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#its not that hard to block people if you don’t like their content

pauladrawsnstuff · 3 months

Note

Oh what's the tea with hazbin animation?

So this is a big point of contention with me because it’s not really just the animation that I had beef with. They clearly put their whole ass into the A shots and a lot of them were beautifully done but that consistency was sorely lacking and you could see a clear divide between the A/senior shots and the junior shots as a result. There was also a lot of choppy animation that didn’t feel intentional.

This problem was exacerbated by the composition and framing of some of the shots. A lot of the time the editing was not good, and cuts were unmotivated or sloppy. Also there would be cuts that had the same character and inbetween shots the characters model would change drastically. (A good example of this that immediately comes to mind for me is in the hells greatest dad song there is a bit where Alastair is playing the piano and it cuts to a different angle and all of a sudden he’s like 2 feet taller and his arms are longer and he’s in a completely different position. This shit is so noticeable.)

Also when it comes to editing, this show has a major problem with its camera. It won’t stay the fuck still. I thought I was gunna throw up from motion sickness half the time.

You can blame a lot the animation problems on the designs of the character or budget/time constraints. Almost every animator friend I have thinks this show is ugly and the animation is hard to watch at points. I only gave it a chance because I liked the music and I’m a huge fan of musicals. I also think that even if you don’t like the show (don’t discourse with me I will start blocking people) that it is a big W for the animation industry right now. The industry is a flaming dumpster fire and this is kind of a highlight of success. Sorry to ramble.

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everyonewooeverywhere · 1 month

Text

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ dom!seonghwa x bratty!f!reader

synopsis ✭ He told you not to wear the dress. You did it anyway. And he's not usually very forgiving.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI

word count ✭ 2.2k

note ✭ this is lightly inspired by "worst behavior" by ariana grande

warnings ✭ name-calling (he calls mc a "whore" 😀, baby, pretty girl), grips her jaw really tight (it's made clear that it's something she enjoys), restraints (cuffs her to bed), blindfold, hwa is pretty controlling, protected sex, edging

✭✭✭✭

You were being a tease. Everyone knew it. You knew it. The whole party knew it. But not a single soul knew it better than Seonghwa.

He’d been so generous to bring you to this party. It was supposed to be a classy event–one with nice dresses and well-pressed suits. Polished shoes and fancy perfumes. And those weren’t necessarily things you lacked, but your “nice dress” of choice had certainly taken some liberties. Specifically with how impossibly short it was.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t meant to tease him per say, but you knew that, if you wore the sluttiest dress you could find, your boyfriend would want to leave early. That meant you wouldn’t have to waste a perfectly fine evening at one of his boring, posh company gatherings. He had tried to stop you, too, but you had never been a very good listener.

✭✭✭✭

As you touched up your makeup in the mirror of your boyfriend’s luxury apartment, you couldn’t help but admire the reflection. You looked incredible in your black minidress. Its lace detailing was what had originally caught your eye, and you happened to know that your boyfriend was a fan of it too. Though, maybe not for a night like tonight.

“Baby, are you almost ready?” You heard him call from the conjoined bedroom.

As you finished one last swipe of lip gloss, you called back, “Yep!”

He was smiling when he peaked his head into the bathroom, but you saw that smile immediately drop in the reflection of the mirror when he saw your outfit.

You pouted, “What?” And you turned around to face him.

“You’re not wearing that dress.” He said plainly.

With a roll of your eyes that he did not like in the slightest, you retorted, “I like it.”

“Yeah, well,” with a couple of steps in your direction, he pushed you up against the counter of the sink, the marble digging into your backside, “You look like a whore, and I don’t want my colleagues to see you like this.”

You felt giddy with pleasure at how upset he was getting, and all it took was a simple dress. Still, you kept up the annoyed act, “Well, your colleagues can keep it in their fucking pants because I’m not taking it off.”

He gripped your chin with his ring-clad hand and forced you to look him right in the face, “I don’t like this little attitude, baby. Are we gonna have a problem tonight?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were so focused on the unyielding grip of his hand on your jaw, that all you could manage to think about was the hand dropping lower to grasp your neck. Before things could go any further, though, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Sir, are you ready? The car is here. And we are already running late.”

“One second,” your boyfriend responded to his assistant. Returning his attention to you, the grip on your jaw tightened, “You are so fucking lucky that we’re running late or I would punish you right fucking now.”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the whine that bubbled up in your throat at his words. Because, let’s be honest, there was nothing you wanted more than for him to do just that.

✭✭✭✭

The part was just as boring as you assumed it would be. Everyone was dressed for the part. A room full of rich people looking to show off their wealth. And, of course, Seonghwa was no exception to that, seeing as he’d brought his sugar baby with him, though you were certainly attracting a good bit of negative attention from the crowd.

Throughout the whole night, Seonghwa kept his hand on your lower back, dictating your every move and keeping you in his sights. Though it was clear he had additional motives. Motives fueled by the fact that he knew it drove you absolutely insane when he took control of you like that. Guiding you from person to person as he chatted away with executives from his company, always acutely aware of how you clung to him with your fingers playing with the edges of his suit jacket.

He’d occasionally pass you a flute of champagne off a tray motioned toward him by a waiter. “Thank you,” you’d whisper as the glass transferred from his hand to yours. And he would purposely brush your hand with his own as he gave you the glass.

As he talked you nodded along to his every word, not paying much attention to what came out of his mouth. Too busy absent-mindedly playing with the buttons of his shirt, occasionally slipping your hand through them to feel his chest underneath the shirt. Each time, he’d remove your hand himself and cast a glare down at you. Only for you to grin up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

When he finished chatting with a couple that had occupied his attention for the past half-hour, he turned his attention to you. He pulled you into his chest, it was an embrace that anyone around you would have thought was a cute romantic gesture, but you were smart enough to know that was far from the case.

“You’re really asking for it, huh baby?” he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Hwa,” you whined softly, “I wanna go home.” You wiggled in his embrace.

“Fine, we can go home, but I can promise you are in big fucking trouble when we do.”

✭✭✭✭

It only took two minutes from the second the car pulled up to Seonghwa’s apartment for him to be on top of you in his bed.

To your surprise things started off sweet. He kissed you softly, with his hands playing with the frills in the lace of your dress. His lips traveled from your own to your cheek and jaw. Leaving little bites in the wake of his kisses. When you gripped, his hair, your nails digging into his scalp, it was as if you’d flipped a switch in him.

He was off of you in a second, and you pouted at his departure. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you watched him slip off the bed and head to his dresser.

Your thighs rubbed together in anticipation. You watched as he stripped himself of his suit jacket, leaving him in his back dress shirt. He slid a condom into his back pocket and grabbed a pair of cuffs from the drawer along with a silk blindfold and vibrator.

When he made his way back to the bed, you made a move to take your dress off, but he stopped you. Grabbing your hair and tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “The dress isn’t going anywhere.”

“What?” Your eyes widened at that news, “Why?” you croaked out, confused.

“Well, you like it so much, don’t you baby?” You nodded hesitantly at his question, still excited for the answer, “Then I don’t see any reason why I should take it off you. I might just have to fuck you in it.”

After cuffing you to the headboard and tying the silk cloth around your eyes, you heard him shuffle around the bed. He adjusted one of the pillows under your head, “Is that comfortable?” He muttered in your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You were met with a kiss on the forehead at your reassurance. As much as you loved when he was rough with you, it was nice to always know that he genuinely did care for your well-being.

He continued to kiss down your body while his hands groped you over your dress. You were so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin, the heat of his mouth as he nipped at your jaw and collarbone, that you failed to notice the faint buzzing noise of the vibrator when he turned it on.

You were made aware of its presence, though, when he pressed it to your panties, making you gasp and jump up slightly. You just knew he was smirking down at you.

He just loved to watch you squirm under him. Watching you unravel without him even having to do any work.

When he held the toy to your clit over your underwear, you moaned, loud, “Hwa, oh fuck!” You wiggled your hips trying to give yourself more.

He slapped in inside of your thigh, “Move again, and I’ll turn it off.”

“Please, baby,” you whined, “I need more.”

“Oh? You think you deserve more?” He smacked your thigh again, “After how horrible you were being tonight? You're lucky I don’t just tie you up and get myself off. You don’t want that do you, baby?”

You shook your head furiously, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please Hwa…”

He pressed the vibe harder into your clit, circling it around, building friction between your panties and your clit. You felt your stomach tighten at the continuous motion.

He noticed that you were close, “Oh are you close?” you nodded dumbly, “Yeah? Do you wanna come, baby?”

“Yes! Please baby, please!” You could feel yourself getting closer and closer, and you were on the verge of spilling over. But it came to a screeching halt when he removed the vibrator from you entirely.

You felt your eyes well up with tears of frustration, and he noticed it, “Oh, is my baby crying? Maybe if you hadn’t acted like such a whore tonight, you could get what you want.”

“Please..” you gasped out in a broken whisper.

“Patience baby,” when he said “patience,” though, he really just meant he wanted you to beg for it he wanted you to cry under him and beg for him to fuck you.

And beg you did, as he teasingly ran his fingers over your soaked panties, you continued to whine out his name, over and over and over again. When he finally moved them aside and ran a finger through your fold, he teased you, “God, could you get any wetter? Is this all mine?”

You could barely gasp out a “yes” before his fingers were inside you. “Fuck!” you choked out as he fucked you on his hand, watching as you unraveled for a second time. “Please, Hwa! I need more! Please!”

“Oh…baby’s gonna behave now is she?”

You nodded, “I’ll be so good, please.”

“Yeah? You want my cock, baby?”

“Oh god yes! I want it so bad,” involuntarily, you rolled your hips against his hand. Resulting in another smack to your thigh. Again, he waited until you were on the verge of cumming to pull away his hand. You tried to reach out with your legs to wrap them around him, but he was already sliding off the bed. From the shuffling you heard, you could tell he was taking off his clothes. You whined at the thought, thighs rubbing together to give yourself something while he was away.

You felt his weight dip in the bed, and his hand came up to caress your cheek, “Are you ready, pretty baby?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded, “I’ve been so good. Please…”

He chuckled, sliding the blindfold off of your eyes so that it was around your neck, “Well, I don’t know about that, but your lucky that you're so fucking beautiful. And I just can’t help myself.”

He rolled the condom on as he kissed you softly. When he ran his length through your folds, you sighed at the contact. He kept kissing you as he pushed into you, slowly at first.

You gasped and arched your back, “Oh my god!” He didn’t keep the pace slow for long. You’d spent so long teasing him and playing around with him, that he was insatiably pent up. That didn’t mean he didn’t have the patience to tease you of course, but, by the time he was inside of you, both of you were at your wit’s end.

He gripped the back of your head with one hand and you hip with the other, pressing his forehead to yours as he pounded into you. Over and over and over.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured against your lips, “You keep getting tighter.”

“Oh, Hwa, I’m so close,” you croaked out, tears running down your cheeks, “Please, please, please let me cum.” Every inch of you felt hot, and your legs shook as your pleasure overtook.”

“Fuck, yeah, pretty girl. Cum around me. Shit–. I’m close to.”

Your eyes rolled back, and your jaw went slack as you came. Legs shaking without any control. You cried out his name with your chest heaving.

He pulled out of you when you finished and ripped off the condom. He groaned as he pumped his dick a few times, cumming all over your dress.

You whined as he admired the damage he’d done to the garment. “Hwa…my dress.” You pouted as he undid the restraints above your head.

“Yeah, you’re not ever wearing this fucking dress ever again.”

✭✭✭✭

note ✭ thank you so so so much to everyone who helped me choose to write this one. i struggled a bit to get it done, but i wanted to get something done before i go home this weekend 😊

if you liked it, please let me know! i absolutely love love love hearing feedback whether it be comments, reblogs, or even just a small message in my dms or inbox. i love hearing from ya'll 💗

anyways thank you for reading! love ya~

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader smut #seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa fic #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa fic #ateez imagines #ateez fic #*ꔫ.ೃ࿔* ateez #*ꔫ.ೃ࿔* everyonewooeverywhere: worst behavior #*ꔫ.ೃ࿔* everyonewooeverywhere

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voidpumpkin · 1 year

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A Guide For New Users Fleeing From Twitter, From A User Who Needed One When They First Started:

Hi to everyone fleeing from twitter, Elon Musk is shit and he already has had an actively harmful effect on the site, one that will only get worse. So, welcome to Tumblr, it can be kind of intimidating, given its reputation and how many different features there are, I was certainly confused and intimidated when I first logged on and as I'm active on both I sympathise with y’all, so here’s a guide to anyone new:

Put your hashtags in the hashtag section. This is the only way they’ll actually have any sort of effect, or appear when you search for something. Don’t post them on the post itself.

There is a character limit for hashtags and a quite high hashtag limit. Go wild. Writing entire speeches is common.

Don’t tag lots of unrelated stuff to your posts, that’ll get you reported for Spam and just hated in general

Don’t censor words, users are fine with swearing, doing so especially with triggering content makes it hard for people to limit their exposure to said triggering content.

There’s no such thing as ratioing.

We don’t have quote retweeting, every reblog, comment, etc counts to op’s post. They can see it all, and will be notified depending on their notification settings.

Change your icon, people will think you’re a bot if you use the default.

Give yourself a bio, it’ll make you look like a person.

Follow people and tags, that’s the only way you’re gonna see the content you wanna see. The foryoupage isn’t to be trusted.

Actually reblog stuff, liking has no effect, reblogging is the only important thing here as there is no like based algorithm. Doing so will also make you appear human.

You can hide your likes and who you’re following. Doing so is not frowned upon in the slightest.

You can block tags, similarly to muting words on twitter.

You can have multiple blogs tied to one account.

You can customise your blog, go wild.

There is no word limit, you can write as you want. But if it gets too long make use of the keep reading feature, (the three dots beside the add gif feature)

There is an image limit of thirty, up from the former ten, though for some they may be stuck at only using ten, tumblr is kinda inconsistent. If you want to add more you’ll have to reblog your own post.

There is no reblogging limit when it comes to a post, though there is a daily posting limit, go wild, only your followers will be upset.

You can have videos, gifs and pictures in the same post.

You can just post audio.

Adult content is still banned, but actual moderation and enforcement is spotty, especially if it’s written.

Spam liking and reblogging isn’t a thing. Go wild.

You have an ask box that people can submit stuff to. You can respond or just delete the post. You can remove anon capability from it (which will get rid of most of the hate), or outright bar it.

You can’t private your account but you can restrict commenting and reblogging. Edit: I’ve been informed that you can in fact make your blog password protected, it’s just that it’s a rarely done thing and not widely known.

Block whoever and whenever, it’s not a big deal. Though if someone you’ve blocked has reblogged and added to a post and someone you follow reblogs that, their commentary will still be included in the post you see.

We don’t have muting, only blocking.

Yes, direct messaging is a thing (it’s the little smiley face)

The only way to promote your is through ‘tumblr blaze’, you pay a certain amount of money and your post will be promoted, but not targeted, so no invasions of privacy. You are subject to the employee’s whims on whether or not it gets promoted and unfortunately hate speech has been allowed.

Tumblr has tendency to hide/consume comments, posts and asks, don’t be surprised if they go missing.

Tumblr searching a blog relies on tags, words in the post and the users name, keep that in mind.

Posts will remain after you delete your account or the original post if they have been reblogged.

Years old posts are still circulating and that is considered normal.

You can queue up posts to be released when you’re not using your account. Or you can just post whenever you’re active. Go wild.

Wizards exist and are very popular on this site. Accept it.

There are posts with no notes that will never gain any more than a sing note for your like. Accept it.

There are posts will no op. Accept it.

Trans and autistic people dominate this site.

Don’t get pissy when someone tags a post ‘tw (insert slur)’, or any trigger warning for that matter, most are just being considerate of their followers who may be triggered by such content.

Twitter discourse is regularly mocked, it’s not gonna fly here.

No, we don’t call each other oomfs, or anything like that. We just have mutuals.

Tumblr in general lacks a lot colloquialisms that began on twitter.

We do have ‘blorbo’ ‘poor little meow meow’ etc.

Trying to go viral or trying to corporate is frowned upon.

Tumblr has a tendency to blacklist things tagged like ‘crowdfunding’ so bring that kind of logic you use for twitter posts over to tumblr.

We don’t have twitter circles, co-posting, etc.

Tumblr is surprisingly good at recommending blogs.

There are no verified accounts, and your follower count isn't visible. This is a good thing, trying to change it will get you laughed at.

People are going to just make up stuff, don’t believe everything you see and if it’s a claim about someone, investigate it rather than just believe it.

You can edit your posts after you’ve posted them, but the versions reblogged before said changes will still circulate. This editing of the original has been used as a spruce of comedy

If your worried about people seeing your potentially triggering, or even graphic content and they haven’t blocked the tags you’ve used you can use the keeping reading feature to put the content under the cut and post a warning at the top.

And this is quite important:

Stay anonymous and have fun. There isn’t an expectation to constantly expose inner details of your life, you aren’t expected to use your real face, your real name, age, etc. You’re not even expected to be truthful here. Exist however you wanna exist and have fun, that should be the point of social media.

Also keep in mind that tumblr has its own distinct culture that is going to take some getting used to. As well as a history any user who’s been here a while will at least somewhat understand.

Also I'll be editing the post with additional info and corrections provided to me.

#twitter #tumblr #social media #Elon musk #giude #psa #hellsite #edited to correct some stuff #hellsite tag #edited again to add stuff and correct some information

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Life in the City 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: A brief reprieve from the snakish prince.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sleep lightly, A restless night that leaves your skull fragile. You give up your attempts as the sun rises through the windows. You sit up and stretch, looking around the soft hues limning the walls of Melanie’s apartment.

You stand and move cautiously through the space. You change in the bathroom, doing your best not to make too much noise as you go out to grab your bag. You brush your teeth and tidy up. You’ll have a shower when you get home.

You emerge and look around, making sure you haven’t left anything out. You take the time to clean up the snacks from the night before and place everything away in the cupboard. You know Melanie’s on a diet but it feels wrong to take it all back with you.

As you zip up your bag, a shadow darkness the hallway and you look up as Clark tussles his dark hair and stretches. You glimpse at him briefly, mortified to find him shirtless, his hard torso exposed above the low elastic of his sweatpants.

“Morning,” his voice is silty with sleep, “what… are you leaving already?”

“Well, I… I should head off. Get out of your way,” you shrug as you speak quietly, “plus, I got chores…”

“Oh, do you need a ride,” he lets his hand drag down his chest as you shift awkwardly, clinging to your knapsack.

“Um, that’s nice, but I’ll just catch the bus–”

“The bus?” He echoes, “let me throw on a shirt and get myself together. I can’t let you just sneak off.”

“Erm, I guess… I could wait and say goodbye to Melanie, I just thought–”

“Yeah, she won’t be up for a while,” he drops his arms, his chest puffed proudly, “you know, she drank a lot. She wasn’t feeling too well. You didn’t hear her?”

“What? I…” you blink and avoid his gaze, “I was asleep, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh, yeah, she was sick in the middle of the night. Pretty bad. I tell her not to drink on an empty stomach.”

“Ah, uh, yeah, that’s awful,” you sputter, “I… I’m sorry to rush out, it’s just I got a lot to catch up.”

“No problem. I’ll save you waiting for the bus,” he says, “won’t be long at all.”

“Oh, okay, but–”

“Really, it’s no trouble. If I don’t wake her up with a real latte, she’ll bite my head off,” he chuckles, “hungover Melanie is not nice Melanie.”

“Right,” you try to laugh but it’s more a croak, “I’ll just be… here then.”

🏙️

You sit in the car silently. The tension is roiling. You don’t know why you agreed. You could have insisted; the bus won’t be long…

Too late for that. You’re stuck now. At least there’s not much traffic. You hug your bag in your lap, anxious to just get home. He drives patiently despite the empty streets, taking his time as he turns onto the next street.

“So, chores, sounds exciting,” he teases.

“Mm, yeah, I guess,” you agree squeakily.

“What else are Saturday’s for? Guess you’re headed back to work on Monday?”

You nod, “mhmm.”

“How is it? Work? You making lots of friends?”

You almost feel like a kid. It reminds you of when your dad would pick you up from school and ask what trouble you go into. You twiddle your fingers against your bag.

“Um, well, everyone sort’ve keeps to themselves,” you eke out, “there’s a lot of work so…”

“You’ll settle in. I’m sure you’ll find lots of friends,” he slows and flips on his blinker, “I mean, you already have.” You tilt your head and glance at him in confusion, “me.”

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah, sorry, I’m tired,” you laugh nervously.

“So,” he rolls into the lot of the Coffee Bean, “want something?”

“You don’t have to–”

“I’m stopping by anyway, no biggie,” he insists, “coffee, tea?”

You pick at the zipper of your bag. He’s so nice. Too nice. But that’s not a real problem, you’re just making it into one. Last night… what did he do so wrong? Pull a blanket over you? It was cold.

“Sure, could I just get an iced green tea, please and thank you?” You unzip your bag and fish around.

He steers into the drive through and puts in his order at the speaker, listing off Melanie’s complicated lite syrup, half-foam, coconut milk monstrosity at the end. You pull out your wallet as he’s directed to the window.

“My treat,” he insists.

“Really, it’s just three bucks.”

“Exactly,” he insists, “you brought all those treats last night, the least I can do is buy you an iced tea.”

“Thanks,” you sniff and look out the window.

“I’ll make sure Mel gives you a call. You two can hash this out,” he stops and waits at the window, “she needs a friend like you. All the others are so… well, they’re not as nice as you.”

“Maybe, I… if she wants to call. I don’t want to bug her.”

“Bug her? Oh, sweetie, she doesn’t deserve a friend like you,” he says, “but I’m being selfish and I think you’d be a good influence.”

You nod again, put off by his tone. It’s like he’s a parent the way he talks about Melanie. Almost like he’s trying to mould her into something. Someone like him, with his name and his looks, you’re sure he could find someone who already fits right in.

The window opens and he takes the tray of drinks. He hands you yours before sliding the other two into the cup holders. He flings the cardboard tray onto the backseat and continues through the exit. He idles at the signs.

“I forgot, which way am I going?”

You point him in the right direction, nearly sighing in relief. You’re almost home. You just want to hide away in your shame and never be perceived again.

🏙️

You’re not very surprised when Melanie doesn’t call. Not on Saturday or Sunday. You’re grateful that she doesn’t. You’re trying to forget about the movie night gone wrong. It’s probably better off. You’ve both changed a lot since high school, or maybe you haven’t changed enough.

You go through your usual. You’re not a liar, you do have chores. Dishes, laundry, floors, dusting… You keep yourself busy in an effort to block out the memory of the night. You won’t be watching Never Been Kissed ever again, that’s for sure.

Monday morning greets you with a new start but it all feels so stale. The routine is the same as the weeks before. Wake up, green tea in a thermos, pack your lunch, make yourself presentable, and out the door to catch the bus.

You enjoy the route, letting it lull your pre-work jitters. You’ve been there going on a month and somehow you still feel out-of-place. It’s not like before, where you knew all the people at your work study, or in high school where the associates in the department store joked around more than they ever did the price changes.

You stroll up to the building, slowing behind a pair of men in tailored suits. You feel like a minnow in a sea of sharks. You follow them inside as they drop the door on you. They’re important. They’re chatting about an important meeting and business trip next week. You’ll be dutifully perched at your desk, roving through spreadsheets.

The salesmen are higher up the chain than you in the ecosystem of the company. You’re somewhere along the lower-middle ground, below the lions and the hyenas. You’re off with Timon and Pumbaa, trying not to get eaten.

You step onto the elevator with them, shrinking down. You’re invisible to them. You’re not Stella in her red-soled stilettos and tight pencil skirts, or Ginnifer in her high-buns and sleek pantsuits. You feel like a little girl playing dress up even in your simple powder blue cardigan and flowered skirt.

The elevator bings and the men nearly bowl you over as they brush past you on each side. You get off after them and scurry away to your desk. You see Stella now, sipping a tall latte as she purrs at Tony. She struts down the hall ahead of him as she calls back about some expense report.

You tuck your bag under your desk and get yourself situated. You plunk down your thermos beside your mouse and boot up. You roll your ankles under the desk, your Keds soft-soled but comfortable. You can’t run for the bus in heels.

You steel yourself for another day buried in Excel columns. You sign in and push back the cap on the lid of your cup. Steam escapes and you let the heat escape before you dare taste it. You pull up your inbox and scroll through your emails. Your task list is ever longer by the day.

Your work isn’t unimportant. You give the analytics to the salesman and the big suits. You provide the numbers for their strategy but for them, all that is menial. That’s not the real meat of the company. You and all the other ants in the hill are dispensable.

You push your chair back as you reach into your bag for your notebook. As you do, the back collides with something. You quickly roll back in, knocking your head on the edge of the desk as you do. You rub your brow as you spin to face the obstruction.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you babble up at the tall man.

He’s big, blond, and burly, and wears a suit that demarcates him as one of them. You don’t need an introduction, everyone knows who he is. The COO is memorable for more than his title. His booming voice and towering size set him apart from all the other men in their leather shoes and skinny ties.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you stand but still have to crane your neck to look at him, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiles broadly, “are you alright? You took quite a bump.”

“Oh,” you drop your hand from your head, “yeah, I’m fine, sir. Thank you. I was just… looking for something.”

“So long as you’re alright. However, I am the safety officer, I could have a look,” he offers.

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to do that–”

“I didn’t mind so much,” he assures you, “I don’t know you. You’re new. Leah’s replacement?”

“Um, I think,” you look at your desk, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course not,” he accepts, “Thor Odinson.”

He holds out his large hand. You consider it and give him your own. Your hand is tiny in comparison as he easily wraps his fingers around it. You supply your name with a squeak.

“Ah, I like that,” he praises, “well, you have a wonderful day. And welcome to the company.”

“Yes, sir,” you rescind your hand as he releases it. His cologne wafts towards you, vanilla underscored by something woodsy.

“Thor,” he affirms.

You repeat his name and clutch your hands together. He lingers, looking you up and down, then turns on his heel. You watch him go before you sit.

You want to hold your head and hide. What did he think of you? This girl in her thin wool cardigan and lace-up sneakers. You don’t know why you care so much. He’s your boss but not directly. He’s probably already forgotten about you.

You cringe and swirl your mouse around. Focus. You’re at work. This isn’t high school or college. This isn’t about making friends and all that. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you, your work matters.

You lean into the screen and squint at the tight boxes, increasing their size as you open a new report. For all your studying, you never saw yourself sitting there fighting with numbers all day. Percentages, rates, medians, mean… how boring.

You jolt as you feel your bag buzz against your leg. You look behind you before you push your chair out this time and bring your bag into your lap. You retrieve your notebook as you remember the cause of your first folly then fish out your phone.

You bring down the menu and set it to silent. Before you hit lock, you see the message beaming back at you. It’s from Melanie.

‘Hey girl. Let’s talk.’

You frown. You’d already accepted that Mel was done with you. She was always good at holding a grudge, even for the slightest offence. You wonder if Clark really had talked to her. You leave it unread and tuck your phone away, dropping your bag back to the floor and shoving it away with your toes.

As you return your attention to your monitor, you sense something behind it. There, across the room, you meet Thor’s eyes as he stares at you. He has a red mug of coffee in his hand as he sips. He pulls the brim away from his lips and grins, sending a wink in your direction.

You blink and look over your shoulder. Who is he looking at? You turn back to face him again. He’s gone. Ah, whoever it was, must’ve caught up to him.

You shake off the collision and the text message. Work!

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 29 days

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Hello i don’t know if your request are open or closed ignore me if it’s the case but can you make a Jason grace x reader when he know she is love with him and it’s reciprocated but she don’t want to make the move because Jason grace is a golden boy perfect etc.. and she is just normal thank you 🤩

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Oh, That Golden Light - Its Blinding Me

content: jason grace x unclaimed! reader fic warning: kinda angsty, ig??? sort of??? i dunno??? author's note: taking a break from the smau bc i miss writing lmao- also i feel so big brain for making the reader unclaimed for legit no reason. this is HEAVILY influenced by golden by harry styles. im not like a huge mega fan but satellite did things to me bc i thought of my father while listening to it and i had to pull over i was crying so hard in my car oop- anyways, i hope yall enjoy me coming out of my writing disappearance frfr WERE BACK BABYYYYYYYY

jason grace was like something out of some shiny hollywood movie. perfect. flawless. stunning. blinding.

it was hard not to fall in love with zeus' golden boy. he was just so sweet and caring to every person he met. you wouldn't even know this boy was a harden solider from the way he fawned over trampled patches of grass or new campers. he was just that kind of person, the one who drew people in with his comforting aura.

and you were just another victim of jason grace's warm vibes.

you, one of the few campers who continued to break percy's promise with the gods. 'claim them by thirteen,' he'd said and they agreed, but apparently your name must have been in the fine print. every summer and winter solstice, your name was brought up as a betrayal of their promise and every summer and winter solstice it was brushed under the rug. you tried to not let it affected, that your parent was so ashamed of you that they were willing to risk the wrath of percy jackson to avoid claiming you. but whatever, it's cool, it's totally fine, and not something you think about late at night.

but it did affect you. your self worth was in the dumps, you'd never felt so undesirable in your entire life. which is why you left your dreams of being jason's girlfriend just that; dreams. he'd find some other girl, some girl who was wanted, and you'd just have to live with that. but, boy, he didn't make it easy.

"good morning, yn. sleep well?" he asked, just like every morning, a book under his arm and his hair still fluffed from his pillows as he jogged to catch up with you. breakfast had been called and, just like every morning, jason made sure to walk with you and grab his breakfast with you.

"gave up my bed to little jamie here last night. those floorboards aren't too bad though," you replied easily, distracting yourself by ruffling jamie's spikey ginger hair. he was one of the new campers, still unclaimed like you, but you were sure that was bound to change soon as he was twleve. you glanced up and noticed jason's frown but pretended like you didnt.

"yn-"

"do you hear that? i think connor needs me. ill see you around, grace," you cut off what would surely be words of concern, scampering off towards connor, who definitely didn't call for you. being with jason was hard, it burned to be within feet of that boy. he was just so dazzling and bright and sometimes you just couldn't do it. you couldn't stand to block his light. to tarnish it in the way only you could.

"you try archery? maybe you're an apollo kid?" travis offered as you guys walked back from breakfast, but he knew the answer. you gave him a pointed look and he shrugged with a roll of his eyes.

"or maybe im not even an halfblood. maybe someone screwed up. maybe im destined to be unwanted, to rot away inside cabin eleven until i look like the oracle," you rambled, only stopping to take a calming breath.

"i can think of someone who wants you," connor hummed from you other side, a cheeky smile and sly look shared between the boys who could be twins but weren't. you squinted at both of them, your head darting around like you were watching an intense tennis match.

"what are you two even yapping on about?" you hissed and they just continued to smirk in the way only they could.

"we're just suggesting that a certain golden boy has his eyes on you. his heart eyes," travis gushed, wiggling his fingers at you as connor pretended to swoon. you scoffed and shoved the two away, hoping the distance would blur their vision of your growing blush.

"you two tease too much. cruel boys is what you are," you huffed and continued to march away from their laughing forms, clear evidence that they had seen your blush.

you spent your day the way you always spent your days at camp half blood; trying everything in hopes of getting recognized, in hopes of impressing your parent enough for them to dangle a glowing light over your head, to claim you as their child. you covered yourself with soot inside the forges with leo but all you ever managed to produce was a broken spring that even had leo wincing in shame as he plucked it from your hands and threw it away. you tried every weapon in the arena, letting clarisee pummel you with swords, spears, and shield alike. you even tried hanging out with nico and percy, trying to dig up bones and talk to horses but it never worked. none of it ever worked. which is how you ended up at the dock, your legs crossed under you and your fist shoved into your cheek to hold your head up. apollo's sun was starting to set, coating the whole of camp in a golden hue that had you thinking of one boy who was comparable to the color.

"go away, travvy. im not hungry," you muttered as you heard footsteps approached, picking up another rock and plopping it into the lake, watching the naiads follow it down before bringing it back up to you.

"not travis," a familar voice mused as he stopped behind you, causing your spine to straighten and you to look over your shoulder with a mildly panicked look, being met with the very golden boy who invaded your mind.

"oh, hey, jason," you replied, returning your attention to the naiads as jason sat down next you, leaning back against one of the poles as he watched you. you stiffened under his view, feeling it to be more interrogating than anything. you went to open your mouth and run away with lies about needing to make your bed but jason beat you to it.

"you look so pretty in this light."

"huh?" you asked, stupidly, turning to look at him with what surely was a dumb look on your face. jason's lips just continued to twitched upwards, the setting sun's light getting caught on his scar. you had the fading thoughts that jason might have seen it as an imperfection, which would have made you laugh; the golden boy, flawed? no, surely not.

"i said; you look beautiful in this light. just gorgeous," he continued, leaving you gaping like a fish before swallowing down your embarrassment as you hung your head.

"look, if the stolls put you up to this for some stupid prank, it's okay-"

"nope. ever hear of free will, yn?" jason mused, his eyes unwillingly drifting from you towards the golden setting sun. your eyes stayed on him, brows furrowed as you tried to figure out his angle.

"jason," you said, not entirely sure what you wanted to say after you drew his attention back to you. his blue eyes instantly darted back to you, gleaming with a fondness that you've seen in the way percy looks at annabeth, the way nico looks at will, and the way charles used to look at silena. with a love that you never thought would be directed towards you. let alone from him.

"yn," he teased back with a bright smile, shifting to lean closer to you. you wanted to lean away, give him space to think over his decisions but your gut wouldn't let you, feeling his breath fan across your redden cheeks.

"what are you doing?" you whispered out, not needing to speak louder due to the closeness.

"something i should have done a long time ago. im confessing to a girl that i like her, like, a lot. im telling this pretty girl that i know she's scared, but i can't get her out of my mind," jason rambled and out of the corner of your eye, you could his hand reach out before landing against your bicep. it then ran upwards, slowly gliding over your skin towards your neck and face.

"jason. we- we can't. youre- gods, youre so golden and perfect and youre just- youre too bright for me. we can't," you breathed out, rapidly, but unable to lean away from his warm touch. his hand which was now cupping your cheek while his other landed somewhere near your hip.

"yn, youre the perfect girl for me. utter perfection. and i'll spend the rest of my life ensuring that you know that. you'll never go another day going unwanted with me, i swear on my life," jason replied, firmly, the roman praetor tone strong in his voice. and, not wanting to give you time to argue, jason pulled your lips to his.

and you'd be lying if you said you didn't lean in a little too.

kissing jason grace was like something out of some shiny hollywood movie. perfect. flawless. stunning. dazzling.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo fandom #jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x reader

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vaspider · 1 year

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Intro Post, updated March 1, 2023

I post all asks under the name they were submitted under, and I post them when I feel like answering them. I will never honor a request to answer an ask privately or anonymously. Anon is never turned on. These are hard self-care boundaries. Please block the tag "harassment tag" if you don't want to be subjected to some of the horrible shit I get sent sometimes.

If you like what I do, please consider hiring me, consider buying something from NerdyKeppie (the shop I own with my spouse - we do custom work!), consider buying me a coffee or becoming a Patron or tossing some money in my PayPal tip jar. I am a disabled, queer, fat, Jewish non-binary butch whose entire income is derived from selling Quality Queerwear via our company NerdyKeppie (we also offer patches of all sorts, nerd gear, etc -- if you don’t see it, ask!), Patreon (queer fiction for a dollar) and freelance work.

If asking me to boost a post for you, ask at most once per week, and please don't make that the only way you interact with me, or follow me just to send an ask that I boost your posts. I notice, and I'll end up just blocking you if you make me feel "used." It's gross, y'all. I'm glad to help, but don't use me. It's getting to a point where I'm starting to feel pretty gross about it, and I'm one of the more relaxed ppl about boosting posts, so please don't put me in a position where I feel like I have to stop doing it.

I will not debate my identity or its history with anyone. I am a transmasculine non-binary butch lesbian, a cripple, a dyke, and lots of other things, too. You don't get a vote in that, and if any of those words are words you can't stand to have someone use around you in reference to himself, go ahead and block me. I won't censor my identity for your comfort; I took a long time becoming proud of who I am.

No, I am not an anti or an anti-anti. Literally no one cares about these distinctions outside of Tumblr. Please leave me alone. I am not going to have that conversation. No is a complete sentence.

I’m not interested in interacting with TWERFs, SWERFs, or any sort of exclusionary LGBTQ/queer people. Y'all are exhausting.

Do the work to root out TERF/2nd-wave "man bad woman good" philosophies from your head. Do the work to root out the gendered behavior you were taught. I am not here to raise other people's children.

I am not here to raise other people's children. My daughter is an adult and I am done being responsible for the experiences of a minor. If you read or interact with me, you acknowledge that you chose to do that and I can't control what happens to what I post once I post it on my Tumblr. People will reblog it and I can't control where it ends up. I can only control what I say in my space, which I do.

Curate your own online experiences. If you don't like seeing what I write, then add 'vaspider' to your "filtered content" list and don't bother me about it. Tumblr is a 17+ environment and I am not responsible for you seeing things you don't like. Adults having adult conversations do not need to be filtered for children. This is your notification.

I’ve been Out for over 30 years. I don't tolerate lectures from strangers, especially people half my age, about history I lived through.

I'm transmasc and if you believe transmisandry/transandrophobia aren't "real things," or that transmascs aren't "really oppressed," please just leave me alone. Oppression Olympics are bad, actually.

My immediate family consists of my partners, my adult daughter, and our dogs.

No one in my immediate family is cis or het. I have been called Spider for 20+ years, & now a lot of people call me Mama Spider. Mom is a role, it need not be gendered.

This is a lot shorter than it used to be. I don't really feel like posting paragraphs explaining stuff anymore.

My icon has lore, apparently.

I post all asks and anon is never turned on.

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callsign-rogueone · 1 month

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intimacy alphabet - a.g.

Aaric Graycastle x gn!reader

The A to Z’s of sleeping with Aaric. (anybody remember this template from back in the day? if you do, it’s time to open a retirement account.)

words: 1.4k

🏷: NSFW. no real plot spoilers, just some stuff about Aaric, so if you haven’t met him yet, maybe skip this one and come back later lol. anyway, this is just a bunch of sexy headcanons about our sweet prince. mentions of penetrative sex, oral, and fingering, (all reader receiving) but I made it gender neutral.

I did this for research and development for his upcoming girlfriendverse fic (which I am writing completely out of order, of course), but I figured I’d give it to y’all as an apology / peace offering because I haven’t been feeding you much lately. enjoy! :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

ever the gentleman; cleans you both up and makes sure that you’re okay, gives you soft praise. very nice to cuddle with; he’s content to let you use him like a body pillow and just wrap yourself around him and fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes his own build; he’s tall (as tall as Xaden, I believe) and pretty well-muscled from all of his intense training over the years. he likes the softer parts of you that he can press his fingers into, likes the feeling of your bare skin under his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

standard stuff. will cum where you tell him to, no strong feelings about it. he’s a very clean guy, so he’ll wipe it up quickly after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

thinking about his biggest secret of all… if you happen to let out a soft “oh, fuck, Cam,” when he’s buried deep inside you, he might stop being so gentle. but a truly dirty secret? hm… I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

look me in the eye and tell me that the rebellious youngest prince of the Navarrian royal family hasn’t been around the block a bit. he’s had people falling at his feet for years because of his status.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

fond of missionary, you riding him, or anything where he can see your face and the cute little expressions you make when he’s making you feel good (and have you look into those gorgeous green eyes of his while he takes you apart. he’s very much into eye contact.)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he does not strike me as a “funny guy”. he’s pretty serious, but will laugh with you about small things like if you accidentally bump heads when changing positions, etc. (then he’ll kiss it better and go back to business as usual)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he keeps his face clean-shaven, so he’s probably doing some maintenance downstairs, too. he’s a very neat and tidy guy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

pretty romantic, but not like, trail-of-rose-petals type romantic. just a lot of eye contact, soft praise, and definitely some “I love you’s” later on in the relationship. I don’t see him as a casual sex guy — I think he’s done with that phase of his life and he’d rather pick one person and love them with his whole heart.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don’t think he takes matters into his own hands very often. he doesn’t strike me as a very horny guy, and it’s hard to find the time and space to crank one out when you’re living in college dorms with a roommate (and trying not to die all the time). he much prefers to do things with you instead, anyway.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

some things I’ve mentioned already; praise, eye contact, you saying his name… idk if its a kink per se, but he wants to hear you. he loves all the soft sounds you make when you’re needy (being vocal during a makeout session is almost sure to escalate things). he gets off on getting you off, and it gives his ego a boost to know he’s making you feel so good that you can’t form words, just pretty little moans and whimpers.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his room or yours, that's it. he’s not an exhibitionist; he values his reputation, and doesn’t want to get either of you into trouble. you might be able to convince him to mess around in the shower before / after the main event, but that’s about it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you, and the fact that you’re his. I know that feels like a cop-out answer, but it’s true. he’ll look over and see you in his bed in the morning, the early sunlight warming your skin, and he's ready to go.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I absolutely cannot see him wanting to be called by his title, etc. nope. no way. he despises it, and he also wants to know that you love him for him, and not his status. he also doesn’t want to hurt you during sex — there’s enough pain in your lives already. when that door closes behind you, it's only soft touches and gentle pleasure.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he had done more receiving than giving until he met you. he learned what you like (and how much he likes giving it to you) very quickly and now he won’t hesitate to get on his knees for you, especially if you ask nicely. he likes to use his mouth and hands at the same time for maximum effect. he’ll never decline head from you either, but it doesn’t happen often; he’s more focused on you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he fucks like a prince: proper. usually nice and deep and slow, taking his time with you and making you feel every movement. on occasion, if you rile him up enough or piss him off, he might give it to you (see also: make you take it) a little rougher.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

see above. has only happened once, and it kinda backfired (you ended up being late to formation and getting bitched at by the wingleader). now he won’t try anything unless he has at least an hour alone with you (enough for proper foreplay and some aftercare.)

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the two of you will experiment a little bit, mostly with new movements, etc., but you keep things pretty simple. if it ain’t broke… (and it certainly isn’t).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

your record is three rounds in one night, four if you count the morning after. you haven’t really had the time to try and beat it; school and training takes a lot out of you, and you’d simply rather sleep sometimes — but you’re both content to keep things at one round most nights, or just cuddle instead.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don’t see him owning or using toys (though it remains unclear what options they have in this universe). after he manifests a signet, that might come into play depending on what it is, but for now he feels like he has plenty of options already (his fingers, tongue…)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’s not a huge tease, but will make you ask for nearly everything with words, even if it's embarrassing to you, but he wants to know that you truly want this, and he finds it so cute to hear you beg for him and only him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s a talker, telling you how good you feel around him, how pretty you look under him, etc. sound-wise, if he’s in control, you’ll just get the occasional soft gasp / panting. if you’re in control, you might hear some whimpering… either way, he sounds so pretty. you should tell him that, and see what happens (the praise kink goes both ways.)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he only saw sex as a way to fulfill a biological need until he met you, and realized it could be so much more — he’s never truly loved any of his hookup partners. definitely some things he had to unpack there after your first time.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s tall, and pretty lean… the laws of nature dictate that he’s hung. I don’t make the rules.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not super high, but he usually rolls with you — if you’re down, he’s down. simple as that.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he can’t fall asleep until you do, but that usually isn’t a problem; he’ll tire you out / relax you real nice every time. A+ cuddler, as we discussed earlier.

there you have it 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’m very excited for y’all to meet Aaric and Sunny. two sneak peeks posted so far + a few thousand more words in my docs, hehe

#aaric graycastle #Aaric graycastle x reader #preemptively tagging this as #Aaric and Sunny #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing smut #mine #18+#once again posting from my phone and I’ll reformat later (maybe)

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juicezone · 3 months

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Hi! I'm TL, and I do agere/petre art requests! You can find my queue and open status on my header! Please read the rules below, thank you! It helps to reblog this to spread it around :D

you must obey the dni of this account. especially please do not request or reblog if you are k!nk, nsfw, generally not safe for kids. you will be blocked.

If reqs are closed, you may DM me and ask me to send you a message/heads up when I re-open then!

please be kind when asking :) these are not commissions, i am not required to do them!

if your request is something i’m not comfortable with doing, i’ll priv answer so you have the option of sending another if you’d like! (this is easiest to do if you're not on anon/you leave an @ of your sideblog! If it's a nameless anon, it's likely to just be deleted, sorry ^^'

please put separate requests in separate asks! IE: if you ask for Character from Fandom A and character from Fandon B, please send two asks! (Unless you want them together which is fine :P)

not a rule but feel free to give suggestions! IE: “Can you draw character with a green paci” or “can you draw character as a fox pet-regressor?” or “can you draw character and character as cg + regressor?” "character in a dip" (just make sure to specify who is who!) Honestly, detail helps a lot with being able to draw and do the req!! (NEW 4/28) I will draw stuff like characters being upset, crying, ect. I'll draw characters in dips but atm i'm not necessarily comfortable drawing accidents themselves (unfortunately, i had a problem with one post i made + deleted being basically immediately snapped up by unsavory blogs ): so)

I’d prefer to not draw your persona/sona/ect! I don’t mind drawing in a “blank/YN” type character, but I no longer would like to draw personas/sonas/ect. Sorry! (NOTE: THIS IS EXEMPT FOR FRIENDS/MUTUALS LET ME DRAW YOUR AGERE OCS/INSERT SO BAD)

Requests may take a while! I work 30-40 hrs a week on top of being a full time student. I might get it done immediately, it might get done in three months or longer. Usually I do them in order, but not always! If you come into my inbox and repeatedly ask abt it (esp if ur rude) i will delete it. and i will block you.

FANDOMS I'LL DO

Bluey, MCYT (characters ONLY. *), Star Trek, Pokemon, FNAF, Warrior Cats, Nintendo, Disney - Honestly, it's best to just ask! As long as the media isn't primarily NSFW in the 18+ way, I probably don't mind!

*Will not do dsmp at this time. May do people related to DSMP (ie philza for ex [i think? i dont know the people of that group]) but i will not do: Wilbur/soot or d/ream.

FANDOMS I WON'T DO

Harry Potter, Hetalia, IRL People (as in the Content Creator - see below for more detail), Attack on Titan, Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss, Country humans/Country balls/Anything based off the countries, TBA

ABOUT IRL PEOPLE

Will do: MCYT for example! Because my design is based off their MC skin. It's like actors v their characters if that makes sense Won't do: Things like Sanders Side or Marki/plier ego stuff, because it's like. there's nothing there for referencing other than the literal person. idk its hard to explain TLDR: thats just my comfort level sorry ^^''

#agere art #sfw agere art #fandom agere art #fandom agere #sfw age regression #sfw petre #petre art

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sailorrlino · 11 months

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Crown | One | (lmh)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: Lee Minho x reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: The prince of the Unseelie Court has a single job: find a suitable marriage to strengthen the ties of his court and to keep the peace of the city. But when he stumbles across you at a bar and feels the thread between you form, Minho knows immediately that he’s found his other half, his mate. When he comes across you again at the ball meant to find his marriage match, disaster ensues and the fight for his crown begins.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 8,542

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Urban Fantasy | Soulmates | Angst |

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Explicit language, worldbuilding, talks of politics and social economic issues, slight depictions of anxiety, Minho and reader both are very cranky and overall don't have great outlooks on life, depictions of blood and core, violent action scenes, really creepy creatures idk, mentions of a deceased parent and mild references to childhood trauma (more like a suggestion that reader had a rough childhood) and Minho ruminates on some family obligations

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This chapter took so much longer to write than I thought that it was going to but it is finally here. I have been super nervous about it and I kept editing it over and over again because the later half with the action/magic sequences were really giving me trouble. I don't usually struggle this much, but writing has been super hard which is also why I somehow managed to write something under 10k for the first time in what feels like a year? Also, the creatures mentioned here are inspired by displacer beasts in D&D in look/aesthetic only. I hope you enjoy my little fantasy world that I have been obsessing over - I am really excited to be writing this and cannot wait to delve into the plot fully. I have some really fun and crazy things planned!

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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If there's one thing I am sure of, I am sure that you have always belonged with me. -AKIF KICHLOO

It’s going to be a bad day. To be fair, it usually is. This time, though, Minho wakes with premonition sweat on the back of his neck and a spark of magic at his fingers, brought to life by whatever nightmare plagued him just moments before.

His worst days always start like this: a nightmare that feels more than just a dream but he cannot remember, sitting right on the edge of his vision, watching from the shadows. Sweat slips down his back, the touch of a reaper’s finger. Magic crackles at his fingertips, ready to protect himself.

The dreams themselves don’t happen that often, but they happen enough that Minho’s looked into them. He’s asked the royal family Lorist about dreams numerous times. Seungmin is tricky, though, his words and explanations twisting and never really landing in anything that feels meaningful. Still, Minho remembers the way that Seungmin’s tricky chatter quieted when he told him about the dreams, the way the Lorist’s mirth faded, replaced with something darker before returning to his usual, smirking self.

Peeling the sheets off of sweat-slick skin, Minho sits up. The world tilts, spinning unbalanced on its axis as he recovers from the dream. He leans forward, elbows pressed into the tops of his knees, and hangs his head down, taking in a deep breath. He remembers that the Lorist told him a calm, quiet mind was the best tool for remembering what is just beyond one’s reach.

Minho tries and fails. His mind hasn’t been quiet in years and he doesn’t suppose it ever will be.

Rain paints the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of his bed. This high up in the building, the clouds darken the windows with a frosty glaze and the rain freezes, spider webbing once it hits the cool glass. The sun is hidden behind darker, thicker clouds somewhere in the east. He thinks he won’t see it today.

Not that he minds the rain, usually. Stratos is a city of rain, the epicenter of unusual weather and lightning storms charged with the earth's natural magic. Minho can feel it humming in the air beyond the window as he walks barefoot and unsteady to the bathroom, eager to throw cold water on his face.

Cool water spills from the wall in the bathroom. The wall is hewn rock and living lichen, glowing mushroom caps, and other fauna and flora that glow in the darkness where they thrive. The water spilling from the wall is always bitter, fresh and invigorating, waking him up further as he splashes his face. He’s unsure of the system of portals and ley lines that makes his home full of pieces of his home here, in the apartment building he pays too much coin for, but it’s a nice touch, to feel the bite of the river from home.

Home.

The apartment building in the sky isn’t home. Not really. It’s a place that gives him space and the agency to be himself and do what he wants, but home is a faraway dimension that he hasn’t seen since he was five. Home is now one of the Burned Kingdoms, fallen away to ash and ruin.

Except for the Gwy, this river that streams through the worlds. Through his childhood bedroom. Through the room reserved for him at the Unseelie Court, through many worlds and other places. There are other names for it, he knows, this river that runs through the entire world and other worlds. But it’s always been the Gwy to him, cold and sweet-tasting.

It is one of the few memories of home he has, beyond the burning and the carnage. He tries not to think about that as he leaves, grabbing his tablet by the desk and flicking upward. His windows darken, muting the frosty rain in favor of moving pictures and screens.

One panel of glass displays the news. Another panel brings up messages and an agenda for the day. He purposely doesn’t look at the agenda, tapping the tablet to bring up his recent messages, which are most notably from Chan.

Chan: Jeongin and I will be escorting you tonight. No giving the kid a hard time, this is training.

Chan: And before you ask, yes this is low-risk enough for him to be on duty for. No I will not hear any complaints as the captain of your guard. Yes, I think that he will be nervous and awkward.

Chan: Do not let Changbin bully his way into joining us.

Chan: This is a gala not a party.

Changbin: Tell the illustrious Captain Bang to let me fucking go tonight. The kid won’t even get to enjoy the fact that it’s a party.

Changbin: I don’t care what Chan says, it’s a ball and it’s got drinks and shit, it’s basically a party. Even if it’s fancy.

Blowing out a sigh, Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t want to think about the gala tonight. Does not want to think about how once more his mother is going to push him into suitable marriage options, insisting that the world is going to end if they do not ally themselves with a suitable powerhouse in the city.

It’s both true and untrue. Minho knew from a young age he would always have to fill obligations as the heir to the Unseelie throne. He would never get to have a life outside of politics and trickery and diamond-studded niceties. Yet despite his loyalty to his court and the fastness at which he obeys, there is something rearing inside of him that screams there is more there is more there is more.

Minho doesn’t know where this comes from, this little sliver of him. He’s been an obedient and resolute child since birth - painfully so, according to most of the courtiers. And yet there is this tiny thread that unspools inside of him once in a while, filling him with doubt and chaos and thoughts that perhaps rebelling, that stepping away from his loyalties wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Perhaps there is something out there in the world calling to you, Seungmin had said one night over a glass of wine. His eyes had been twinkling and there was a little secret smirk on his face. Perhaps it is a part of you that exists elsewhere.

Minho has no fucking idea what the Lorist means. He rarely does. Seungmin’s existence in the court is purely out of traditions to the old ways. Hundreds of years ago, he would have been a seneschal and something like a seer. Now, with the watered-down blood of the fae, Seungmin is little more than a showy novelty hidden in the astronomy tower of the Unseelie Court.

Still, Minho likes him. Likes the way that they feel like friends, in a way. Doesn’t always mind that the Lorist talks in circles when giving advice, but is quite normal when he wants to play video games and frustrate the rest of them with his cheating.

Honey-scented coffee reaches Minho as he leaves the bedroom, still dressed in nothing but sweatpants hung low on his hips. Felix is in the kitchen, a hot mug of coffee floating toward Minho. His lips twitch as he reaches out for it, plucking the mug from the air. It resits a little before Felix’s magic lets it go.

“Good morning, finish that fast. We have your suit fitting to get to.” Felix’s deep voice is a stark contrast to his elegant features. He turns to look at Minho with a smile, his eyes the color of emeralds. “I put it on your calendar that you probably ignored.”

“I didn’t ignore the calendar.”

Felix hums, turning back around. His blonde hair is pushed back, mullet-style, and soft looking. He’s already dressed for the day in jeans and a cable knit sweater, his bag laying across the counter where his tablet lights up with notifications.

“So you were just afraid of a specific event on your calendar,” Felix supplies. Minho winces and sips the coffee. It is perfectly flavored with sweet cream and hints of honey, his favorite. “Either way, we need to get to Almas early. You know she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Lifting a hand, Felix snaps his fingers once. There’s a spark as green as his eyes between them and a scone appears in front of Minho. He plucks it out of the air, eyeing the witch whose back is turned to him. Felix’s magic always leaves the scent of cinnamon when he uses it, singing Minho’s nose.

“Thanks,” he deadpans, tearing into the scone with his teeth. “Can you order a box of those chocolates that Jeongin likes from Sprinkled Sprite? He’s on duty tonight training with Chan. I’d like to give him a gift.”

“How kind of you.”

Minho heads back to his room to change. “It’s not from me,” he corrects, even though Felix is already scoffing as he turns and begins tapping on his tablet. “Please address it from the royal family, Felix.”

“Uh huh.”

In his room, Minho gets dressed, eyes on the screen as the news blares on, red font swiping across the screen for an emergency announcement. His brows pull together, eyes fixed on the images in front of him as he buttons his shirt from bottom to top, fingers nimble.

A reporter is on the scene, holographic caution tape flashing in the rain behind her. Minho thinks she’s a werewolf from the amber color of her eyes and claw-tipped fingers, but he looks away from her to focus on the flurry of activity behind her where nephilim police keep people on the other side talking to one another as rain slicks off their police-issued coats.

“Another grisly murder in the third floor of this apartment building,” the reporter says, speaking loud enough that the mic can pick up her voice over the tap tap tap of the deluge. “Located in downtown in the Lethe sector, it’s the second murder in recent weeks, coming days after a brutal crime scene just three blocks down. Is it a coincidence? Is it the start of a serial killer? SPD says it's too early to tell.”

The TV turns off and Minho looks at where Felix is standing in the doorway, green eyes fixed on the now empty windows. He flicks his gaze to Minho and offers him a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps best not to start the morning with such dreadful news.”

“I’m going to have to hear about it anyway. The daemons are pushing for an audience. They say the reported murder wasn’t the first and that this has been going on for weeks.”

“Well, then the queen will take an audience with them if she feels it’s necessary.” Minho eyes Felix, but there’s no emotion on the witch’s face. “Ready to go?”

Minho flexes his fingers and rolls his shoulders. “Yes.”

You’re going to have a bad day. You knew it when you woke up on the edge of a dream that left you sweat-slick and short of breath. The dream hovered right on the edge of your mind, slipping through your grasp like grains of sand as you tried to dig and pull the memories back.

It’s always like this. Waking up from something you can’t remember, carrying around the dregs of a nightmare with you all day. You always feel hollow after, like something terrible has happened but you can’t recall what. Can’t place the feeling of the shadow that slinks from your dreamscape into your waking hours, watching and waiting until you fall asleep again.

The bad day comes for you like you knew it would. You’re going to be late to work. Again. It’s a condition that the public transportation system has made incurable. Buses are always behind, the subway is only reliable from midtown to uptown, and the only carpooling services here are run by the pixies who are too easily distracted by lights to get you where you’re going on time. Especially in the Lethe sector.

Jisung will just have to cover for you like he always does. He’s good at that, turning on the vila charm and glittering smile. It’s useful, having him to count on. You feel a little bad about it, but you make up for your lack of timeliness in other ways like making sure he doesn’t get the shit beat out of him when he takes on dangerous clients, his knife in the dark.

Still, as the rain pours down on your coat and the street's drain systems fail, causing water to surge around your ankle along with the garbage clogging the drains in the first place, you wonder if he’ll ever get tired of covering for you.

A cat yowls and runs down an alleyway as you walk by, startling you. Pulling your jacket closer, you keep your eyes lingering in the shadows of each alley you pass. Your dagger is strapped to your calf under your pants, but you’re still wary walking down the streets in the pouring rain, especially now.

Murders happen in the Lethe sector all the time. You’re no stranger to that. You’re even responsible for a few of them. But the types of murders being whispered about in the circles that you pass and being murmured in the closed doors of the clubs is that something isn’t right. There is something moving through downtown, tearing creatures apart.

In a way, you’re unconcerned. As long as you and yours are safe and protected, it isn’t your business what is prowling through Lethe. As long as Hyunjin and Jisung are alive and healthy, you don’t particularly care to find out what’s murdering its way through apartment complexes.

Below the drowning surface of the streets is worse than above. Water runs down the steps of the subway like a waterfall, splashing out onto the floor before it spreads and eventually spills onto the tracks. There are wet floor signs everywhere as the subway androids drive around with mops, doing nothing but certainly trying to squeegee the water into drains.

You jump the pay meter, ignoring the way it blares red when you do so. The little androids are so worried about the deluge that they don’t turn at the sound of a payment being skipped, making you grin. Serves the transportation system right for charging you at all for something public.

The train car is full of soaked wet people huddling in seats. At least the air conditioning doesn’t work so you don’t have the sting of cold air clinging to your skin as you tuck yourself in an empty seat, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

At the end of the car is a group of solitary fae, heads tilted together and giggling over their phones. You watch them from the corner of your eye. They’re dressed mostly in black with merchandise from a vampire band you vaguely recognize.

Dropping your eyes to the ground, you stare at the scuffed shoes on your feet. You wonder what it’s like to go out to a concert with friends dressed in band tees and high on pre-concert adrenaline. When you go out with your friends, it’s to work. To watch Jisung bat his eyelashes and trade secrets and kisses for the elite who come from uptown to slum it without watchful eyes. To slip a knife between the ribs of someone who got a little too close, who was a little too rough. To get battered by Hyunjin as he tries to hone you into a warrior he so desperately tells you that you need to be.

With a heavy sigh, you lean back and close your eyes, pressing your head against the window. The rocking of the subway car on the tracks is gentle, soothing almost. As you sink into the exhaustion that pulls at your skin and bones with greedy hands, you slip away somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, a sort of in-between.

Here, in between, is where you feel the same thing you always do: a void. A missing piece. Something not right inside of you, like a lock with no key. For a long time, you thought that perhaps you were just built wrong. It was a good enough guess because you’re certainly not the kind of faerie that your mother’s court is proud of.

This feels deeper, though. Like there is something out there waiting for you, calling to you. Your father wasn’t helpful when you told him about this feeling of something waiting for you beyond, chalking it up with a tight smile and a mutter of the word destiny.

You don’t believe in destiny, though. There is nothing meant for anyone. People are born, things happen to them, then they die. Unless they’re immortal, which is pretty common in Stratos.

An announcement chimes above your head announcing a stop and you look up to see the group of solitary fae clambering to get off the car. As they pass, one of them turns to look at you. Their eyes are large and round, like a horse. One is crystal blue while the other is wholly black, no iris, no whites. You startle, recognizing the dark eye of a seer as the faerie stares at you with uncanny sharpness.

Something tingles at the back of your neck. The faerie doesn’t move and outside of the train car, their friends start to call their name, but the faerie is motionless, cocking their head and pinning you with that stare. Ice forms in your veins as their friends all turn to you, mouths going tight like they sense what's about to happen.

“Save Jeongin,” the faerie says, voice paper thin. They nod as if confirming what they’re telling you. “Save Jeongin, find the missing half.”

The words hit you with an invisible force. You squirm in your seat, watching as the faerie blinks, a little dazed. They turn on their heel and rush off the train just as the doors to the car shut and the train dings as it shoots forward again, leaving you staring at the shut doors.

Goosebumps break out over your arms. Something within you stirs, like a predestined feeling of knowing. Perhaps it's because the seer just told you something that is most likely valuable and a little haunting, but perhaps it's your instinct. Your father always said you had a preternatural instinct, a gut feeling about things that were beyond the normal predictiveness of the fae.

Swallowing hard, you lean back in your seat and fight a shiver. Jeongin. You have no idea who or what that is. The name means nothing to you, and you know a lot of names. You’re in the business of knowing names. You memorize the sound and shape of it, running over the faerie's instructions over and over until it's committed to memory to ask Jisung about it later.

Save Jeongin, find the missing half.

Anxiety creeps up your spine, walking its cool fingers up to the nap of your neck where it settles like a collar. You feel it squeeze as you replay the words over and over in your head. You have no idea what the ‘missing half’ is but it doesn’t feel good.

Cool air meets you when you step off the train and into the much drier air of the subway uptown. There are transportation workers here, dressed in all black with red sashes and polite smiles. Though the smell of rain rushes down the stairwell, there’s no deluge of water, no cloying scent of garbage.

Topside, the world is still covered by misty rain. At least the sidewalks aren’t swimming, rain rushing down the gutters with a loud roar as the storm drain systems operate. Umbrellas move along the sidewalk like beetles, their little black shells crawling along the evening foot traffic.

To your right, cars are lined up, occasionally beeping impatiently from people who are tired from their day working in the city and just want to go home. You wonder what it must be like, to wake up at the same time every morning and sit in a car for an hour to go to some flashy building uptown. Maybe you’d have a desk in a nice glass office and get to look out over the rest of the world, watching the people below you move like ants.

Or perhaps you’d be one of those workers who only worked until you found a wealthy partner to support you, becoming the trophy they could tout around at parties and drape in jewels. Then, your partner would slip down to downtown in the middle of the night and visit the seedy bars and clubs in the underbelly, where they would ultimately whore their way through the riff raff.

You grit your teeth. It always comes back to this, your dreams coming full circle to your reality. You’re not good at dreaming. Perhaps as a child, tucked against the small window at your father’s cafe you were a dreamer. Thought about what you might do with your life, what potential you might have.

That was snuffed out. No need to think about it, no need to lament over it.

The Glass Thorn Hotel stretches upward into the sky, iridescent and glowing from all of the hidden lights fixed to the building. It stands out among the rest of the city, a shining beacon of light among dark office windows. Crowds of people with their umbrellas press together behind red rope, watching the slow drag of cars come along to drop off the city's elite: government officials, royals, music idols, movie stars, business owners.

A car hits a puddle as you walk around the side of the building, splashing you from ankle to hip. You let out a frustrated yell. You were already wet from the knee down, but how you feel clammy near your ass as you hurry to the rear of the building, flashing your phone to show your ID and work badge at the door.

The Unseelie faerie at the door scrutinizes your ID, white eyes flickering from the glowing screen to your face. You grit your teeth and stare back at him, daring him to say something. His lips twitch in a frown before he hands you the phone back and opens the door further.

“Do dry off,” he murmurs, voice like velvet. “You’re dripping all over the place like a wild animal.”

“Noted,” you grit back, stepping inside.

The service hall is tight and bustling with activity. There’s an intention detector just ahead of you, a line of creatures going through and waiting for the thrumming energy field to buzz green. The detector is made up of two glass panes on either side of a carpet, flowing with magical energy as two armed vampires stand on either side.

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you ask for a towel to dry off, shivering in the cool of the hallway.

A scoff comes from behind you. You turn your head to the side a fraction, glancing at the security guard who shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath. Your hearing isn’t as sharp as a full-blooded fae, but you hear him well enough to know he calls you a half-breed.

You stiffen and turn forward, determined not to let it get to you. It isn’t the worst thing you’ve been called and it won’t be the last time you earn the name either. Your lack of magic has earned you snide glances your entire life. They have no idea that there is a river of magic running deep in you. It’s just inaccessible. Useless.

Passing through the intention detector is easy, though uncomfortable. The magic clings to your skin like tiny little claws latching in, sticking to you and digging in to find your intention, to see if you mean harm. You certainly don’t mean harm to anyone here.

Save Jeongin, find the missing half.

You hope that if someone in the building tonight is looking to harm this Jeongin that they get disintegrated by the detectors long before you have to do anything.

After signing in, you get directed to wardrobe where you pull on black dress shirt and quickly tuck it into your black pants before rushing toward the swinging kitchen doors.

Noise explodes when you enter the kitchens. People hollering, the sound of oil crackling accompanied by the slamming of metal knives and pans against burners, glass shattering followed by screaming as someone drops a dining plate.

You spot Jisung lifting a serving platter of champagne flutes, his ochre eyes on the pixie being scolded as he makes a face you can only read as yikes while rushing over to him. He doesn’t see you coming at first, standing and watching the chaos, golden glow around him as his mind wanders.

“You’re glowing,” you mumble to him as you pick up a serving tray of champagne. He snaps his head in your direction, the faint glimmer around his body vanishing but his million-watt smile making up for it. “Why are you so giddy?”

“Perhaps the pixie who dropped her serving plate called me a cunt earlier,” he said, sniffing indifferently as you both head toward the servants hall to slip through the dark and enter the banquet hall of the hotel. “Perhaps I charmed a spriggan to tie her shoe laces.”

“Deserved it, then.”

“Perhaps so.”

Darkness envelops the two of you as you move behind a murky, darkened veil. The magical veil is for cosmetic purposes only, shielding the entire venue from the unsightly serving staff as the gala on the other side of the dark wall buzzes with activity.

“You were late again, by the way. Shira asked where you were.”

“I’m sure you lied and said I was here.”

“I did,” he confirms, sighing as the two of you step around rushing servers.

Jisung gives you a dark look. He looks exquisite tonight, his almond eyes lined with brown kohl, enhancing their alluring pull. There’s a sweep of shimmer on his cheekbones and his golden hair is styled back and laced with lines of glitter. His features are soft and round - innocent, which is what he likes people to think. You know he’s anything but.

“You look beautiful,” you offer as he gestures for you to lead the way through the darkened veil. “Stay away from the Unseelie.”

He nods, eyes serious. “I know.”

Giving Jisung a single encouraging nod, you step through the veil. It feels like stepping through static, your ears popping on the other side. The gala is loud, the sound of all the voices and the music bustle washing over you as you slip into your role as a server for the night.

When Jisung told you that the events company he sometimes works for needed extra bodies to serve at an event uptown, you’d immediately said yes. You needed the extra cash and beyond the fact that the opulence reminds you how you are worlds awat from the elite members of Stratos, they’re not the worst jobs.

But you’d almost bailed when you realized that the event was hosted by the Unseelie Court. Hyunjin was going to have a meltdown when he realized where you were too. But a single look at your bank account had you swallowing down years of bad memories and putting on a smile as you extended your tray of champagne flutes.

Attending patrons tended to ignore you anyways. No one's eyes drifted to your tipped ears that were far too short to be entirely fae. No one glanced twice at your face, a mess of fae features with something else. Something unnamed.

A black and blue butterfly passes you, a glowing trail of blue following its path. Your eyes follow it as it floats upward toward effervescent lighting. The ballroom has been transformed into a glowing cave of darkness and magic. Glowing flowers and vines drape on the walls and across the ceiling, floating lights of pink and blue drifting in the air offering gentle lighting.

Beneath your feet, the floor is soft moss, dotted with mushrooms and other illuminated flora. The air smells sweet, sticky and humid against your skin. You imagine yourself on the inside of a volcano long burned out, the inside becoming home to all of the things that thrive in the dark, that make their own light.

It’s beautiful, and the creatures inside of it are all the more beautiful still. A moon wraith drifts by, her hair long and silvery. She’s watery at the edges and opaque enough that you can see right through her in some parts. She’s in silk that looks spun out of light, eyes wholly black with glittering stars.

A dizzying number of creatures drift by you. You see glittering gossamer wings, soft-furred brownies, sharp-fanged vampires, a grinning werewolf, groups of nymphs giggling behind scaled hands. A popular musician passes you, his siren song making you turn your head as he drifts by. He’s not even speaking but you hear the soft purr of his music, the longing notes as he continues into the room, turning heads as he goes.

Cameras flash as a group of politicians pose together. You recognize the princes of the Solar court posing for a photo. She’s otherworldly, her moss eyes vulpine and sharp, her doll-like face illuminated in the lowlight. Her dress looks like it’s made of light, threads of glowing sun wrapping around her light body and casting her in a gold gleam.

Council members fill up the room. As you navigate, you recognize the leading members of the species of Stratos in the room. Not all twelve are present, but not all twelve members of the city’s ruling body are equal as they should be. Even among the top there is a social hierarchy that dictates invitations.

A routine forms for your night. Circumnavigate the room while holding a tray, keep your eyes down, go back to the kitchen to receive another when you’ve emptied what you’re carrying. It’s easy money though your arm is a little sore and your shoes feel too tight on your feet. Ignoring it, you enter the main gala again, eyes scanning the room for Jisung.

Your eyes alight on the vila as he bows his head and accepts thanks for something that a werewolf is telling him. As though he senses your eyes, Jisung looks across the room in your direction until he finds you. He offers a small smile and nod, letting you know that he’s okay. He’s well-enough equipped to take care of himself, but you have been his protector since you were children in school, standing up to the bullies who used to knock him down and cut his hair.

A tingling sensation slides down the back of your neck. You pause and stiffen, staring at a lichen covered wall where two spriggans swing from vines, but you’re not watching them. Your eyes unfocus as you feel the prickling awareness bloom, static spreading down your spine.

It’s a peculiar feeling that’s similar to when your instincts kick in and scream at you to do something specific. Lifting your gaze, you sweep the room a few times, looking for a noticeable threat or whatever is giving you this niggling feeling. There’s nothing that immediately looks out of place to you: flashing lights, low pulsing music, the din of voices and writhing bodies as they move around one another.

There’s a larger crowd than there was before. Late comers are filling in before the seat portion of the gala starts and they have dinner while the faerie courts lament about the long-lasting history between them as they approach the anniversary of the peace between the four of them. You hope you get to sit in the server hall and rest your feet for that portion. Listening to the leaders of the city is the last thing you feel like doing.

A server hisses at you to move and snaps you from your trance. You nod and roll your shoulders, joining the rotation again. The platter feels heavier in your hand and your heart beats a little faster. Instead of keeping your eyes low and to the ground as you carry around what looks like truffled kelpie eyes, you keep watch on your surroundings. The tingling sensation that you’re missing something immediate is there, pressing down on your spine.

Applause starts to thrum through the crowd of attendees as you pass off the last of the eyeball truffles on your serving platter. You glance toward the front of the room where there are two holographic screens displayed as the queen of the Unseelie Court takes center stage on a glass platform.

Queen Jieun is a spectacle to look at. Her hair is raven black, shining blue under the lights of the floating orbs and glowing flora. Her dress is a marvel of sweeping skirts of black and charcoal gray, tiny beaded details depicting vines twisting up the dress. The bodice is a cage of black branches and thorns, frosted with frozen dew and forming a violent collar around her delicate throat.

The queen of the Unseelie Court is everything she could be, delicate and sharp, dangerous but coy, beautiful but terrifying. You swallow past the sour taste in your mouth at seeing her, repressing a shiver as you bow your head down and make a beeline for the opaque veil as she gives her opening address, voice like dark velvet.

Jisung grabs you and yanks you to a standstill. You bare your teeth at him in frustration but he gives you a wide-eyed, pleading look. A quick glance around the room lets you know that none of the other servers are moving, all standing rigid around the room with their heads cast down and arms laced behind their back because it’s impolite to not show reverence while the queen is speaking.

Gritting your teeth, you stand next to him and lace your hands behind your back. Fixing your eyes on the floor, you take deep breaths in through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. The queen’s voice is like nails on your skin, rattling you down to your core the more you hear the raspy laugh and each accented word.

Queen Jieun doesn’t know your face or you wouldn’t have come tonight, knowing that the Unseelie Court would be here. But she does know your name - especially your mother’s - and being in the same room as her feels oppressive. Like a hand is pressing down on our throat, determined to crush your airway.

A brush of fingers against yours draws your attention. Jisung isn’t looking at you, but his fingers are twining with yours, giving you a squeeze. Your heart constricts and your throat tightens, nearly overcome by a sweeping of fondness for him. You squeeze his hand back and turn forward, steeled and strengthened to listen to a woman who unknowingly shapes your entire existence.

There’s a round of applause as she asks the queen of the Solar Court to join her. They use fanciful words to depict how long ago, the four courts of the fae were at odds with one another. It was far before Stratos ever existed and the fae lived in their own world before it joined the Burned Kingdoms. Worlds lost to some magical blight, something all-consuming.

Now, the four courts of the fae live in harmony. Tense harmony filled with political jockeying, vying for the council seat, and an ever-changing game of chess where they seek to out power one another. The Unseelie Court is better at it than most, but they aren’t where the power lies here this evening.

The sovereign of the Seelie Court sits at the table of honor, their jade eyes honed in on the two monarchs speaking at the front of the stage. The sovereign is beautiful, with high cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut glass and red stained lips the color of crushed berries. Their copper long hair is intricately braided and there’s a circlet resting just above a proud brow. It’s hard to look at them for any amount of time, the power and glamor radiating from the faerie always makes you avert your eyes after a few seconds.

Sovereign Seren is the Unseelie queen’s opposite in almost every way. Where color seems to blanch where Queen Jieun goes, the world around the sovereign is brighter and warmer and you swear you see colors you never knew existed before. This is what the old blood of the original fae kingdom looks like. This is a faerie who has existed for thousands of years, and pins a cutting stare onto the two fae on the stage.

A static pulse ripping from somewhere in the building distracts you. You turn toward the kitchens where you felt it from, staring at the opaque veil between the gala and the serving staff. You can’t see through the veil at all, can’t hear any sounds but what is on this side of the magical barrier.

Your stomach sinks. The feeling of wrongness creeps up on you and you glance around to see if anyone else felt a shiver of strange magic. No one seems alarmed or looking in the direction you felt the wave emanate from. Jisung is staring at his feet, yawning.

Turning back to the magical wall, you stare at it as though you could will it to show you what's on the other side. This feeling of anxiety and fight or flight is different from earlier in the evening when you felt that cool tingle pressing on your neck. Now, your gut twists and you cannot shake the omen that has settled deep in your stomach, warning bells going off.

You turn to Jisung. “Something isn’t right,” you murmur to him. He looks up at you, eyes round and alarmed. He knows to trust you. “I think I felt something a moment ago and I have this horrible feeling-”

Terrible screams rip through the gala as servants spill through the magical wall. Immediately there are creatures shooting to their feet from tables and guards swarming the two fae royals on the stage. Jisung grabs your arm in alarm, looking as chaos breaks out along the far side of the room where servants are stumbling into tables and fleeing from the kitchens and halls in droves, several of them slick with blood.

Grabbing Jisung’s arm, you pull him behind you as the table in front of you gets shoved, the attendees rushing to get away from the unknown source of terror. You feel the threat like a pinprick, a knife of awareness as you move backward toward the gala entrance with Jisung pressed behind you. The two of you are careful to keep together, feet tangling with one another in the mess while your eyes are trained on the veil, waiting.

When you see the source of the mayhem, you freeze. The creature is a void, so dark that it bends the light as it slinks through the magical veil. As it passes, the wall of magic crackles, electricity popping and whining as it shatters and drops, revealing the servant hall. Jisung’s nails dig into your skin, drawing half moon circles of blood with his grip as the two of you stare at the massacre of bodies and limbs.

“What the fuck is that?” Jisung breathes, hand trembling.

You have no idea what the creature in question is. It’s sleek and shaped like a jungle cat, but its entire hide shines with leathery skin as it prowls into the room, shadows flickering strangely around it. Two long appendages grow from its back, lashing out like a whip and plunging into people. There are rows of serrated teeth at the end of each appendage, chittering like a saw as it pulls victims down.

It’s hard to watch but harder to look away as the creature holds a Solar Court guard down to the ground and turns him into something unrecognizable, an oozing husk of a body as the guard nearly melts with whatever the teeth do to him.

Jisung turns and vomits behind you. Your stomach is hardly in better condition when another creature slinks around the corner from the kitchen, the same buzz shivering over you with its presence. This one is closer and you realize that it’s just you and Jisung, frozen and staring as fae guards and a pack of werewolves press in on the first creature.

This one, though, seemsed fixed on you. It’s hard to make out and discernable facial features, but you immediately feel like prey. You squeeze Jisung’s arm. “Run,” you whisper.

Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He lets you go in favor of running and you’re on his heels, leaping over a broken chair as you go. The banquet hall doors are a mass of bodies and screaming creatures shoving and pulling. Only three sets of doors are available for the escape of the people inside as hundreds of people try to stampede through them.

As you approach the crowd, they start screaming and running toward you, herded toward the center of the gala as more of the cat-creatures prowl from the lobby into the event space, their whip-like limbs and teeth tearing into victims as they go.

Bodies slam into you. Jisung’s hand gets knocked from yours and you scream his name. He’s yanked from you in the sea of people and you shove your way through the panicking crowd in the direction you think he was pulled in.

Stumbling, you end up at the south end of the room, a body slamming into you and knocking you to the ground. Rolling to your front and pushing yourself up, you freeze, eye level with one of the creatures that is cornering a faerie dressed in the leathers of the Unseelie Guard. He’s got a sword out and he’s bleeding from his brow, standing in front of either a dead body or someone who is unconscious as he snarls.

He’s young you realize, vulpine face full of terror but eyes lit with fire. You scrambled to your feet, slipping on spilled blood. The creature prowls toward the faerie but he doesn’t move, determined to stand over the body laying on the floor instead of turning to run.

Around the room, there are several people trying to fight off the monsters. You see the Sovereign from the corner of your eye, her green magic flashing so bright you see stars. Behind you, a faerie skids to a halt and looks at the Unseelie guard.

“Jeongin!” he screams, voice cracking.

Jeongin. The name resonates with you immediately and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Save Jeongin, find the missing half.

Without considering the consequences, you stepward and teeter right into the pool of your magic, falling headfirst into the bottomless well of energy.

Your magic is unpredictable at best and you’re wildly untrained. Beyond a few parlor tricks, your energy sits inside of you untapped and waiting. It feels like an ever-flowing river, cycling and rushing through your entire body. Sometimes, you try to dip your hand in. But you can never grasp it, can never pull out a handful of it to do what you want.

That certainly insn’t the case now as your panic jumpstarts your magic. You’ve only done this twice before. Once was the first time you ever fell headfirst into your magic. You had just been trying to get a jar of cookies from the highest shelf, but you’d fallen from the counter and tried to soften the blow. You’d melted right through the floor and set off some sort of reaction, your magic eating away at the foundations of your home until there was nothing left.

The second time, you’d been ambushed with your mother leaving a very tense meeting with her family at their estate. You’d been afraid and reacting out of instinct to protect yourself, pulsing like an electromagnetic generator and sending a wave of energy outward.

It had leveled a building and left a scorch mark on the earth. You hadn’t even managed to save your mother.

Now, it doesn’t matter. The seer’s words echo through you and you lose yourself to the surging power, becoming a livewire. The thing senses you, turning on you and away from the faerie - Jeongin - to attack. It’s too late. Your palms are burning up with magic and you imagine a blade, something to cut away at the creature. You let your magic fly, a flash of something razor thin.

Black ichor sprays as it hits the monster. It splatters outward, making you flinch as it hits you hot and wet. Its two halves fall on the ground, leaking onto the floor. The air around it shimmers for a moment, vibrating before it settles and all that’s left is the dead thing.

Someone screams your name. Jisung comes running toward you, a loping creature following him. Jisung is covered in blood, blonde hair soaked red. Your power shakes as you reach for him, one hand outstretched the other shaping another blade of energy.

Jisung’s hand grabs yours and you pull him to your chest, holding him as you throw your magic again. You hear the way it cuts the air, an audible hum as it hits the creature and slices thickly through its hide. It hits the ground heavily, the air glimmering again like the fabric of this world is registering that something has happened.

Elsewhere, beasts are slowly being felled. The high priestess of the witch covens wields white fire around her, a whip of flame cracking as she advances on a creature. Lightning crackles up the sword of a nephilim solider, arching as he slices through the leg of another.

“What the fuck was that?” Jisung breathes, holding on to you for dear life. “Did you just-”

“Yes,” you pant.

“How?”

“I just panicked, honestly. I have no idea.”

Jisung hugs you tightly. “Thank you.” You give him a squeeze back and he peels away, looking over your shoulder. “There are three Unseelie fae staring at you.”

Save Jeongin, find the missing half.

Licking your lips, you turn to look at the group of fae behind you. The young one that you saved - Jeongin - stares at you with wide eyes and his mouth open. A little marveled. A little afraid. Behind him, the faerie that he was standing in front of is sitting up with the help of the one who had yelled Jeongin’s name, his eyes glued to you as well.

It’s the one Jeongin had been protecting that attracts your attention. When you look at him the sounds of death and chaos fade to a dull roar, blocked out by your tunnel vision as you stare at him. Suddenly, the world feels right, like everything makes perfect sense. Everything is aligned.

He’s devastating to look at. Amethyst hair hands down in his face, matted with the blood that drips down the side of his head. He has unfathomably dark eyes, feline-shaped and sharp. He’s made up of equally soft and sharp features, nose round and jaw honed. His mouth is fixed in a grimace, but you think his lips are plush. Gentle.

Your heart beats loud in your ears as you stare at him. That strange sense of instinct is screaming now, louder than before, pressing down on you like you’ve finally figured out what it wants from you. It tells you that it wanted you to look here, at this person. The man sitting on the floor, staring up at you with a mix of confusion and wariness.

Suddenly, you realize that in this moment there is the absence of something else. Most of your life you’ve spent wandering around as though you were looking for something else or like something was missing. Just a small piece of you that was impossible to find.

Now there’s a key sliding into a lock. Your mouth dries as you feel like something clicks. Like suddenly, now that the two of you are staring at one another, everything makes sense. Rationally, none of what has happened tonight makes sense. The creatures, the attack, the chaos and your sudden dip into your magic.

Yet… it feels right. Entirely, wholly right, for the first time in your life.

Horror creeps in slowly as your mind begins to put together the details too slowly. It seems that the faerie on the floor - someone important, by the looks of his guards - has already come to a conclusion you haven’t reached just yet. He’s shaking his head and pushing back a little bit, eyes never leaving you.

Such beautiful eyes, you think absently, under all of the whirring of your thoughts.

When you were little, you asked your dad what it felt like when he realized your mother was his mate. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but this face had clouded over in a way you’d never seen before, etched glass of pain and sadness. You’d regret asking immediately and thought that he wouldn’t answer until he finally did.

Like suddenly there was no longer a piece of me missing or looking for something, he’d said. Like everything made sense, even if it didn’t really. Just instinctual knowing that I was suddenly whole.

Jisung says your name and pulls on your arm but you’re anchored to where you stand. Unable to move and think beyond the word that is circling your thoughts over and over again. As soon as you even think of the word, you can’t get rid of it. Can’t shake the feeling that you’ve come to the right conclusion about whatever this feeling is.

Mate you think. Mate. Mate. Mate.

No word in the world seems more appropriate. It echoes inside of you - rattles the stars, even. You’re so sure that he’s your mate, not a sliver of doubt in your heart. Fear, perhaps. Despair, even. But nothing has felt surer to you than this moment, looking at him.

“Your highness,” Jeongin says, though it’s phrased like a question. He’s looking at the faerie on the floor and you put the rest of the pieces together. Unknowing, the young guard continues. “She just saved our lives.”

Your highness. You look at the crest on his broach. The elm tree that is stitched in the armor of the guards. Horror unravels in you like a slow blooming flower, each petal bringing with it the new weight of trepidation as you stare at the prince of the Unseelie Court.

“Doesn’t matter,” the other guard growls and points a blade at you. “Until this is sorted out, everyone is an enemy.”

The prince snarls vicious sound, canines on display as he jumps to his feet, hand shooting out to grab his guard’s arm. “Do not,” he hisses. “Point your weapon at my mate.”

⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ Series Masterlist ⟡ Playlist ⟡ Ask ⟡ Next Chapter

#lee know smut #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee know fanfic #skz minho smut #skz fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know #skz #stray kids #minors dni #minors do not interact #skz smut #lee know imagines

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cultofdixon · 10 months

Text

The archer’s apprentice

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • “Ain’t gonna hurt yea kid” “…how can I trust you?” “Take the risk” • SFW/ANGST • TW: Abandonment Issues / Separation Anxiety / Injuries / Scars

Requested by: Anon

Stupid fucking rain Daryl thought as he quickly ran into the cabin after pushing what was blocking the door on the other side far enough to slip in.

But right as he did, a bolt whipped past his head hitting the wall next to him. Daryl turned where the shot was fired and saw the kid still aiming their crossbow at him before dropping it and cowering.

“Ain’t gonna hurt yea kid”

“…how can I trust you?”

“Take the risk” Daryl shrugs watching the kid scramble, ditching their weapon and climbing on top of the bookshelf in an alarmingly fast pace that was impressive and concerning. The only concerning part about it is they must’ve done that before for whatever other reason. “‘M just gonna hold up for a bit…”

No response to his words concerned him but the kid was still keeping to themselves afraid of the stranger.

The archer could only assume why the kid was alone and every thought didn’t make him feel any better. He carefully takes the bolt out of the wall making his way over to where they left their crossbow and placed it beside it. Then he went to make sure the rest of the cabin was secure while also exploring it himself.

He noticed the opened cans on the floor but also the few still in the cupboards of the kitchen. He took only one of them, because he was looking for food before the storm hit.

“How long have yea been here?” Daryl asks returning into the room in hopes that the short time of not talking that they would open up slightly. But all they did was readjust to be more comfortable on top of the bookshelf. “You can trust me yknow”

“H-How many walkers have you killed?”

Rick’s questions? “Too many to keep track of”

“P-People?”

“Also…too many to keep track of” Daryl frowns sitting down on the couch that kept the door closed. “But not in ill intent. There was always a reason”

“Good reasons? How c-can there be good reasons for killing people…”

“They threaten the lives of those yea care about”

“Okay…but if that’s it, and not everyone threatens those you care about, then what is the reason”

Self defense? They’ve been bit? I can’t think of anything else? Daryl tried to think hard about it as the kid slouches.

“Killing is so stupid…n-not that the government was better in the old world…but still. Why does it have to only end with that…”

“Things have changed” Daryl frowns opening the can up noticing the kid’s glued stare on the item. Which lead to the archer handing it to them as they devoured its contents in seconds. “There’s so many open cans, but you eat like you haven’t in days”

“I can’t…get the cans open”

“You don’t have a knife?”

“No…”

“Your bolt can help open it”

“I broke the others, that’s my last one”

“How did yea end up alone?” It was coming, even the kid knew that. But they didn’t want to say anything. It was fresh, and some part of Daryl knew that.

“Look, I just opened that one for yea. I’m gonna open another for you to eat and then one for myself. Alright?”

“You’re not—“

“I’m not gonna poison it, kid. You ate that one and haven’t died” Daryl states watching them inspect the can but decided not to think that he did something to it when they were given the next one. “How’d yea find this place?” He asks on his way back to the couch watching the kid climb down the bookcase then deciding to sit on the floor.

“It’s my uncle’s cabin…”

“Is your uncle around?”

They shook their head bringing their sadden gaze back toward the can as they started to eat more slowly this time. Daryl frowns feeling awful for what the kid must’ve gone through before he found them.

When the weather cleared, Daryl stepped out of the cabin as he was a bit surprised that the kid let him stay. But they didn’t seem to want to be alone during the storm because during the night they freaked out from the thunder and Daryl woke to them asleep on the floor next to the couch he slept on. Before he stepped out, he had placed them on the couch.

But a part of him didn’t leave.

Daryl heard quick shuffling inside the cabin seeing the kid run out in a bit of a panic. But once they saw him they straightened up and pretended they didn’t just do that.

“Never got your name”

“Y/N”

“‘M Daryl, are you alright?”

“Uh. Yeah uh. You leaving I guess” Y/N stepped back pressing their back against the wall, fidgeting with the ends of their sleeves.

Deep down, Daryl didn’t want to leave the kid alone and he wasn’t going to. But he wanted to make it seem like their idea to go with him back to their community.

“I can teach yea how to shoot”

The light in their eyes sparked when he said such as they straightened up looking at the archer with a pleasing look.

“Really?”

“Mhm. I’ll give yea a bolt or two. Go get your crossbow, and I’ll set up” Daryl went back inside with the kid as they ran to get their things while he grabbed a few empty cans.

After Daryl had set up a little shooting range, he set his own crossbow against a nearby tree along with his pack before taking a few of his own bolts for Y/N who approached him unnoticed. He flinched which resulted in the kid doing the same.

“Holy fuck”

“Sorry” Y/N frowns gripping the strap to their crossbow. “Didn’t mean to spook you…”

“Yknow going unnoticed like that can save yea and others”

“If I can land a shot…”

“Which we’ll be workin’ on”

The basics, Y/N already knew and Daryl kept an eye on them along with their surroundings for any walkers while they loaded the bolt in and held their crossbow in the right position.

“Gotta widen your stance a bit, not too much but enough to plant yourself”

“How does that help with my aim?”

“Well. Best not to fall over when firin’”

“Mm. Okay” Y/N couldn’t argue with that but before they even could fire the bolt, the two heard a walker. But before Daryl could even get his own crossbow and tell Y/N to get behind him.

They discarded the crossbow and quickly grabbed a rock from the rock pile they had standing outside the cabin. Daryl looks at them confused as he ignored it to grab their crossbow that was already loaded and before he knew it, he watches Y/N climb a near by tree high enough and jump on the walker using the rock to crush its skull enough for them to swiftly take their knife out stabbing the gooey inside.

The sight was a bit horrific that Daryl wishes he could unsee it. But before he could try, he couldn’t help but notice the obvious.

“If yea had a knife, why didn’t yea use that to open the cans?”

“Cuz I had someone to do it for me! Then he died and I was alone for three days before you came” Y/N snaps as they took the rock they used to kill the walker returning it to the pile that clicked to Daryl.

It was a grave in a sense. Without the body.

“I’m sorry”

“Whatever…” They frown readjusting the rock formation a bit as Daryl handed their crossbow back once it was fixed to their liking. “So back to it?”

“Mhm”

A few hours of this and Daryl knew he should be heading back to his community before someone will come looking for him. Not that he needs rescuing. Y/N is harmless for the most part.

One last time, they loaded the bolt into their crossbow and aimed it for one of the cans as Daryl gently pushes the end down a bit to help. That’s when Y/N took the shot and finally got the center of the can.

“Fuck yes!”

“Nice shot”

The unfamiliar voice startled Y/N to hug their crossbow as Daryl quickly assured it was someone he knew that also knew how to sneak up on people unnoticed.

“You didn’t come back so Rick sent me” Carol smiles crossing her arms at the two archers seeing Y/N bring themselves to hide behind Daryl. “I’m not gonna bite. I’m a friend”

“Yeah this is my friend Carol, she’s nice”

“Only nice?” She scoffs.

“Fine, and she’s got an ego” Daryl smirks only to get smacked in the chest by Carol once she approached as Y/N tried to fight back the laugh that escaped them. “But yeah you can trust her, she ain’t scary”

“Nice, not scary. Total package” Carol smiles watching the kid relax faster with her than they did with Daryl as he really had to take into consideration that he did barge in in their home. “You know they can come with us”

“I can?” Y/N quickly looks up at Daryl watching him nod. “Can…uh”

“I can still help yea with working on your bow skills”

Now that lead Y/N to quickly collect their things which wasn’t much but gave the adults enough time to talk about the time Daryl has been gone.

“You know why right?”

“Why what?”

“Why you didn’t leave them” Carol continues to smile at the archer as she watches Y/N step out of the cabin approaching the rock pile once more and taking one into their grasp before they went to retrieve the bolt. “You saw yourself in them…all alone in the woods with no one…couldn’t bear to leave them alone like how you were”

“You gettin’ sappy on me is gonna make it rain again”

“You could just say you are gonna cry” She nudges him followed by a grunt from him and a short lived laugh from her. “They’ll be in good hands. I know for a fact”

Soon the three were on their way back to Alexandria, Y/N kept close to Daryl as this was all new to them that when they stopped a few feet away from the gate…Daryl went to their side and taking it at their speed. Carol wishes she could document it for the books…

Alexandria’s crossbow duo

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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sailoryooons · 11 months

Text

Break | ksj (m)

☾ Pairing: Witch!Seokjin x cursed!reader

☾ Summary: Seokjin has been at your side for the last few years. He’s your closest friend, and the one person you don’t think you can live without. But what happens when you discover that he might be the source of the curse he’s been trying to help you escape from?

☾ Word Count: 18,990

☾ Genre: Supernatural, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, sometimes confusing mentions of magic systems, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), rough fucking from behind, dom/sub dynamics if you rEALLY squint, subspace/blacking out post sex, unhappy and ambiguous ending!!!!!!

☾ Published: May 22, 2023

☾ A/N: Hi hello this is one of the most random things I’ve ever written. I made a last minute choice to nosedive into this fic at the last second, which was certainly a choice. While it’s not my favorite work because of how hard I struggle to write it, I have a feel people are going to like it regardless and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself about it. Once again, Hali writes way too much for a small project and doesn’t even dip into the lore the way she wanted to! Thank you to @here2bbtstrash who was the amazing beta on this and fixed easily over 200 errors that I made while rush typing this. I handed this over unedited and unread from myself and they put this through the wash to have it in tiptop shape!

❀ A/N 2: M created their own Little Hut rhyme and I have opted to feature it here for reader’s enjoyment:

Little hut, little hut

Killer dick game

Little hut, little hut

All men is the same

Little hut, little hut,

Murdered your twin

Little hut, little hut

Time to fuck Jin

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | A Spring Offering Collab

Seokjin is good at holding grudges. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance.

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Blood witches are dangerous. Seokjin knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Seokjin is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Seokjin gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane.

They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Seokjin knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call.

He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do.

“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Seokjin can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.”

Seokjin blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut.

If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins.

A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Seokjin has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears.

Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Seokjin steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice.

So he asks the blood witch for a favor.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces.

You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing them into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all.

So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.

Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed.

Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech.

Leech.

It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world.

Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really.

Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old.

It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy.

Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often.

Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort.

It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house.

You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.

She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night.

The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you.

Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.

Except maybe Seokjin. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you.

That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.

Your small northeastern town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch.

It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowl. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you.

A few people have taken pity on you outside of Seokjin. Namjoon and Jimin would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Yoongi is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Seokjin is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies.

It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Magical Moon Bakery, and Jungkook looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified.

Seokjin is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheek and brow as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.

You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you help often enough that you tease Seokjin sometimes that he should start paying you. You never mean it, of course. Your reward is his unearned and unlikely friendship, and the fact that his friends have taken you in even when other covens have turned their backs on you.

Perhaps if he’d grown up here he’d hate you. It’s a thought you have often, even when you’re pulling the loop of a lavender apron over your head and tying it around your waist. You can’t imagine Seokjin ever hating you for no reason, but sometimes you wonder if he had the influence of the other kids of your town if it would be different.

“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “Worldwide best friend.”

“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage to string together, flustered by his proximity.

It’s no secret that Seokjin is one of the best looking men in town. Even among witches, who are unnaturally beautiful to begin with, he stands out. Dark, silky hair swept back off of his forehead, dark eyes with a spark of caramel right around the pupil, lips full and lush like Aphrodite, and a face molded from the finest clay, glazed and perfected.

Loving him isn’t hard. He’s as kind as he is beautiful, and Seokjin is silly. Able to make you laugh and draw you out of the melancholy that is permanently affixed on your person. It’s been that way since you met in your early twenties right after he moved to town, and you’re grateful for it.

Even if loving him is pointless. He can never be yours - would never want to be yours in that way, anyway.

So you settle for less. Settling for crumbs is what you’re good at. What people think you deserve, being the little leech that you are.

No one you’re serving at the bakery knows you’re a leech, though. All they know is that they are eager to try the best baked goods in town, wondering at the menu as each item has a list of things it’s good for. Rose scones to make someone fall in love, marshmallow fluff cupcakes to soften the blow of bad news, gumdrop cakes to summon rain.

Everything on the menu has a charm to it, both literally and figuratively. Seokjin is wildly creative in his carefully crafted menu, and he imbues magic in everything he makes from the eggs to the whipped frosting.

Being here is nice. Jungkook grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.

Jungkook is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back.

“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously, long, wavy locks shaking. “I wanted to do it. Please don’t yell at me.”

That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Jungkook’s round eyes are pleading and he pouts, a tactic you know he has learned from his boyfriend to use as a weapon. You think about sending Taehyung some choice text messages but instead, thank Jungkook for the cookies and continue to help him.

This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Seokjin and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.

Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Seokjin’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year.

But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. Who has begrudgingly let you stay as a member of the covenstead for the sheer fact that you’re her niece and nothing more.

When the rush of customers and crinkling to-go bags slows, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Seokjin has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. Though you have no magic on your own, you still sometimes predict things before they happen. Or at least, your instincts do.

“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Jungkook comments, eyes bouncing between you and Seokjin as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”

“She’s a witch,” Seokjin snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.”

“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”

You don’t meet Seokjin’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I can’t help it that I inspire magical abilities,” is Seokjin’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Plus, even witch-adjacents have the ability of foresight.”

What he doesn’t say is that even in your dishonored position as a siphoner, you can get sensations and feelings. While you can sense magic and you’re still in tune with the world around you, Jungkook is right: you only have this sense of knowing with Seokjin, like there is a tiny string of fate connecting the two of you.

When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Seokjin goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Jungkook, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm.

Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays use to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others.

Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to command, but it's something. It’s yours.

Instead of asking, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook out of the door on the promise of dinner. It is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Seokjin’s dining room table and elbowing with Jimin and Taheyung to reach for the food piled high.

Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Seokjin and Jungkook. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Seokjin throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Yoongi. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm.

His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you.

“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Seokjin’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”

You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”

Dancing away from him, you grab Jungkook who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Seokjin. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Seokjin grabs for you but you squeak and use Jungkook’s broad body to block him again.

“Yah!” Seokjin yells, reaching both arms around either side of Jungkook to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Jungkook - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back.

“Nooo!” Jungkook howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!”

“Tell me why you have a wound!”

“It isn’t a wound!”

“It’s a type of wound!”

“Ugh let my arm go, hulk!”

“Stop hissing at me like a rat!”

Jungkook drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!”

After a struggle, you manage to shake Seokjin off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Seokjin sidesteps Jungkook who is pouting and looking at the ground, wavy bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Seokjin makes it worse by stepping on them, earning a shriek from Jungkook that goes ignored.

“Did someone hurt you?”

A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Seokjin’s anger quickly.

Similar to Jungkook, Seokjin is sensitive to the elements. Where Jungkook has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Seokjin has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Seokjin is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town.

It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry.

“It’s nothing, Jin,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”

“Someone hurt you. Again.”

Thunder echoes across the sky. Jungkook looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips.”

“Jin, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”

“I’ll make it do more than that when I find out who did it.”

“They were just kids, Jin. You can’t-”

He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small.

Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled.

Above, the thunder stops. The rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Seokjin, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare but flips on a dime, catching you off guard any time it happens.

Jungkook is murmuring in Seokjin’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Seokjin’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Jungkook’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Seokjn’s eyes find yours over Jungkook’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of black and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Jungkook, who steps away.

Licking his lips, Seokjin offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”

“You know I would never hurt you?”

Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Seokjin or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals, waiting for you to grow weak and fall before they attack. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he cares about you.

“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you to your feet. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”

His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic and you’re careful not to take any, always keeping your guard up so that you can never siphon again. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Seokjin’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room with eight chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Seokjion’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Yoongi’s maine coon chases it, hissing.

Home is seven witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Namjoon collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic.

Bloated and overly satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Yoongi is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jimin and Namjoon have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Namjoon’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears.

Namjoon and Jimin strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Seokjin is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Hoseok.

Seokjin is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz.

In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Seokjin’s lingering gaze and lingering hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you.

It’s a silly dream.

When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Seokjin leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety.

Seokjin chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass to learn some small factoid about the wine, but it’s far from your memory now.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip of your own. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take a sip of your wine, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven.

Instead, Seokjin says, “You know I’ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”

“Jin.”

“Look, I’m happy with the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. But I know that you aren’t happy with it.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Yoongi and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”

Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.”

“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Along with your insufferable humor.”

“There is nothing insufferable about me. Especially with Yoongi around.”

You don’t push the argument. Seokjin grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort.

Seokjin holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.

“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need this.”

“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”

“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.”

“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”

“I know.”

You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you.

“I don’t want to be a problem that everyone feels like they need to solve. There’s more to me than being the covenstead’s leech.”

“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”

You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it.”

Seokjin is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold.

“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old.

The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Yoongi sticks his head out. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He smiles when he sees you, gentle and kind as he opens the door a little wider, beckoning with his head to enter.

Slipping through the back door, you enter a dark office. It’s only lit by candles spread over various shelves and desks, and a few hovering candles near the ceiling. It’s warm and cozy, and you spot Yoongi’s familiar napping on the chair pulled up to the desk where a computer shows some sort of accounting system.

Yoongi leads you to the front of the store. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. The shop has tall ceilings and is lined with rows and rows of dark shelving. The lighting here is not powered by candles or magic, but rather golden cafe lighting strung on the ceiling.

Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning.

Wordlessly, Yoongi gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.

Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that they would cross the threshold and drain the shops of magic.

It isn’t true, though you can feel the ebb and flow of open magic sources around you. You’re not here for magical purposes, specifically. There are things you can buy yourself and keep in your apartment to ground you to the earth, and there are still rituals and practices that you keep up with, even as your connection is severed.

As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Seokjin’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where.

Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. The town calls you a kin killer and a leech, so you’re sure they know enough to know the source of your hesitation is violent and personal.

Still, you slow as you pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. You shiver and look away from the book, pressing on to the herbs section.

It would be nice not to feel the lure of power. Not to feel the itch and the cunning voices of magic begging you to use them use them use them use them-

“Stop,” you growl out loud. You don’t know who you’re talking to - yourself, the magic in the store, the universe. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits and complete your shopping, moving with a robotic pace around the store to get what you need.

At the register, Yoongi gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Yoongi, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.

Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”

His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. And every time you’re in here, it’s like they all turn to look at you. Is it often?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Since it happened, there’s always been a pull or like magical objects to taunt me.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”

“Stronger magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Jin explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. As he swipes it, Yoongi explains. “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Namjoon found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”

“So like when you chain spells together,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Seokjin had been doing some research on magical blocks and shit, and found one that locates a point of origin of the block whether it’s internal or external.”

“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”

“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?”

Yoongi phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.

Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to toss one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry.

The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead.

“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Yoongi’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child?”

“People were really afraid of my parents,” you admit. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, before my aunt. She isn’t a blood witch. My mom was and led the covenstead until um - my sister died.”

“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”

There is a question there. Yoongi won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “She stepped aside when my sister died. It was more political than anything, but no one talks about it out of respect for my aunt.”

“But still, to curse a child?”

“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”

Yoongi’s face darkens. “I see.”

“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”

For a few moments, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”

You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless.

Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk.

No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all.

Curse.

The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind.

The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother and her sister - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practice dark magic.

Especially the few blood witches.

You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess.

They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil.

And then you bled your sister dry. Drained her magic until she couldn’t fight you back and you woke up to that feeling of her cold hands on your overwhelmed skin. Your mother had never really looked at you the same after that, stepping down as the high priestess immediately.

You suspect she protected you in the only way she could. Disallowing you to use magic of any sort, placing hard restrictions on how you could live, outlawing you from spaces where you had grown up. It was better than death.

At least, you used to think so.

Yoongi’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll.

And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling.

An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic.

You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra.

Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block.

It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did.

That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault.

And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment.

Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

Seokjin picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Yoongi forget to let you in the store?”

“No.”

“I’m coming now,” Seokjin says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”

“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”

“For you? Anything.”

Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt.

It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry.

Magic always belies how Seokjin feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest.

Seokjin is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far.

He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Seokjin leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, leading you to use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears.

This is what you love about Seokjin though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits.

When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Seokjin and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Seokjin is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, strong brows that you always thought made Seokjin’s face the perfect balance of boyish and beautiful.

Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core.

“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.”

Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Seokjin over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology.

As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you.

Seokjin is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.

The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…

Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure.

You look at Seokjin. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to.

“I talked to Yoongi about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Seokjin nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”

Understanding paints Seokjin’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”

“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”

“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Seokjin nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.”

He nods. “That is true.”

“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”

“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.”

“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Jin, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”

For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.

“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Seokjin’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.”

For a moment, you pause and look at Seokjin. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand.

“I’m still listening.”

“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”

He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”

“Yes I did.”

“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Seokjin’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. That’s why my mother stepped down as high priestess, why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

“How can anyone accept me like this?”

“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.”

“But why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay?

“What if the others don’t want me?”

“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.”

You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle for you?”

“I would walk through fire for you.”

You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Jin. That’s not impressive.”

His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”

“You’re a witch, you’re practically impervious.”

Seokjin overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy.

Gently, Seokjin reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different.

“Not impervious to you though.”

When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Seokjin. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning.

“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.

He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “Fire might not get to me,” he says. “You certainly did, though.”

“I don’t…”

“We’re practicing honesty because you’re right. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. There’s so much to tell you, but I need you to know before we do this how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“Yes. As the leader of our circle, it’s my duty to be honest with you and to give you an out. I don’t want you to cast our first circle and suddenly be able to see - feel - how I feel and then there’s no way out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’d walk through fire for you - hey, stop laughing at me! Because you are an amazing person. But I would also do it because I have fallen head over heels for you. Chaotically so. Painfully so.”

This is a dream. It has to be, because there is no way that Seokjin is lying under you, face so close to yours, hands gripping your forearms, and staring at you like that, gaze dreamy, smile on his face.

“It’s not a dream,” he laughs, making you realize you’ve said it out loud. “Or perhaps it is a dream and I am once again imagining that I am the hero to your tale, a knight saving you because he likes you and you will let me because you like me. But that would be a silly dream, because you have always been the bravest person I know and you have always refused to be saved.”

“You like me?”

“I do. And it’s okay if you don’t like me back. But I wanted you to know before you step into a circle with us. The others know - can see it light up inside of me every time we cast. But I didn’t want to surprise you with that. Not with this, not when it’s about you. It would have been cruel.”

Seokjin could never be cruel. The word cruel doesn’t even exist in the same plane of existence as this man. This witch who has never done anything but ask if you need help. Who simply enjoys baking things for the community and its visitors, filling every good with magic. A little extra something to make their lives more manageable, more fruitful.

This man, who would have you even as you are in his coven of witches. Even if a circle couldn’t be drawn and salted correctly. Even if they have no use for you. This friend, who has heard what you’ve done - or didn’t do - and looks at you all the same. Doesn’t see a monster or someone terrible, doesn’t see someone capable of murder.

The very thought of Seokjin loving you even as you are is enough to send a shiver through you.

“You know why I thought I was dreaming, right?” you ask him. Seokjin shakes his head, watching your every move. “Because I have dreamed of you saying that often. It was always a comfort to me when I was sad or my longing to have you was intense. I just thought I never could. Wasn’t worthy of it, wasn’t-”

Seokjin moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. He presses his lips firmly to yours and anything you were going to say vanishes, thoughts a wisp of smoke.

Sparks fly quite literally. Seokjin’s magic crackles and you resist to pull it in and consume it, too distracted by the soft feel of his lips. It’s just an innocent press of mouths at first, making your head spin as you realize you’re kissing Seokjin.

Then, he pulls away to look at you, face aglow. You’re a little breathless and reeling when you open your eyes to see his grin.

“You’re worthy of so much more,” he whispers.

There’s no time to respond as he pulls your lips to his again, this time kissing you properly. He tastes sweet, like one of his meringue treats. The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous.

Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him.

Seokjin’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier.

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating.

He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what?”

Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.

“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth.

“Enough,” he hisses.

The world spins. Seokjin grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.

He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit.

“You’re gonna be.”

A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.

You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head in a way that is somehow hot, as benign as it is.

Seokjin is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.

Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs.

It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.”

Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts.

Seokjin kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.

Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”

You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound.

“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Seokjin’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.

Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Seokjin has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.

One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper.

“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”

He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”

“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”

His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but laugh too, pausing your greedy hands in exchange for mirth. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your throat. “I did say that, huh?”

“Yes, so gimme.”

“Yah. Of course I am.”

Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Seokjin but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Seokjin has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.

When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”

“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”

“And grinding,” you add.

“Yeah, like a hungry little vixen, huh?” You nod, biting your bottom lip as you get lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.”

This time, Seokjin doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.

“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”

Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp.

As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Seokjin is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attacking his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.

Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth.

You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Seokjin plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis.

He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly.

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”

You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Seokjin’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat.

“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Jin.”

“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”

If you’re gonna take me.

The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably.

When Seokjin introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves.

It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Seokjin buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck, Jin I’m - ah ah ah.”

“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.”

And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless.

Seokjin retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs.

Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is.

With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Seokjin tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting salt.

“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it. “You’re a little slut, huh?”

You hum in agreement. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

Seokjin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.

You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly.

Seokjin is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?

No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.

“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”

Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Seokjin groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way.

The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”

“You have a nice dick.”

He laughs loudly at that. Seokjin’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.”

The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.

“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”

“Yes, please.”

Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Seokjin’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.

Seokjin is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy.

An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Seokjin grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets.

Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.

For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches.

You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Seokjin that you taste static in the air.

It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Seokjin’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless.

Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Seokjin is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.

A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.

“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think you blacked out.”

“I- what?”

“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”

“A magical orgasm.”

He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”

“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely.

It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”

“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”

“My big day?”

Seokjin grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, I just fucked the everloving shit out of you and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”

Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.

It hasn’t happened yet. And as Seokjin leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back.

Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Seokjin and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.

“Oh for the love of the land,” Yoongi groans when you appear in the basement of Seokjin’s home. “Look at the two of you.”

Everyone swivels to look at you and Seokjin, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the six other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.

You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Seokjin’s coven members. But Seokjin holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.

Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Seokjin let them know that he and his six would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.

It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.

Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Seokjin’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Yoongi’s deep shadows and Namjoons vibrant green, taste Jimin’s clean water and feel Hoseok’s pure air. Taehyung and Seokjin are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Jungkook’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.

It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. The eight of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.

The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Hoseok’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.

Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Namjoon will handle with Jimin. Namjoon has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jimin’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity.

It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Taehyung and Jungkook conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.

And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause.

But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it’s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.

Coven members already, really.

All seven of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Yoongi has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Seokjin. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Yoongi is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”

Yoongi is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Seokjin can move freer and have more control.

“Yoongi is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Seokjin murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.”

“Which is often,” Yoongi mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze.

“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”

Seokjin puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.

“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Namjoon is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”

“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”

“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck,” Seokjin whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.

Now, you’re with Seokjin, with Yoongi at the head of the circle. Yoongi doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”

You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Yoongi’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Hoseok, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”

You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Yoongi and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.

Yoongi looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers.

A little spike of fear goes through you as Hoseok begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.

Yoongi’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Seokjin, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”

Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-

A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Seokjin’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.

Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Yoongi, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something.

The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.

Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Hoseok is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.

With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Namjoon warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it.

Yoongi’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Yoongi. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut.

Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Yoongi’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses.

Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of.

Little hut, little hut.

One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin.

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods.

It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Yoongi’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.

Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did.

This is something that happened to you, Seokjin had said.

And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child.

Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.

You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite.

Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Dully, you are aware that Seokjin is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Seokjin at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Seokjin is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him.

His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate.

Little hut, little hut

I call to thee

Little hut, little hut

Come to me

The Seokjin in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Seokjin but not quite. Not as mature.

Young Seokjin doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Seokjin somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.

She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Seokjin, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.

The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers.

As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But she isn’t real and she fades as Hoseok’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Seokjin kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.

Seokjin looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years.

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Namjoon opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Taehyung and Jungkook to weave the new ritual into the circle.

Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Seokjin yells but you’re fast, surging between Namjoon and Jimin where the door exists. Namjoon’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Close it and close the circle,” you pant.

“I-”

“Close the fucking circle!”

Seven pairs of eyes look at you then. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Namjoon recloses the circle and turns to Yoongi.

Slowly, Yoongi begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Yoongi to Jungkook to Taehyung to Jimin. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat.

Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Seokjin’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister.

The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Seokjin’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate.

Finally, they finish the circle. Seokjin rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him.

“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Seokjin, did you curse someone?”

“I… what does that have to do with-”

“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.”

Three things happen then. The first is Seokjin’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shaking his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.

“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Yoongi takes a step toward Seokjin and he holds out a hand, warding Yoongi off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.”

“You cursed someone?” Taehyung hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”

“Shut up, Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.”

“Did you give a name? What did you say?”

“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”

“So you cursed them based on a memory?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life

“Seokjin.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”

A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Seokjin and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist.

When Seokjin says nothing, it says everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow.

“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”

“I…” Seokjin shakes his head but can’t make the words come out.

There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.

You can’t break it. Not knowing that it’s most likely at the cost of Seokjin’s life. Giving his blood to the witch was a terrible thing. She used it to cast the curse and likely to bind it to him. Which means if you want your magic, you must kill Seokjin.

Instead of standing there to consider the possibility, you turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started.

Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?

Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Seokjin’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone.

Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.

The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Seokjin’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other.

A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible.

You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme.

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness.

A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.

Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark.

You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk.

You clench your fists.

Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Seokjin’s book.

“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.”

#seokjin smut #jin smut #jin bts smut #seokjin angst #jin angst #jin bts fanfic #seokjin bts fanfi #kim seokjin smut #jim seokjin fanfic #jin x reader #jin you #minors dni #minors do not interact

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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 year

Text

The curse Harry had been hit with wasn’t so bad when he became something cute and small.

At the end of some days he just transformed into a little lapdog, easily squishable, easily manageable, easily lovable. Those days it was easy to curl up on Draco’s lap, to allow his ears to be stroked, soft endearments spoken over him. He’d often drift off to sleep, lulled by the peace and easy contentment of being scooped and cradled in gentle arms.

Some days he became something a little bigger, something with bigger teeth and a bit of a reputation, something that some people might be a little afraid of. But he wasn’t actually dangerous unless provoked, just a bit larger than some might prefer; his bark was certainly worse than his bite. Still it was easy enough to allow himself to be cuddled and held, to be petted and told that he was good. Even if he might feel a little grumbly about it, huffing barks and little growls, the affection and gentleness he so craved with this form was easily accessible. There was always a couch to lay on, Draco’s thigh to press against, his knee to rest his chin on while he was told that he was good if a bit misunderstood.

It wasn’t even too bad on the days that he looked more like a wolf than a dog, when his body was as long or longer than a human was tall, when his teeth were long and sharp, when his throat was possessed by the urge to howl. Even then, it wasn't too hard to transform, to run, to push his body to its limits before collapsing on the floor in front of the fire, sofa at his back. He was, theoretically, actually dangerous in this form. But hands were always gentle, stroking his thick fur, removing any burrs that had gotten caught, offering him water and little treats. The words were still always gentle, soft declarations of love, proclaiming his goodness in spite of how dangerous he might have been.

But nights like tonight were a different story entirely. On nights like these, he transformed into something far smaller than the wolf, and perhaps he wouldn’t have been seen as a threat in this body. Small, frail-looking, and very obviously wounded; everything about this body ached, everything about this body was too much for him to bear. And the woundedness, the pain that left him exposed and broken, made him more dangerous than any of the others. To be pet in this form was to experience pain, even the most gentle hands prompted a reaction; a bite, a snarl, teeth snapping and hackles rising.

On nights like tonight, he didn’t go inside. He didn’t find his way to the chair or the sofa, didn’t find a comfortable place to lay in front of the fire. No, on nights like tonight, he carried himself, limping and bleeding, into the woods and found a place to lie down. The forest was alive with the sounds of creatures around him and even the noise rubbed something raw inside of him.

He found a giant tree, one whose roots had carved out a hollow in the earth between, and laid down in the dirt close to the trunk, gingerly curling his body around itself. The small whines that escaped his throat were inevitable, he was unable to stop himself from whimpering in pain no matter how he tried.

And that was where Draco found him, lying shivering from cold and pain, trying very hard to block out all of the world. A low growl escaped his throat as Draco approached, teeth bared in a snarl, in spite of the way that his presence soothed something inside of his chest.

“I thought I might find you out here,” he said evenly, sitting down a few feet away, giving him space. “I worry for you when you don’t come home, you know.”

He huffed and curled tighter, shifting slightly away from him.

“I brought some things that might help,” he said, taking the rucksack off and flipping it open, “maybe a little water first?” Draco suggested, filling a bowl and offering it to him, “or a snack. You must be hungry from how far you ran,” he added, nudging some food toward him as well.

After a few minutes of careful mistrust, sniffing the proffered gifts for any signs of poison, any ill intent, he took a few tentative sips of water, a bite of food.

“Bandages next,” he said softly, broadcasting his movements as he pulled out ointments and bandages, salves and healing potions. “I know you don’t like this part, but it always helps.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that was true but it didn’t stop him from snapping at his hand when he reached toward him.

“It’s alright,” Draco soothed, not pulling away, not turning back. Gentle hands, hands that had praised and healed before, resumed their task, starting with the most obvious gaping wounds.

The process hurt, he cried and whimpered, shifting restlessly while the wounds were dressed. And when he was done, Harry thought he would leave, thought that was enough, surely, already too much to ask, too much to take.

But instead he prompted, “Let me see.”

He growled, low and dangerous; guarding the deep, festering wounds that he’d purposely kept hidden. They were ugly, dangerous in their own right, the festering was toxic; something that could poison not only his own body but that of anyone he touched as well.

“Come on,” he murmured, soft and encouraging, “show me.”

Pushing back, he found himself trapped against the tree. His hackles rose and he crouched a little lower to the ground but before he could work himself up too much further Draco took a step back.

“You’re alright,” he said gently, “you’re safe, you’re not trapped.” Another step back and his body eased a bit. “You get to choose. You don’t have to let me help, but I want to. I’m here when you’re ready.”

He laid back down, his whole body shaking with exhaustion and a pain that radiated from his chest and throughout his body. And he watched him.

And Draco just looked back at him, not pushing, not expecting him to do anything, not forcing anything on him. But he made it equally clear that he was not going anywhere, that he really would sit there until Harry was ready. The experience of his desire for his healing was almost too much, it set a pain even deeper in his body, all the way down into his bones.

After several minutes of staring at one another, his growl turned into a low whine, soft and pitiful, even to his own ears.

“Come here,” he invited again, holding out a hand and waiting.

He crawled forward on his belly and bumped his hand with his snoot and he carefully stroked his head.

“You’re good,” he murmured as he rubbed his ear between his thumb and forefinger, “you’re good.”

Whining, Harry gingerly rolled onto his side, exposing the wounds on his chest. They were the worst, he knew they were the ugliest, the deepest, the most dangerous.

“Oh,” he whispered soft and aching, “let me?” he asked and Harry turned his head to the side, allowing him to clean them, to work in the ointment that would ultimately heal in spite of how badly it hurt, before bandaging them.

Panting, whimpering, he waited for the sharp pain to dull, to ease.

Draco shifted closer, sitting cross legged near his head, petting him and murmuring soft, gentle words to him. “Come home,” he murmured.

He curled into a ball, settling his body back into the tree roots once more, seeking the shelter of the tree. It was enough, this place, wounds already tended to, water and food freely given; more than enough really all things considered when you saw his ugliness, his brokenness, the way he snapped and growled. It was too much, surely, for anyone to bear.

With a little sigh, he unrolled a mat and started to settle on the ground, like he planned to stay.

Lifting his head he gave a little bark and nudged his hip with his nose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said stubbornly, “not without you. You either come with me or I stay here, that’s how this works.”

He huffed and gave another bark but when Draco made no signs of moving, he curled up tighter and tucked his head. Dozing off was a matter of necessity at this point, exhaustion made every limb heavy and achy.

When he woke, body stiff and sore, nerves alight with the sensation of sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, he turned his head and found that he was still there, watching over him while he slept. “You’re alright,” he soothed, “you’re safe.”

Whining again, he leaned forward slowly and pressed his nose to Draco’ arm.

“Home?” he asked softly, two fingers tracing over the bridge of his nose.

And he gave in, let himself be loved, be too much, he stood and waited while he rolled his mat and packed up. The walk back was a slow, painful one but he stayed by his side the whole way back, not rushing him, just staying with him.

When they got back he laid down in front of the fireplace and Draco built up the fire, then covered him with a blanket and sat beside him to stroke his head until he drifted off to sleep again.

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

The next morning, the sun shining through the windows woke him. He shifted with a groan, stretching his stiff muscles.

“There’s coffee on the table.”

He looked over at Draco where he was sitting looking out the window and sipping his own cup of coffee, before sitting up and reaching for the cup. Leaning against the sofa, he took a sip of coffee before scrubbing his hand over his face. “Sorry,” he finally said, voice coming out rough from misuse.

“I’m not,” Draco replied without missing a beat.

He laughed, a hint of bitter disbelief in his voice, “you had to chase me out into the woods,” he said. “Heal gaping, disgusting wounds.”

“I love you,” he countered, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’ll always come find you. I’ll always want to help you heal.”

He shook his head and looked down at his coffee. “I hate this curse,” he whispered, broken and frustrated.

“It doesn’t have to be a curse.” He stood up and moved over to sit next to him on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with their backs pressed against the legboard of the sofa. “Not if you let me help you, not if you let me see you.”

“It feels like as much of a curse for you as it is for me.”

He shook his head, “I want all of you. You aren’t too much,” he added softly.

He leaned over and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, “I feel like too much.”

“You’re not,” Draco said easily. “And it’s okay that you feel that way. But you’re not too much, your wounds aren’t too much. It’s helpful sometimes,” he continued, “to see how hard your days are,” he kissed the top of his head. “You always want to hide the hurt away from me, but you can’t like this. I like getting to know what’s really going on inside of you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, rolling down his chin, “what if it never gets easier? What if I never stop feeling this much pain? What if I never stop growling and snapping at you? What if I hurt you?”

“That was a lot of different questions,” he said, kissing the top of his head again. “I imagine that sometimes it will get easier and sometimes it will get harder.”

“Great. That sounds really good,” he muttered.

He laughed, soft and fond, “that’s just life. Sometimes we feel a lot of pain, we experience inordinate amounts of suffering. But you can always growl and snap at me, you can push me as hard as you want but I’m not going to leave. I won’t ever leave,” he promised. “Even if you hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know,” he affirmed. “But even if you do, we’ll make it better. You don’t have to shut me out, you don’t have to try to protect me from yourself. I’m not afraid of you.” Draco nudged him up off his shoulder so he could look at Harry’s face.

For a long moment, he just let him look, let himself be flayed open by his piercing silver gaze, every secret laid bare.

“You are good,” he said. “You are loved, so loved. All you have to do is let me love you.”

“I’m scared,” he confessed.

He smiled and let him snuggle back against his side, head resting on his shoulder once more. “I know. But you’re not alone. I’ll be with you,” he assured him. “I’ll be your safety net, I’ll help.” He rested his cheek on Harry's head, “everything will be alright in the end,” he promised. “You just have to trust me.”

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