#I'M SORRY THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR CENTURIES I THOUGHT I HAD POSTED IT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acourtofwhatthefuck · 4 months

Text

A Friend In Need’s A Friend Indeed — Azriel x Cassian.

Summary: Azriel’s been mighty stressed recently. Cassian is a good friend with a good suggestion and a good mouth.

Note: I still haven’t had a chance to sort out my tag lists, I’m sorry. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Life has been so busy recently 😅

Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors dni. 💕

It’s clear to Cassian, the second he walks into the room, that the shadowsinger is in a foul mood.

In all honesty, Azriel has been in a foul mood all week.

He’s not very good at striking a work-life balance. Missions and reports and information flood his thoughts and keep him awake at night. They have done every night this week.

So when Cassian slumps down in the armchair opposite his, he eyes his friend and knows — Azriel is not going to be pleasant company tonight.

His brow is deeply furrowed and darkened as he stares down at the papers in his hands. Cassian considers asking him what, exactly, the report pertains to — but he selfishly decides that the information will numb his brain, and he doesn’t think he can bear to hear it right now. Whatever. Az doesn’t even glance up at him.

So Cass pours himself a drink and settles into the chair. And only after the fifth time Azriel sighs — yes, he’s counting — does he ask, “Long day?”

Az simply grunts and turns the page. This is going to be a long night.

"You look like you could use a drink," the Illyrian General pauses. "Or ten."

No reply.

Cass says, "Az."

"What, Cassian?"

"Why don't you put those papers down and have a conversation? Or better yet, let's go to Rita's—"

"I'm busy."

Cassian purses his lips. “The world isn’t going to end if you set your work aside for the night.”

“Your world is going to end if you don’t stop yapping in my ear,” Azriel pauses, scans the paper — and then growls, chucking it onto the coffee table in front of them both. “This is fucking pointless.”

Maybe Cass should ask, he thinks. He studies his friend. “What is it, exactly, that’s had you in such a foul mood all week?”

Azriel’s bleary hazel eyes merely flick up to him; clearly he doesn’t appreciate the observation. Dark smudges sit beneath his eyes. His entire body, shadows and all, is coiled tightly. Tense.

Oh. Oh. A fight, Cassian realises — a fight is what’s going to take the edge off. Goading Az, provoking him…he’s done it more times than he can count in centuries of friendship. Letting him get a few punches in will surely ease the tension. Cass is willing to do that for him.

“You’ve just been a rain cloud of fucking doom all week,” he smirks as the shadowsinger stiffens even more. “Perhaps you need to get laid. Although, no one will surely come near you while you’re walking around with a face like a slapped ass.”

Cassian waits for his retort. For him to surge forward and knock him out of the chair, or for him to demand that they go right up to the training rings at once and speak through their fists, considering Cass clearly has a lot to say.

But Azriel’s jaw ticks, and he merely shoots back, “Suck my dick, Cassian.”

The mischief almost winks out of Cass’s eyes. Almost. It’s not the response he’s expecting.

But he rights himself and sits up, his smirk widening. “Is that what it will take to cheer you up, Az? Getting your cock between my lips? When was the last time someone sucked you dry?”

The irritated twitching of Azriel’s eye tells Cassian that it’s been way, way too long since someone sucked him dry. And that shocks Cass. Az has many lovers dotted about the city — many different people he could lose himself in for a couple of hours. If he’s not even tearing himself away from his stress for some mindless pleasure, it must be bad.

“Cauldron,” Cassian raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should suck your dick.”

There’s no response. Not even a bark for him to fuck off. Azriel simply shifts in his armchair and clutches a cushion to his lap.

And Cass tracks the movement. He narrows his eyes on that cushion, and it takes him a shamefully delayed moment to realise that it’s been very deliberately placed there. He chokes out a laugh, “Holy shit, are you hard?”

“I wouldn’t be,” Az grits his teeth, “if you’d just shut the fuck up and stop talking about sucking my dick. It’s been a while, okay? I’m wound up.”

“…And is your hand not working, or…”

“It’s not enough. I’ve tried. I can’t…I can’t come.”

Silence settles between them. For once, Cassian isn’t quite sure what to say.

And perhaps Az is expecting him to make a joke, because he shakes his head and quickly stands. Grabs his reports. Makes to book it the fuck out of there.

But Cass says, “Wait.”

“Forget it, Cass—”

“I’m not laughing at you, Az,” he sits up. “You know I’ll always help you in any way that I can.”

Azriel scoffs. “What, like sucking my dick?”

“Why not?”

“Can you be fucking serious for five minutes.”

Cass shrugs, “I’m completely serious.”

Azriel stares back at him, narrowing his eyes. But the usual humour and banter…it’s absent. His face is open, honest.

He’s serious, Az realises. Completely serious.

The shadowsinger raises an eyebrow. “Cass…”

“Are you saying no?”

“…Well, no—”

“So sit down, Az.”

The choice is entirely Azriel’s, and the shadowsinger himself knows that. He can sit down and…and take what Cass is offering…or he can walk out of here and leave that boundary unbreached.

It feels a little surreal as his feet begin moving. Back over to the chair he’d vacated.

He thinks he might be shaking, which is weird, but sex and all that it involves tends to come naturally to Az. But in five centuries, it’s a line that he and Cassian have never crossed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times. They’ve fucked other people in the same room. It’s never come to this.

Until now.

Azriel watches as Cassian rises from his chair and stalks over. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this, can’t believe Cassian is actually offering.

But there’s nothing but sheer will in the General’s eyes as he sinks to his knees. Azriel parts his legs for him.

He swallows hard as Cass drags his hands up his legs. And his voice comes out in a rasp as he says, “You don’t have to do this—”

“Az?” Cass cuts him off.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and enjoy it.”

He can hardly argue with that. And as Cassian unlaces Azriel’s breeches and tugs them apart, the spymaster isn’t sure he’d be able to find the words, anyway.

Cassian’s hand is huge and warm and rough and callused. And as he reaches into Az’s breeches and pulls his hardened cock out, both males let out a little breath.

“Oh, yeah,” Cass eyes the rigid length, the swollen head, leaking with moisture. “You really need this.”

Azriel’s response dies on his tongue at the first stroke. He can only manage a grunt.

“Whatever you need, Az,” Cassian pumps his hand, dipping his head. “Fuck my mouth. I can take it.”

And then, gripping Azriel’s cock in his hand, he drags a broad stroke of his tongue, from the base to the head. Azriel’s hips jerk.

“Shit,” he grits his teeth, eyes intently on Cassian’s tongue.

Cassian smiles and does it again, “Like that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Can you…”

“Put you in my mouth?” as his tongue once again reaches the head, he wraps his mouth around it and hums his approval. He laps at that little pearl of moisture that’s waiting there.

“Fuck, Cass,” Azriel gasps. He relaxes in the seat, fingers sinking into Cassian’s hair.

Cass realises quickly that he enjoys this. He’s had the odd experience with males over the years, but it’s mostly females that take his fancy. But this — feeling Azriel’s cock disappear into his mouth, feeling his thigh flex under his hand, feeling him jerking and writhing on the spot — gods above, he’s so fucking hard right now.

His lips and tongue seem to work in tandem. He drags his mouth over Azriel’s length, licking and sucking as he goes. And then he pulls his lips off him and repeats.

Azriel’s breaths are picking up. This is so much better than his hand. He actually feels like he might come, and not just be beating away at pleasure that never comes to anything. He moans, pulling at the strands of Cassian’s hair. And at the same time, he uses his other hand to push Cass’s head down.

“Gods, Cass, your mouth,” he growls, encouraging the bobbing motion that Cassian’s head falls into. With every push, Cass takes him in deeper, deeper.

And with saliva dripping from his chin, and the head of Az’s dick damn near grazing the back of his throat, a single thought crosses Cassian’s mind: he really likes sucking cock.

“Harder,” Az grunts, not even sure he means to say it. But he just wants…wants Cass to be rough. Wants this to be teetering on the edge of pleasured pain.

But Cass pulls his cock out of his mouth, wrapping his hand around the length. He pumps fast, hard, and then says, “Fuck my mouth, Az.”

The second Cassian’s lips are wrapping around him again, Azriel does exactly that.

He’s lifting his hips and gripping Cassian’s head with both hands, and he thrusts, hard, panting and sweating and swearing. Cassian takes it all like a champ, greedily swallowing every taste of him. His hands grip the back of Azriel’s legs, and he slides his mouth all the way down.

And this time, when the head hits the back of his throat, Azriel stills.

“Fuck!” He shouts, groans, gasps, roars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His cock is absolutely exploding. A week’s worth of pent-up frustration shoots from him and spills down Cassian’s throat. Cass swallows. And swallows. And swallows. Every last drop. He moans while doing so.

Az thinks his hips are still rolling long after his release has rocked him. He can’t bring himself to let go of the pleasure, to remove his cock from his friends mouth. It twitches on Cassian’s tongue and dribbles the remnants of his seed with every jerk. Cassian stares up at him with swollen lips and lustful eyes.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the two males finally part. Both are breathing heavily. Cassian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That was—” Azriel swallows, tucking himself back into his breeches. He doesn’t bother to lace them up. “When did you learn to do that?”

Cassian’s smirk is purely roguish as he pushes to his feet. “I’ve learned a whole lot of things you can’t even begin to imagine,” he rolls his shoulders. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Az watches him, his eyes falling to that hardened bulge that pushes through Cassian’s own trousers. He clearly enjoyed what just occurred. And that thought alone has Az’s cock twitching to life again.

He leans forward, opening his mouth — to say what, to suggest what, he isn’t sure. But before he can voice his desires, footsteps are approaching.

Both males straighten up as Rhys appears in the doorway, a drink in his hand.

The High Lord sniffs, his brow furrowing. And then he looks between his two friends — Az’s unlaced breeches and heaving chest. Cassian’s swollen lips. He puts two and two together.

“Cauldron fucking boil me,” is all he grouses, and then he’s turning back and leaving the way he came.

Leaving Cassian and Azriel alone once more.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar fic #cassian x azriel #smut

402 notes · View notes

biggestsimp12 · 1 year

Text

Let me show you how much i've missed you.

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

(this has been sitting in my drafts for a week now =w=)

! HUGE SPOILERS (sumeru quest)!

(angst with fluff at the end)

(Wanted to do this in 2 parts but scratch that)

---------------————————

You were finally free. You finally escaped that cursed place once and forever.

You ran as screams of terror and agony could be heard behind you, slowly fading away.

Flashbacks from previous minutes floaded your mind, ringing in your brain over and over again.

You were captured and selled by some mora-thirst people to a psychopatic inazumian scientist. They kept experimenting your powers, trying to create changes wich caused you extreme pain, yet little to no change. The scientist took advantage of your immortality to insert all sorts of chemicals in your blood. While he was preparing another dose for one of his endless experiments on you, he accidentally dropped one of his glass tube, causing a big explosion to occur. Creating a sheild around you, you covered your eyes, loud noises echoing through the room. Smoke started to fill your senses, taking your hands off your eyes, watching in horror the sight in front of you. The whole lab was on fire, quickly devouring every inch of the building. Your eyes landed on the trapped figure in front of you. The scientist was being crushed almost to death by thick metal bar. Seeing you staring at him, he ordered you to help. Receiving no answer, he repeated once more, his command turning to pleading to desperately begging you to help him as fire quickly made its way to him. You looked at him almost in a pity full way, heading to the exit, the key word being almost. You started running out hearing your torturers cries for you not to.

You stopped at the only place you knew by heart. Or at least, used to. The chinju forest.

You sat down by a tree trying to catch your breath. You looked down at your freshly cut feet, all covered in blood. You must have cut yourself on the tons of broken glass left in the lab due to the explosion.

You slowly made your way to the small river, sitting down at its edge. You gently washed your feet wincing in pain when touching a deeper cut.

Your only goul now was to reunite with him once more.

-----------———————

Present day (before Nahida ereased everyones memories)

————————-----------

You don't know how much it passed. One century? Maybe 2, 3, 4? You had no idea. Your worst fear was statring to become true. What if you'll never see him again? What if he was dead? Even if not, did he still love you as much as you did? What if he wasn't the same? (even if he wasn't, you'll still accept him either way) Your thoughts were interrupted by bumping into something. Wait no. Someone.

Hey, watch where you're going! A high pitched fairy said, staring at you as you were some kind of criminal.

I'm deeply sorry little floating gi-

Oh no! *I think they look like some fatui! Yikes, not again!* Wait.. Did you just call me floating little girl!? The blonde girl/boy beside her started laughing at her little floating companions change of attitude. The blonde one looked at you, analyzing you as well.

Paimon, i don't fatuis have such type of masks. Besides they don't look like they did it on purpose.

What are fatuis?

They both stared at you in shock as if you just said that you got a bomb and its about to explode.

How could you not know what fatuis are?! Have you been living under a rock!?

Uhm could you stop yelling? I'm right beside you.

Sorry for her. She can over react some times. I'm Aether /Lumine and this is Paimon. Now, do you seriously do not know who the fatui are?

Y/N, nice to meet you. And no i haven't. Could you explain it to me? If you don't mind of course.

Of course we don't!

Ooh~ Paimon wants to tell them! Can i, please, please, please, please, pleaseeee?

------------—————

After exchanging both pasts and explaining about the fatuis

————————------

Yeah! And theres a scary doctor whos experimenting people and! and!

You frowned as you heard the word "experiment", bad memories floading your head. Paimon took notice of this as she started apologizing.

Oh, i'm sorry! Paimon didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!

You looked up at the small fairy beside you, giving her a weak smile.

Don't worry that was hundred of years ago. I'm glad there's someone who understands how i feel. I'm deeply sorry Lumine/Aether. I did see a girl/boy similar to you but that was a long time ago. Did you at least get to see her/him again?

One or two times. Yet she/he was so different than when we used to travel together. What about you? Have you gotten to see this person?

Your smile faded as you sighed.

I wish i did, he was such a sweetheart. It broke my heart seeing him cry like that while we got separated. Before they knocked me out i screamed a promise.

You smiled again looking down at your feet.

What promise did you make?

Paimon looked at you, captured by your story. You laughed at her cuteness, remembering your promise perfectly.

"I promise i'll search for you darling. No matter how bad the weather or bad the health, i'll always be searching. Our love shall never die, for i be forever searching, nobody can tear our love apart and i shall never lie."

Waaah (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ Paimon thinks this is so sweet! What if you don't see him again??

The little floating girl said, hugging you tightly.

Don't worry Paimon. I haven't given up yet. He must somewhere in this world. If not i'll start traveling the worlds for him.

You said trying to get your hopes up. In reality you had no idea where he could be. You did in fact travel multiple worlds only to be stuck at the start line back in teyvat. You sighed, changing the subject to enlighten the mood.

After deciding to join them in their journey, you both made your way to the Sumeru City.

--------————

Timeskip after saving Nahida

————--------

Woah... Who would've thought there's place like this hidden right slap bang in the middle of the city!

The sages wanted to realize their god creation plan without being discovered. The safest and most convenient way would be to build within the Akademiya itself.

They are already hiding a god, so why not 2?

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. What was this all fatui thing and fake god that they were talking about? If so, how come you never heard about them? Your thoughts were interrupted when Paimon spoke again.

Paimon knows that he was a prototype puppet for the Raiden Shogun before he became a Fatui Harbinger...

You stare at Paimon in shock. Did they know him all along? How come they never told you about this? Yeah the traveler said he/she had some vision about the Balladeer but they never told who he actually was. All these questions swelling up in your head made you furious yet sad at the same time.

You 2 sure seem to know about him quite well. Yet there is a certain person who has more knowledge about him and his past. In fact they were very close for that matter.

The traveler and Paimon looked confused at Nahida. The little elf like archon took your hand before speaking.

Y/N. I know you were searching him for a long time. Could you tell us what you know about him?

Wait.. Y/N!? The person you were searching is him?! But how!? When you were talking about him, he sounded so nice and sweet! He's literally nothing close that! He is an arrogant little-

Paimon, please do not jump to conclusions. We do not what occured in his life to change his behavior like that. So Y/N. How did you exactly meet?

Well.. I was walking through chinju forest when i heard something. I started investigating, trying to find the source of it when i tripped and fell into the water. A figure approached me asking me if i was alright. It was a boy in a white strange yet beautiful outfit. I stared at him for a while. His whole feauters didn't look much human. He looked like those gorgeous puppets you see in the kid theaters. He landed me his hand and hesitantly took it. Later on i learned his name and how he got there-

Oh so scaramouche right?

Paimon it is impolite to interrupt someone.

Nahida looked at Paimon, scolding her.

No its alright. His name isn't Scaramouche. Or at least it wasn't when i met him. He told me to call him Kunikuzushi.

After that i invited him to live with me, since he didn't have anywhere else to go. We then fell in love but it didn't last long due to those horrible people that took me. From that day on i never saw him at least once. What happend to him after is still unkown to me.

You finished with a sigh looking down at the little archon in front of you.

She nodded, putting her hand on her chin in a thinking way.

It seems that the occurrence of this events damaged both of your physical and mental health, on your side as much as his. We need to be as careful as possible when approaching him. We don't know what type of manifestation we will get out of him. Now, without further ado, our time is pretty much limited just like a candle on fire. Let's go.

------———

Mini time skip

———------

Looking at its operational status, we must prepare for the worst. The god they wanted to create... is likely close to completion, or already completed.

Paimon floated behind you pushing you forward gently.

If someone should go first it should be Y/N right? No offense Y/N but it's your lover.

You sighed looking at the little scared girl behind you.

As much i would love to talk to him, i don't think he would listen.

Y/N is right. We can't just burst all that Information like that. It could disadvantage us in battle strategy but also cooperation with him. I'm curious of what our fate may be. To me, everything we perceive in this world, everything we learn, and everything that happens to us is considered knowledge. However, only fate is about that which has yet to occur, so it has always drawn my curiosity. So to me, "fate" is the ultimate knowledge.

And now, at long last, I'm not just an observer anymore.

I will personally experience my own fate, with you by my side. Hehe, isn't this such a wonderfully exciting thing?

The dendro archon smiled at you three, closing her eyes. Okay, let's continue on. I can sense "his" aura from here... You watched in disbelief at the sight that standed before your eyes as you made your way further. It was in fact the boy you've been desperate to find again yet.. He looked so different.. So, lifeless.

Nahida used her magic as the blue haired boy had awoken.

The robot copied the puppets moves, making a strong wind.

The boy smiled scanning the sight before him.

Who would have thought... The world would be so eager for my "birth"

I remember you

The boy said looking at Nahida

Buer, the God of Wisdom... And standing beside you the Traveler

He said as his eyes finally reach you

And...

His eyes widened, facade dropping a little then going back on.

My.. My, what do we have here? Honestly i didn't think you'll have the guts to show yourself before me after cruelly abandoning me like that. I see you've changed. But dear so did i.

He said, venom within his words.

You watched him, tears welling in your eyes. Voice trapped in your throat, you could only watch him spitting his point of view of the past that you once shared. He did in fact change. You could see the actual Kunikuzushi behind. He was not evil, just hurt. And you knew it.

The Balladeer has already become a god...?

You listened to the conversation Paimon and Nahida had behind you.

"The Balladeer" A long bygone title..

When my spirit ascended to divinity

I felt as if I had existed for the same number of epochs as heaven and earth

Looking back

The existence of what once called itself "Kunikuzushi" appears infinitely small... and ugly

You couldn't believe what was happening right now. This was all your fault. If you knew how to fight that day, none of this events would have existed now. Seeing your uneasy state Nahida took your hand and spoke.

None if these are your fault Y/N. Life has its ups and downs that seem to affect not just human lifes, but immortal creatures both in good and bad ways as well. Everyone creates and has his own destiny. And now, you choose if you want to make a change or not.

Nahida said, looking up the "god" in front of you.

What a cute yet pathetic little speech. You should know that wisdom cannot solve every problem. Like now, where your only option is to face me in combat.

Come.. Let us reenact a scene of the Archon War. Come and inaugurate my birth as a god.

The traveler raised his/her sword as the battle begin

---———

You helped Aether/Lumine get up, watching the giant robot collapse.

Humans... filthy humans...!

The "god" spitted out, not wanting to accept defeat. The small archon flew closer to him, using her magic to take his gnosis. Noticing this the boy started panicking, looking at Nahida desperately.

No! Please! Anything but the gnosis..!

The boy begged, breaking the bots face plate.

That's mine! Don't even try..!

He said trying to hold a grasp of the gnosis, Wires slowly breaking behind him.

I'll..! I'll never go back!

He gave you a small glance, a desperate look on his face. Your heart only could ache at the sight of him being so hurt.

Y/N plea-

Before the boy could finished Nahida reached his gnosis, wires finally breaking, proceeding to make him fall, a lifeless look on his growing bigger by each second. You quickly rushed into catching him, fear rushing through your blood as you used your powers to create a sheild bubble around you 2. You watched his features as you slowly floated your way to the ground. You hugged him, visible tears running down your face. Nahida landed beside you giving you a sympathy look after returning to the traveler.

We haven't yet found the answer to the most important mystery.

Irminsul is still waiting to be saved.

------———

Time skip after Nahida ereased everyones memories

———------

You were not sure why you were crying a moment before just now. The traveler and Paimon exchanged looks before Paimon asked.

Do you remember what happend at the academia?

You gave Paimon a confused look before thinking at the previous events these days. Confused you told Paimon what you knew.

Uh.. We saved Nahida and sumeru. Why?

Paimon gave you a shocked expression.

Do you seriously not remember him??

Am i missing something?

You asked clearly confused.

You were searching for him remember?? You guys promised to search for each other! We just fought with him! You have to remember!

I think we should leave them alone Paimon.. Its not going to work if you press them like that. Let's go...

Aether/Lumine whispered to the little fairy.

Y/N we have to go. See you around!

Bye..?

---———

You walked around the Sumeru City, making some groceries. It's been a week since you and the traveler saved the irminsul. Something was missing yet you couldn't quite catch what. Paimons words from previous weeks ringed through your head, trying to find the answer to your curiosity.

Hey Y/N, over here!

You turned around to see Paimon and the traveler. Beside them there was another person facing another derection.

This is ridiculous.

Paimon pushed the big hat boy further giving him a thumbs up. You couldn't really see his face due him looking down.

Hi. My name is Y/N! Nice to meet you-

Upon seeing his face, memories click in your mind, now remembering it all. He was the person Paimon talked about. He was the person you were desperately searching all these centuries.

Kunikuzushi.

The boy looked shocked yet relieved. You took him into your arms, embracing him as if he would disappear. Paimon and the traveler smiled, leaving you two be.

I've missed you so much. W-where have you been all this time? How come could i never get to stumble upon you?

You said voice shaking from happiness.

It's not important. There are many things i regret in my past that i don't want to make you worry about. Right now, let me show you how much i've missed you.

---———

The end >¬>

Have a nice day/night

#fluff #genshin x reader #angst #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #nahida #paimon

197 notes · View notes

greenbergwrites · 6 months

Note

hello me again!! I absolutely loved seeing more of the possessive!stucky verse and if you could share the parts you have from them in modern day I would die of happiness 🫶🏽

Oh, I'm sorry, babe. I definitely saw your reblog/reply to that post and totally forgot to post the rest of what I have.

Here you go, the last of what I had written for the blood in my veins 'verse

It was going to be called learning to breathe again, which I thought was apt

----

If asked, Steve Rogers would say that the world ends on a dreary, snowy day in 1945 while he clings to the side of a train in the French Alps. It doesn’t begin again until 2014 when he stands under a bridge in Washington, D.C., surrounded by chaos and facing off with the world’s deadliest assassin.

It doesn’t matter that the world says, “who the hell is Bucky?”

It doesn’t matter that the world tries to kill him, just days later, on a helicarrier falling from the sky. It doesn’t matter that it’s his turn to fall or that he almost drowns.

The only thing that matters is his last sight before he goes into the water: familiar, beloved bright eyes staring at him in recognition.

Steve’s happy to die in that moment. It’s a good way to go if those eyes are the last thing he knows in this life.

The world - no, the entire fucking universe - pulls him out of the Potomac. Steve doesn’t remember it and there’s no proof of it but it’s irrelevant.

His name is Steve Rogers and if he’s in danger, Bucky Barnes is there.

That’s just the way things work.

“You don’t have to come,” Steve says, standing in a graveyard.

And he really doesn’t. Steve can do this on his own. He’s happy to do it on his own, if that’s what it takes. But Sam is one of the few people in this new world that he actually likes and he isn’t actually opposed to company.

“I know.” Sam smiles. “When do we start?”

They follow Bucky around the globe for months.

Most nights are spent in different beds, most weeks are spent in at least two different countries. Sometimes there’s a backtrack and sometimes they go to places Steve has never even heard of.

In all the time they spend chasing him, neither of them catch sight of a single hair on Bucky Barnes’ head.

With every dead end and every dropped lead, Sam frowns and glances at him nervously. No matter what this new century thinks of him, Steve isn’t clueless; he knows that Sam is looking for the cracks.

Sam, the good friend that he is, is waiting for Steve to fall apart. To breakdown with grief or frustration or whatever emotion is a normal response to a situation like this one. He’s waiting for anger and tears and despair and he doesn’t quite understand that none of that is coming. None of that will ever come.

Because Sam is a good friend but he’s only ever known Steve Rogers broken. He’s looking for cracks, has been since Steve woke up in the hospital after Project Insight fell and Bucky disappeared, because he doesn’t understand.

The cracks were already there and they’re finally starting to heal.

In the sixth month, Steve wakes up to a draft in his room. The window is open and the curtains billow in the breeze, bringing with it the scent of the sea. There’s no one in his room with him and everything appears untouched save for a scrap of paper taped to his shield.

It looks like it came from the bottom of a receipt and on the back of it are three words.

Go home, it says at the top in thick block letters. The word please is written underneath, smaller, like an afterthought.

The handwriting is both familiar and foreign and Steve smiles quietly to himself, caressing the note gently.

“So we’re just giving up?”

Surprisingly, Sam isn’t upset. He is, instead, bewildered and very, very curious. They’re sitting at a cafe in the airport, passing time until their flight boards. Steve bought the tickets before Sam ever opened his eyes that morning and despite what his friend might think, he feels happy with this decision.

It’s hard to explain why he’s smiling, so he hides it behind his coffee cup.

“It’s not giving up,” he says truthfully. “Bucky asked us to go.”

Sam tilts his head, considering Steve with appraising eyes.

“It’s just not what I expected from you,” he says after a moment. “You’ve been acting very til the ends of the earth, if you know what I mean. Didn’t think you’d let him call the shots.”

Steve snorts.

Bucky’s been calling the shots for as long as Steve’s needed him to.

They land in Washington, D.C. at night. The airport is still buzzing with activity but it’s quieter, different than it was the morning they left. Nobody glances at them twice as they loiter around baggage claim for their luggage and Steve is grateful; he’s too tired to put on his Captain America smile.

Just as the conveyor belt starts filling with new luggage, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out, he sees a text from an unknown number.

Thank you.

Warmth starts in his chest and spreads outwards, relaxing him just a little. He still feels tension throbbing inside of him, a cord that’s been stretching since 1945, but in that moment, it isn’t so unbearable.

Steve doesn’t bother replying - Bucky probably tossed the burner phone as soon as he pressed send - but he doesn’t delete the text message, either. Instead, he saves it to his phone, where he can look at it any time he needs.

“What is it?” Sam asks, making Steve look away from the words. He realizes he’s been staring at his phone for several minutes now; Sam’s already gotten their bags.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a smile. He pockets his phone again. “Just happy to be home.”

Life settles into a routine again. He and Sam run in the mornings, have breakfast in a cafe somewhere between Sam’s apartment and his. When the Avengers need him, which isn’t often, he helps out and when the remnants of SHIELD need him, which is more often, he helps them, too.

Natasha would be proud of how well he’s taking to the ways of her trade. He and Sam are soldiers first, good in a fight, but they learn the art of blending in; moving through a crowd without anyone ever remembering they were there. It’s new, this tactic. A freshly-bought pair of shoes that he hasn’t broken in yet but once he does, he has no doubt of the comfort they’ll provide.

It definitely makes their jobs easier, at any rate.

There’s not a lot of big battles for Captain America anymore but there are more covert operations. Steve spends most of his time after coming back helping ex-SHIELD agents move through the city without being caught. There’s one last base in DC but its stretched too thin as is with half its agents gone and the other half focused on rebuilding. Besides, not everyone wants to stay with the organization that housed HYDRA for so many years.

So Steve does what he can. He sets up new safehouses, stashes money and weaponry all around the city, sets up a network of help for anyone who needs it.

It isn’t just their own government hunting down SHIELD and no matter what he thought when it still stood, he won’t leave these people to fend for themselves. Not when it’s partially his fault that they’re on the run at all.

He tells a SHIELD agent this when she asks and her eyes widen.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says and then blushes, like she just remembered who she was talking to. “You’re the reason we’re alive at all, Captain. A lot more people would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

It’s the Captain rather than the reassurance that Steve focuses on. His smile, when it comes, feels brittle. He doesn’t bother responding and instead, hands her a slip of paper.

“Only stay there for a night,” he says. “Burn the paper when you’ve memorized the address. Make sure to dye your hair and put on different clothes.”

She nods and then takes him by surprise, hugging him fiercely for just a moment before pulling back. Her face is an even darker shade of red but she ignores her own embarrassment, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. When she meets his gaze again, she is every bit the SHIELD agent instead of the scared civilian that had been in her place moments before.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”

Steve shakes his head. “No need for thanks,” he tells her. It feels mechanical, wrong, when he puts a hand on her shoulder. He’s still not used to touching people or having them touch him. “You’ll be fine, Agent. Just keep moving.”

She smiles at him and then disappears into the crowd.

A month after they abandon the search for Bucky, the gifts start arriving. Trinkets from France, Germany, Italy, Russia. There’s at least one every month and always from a place they know has been hit by the Winter Soldier.

“This is weird, you know that, right?” Sam says one morning. He turns the tiny Eiffel Tower over in his hands as Steve flips through a brochure for the Louvre. “He’s not even trying to hide the fact that those hits are him.”

Steve shrugs. “Why should he? He’s hunting down HYDRA, same as the rest of us.”

He plucks the Tower from Sam’s hands, placing it and the brochure on a shelf with previous ones. Bucky’s gifts hold a place of honor in Steve’s home, proudly displayed in the living room where Steve can see them any time he wants to. Sam doesn’t know it but the scrap of receipt holding Bucky’s first note is tucked under the music box from Russia. When he’s alone, Steve pulls it out sometimes just to look at it; just to see that handwriting again.

“Steve,” Sam says. “He’s a mentally fragile assassin that just spent the last seventy years being tortured, brainwashed, and forced to kill for a scary secret cult. He needs time to heal, not more death.”

Sighing, Steve turns to face his friend. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s helping him heal?” He asks.

“Yes, I have, actually.” Sam shakes his head. “But that’s not a healthy coping mechanism.”

Steve shrugs. “Lotta things in this world aren’t healthy, Sam,” he says. “Doesn’t mean people stop doing them.”

Bucky’s fifth gift and the first for that month - three months after Steve came home - is an expensive set of drawing pencils and three sketchbooks. It’s also the first gift to include a note.

I remembered this, it says. No signature.

Trembling fingers run lightly first over the note and then the gifts themselves. Steve lets a harsh breath, his eyes burning and his chest aching. He’s glad that he’s alone for this gift, that no one is there to see him shaking apart like this.

He opens the pencils slowly, reverently, and when he holds one in his hand, he feels a little more tension leak out of him. The rest of the day is spent ignoring the world in favor of drawing. His first few pictures are shaky, both from his own emotion and his unpracticed hand, but the more time he spends buried in his sketchbook - his sketchbook - the smoother things become.

His hand is cramping by the time the sun sets and his latest drawing has tear stains ruining his perfect lines and he feels, for the first time since 1945, like Steven Grant Rogers.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Sam says when he sees the art littering Steve’s living room.

Steve snorts. “Just another thing the history books left out,” he replies, bitter.

That pitying expression is back on Sam’s face and Steve decides to ignore it in favor of getting the lines of Bucky’s face just right.

The gifts continue to come and Steve’s shelf becomes an entire bookcase of trinkets. The Avengers are called on to save the world from an artificial intelligence named Ultron. They barely make it out alive but somehow, they all do make it.

Natasha watches him closely after the battle. They’re all undressing in Stark’s version of a team locker room, unconcerned with things like nudity when they’re all too busy minding cuts and bruises.

“What is it?” Steve asks her when he’s tired of the stares.

“You’re different,” she says. Her mouth softens into her version of a smile. “You don’t try to make the sacrifice play anymore.”

She doesn’t ask, so he doesn’t tell her that he finally has something to live for again. He suspects she already knows, anyways.

It’s been almost a month since the last trinket when one of their safe houses is compromised. He and Sam arrive on the scene too late but miraculously, no one is dead. The two ex-agents that were staying there are sitting on the porch, wide-eyed and shaking. Sam kneels down in front of them with kind eyes and a soothing voice. Steve goes inside to check out the house.

Broken furniture litters multiple rooms, one of the beds is upended, the toilet in the guest bathroom is split in two. One hell of a fight took place and it seemed to span the entire house. In the living room, there are bodies piled one on top of the other; unconscious not dead. The only thing surprising about this is that not all of them are part of the strike team that hit the house.

“He was here,” Sam says from behind him. He comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Steve, staring down at the bodies. “The agents said he’s the only reason they’re still alive.”

Steve smirks at him. “Still think it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism?”

“Yes.” When Steve looks at him, Sam holds up his hands. “Hey, man, I’m the first to admit that I’m grateful. But this still isn’t healthy.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve gestures at the two plain-clothed people. “Did they say where these two came from?”

“Yeah, Barnes left ‘em.” He gives Steve an unimpressed look. “Said something about it being a present.”

Oh.

Steve smiles, looking away from Sam’s piercing gaze. His trinkets are getting bigger.

It takes a few hours to get the HYDRA operatives secured in the DC base and to elicit a promise for whatever information is gleaned from them. He doesn’t know if he trusts the agent who does the promising but Steve will come back if he needs to. At least two of the prisoners were specifically meant for him, anyways.

When he gets home, Steve finds a pile of crushed metal and wiring piled onto his coffee table. It takes him a moment to realize what they are but when he does, he smiles; they’re bugs from all around his apartment.

Next to them is a note that reads: out with the old.

The words are very specific. Bucky doesn’t do anything uncalculated and Steve is sure that’s truer now than it was during the war. He begins to search the apartment but doesn’t have to get very far before he’s proved right. On the bottom of the Eiffel Tower statue, there’s a listening device.

And where there’s one, there’s dozens.

Steve puts the statue back without removing the bug and relaxes a tiny, tiny bit more.

“In with the new,” he says quietly, warmed by the thought that Bucky will hear him.

#moodymelanist #greenberg replies #my fics #the blood in my veins

47 notes · View notes

mrbexwrites · 7 months

Text

OC 15 Questions

Tagged by @duckingwriting to answer some questions about my OCs.

Gently passing the tag onto: @queen-tashie @kaiafosterwrites @deanwax @writingamongther0ses @tate-lin and anyone else who would like to take up the mantle of the open tag!

(Sorry, this has been sitting my drafts for so long, and then in queue purgatory before it's even seen the light of day!)

I've done a couple of these for characters in Memento Mori, so figured it's time for a shift in focus to Blood Harmony.

Answering for Arnauld Beaufort, Mave's nemesis.

Are you named after anyone?

2. When was the last time you cried?

I haven't cried in a while. The last time would probably have been shedding a single tear over the rubble where I thought Mavis had died. A good opponent is hard to find.

3. Do you have kids?

I have over a thousand demons at my beck and call. They're hard enough to handle; I wouldn't add children to my workload. Unless you count Connor? He's not my biological son, but I look out for him nonetheless. He'd walk into traffic otherwise.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Moi? No. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, after all.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

How short their lives are. When you live for several centuries, people come and go in the blink of an eye. Although, there are several mortals who have piqued my interest in them over the years. They leave lasting marks...mementos...

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue, like my mother's.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

I don't find movies to be particularly scary, being a demon.Happy endings are too contrived. I prefer psychological thrillers myself.

8. Any special talents?

I'm difficult to kill. Just ask Mavis; Hell knows she's tried hard enough.

9. Where were you born?

The province of Alsace in the Holy Roman Empire. Where I was born has been many countries over the years, and it's currently near Strasbourg, France.

10. What are your hobbies?

I've been many things over the centuries; a sell-sword, mercenary, politician, musician, smuggler, pirate...

I enjoy model ship making. I particularly revel in building windjammers and clippers for display in my library.

11. Have you any pets?

Would Mavis count if I compare her to a feral cat who continually tries to hunt me?

12.What sports do you play/have played?

Sword-fighting, jousting for a brief period, general marksmanship... I've tried my hand at badminton, but it's not for me. Any sport that involves a ball, apart from basketball; too undignified. I'm excellent at billiards.

13.How tall are you?

5'11" or thereabouts

13. Favorite subject in school?

I never went to school; my mother paid for private tutors for me. I enjoyed History the most. I've found, that over the centuries, it often repeats itself. Mortals often fail to learn from their mistakes, but I've lived long enough to see the patterns, know what is coming, and can then avoid the worst of the fallout. You just have to look at my portfolio to know just how good I am as a student of history.

14.Dream job?

Benevolent Dictator, which I suppose I already am, as the head of a law firm. I'd just like to expand my reach from the moral realm, in the infernal!

#tag game #blood harmony #Arnauld is french #but I'd let Josh Close play him with a terrible accent in the tv movie in my head

5 notes · View notes

jeanjauthor · 11 months

Text

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dawn-of-the-flame-sea-jean-johnson/1119865599

(ETA: it's not letting me direct link, sorries...)

One of the biggest reasons why I got into writing in the first place was that I wanted to read certain stories...but nobody else was writing anything like those stories...and I realized that if I ever wanted to actually read them...I would have to @$%!@%!!! write them myself.

The Flame Sea novels is one of those series. A great story idea I had, that I had to write. It started with a basic idea of a rough-drafted story set in the future, then I had to set it aside to work on other things...then I got tapped to do a fantasy-romance crossover based on the four Greek elements for its magical themes. I was assigned Earth for my short story. So I went persuing through my WIP files (as you do)...and stumbled across the Flame Sea ideas.

The original story was set far into the future, after the Empire of the Flame Sea had collapsed due to Reasons™ (as they always do, lol), and the story was of a descendant of the ruling family that eventually was to rediscover he's actually a member of that family...but like, what's the point of rebuilding an empire that's been dead for hundreds of years?

The short story obviously couldn't be set in his era, so I bumped it back several centuries, to the height of the Empire (because the setting is just darn cool--think the ancient city of Petra and the desert-dwelling Nabateans, but like on steroids with magic, etc--and so I came up with the idea for the story Birthright (currently a novelette or whatever, available in ebook format).

But then I was asked by my editor a little while later if I wanted to do a fantasy trilogy set in the same universe, because they were re-releasing the stories that Birthright was in, but as stand-alone novelettes. So then I thought...well...how did the place come to be known as the Flame Sea, why are certain bloodlines so special, what is the covenant of blood between the gods and the specific family, what would be its birthplace...on and on and on... And that's when I came up with this trilogy.

Now, why do I bring it up? Because I have had 4 out of 5 days filled with traveling to several medical appointments this week (with only one of them scheduled for myself!) that I have had to sit through, mostly waiting on Other People, as their driver and/or designated "caretaker who has to attend the pre-op metting with the patient" dealie. And I didn't know what I wanted to read to fill out this week...until I came across my ebook copies of the Flame Sea series.

So I decided, what the heck, I'll re-read it!

...I had forgotten just how powerfully this series ended, emotionally.

I know a lot of people sneer at those who praise their own work, but I honestly don't think this applies, because it's been so long since I wrote it, I'm evaluating this story as a reader, not as the writer. I really liked how I handled the pacing, the characterization, the storytelling, the believability of X becoming Y becoming Z ... and yes, there are still secrets that have not yet been revealed. Who Ban really is, what actually happened to his companions' homeworld, and more.

I'm slowly getting healthier. I can finally write more days that not, these days (which if you knew me before I fell ill is like a frikkin' miracle, if you ask me). But it's still going to be a little while before I can focus on telling more stories set in the FlameVerse.

In the meantime, if you're interested, have a peek at the first in the trilogy. Who knows, maybe it's like a story you've been aching to read all this time, but never found something similar enough to it to satisfy that itchy need until now?

#writing #stories #fantasy #trilogy #recommended #emotionally powerful #mortals and gods #unique twist on elves #did I mention that efriit show up in it as well?#also the D&D joke of rocks fall (but only Death dies)

2 notes · View notes

helkaluin · 3 years

Text

lovers' quiet

pairing: kyoraku shunsui x ukitake jushirou

warnings: none

word count: 971 words

summary: A quiet moment shared between lovers with a bond unlike any other.

Seeing the pink kimono of Captain Kyoraku fluttering about near the Thirteenth Division barracks had become a normal sight in the past few weeks. Ever since their Captain Ukitake was bedridden due to a particularly violent bout of coughing that ravaged his already weak frame, the Eighth Division captain was visiting a lot more than normal.

"Taicho-san!" Third Seats Kiyone and Sentaro greeted Shunsui as he came into view.

"Ah, hello," Shunsui tipped the edge of his straw hat, good-natured smile already in place. Then it quickly faded into concern, "How is he?"

"Doing better than yesterday, at least," Kiyone chirped, "He's probably asleep now because of the medicine."

"I see. Thank you for your help, Kiyone-kun, Sentaro-kun. Jushirou's lucky to have you both."

The two Third Seats blushed and saluted hastily. Shunsui watched them scramble off and slowly slid the bedroom door open.

It has been centuries already yet the sight of Jushirou still stole Shunsui's breath away from him. Even sickly, his long, white hair was thrown about him like a halo. The gentle features of his beautiful face had a touch of sharpness one could only achieve after millennia of being a Gotei 13 captain. Chapped pink lips were parted slightly in his sleep. Dark, long lashes rested upon soft, unblemished skin.

Shunsui approached Jushirou, making sure not to disturb his lover's sleep, and lowered himself at the white-haired shinigami's side. The warm sunlight flooding in from the open doors cast a glow on Jushirou's pale, smooth skin.

The brunette sighed, still in love after all these years. He reached out to brush a stray white hair from Jushirou's face. Then, those long, dark lashes fluttered.

One hand stilling in its movement, a small smile curled Shunsui's lips. Jushirou's breathtaking green eyes fluttered open, revealing that kind gaze that made Shunsui fall in love with him all those years ago.

"My, my, Jushirou," Shunsui chuckled, brushing a thumb over one pale cheek. "So naughty."

Jushirou smiled, sheepish but not regretful. "I wanted to stay awake since you were coming."

There was a quiet rattle in his breath behind every word. Shunsui thought to ignore it for now, seeing as to how the air was clear on that particular day.

The brunette continued to stroke Jushirou's hair, applying gentle pressure in some places to alleviate the headache one would get from resting so long. The white-haired captain leaned into his touch, a content smile on his face.

"You're awfully doting today." Jushirou mused aloud, opening an eye to look at him.

Shunsui grinned, "Aren't I 'awfully doting' everyday?"

"Mm. That's true. I'll have to apologise to Ise-fukutaicho when all of this is over."

"Now, now, before you assume anything, I finished all my work before coming here. In fact, I have the slip from Nanao-chan to confirm it!"

Jushirou laughed, raspy yet angelic to Shunsui's ears all the same. "Alright, alright, I believe you."

Then, Jushirou's face tightened with pain and his whole body tensed like a wound-up coil. Shunsui quickly unfurled his reiatsu and blanketed his lover, hoping that the familiarity of it would help the him relax. Thankfully, his theory was proven correct when Jushirou let out a small sigh and got his breathing under control.

"Maybe it's time to take your medicine." Shunsui said gently, carressing Jushirou's temple. He took the jug of medicine from the nearby cupboard and poured it into a cup. He helped Jushirou sit up with one steady hand, kneading the weakened muscles of his back as the white-haired shinigami took his medicine in small sips.

When Jushirou was done, he held onto Shunsui's kimono and gazed at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Can you-" Jushirou stopped himself mid-sentence before continuing, "Can you stay here with me?"

Shunsui longed to say yes, wanting nothing more than to have his lover in his arms, but knew he couldn't do so. He had a Captains' Meeting soon, one important enough that Yamamoto would have his head if he wasn't present.

He gently took the hand holding on to his kimono. Pressing a kiss to his lover's palm, he looked into those green eyes regretfully.

"I'm sorry. There's a Captains' Meeting that I can't miss, or else Yama-ji will kill me." Shunsui murmured.

It was heartbreaking to see that hopeful expression fall. It was even more soul-wrenching when Jushirou smiled, obviously trying to hide his sadness.

"That won't do. Who will dote on me if you're gone?" Jushirou teased, lifting the hand in Shunsui's grasp to tickle at his beard.

Shunsui chuckled and rested his hand on Jushirou's face. "Will you be alright?"

"Will you be alright?" Jushirou shot back, green eyes alight with amusement. "Who knows how many important things you'll forget without me."

When Shunsui didn't laugh, Jushirou sighed, his breath rattling in his chest, and flicked the other captain lightly on the cheek.

"I'll be fine, Shunsui, really. Stop worrying."

Shunsui wanted to say that it was impossible not to, his thoughts occupied by Jushirou all day, but decided to keep it to himself.

"...alright. I'll be back after the meeting, handsome." Shunsui promised with a flirtatious wink, delighted to see Jushirou flush a bright red. He lowered Jushirou carefully and rearranged the sheets so that it was up to the white-haired shinigami's chin.

Jushirou's eyes were already half-lidded and he tried to keep himself awake. It was an adorable sight that tempted Shunsui to actually stay. But no, Shunsui restrained himself from doing so and pressed a kiss to Jushirou's forehead.

"Love you." Jushirou murmured.

"I love you too. Take care."

And with that, Shunsui departed with a heart heavier than normal, and looked forward to the end of the meeting before it had even begun.

__________

notes: 'taicho' means captain and 'fukutaicho' means lieutenant.

this draft had been sitting in the cellar for so long so i thought it was time to let it free...also writing for this pairing just fills me with so much serotonin 😭

sir that's my emotional support married couple

#bleach #bleach fanfiction #kyoraku shunsui #jushiro ukitake #kyoraku x ukitake #shunsui kyoraku #shunuki #bleach ukitake

56 notes · View notes

bangtaninink · 6 years

Note

Can you please write a Vampire!Seokjin AU oh my god I'm literally in need of some new Jin smut that's filled with filth (because I doubt he's as innocent as he puts out 👀)

another anon request: Hello! Can I just say that your writing is absutely superb?! I’m so happy that you’ve made past Jin scenarios/fics (we Jin stans seriously lack wonderful scenarios/stories *cries*). That being said – may I please request a smut fic for the continuation of that BTS vampire!Jin fic AU? I’m dying to know what happens next! Thank you very much!

To Oblivion And Back

Summary: going back to how things used to be isn’t easy, but it’s damn well worth the effort (vampire!au)

Notes: bet y’all thought I forgot about this! (I did. Lowkey. And then I found it in my drafts and wrote like a madman because who doesn’t love vampire!Seokjin? Apologies to the peeps that requested this for taking so long!) I got carried away with this. Like very carried away. When you open that ‘read more’ cut, you’ll see what I mean. Also this is for the anon who was requesting vampire!Jin angst an eternity ago (although I’m not sure how angsty this is).

This is a continuation from this piece right here.

“You guys… got a dog?”

“Yeah. Actually, we’ve had a few dogs over the last couple of centuries. Taehyung hyung seems to like them a lot,” Jeongguk says, crouching down to scratch the top of the dog’s head, smiling fondly at it. “His name is Cat.”

“You named your dog Cat?” you ask, arching your brow.

“It was Taehyung hyung’s idea. We take turns every couple years to choose a dog and a name for it.”

“That is so… Taehyung.”

“Be glad you weren’t there the last time it was his turn.”

“Why?” Jeongguk turns to look at you over his shoulder, and the look on his face is enough for you. “Never mind. I probably don’t wanna know.”

Somewhere in the distance, someone calls Jeongguk’s name, and the both of you turn towards the doors, watching as they eventually open and let Namjoon in.

“Jeongguk.”

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Jin hyung’s looking for you. He said something about you and Jimin getting supplies.” Jungkook groans loudly, standing up and dusting off his knees.

“Again? I’m always on supply duty. No fair. Why can’t Yoongi hyung do it?” he whines.

“If you can find a way to get that particular brother out of his room for something that isn’t feeding or playing the piano, then I will personally offer you my share of food for a week.”

“Ooh. Challenge accepted,” Jeongguk replies, grinning as he runs out of the room. You and Namjoon watch as he disappears out of sight, shaking your heads and chuckling at the youngest’s antics.

“He hasn’t changed a bit,” you say, crouching down to scratch the back of Cat’s ears, just as Jeongguk had been doing.

“Not at all,” Namjoon agrees, sliding his hands into his pocket. “I used to hate the fact that he was turned at such a young age. Now I feel as if it’s not such a bad thing. He’s a breath of fresh air that one, despite all that he’s seen and been through with us.” You hum in agreement, standing back up.

“How’re you doing?” you ask.

“Good. Better. It’s almost as if I’d never been gone. Almost.” You laugh and nod. “And you? How are you doing?”

“I’m…” You pause to find the right words. “I’m fine, actually. I’d prepared myself for the worst before returning here. Seokjin is not the most predictable man out there, after all.” Namjoon hums quietly, walking over to the shelves, fingers running over the spines of dust-covered books. “It’s a slow process, but we’ve progressed more than I’d been expecting. Consider me pleasantly surprised.”

For a moment, a blanket of silence falls over you both, and while Namjoon is busy looking at the new books the family has collected in his absence, you watch Cat sniff curiously at your feet.

“It may not be my place to ask,” Namjoon says, voice cutting through the quiet. “But what did you do for my brothers to distrust you so much all those centuries ago, enough for them to make you leave the house of all things?” You pull your eyes away from the dog jumping up to nip at the hem of your skirt to look at Namjoon, who is already looking right at you, waiting patiently for your reply. “Or… would you rather not say?”

You make your way over to the arm chair by the window, Cat following right behind you and jumping onto your lap as soon as you’re seated.

“I… said things. Did things,” you reply, avoiding Namjoon’s eyes.

“Such as?”

“Namjoon… I’m sorry. I’d rather leave the past in the past. Recalling four centuries of betrayal and disloyalty is not very pleasant.”

“Of course. I understand. I still have visions about the things that happened back there.” You’re busy trying to distract yourself by staring down at Cat’s fur when Namjoon walks over to you, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Regardless of what you did, noona, I want to thank you anyway, because it was completely selfless and brave of you to do all that to bring me back to my family.” You look up, and come face to face with Namjoon’s kind and warm smile. “I owe you my life.”

Quiet chatter fills the library, and soft music in the air as Yoongi sits at the piano at the other end of the room, fingers flitting over the keys with practiced ease. Cat seems to have taken a liking to you, chasing after your feet as soon as you’re in sight, and today is no exception. He’s curled up at your feet, body wrapped around your ankle where you’re seated, flipping the pages of a new addition to the family’s collection.

“We haven’t really added much,” Jimin admits as he sits down on the sofa next to you, careful not to knock over the lit candles on the table beside him. “Namjoon hyung’s always been the one to bring in more books.”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling softly. “Actually, I’m surprised you added any in the first place.”

“It was mostly me and Seokjin hyung. Yoongi hyung added a few music books here and there. But Jeongguk and Taehyung recently got into these things called… manhwa? They’re this century’s picture books essentially.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard of those.”

“They call it the ‘best of both worlds’ because, technically, they’re reading, but it doesn’t feel like it.” You chuckle quietly as Jimin rolls his eyes. “Children.”

Shutting the book in your hands, you stand to turn to the shelf behind you and return it to its place, rousing Cat from his nap. Your eyes scan the spines of the books, Cat trailing after you as you wander up and down along the walls of the library, in search of your next read. So absorbed in the myriad of titles, your shoulder collides with Seokjin’s suddenly as he wanders along the wall too in the opposite direction.

“Oh. Pardon me, _____,” he says, offering you a small, tight-lipped smile; you shake your head dismissively in return. Continuing on your way, you don’t notice the way Seokjin’s gaze follows after you, watching as you walk to the other wall, lingering at one shelf before moving on to the next.

“Hyung?” Seokjin’s attention shifts to Jeongguk, who stands beside him, one hand on the elder’s arm, the other clutching an open book. “Hyung, what does this word mean?”

Seokjin reads the word off of the page where Jeongguk points: rambunctious.

“That’s like… noisy and undisciplined. Kind of wild and uncontrollable,” Seokjin explains. “Kind of like you and Taehyung, and how you’re both all over the place.” Jeongguk scoffs and scrunches up his nose, while the elder grins proudly.

“I should’ve asked noona,” Jeongguk mumbles, walking away to drop himself back onto the couch next to Taehyung.

The words leave an acrid taste in your mouth the moment you’ve said them. A sharp pain twinges in your chest that you so desperately try to ignore when you watch everyone’s faces shift from expressions of surprise to betrayal in very little time, and hurts even more to know that you are the reason for it.

“What did you just say?” Seokjin asks.

“You heard me,” you reply, maintaining your composure and resisting the urge to cower, take everything you’ve said back and apologise.

“After everything we’ve done for you…”

“Everything you’ve done for me? Please! You and your family have done nothing but made me miserable. All this whining and moping about Namjoon. Just face it. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. You’ve lost a brother. We’ve all lost someone, Seokjin. That’s just the way things are. So suck it up and move on for God’s sake.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Yoongi shakes his head, looking at you, confused.

“What… what’s gotten into you, noona?” he asks. “This isn’t like you.”

“No, Yoongi. This is me. What you’ve been seeing for the last five centuries has been me pretending to be grateful for your family’s hospitality. But I’m not. I’ve realised now that I would’ve been more than fine on my own. You didn’t have to go and rescue me all those centuries ago. I wouldn’t have wasted five centuries here with the lot of you if you hadn’t.”

You can see the way Seokjin’s jaw tenses as he clenches and unclenches his teeth at all the spite that oozes out of you.

“But… we’ve done so much for you,” Hoseok argues.

“No. I’ve done so much for you,” you correct. “I’ve done more than my fair share of shit around this place without a word of thanks. Well, I’m sick of it. I’m tired of you six wandering around this castle hopelessly just because one of your brothers has gone. I’m tired of having to think of ways to cheer you six up like some kind of jester to take your mind off of things. Just face it. He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

When Seokjin speaks, a chill runs down your spine at the tone of his voice, and you try not to visibly shiver.

“You know, I tried so hard to ignore it. I tried so hard to think nothing of the way you’d always wander out of the castle whenever you wanted, going God knows where and not returning until minutes before dawn. I thought I’d gone mental when I saw you in town with Hyunwoo.” Ears perk up and eyebrows raise at the name.

“Hyunwoo?” Taehyung repeats. “As in…”

“As in Hyunwoo from the western village, yes,” Seokjin finishes.

“Hyung, you said never to–”

“I know what I said. But, clearly, _____ has forgotten.”

“Those guys are vile, self-absorbed animals with absolutely no remorse or pity for anyone that isn’t in their clan,” Yoongi says. “What are you doing with Hyunwoo, noona?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Clearly, I’ve found a more accomodating clan, one that’ll actually make me feel like one of their own, and not some fucking maid.”

“B-but… noona, you said…” Jimin says, stammering. “You said you’d help us find Namjoon hyung no matter what.”

You shrug.

“Namjoon’s not worth finding, Jimin.”

As if you’d just swung at them all, the six of them take a step back at your comment, speechless. The looks of disbelief you’re met with are hard to look at, but you steel yourself, and force yourself to maintain eye contact with Seokjin.

It feels as if a whole century passes before anyone says anything.

“Get out,” Seokjin spits. “And never come back.”

“Everyone! Your attention, please!”

Hyunwoo’s words ring out over the loud raucous, and the chatter dies down to almost complete silence at the clan leader’s voice.

“Tonight is a night of celebration,” he says, grinning proudly. “Because tonight, we welcome a new addition to our little family. An alluring, beautiful addition, I must say.” He wraps his arm around your waist, and you pretend you don’t want to run away from his touch immediately, like you don’t have the urge to cringe. “How fortunate that little ol’ me was able to convince her to leave that stupid little family she’d been holed up with for five centuries.” The crowd boos at the mention of another clan; Hyunwoo nods in agreement, but waves his other hand to quiet them down before reaching for his glass. “A toast: to our clan, the strongest, most indestructible group of brothers and sisters this century will ever have the pleasure of being destroyed by.”

Whoops of agreement and joy fill the air as glasses are raised in celebration before flutes of blood are downed to the last drop. You do the same, with a tight-lipped smile as you turn to look at Hyunwoo. He winks and brings his flute to his lips with a proud grin.

Dinner is quieter than it ever has been in centuries.

Jeongguk stares down at his goblet, unable to find the energy to reach out and take a sip, eyes boring holes in the gold trimming and the reflection of the fireplace against the glass.

Yoongi sits slumped in his chair, not bothering to look up at anyone, much less his own goblet, cradling his head in his hand, elbow resting on the arm rest of his chair. He clenches his teeth at the incessant scratching of Taehyung’s nails against the edge of the wood of the table, the sound grating in his ears, quickly turning into an annoyance that leaves him with the urge to reach over the table and grab his brother by the lapels of his coat and shake the life out of him.

Jimin and Hoseok take turns heaving out quiet sighs, chewing at their lips and looking everywhere but at the people seated at the table, unsure of what to do or say.

Only Seokjin, seated at the head of the table, sips at his goblet of blood periodically, staring at the fire with no emotion present on his face.

“And finally, our dungeon,” Hyunwoo announces proudly, waving his arm in front of him, as if displaying a collection of fine jewellery. “I quite like coming down here on days I’m not feeling so confident about things.”

“So… never,” you offer with a quiet chuckle; he replies with hearty laughter, pulling you closer to his side.

“Well. I will admit those days are far and few, _____. But even someone such as myself has their off days.”

“That’s quite hard to believe.”

Hyunwoo grins and leads you down the stairs. The air in the dungeon is cold, stale and wet, and you hear the heels of your boots squelch with every step. You try not to grimace at the stench, and certainly try not to think about what could have caused the stench in the first place.

“It’s not the most pleasant room in the castle,” Hyunwoo says. “But it’s a morale booster for people like me, especially when you take in the sheer number of prisoners we have locked up down here.”

“How many are there?” you ask.

“About eight dozen. We’re aiming for double that by the end of the century.”

“Impressive.”

“Here. Let me take you to one of the prisoners.” Strange sounds fill the air as you pass cell after cell, the sound of rattling chains almost drowned out by the cacophony of strangled moans and wails coming from trapped prisoners. “Here we are.”

Hyunwoo nods at one of the guards standing by, and you watch as he take the keychain attached to his belt, metal colliding against metal as he searches through the keys to find the one that unlocks the cell in front of you. The iron scratches and squeals against the railing on the ground as the guard opens up the cell, stepping aside to allow you and Hyunwoo to step inside.

Your body tenses a little at the sight in front of you.

“A familiar face, no?” Hyunwoo asks, chuckling, kicking at a puddle of water in front of him. Drops of water splash against Namjoon’s face, rousing him to consciousness. You remain stoic as he lifts his head from where he kneels, chains keeping his arms hanging above him, eyes squinting as he tries to register what he sees in front of him.

“N-noona?” he whispers, eyes growing wide when he recognises you.

“Scum,” Hyunwoo spits, stepping forward to bring his hand down across Namjoon’s cheek, the sound of the slap making you flinch a little where you stand. The chains rattle at the impact as Namjoon jostles around. You say nothing, taking in how thin and frail he looks, hair frazzled and messy as he winces at the sting. “You ought to think twice about opening your mouth in front of me.” As if nothing had happened, Hyunwoo is back at your side with a smile, his arm wrapping around your waist once again. “How in God’s name did you stand to live with this one and his family for so long, _____?”

Namjoon lifts his head once more to look at you, and the look in his eyes makes you want to fall to your knees and weep.

Instead, you shrug, and wrap your own arm around Hyunwoo’s waist, turning the both of you to walk out of the cell.

“No idea.”

You stare up at the ceiling, silent as Hyunwoo snores away beside you, his arm heavy on your stomach. The curtains haven’t been closed completely shut, and a tiny sliver of sunlight makes its way into the room just a few feet away from the foot of the bed. Your mind reels, the image of Namjoon chained to the stone walls ingrained in your brain, and it takes so much self control not to run out of the room and down to the dungeon once again to see him.

In the almost-silence, you’re left wondering if this was the best way to go about things, if betraying an entire family to find and rescue their lost brother was the best decision. You could have easily stayed with them, told them about your first encounter with Hyunwoo, and how each successive encounter with him eventually led to you find out about Namjoon’s whereabouts. You could have easily stayed to plan something out with them, because seven would be stronger than just one.

But in the back of your mind, you know that it would have never worked, because between Hoseok’s impulsiveness and Yoongi’s overthinking, the family would either not have gotten anywhere, or would have gone too far and lost even more brothers.

Even if you despise Hyunwoo, this is the way it has to be in order to bring the family back together.

A knock at the door pulls Seokjin’s focus away from the newspaper clippings and print-outs on his desk.

“Come in,” he calls out.

Jimin steps into Seokjin’s study, pulling at the ends of his sleeves to almost completely cover his hands after shutting the door behind him. With hesitation in every step, he walks over to sit down in the armchair directly in front of Seokjin, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Hi, hyung,” he says, voice soft.

“Hello,” Seokjin replies, smiling a little before looking back down at the scraps of paper in front of him. “What brings you in here?”

Jimin is quiet, and for a moment, Seokjin doesn’t seem to notice that he hasn’t been given a reply. Distracted, he sorts through the paper covering his desk, looking for any kind of hint or sign of where his brother might be.

“Hyung.”

“Mmm?” Seokjin hums, not even looking up to meet Jimin’s eyes.

“Hyung, what if… do you ever wonder if… i-if noona was right?” Seokjin freezes, a clipping from last week’s newspaper held between his fingers as the room is shrouded in a cloak of silence. “It’s… i-it’s been a century and a half. What if we’ve been wasting our t–”

“Don’t, Jimin,” Seokjin interrupts, hands slowly starting to ball up into fists. “Don’t you dare. This is our brother we’re talking about, understand?”

“I know. I know, hyung. But, noona… she…”

“She was wrong. I don’t know what’d gotten into her that day, but she was wrong – she is wrong. We’re gonna find Namjoon, with or without her help.”

Hesitant, Jimin tugs at the sleeves of his sweater again, too nervous to look Seokjin in the eye when the tension is thick in the air. He can feel the elder’s frustration radiating off of him, slapping him in the face without warning, and Jimin takes this as his cue to go.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay, hyung. We’ll find him.”

“We’ll find him,” Seokjin replies, no longer able to read the words on the clipping in his grasp through the tears welling up in his eyes.

Namjoon hears the clicking of heels against the cement ground growing louder and louder, until eventually, they come to a complete stop. He hears quiet murmurs of incoherent words, recognises the two voices, but says nothing. The metal door of his cell makes a grating screech against the railing as it’s pulled open, and he still keeps his head down.

“Namjoon.”

That voice has his mind reeling and a strange combination of emotions stirring in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what to do or how to react.

“Namjoon, it’s me.”

Slowly, you crouch down in front of him, reaching out to cup his cheek. Unexpectedly, he turns his head away, and avoids looking at you as best as he can while he’s still chained to the wall.

“Namjoon. It’s me,” you repeat, trying not to sound as desperate as you feel.

“Is it?” he asks, voice raspy and hoarse. “Because you’re not exactly the _____ noona I remember.”

“I know.”

It’s quiet for a moment, with just the distant sounds of more chains rattling and more screaming to keep you both company. Namjoon is the first to speak after the silence.

“What do you want?”

Warily, you look over your shoulder, making sure the guard has left like you’d asked him to, making sure that you and Namjoon are completely alone.

“I’m getting you out of here,” you say.

At this, Namjoon does lift his head to look at you, albeit slowly. He sees the determination in your eyes, the promise engrained in between your words, and for a moment, his doubt wavers, all of a sudden convinced that his old _____ noona had never left.

“What?”

“I’m getting you out of here,” you repeat, reaching into the neckline of your dress to pull out a flask you’d tucked away, shuffling closer to Namjoon as you unscrew the cap. “I apologise for taking so long, but you have to understand that I couldn’t rush this. I had to take my time, make sure that Hyunwoo had no reason to doubt or suspect me of anything.”

Namjoon is quick to wrap his lips around the lip of the flask, tilting his head back to gulp down mouthfuls of blood like the literal starved man he was. It’s not enough, you know it’s not enough, but it’ll do for now. You card your fingers through his sweat-soaked fringe as he sighs and pants, letting him rest his head in your palm as you support him.

“I’m so hungry, noona,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as you rub circles on his temple.

“I know, Namjoon. I’ll come down to visit you more regularly from here, now that Hyunwoo’s out of town.”

His eyes open again slowly, and he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What do y– we’re not leaving now? Tonight?”

“We can’t, Namjoon. Not yet,” you reply with a small shake of your head. “Hyunwoo left just after twilight. He’s not far enough yet. We need to wait a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you? We’ve already gotten this far.” Namjoon sighs.

“How long?”

“Two more days. Just two more days and I’ll get you out of here. I’ll bring you back to your brothers.”

Namjoon swallows thickly, feeling his throat start to tighten a little at the mention of his family. He blinks away the dampness that’s starting to form in his eyes, and nods.

“Yeah, noona. I can wait,” he says. “It’s been four centuries. What’s another two days?”

For the most part, Minjae leaves you be, lets you wander the castle without supervision because, frankly, he has more important things to do than to keep an eye on you when all you do is sit in the library and read. As Hyunwoo’s second-in-command, he’d raised no complaints to your addition to the clan for fear of losing his rank, though he had been anything but approving of the leader’s decision. Now, after four centuries, he maintains his doubts, but ignores them in favour of saving his time to do more important things than worry about Hyunwoo’s new companion.

He’d heard about you (almost everyone had), and about your family’s nobility pre-vampirism, the closest the country had to royalty all those centuries ago. He’d heard of your family’s downfall, of the massacre that had consumed everyone but yourself in some stroke of fate, and later, of your salvation. It was no surprise for Minjae to learn of Hyunwoo’s desire to find you, his leader always so greedy and hungry for nothing but the best – and you, (un)fortunately, were the best.

Minjae passes the open doors of the library during his routine inspection of the castle, and isn’t surprised to find you already sitting in the velvet-lined armchair. What he is surprised about is the way you call for his attention.

“Minjae?” you say, peering over the book in your hand. “A word, if you have a moment.”

The wood creaks as he pushes the door open a little further to step inside, the heels of his boots clicking against the wooden floorboards.

“Yes?”

“May I ask, how old is this castle?”

Minjae arches an eyebrow, but answers nevertheless.

“Master Hyunwoo dates it around the thirteenth century. It’s been in his family since the sixteenth century. Why do you ask?”

You shrug, and lower your eyes back down to the book in your hands.

“No reason in particular.” You can tell Minjae is unconvinced, and you chuckle softly, turning the page. “There are a lot of books in here about architecture. I suppose it just never occurred to me to ask Hyunwoo about it until now.”

“I’m sure Master Hyunwoo would be more than happy to discuss the castle’s origins with you in more detail when he returns on the twelfth.” You glance up at him, and watch as he adjusts his sleeves and lapels of his suit jacket. “Will that be all, _____?”

“Yes. Thank you, Minjae. Don’t let me take up anymore of your time.”

“It would be wise for you to consider heading back to your room soon. Sunrise is just four hours away.”

“Namjoon? Namjoon.”

Chains rattle as Namjoon stirs at the sound of your quiet whispers, and he watches as you take extra care in opening his cell door, careful not to make too much noise. You leave just enough space for yourself to step through, clutching the knapsack in your arms close to your chest.

“Noona?” he whispers back. You shush him quietly, and drop to your knees in front of him, putting the knapsack down by your side. “Is it time? Are we leaving now?”

“Yes.”

It’s as if four centuries of fatigue dissipate from his body at the single word, and his chains rattle again as he suddenly becomes alert. He watches as you reach into your dress and pull out a key, standing to unlock his wrists, holding your arms out to catch him as he stumbles.

“Christ almighty,” he sighs, leaning against you as the ache in his arms and shoulders becomes all too apparent all of a sudden.

“I’m afraid we cannot waste any time, Namjoon,” you say, reaching into the knapsack to pull out a bottle much larger than the vials and flasks you’d been secretly feeding him before. “Drink this – all of it. You’re going to need your strength.”

Namjoon has no complaints, and wastes no time in taking the bottle from you, uncorking the top and downing almost half without a breath. You wait for him to finish every drop of blood in the bottle before you’re reaching into the knapsack again, pulling out a pile of freshly pressed clothing and thrusting it into his arms.

“Get dressed. Quick as you can. Hurry. We don’t have much time. Sunrise is approaching.”

You can feel Namjoon’s breaths grazing against your ear as you both stand still, backs pressed to the cold stone walls of the castle. This is now or never, and you both know it.

“There’s a cave,” you whisper. “Just a mile down that path between the oaks. If we’re quick, we’ll make it before the sun rises. From there, we can wait ‘til tomorrow’s twilight to move again. The city centre is just less than fifty miles from there. We can get there on foot in two days, less if we’re quick. Once we get to the city centre, we’ll be able to find safe passage.”

“How do you know all this, noona?” Namjoon asks, eyes shifting left and right warily.

“I spent the last four centuries turning Hyunwoo’s library inside and out ever since I found out he came from a family of cartographers. Fortunately for us, he seems to have inherited his family’s love of maps and collects them, and continues to update his collection with more accurate ones that detail new routes and paths he and his clan can take. It seems he uses his highly accurate maps to find discreet ways to approach those small towns and villages and ambush them.”

“Do you remember everything? Where we have to go?”

“I have them with me,” you reply, pointing towards the knapsack to emphasise your point. “All of Hyunwoo’s maps from the last quarter-century are on my back right now. He keeps them hidden away in a chamber in his study, and he never takes them with him when he travels, just in case he, by some off chance, encounters some kind of problem. He won’t risk having his maps stolen from him and give his enemy the upper hand.”

“So how does he know where to go?”

“He studies his maps about a week and a half in advance before he plans to travel, locks himself away in his study for hours on end to memorise different routes he can lead his men through.”

“And… how did you get the maps, noona?”

With pursed lips, you turn to look at Namjoon over your shoulder, biting the inside of your cheek.

“That’s not important right now, Namjoon. What matters is that I get you back home.”

“Did you hear?” Hoseok says, looking around the table. “One of the villages in Ulsan was attacked last night. Gosan, I think it was.”

“Attacked?” Taehyung repeats. “By who?”

“Tch. Who else?” Yoongi mutters, picking at the chipped varnish on the edge of the table.

“That’s the furthest Hyunwoo’s ever gone,” Jeongguk says, eyebrows furrowed. “What is he trying to do, destroy the entire country?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jimin replies, sighing and leaning back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking deeper into the cushions. “He’s a greedy motherf–”

“Language, Jimin.”

All eyes turn to Seokjin, who doesn’t take his gaze away from the fire, licks of orange and yellow reflected in his pupils. His goblet of blood remains completely untouched, rested on the arm of his chair as he damn near stares at the fire without blinking once.

“Um… hyung?” Jeongguk asks, voice soft and full of hesitation. Seokjin doesn’t answer, but Jungkook continues anyway. “What’re we gonna do?”

“What do you mean by that, Jeongguk?”

“Hyung, it’s… it’s been four centuries. Four hundred years. All we’ve done is sit here and mope.”

“Jeongguk…” Hoseok warns, watching Seokjin’s jaw tense up.

“We’ve done nothing,” Jeongguk continues, clearly growing frustrated as he stands, hands slamming down onto the table. “We did no searching, no running around town asking if anyone’s seen Namjoon hyung or heard of anything. We’ve barely left the house since he’s disappeared, and look what we’re doing now: just sitting around the table twiddling our thumbs.”

“Jeongguk, stop,” Jimin says, but his voice is too quiet to be heard over Jeongguk.

“Hyung’s gone. Noona’s gone. If we’re not gonna do anything, we might as well go stand out in the sun and crisp up like some fucking fried chicken.”

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Seokjin says, rising to his feet. “Sit your fucking ass d–”

“He’s right,” Yoongi interjects. The whole room turns towards Yoongi, who’s straightened up in his seat, hands resting in his lap.

“What did you say?”

“I said, Jeongguk’s right, hyung. And you know it.” Eyes shift from the elder to the second-in-command back and forth, tension growing in the air with each passing silent second.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, voice sounding strangled and strained.

“I know it’s the last thing you want to be hearing out loud,” Yoongi continues, rising to his feet calmly. “But this might be it from now on: the six of us, for the rest of our existence. They might come back; they might not. We have no way of knowing. Wouldn’t it just be easier to accept that they’re not here anymore? Save yourself the turmoil, hyung. You can’t spend the rest of eternity looking for something that can’t or doesn’t want to be found.” With slow but resolute steps, Yoongi makes his way over to where Seokjin stands with his head hanging low, resting a hand on the elder’s shoulder. “Hyung.”

Without warning, Seokjin falls back into his seat, hiding his face in his hands as sobs start to spill from his lips, shoulders trembling under Yoongi’s touch. The sound of Seokjin’s crying echoes throughout the room, his brothers quick to push away their chairs and join him at the head of the table, arms overlapping Yoongi’s as he leans down to hug Seokjin. At the elder’s feet, Jeongguk furiously wipes at his cheeks, face crumpled in anguish as reality finally starts to dawn on them all: this could be it.

The cave is cold, the stone walls damp with condensation. You and Namjoon have tucked yourselves away in the deepest part, careful to avoid the sunlight as the sun begins to rise, filling half of the cave before it’s even fully risen. Namjoon is panting quietly beside you, head resting on your shoulder as fatigue starts to set in, not used to expelling so much energy anymore. You drop your knapsack down at your side to wrap your arms around him, helping him settle into your side comfortably and catch his breath.

“Alright?” you ask. He nods his head once in confirmation with a soft sigh. “Get some sleep, Namjoon. I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”

“What about you?” he asks, concerned.

“I’m fine.”

“You are now, noona. What about later?” You chuckle quietly.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply, carding your fingers through his hair. “Just get some rest.”

Seokjin watches as the tiny sliver of sunlight that peeks through a distant gap in the curtains starts to fade away, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling as his room gradually begins to grow dark. He hasn’t been counting, but it’s been four centuries, three years, six months and seventeen days since Namjoon’s been missing, and four centuries, one month and twenty six days since you left. It’s been agony, slow and painful torture to watch his family crumble before his very eyes, and he’s spent so long trying to pick up the pieces, remould them, and bring it back together again.

He tries not to think about you. He tries not to let his mind wander when everyone is seated at the table, and there are two very obvious vacant seats. He tries not to dwell on the thought that his bed seems too big for him, and that he’s no longer fighting anyone for the sheets. Seokjin doesn’t allow his mind to wander to the ‘what ifs’, but when he’s left alone to simmer in his thoughts, he can’t help but wonder if he’s being delusional thinking he can still smell you on his pillows.

With a sigh, Seokjin rolls over and sits up, rubbing the fatigue from his face with his hands. It’s hell on Earth, knowing that every day he wakes up without a new lead on his brother’s whereabouts is a waste. It’s admirable, though, his perseverance, he thinks, that after four centuries he has still not given up hope. Still, Yoongi’s words continue to ring in his ears, and since that night, Seokjin has wondered if it’s time to give the hunt up, to let things be.

The near silent house starts to become filled with noise as he gets dressed, and he can hear the tell-tale shuffling of Yoongi’s feet against the hardwood floors outside, on his way to the library to start playing his piano as he always does upon waking. He’s just managed to slide his slippers onto his feet when he hears the distinct sound of glass shattering somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, followed by the poorly hushed voices of Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk. Despite himself, Seokjin chuckles quietly, and leaves his room.

“Namjoon? Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You watch as Namjoon blinks, as if pulled out of a trance, turning to look at you. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine, noona. It’s just… it’s nice.”

You hum, understanding.

“It’s been four centuries. A lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. And yet, at the same time, the city’s exactly the same. It’s astounding.”

The both of you chuckle, watching as clusters of people rush right past you both. It’s as if the both of you are invisible, the way people pay no mind to you standing by.

“We should get you something to drink,” you say, holding onto Namjoon’s sleeve. “Come. There’s a nice cafe just a few blocks from here.”

“Hello?” Jimin frantically waves a hand in front of Taehyung’s face, who is currently zoned out at the dining table. “Tae? Hello?”

“What, Chim?” Taehyung says, deadpan.

“Wow. What happened to you?”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s a first,” Yoongi scoffs, turning the page of his newspaper.

“Shut up, hyung. This is big.”

“How big?” Jimin asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Like, ‘I nearly dropped that figurine that Hoseok hyung pretends he doesn’t like that much but secretly loves it’ big, or ‘I nearly scratched Yoongi hyung’s piano playing with Jeongguk’s new remote-controlled car’ big?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Bigger,” he replies.

“What could be bigger than you almost damaging my baby?” Yoongi asks, frowning.

Jimin’s confusion grows when Taehyung sighs, scratching his head and slouching in his seat.

“I think… call me crazy, but… I think I saw Namjoon hyung yesterday.”

Yoongi freezes, mid-page turn.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a hundred percent certain I did. I don’t know if I was hallucinating because it was almost sunrise, or if it was because I drank some bad blood, but… it really looked like him. A-and _____ noona. I think.”

The three of them exchange looks silently.

“Where?” Jimin asks.

“The city centre. I was waiting for Jeongguk outside that cool animal cafe that just opened up.”

“Have you told Seokjin hyung about this?” Yoongi asks, sitting up and putting his newspaper down. Taehyung shakes his head.

“I don’t even know if I really did see him. I don’t want to get his hopes up. You know how hyung’s been over the last four centuries.”

It’s quiet in the library, and somewhere in the distance, they can hear the tapping of Cat’s claws out in the hallway as he trails after Jeongguk.

“Jesus,” Jimin mutters. “Jesus, hyung. Could you imagine? If Taehyung really did see Joonie hyung? Four centuries later?”

“Don’t say a word of this to Seokjin hyung,” Yoongi cuts in, jaw tense.

“What? Why n–”

“Jimin, don’t. At least not until we get some more information, or some kind of confirmation that Taehyung really saw what he saw.”

“He’s right,” Taehyung agrees. “We can’t give this house false hope – we can’t give Seokjin hyung any false hope.”

“Right.”

“Four centuries,” Jimin repeats, sighing and sitting back. “Four centuries of nothing, and then all of a sudden, there’s a possibility he just… appears like that…”

“Taehyung, try not to buy anything that isn’t a necessity this time, please,” Seokjin says, handing Taehyung money with a warning look.

“I mean, I can’t guarantee anything, hyung. The latest edition of me and Jeongguk’s favourite manhwa just came out a couple days ago,” Taehyung replies, smiling innocently.

“Hyung, if you come back without it, you’re dead to me,” Jeongguk says, poking his head out from behind Seokjin.

“Technically, we’re all dead, so…” Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “But, you got it, bro.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Everyone’s heads turn towards the door where Yoongi steps out of the library, buttoning up his coat, eyebrows rising with surprise.

“This is a first,” Seokjin says, chuckling softly. Yoongi shrugs.

“I’m uninspired. Figured a nice walk would clear my head a little,” he says, casting a brief look towards Taehyung.

“Well. I’m not going to argue with that. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you out of the house for the last century already. Taehyung could use an extra pair of hands. I heard from Mr. Yang that he almost dropped an entire week’s supply last month.”

“In my defence,” Taehyung cuts in. “There was a really cute dog that walked past the store.”

“That’s some weak defence, hyung,” Jeongguk snickers.

“Keep an eye on him,” Seokjin says quietly to Yoongi.

“Of course, hyung.”

It’s a quiet walk to the city centre, a heavy blanket of tension and anticipation hanging over Yoongi and Taehyung. Questions rest on the tip of Taehyung’s tongue, desperate to cut through the silence between them, but he holds back, knowing that one look at the elder’s face is enough to tell him that he’s deep in thought. It’s no secret why Yoongi had decided to accompany him, and there’s a part of Taehyung that’s relieved to have him of all people at his side – as the most rational thinker in the house, if anyone can confirm or deny Taehyung’s claims, it’s Yoongi.

It’s as busy as ever in the city centre, waves of people coming and going quicker than Yoongi can keep up with. He pays no mind to anyone else, however, eyes sharp and on the look out. He knows what he’d told Taehyung and Jimin, that to instil false hope on the house could potentially be more damaging to the family than ever before, but intuition tells him that there might be some truth to Taehyung’s story.

The supply pick-up is quick, as standard as ever, with nothing out of the ordinary occurring. Yoongi barely bats a lash at the way the case of the coven’s monthly blood supply is thrust into his arms before Taehyung is running into the bookstore, returning with significantly less change and a brand new book in his hands. Taehyung, too, makes no complaints when Yoongi stops them at a nearby cafe for a little while, under the guise that he was not used to so much walking anymore.

Taehyung jokes about Yoongi’s age, and the elder doesn’t even have the heart to reprimand him – in fact, he chuckles a little at the jab.

Nothing happens. Dawn begins to approach, and, defeated, Yoongi and Taehyung realise that to stay out any longer is futile. The walk back home is just as quiet as ever, Yoongi having to pull Taehyung out of the way of approaching bicycles and cars here and there as the younger gets a head start on the manhwa over Jeongguk.

“Taehyung, put that down, please,” Yoongi says, sighing as he bows apologetically once more to the driver of a passing car. “Can’t you wait until we’re home? We’re only a block away. Watch where you’re w–”

Confused by Yoongi abrupt halt, Taehyung looks up from the page, confused by the look on the elder’s face.

Until he follows his line of sight.

The book falls to the dirt-covered ground, the case of blood following suit.

Namjoon chuckles softly at the expressions on his brothers’ faces. It’s a tired sound, but filled with relief. In any other situation, you’d find the whole thing emotional, but with dawn approaching, with Namjoon and yourself in need of a feed, you can’t find yourself feeling anything but anxious.

“Please tell me that’s blood in there,” you say, eyeing the case at Yoongi’s feet. Taehyung scrambles at lightning speed to step into action, albeit with shaking hands, to unlock the case and grab two bags of blood, running over to where Namjoon and yourself stand, Namjoon’s arm draped over your shoulders as you help support his weight. “Yoongi. A hand, please.”

Yoongi is at Namjoon’s other side before you can even finish, draping his other arm across his shoulders.

“I new it,” Taehyung mutters, voice wavering as he helps Namjoon drink, eyes already damp. “I k-knew I saw you two.”

“You should’ve said hi then,” you joke quietly. Only Namjoon laughs.

You watch as he turns to Yoongi, nuzzling his nose against the side of the elder’s head.

“Long time no see, hyung.”

Jeongguk is hungry for blood pudding.

Determined steps take him to the second floor, headed towards you and Seokjin’s room, desperate for his older brother’s recipe book.

A firm hand stops him at the top of the stairs.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Hoseok says, a grim look on his face.

“Wh– why not, hyung?” Jeongguk asks, frowning. “I just wanted to ask Jin hyung for his recipe book.”

“Trust me, Jeongguk. Not right now.” Hoseok continues before Jeongguk can protest any more. “Noona’s in there too.” Hoseok watches the younger’s face morph into one of pure realisation.

“Oh, gross!”

“Yep.”

“Damn it. I’m hungry though. I really want some blood pudding, but it’s too late to go to the city and buy some from Mrs. Lee.”

“Damn. Blood pudding sounds pretty good right now. But you won’t be able to ask for that recipe book until tomorrow by the sounds of things,” Hoseok says, draping an arm across Jeongguk’s shoulders, leading the younger back downstairs.

“Do you know how to make blood pudding?”

“Google exists for a reason, doesn’t it?”

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” you reply, grinning.

“You’re treading a very fine line right now,” Seokjin says, jaw tense. You chuckle.

“Oh? What’s on either side of the line, honey?”

He glances down, and swallows hard at the sight of you, with your hair tussled, lipstick slightly smudged, dressed in nothing but one of his silk shirts.

“My self control, and my lack of,” he replies, swallowing thickly. You hum softly, sitting up to situate yourself on his hips, hands smoothing down his bare chest, fingers curling just slightly to drag your nails along his skin. Seokjin inhales sharply at the slight tingle your nails leave in their wake.

“I think I know which side of the line I want you to be on,” you say, smiling sweetly.

“No you don’t,” he counters, taking hold of your wrists, holding them down on your thighs.

“Of course I do. Don’t you remember Venice?”

“God,” he groans, recalling the past. “Venice.”

“Didn’t you have a great time in Venice with me, darling? Because I had a fantastic time with you.”

You lean back down, lips brushing over the vein that protrudes from his neck, warm breath fanning over his skin. You watch Seokjin’s throat shift with another thick swallow, grinning as you press a kiss to his pulse.

“Well…”

Bingo. You know you’ve won.

“Since you mentioned Venice…”

You gasp when you feel your bodies being flipped over, laughing breathlessly when your head hits the pillow, Seokjin hovering over you with a giddy smile.

“I miss Venice,” he says, peppering kisses all over your face, making you giggle at how ticklish it all feels. “We should go again.”

“With or without your brothers?” you ask, gasping again when his tongue laves at your jaw.

“Without,” he replies immediately. You hum, holding back a smile.

“Wow. When did the great Kim Seokjin get so selfish?”

“Obviously being separated from you for four centuries did things to me, _____.”

“You big softie,” you coo.

“I am anything but right now, honey.”

“I can feel that. But you must’ve gotten slower in your old age, Jinnie. You’re taking an awfully long time to do anything.”

“You can’t just let me enjoy this?” he groans, frowning against your shoulder.

“But, Jinnie,” you whine. You hold back another grin when he sighs against your skin.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Why?”

“Makes me feel like I’ll say yes to anything you want.”

“You’d say yes even if I didn’t whine.”

“You know what? I hate that you know me so well, _____,” Seokjin says.

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah. No I d–” You cut him off before he can finish, tilting your head to press your lips to his, forcing him to lose his train of thought. It doesn’t take long for his grip on your wrists to loosen enough for you to be able to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close, the weight of his torso heavy on yours.

The tip of your tongue brushes along his fangs, moaning at the way they graze against you before Seokjin is biting down gently on your bottom lip. He cradles your head in one hand, the other sliding down your chest and stomach. His lips move surprisingly slow for someone who’d been impatient not even a minute ago, tongue gently sliding against yours with a slight curl to coax it out, and you know that it won’t be long now before the tables will be turning and you will become the impatient one losing all your self control.

“Jinnie,” you moan, pushing your head back into the pillows, lips shiny and slick with spit, a beautiful shade of red that Seokjin spends a moment admiring. He looks down and holds back a groan, because the silk of his shirt on your frame does nothing to hide the curves and contours of your body, and he watches as your chest rises and falls underneath him.

Seokjin reaches up to unbutton the shirt agonisingly slow, and he grins silently at the way you squirm, fingertips touching every inch of your soft, supple skin as it’s exposed, because just as you’d suspected, you’ve now lost your ability to control your desire, restless beneath his gaze and touch as Seokjin takes his time in undressing you. A soft whimper bubbles in your throat, but he quiets you down with a kiss to your neck, teeth grazing along the goosebumps that rise in their wake, letting the whimper morph into a surprised gasp.

He takes a deep breath in, letting the scent of you intoxicate him and cloud his senses until all he can think about is you, and the way your body feels in his hold. Seokjin feels your legs wrap around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back when you push your hips up to knock against his, hoping to signal your need for more.

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear, laughing lowly.

“I waited four centuries, darling,” you reply. “Haven’t I been patient enough?”

He hums quietly, pushing the silk off your body to fall at your side and expose you to the air of his room, watching you shiver a little. You watch Seokjin shuffle down, pressing kisses down your shoulder and collarbone, travelling lower until his mouth hovers over your breast. Your breaths are shaky when his fangs brush against your nipple, one hand squeezing your other breast, fingertips pushing dimples into your skin, and it’s all so much, but not enough.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Seokjin asks, words muttered against your nipple. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you whine, back arching off the bed when his hips roll against yours. “Always you. Only you. Fuck, I want you, Jinnie. Please.”

You hear Seokjin groan, forehead resting in your cleavage, and then before you can even blink, he’s pushed himself down lower, lying in between your legs, already so close to your heat that you don’t have time to process anything quick enough.

“Only me?” he repeats, warm breath brushing against your skin.

“Only you,” you whisper, nodding shakily.

“I love you, _____.”

“I-I lo--”

He doesn’t let you finish, and everything seems to happen so much quicker after that. You barely have the time to recover from the way he pushes a finger into you, and then another, and then another, all while he sucks fervently on your clit and licks hungrily at your folds. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently and urging him on.

Seokjin seems to be just as -- if not, more -- impatient than you, not continuing on for more than a minute before he’s pushing himself up onto his knees, not taking his fingers out of you when he leans down to press his lips to yours, kissing you hungrily, urgently. You kick the sheets off the bed, moaning when Seokjin takes hold of you to sit you up, frantically tugging his silk shirt off your frame to leave you both completely naked.

“Turn around for me,” he whispers; you bite down on your lip, trying to not seem too excited by what’s to come as you scramble to get on your hands and knees in front of him.

A little shiver runs down your spine at the way his hand smooths down your back and down the curve of your ass, your eyes shutting involuntarily at his touch.

“God, you’re so beautiful, _____.”

Seokjin leans down, the warmth of his chest like fire on your skin, pressing kisses to your shoulders as he pushes into you. The both of you groan, and you throw your head back against his shoulder, lips parting as he mouths at your neck.

Seokjin lets out a shaky breath when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, trying to maintain his composure but failing steadily, the way your walls clench around his cock doing nothing to help. You keen beneath him, letting out a whine as you wiggle your hips against his, stopping when you feel a firm hand grip your waist.

“Don’t,” he says, trying to sound firm, but his voice errs on the edge of a whine. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last much longer, _____.”

“I don’t care, baby,” you say, reaching up to curl an arm around his neck and press kisses to any inch of his jawline that you can reach. “Give it to me.”

You push your hips back again, despite his hold on you, and Seokjin groans once again, moving his hand from your waist to reach around and hold you close, giving an experimental thrust of his hips.

You gasp, before letting it turn into a moan, and Seokjin lets his hesitation dissolve, slowly building a steady rhythm with his thrusts. You feel your body start to rock beneath him, and you let go of his neck to plant your hand back down on the bed to steady yourself and keep you up, legs starting to tremble with the hint of your release slowly creeping up on you.

Seokjin’s fingers dig into your stomach, his breaths ragged against your back as he feels your walls continually clench around him. He digs his fangs into his tongue, trying to tamper down loud growls that threaten to spill from his lips, fully aware that the both of you are not alone in the house right now.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” you say, as if you’d read his mind.

“But -- fuck -- t-the others...” he replies weakly.

“Forget about them,” you say, turning to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Forget about them, Jinnie. I want to hear you. I want them to hear you.”

“God.” Seokjin throws his head back and groans quietly, hips still moving, before leaning back down to rest his head between your shoulders.

“Tell me how good I feel, Jinnie.”

“You feel -- ah -- fucking divine, _____,” he growls, hips picking up their pace as he starts to rock into you faster. “So good, sweetheart. Y-you’re mine. All mine.”

“I’m -- ah! -- yours, baby. Only yours,” you moan, loud enough to fill the room. “Always fuck me so well, Jinnie. Want you to fill me up.”

“God, yes. G-gonna fill you up ‘til your dripping.”

“Please.”

Seokjin’s hips move fast, cock thrusting in and out of you hard enough to have your moans stuttering as you keen, trying to match his pace and thrust back to meet him halfway. You fall to your elbows, back arching in a way that drives Seokjin’s cock in deeper into you, forcing a low, guttural growl to fill the room, no doubt being heard by the other occupants of the house outside too.

You bite down on your bottom lip, fangs digging into your flesh as you roll your hips and muffle a moan against the pillow beneath you, feeling the heat in your lower stomach build, the tension growing with each thrust into you.

Seokjin straightens up, hands gripping your hips and finding leverage to drive himself into you harder and deeper, throwing his head back with another growl, losing his rhythm for a split second when you clench your walls for a moment longer.

“Jinnie,” you whimper, hands gripping the pillows tightly. “I-I...”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you up onto your knees and flush against his body, arms wrapped around your waist to hold you close. You can’t speak coherently anymore, head resting back against Seokjin’s shoulder, moans loud and unrestrained.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Seokjin whispers, lips pressed to your cheek as he continues to thrust up into you with a new found enthusiasm, headboard banging rhythmically against the bedroom wall. “Come for me.”

Your knees start to grow weak as the heat in your stomach builds, thighs trembling, chest rising and falling rapidly until you freeze in Seokjin’s arms, the tension exploding as you reach your peak and climax.

Seokjin can’t hold back any further, egged on by the way you call out his name, moaning loud enough to be heard outside of the bedroom. You whimper at the warmth that fills you when his hips completely still, and he lets out a shaky breath against your neck as he hugs you close.

“I love you,” you whisper, panting and pressing a kiss to Seokjin’s cheek.

Yoongi groans once again when his fingers slip and press down on the wrong keys.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, scowling as he looks up at the ceiling, hoping that his negativity permeates through the walls and into you and Seokjin’s shared room. “I need to move out.”

#kim seokjin #jin #bts #bangtan #bts scenarios #vampire!au #r #anon

65 notes · View notes