecting the dots sooner, but why would Jimin come directly to you with this information?

Unless he really is just a bored, ancient demon hellbent on causing trouble...

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night, you’re tossing and turning, back damp from equal parts sweat and blind hatred. You simultaneously want to confront Jungkook about this and never wish to see him again. But what’s bothering you more is the fact that… Had he simply told you the truth about drinking your blood, you genuinely don’t think you would’ve cared.

But he didn’t.

--

You’re sitting in the campus library revising for a big exam you have coming up, it’s nearly Christmas break and you’re almost done with college for a whole three weeks. That’s the only thing that makes sitting here for hours on end with your nose buried in five textbooks at once remotely worth it. You need a break. The plan is to go and visit Eddie and spend Christmas in your nightmarish childhood home. Frankly it’s better than being here, the prospect of seeing Jungkook equally as daunting as your mother. Maybe more so.

It's been all of twenty eight hours since Jimin showed up to your apartment unannounced and uninvited. Though technically the silver haired vampire is eternally invited into your home now. But it’s not like you gave him a spare key and orange juice on arrival, no, all you did was invite him inside. A mistake in itself.

Maybe you should move away after graduation? It’s not for another two years but it beats staying here in a spooky city riddled with crime and vampires. Two of which can stop by your place any time they’d like. Let’s be honest, it’s not like a simple lock and key would be able to stop them from getting inside.

“You’re Y/N, right?” The female voice drags you from your daydream. Peeling your stare from the book in hand, you turn to the owner of said voice.

A wave of recognition washes over you, it’s Betty. You’d met her at your first ever night at Euphoria, the same night Jungkook had sent you home for being ‘too good’ for his vampire customers. In reality he probably just wanted to control the situation, control you, keep you to himself. Keep your blood to himself. Swallowing, you physically shake the intrusive thoughts from your mind and offer the girl a small smile.

“Hey, yeah… It’s Betty, isn’t it?” You gesture to the empty green fabric seat ahead of you, and she slips into the space effortlessly despite her very big clunky black boots and oversized knitted dress.

“Yeah!” Her teeth are pearly white, contrasting against the red lipstick she’s showcasing. She really is beautiful, the epitome of lust even when dressed casually. If you had to describe her you would use the term ‘poster girl for pornography’. She’s a woman written for people who love women, who want to fuck women and repopulate the earth with them. Spend their lives with them, celebrate them.

Or to put it simply: she’s a hottie with the best damn body you’ve ever seen.

“I haven’t seen you since my first day at the club!” She whispers, briefly glancing round the busy library in search of nosey students, “You… You quit, right? That’s what Jungkook said.”

At this you fight the urge to scoff, she doesn’t deserve your venom after all, “Mmm. Well don’t believe everything Jungkook says.” You mumble, pawing at the stack of books between as a distraction.

Her pretty features tug with something quizzical, brows pinched, “Oh? Did something happen between you guys?”

“Nope.” You emphasise the ‘p’ with a loud popping noise, offering her a fake grin that she can clearly see right through, judging from the way she sits back in her chair and watches you even closer.

“I didn’t think he was like that…” Betty admits hastily, tapping manicured fingers to the table edge seemingly deep in thought, “I mean-, he’s hot! He’s sooooo hot. Like S tier hot, yknow? But I didn’t think humans were his—”

“Nothing happened. Honestly.” You lie, the truth being far worse.

It’s not about the morally grey fact you gave him your blood willingly. You’d met Betty at Euphoria – she’s doing the exact same thing every single weekend, as she was hired to do. Of course her donations were a little more intimate than anything you’d done with her boss but- well. Almost more intimate.

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything to either of you.

‘If I had a soul, it would already be yours.’

“You should come to the party tonight!” Betty gasps as though she’s just had the eureka moment of the century, leaning forward, “There’s a huge party at Euphoria tonight for Taehyung’s birthday! You met Tae Tae, right? The blonde guy… Always sucking a lollipop. Or someone’s neck.” She giggles, adjusting the turtle collar on her dress. Telling you everything you need to know.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You say cautiously, though you appreciate the invitation none the less, “Thanks though, I’m sure you’ll all have a great time.”

Betty waggles her slender index finger, flaunting a small dark snake tattoo that looks freshly done on the digit, “No no no no, you should definitely come. I know things didn’t work out work wise but it’d be nice to hang out with you!” She smiles, a single dimple piercing her left cheek, “Please? I only moved here recently and I don’t have any girl friends… Girls are usually intimidated by me.”

Maybe it’s the genuine desperation weighing her eyelids, or maybe it’s the idea of blindsiding Jungkook and confronting him about your donations. Whatever the reason, you find yourself crumbling and nodding along with her words, sighing. Quickly exchanging phone numbers and planning the night ahead.

Truthfully you don’t have many friends here either, and while your intentions may not be entirely genuine Betty does seem like a good person.

--

It’s almost 10PM later that night when you arrive at Euphoria via a very expensive Uber. It’ll be worth it, you mentally justify the money spent. It will be worth it. As will the goose bumps gifted by the cold winter air scraping your exposed skin. You’ve opted for a very revealing dress for maximum damage. The strapless black velvet dress plunges at the middle of your cleavage, leaving very little if nothing at all to the imagination. The swell of your ass is barely concealed, legs appearing a whole lot longer than they actually are with some assistance from your stiletto heels.

Is this what self-sabotage looks like? Jungkook could crush you like a grape juice box in hand, as any of his immortal staff members could. You know it’s a bad idea, but like you’ve told him before – it’s not like you have much to live for. You’ve nothing to lose at this point.

The security guard checks your ID and allows you to slip inside, you promised Betty you would meet her here at ten which makes you right on time. You’re surprised yet relieved when your purse goes unsearched, giving that you’ve brought a little insurance to keep you safe.

Truthfully ever since Betty invited you here tonight you've had one hell of a realisation. Jungkook could very well be the cure for your brother's rapidly approaching demise... You just need to keep your mind blank of any thoughts of your plans beyond the threshold of the club. They can read minds, and you won't fall into that trap again. While your chest bubbles and squeezes with something strange whenever you think about the last time you saw Jungkook... You push that down, deep, deep down until it's almost forgotten about. You're here for one reason and one reason only.

Euphoria is in full swing when you make it inside, the sexy bass-dominant song vibrating your bones, it’s deafeningly loud in your ears and you ponder if wearing a high ponytail was the right move to make. The fifty shades of red strobe lights are blinding, almost painful to look at and you can't quite make out the faces in the crowd. But you’re here. Full of adrenaline and a desire to piss off Jungkook. Another terrible, terrible idea.

It's when you make your way through the busy floor, ignoring the intense stares bruising your body, that you find Taehyung sitting on what can only be described as a throne in front of the main stage. You swallow a chuckle, vampires really know how to party.

“Hey, Taehyung?” You call out a little louder than you intended, winning every pair of fire-engine red eyes to snap towards you, like a vengeful moth to a vulnerable flame. “Have you seen Betty?” You feign confidence, feeling smaller than small when you catch sight of the birthday boy grinning wickedly. Removing a cherry lollipop from his plump lips with an audible pop.

Taehyung stands, adjusting his shirt with long fingers before his thick brows raise with something akin to genuine, human surprise. “Y/N? To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’s making his way over, lazy footsteps carrying his leather-clad legs your way.

“I’m looking for Betty, she said she’d be here…” You reiterate, swallowing your nerves. Useless really, giving that Taehyung and every other creature of the night can sense your inner turmoil from a mile away. “Have you seen her?”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice is deep, slightly croaky and albeit a little endearing to listen to, “Aren’t you going to wish me a happy birthday?” His smile broadens, his pink tongue rolling over his teeth salaciously. As if he’s staring at his next meal, feline eyes flickering to your exposed neck before settling back to your face.

It’s the shiny gold crown atop of his hair that you focus on, perfectly matching the long gold chain sitting behind the collar of his black silky dress shirt. “Happy birthday,” You offer him a closed smile, “How old are you?”

“Twenty nine if anyone else asks. I'm technically one hundred and seventy nine.” He hums with pride, returning the sticked candy to his mouth, crossing his muscular arms over his strong chest, “You know Jungkook won’t be happy that you’re crashing my party little one.”

“Betty invited me.” You mirror his movements, accidentally pushing the swell of your breasts up by doing do. The ancient yet well-preserved vampire notices, his not-so-subtle stare lands on your cleavage and stays there. He’s smirking.

“Betty’s not here right now.” He wets his lips, heavy eyes slowly trailing back to your face.

Right. Betty isn’t here right now when she said she would be. Less than ideal, giving that you’re in a vampire nightclub and know full-well how much everybody in here wants to kill you.

You nod, attempting to act indifferent, “She’ll be here soon…”

“And in the meantime,” He edges closer, until he’s less than arms-distance away from your body, “What do you say we have a little fun?” He grins, looking like the epitome of sin when he sizes up the pulsing vein on your neck.

That’s when your knight in shining armour swoops onto the scene, knocking Taehyung to the ground and keeping him there with a foot firmly pressed to his throat. The atmosphere shifts immediately. It’s intense, dark and frightening. But that doesn’t deter Taehyung, not in the slightest. In the blink of an eye Taehyung rushes to his feet, pinning up the other vampire to a nearby wall, vice-like grip crushing his throat. Jungkook doesn’t do as much as blink, nor does he fold.

Maybe knight in shining armour is an overstatement. More like your favourite blood thirsty enemy showing up and making a scene. Winning you more attention than you'd ever expected. Or wanted.

You’re standing there wide-eyed and frozen in place, like stunned frostbite has enveloped your senses. It’s a moment later when Taehyung is thrown to the other side of the club, his back slamming against the silver edge of the main stage – prompting the dancers to stop what they’re doing. Had Taehyung been human his spine would’ve shattered like a mirror, this being a brutally strong reminder he’s not. Nor is the creature responsible for such violence.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook’s tone oozes wrath when his dark eyes snap to yours, teeth bared in an angry snarl that has you regretting the decision to come here immediately. He’s going to kill you.

You blink at him, astonished by his strength and burly behaviour, “I-, Betty invited me—”

“Now is that any way to treat the birthday boy?” Taehyung taunts as he jumps back over, scoffing when he’s squaring up to Jungkook right in front of you, “Maybe if you kept your pet on a tighter leash she wouldn’t be here.”

That’s when Jungkook loses what little remaining self-restraint he had left, delivering an uppercut punch to Tae’s sharp jawline so strong that he flies up to the ceiling, crashing into a luxurious chandelier. Sparkles fall from the impact, like beautiful glimmering raindrops scattering over the crowd. It’s like everything happens in slow motion, it’s gorgeous, until the screams of the customers remind you that the shimmers are nothing more than broken glass.

Jungkook’s inked fingers grip your wrist tight enough to snap bones, and quicker than you’re physically and mentally capable of processing you’re standing in a secluded room you’ve not seen previously. It’s a luxurious VIP room of sorts. There’s a bed adorned with plentiful red velvet pillows and an aged, steel medieval-looking pair of shackles tightly connected to a strong hook on the wall above the wooden headboard. Much like the rest of Euphoria this room has the undertone of seduction. Causing your heart to stutter twice as hard as it had just moments before.

It's dark in here, the only other person in the room barely visible under the dim burgundy lights that scream sex.

“I’ll ask you again,” Jungkook locks the door behind him, turning to face you with sharp features contorted with thunder, “Why are you here?”

“I was invited.” You bite between clenched teeth, ignoring the way his muscles flex beneath the very sheer black shirt he wears with every angry breath he takes. There's an almost floral-like pattern weaved into the mesh material, but it's very much the visibility of his tattoos and beefy body that you're looking at.

It seems as though everybody has dressed in all black today, something you’ve only just registered looking at Jungkook’s fitted black slacks and smart shoes of the same colour. Perhaps it’s a cynical joke within the vampire community. While they treat birthdays as a cause for celebration, maybe they’re all secretly mourning their stolen humanity.

Tousled hair frames Jungkook's jarringly handsome features, drawing attention to the way his expression drips with equal parts disgust and fury. “How many times do I need to tell you? You don’t belong here.” He takes a small step closer, cold stare burning a hole in your skull, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah well I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.” You bark, trying to steady your shaky breaths. “Why are you so pissed that I came?”

The raw intent behind Jungkook’s eyes deepens with something indescribable, he’s slowly closing in on you like a lion would its prey, “When are you going to stop being so reckless with your mortality? You could’ve been killed—”

“If you wanted me dead I would be by now.” You mirror his previous words against him, fighting the urge to think of anything Jimin told you in private. Burying the real reason you came deep within the walls of you mind. He’s not going to find out you know by invading your mind, no, nor is he going to know why you're here until you want him to. You’re doing this on your terms.

“That’s beyond the point.” He scoffs, dragging his heels across the glossy tiled floor, it's shiny enough to mirror the reflection of his body, “Had I not been here to protect you Taehyung would’ve ripped your heart out without hesitation.”

“Protect me?” You chuckle humourlessly, holding strong eye contact and a proud spine when he’s no more than ten inches away from you, “Why do you want to keep me alive? Why don’t you want me dead Jungkook? Hm?” You frown, feigning confusion, “Is there something I don’t know? A reason my life is so damn important to you?”

Before you can spare a thought for Betty's whereabouts, for Jimin's confession, for anything beyond this moment, Jungkook’s heavy arms are around you. His tattooed hand gently tugging your ponytail back until your bare neck is exposed to the demon. He swallows, darting his tongue over his pierced lips to wet them.

"There's a reason I haven't killed you, the only reason I don't snap your neck where you stand." He hisses.

"Enlighten me then."

"It's selfish."

"I expected nothing less." You scoff, line of sight flickering to his lips on it's own accord. As much as you want to hate him, as much as you want to never see him again... You're drawn to him. You always have been.

Jungkook pauses, smirking slightly when he notices where you're looking, "Why are you here?"

You deadpan, "Why am I still alive?"

"Because it's in my best interest that your heart keeps beating." You're lost in his eyes, unwillingly, but they're so intense and haunting that you can't bring yourself to look away.

"...Why?"

“Because you make me feel like the man I never had the chance to become.” He lowers his face down, until his lips are brushing the skin of your cheek, barely a touch but it still earns shivers to run down your spine, your whole body trembling with anticipation, “The years I’ve spent thinking my soul was lost forever were nothing but a journey to find its other half…” His lips glide to the shell of your ear, his words barely audible when they fall from his mouth, “Right here, inside you.”

They’re just words. They’re nothing but words.

There’s an uncomfortable lump of yearning deep inside your throat that you’re struggling to swallow. The anger, the betrayal, the blood-curdling disgust at his lies is dissipating into your veins. Replaced by tingles and butterflies, a feeling so intense it’s as if every nerve in your body is aflame, every line of defence melting from the unmistakable fire of passion.

His lips are a hair away from yours, the soft bend of his nose resting on your cheek, face slanted, his eyes fluttered shut.

“To lose you, is my only fear.”

“You can’t lose something you never had.” You whisper back, and Jungkook’s heavy eyelids open just enough for him to analyse your reaction.

His breath is warm on your lips, contrasting against the coolness of his silver lip ring that’s somehow even closer now, “Having you would be an extraordinary honour, but my intention isn’t to seduce you.”

“Then what is your intention…?” You gasp quietly, thrown off-balance by the unexpected heat of this moment. Without realising it Jungkook has walked you back to the bed, allowing you to fall onto the mattress before he’s caging you in. His immortal being on top of yours, holding himself in place with one hand as the other trails the naked skin of your collarbone.

His eyes are stuck on you from above, messy hair tickling your cheeks when a gentle smile creases his supple skin. “Over the centuries I’ve seduced countless women, but now I’m forced to accept that you’re the only one to seduce me. My only intention is to finally submit to that feeling.”

Overwhelmed by this moment of forever, the white hot disgust in him long forgotten - you kiss him.

Your bodies mould against each other's, fitting together with a stunning perfection you’ve never felt before. His pouted lips are soft against your own but desperate, moving so quickly that the air is knocked from your lungs. Your tongue slips into his mouth and is messily greeted with his own, the two muscles working in perfect sync when a blissful sigh fills the otherwise silent room.

“But... What if I want you to seduce me?” You pant between a string of kisses so hungry your whole body feels starved of touch. The mutual greed for each other is unsatisfiable, your fingertips are buried in his long raven locks, his free hand exploring your curves with so much pressure that you know you’ll be bruised.

But you don’t care.

Jungkook pulls back with long fangs, a heaving chest and a voice so horse and thickened by lust that it sends a pang of heat straight to your core, “I’ll have you in every way I can get you.”

He kisses you again, and this time there’s a familiarity of his lips brushed against yours that consumes you. Like two halves of one whole finally shredding their pride and submitting to their fate. He takes you by the waist and flips your bodies atop of the mattress, until your legs are straddling his thick thighs and he’s laid flat on his back.

Leaning down you crush your lips to his, physically incapable of breaking the bond between you. Jungkook’s hands fly up to the headboard so strongly that he breaks the wood, it’s crumbling between his fingertips but he never stops kissing you back. Not once. Not even to stop you from pushing the thin material of his shirt up his body, until every bump and crevice of his taught abdomen is hit with cold air.

Busying his hands with tearing the throw pillows apart he deepens the kiss into something more. Something that has your body screaming for him to be closer, something that ignites your body from your scalp to your toes.

“Even in death, I’ve never felt so alive.” He heaves against your mouth, distracting himself from the desire to feed by gripping your hips and pulling you closer to his noticeably growing anticipation.

“Ah.” You hiss, wincing in pain when the hold of your bones is harsh enough to crush them, “Jungkook…” You whisper, breaking away from his mouth, “You’re hurting me.”

With no hesitation spared Jungkook removes his hands, snaking one up to his fangs where he plunges them deep into his wrist. The eternal crimson liquid stains his lips before they find yours again, the taste of his blood providing you with a rush of euphoria. The ache in your hips seemingly never existing to begin with.

All you can think about is his nearness, the fact your bodies are writhing around so fearlessly swept up in each-other’s presence. Nothing else matters. He’s addicting. His body, his lips, and dare you say it even his blood.

Reality wins you to pause, take a beat away from him to catch your breath. This is the same vampire that lied to you about your blood donations, the same vampire who has been slugging back shots of your DNA as if it were the most normal, mundane thing on earth.

“I want you,” Jungkook pants, showcasing his inhumane strength when he’s flipped your bodies until you’re the one pinned down. There’s a loud snap from beneath you and you’re almost rolling off the mattress before he catches you, adjusting your positions until you’re at the other end of the bed. The wood crumbles beneath your weight, feathers exploding in the air when he takes a fistful of pillow beside you.

“All of you. Your mind, your body… Your soul.” He pants, lips trailing down your neck in a string of wet kisses that make your head spin, “My deepest desire is to conquer everything you have, everything you are. Until you’re mine.”

But his list is one detail short. Your blood.

A surge of arrogance rushes through you, prompting you to push him back and climb on top of him. To your equal parts surprise and relief he allows this, his body shuddering with something you feel too. Unmistakable, undeniable, uncontrollable lust. You distract him with your kiss, not missing the way a low moan slips into your mouth along with his tongue. Your body is desperate for more, as is your heart. But much to the disappointment of your libido you listen to your brain and restrain him. Binding his hands with the shackles you spotted on arrival.

As soon as they click into place you find the strength to peel away from Jungkook, after one final kiss. A kiss you’re certain will be your last, so you make it count. You kiss him again and again, until the remains of his blood is smeared across both your lips. Until you’re gasping for air. Until he registers where his hands are placed and what you’ve just done.

“Don’t be scared,” He coos, leaning forward where his tongue meets the structure of your jawline, licking the skin so sinfully you have to bite back a groan, “Untie me, I want to feel your body writhe beneath mine when I annihilate you.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to see his words through, you stop. You muster the strength to get off the now very broken bed and stand before him. Adjusting your dress that apparently was pushed up to reveal your underwear merely moments before. Glancing round the room in search for your purse you find it, holding it between your fingers when Jungkook’s deep voice catches your attention.

“Did I hurt you?” The guilt in his voice is enough to tug at your heartstrings, and you have to remind yourself of the lies he’s told you. Where your donations were really going all this time. You swallow, finally looking his way.

He’s a mess. A heavy breathing, pornographic looking mess. Raven wayward hairs tickle the bridge of his nose, but it’s his blood-stained lips and prominent fangs that remind you that ending this here was the right decision. No matter how badly you want him, how much you crave his touch, his body, his heart. He’s a monster. A vampire. A liar.

“No, you didn’t.” You mumble, swallowing.

It’s now or never, you’ve managed to keep these thoughts at bay this entire night. The whole reason you came here to begin with. You never intended for it to go this far, you didn’t plan on anything like this happening at all. But once again you found yourself caught in the sticky web of the most handsome demonic spider you've ever encountered.

“What’re you doing? What’s in the bag?” His angled chin tips to your purse, noticing that your anxious gaze keeps flickering between him and the accessory.

“Insurance.” You whisper.

“Insurance for what?”

The sexual tension has shifted into something much, much darker. Now that your breaths are steady and your mind de-clouded from the spell of Jungkook’s lips you know what you have to do. You think about Eddie, his condition, how much pain your twin brother is in every single day.

And how you can stop it.

“I need a vial of your blood.” Your eyes snap to his, and he looks hurt. The calmest expression haunts his handsome features, but in spite of the fact he doesn’t visibly seem angry – you’ve never been more terrified of him. “My-, my brother is terminally ill. I need—”

“Untie me.” He growls, the chains clanging against the steel hook on the wall. You recognise the scripting of the shackles, they're identical to the ones in his basement, you know that for whatever reason he’s bound by them until you say otherwise. “So that’s why you came here tonight, hm? For my blood.”

“It’s the least you can do for me.” You sniff. To bring up the lies, or to leave them in the dark? Now that is the question.

“I’m not giving your sick brother my blood. I don’t give anybody my blood, it’s mine.”

“You gave it to me.” You remind him, reaching into your purse for your ‘insurance’ that he will do as you say. One way or another you’re going to use him exactly how he used you, and hopefully save your brother’s life in the process.

Jungkook’s features drop until no emotion remains, “That’s different. You're different. You can take me in every way imaginable.”

“I won’t ask you nicely again.”

“I implore that you don’t.” He scoffs, “It’s never going to happen. You’re the only exception.”

With a pounding heart and sweaty palms you peel the gun from your purse, clicking the safety off before you aim it toward the one thing standing in the way of Eddie’s recovery. Jungkook is amused to say the least, a sinister grin tugging the corners of his blood-stained, pierced lips when a light-hearted sigh escapes him.

“Do you know anything about vampires? That won’t kill me.” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Either stop talking nonsense and untie me, or get over here so we can finish what we started. I’m willing to overlook your little outburst just this once.”

Ignoring his pleas you nod, slowly, calculatedly, “I might not know much about your kind but I do know one or two things about you…” You whisper, flexing your wrist until the barrel of the gun is pressed tightly against the hollow of your temple. The temperature of the cold weapon shocks you enough to drown out the sounds of Jungkook battling with his restraints, snarling and swearing that you release him immediately.

“I have no reason to live, yet every reason to die.” Your eyes well up with tears, you’ve ingested vampire blood. Jungkook’s blood. If he doesn’t give into your commands you’ll be one of his kind for eternity… It wasn’t the plan, but it’ll have to suffice, you know you won’t get this chance again.

“Give me your blood Jungkook. Or you’ll lose your pet blood bag forever.”

x

#jungkook #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook fic #jungkook writers #jungkook writing #vampre!jungkook #vamp!jk #jungkook vampire au #jungkook fantasy au #vampire ff #vampre lore #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook series #jungkook bts

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter two

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, furina ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 4.4k

Lady Furina is late, as per usual.

Her habitual tardiness plays out once again, drawing collective sighs from both you and the Iudex. He, unable to conceal his impatience, casts glances at his watch. Its hands, now stubbornly fixed at half past one, only amplified the unease in the room.  Her anticipated arrival, fifteen minutes overdue, transforms the hostility into an awkward spectacle of fidgeting and exchanged glances.

Tapping your feet on the carpeted floor, you begin to grow tired of her antics, a light leer creeping across your face. It beggars belief at how Fontaine’s archon lacked haste and awareness at the same time. 

Your palm slides down your face in exasperation as another groan leaves your lips. “We ought to wait for her all day at this rate.” Exhaustion tires you to a point where you don’t mind talking to the man you are still angry with, and when you realise this, it is already too late to revoke your words.

His face alters into an expression of utter surprise at your snide remark. “I am certain she will be here soon. There is no need to be pessimistic, madame.”

Almost as if summoned, the doors open with a grande flair you couldn’t mistake for anyone but Lady Furina herself. 

“Speak of the devil…” you mumble under your breath, already irritated upon seeing her irritating grin, one of nonchalance and apathy.

Neuvillette stands from his seat out of courtesy, you following suit with a light curtsy. The Hydro Archon eyes the two of you (more like one; her eyes stay locked on Neuvillette — disregarding you entirely) to which she lets out a shriek. “Dear me, where has your coat gone, Chief Justice? This is not good for your reputation! This is��the Palais Mermonia! Not an orphanage.”

“I don’t recall there ever being a dress code… Lady Furina,” With crossed arms, his gaze shoots through her, both their expressions dimming (hers to fear and his into what seemed to be exasperation). “And might there be a reason for your lack of punctuality? You are late,” he says, rather flatly — but oh, if looks could kill. 

The ruffles of her skirt miraculously flow in the still air as she spreads her hands wide in declaration. “Why, aren’t you a bold one to question how I spend my time? I am Furina, the Hydro Archon, Focalors! I know what is best!”

At her proclamation, Neuvillette shuts his eyes, almost all-too-familiar with her antics. “Lady Furina, I urge you to focus on the urgent matter at hand. Here — this is the communique issued from a faction that concerns everyone present in my office at this very moment.”

Upon being presented the report, her jaw slacks (for what, exactly, you are unsure) and she turns to face you, almost in disbelief. At being subject to her gaze, you can’t help but give her a perplexed look in return. “Th…this is our new head of civil affairs? What happened to that ha — I mean the old man that we had? The new hire looks a little… rough around the edges if I do say so myself!”

You cross your arms in contempt.“I recommend you talk without me in earshot if you are to speak of me in such a manner, Lady Furina. If you truly doubt my abilities, I hope you see to it that Neuvillette hand picked me out of a pool of… lesser capable candidates.”

“And she bites!” She turns to the Iudex in concern, her free hand pointing your way. “How have you found someone with such audacity is a question looming over my very head! — or hat…”

“Lady Furina, allow me to apprise you that she is not just any ordinary individual; she has diligently served in my stead during my absence for reasons of which you are aware.”

“I’m afraid I do not recall,” she admits plainly.

A playful smirk fights to play on your lips. “Are you certain you do not remember me? Acting Chief Justice, the new fighting force of Fontaine’s judicial system,” Furina’s eyes dart around the room, discomfort showing from the gradual slowing of exaggerated movements. How you’d kill for such a spectacle to be broadcasted on the front pages of The Steambird. 

“No? Let me jog your memory. You and the actual Iudex decide to play house and leave office. I… the most qualified lawyer in Fontaine, take the role of…” Your gloved hands motion for her to complete the phrase, and in the tension that hangs in the air, Neuvillette scrunches his face in distaste at where this conversation is headed.

Furina shoots a finger in the air. “Ah! Yes! You were Acting Chief Justice! I do remember you — I apologise, your face isn’t all that recognisable. Haha…” and your face is insufferable, you thought.

The man beside you clears his throat. “We have diverted from the original topic of this meeting. Please, Lady Furina. Do take a look at it — your input is greatly appreciated.” 

She lets out a yawn. “Yes, yes. Now stop pressuring me.”

Shakily, you let out a sigh, fighting the urge to have your fist connect with her cheek to hear the satisfying crack of bone. Compose yourself, you thought with patience running thin. Though you had only seen her up in the nosebleeds in the Opera Epiclese (besides a few appearances up close when you were a lawyer), it was all you really needed to know of her knack for drama. You decide you would not entertain her. “Lady Furina, I’m afraid you fail to recognise the gravity of this situation. Fifty people have died in Poisson. You are their — our — archon, and negligence to act will only give reason for every faction under the sun to put pressure on us. Hell, you’ve made it to the gossip columns!” 

Gripping on the armrest for leverage, you conclude that the only way to influence the woman in front of you is to prove a point; but as you stand, Neuvillette holds out a hand to prevent you from doing so. You can only shoot him a glare.

“Fifty people? Dead? Oh n— I… I know what I am doing! You mortals just…just lack the proficiency to comprehend my acts of divinity! Yes! That’s it.”

You quirk a brow. It looked as if it is more an act to convince herself of her own godhood than anything else — and you feel as though the Iudex is just as bewildered as you are. Assuming his familiarity with her drabbles, he is cordial enough to drop the subject of commenting on it entirely.

At the beat of silence, she lets out an awkward laugh. “Why of course, of course. Do not fret, you two, I have this all under control,” She brings her hands together in celebration of whatever perception of herself she had dancing around in her head. Whether what she claims is pure drab or sincerity, you do not care. Your impression of Lady Furina has already painted an excruciating picture of your future dealings with her.

“I am very sure you do, Lady Furina,” you seethe. A puckish expression spreads across her face, and you assume it is to spite you in all her ‘divine’ glory.

Gracing you and Neuvillette with a painfully royal yet undignified wave, she grins. “I'll see myself out then! Toodloo…” And before any of you are given the chance to speak, she is out as swiftly as she arrived, the sickly scent of her perfume lingering in the strained air.

You let out a deep exhale you never realised you were holding up until the moment of her departure. 

You turn to the man beside you. “Do you have alcohol?”

This earns a stunned look from the Iudex. “I am afraid not.”

“I don’t suppose you have anything that holds the same quality of alcohol, do you?”

“Regrettably, I do not,” he repeats again, “but I do have water sourced from Qingce Village if that is of any aid.”

You shrug. “Whatever works.”

Downing the water with great fervour, you find that you are a lot more… lucid than you were a few minutes before. 

“That woman reeks of vanity,” you sigh, standing from your seat in an attempt to clear your head.

“I understand that her demeanour may come off as overbearing, but I assure you that there is more than meets the eye whenever anything pertains to her.”

“And is that good or bad?”

“It is both her strength and weakness, Madame. Agree to disagree, everyone possesses idiosyncrasies.”

“Ever the impartial judge, huh,” you huff, cringing at the words flowing out of your mouth with no restraint. Lowering your gaze, you are surprised to see his eyes boring into yours with an expression you aren’t able to discern. You seek to feigning interest at the chandeliers that you, with all honesty, find rather bland for something of the Iudex’s stature.

The Chief Justice does not seem to notice what you are doing — and instead, tears his gaze off of yours, sets some papers aside, and places them on top of a stack of legal codices.“Well, madame, that is just the nature of my job,” he says with a wry smile. “Oh, and, I… suppose I’ve never truly thanked you in person for taking my place in my absence, and I’d like to say that I am grateful for your service. I understand the burden of such a position.” 

“You underestimate me greatly— it is nothing you need thank me for, Chief Justice. I only did it for the nation. I do not need recognition,” you pause, reaching for your satchel. “And I presume that I should return your coat, to avoid partiality,” You present it to him with a rigidness that only came with the oddity of it all.

He waves you off. “There shall be no need. I am having another one tailored.”

“I do not want debts I cannot repay.” You retort sharply, with all the courage you muster.

“Since there isn’t any use insisting for you to keep it, I will accept.” 

“And I will see myself out.” You pat whatever stray strands of thread that clung to the silk of your dress, and lament the thought of how this is, really, the only dress that flatters you. You nearly grin at the thought of your next paycheque; how exciting!

Neuvillette stands from his seat and bows his head.

Closing the door to his office, you shut your eyes to compose yourself. An understatement it is, to say that you are just exhausted; you need every commodity that graces Fontaine. A manicure would do — or maybe a new hairdo? — or maybe you are long overdue for a vacation; you always wondered whether the soothing onsens of Inazuma were as good as people made it seem. 

The faster I leave the palais, the faster it will be for me to take a good shower. And you do just that. Well, attempt to, at least.

It is just after you exit the palais when the stillness is broken by a soft patter of footsteps approaching from behind, barely audible in the hush surroundings. An unwanted feeling of smugness takes control of your senses; there is only one person it could be, and you wonder what matter deems itself so important a brief detour from one’s never-ending cascade of duties is needed.

A gloved hand ghosts over your arm, and it doesn’t even take you a full turn of your head to recognise the familiar silver strands of hair that dance in the moonlight. You blink. Your prediction rings true, and you brace yourself for the impending exchange.

Though it is dark and your eyesight is anything but clear, you do not fail to recognise the apprehensive look he dons when he notices you pulling away from him.

“What’s the matter?” you question plainly.

“‘I’m—” His voice trails off. Staring blankly at him in expectancy, he falters.

“I just wanted to express my gratitude. It has been a pleasure working with you, madame,” he states softly, the opulent blue of his eyes showing brightly against the backdrop of the sky. Your breath catches. You pray the lighting saves you from embarrassment.

You intently stare back at him. “I don’t understand the necessity to state what has been stated, monsieur,” You take a step back, and find you are able to breathe again. “You are the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and I suspect you are aware that any association with me — or anyone that is not Lady Furina for that matter outside these walls — will compromise the public's perception of your impartiality. Forgive me for being brusque.”

His lips purse, set stiffly into a fine line. “Of course, madame.” 

You only nod.

____

“Kiara, Liath, I am afraid I have to decline. There are pressing matters I need to attend to.”

The Melusines are visibly dejected by this rejection, and aptly, do not accept this response. Kiara speaks first: “But Monsieur Neuvillette! You cannot be presenting yourself to the public in such a manner — take a look at your hair! It is unruly and tangled at the ends!” She waddles to Neuvillette’s side of the table and holds the ends of his hair in her palms, extending her arm out so he is obliged to acknowledge her concern. “Look at these strands, they are splitting.”

The second Melusine speaks next: “If you do not have much time, we can just redo your hairdo and work what we’ve got,” she says, earning a satisfied nod from Kiara. “Haircare is a subject for another time.”

The Iudex seems to consider this for a moment, fist on his chin in thought. “A few minutes of leisure couldn't hurt anyone now, could it?” He regards the excitement plastered on the faces of the two Melusines, and with great difficulty, finds that he cannot deny their pleas.

“Alright then, I give you my consent,” he says firmly, but the smile creeping in betrays his every move. “But make it fast!”

The two of them gesture for him to stand, but he does not understand if it means he should sit on the floor or stand for the comfort of the two of them. Liath stifles a giggle as Kiara exaggerates her movements to convey a clearer message, and Neuvillette chuckles as he stands, turning around.

He sees Liath’s head peek from under his arm. “So what will it be today, Monsieur Neuvillette? A braid?”

“Well,” he jests, “if it is what flatters me, then I don’t see why there should be any objections.”

Soundlessly, they begin to make short work of his hair. Though there are times where a knot gets caught and a strand stretches taut, he sacrifices a grimace if only it means that he can see the pair behind him happy. If anyone were to take a peek at the Chief Justice’s office from afar, they would see two Melusines in a silly dance with curtains of hair in the grip of their palms, giggling in all their silliness.

The gentle morning sun graces his features as he looks out the window, and he shuts his eyes in contentment. He indulges in the warmth that settles over his skin, the very warmth that dots his freckles with a sun kissed gleam seldom seen by all; and he, too, is blissfully unaware of how unbearable it is for a lover like those from light novels to resist the temptation of tracing them: a likeness of a constellation behind a backdrop of midnight.

Before the knot on the braid is tied, their laughter is interrupted by the incessant banging on the door of the office. 

The Iudex’s slight smile droops. 

He turns slowly, careful to not ruin the braid and most importantly, the efforts of the pair that stood at knee height. The smile that disappeared returns when he sees Kiara signal for Liath to ‘shushhh!’, hands still holding tightly onto Neuvillette’s hair.

“I will attend to you soon,” he bellows. “Please, wait a moment.”

A familiar, grating voice sounds from the other end. “The audacity of you to deny the requests of your archon! I demand an explanation at once!”

At the recognition, this elicits a low groan from the Iudex. “I am occupied concurrently, Lady Furina. I implore you to have some patience.”

“And who are you to give me orders?” The door opens with great force, and he feels the braid in his hair begin to loosen. Looking around, he sees a few dashes of azure blue showing through the couch on his left; so they’ve decided to hide , he thinks, but the thought vanishes when the opening of the door widens, and he is oh, so blessed to find the ever revered archon with a crumpled tabloid in hand.

–——

Sucking in a sharp breath before pushing through the doors of the palais, you convince yourself that maybe Furina would loosen up to you — or maybe you’d just grow to tolerate her; but the thought of getting involved in any affairs with the two absolute roots of Fontaine’s laws for longer than you can imagine has you almost reeling. The image of what occurred last night leaves a bitter taste on your tongue; if only he wasn’t so — 

You push the thought aside, forcing a grin to keep up appearances. 

It isn’t long before you sense the oddly tense silence that suffocates Palais Mermonia, and it isn’t long before you fall victim of it, too. Everyone is robotically still, and you automatically conclude that they are judging your unruliness — but you come to the realisation that none are looking at you, per se, but instead intently listening to the quarrel that has permeated the Chief Justice’s office.

Though, the click of your heel has everyone’s head snapping to yours, and now find that they are, indeed, judging you — but for what exactly, you cannot discern. They fall into hushed whispers and what you swear are sour looks.

You retrace your steps. Nothing. What could you possibly have done to have everyone looking at you in such a manner? An instinct kicks in; you need to get away.

“Psssst!” a voice calls out from the end of the hallway. You let out a breath of relief. 

You quicken your pace, afraid that if you walk any slower, the grips of whatever force is out to get you will have you in their grasp, and the possibility of you being trodden over by the world might have you plead guilty and sentenced for life in the Fortress of Meropide. You shudder at the thought.

Sedene looks oddly pressed. 

“What is going on?” You question a little breathlessly.

She points to Monsieur Neuvillette’s office, and you instinctively advance closer to the door that was left ajar. The Melusine grabs your attention by tugging at your blouse, and promptly, flails her hands around as if to say: ‘don’t make a sound!’.

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Monsieur Neuvillette and Lady Furina… they seemed to have gotten into a dispute!”

You press your ear to the wood, and aren’t able to make out much except a few sharp profanities to which you aren’t familiar with. The door widens a little, and you catch sight of something in the hand of the Hydro Archon.

Is she… holding something? It surely isn’t the report from earlier, for it had been splattered across the ground at her little outburst. 

“The Présidence du Conseil d'État, she…”

Your interest piques at the mention of your title; what exactly could they be talking about? You shut your eyes to focus better.

“—This brings scandal to us! Do you not unders…”

“...You cannot possibly be considering this way of…

“That brat is involved. That brat! The Présidence d…”

Your eyes widen a fraction. Did she just call you a brat…? 

Sedene drags you back to reality by shoving a roll of paper in your hand. “Please, you must read the front page. ” You chuckle at this; why would she be so adamant to give you this now out of all times?—

Oh. 

Oh no.

Your jaw drops at the headline. 

SCANDAL UNFOLDING: THE CHIEF JUSTICE AND PRÉSIDENCE DU CONSEIL D'ÊTAT SPOTTED TOGETHER – 

A ROMANCE BLOSSOMING AT THE HEART OF FONTAINE'S SYSTEM!

That’s what Lady Furina was holding.

The adrenaline that rushes through you does not give you time to think. Giving Sedene a brief glance, you push the door. The Melusine grabs your hand. 

“No, no, no, madame! You mustn't—!”

Gently sliding away from her grip, you retort: “Yes, I must.” The look on the Melusine’s face is a perplexed one, and you choose to soften your tone at the guilt. “This matter pertains to me and I deserve to know why.”

Sedene nods, and promptly, moves out of your way. You barge through the doors of the man’s office. They do not seem to notice, too involved in their own quarrel to know to acknowledge that the doors are wide open.

You breathe in sharply. “Stop this at once.” Their attention is diverted almost immediately at your tone. 

“Look at her, Neuvillette! She is brash and rude and oh, so unladylike. Is this the woman you have entangled yourself with? Ugh, why won’t you answer me?”

Neuvillette groans. “I have clarified this one too many times. Lady Furina, these ‘romantic’ dealings have been misinterpreted by the public. You, the Hydro Archon, should be most aware of their foibles.”

She then aggressively points to the photo printed in monochrome — the photo of you pressed against his chest. You wince in anger, restraining yourself from ripping the paper from her hands.

“I have believed you countless times, Chief Justice. But this, I cannot accept.” She has her hands on her hips, a smug smile that you believe to be fake making its way onto her features. She shifts her gaze to you, and grins. “You said I was making it to the gossip columns, which means I need something to divert the attention from myself. And you… have just set yourself up for my redemption.”

Her eyes narrow with cunning. Something stirs in the pit of your stomach and you wish you never hear the curse that spills from her lips.

“I, the Hydro Archon, Focalors, hereby declare that you, the Présidence du Conseil d'État, are to be married to the Chief Justice of Fontaine.”

The room falls silent in collective disbelief.

Neuvillette is as bemused as you are. “I— Lady Furina, you cannot be serious.”

“Oh but except I am,” she declares.

She laughs cruelly at your stricken expression. “Aww… tongue-tied now, are we?” 

You jab a finger at her chest. “You conniving bitch—” 

She tuts, swatting your hand away with pitiful force. “Oh and now you’re acting ungrateful. I, Focalors, am buying time so I can save the people of Fontaine. Is that not what you wanted?” She chuckles into her palm, bending over at the sheer intensity of her delirium.

“Y—You’re just doing this to get back at me.” Your mind is a flurry of anger, confusion and everything that lies in between.

“And who told you that? I am just! I am the God of Justice — so why bite the hand that feeds you?”

“And what, exactly,” you snap, “have you done for the people of Fontaine? Oh, my mistake — your people!”

At your remark, she goes silent.

The Chief Justice steps forward, eyes slate. “Lady Furina, I implore you to retract your words at once.”

Furina perks up at this. “That I will not. The request still stands, Chief Justice.”

You contemplate your life within the fortress if you were to decline the offer, entertaining the notion that perhaps, you would be content with genuine, fervent romance. The Duke had always appeared charming to you, and you consider this for a single, lurching moment.

“And what if I am to refuse? Will you send me into exile? Banish me and leave Fontaine in disarray, all because of your foolishness?” You catch Neuvillette’s head snapping to yours in horror. 

She sputters in pure, unadulterated laughter. “I admire your courage! But your boldness can only take you so far, Présidence du Conseil d'État. You seem to forget the first clause that is printed on every copy of the legal codices that shape Fontaine. How, very telling of your inexperience.”

For this, she is wrong — because you do remember; and you recall it with great heaviness. 

The edict of the Hydro Archon takes precedence above all; any sign of rebellion shall subject the transgressor to severe punishment. 

Your expression falls. 

Furina pouts —and you nearly reach for the musket at your hip to plant a bullet through her skull. “Now, don’t give me that long face. I understand that you are pragmatic and mature enough to suck it up and take my command like a true head of Fontaine’s civil affairs. Live up to your predecessor!” She gives you a rough nudge on your shoulder and turns to leave.

The Iudex takes an empathetic look at you and shifts his gaze to the woman whose back is turned.“I repeat myself one more time, Lady Furina. Please, revoke your request.”

“Since you’re so adamant, I will make one exception: you may delay the wedding for a month — but maintain courtship up until you two are wed.” She turns her head, but her feet remain rooted on the floor. “Sounds good? ‘Cause it sounds like an absolute opera waiting to burst at the seams! Isn’t it just so refreshing to see people play actors for the first time in their lives? Oh I’m just so elated!”

She flashes a toothy grin, and exits stage left. 

The tension that hangs in the air has you and Neuvillette up in knots.

There is a shuffling that comes from behind one of the couches, but you are too lost and confused to acknowledge it.

Put the blame on your daze, but it is only now that you begin to regard the Chief Justice’s appearance. His tousled hair, with a braid coming undone and a bow haphazardly clipped in, almost brings a smile to your face as you realise that with the unruliness brings out a type of boyish manner from him. Closing your eyes in disbelief, the realisation sinks in—you cannot be marrying this man.

“I will find a way to reverse her words, madame. You have my word.” You note the brewing desperation in the very base of his voice. 

You conclude that there is no other way than to acquiesce to her wants; for it is pointless to counter her absurdity. It is difficult to argue with a difficult person, but it becomes nigh impossible to argue with someone who firmly believes they are right.

In the heat of it all, you are too disoriented to notice the heads of two Melusines peeking out from behind a couch. This comes as a surprise, however, for uniform blue could make anyone stick out like a sore thumb. 

“You do not have to act like you care for me, Monsieur Neuvillette. You are only saying this because you feel as if it is necessary. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Neuvillette tries reaching for you again, but this time, you are quick to pull away. “Your reputation precedes you, monsieur. I hold you in that regard.”

a/n : bro icl I just love neuvillette like im sry for doing him dirty its for the plot but hes j so scrumptious he makes me soaejjakehfebdk like I just wanna gnaw his cheeks so violently the world falls apart

taglist : @sek0ya

#neuvillette genshin #genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fanfic #reader insert #furina #marriage of convenience #NEUVILLETTE HAS FRECKLES AND I STAND BY THAT.

[its-your-mind]

11 year old Gerry Kaey - a psychological analysis

[ID: screenshot from a spreadsheet of two columns and two rows. The first column is labeled “First Name,” with “Gerard” listed below it. The second column is labeled “Last Name,” with “Kaey” listed below it. End ID]

Like everyone else, I was of course delighted by the presence of our beloved arsonist on our list of child test-subjects at the World Line 2 Magnus Institute (not delighted that he was having unethical psychology experiments performed on him, delighted by his presence. though it’s possible that this was actually a better childhood than he had with Mary. but I digress.)

(Data set can be found here, if anyone else wants to make a copy and play with it, and this post has my fave analysis of the sheet itself)

The data for Gerard Kaey was absolutely delightful, and it indicated more than almost anything else that some people were in fact the same (or very similar) across world lines. I was going to post about it and then I remembered that not everyone was forced to take a slightly outdated Educational Psychology class recently, and thus the random names at the top would not be indicators of fuckin anything without extensive Googling.

I figured trolling the internet for details on outdated developmental psychology theories and unethical sociology experiments is not most people’s idea of a fun afternoon (tho in the magnus fandom you never know); either way I figured I’d pull out the fun and interesting data on this goth child and translate it into human terms for us all to enjoy.

(QUICK NOTE: Pretty much all of these theories are outdated on account of being No Good and quite reductive and many of the experiments are EXTREMELY fucked up (all of which makes sense, given where these fictional data came from). If you’re curious about any of the actual psychological theories and criticisms, here’s a relatively jargon free summary, with further reading at the bottom. I’m gonna follow the time-honored tradition of psychology professors and say “well it sucks and was bad that this happened BUT it did happen and we might as well use the data to come to some general conclusions and/or ask better questions, especially about the people performing those tests in the first place.” anyway ty for coming to my TED talk ONTO THE GERRY DATA)

[ID: screenshot from a spreadsheet of three columns and two rows. The first column is labeled “Kholberg,” with “Level 3” listed below it. The second column is labeled “Prosocial,” with “High” listed below it. The third column is labeled “Empathy Index,” with “95%” listed below it. End ID]

Let’s start here.

Kholberg’s Theory of Moral Development is a metric for measuring the moral development in children. It has three stages. A child who has reached the “third stage” demonstrates a consideration of the needs and feelings of others when making morality-based decisions and judgements, even above the norms and expectations of society.

Prosocial behavior is behavior that can be characterized as having no direct benefit to the person performing an action; something done entirely for the good of others.

Empathy Index is pretty self-explanatory (as far as I can tell, it’s not actually based on anything and is something the researchers created just for this experiment).

So far, we’ve got a rough picture of Gerry as a kid who has a strong moral compass, who is quick to help, even when there’s no benefit for himself. Who considers what the people around him might want or need. Who is able to throw social expectation out the window when someone else is in need.

Reminds me of that older, slightly different version of himself, sitting alone at a table in Venice, wearing a Hawaiian shirt because he’s “on vacation,” sighing in exasperation at the interruption and telling a stranger to think of her mother.

[ID: screenshot from a spreadsheet of two columns and two rows. The first column is labeled “Milgram,” with “Low” listed below it. The second column is labeled “Asch,” with “Low” listed below it. End ID]

These are my favorite rows. They’re all the way at the end of the spreadsheet, which kind of makes me imagine that the testers had this image of a highly developed child, a kid who seemed perfect for whatever they had planned. And then…

Milgram was the motherfucker who ran the experiment where people were told to press a button, and when they did, another participant was delivered an electric shock. (there wasn’t actually a shock in Milgram’s experiment, just an actor pretending to be shocked. The socks were fake, but the psychological damage was real!) The test was designed to measure how long people would continue to do what they were told by the “scientist” running the test, even as the electric shock appeared to grow stronger. A “low” score is indicative of someone who bailed out ASAP, no matter what the test-runner said.

The Asch Conformity Experiment put a large number of people in the room (most of whom were actors) and showed them a series of images of lines with different lengths, and they had to identify which was longest. The actors all gave the correct answer for the first few, and then all of them started to give the exact same wrong answer (i.e. all of them would say B, even if Line A was clearly longest). The test measured how likely a subject was to conform to the group opinion, even when they knew the people around them were objectively wrong, if they were the only one offering a different (but correct) answer over the course of several rounds of images.

I have this super clear image of little Gerry in a ratty pair of jeans and a band t-shirt, long hair absolutely unbrushed, walking into a room with a dude in a lab coat and someone else strapped to a chair and IMMEDIATELY getting suspicious, and just refusing to press the button again once he realized what it did, leaving the actors just… lost as to how to proceed. And then with the Asch test, he’s just sitting there with a look of incredulity on his face looking at the people around him and saying “do you people need fucking glasses all of a sudden? it’s not fucking B.” and just ignoring them for the rest of the test.

and all of the Magnus people who had been VERY excited about this promising young person all of a sudden realizing that they have accidentally recruited a VERY intelligent juvenile delinquent.

so there you have it! World Line 2 Gerry Kaey was kind when he didn’t have to be, he didn’t give a shit how other people felt about him, he cared deeply for other people, UNLESS of course they were people in authority, in which case he told them to go fuck themselves.

*dreamy sigh* that’ll be our Gerard

final fun notes:

Gerry has the second highest number on the Empathy Index at 95%

The only kid who beat him, with a score of 98%, was 9 year old “Samara Khalid”

10 year old “Conner Dyer” scored “Low” on the Milgram and Asch tests JUST like Gerry. I wonder if they were friends.

Other than that, Dyer is almost exactly average among the rest of the data

Khalid scored “High” on both Milgram and Asch

Wonder how that’s gonna affect things 👀👀👀 high empathy, high value on what other people think

Sam thats so autistic of you I love u

Khalid was also on “Level 3” of Kholberg and had “High” levels of Prosocial behavior, despite being only 9 (super young to have the abstract thinking necessary for that)

#long post #tmagp #the magnus protocol #gerard kaey #the magnus institute #tmagp meta #gerry kaey #tmagp spoilers #tmagp arg #I have so many wikipedia pages about psychology open on my bowser #anyway I hope you ENJOY #I was gonna just make a post with the screenshots and the ‘that’ll be our gerard’ but then I realized that would be fucking inscrutable #so now we have this #yw #(???)

[leofiat-bunny]

After The Scene™

Then

Chen Yi woke up, stumbled through getting dressed, and - when he couldn't find Ai Di - checked his phone. Then he sees the text from the night before. He sends his guys out searching for Ai Di while he goes to hq to speak to Boss about BZY.

When Boss tells him what happened - a bit exasperated but not surprised that Ai Di didn't let him know - he doesn't yell at Boss mostly because he's frozen. He's stuck trying to process "Ai Di will be in prison for as long as BZY is, which will be some years".

Since then he's been more uptight than ever about never setting a foot wrong. When he messes up THIS is what happens. He's legit traumatised by it.

(As said elsewhere, it's no small miracle Chen Yi didn't give himself alcohol poisoning after losing Ai Di.)

If someone else went over his head to leave the gang he'd be annoyed but accept it.

But Ai Di can't go over his head because Ai Di doesn't belong to the gang, he belongs to Chen Yi.

Now

Chen Yi doesn't understand why he's being avoided because "Ai Di thinks I hate him" requires "Chen Yi hating Ai Di" to be a concept that computes and he'd have an easier time dividing by zero.

Chen Yi has long accepted that if Ai Di kills someone, that's on Chen Yi for not being there to stop him.

Of course "killing someone" and "betraying Chen Yi" are very different propects.

As for the betrayal of taking advantage of his drunken state, I don't think Chen Yi will process it like a normal person would. He was raised in a gang. It would be more strange if his moral compass wasn't a bit wonky.

Yes, he could process it by switching their places but I'm not sure he'd really allow it to rest with him?

Almost: if my pet bites me, that's bad; if I bite my pet, that's unforgivable?

(He doesn't think of Ai Di as sub-human or stupid, that was just the best simile that occured to me)

Even if he really allowed it to sit with him, by far the greatest betrayal was leaving.

Meanwhile

Ai Di will do anything to avoid hearing Chen Yi say "I hate you". He knows😒 it but he can't take hearing it.

Except Chen Yi came for him, brought him back, prepared his favourite foods. Ai Di doesn't know what's going on but he does know that hope has no place here.

He's unforgivable and maybe Chen Yi wants to hear Ai Di's excuses before passing judgement, maybe he's been telling himself that Ai Di would never have done that to him.

Ai Di can't stay for the realisation.

He has no place by Chen Yi's side and never will again and he deserves whatever Chen Yi does to him but he can't.

Ai Di is collarless and will remain that way until he's ready to stop running.

Soon

Are we recovered from ep 9? No? Shame, I wanted to break you again.

Well, I have (spoilery) ammunition, so I'll give it my best shot.

I trawled their youtube channels for clues and!!!

(Partially ninja'd because I am a slow bunny)

Next ep

Better pic of outfits for colour convo:

And then

Chen Yi has a tried and tested way of getting Ai Di to come back.

And it still works. Quelle surprise.

Until

Remember what I said about collars? I thought that before finding this and I just lost it.

Give the wardrobe department a raise. And a bonus. And shares. And a prize.

But what is he trying to pinky promise?

"Even if you die tomorrow, you must wait for me to die first. Only then can you die."

"One second. I will give you just one second, then I'll follow."

(I transcribed the subs: 就算你快掛 也要等我先掛 你才能掛

一秒 只讓你一秒 我隨後跟上

According to google translate:

Even if you die quickly You have to wait for me to hang up first Only then can you hang up

One second Just give you a second I followed later

Then I tidied it up a bit, hopefully without moving away from the meaning

I found an official sub where they translate it as

"Promise me that you won't die before I do" "One second, Then I'll follow up right away"

Bonus point? Guess which outfits are in the cover image:

They got to privacy but not home 😊)

#kiseki: dear to me #chen yi x ai di

[eoieopda]

Resubmitting since your requests got deleted (RIP 💔) Can you please write something cute about Jimin? Just whatever plot comes to your big beautiful brain, I’m not picky! 💜 you Jade!

content: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, reader is drunk, jimin goes from sad boi to glad boi 🥰

Jimin, for once, had passed on a party invitation. He wanted to go - really, he did - but his bad mood would undoubtedly ruin everyone else’s good time. Besides, once he started drinking, he could never seem to keep his fucking mouth shut. This was especially problematic, given the circumstances:

You would be there, pink-cheeked and giggling, and you wouldn’t be giggling at him. Not with the “plus one” you intended to bring with you; the guy you’d only started seeing fifteen days ago. He made you smile and he was kind to you, but Jimin would really rather punch himself in the face than continue pretending to be cool about it.

As your best friend, Jimin wished so badly that he could be exclusively happy for you - without feeling so simultaneously deflated. A flat tire personified.

Worse, he was a criminal. Guilty for the part of his brain that wanted this fling to be flung already. Guilty for being self-centered. Guilty for stealing all those glances at you. Larceny might’ve only been a misdemeanor offense, but your best-friend status had to be an aggravating factor.

Besides, wasn’t he committing - at minimum - 43% of the seven deadly sins in one fell swoop?

So, there he sat: on his couch, with lead-lined limbs sprawled out over the cushions. Staring at the ceiling, not moving - just pining. Wallowing, even.

And he was dead-set on staying that way, too, but then his phone started blaring that special, individually assigned ringtone.

“Chimmy!” you whined immediately upon connecting. As usual, you didn’t wait for a greeting before bulldozing your way through the small talk. You were clearly and adorably drunk, but he was the one feeling warm. “Why have you - hic - foresaken me? I can’t beat Junky -“

Did you mean to say Jungkook? Jimin’s scarcely contained laughter was ready to explode out of him like a bomb. Fuck, you were cute. He’d never make it out of this alive.

“ - and Binna at beer pong without my partner.”

Jimin was beaming until his racing thoughts caught up with him. His mouth curved downward as he sheepishly replied, “I thought you got a new partner. Where’s Jae-sung?”

You giggled, snorted, then laughed even harder as a result. Meanwhile, Jimin’s heart spun in pirouettes. You said it as if he should’ve known: “I don’t know where Jae-sung is because I didn’t invite Jae-sung.”

Instantly, his eyes widened so far they might’ve fallen out. He knew he shouldn’t pry, but he was weak and selfish and he needed to know:

“Why not? You seemed to like him well enough.”

“Oh, Jiminie babo,” your exasperated, borderline melodic sigh was drawn out upon exiting your mouth. If he closed his eyes and really tried, he could smell the hard cider you loved so much; dancing on your breath. “He was a - hic - distraction, and then he got distracted.”

“Distraction?” Against his better judgement, there was hope blooming in his chest, “From?”

The more serious you tried to sound, the more you ended up giggling. Though the anticipation was killing him, he could listen to that laugh for hours. It took you two tries to say it; your words would play on loop in his brain far more times than that.

“I have a minimum of five - hic - but no more than seven feelings for my beer bong partner, but he’s not even here, and now I’m losing.”

He was so busy racing for the door, he almost forgot to tell you that he was on his way.

#jade’s drabbles #jade’s requests #bts #bts drabble #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts jimin #bts park jimin #park jimin #pjm #chimchim #chim #jiminie #baby mochi #jimin drabble #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts fluff #bts jimin fluff #park mochi #anon #jade speaks #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bangtan