#I know this isn’t my usual poems but I felt the need to share

[whispers-in-the-margins]

On Wicked; Green-ness, and Burn Scars.

12.01.2024

Two Fridays ago, on its release date, I went to the cinema to watch Wicked. To my advantage, I had only seen The Wizard of Oz (1939) twice in my life and had never watched the Wicked musical. While I knew the basics of the story and the concept of what I was about to see, I could not have anticipated how deeply I would resonate with Elphaba.

It was my first time seeing a movie alone, without the company of family or friends. I think this solitude played a role in allowing my tears to fall so freely, without fear of judgment.

While I understand the broader metaphors of Wicked—racism, discrimination, and the erasure of history as a global issue—my connection with Elphaba was deeply personal. The fact that, in this version, Elphaba is played by a Black woman emphasizes these themes of racism and otherness. But as I watched her sing about fantasies of being “de-greenified” and saw her attempts to play it cool as though she didn’t care about being different, I saw my own reflection.

Elphaba’s experiences felt achingly familiar. She has a speech prepared for the inevitable moment when she meets someone new—a way to explain her very existence because she knows people will ask, will stare, will judge. This hit me as a burn survivor. Every scene I watched felt like reliving pieces of my own childhood.

I remembered entering a new school where everyone stared and the questions came, blunt and raw. I remembered being liked by teachers for caring about schoolwork but struggling to make age-appropriate friendships. I remembered the popular girl who pretended to be my friend, only to make fun of me or “help” in ways that fed her savior complex.

Even Elphaba’s heartbreak was familiar: liking someone only to see them claimed by the prettier, more socially accepted girl. I wasn’t that girl, ever. And then there was the isolation from my own family—not because they didn’t love me, but because they could never fully understand. How could they?

Elphaba was green. I was marked with burn scars. We weren’t that different.

When I was a child, I too would fantasize about a powerful entity that could take my scars away. I, too, would act like I didn’t care, as if trying to trick the universe into making it happen faster. I, too, shied away from opportunities, feeling unworthy. And, like Elphaba, I slowly built my confidence from the ground up, helped along by the arrival of true friends—though they didn’t stay forever, and their loss hurt deeply.

By the time Elphaba sang “The Wizard and I,” I was already crying. Her battle cry, filled with sorrow and defiance, felt like my own. I had never expected a film to reflect my inner world so profoundly. Sitting alone in the cinema, I felt grateful—not just for the movie itself, but for the space it gave me to process my emotions.

But it was during “Defying Gravity” that I truly broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Watching Elphaba declare her independence, her refusal to conform or apologize for who she was, struck me in a way I didn’t think possible. In that moment, I felt completely seen and represented—not just by the story, but by the rawness of her journey. It wasn’t a perfect parallel to my own life, but the emotions—the pain, the power, the triumph—felt universal.

For the first time, I saw a character whose struggles and victories reflected my own in such an unflinching way. This was the perfect film for my first solo theater experience. It reminded me that I can cry without shame. That I can find strength in my scars. That I, too, am powerful enough to defy gravity, rise above my scars, and soar into the western skies.

[stevesjockstrap]

Sweetest Day

Steve/Eddie • Rated T • Ronance for fun, 2000’s, the girls are so fed up with these idiots

@steddiesongfics: My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion

@stcreators: event 12 Take Two - music

Steve glared at the spread in front of them, trying to figure out how his life had led him to this moment. There were neat little piles of pens, cards and paper in front of all of them.

Their normal movie/game/queer bitching session night had been taken over by Nancy and some magazine quiz.

“We’re writing?”

Robin sighed her patented long suffering sigh at him, which he didn’t think was completely warranted. He wasn���t good at writing, even when he had to try to be in high school. That had been almost fifteen years ago now.

Nancy started over, apparently deciding they needed more instructions. “Cosmopolitan magazine says to write poems to your lover for a better intimate relationship,” she explained like they were incredibly stupid. With such authority like they didn’t know this was a magazine telling you tips for which jeans to make your butt look better or which positions to try with your man. “And since it’s Sweetest Day, we’re all going to write poems for each other and share them.”

Steve groaned again. Eddie pulled him close, nearly into his lap at the table and nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll love whatever you write, babe.”

He knew that, but Nancy and Robin were like, actual geniuses. Eddie wrote songs, which were just poems with music. He was going to look like an idiot.

“Sweetest day is just another made up holiday for candy companies to screw us,” he complained.

Robin rolled her eyes. “No it isn’t, Steve! It’s for kind gestures, showing appreciation for those you love.”

He looked at Eddie for support but he was staring into space, drumming on the table with Nancy’s fancy pens. “Whatever, but I’m sure they didn’t intend to give us homework.”

But the girls could not be persuaded. He went to the kitchen for another beer.

Then he decided fuck it, grabbed a pen and a blank card and leaned over the kitchen island to write a poem. Eddie deserved a poem.

“I think the next time you want to do this artsy crap, you can invite Will instead,” Steve grouched, then felt instantly bad. “Who goes first?”

“You should, Steve!”

He glared across the room at Nancy, who was even peppier than usual since she’d gotten them all to agree to her idea. He could tell she’d written something long and detailed in her perfect tiny handwriting.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Eddie insisted, leaning forward with his hand on his chin. Seemingly delighted to listen to what he wrote.

“Every night in my dreams

I see you, I feel you

That is how I know you go on

Far across the distance

And spaces between us

You have come to show you go on

Near, far, wherever you-”

“Wait!” Robin loudly interjected. “Is this that damn Celine Dion song?”

He felt his cheeks heat, ducking his head.

“Oh my god, Stevie,” Eddie sounded shocked.

“I’m not good at writing, okay?” He nearly yelled, then he met his boyfriend’s eyes. His eyebrows were raised, but he was smiling. He looked like he’d won the lottery.

“I wrote the same thing!”

“No way,” Nancy got up to snatch their cards away, comparing them.

“You're here, there's nothing I fear,

And I know that my heart will go on,

We'll stay forever this way,” Eddie sang, opening his arms but Steve was already on his way toward him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve snarked, but unable to hold back his own smile.

“I’ve already written an entire album of songs for you, love. I figured I could borrow from a master.”

“You guys are the worst,” Robin grumbled, coming closer to look over her girlfriend’s shoulder.

But they didn’t pay her any mind as he straddled Eddie in the chair and met his lips.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics & @/sister-lucifer

[ladytauria]

9, 10, 15, 21, and 40 for the writer's asks

- @bi-bats

thank you for asking!!

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

I do not! Sometimes I wish I did

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

For me, haunting means lingering in my thoughts, and/or popping up repeatedly when I’m thinking and/or doing other things. Pretty much every WIP I’ve ever started haunts me until I finish it or finally decide to cut it loose <3 Some haunt me more than others. (*avoids eye contact with my novel*)

Other works haunt me too, to varying degrees; sticking with me for one reason or another. I don’t have any examples atm bc I always draw a blank when asked directly about things but. They’re there xD

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I have deep admiration of people who annotate their books… however I do not. I used to make tiny dog-ears on my favorite passages—and once I did highlight some quotes I liked. But I always felt… bad? After? So I didn’t do it again.

I am perfectly fine highlighting and taking notes on my kindle tho!

I usually shower, not take baths, and I would not trust myself not to drop the book shskdjdkjdj so I don’t do that either. It does sound very relaxing tho

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

No & no. I love writing too much—I *hate* not being able to do it.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

Ah… I do not read nor collect enough poetry…

My favorite poem remains A Mouthful of Forevers, by Clementine von Radics

[ weird questions for writers ]

[from-a-reckless-writer]

9 Supercorp

1 new message.

The notification reads. This is odd. Nobody ever sends Kara any messages on this account, for the sole reason that it doesn't have much followers.

It was Nia's idea initially. She's told Kara to buy herself a journal. She keeps one herself, where she writes all the dreams she doesn't know how to interpret yet.

"You should write down whatever it is and let it lie there for a while you know?"

Kara thought about it, had mulled it over and over in her head. A journal is indeed a great idea. An outlet of sorts. But the thing is, a journal is too private. If Kara wrote in a journal the only person who would ever read it would be herself.

Kara didn't want that. Kara hungered for an audience. She wanted to write and put it out there, out in the world where somebody will maybe one day read it and come to her--tell her, "Me, too. Me, too."

She wanted to write and be read by people.

And so, the journal idea became the Instagram poetry account idea.

A handful of original poetry posted in between aesthetic photos.

Nia and her sister are the only two people in her life who knows about it. That's why she is genuinely shocked when she reads the notification.

By the time, she's collected enough courage to open the app.

There have been more than 10 notifications. First, was the follow, next was a series of likes and then finally the message.

Kara clicked on the profile first.

It was a bookstagram account it turns out. There was only the username display, kieran. All in lowercase. No location, no bio, no nothing. The icon was of a single, black, loopy 'K' on white parchment.

The feed was of book covers, pages, spines and some quotes here and there.

The thing that Kara noticed about it though was how sad everything looked, once she's looked at it all in one grid.

It looks beautiful but melancholy.

She opens the message.

"I don't usually do this but...I just have to tell you that, your poetry has more of an impact than you will ever know. Thank you making me feel like I'm not alone. Thank you for sharing your words."

It was signed with a single heart and a 'k'.

And that's when it hits Kara.

Kara writes out a reply.

I'm out there.

I'm out there, in the world. And somebody is reading my words. They're reading what I wrote and it made them feel something.

"Thank you for taking the time to write those kind words to me. I hope you know you've made me want to write now more than ever. Thank you."

She added a heart at the end too. Kara didn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

They didn't reply it turns out. Kara tries not to feel too disappointed at that and tries to go on with her life.

Although, two weeks later after their first interaction, Kara posts two new poems, she discovers that kieran didn't stop reading.

Kara would usually get a like or a comment of a single heart then and again, and if she's lucky they'll comment a 'Beautiful.' underneath one of Kara's longer poems.

Kara collects all those crumbs and keeps it close to her heart.

******

"had a shity day ur peom made my night. thbk you."

Kara reads the message at 7 am, it was sent at 3:36 am. It isn't till she's halfway through, that her groggy mind realizes that they must've been drunk when they sent her this.

There's a twinge of worry in her chest, so she writes.

"I'm glad I made your night. And I don't want to overstep, but I think you were drunk when you sent this. I hope you're alright today. Drink lots of water! Thank you for the kind words."

She doesn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

Kara's knee-deep in Snapper's column assignment when her phone pings.

"Don't worry, you didn't overstep. I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Kara can't help the feeling of concern when she reads the message. Imagine thinking an Instagram poet who you've interacted with, two times in total, is the kindest person you've ever met. Never mind the fact that she's the Instagram poet.

Kara feels intrigued by this person.

Maybe it's because they're making her feel important. Maybe it's because Kara doesn't know who they are and the mystery appeals to her. Maybe it's because with them, Kara isn't anything. She's just a poet.

Maybe it's all of those or maybe it's none of those reasons at all.

Nevertheless, Kara sees her fingers fly across the keypad before she can even realize what she's doing.

"And you, IG user kieran, I think are the most interesting person I've ever met : )"

She puts her phone facedown on her desk.

Kara stands up from her station, walks around, pokes her head into Snapper's office, asks if he needs anything, gets yelled at, bothers Nia, walks around the entire bullpen, refills her tumbler, sits back down on her desk.

1 new message.

Kara lunges for her phone.

"Interesting huh?"

Just that. Just that and nothing else, yet it makes Kara feel like she's being observed, judged, weighed.

"Your feed is beautiful, your books. What I wouldn't give to get a peek in that beautiful mind of yours."

Kara exits the app, her thumb gliding through the screen so fast, it's a miracle it didn't break under the pressure.

She stands up from her desk and does a whole 'nother round.

1 new message

Kara takes a deep breath before opening the message. She doesn't even know why she's nervous.

"my mind is a lot of things, but i doubt beautiful is one of them."

What does she mean by that? Well, Kara guesses, everyone's brain is a mess right? She's pretty certain she's fucked up herself in more ways than she even knows.

So that's what she says.

"Everybody's a mess i think. Doesn't mean they're not beautiful."

Kara waits and waits and waits.

The reply doesn't come.

*******

Life goes on, her IG account gains more followers, her poems get stacked upon each other each week.

She always notices which ones kieran likes though.

They never message each other again.

******

And then, that one fateful day comes—Kara falls in love.

She meets Lena and Kara falls.

Hard.

Lena catches her and together they write what Kara thinks, is the most beautiful love story in existence.

Lena's her soul mate, her best friend, her one true love.

Her poems become lighter, happier.

She's so caught up with living in the real world with Lena, that sometimes she doesn't even have the time to write poems anymore.

Why would she? When she's living a brand new love poem each day she wakes up to Lena by her side.

One night, Kara is putting on her pajamas, and Lena is taking a picture of some book in their bed, her hair in a bun, big nerdy glasses perched on her nose.

Kara is in the middle of climbing into bed when Lena asks her, "Hey, have you ever read poetry and felt like it was speaking to you directly. As if the poet wrote it with you in mind??"

Quietly, Kara answers, "Yeah."

Immediately, Kara's head travels through all the snippets of conversations she's had with kieran.

All her IG posts, the one account, the one thing that Lena does not know about.

"Why?" Kara follows-up.

Lena's sat, leaning into the pillows, her phone in her hand.

"There's this- you know what? Why don't I just show you? You'll get what I mean, when you read it."

Lena shows Kara her phone screen and Kara freezes.

There on the screen, is her Instagram poetry account. @kz_elwrites.

Her entire collection of verse all lit up in Lena's phone.

"I-" Kara doesn't know what to say. And Lena notices, of course, she would.

Lena always notices. ,

"Kara?" She asks. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wrote that." Kara lets the words hang in between them.

She meets Lena's eyes, reads the shock there.

Kara grabs her phone from the nightstand and opens her IG app--shows it wordlessly to Lena.

Lena takes the phone gently from her hands, flicks up and down for a couple of minutes.

Kara feels like something important is going to happen. Everything feels to quiet. Lena is too quiet.

Lena hands Kara her phone back, still not speaking.

And then, Lena turns back to her phone, swipes a couple of times.

"Come here," Lena whispers. "Take a look."

Kara's eyes land on the screen.

kieran.

"You're-"

"I am."

prompt list here

[brywrites]

Gifted

Spencer Reid x Reader. Summary: All his life Spencer Reid has been told he’s gifted. And all his life he’s wondered what the point was of those gifts that felt like curses. Until her.

--------

Though he holds so many memories in his mind, Spencer Reid isn’t quite sure who the first person to call him “gifted” was. It was probably his mother, he thinks. Certainly not his father, who thought he was strange. Perhaps a teacher, or maybe even his Aunt Ethel. All he’s certain of is that he’s lost track of the number of times people have praised the so-called gifts he possesses. His eidetic memory, his autodidactism, his absurdly high IQ. His mind, they say, is a gift. But it’s felt more like a curse for most of his life.

Those same things that helped him skip grades and earn the praise of adults brought him years of bullying taunts and miserable adolescent trauma. They isolated him from his peers. His companions were library books and stories and mathematic proofs – nothing with a beating heart. They plagued his nightmares, for his mother had been brilliant too and what had that done for her? And those gifts came with a tremendous burden of pressure, they demanded use in a powerful way. Reid was always terrified he’d fail to live up to that impossible potential, proving himself unworthy of such great and terrible gifts.

By the time he’s thirty-six, he wonders why he was ever given such gifts in the first place. Clearly he’s squandered them, spent them on chasing monsters he thought might be human. They turned out to be hydras – for each one they catch, two more take its place. He’s let his mind waste away on drugs, on grief. In shacks and in prison and in grudges he just can’t let go of. He’s saved lives, he knows, but his team do that same thing without the gifts he’s been cursed with. What’s the point of him? Of any of the talents or tricks he possesses?

And it’s that question on his mind as he walks into a Virginia library to interview a witness to the latest in a string of serial arsons. Her name tag says Y/N. She’s clearly nervous, a little shaken, but she manages a smile when a child runs up to interrupt and ask her how to find The Magic Tree House books. And when she turns back to look at Reid, that smile still lingers – her eyes so bright it catches him off guard. She takes him back to the area of the library that was burned to talk about the crime scene, and she off-handedly asks if he has a favorite.

And when he says, “Oh I could never choose just one favorite. I love books too much for that,” that smile returns, unexpectedly bright.

“A man after my own heart,” she says. “Tell me a few then.” 

So he rattles off a handful, hoping at least one of them will keep that light in her eyes. They do. “Bradbury is one of my favorites, too. I just love Dandelion Wine. Sorry, I probably should focus on the fire. I try to distract myself when I feel stressed, and well, remembering what happened that night doesn’t exactly help with my anxiety.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or excited. Really, I think I just talk a lot.” Another smile, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Over the course of the investigation, the BAU has to ask her to come to the station twice. By chance, Reid finds himself interviewing her both times, and both times he finds himself rambling a little more than he means to – because he finds himself inexplicably a little nervous and a little excited in her presence. It’s that smile, the one that lingers long in his mind after she leaves each time.

There’s something about her, about the light she seems to carry, that draws him in. That compels him to say yes when he shows up at the library to inform her they’ve caught the unsub and she asks, “Could I buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation? If that’s not too much, of course.”

“I think that would be perfect,” he says. And as they sit at the café across the street with lattes in oversized mugs, he’s never been so grateful for his vast knowledge of literature. Each title is a start into a new conversation with her, and they swap stories about stories – the ones they have lived and the ones they have loved. When she disappointedly announces her break is over, she adds, “But maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“How should I get in touch with you if you’re not showing up at the library to interrogate me, Dr. Reid?” she teases.

He hastily withdraws his cell phone from his pocket and offers it to her. She begins to type in her number. “You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he tells her.

She grins at him and something in his chest shifts at the sight. “I’ll definitely call you soon, Spencer.” He’s never liked the sound of his own name more. And he thanks that eidetic memory of his for allowing him to replay it again and again in his mind until he can see her next.

.

They get coffee again the first chance he gets. And then again. When she asks how he has time to read so much and he tells her about how his mind works – about his memory and speed-reading and quantified intelligence, all the things that have been called gifts – she thinks for a moment before saying, “That must be lonely.”

The relief he feels at her understanding is immense. “It is sometimes,” he admits. “But it’s felt less so lately.” They go to a park together. Then out to dinner. By the time he realizes he’s falling, he’s forgotten what it feels like to be on solid ground. Fortunately, he isn’t the only one at the mercy of gravity. She feels it too. And when she laughs at his joke as he walks her home from dinner, he just can’t help himself. He leans in and cups her cheek to pull her to him, pressing his lips to her still-smiling lips. The taste of wine still on her tongue. And though he doesn’t drink anymore, the sensation of her is enough to make him feel utterly intoxicated.

Slowly, his life fills up with her. His sabbatical arrives with the perfect timing to allow him evenings and weekends with her. He picks her up after work. She meets him for breakfast. He takes her to the planetarium. She falls asleep on his couch. He tells her it won’t always be this way and she assures him that’s okay. But it gives him the chance to build the foundation their relationship needs. It’s in that time that he begins to catalogue her smiles in his memory. The dazzling ones she sends his way when she spots him at a coffee shop. The soft, shaky ones she wears after a long kiss. The coy ones that twist the corner of her mouth when she’s teasing him. The nervous one that slowly grows when she meets his team for the first time – not as a witness, but as his girlfriend. A title she declares like a badge of honor. He holds each smile in his mind, picture perfect thanks to that eidetic memory. When a case has been particularly tough or he’s away for longer than he’d like, he flips through them in his mind, trying to remember the cause of each one, trying to hold on to that light until he can hold her in his arms again.

.

He surprises her with flowers on her birthday. “You remembered?” she gasps, her eyes wide. “And these – these are my favorite. How did you know?”

“I could never forget,” he laughs, but she stares down at the bouquet and clutches them to her chest.

“I don’t make a big deal about my birthday, so people don’t usually remember,” she says quietly. “And nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before. Thank you, Spencer.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

He grins from ear to ear. Forget the sound of his name, those three words are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you, too.” It’s a first for both of them. And one week later comes another first – witnessing her panic attacks for the first time. She’s shaking too hard to tell him what she needs, so he tries to do what would help him. He sits down next to her on his living room rug and wraps her in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and murmurs the words to her favorite poem. She seems to breathe a little easier and so he recites another one she loves, and another until her breathing finally steadies and she unclenches her fists to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweater.

Suddenly it doesn’t feel like such a curse to remember everything he reads when it means he can give her the words she loves when she needs them most.

The first time they sleep together is only the second time he’s been intimate with someone and he feels more awkward than he wishes he was. But he commits himself to studying, to remembering what she likes and what she doesn’t, and the next time he proves to be the quickest of learners when he succeeds at making her come within a matter of minutes. He discovers a new smile of hers, one of dreamy bliss and kiss-swollen lips. He loves it. He loves her, adores every single part of her she’s shared with him and every piece yet to be found. And to his continued surprise and delight, she loves him just as much.

He tries every day to be worthy of that love. He makes time for her. He goes to meet her friends and he shakes their hands even though he hates touching people, even though she insists, “You don’t have to. They won’t mind.” He does it because she’s the only person in the world whose touch he actually craves.

When she swoons over a dress Penelope has shown her on Instagram, he makes a note of it. She’s utterly enamored by it by her smile falls upon checking the price tag. It’s far out of her budget. So the next week when he’s out on a case in Atlantic City, he swings by one of the few casinos that doesn’t have his picture framed on the wall of their security office. He wins more than the cost of the dress in an hour and leaves before anyone can get suspicious. The dress arrives at his apartment the same day he gets home, and he invites her over to surprise her with it. When she opens the box, her eyes go wide.

“Spencer, this is… this can’t be. It’s… do you know how expensive this is?” Y/N asks.

Bashfully, he replies, “Now might be a good time to mention I’m banned from casinos in almost every state for my card counting abilities.” It’s well worth the little effort he expended to see the way her face lights up at the sight of it. And though he’s never been a gambling man, when he sees her wearing it for the first time he considers trying his luck a little more often.

At times he worries he’s doing too much, but how could it ever be when the way she loves him has been so much more than enough? For the first time in his life, he feels like maybe he’s enough. When she says, “I love you,” he believes it. When she says, “I’ll be back,” he trusts her. He’s given another person more of his heart than he ever has before, and for once he’s not afraid of it breaking. She doesn’t mind the strange hours he works or heaviness he sometimes carries with him. When he wakes up from a nightmare, she holds him close and keeps him grounded. He sends postcards from each city he visits and she makes his favorite food when he comes home and home is suddenly a place they share. She moves into his apartment and it feels like it was never complete without her there.

.

Not long after, there is a case in Boston. Their terrifyingly intelligent unsub taunts Reid as he leaves the interrogation room. “Judge me all you want, Dr. Reid. But I’ve used my mind to change the world. You’ve done nothing with yours.” The words haunt him on the flight home. He sits on the back of the plane lost in thought. What has he done? Sure he’s saved lives, but could he have done more? Could someone else have used those gifts he’s been burdened with in a way that was better? Why does he have any of these talents? Why has he acquired any of these skills?

His phone chimes. A text from her. Brought home a new book from the library I think you’ll love! Can’t wait to see you, dearest. And it hits him.

It’s her. All along it’s been her.

The answer echoes in his head as he races home to her. Everything in his life has led him to her, has let him be the person she needs. He can memorize all her favorite songs and poems to recite for her when her anxiety gets the best of her. He can remember every date that matters to her and everything she adores. He can read her favorite books overnight to talk about them with her in the morning. He can profile from her body language and her microexpressions when she’s having a bad day and needs him to be there for her, even when she’s too afraid to ask for what she needs. When she asks absurd questions out of the blue, he can give her actual answers with the useless encyclopedia of knowledge he’s obtained over the years. When she needs a distraction his rambling finally proves useful. It’s all for her.

She’s the reason his mind doesn’t feel like a curse anymore. How could he ever think of it with disdain when it’s the reason he can picture every smile she’s ever let him see? When he can catalogue every wonderful word from her lips, every inch of her skin, every action that drives her wild.

Reid can’t seem to open the door to their apartment fast enough. When he finally steps inside, she’s sitting on the couch. She turns away from the book in her lap to smile at him. “Welcome back,” she says. Then, tilting her head, “Is everything okay?”

An unshakeable grin spreads across his face and he knows he must look like a madman right now as he crosses the living to sit beside her. “Everything’s perfect. I just… I had this epiphany. All the things I hate about myself, you love. And all the things I can do let me love you better. It just feels like everything – everything has led me to you. Even the bad things, I mean, being in prison forced me to take sabbaticals and if I hadn’t we wouldn’t have had that time together early on and maybe we wouldn’t have worked and I don’t believe in fate,” he says, taking a breath. “But I can’t help but feel like for the first time, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With you. Like that’s where I was meant to be all along. And I… I just thought you should know.”

His long-winded rambling is rewarded with one of his favorite smiles from her – one that makes her eyes soft and puts sunsets to shame. The kind she wears when she is incandescently happy. Her fingers lace through his and they are a perfect fit in his big hands. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, leaning in to kiss him.

All his life, Spencer Reid has been told he is gifted. But this time, he thinks it might actually be true. He holds the greatest gift the universe has ever granted him in his arms and knows that no part of him is a curse if he is loved by her.

[reputationmunson]

Right Where You Left Me

Summary: During a rough patch in their relationship, reader gives Spencer one last chance to make things right

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst w/ a (somewhat) hopeful ending

Content Warning(s): Breakup, swearing, mention of food, mention of alcohol, allusion to depression (Please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Hi, everyone! This is my first fic and I hope you enjoy it! I wrote this in about an hour after listening to “Right Where You Left Me” by Taylor Swift, so it’s not the best and a bit rushed but I’m excited about it! 

I sit in the dimly lit restaurant, patiently waiting for him to show up and prove me wrong. Prove to me he still wanted me as much as he did when we first met. Ten minutes turned into twenty minutes and before I knew it, an hour had passed. I was still alone looking at the empty seat across from me, imagining he was sitting there looking at me with that doe-eyed look and a smile upon his face. I found myself slightly smiling at the fantasy before I was interrupted by the waitress.

 “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but if you don’t order something we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Are you still waiting on someone?” I gave a small chuckle before replying “Uh- no, I’m sorry. I’ll take the check to pay for the wine.” “Don’t worry, it’s taken care of.” She gives me a pity smile. 

He left me. He actually left me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though, things had been different for almost a year. We were less intimate, he was sleeping on the couch or at the office, and whenever he looked at me he no longer had that sparkle in his eye that always reassured that he would love me forever.I never would have guessed our forever would be this short lived. I shamefully walk out of the restaurant and I’m so embarrassed that all these people witnessed me getting stood up by a man I never thought could make me feel this way. 

How am I supposed to go back to our shared home? Would he be there? Maybe he got off work too late and is waiting to surprise me with flowers? My anticipation was too much to handle and I press the gas pedal with a bit more pressure, hanging on to the last string of hope I had. Unfortunately, my instincts were a bit off as I walk into what was once our happy home that was always filled with love and laughter that I never thought would end and now there was just an empty feeling. 

It’s colder than usual and without him, it already no longer felt like home. Spencer is, was, my home. I need to be in his arms. He was the only one that could put me together and he’s the one that is fucking breaking me. I don’t remember who I was before him besides a girl who had never been loved the way he loved me. The love you read about wasn’t something I believed in until I met him and now I’m right back to square one. 

I walk back to our bedroom to change into something more comfortable, but I stop when I see a piece of paper folded on the bed. I feel the tears forming before I even open it up. This was the last thing he touched and the last piece I have of him. It feels so delicate in my hand like it’s made of glass. I dread reading this. Our story is ending with a single piece of paper that lies in my hand. I take a deep breath and work up the courage to read the inevitable. 

Y/N, I’m a coward. I couldn’t even face you tonight to give you the proper closure you deserve. You deserve someone who is able to give you that, and so much more. While I was packing, I noticed your red dress was off the hanger and I’m assuming that’s what you wore tonight. That was always my favorite dress on you. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. I need you to know that I never have stopped, and probably never will stop, loving you. Sadly, love isn’t enough sometimes and I wish it really fucking was. Don’t think for a single second any of this is your fault. I could go on and on about how you deserve more than me, but I know you and you would fight me on that statement until you were blue in the face. I could write forever, but I should get going. I left you that cardigan of mine you like so much, the one I wrapped around you our first date. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but please never forget me. -Yours, Spencer. 

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

I still think about it everyday. I think about him everyday. Five years later it still hasn’t escaped my mind. But, on the bright side, I only think about it for about half of the day instead of letting it consume my entirety. I felt pathetic. Everyone in my life was married, having kids, or getting promoted and here I was still holding onto this false dream that he would come back to me. I pretended that I moved on. I even lied about going on dates. What was the point? I already had the greatest love I could ask for. I would rather be alone right now than try to recreate what I had with Spencer with some stranger. 

I distract myself with the music on the radio, considering thinking of Spencer while driving was about as dangerous as driving while intoxicated. Moments later, I’m pulling into the grocery store. Maybe I’ll meet someone new here. The love of my life could be right under my nose, but I wouldn’t even know because I’m stuck in a delusion. 

I stroll the the cereal isle and laugh quietly at myself, realizing that the most exciting thing this week was trying a new flavor of cheerios. “This works” I whisper to myself as I throw the box in my cart and make my way down the isle. 

“Y/N?” I stop in my tracks. I know that voice. It’s the voice that never leaves my thoughts. I can’t turn around. Is he actually here? He can’t be. What are the odds of this happening? I bet he would actually know the statistics on that. I put on a fake smile and turn around. “Spencer! It’s been what? Five years? How are you?” I think I might be overdoing the friendliness. “Yeah five years, two months, and eight days.” He nervously laughs. “Still have that big brain, I see. And who’s this?” I was so distracted by his presence I didn’t even notice the literal child sitting in the shopping cart. 

“This is my son, Oliver, like the Charlemagne Knight from the twelfth century poem, Chanson de Roland. He’s turning two next month.” He smiles at his son in awe. “It’s my weekend with him. My ex and I are trying the whole shared parenting thing. It’s hard to be away from him” He continues. “I’m sorry to hear about your separation. I hope the note you left her was different from mine” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. “Sorry. Bad joke.” I add, causing us to laugh through the tension. “Ouch. I -uh- guess I deserve that” He looks down and shakes his head. “I should get going. It was nice to see you, Spence. I’m glad you’ve found happiness.” 

“Maybe we could grab coffee and truly catch up.I still have your number, unless you’ve changed it.” I shake my head in response to his last statement. “Um, yeah, that would be nice. Just don’t ask for your cardigan back” I joke and immediately regret letting him know I’ve held onto it all these years. “Of course not. You always looked better in my clothes than I did.” “Goodbye, Spencer.” It’s the last thing I say. I turn around and try my hardest to keep my composure. 

“Y/N, wait.” I turn back and meet his eyes once again. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or if the sparkle in his eyes is back. “What about you? Are you happy?” There is a sincerity in his voice. “Yeah. I am.” I lie, hoping it was convincing enough for him to not question it and we went our separate ways after sharing a final smile.

My mind is having a thousand thoughts a minute. Spencer had a baby. Not only did Spencer have baby, he had another relationship. I didn’t expect him to wait around like I was, but I really didn’t expect to get hit with all this at once. All the things I wanted, needed, with him had already happened with someone else. He had moved on with his life and I was still right where he left me. 

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[folkreid]

how i think it is dating spencer reid (head cannons)

• you guys knew each other for a while, two years to be exact. you and spencer had a close relationship before feelings were talked about.

• spencer was unsure of what you guys were so he wanted to ask you. spencer didn't officially ask you out so you told him you guys weren't together. he looks disappointed so you asked him to be your boyfriend.

• spencer happily said yes but felt weird because he felt like he should've been the one to ask since he was the guy. you explained to him that society's "rules" are stupid.

• he allowed you to touch him, he was trying to be more comfortable, he also didn't want to make you uncomfortable. you guys had a conversation about how you guys feel to touch that conversation opened a door for physical touch

• you love touching him. at first he was kind of awkward but then he engaged in it too. holding hands, hugging, all of that. cuddling was his fav, you guys sleep together every night, well every night he was home.

• your favorite way to sleep is spooning him. you feel like you're giving all your love and affection to him. you love holding him in your arms. he liked when you lied on his chest and you guys were tangled in with each other. he also liked spooning you but you don't like it as much, you rather hold him.

• your guys first kiss was awkward but cute. you initiated it. you guys were just sitting down next to each other on his bed. you just looked up at him and brought his face close. he was confused but you kinda just smushed your lips into his. it felt like a 5th grader having their first kiss. weird.

• eventually he figured out what was going on and he kissed you back cupping your face. he's a good kisser.

• you guys go on as many dates as you can. you guys usually take turns deciding where to go. for him it's usually museums or film festivals he likes. for you, you like to go to trampoline parks, or sometimes you just like to sit out side with him and write. you write poems, songs, anything, they always happen to be about him.

• spencer wakes you up every morning before work, even on cases. the first time he went on a case while you guys were living together he didn't say goodbye which made you mad. ever since then he always wakes you up to say i love you and goodbye. it annoys you at times bc you just want your sleep but at the end of the day you think it's adorable.

• he likes to read books to you, you told him you didn't want to slow him down on his reading since he reads at an inhuman pace but he said he doesn't care.

• you love listening to his rambles and his facts about everything. he loves sharing them with you. you memorize a couple of them and tell them to your family and friends. the first time you did that once you guys had a second alone he kissed you. you looked at him a bit confused, he usually doesn't just kiss you randomly, especially at your parents house.

• "what?" you said as he smiled widely at you. "you remembered the facts i told you" he blushes. "of course i did" you say. he looks at you in awe "i love you so much" he says before kissing you once more. "i love you too spencer" you smile.

• one of you favorite things to do is relax and listen to music. of course spencer doesn't really like modern music, he's more of a classical guy. so you got him to listen to some of you favorite songs, some of them he made comments about the lyrics and how he didn't like them because they were inappropriate so instead you guys listen to the instrumental version.

• you cook for him. he can cook but sometimes has trouble. you arent the best cook so a lot of the time you guys get fast food. which isn't to healthy but spencer is on top of us eating our veggies. he always makes sure i get enough water and eat enough fruits and vegetables.

• spencer whispers affirmations in your ear at night. he knows you can't sleep without them, you used to have this speaker that played them and played nature sounds but it broke. so instead he whispers things in your ear.

•"you are doing your best"

• "you will chose to be happy and to love yourself today"

• "your needs matter" ect.

• you were going to get a new speaker but you have spencer. and he is way better.

• he LOVES when you play with his hair. it's so relaxing to him.

• you guys talk about your future a lot. about how many kids you guys want. what their names are going to be. what kind of house you guys want. his personal favorite subject is about how you guys are going to grow old together.

• he writes about you too his mom. when you went to visit her she showed you the first time he mentioned you. "i'm thinking of talking to this girl soon. i see her all the time at the coffee shop i go to. last week she was reading war and peace. one of my favorites! she's very beautiful too."

———-

hope you liked this😄

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin��, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[voiceless-terror]

Perchance to Dream

@aspecarchivesweek Day Three: Drinks

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Jon comes out to Martin. Twice.

(Ft. Kiss-Averse Jonathan Sims and Hamlet References)

__________

“Ugh, no thank you.”

Martin pauses. Sasha and Tim titter behind their hands.

And Jon, well. He’s got a look of vehement disgust written across his features, not unlike when he’s laying into what he claims is a fabricated statement. Martin can feel his face turning red at the words.

Getting Jon to come out for drinks had been the hard part. It’s one month into his tenure as Head Archivist, and everyone’s starting to feel the scope of the task ahead of them. Tim thought a ‘monthiversary’ drink was in order, and the only way to get Jon to come out was to threaten him with some sort of ill begotten information, the likes of which Martin couldn’t hear behind the closed door. Ten minutes later, Jon emerged, looking grumpier than usual (and very dashing) with a scarf around his neck. And now he sat next to him in the cozy pub booth, Martin trying very hard to remain stock-still because Jon’s leaning into his side. Perhaps he’s cold? Either way, Martin isn’t going to discourage it. 

But then he’d had a few drinks and they all loosened up; even Jon’s laugh came easier. And Martin- well, Martin’s opening up a bit more than usual, chattering about his time in the library and bolstered by the smiles he receives in turn. Tim changed track to the personal, regaling them with his latest outdoor adventure while Sasha and Jon gave witty, sarcastic commentary. But then Tim directed the conversation towards him, and they seemed relatively interested in his poetry. He even felt comfortable enough to rattle out a few lines from his phone in a desperate hope to impress, and he stupidly chose one that referenced ‘lips like a rosebud’ and Jon reacts like he’s read a particularly saucy bit of a smut novel aloud. How embarrassing. 

“Whew,” Tim whistles lowly, folding his arms behind his neck with an exaggerated wince. “Harsh, boss.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jon says, shaking his head and putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand- “Martin, your poetry is fine, if a bit derivative.” Jon thinks his poetry is fine and he’s got his small, fine-boned hand on Martin’s arm and god, he’s got a poem about that too, somewhere in his phone-

Tim guffaws, slamming a hand on the table and startling Sasha. “What a compliment!”

“It’s just…kissing. Lips. Ugh.” Jon smashes his fork rather violently into a dumpling, sending bits of food flying across the table, one of which hit Tim directly above his eye. “I eat with my mouth.”

“Wise observation.”

“Very astute of you.”

Martin would join in on the banter but Jon’s hand is still on his arm and his warm weight is pressing into his side. Honestly, what’s Jon playing at? He could rip the poetry to shreds in front of him but as long as that hand remains on his arm he’d just sit there, not saying a word. Hell, he’d probably even agree.

“So the bossman doesn’t like kisses,” Tim says, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of whatever fruity beverage he’d decided on. “Is that why you ripped down all of my mistletoe back in research?”

Jon. Mistletoe. Hand still on arm.

“I don’t like any of it,” Jon says, removing his hand from Martin’s arm to make a decisive gesture across the table which nearly sent his drink flying. He instantly misses the pressure but the warmth is still there, burning through his sleeve. Jon looks incredibly drunk, now that Martin’s got a better angle to view his flushed cheeks and bright eyes and lips- “All that touching. I don’t understand why everyone’s so hung up on it. No thank you, not for me.”

A brief flash of understanding lights Sasha’s eyes but Martin’s not in a place to decipher it. He’s not sure if it’s the drink or the Jon-of-it-all that’s impeding him. He’s never seen him so relaxed, so animated about something that’s not work. He can’t even focus on the words coming out of Jon’s mouth at the moment.

But Sasha leans forward- once she’s got an idea in her head, she won’t let go until she’s seen it through. Martin recognizes that look. “You’re asexual, then?”

“Mm,” Jon mumbles, his head tilting back dangerously as he puts on an affected, exaggerated voice. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither.”

And then Martin’s gone, suddenly struck by a vision of teenage Jon, silhouetted on a stage by a dramatic spotlight, reciting Shakespeare like a born thespian- look, Martin despises theater, but even he’s not immune to Hamlet. In a dream world he’d be Ophelia, no, not Ophelia, idiot- maybe he’s a stage hand, or no, he helps Jon with his quick changes, that’s a job, right? So caught up is he in this pseudo-high school fantasy that the words being said don’t actually dawn on him until a full minute later, when Tim’s laughter reaches a crescendo.

“Boss, did you seriously just come out via Shakespeare?”

Jon’s not even denying it, giving a lazy, good-natured smile in response. Fuck. Here he is, having some stupid fantasy over his boss who is very much right next to him and very much not interested. God, is he taking advantage? He jumps to the side, trying desperately to put a few more inches of space between them for Jon’s comfort when that small hand comes back to his arm, the sudden and strong grip stopping him in his tracks. 

“No!” Jon’s voice is low, those dark eyes so intense. Martin can feel his face go scarlet from his gaze alone. “This is nice. I like it.”

Tim and Sasha share an evil little smile and Martin’s out of commission, the night’s revelations and Jon’s insistent snuggling having taken their toll. He couldn’t tell you what happened after that, how many drinks were shared or how he got home. All he remembers is the feel of Jon’s hand on his arm, his insistent closeness, and the sound of his laugh whenever Tim teased him.

The next day Jon comes in late, looking about as bad as the rest of them felt. From the way he interacts with them, it’s likely that he doesn’t even remember last night, what he did or what he said. Martin tries not to let it sting, and goes back to work, knowing there’s a side of Jon that he’ll likely never see again.

__________

“Martin, we have to...talk, if that’s alright.” 

Martin pauses, a lump building in his throat. “Okay.”

He settles in on Daisy’s lumpy couch, trying not to let his apprehension show. It’s been a week since Jon got him out of the Lonely and they’re still adjusting, but Martin likes to think they’re settling into a nice routine. There’s such a natural ease to their domesticity; they had their differences, sure, but he’s never seen the man so soft and unguarded, puttering around the cottage, making sure everything’s nice and comfortable for the two of them. And of course, there’s the bed situation. Only one, like in all the cliché fanfiction Martin had taken to reading back when he lived in the Archives and his biggest problem was worms. Maybe Jon doesn’t want to share anymore? He’s been strangely distant the past day, keeping space between them and hovering about in a nervous manner. He goes back through their interactions, trying to think of what he could’ve done wrong.

Jon sits down next to him, his face showing his own apprehension. “I know we’ve been getting...close, this past week. But if we’re going to ah, have an, er- well, you know, relationship- there’s some things you need to know.” Relationship. Jon thinks they're in a relationship. Martin didn’t want to put a label to it, too afraid it would shatter the fragile trust they built. But to be in a relationship with Jon, well, that’s something he’s always dreamed of, right?

So he relaxes minutely, tries not to show the utter joy he feels at the words. “Alright. What’s up?”

Jon takes a steadying breath, looking so oddly grave that Martin immediately wants to take him into his arms. “I don’t...well, I’m asexual. So I’m not really interested…” he makes a vague gesture down towards Martin’s crotch and then freezes, clearly embarrassed by the crudeness of the action. “I’m not interested in all of...that. Or kissing, for that matter. It’s just a personal boundary for me, if that’s alright.”

Oh. Martin blinks, taking in Jon’s serious countenance and hopeful eyes and while he wants to match it, he can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of his throat. “Oh-oh Jon-”

Jon immediately blanches, his brow furrowing in confusion and probably hurt. “W-What? What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck-it’s, it’s not that, that’s fine, it’s just-” Martin tries desperately to keep his laughter under control and fails. Christ, he can’t breathe. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither!” 

“Why are you quoting Shakespeare?” Jon’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

“Because you did, you daft thing!” Martin’s shoulders shake with the effort of containing himself, and he wipes a tear from his eye. He immediately puts a hand on Jon’s arm, a mirror’s reflection of that night at the bar and yet it’s still his hand that burns. “Jon, it’s fine. I already know. You told us over drinks my first month in the Archives.”

Jon’s face takes on that peculiar look of confusion and concentration that Martin loves, as if he’s searching his mind or maybe even the Eye for information. “I-oh. Oh!” He puts his head in his hands with a groan, ignoring Martin’s comforting pats to the back. “How embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

“No it wasn’t,” Jon whines into his hands even as he leans into Martin’s touch.

“It was,” Martin assures him, drawing him close to his side and letting him lean his head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I laughed- you were just so serious, I couldn’t help it-”

“Yes, well,” Jon sighed, settling into his arms, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “It’s fine. As long you’re alright with…”

“More than alright.” It’s Jon, of course it’s alright. Being here with him, in their little shabby oasis- well, it’s more than enough. They sit there in silence for some time, Martin enjoying the closeness of the man he’d fought so hard to protect finally in his arms. He’s starting to think they just might be alright. He smiles to himself, perching his chin on top of Jon’s head.

“To be or not to be-”

“Shut up, Martin.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741983

[hearts-hunger]

suum ca’nara (rest and peace) || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Summary: You and Din take your baby on a picnic, and rest and peace come more easily with the sun on your face and your husband by your side. || Standalone fic in the Jate’kara (Lucky Stars) series

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff | Word Count: 4.6k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So this is quite possibly the fluffiest, sweetest thing I’ve ever written. I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope y’all like it! (Also, this gif is what I imagine Din looking like in this fic - *swoon*, am I right?) (Also also, if you’re interested, the poem I use in this isn’t mine - god, I wish - but it’s called “Do you still remember: falling stars” by Rainer Maria Rilke) ♡

“Ad’ika, I think mama is going to be madder than a razor cat once she sees the mess we’ve made of her kitchen.”

You smiled to yourself at the tone of your husband’s voice, amusement and exasperation coloring it in equal measure. You hadn’t seen the state of the kitchen yet; you were supposed to be sleeping in, but the sounds of laughter and happy baby coos had drawn you from the bunk to see what your husband and toddler were getting up to so early. You guessed they were making breakfast, if Din’s steady, one-sided dialogue was any indication.

“I can never remember how much honey to put in,” he said. “Your ba’buir used to make uj’alayi when I was little, and he never measured anything. Just threw it in the bowl.”

You pictured little Din in the kitchen with his father, hands sticky-sweet as he learned how to make the traditional Mandalorian cake. You imagined your little one was watching Din with the same reverent attention Din had watched his father with, and felt your heart swell with love for your little family.

“That’s probably good enough,” Din said. “Now we need the nuts.”

Your heard your baby give a questioning coo.

“Yeah, those,” Din said. “Hold on, the bag might be a little too - ”

Thunk. The unmistakable sound of Koja nuts rolling across the floor had you bringing your hand up to stifle a laugh. Poor Din.

“That’s ok, buddy,” he said, his voice sweet and patient as he spoke to your most likely distraught baby. Your little one loved to try and help Din whenever he could - whether Din was polishing his armor, tinkering with the Crest’s control panel, or clearing his weapons, your baby could be counted on to be there to “help”. Most of the time, his help consisted of a steady stream of chatter and attempts to do whatever Din was doing, and Din tried to find little ways for him to contribute. That your baby had been trying to help his dad make breakfast and had spilled the nuts everywhere was sure to be upsetting for him.

His little coo of apology was absolutely heartbreaking, and you knew Din would be gentle with him.

“You didn’t mean to,” Din said kindly. “It’s ok. Do you want to help me get these up so we can finish the cake?”

You backed up from the kitchen door while they cleaned up, wanting to stay hidden a little longer. Din loved being a dad, and it came to him so naturally; you cherished the moments you got to enjoy watching or listening to him interact with your son when it was just the two of them.

Your baby started babbling animatedly about something, and Din responded with “oh” and “hmm” at appropriate times, encouraging him to speak and letting him know he was listened to. They finished up the batter and put the cake on to cook, the nanowave oven crackling slightly as it heated up. It was an old model, like everything else on the Crest, and you’d become so accustomed to its finicky nature that it was more familiar than frustrating.

“Osi'kyr,” Din said, dismal. “Your mama needs a new nanowave, huh?”

Your baby chirped his agreement.

“Yeah, we’ll have to see about getting her one,” Din said. “Maybe Peli knows somebody we can ask. But for right now, we have to get this place cleaned up before mama sees.”

“Before mama sees what?”

You came out of your hiding place around the corner and were met with two guilty smiles, both Din and your baby looking like you’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Your little one was sitting up on the counter, an uncracked Koja nut in hand, his ears perking up at the sight of you. Din was covered in flour - little baby-sized handprints covered his black shirt and trousers, and streaks of white appeared in his sleep-mussed curls. The kitchen was a mess, like he’d said, but it was worth it to see the two of them so happy.

“Hi, cyare,” Din said, his smile a little sheepish.

Your baby added his own coo of greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good morning to you too,” you said. You gave your son a kiss on the top of his head. “What are you and daddy making?”

He waved the Koja nut in his claws for you to see. 

“Uj’alayi,” Din clarified.

You smiled. “Cake for breakfast, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s got fruit in it. It’s healthy.”

He leaned close and kissed you, sweet with the taste of honey and ginger from the batter he’d tested before it went in the oven. He held his flour-dusted hands to the side of you so as not to get you messy too.

“Good morning, Mrs. Djarin,” he said sweetly, bumping your noses together.

You beamed. “Good morning, Mr. Djarin.” You gave him another quick kiss. “Do you want some help getting the kitchen cleaned back up?”

He looked a little distressed as he pulled back. “No, I mean - you don’t have to help. You didn’t make the mess.”

You gave an affectionate shake of your head. “Din. I don’t mind.”

He softened. “Well, if you’re offering. It’s very sweet of you, cyare. Sorry it’s such a disaster.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said, waving him off. “Most of the flour ended up on you and not on the counters, anyway.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, we had a hard time getting it in the bowl.” He took a cloth and began wiping down the counters, scooping your baby up while he did.

“But we’re ramikadyc mandos,” he continued. “Determined, tenacious. Not to be bested by cake batter.”

Your baby chimed in to agree with his dad. You laughed as you filled the sink with hot water.

“How did I get the two bravest Mandalorians in the galaxy on my ship?” you teased.

Din considered that. “I think you’ve just got good jate’kara, my love.”

You gave a pleased hum as he kissed you. “My stars are pretty lucky, aren’t they?”

He smiled. “Not as lucky as mine, cyare.”

When the kitchen was back in order, Din excused himself to take a shower while the cake finished baking. You got your little one dressed for the day in a soft, hand-stitched blue tunic Omera had made for him and tidied the bunk before heading back to the kitchen as the timer went off.

“Quiet a view, cyar’ika.”

You blushed at the teasing warmth of your husband’s voice as you took the pan from the oven and straightened, setting it to cool out of your baby’s reach. You turned and saw Din had changed into a soft white shirt and brown pants, his suspenders resting against his hips, his hair dark and curly from his shower.

“I’ve got quite a view, too,” you said, a little bashful as he smiled and crossed to you. You only had a moment to admire the endearing crinkles by his eyes before he kissed you, all tenderness and affection.

Your little one cooed and you both looked down to see him standing on the top of Din’s boot, tugging on his pants leg and giving uppy arms. Din chuckled and scooped him up, cradling him with one arm and drawing you close with the other.

“Let’s go somewhere fun today,” he said. “This system has some beautiful planets. We can have a picnic or something.”

You smiled. “Okay,” you agreed. You were a little surprised, as Din wasn’t usually very spontaneous, but the idea of a day spent just spending time with him and your baby sounded lovely. “Where should we go?”

He kissed your forehead. “I’ll go look and see what we’re closest to.”

He took the baby up to the cockpit with him to scan the nearby planets, giving you a few minutes for your own shower. You took two slices of uj’alayi when you went to join them; you gave one to Din, and he broke off little pieces to share with the baby.

“I think we decided on a planet,” Din said, indicating the display on the instrument panel.

“Baraan-Fa,” you read. “It’s forested, low population... is it safe?”

He shrugged. “Should be, with the place we’re landing. Most of the population density is around the town and the old Rebel base, so we shouldn’t run into anybody.”

You took your seat, happily taking your baby when Din handed him over to you so he could set your course. You were amused to see that your little one had succeeded in charming Din into giving him the silver handle off the gear shift, and he held it up for you to see.

“Your daddy must love you,” you cooed to him.

Din glanced back at you, his expression bemused before he saw what you were talking about. His smile was a little exasperated.

“Maybe we should get him some actual toys.”

You laughed. “He wouldn’t play with them even if we did, honey. He wants to be like you.”

“Yeah.” Din’s expression was soft with affection, and you knew he didn’t really mind that his son had chosen a part of the ship for his plaything. He turned back to focus on bringing the Crest into Baraan-Fa’s atmosphere, and you and your baby looked out the windows in pleasantly surprised wonder at the beauty of the planet. Every inch of it was green, hilly grasslands with blue rivers snaking through the forests. Din expertly landed in a small clearing in the middle of a wooded area, settling the Crest into a glade dappled with sunlight.

No sooner had the ship landed than you were out of your seat and downstairs, impatiently waiting for the ramp to lower as the welcoming breeze flooded into the Crest’s hull. You set your baby down on the soft grass and let him explore a little, tilting your head back to feel the sun on your face, breathing deeply of the clean air.

“You like it?” Din asked. You opened your eyes to see him leaned against the door frame, watching you with a gentle smile. You would have beamed back at him and told him how much you loved it had it not been for the sudden concern you felt at his appearance.

“You’re not wearing your armor,” you said. Checking briefly to make sure the baby hadn’t wandered too far, you stepped up the ramp towards your husband and made to steer him back inside the Crest’s relative privacy.

“Din - ” you protested when he gave a soft laugh and captured your wrists in a gentle grip, just as you had put your hands on his chest to push him back inside. “What if someone sees?”

He held both of your hands close to his heart. “There’s nobody here, cyare. I checked. It’s sweet of you to worry, but you don’t have to.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “You’re going to be out here without a helmet?” That sounded awfully reckless to you.

“I want to be able to kiss you,” he said, giving you a chaste kiss to illustrate his point. “And I want to swim in the river and feel the sun on my face. Can’t do all that with beskar on, now can I?”

You sighed. “No, but...” You met his eyes. “It doesn’t frighten you?”

He softened. “Sure it does,” he admitted. “A little. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been out of the Crest without armor on. But that’s exactly why I want to. And if there’s no danger of anyone seeing me... I think it’ll be alright.”

He tapped the bracelet on your wrist, a modified version of his vambrace with the same remote controls of the Crest programmed in. “Besides, I told the Crest to alert us if there’s anyone nearby. It’ll be alright.”

You reached up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Well, it would be nice to see your face,” you said. “If you’re sure about it.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “I’m sure, cyar’ika. Come on, let’s go get our son before he wanders right into the river.”

You looped your arm through his, feeling like one of the promenading couples you always saw growing up on Naboo. He was a bit scruffier and dressed more casually than any young man on Naboo would be, but you liked him that way. 

As he led you on a leisurely stroll towards the river, minding your little one closely, you took the opportunity to enjoy being outside with him and being able to see his every expression. Din was nothing if not expressive, especially in his brow, and his face was alight with a happiness and peace that made his handsome features all the more alluring.

“Is there a word in Mando’a for ‘very handsome’?” you asked.

He looked over at you with a touch of confusion, either playing coy or just being genuinely oblivious. You suspected the latter, and it was endearing to you.

“No,” he said. “But there’s ‘very beautiful’ - ori mesh’la - and it means the same thing.”

You smiled. “Well then, Din, I think you’re ori mesh’la.”

His cheeks pinked. “Well, thank you, cyare,” he said, endearingly bashful. He smiled. “I think you’re ori mesh’la, too.”

You could have watched his face forever, charmed by his blush and the way his curls looked in the sun, but your baby gave an excited babble and drew you attention. Just in time, too, as he was barrelling full-speed towards the river without a care in the world.

“Oh, ad’ika,” you chided, unwinding yourself from Din and scooping your baby up before he reached the water. His ears drooped as you held him.

 “I know you want to go in, my love,” you cooed. “But you have to be careful.”

You saw why he’d been so eager to get in the water - the riverbed was covered in bright, colorful stones, glinting where they caught the sun through the water. You knelt on the bank and held your baby in your lap, reaching into the pleasantly cool water to scoop up a handful of the stones.

“Look how pretty,” you said, drawing them close so he could take a few. He grabbed the biggest one and turned it over in his claws, mesmerized by the opalescent shimmer.

“Batu,” he said, holding it up for you to see. You smiled. You and Din hadn’t quite figured out what “batu” meant, but it seemed to signal his approval, and you were always pleased to hear it.

“I see,” you said, charmed by his enthusiasm. “Show daddy.”

You stood and turned to face Din, who was watching the two of you with a gentle smile on his face. His brow quirked in excitement when he saw his baby holding the stone out to him.

“Look at that, ad’ika,” he said, coming close to examine it.

“Batu,” your baby said again. Din grinned.

“Yeah, ‘batu’,” he repeated. “You want to go find some more?”

At your little one’s happy coo, you and Din kicked off your shoes to wade into the shallow river. Din rolled the hem of his trousers as well as yours, since your hands were full with the baby, and pressed a kiss to your thigh before he rose.

The water lapped just above your ankles with the gentle current, and you spent a few minutes looking through the clear water to find the stones you thought were prettiest. Your baby wriggled to be put down, but the water was a little too deep for him, and you settled on drawing up handfuls of rocks for him to sort through.

“Hey, cyare, look at this one.”

You turned to see the stone your husband had found and were met with a splash of water.

“Din!” you squeaked, a smile crossing your face. Your baby giggled with delight at having been splashed, and the sound mixed with Din’s warm laughter.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. You bent down and splashed him back, getting him more thoroughly than he’d gotten you; he laughed and sputtered as he wiped his face on the shoulder of his shirt.

“That was so much worse than mine,” he said. “You’re awful.”

“Good thing you like me so much,” you said cooly.

He grinned. “Yeah, lucky you.” He kissed you and brushed the water from your face. You’d grown accustomed to the feel of his leather gloves, but you’d always prefer the gentleness of his hands, rough from years of hard work but always touching you in love. 

Pressed between the two of you and impatient to get in the water, your baby patted Din’s chest and babbled up at him.

“Come on, buddy,” Din said, taking him from your arms. “You want to swim a little bit?”

“You’re swimming in your clothes?” you asked.

He gave you a wry smile. “Why not? I’m already half-soaked.”

Your smile was slightly guilty. “I'm sorry about that, actually,” you said. “I didn’t mean to splash you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know. I’m not upset. Besides, it’s warm enough that it won’t take very long to dry off.” He nodded towards the bank where a flat rock jutted out over the water. “I was just going to sit over there and let him play where it’s shallow.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well, in that case, I’ll sit with you.”

You played with them for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Din while he held your baby’s hands and let him splash around in the shallow water. Despite his excitement, your baby was a little hesitant once he was actually in the water, and held tightly to Din’s fingers. As his fear eased and his confidence grew, he was happy to stay within his dad’s reach and only occasionally grabbed onto Din’s trouser leg when he lost his balance. His outfit was thoroughly soaked within minutes of his delighted splashing, but he didn’t seem to mind; he played happily and kept handing rocks to you, and you cooed over every one. 

You might have stayed with them and watched your little one play for hours on end if it hadn’t been for Din’s stomach starting to growl; you realized you were hungry too and playfully nudged your shoulder against his.

“Should I go get us some lunch?” you asked.

His smile was a little sheepish. “If you wouldn't mind,” he said. “I can get it, if you don’t want to.”

You ran a hand over his back. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever,” he said. “You know me.”

“So, just a whole ori'skraan, then?” you teased. Mandalorians always had big elaborate feasts at their celebrations to make up for the fact that they ate rations more often than not, since they were easier while on a hunt; you’d had the pleasure of attending a few during your marriage, including the one at your wedding.

Your husband grinned. “That’ll be just fine, cyare.”

You kissed his cheek before you stood, waving goodbye to your baby. You heard Din console your little one as you left towards the ship, explaining that you’d be right back.

You found the length of fabric you used for a baby sling and tied it around you like Din had shown you; Mandalorians carried their babies in a birikaad, to keep their hands free for fighting, and this was nearly identical to that style. You filled the sling with food from your pantry, wrapping up a few slices of the uj’alayi cake for dessert, and folded up one of the spare blankets to picnic on.

You heard Din singing as you walked back to the river. You almost didn’t realize it was him, at first - he was usually so shy about his singing voice, and he reserved it for lullabies when your baby was very fussy or drinking songs when he was deep in his cups with friends. He sang to you, occasionally, when you asked him to, and he was always endearingly bashful.

His voice carried over the clearing, mixing with the sound of the river and your baby’s happy laughter, and you drank it in the closer you got to him. It was a beautiful song, full of longing; Din’s warm baritone made it rich and lovely. The lyrics were in Mando’a, and you were too caught up in the sound of your husband’s voice to translate; you let his voice wash over you, warming you from head to toe.

You didn’t know how long he would have kept singing if your baby hadn’t caught sight of you, giving a happy coo of welcome. Din’s voice cut short as he turned, perhaps fearing you were someone else, but his expression softened into a smile as soon as he saw you.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stop singing on my account.”

He blushed. “No, I’d been singing that one over and over. I’m sure ad’ika’s tired of hearing it.”

You knew that wasn’t true; your little one calmed faster to Din’s voice than he did to anything else. You didn’t want to embarrass him, though, and carded a hand through your husband’s sun-warmed curls.

“You two hungry?” you asked.

You baby gave an affirmative babble and gave his dad uppy arms; Din obliged him and dried him off a little as you spread out the picnic blanket. Your little one came and sat in your lap as Din helped you set out the food. 

“You missed your mama, didn’t you?” Din said sweetly. You brushed an affectionate hand over your baby’s ears and swapped the bright purple stone he held for a piece of fruit. He watched your hand carefully to make sure you hadn’t really taken his prize away for good; satisfied when you set it next to you on the blanket, he happily ate the bite-sized food you and Din took turns giving to him.

Din took your baby back to the river as you tidied up after lunch, and you were happy to watch and listen to them play as you stretched out on the blanket and read the book you’d taken from the shelf in the bunk. It was a collection of poems that Din had gotten you for your birthday, and even though you’d been excited to read it, you hadn’t had much spare time lately. You were quickly absorbed in the poetry as you read; the sun was warm on your back, and the sounds of your husband and baby playing created a comforting backdrop.

They came back from the river after a while, their hands full of brightly colored stones, their clothes half-soaked, and their expressions as tired as they were happy. Din set your baby down and let him toddle over to you; your little one added his stones to the collection you’d made, his ears perking up as he sorted through them.

“All done?” you asked, giving Din a gentle smile as he dropped his handful of stones into the pile. 

He hummed in agreement. “For now, anyways. He probably needs a rest.”

Your husband gave a soft groan as he lay beside you, tired and comfortable in the warm sun. “Your baby is a pretty good swimmer, mama.”

You closed your book and looked over at your little one; his smile was wide at his dad’s praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I saw,” you said, tapping his nose and earning a giggle in response. “Did you like swimming with daddy?”

Your little one gave an affirmative coo as he abandoned the rocks and climbed up onto Din; with a great big yawn for such a little thing, he lay on Din’s chest and snuggled close when Din laid a hand over his back.

“Tired you out, didn’t it, ad’ika?” you said gently, brushing a finger over his ear. You looked to Din’s face and saw he was already dozing too.

You smiled. “Wore your daddy out too, I see.” His hair was light in the sun, almost golden in some places; his cheeks were rosy and sunkissed under his scruff, his expression peaceful and soft.

You kissed his cheek. “Did you know I love you?”

He gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” He turned his face towards you, your noses bumping together, his kisses tender and drowsy. You brushed your fingers through his hair.

“You’re gonna take a nap?” you asked, keeping your voice soft for your baby’s sake. He was already asleep, curled snugly under his dad’s hand, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of Din’s chest.

Din gave a content sigh. “Maybe. Lay here with me, cyare.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, honey.” You kissed the bridge of his nose. “You want me to read to you?”

He nodded, moving his free hand to rest on the curve of your lower back. “What book is it?”

“The one you gave me for my birthday,” you said, flipping through the pages until you found where you’d left off. “Ancient Keltrian Poets, remember?”

He hummed in agreement. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely. “Here - I was in the middle of this one, but I’ll start it from the beginning.”

You read to him for a while, pausing to underline or make notes when you found a line you really liked; his fingers drew circles on your lower back as he listened and made a few comments here and there.

“For stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere,” you read. “Almost every gaze upwards became welded to the swift hazard of their play, and our heart felt like a single thing beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance.”

You traced your fingers over that stanza. “That’s kind of like our vows, don’t you think? ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted.’ Our heart feels like a single thing.”

When you didn’t get an answer, you looked over at your husband. “Din?”

He shifted a little, and you realized he’d fallen asleep. 

“Alright, cyare?” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He ran his hand over your back. “That’s ok, love.” Even mostly asleep, he still comforted you with intentional gentleness. “What did you say?”

You smiled. “Nothing. Just that I love you.”

He tilted his chin up just a little, asking for a kiss; you obliged him, gently pressing your mouth to his.

“Keep reading,” he said. “I love the sound of your voice.”

You softened. “I love the sound of your voice, too.” You brushed a wayward curl from his forehead. “What was that song you were singing earlier?”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Naasad'guur mhi,” he said. “It’s a drinking song.”

“It’s pretty,” you said.

He hummed in agreement.

“What’s it about?” you asked.

“It says, ‘nobody likes us, we don’t care, we are the elite Mando boys from Mandalore.’”

You laughed. “That’s really what it says?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It sounds really nice when you have a bunch of people singing it all together.”

You gently ran your knuckles over his scruff. “Will you sing it for me later?”

“Sure, cyare. If you want me to.”

You settled closer to him and flipped the page to the next poem, reading it aloud a bit more quietly than you would have usually. Din’s breathing evened out until he was snoring softly; you smiled when you saw the way your baby had a fistful of Din’s shirt held tightly in his hand. The sound of the river kept you company as you read about stars and rainstorms and fields of aura blossoms; Din’s warmth beside you was comforting and steady. Days of rest and peace were few and far between for your little family, but they were sweeter for it; you held tightly to them when they came, and always thanked the jate’kara for days like these.

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[lostinthewiind]

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳

Tsukishima Kei - Haikyuu

Synopsis: before you met Tsukki, Yamaguchi was the go-to person for girls who wanted to confess their love for the tall, blonde middle blocker. Now that the two of you are friends, however, you collect love confessions for him on the daily. And why shouldn’t you? You and Tsukki are just friends; you say so yourself all the time.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

You shook your head as you took the letter and box of chocolates from the small, trembling girl before you. “No, not at all.” You forced a sweet smile. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

The girl grinned wide, her face lighting up. “O-okay, thank you! I don’t think I could ever tell him in person about how I feel.”

“He’s really not as scary as everyone likes to think he is,” you said as you tucked the gifts of affection into your bag, pretending to pay careful attention but in reality, not exactly caring whether the card got crumpled or if the candies melted. 

The girl’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of red and she chuckled. “Really? Maybe I’ll try talking to him at lunch then!”

“You should.” You feigned interest, not quite sure why you were encouraging this girl to personally confess her undying love for the boy that you yourself held deep feelings for. Maybe it was because you felt that if you played the part as the supportive best friend, you would eventually just fall into that roll and forget all about how his smirk gave you butterflies or how your heart skipped a beat whenever he offered to share his music with you.

“Okay, I will!” A wave of confidence flooded over the girl’s features. “Well, class is about to start, so I better get going. Thanks again!”

“No problem.” Your assurance fell on deaf ears as the girl turned and headed to class with her friends, the lot of them giggling and whispering as they went. 

As soon as the gaggle of girls had turned the corner and disappeared from sight, you exhaled and turned on your heel to head toward your own classroom. Managing to make it just before the first bell rang, your mood lifted as soon as you spotted your friend sitting in his assigned seat beside yours, eyes closed and headphones positioned over his ears, almost as if they were a permanent fixture of his head.

Fishing the offerings out of your bag, you dropped them down onto his desk rather harshly to get his attention as you slid into your own seat. Hearing the items drop onto his desk and feeling the vibrations through his arms, which had been folded across the tabletop, Tsukki eyed the card and chocolates and sighed.

“Again?” He pulled his headphones away from his ears and hung them around his neck, the music still blaring enough that you could faintly hear the bass. 

“Again.” You confirmed with a slow nod. 

Yamaguchi, who sat on the other side of Tsukki, stared at the gifts with wide eyes. “Wow, Tsukki, you really are popular!”

“I really wish I wasn’t.” He picked up the small box of sweets and tossed them onto Yamaguchi’s desk. “Do you want them?”

Yamaguchi, who was used to laying claim to the rejected love offerings, nodded happily and accepted them. Sometimes he gave them to you as well, and as much as you appreciated the thought, eating the physical representation of unrequited love wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, so you usually ended up just throwing them out when you got home.

“I wish you would just stop being so mean to everyone who isn’t Tadashi and I, that way people would actually confess their love for you to you and the two of us would be left out of it,” you grumbled. “It’s getting annoying.”

“How do you think I feel?” Tsukki lazily ripped open the card and scanned its contents quickly with his eyes, scoffing at the girly handwriting and hand-drawn hearts. “Pathetic.”

Without a second thought, he handed the card over to you so that you could read it as well. You chuckled to yourself as you took in the words of affection that resembled a Victorian-era love poem. You felt a little guilty about snooping on the private emotions of a girl who, as far as you could tell, seemed perfectly nice; however, you couldn’t deny the joy you experienced when Tsukki shared yet another sappy love note with you, inviting you to participate in the flat-out rejection and tug on your heartstrings just a little bit more. 

As long as he didn’t love anyone else, there was still hope for you. 

“‘The way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight makes my heart sing.’“ You read a particularly descriptive part aloud before handing the card over to Yamaguchi. “If only these poor girls knew that their most vulnerable feelings get scrutinized by a panel of three cynics like us.”

Yamaguchi chuckled heartily as he took his turn reading the card. Before another word could be said on the matter, however, the second bell rang and the teacher strolled into the room, bringing a halt to any and all side conversations.

By the time lunch had rolled around, you had almost completely forgotten about that morning’s events. Your stomach grumbling and your only thought being getting something to eat, you stood up to grab something from the vending machine but stopped in your tracks when you saw the girl from earlier standing by the door, her face even redder than it had been that morning and her eyes drifting from you to Tsukki, who had yet to notice her.

Suddenly, you remembered that you had encouraged the poor girl to talk to Tsukki herself, which even you knew was a horrendous idea. Sure, you had told girls that in the past, but never once had one actually followed through. Usually, you received a love confession, you gave it to Tsukki, you laughed about it together, and the girl would take her broken heart and retreat with her tail between her legs when Tsukki never so much as acknowledged her existence.

This was uncharted territory and you had no idea what to do. 

Turning to Tsukki, you pulled his headphones off—which he absolutely hated, but that was besides the point—and looked him dead in the eyes to set him straight before he could snap at you. “You see that girl by the door?” you asked him, and after glancing past you, he nodded. “She’s the one who gave me the card and chocolates to give to you this morning. She’s going to come in here and talk to you and I need you to not smash her heart into a million pieces. Okay?”

Tsukki opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the girl had worked up enough courage to make her way into the classroom and was now standing beside the two of you. 

Smiling sheepishly, you backed away to give the two as much privacy as possible and pretended to be busy by digging through your bag for something.

“Tsukishima-san, did you get my card and chocolates?” the girl asked, her fingers intertwined together and her feet shifting weight nervously as she spoke. 

Tsukki simply nodded. With that, Yamaguchi returned from using the bathroom and you stood next to him near the door, the two of you watching from afar as the unknown girl confessed to Tsukki in the partially-full classroom. 

“What do you think he will say?” you inquired out loud.

Yamaguchi shrugged, never taking his eyes off of the interaction before him. “No. He’s never interested in any of the girls that confess to him. I don’t imagine this one will be any different, even if she is doing it in person.”

“Yeah . . . I just hope he doesn’t make her-” You stopped talking mid-sentence when the tears started welling in the girl’s eyes and she turned to rush out of the classroom. “. . . cry,” you finished your thought. 

Rolling your eyes, you returned to your desk, having completely forgot about getting something to eat from the vending machine, and looked to Tsukki, who was completely unfazed. 

“That looked like it went well,” you quipped. “Remind me to never confess my undying love for you.”

“All I did was tell her that I wasn’t interested,” he explained. “I don’t know how I could have possibly been any nicer.”

“Well, no offence, but considering you are you, I’m sure there was a way.”

                                ━━━━━━━━━━━

For the following 24 hours, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get the look on that poor girl’s face after being rejected by Tsukki out of your head. Of course, you had no idea what he had actually said to her, but whatever it had been had been enough to make her cry . . . would he say something as equally insensitive if you ever decided to tell him how you felt?

By some stroke of luck, Tsukki wasn’t at school the next day, giving you time to clear your head without having to put up a facade for hours on end. However, you hadn’t been completely alone the entire day, and Yamaguchi was more observant than you had originally thought he was.

“Something’s bothering you,” Yamaguchi said out of nowhere as the two of you walked home after school that day. “Do you want to tell me or do you want me to guess?”

You chuckled softly. “You have three guesses and if you don’t get it right, you have to buy me a snack from the corner store when we pass it.”

“Deal.” Yamaguchi nodded, an aura of self-confidence practically radiating off of him. “Okay, let’s see . . . you got a bad test grade?”

You shook your head, convinced there was no way he could possibly guess correctly. “Nope.”

“You don’t like what your parents are cooking for dinner tonight?”

You snorted. “Nope, that’s not it.”

“Ah, okay. One guess left.” He was silent for a moment as he thought. “Could it be that you’re upset with how Tsukki turned down that girl at school yesterday because you have feelings for him but now you’re afraid that he will reject you in the same way?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your jaw dropping. Yamaguchi just grinned. The sneaky bastard had been playing you all along.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He played it off as a lucky guess. “Does this mean you’re buying the snacks then?”

“I . . . I guess so?” You were unsure how to respond. “But, wait, how did you know?”

“Tsukki may be completely oblivious to the general concept of feelings, but I’m not,” Yamaguchi said as he started toward the store that was in sight in the distance. “Now come on, I’m hungry!”

Completely shaken, you moved forward without really thinking about it and followed Yamaguchi. After you paid for two candy bars, the two of you continued on your way, Yamaguchi munching happily as if nothing had even happened and you staring at the still-wrapped treat in your hands, at a loss of words.

“If you knew I liked him this whole time, how come you’ve never said anything?” You finally found your voice.

“Because I figured you would share when you were ready,” he answered. “But now I think you’re never going to tell him because you’re too scared.”

“Of course I’m scared!” You threw your arms into the air dramatically. “You saw the poor girl running away with tears in her eyes. You’ve seen how he laughs at sappy romance stuff. How could I possibly feel anything but scared?!”

Yamaguchi thought for a moment. “Well, sure, it’d be scary if you were anyone else . . . but you’re not. You’re you. Judging by this whole situation, you don’t know this, but he likes you too.”

For the second time in less than an hour, you had been completely floored. “He what now?”

“Did you think he really hung out with you all the time and blatantly turned down other girls’ confessions in front of you because he just thinks you’re a good friend?”

You nodded, flabbergasted. “Y-yes?”

“You two are so unbelievably oblivious it’s actually hard to watch you guys running in circles around each other. Just tell him how you feel. I guarantee he won’t turn you down.” Yamaguchi suddenly stopped in his tracks and gestured to the house behind him; Tsukki’s house. 

Without even realizing it, Yamaguchi had lead you right into your waking nightmare. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You conniving little-”

 “You’ll thank me later. You both will.” He shoved you up the walkway to the front door before continuing down the road to his own house. “Good luck!”

“Yeah . . . thanks,” you huffed, eyeing the closed door in front of you. You had stood on this porch a hundred times before, knocked on the door a hundred times before, but today was different. 

Maybe Yamaguchi was right. Maybe Tsukki did like you back, and the only way to know for sure was to simply ask.

Before you could psych yourself out or change your mind, you pounded on the front door three solid times and glued your eyes to the doorknob, waiting for it to turn. 

Less than a minute later, you could heard footsteps inside and felt heat rush to your face. Were you actually going to do this? 

When the door swung open and Tsukki stood before you, dressed in pajama pants and a sweater, definitely looking a little on the ill side, you felt your heart jump into your throat. 

“Hey,” you greeted. “How are you feeling?”

The boy eyed you curiously. “Better now, thanks. Why are you here?”

“I, um . . . I have a confession for you,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words just sort of tumbled out of your mouth and now there was nothing you could do to avoid the situation. 

An amused look spread across Tsukki’s face. “You didn’t need to come all the way to my house for that. Just throw the card out and eat whatever candy came with it. You know the drill. It’s just another girl who-”

“There’s no card or any candies,” you told him and he cocked a brow. “And it’s not from just another girl . . . this one is from me.”

His face paled and his hand dropped from the doorknob he had still been holding onto, an indication that he had been ready to say goodbye to you pretty quickly. Now, however, he seemed to sense the seriousness of the conversation and had decided it was worth sticking around a little longer for.

“I won’t stand here and tell you that your eyes sparkle in the sun or that my heart does backflips when I see you, because you’ve heard that shit a million times,” you said. “But I will say that I like when you share your music with me or when you let me in on your inside jokes. You make me feel really special and I like that. I like you, Kei, and I just thought that I should tell you.”

“Oh.” He looked eerily similar to a deer in headlights and you were just waiting for him to slam the door in your face. But he didn’t. His hand did reach for the doorknob once again, but instead of closing the door, he opened it wider. “Do you want to come watch a new documentary with me?”

That hadn’t exactly been the response you had been expecting, but considering you weren’t currently a sobbing mess, you knew it could have gone a lot worse.

“I would like that.” You smiled and stepped into the house. “I might not have a whole box of chocolates, but I do have this.” You pulled the candy bar out of your pocket. “We can share it.”

“I would like that.” Tsukki closed the door behind you.

From that day on, even though you and Tsukki never officially declared your love for one another or referred to each other as ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’, you knew you had moved on from simply being friends.

And sure, sometimes you still got confessions for him from random girls, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much anymore. How could it when you knew, without a sliver of a doubt, that Tsukki only had eyes for you? 

[ithinkthereforeidread]

the collected poems of todd anderson

christmas day of 1959.

ao3 link here

He knew this day would come. He’s been dreading it, sure, he’d never really enjoyed Christmas much beforehand, his multiple unopened desk sets epitomised such. At his house, fires weren’t warm, hugs were stiff and silence was punctured by the sounds of laughing children in the house next door. It’d always been this way for the Anderson family. Todd grew to accept it.

But this year was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to spend his Christmas at Welton, with all the Dead Poets.

 Usually, the boys would go home to their families for Christmas, but through the efforts of Neil he assembled a complex string of falsities about a gargantuan Latin group project that all the Dead Poets needed to finish.

“Serious business, I care about my education father, why else would have you sent me here?” said Neil over the phone, holding his index finger to his mouth to silence Todd from his chuckling, although all Todd really saw was the wide grin that hid behind it, and the way Neil’s eyes crinkled up all the way, a complete oxymoronic action when Neil was usually on the phone to his father. Todd stifles back laughter and Neil smacks him lightly, only causing him to laugh more.

“Well, that was quicker AND easier than I expected...” Neil states after placing the phone back on it’s cradle and ending the call. “But hey!” Neil squeaks, “We’re all spending Christmas together! The biggest concern was just getting my father to agree, everyone else’s parents seemed fine with it.”

Todd and Neil start to walk, side by side, Neil bumps him playfully. “I’m so glad you told me, Todd.” Neil turns his head and looks towards the shorter boy. “My Christmases at home aren’t that great either, I’ve always wanted to spend them here, but I could never work up the courage to ask my father, ask Charlie, in our first year he almost called up my father himself. It was hilarious, he had to look up at the phone, he was so short.”

“You and Charlie have been friends for ages then?” Todd queries “Oh yeah, we met in our last year of preparatory school, he was a pretty mischievous kid, obviously not much has changed.” Neil laughs, “he was just always so confident and sure of himself… I always wanted to be like that, nothing ever got to him.”

“Has that changed?” Todd’s questions were always short and straight to the point. Startling upfrontness in the most unexpected of moments. It was something Todd was known for.

“Not really… I mean, I try to get him to open up… he just isn’t an emotions type of person, I think?” Neil scratches the back of his head. “During our 9th year he went through something really big and not great, but he didn’t tell me a single word about it. To this day I have no idea wahat happened. I tried asking but it didn’t lead anywhere… all I know is some kid had been expelled but it didn’t look like him and Charlie fought or anything because they spent so much time together ....” Neil trails off.

“You know people stare at us sometimes.” Todd blankly states, an unconscious switch being flicked immediately. “When we’re walking to classes, when we go into our dorm, when we exchange smiles in classes… They bump their friends with their shoulders and snicker under their breaths… Have you noticed that Neil?”

Neil’s walking pace slows slightly, “Uh… no, I-uh I didn’t… Do they think we’re-“ “-Maybe.” Todd interrupts before Neil can say The Word. “Bu-but we aren’t, I mean, you were talking about that girl from-“ “-Yeah! Ginny, from the play, wow, I mean, she’s just great.” “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”

God.

This got awkward.

Nice one Todd.

Did it again.

~~

Ink splatters dried on the paper he cradled so delicately, he stares at the contents once more.

“what wouldn't i give to love myself as feverishly as I love you? what is the opposite of amnesia? that is what you are. sometimes i cant find my way around my memories. i have to take detours… i think you were the best one.

little fragments of joy pepper my vacancy i didn't know that i should want to be hopeful or that being hopeful meant giving up some intrinsic part of me.

last night i had a dream that we were breathing underwater flying high in the sky, arms outstretched, laughing, smiling, hugging, bodies pressed onto one another. it didn’t last long. piece by wretched, fragile piece i throw out every hated qualm of thee your impenetrable stare fixed onto me

i have hoped for love that is beyond you being caught by me or me trying to slip through the cracks. they read me, you, us, with their glacial eyes and think they know but they don't

and it seems neither do we.”

“Wow, Todd. This is so… different. But good! It’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in our English class, in the poems we’ve studied… I just… wow.” Neil looks up at Todd, eyes so soft, Neil knows how big of a deal this is to Todd. He doesn’t just share his work with anyone.

“I-I’m glad you liked it.” Todd smiles, it’s almost as if he’s had to completely remove himself from himself in order to let Neil observe and compliment this part of him, he takes the page out of Neil’s hands and places it in his book. “What-er, who was it about?” Neil gingerly queries. “I- uh, well.” Todd’s heating up now, he should’ve expected Neil to ask him this question. Dammit. Why was he so stupid for letting him read it. “Well, I-I don’t think you necessarily have to go through something to write a-about it, it-it’s fiction for a reason.”

Neil’s lips downturn slightly, “I guess, but everything that we produce in art- whether that be acting, or poetry writing, painting- whatever… it… subconsciously shows something that you might not necessarily want to show or see, right? Like how Keating got us the other day to choose a poem we liked and recite it… It tells you so much about a person. When Charlie was reading his poem… wasn't all you could think about was how bleak it was?” Neil continues, “The academically and poetically rigorous selection made by Cameron or Knox’s complete devotion and enamoration with the simplest emotion of the human being, love? We hide these parts of ourselves, maybe we view them as flaws and faults of our cognitive machine, but art reveals them all.” Neil delivered a love poem to the class himself. He takes a big breath and lets the words he just spoke sit in the air of their dorm for a while.

“Into the meadows dawn..” Todd clicks his fingers, a vague ritual to jog his memory. “flashes my faun.” Todd recites “O Hunter, snare me his shadow… O Nightingale catch me his strain. Else moonstruck with music and madness, I track him in vain” all they’re doing is staring at each other.

“You- you remembered my poem?” Neil questions. “Yeah- I went to the library after you said it- wanted to see if there was more… Oscar Wilde…” “Yeah.” “I notice them staring now that you mentioned it.” Neil breaks the trajectory of the conversation, “God, they’re all so stupid, it’s as if Judy Garland and President Eisenhower just strutted into the school, arms interlocked!” Todd chuckles. Then more silence.

“Has anything changed, Neil?” “What do you mean?” “Between us. What this is. Our comradely bond, as Keating puts it.” Todd chuckles, “ Our co-dependence, attachment at the hip.”

More silence…

“I-I think…” Neil finally states, “that it was never anything it wasn’t already… perhaps we ignored it, suppressed the feeling… but… it was always there.”

“For me, at least.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

~~~

The wind pierced Todd’s skin in tiny microscopic ways, embedding itself under the protection of his coat and completely evading the rest of his physical form, though perhaps the wind wasn’t the cause of the spine-curdling ache he felt, but simply an additional symptom.

Bells rang, green and red Christmas themed paraphernalia adorned the streets he’d previously been driving through, staring out the window at lights and snow that trickled onto an already naturally bleached layer of the ground. His footprints leave indents and obtain a slippery consistency to the outer sole and toe cap. He treads more carefully.

His hands clutch the leather cover of the journal he is hiding underneath his jacket, minimising any further damage that may soon come its way, finally, through minutes of soul-searching and carefully treading through stones and flowers, he makes his way to Neil.

He looks at him with a certain sense of fragility, his stone head protruding from the ground and covered in snow. Todd wipes some away to see the carvings made into him. His full name. Aged 17. Dutiful son of Tom and Susan Perry.

The newness of it all sends a pang to Todd’s stomach as he looks at the other stones weathered with age and the constant bombardment of the elements. That’ll be Neil one day. Flowers not fresh and carvings unreadable. Forgotten to the world and all its inhabitants, rotting in satin lining and cherry oak wood. Todd stifles back a sob and covers his mouth, forcing himself to get it together for just this moment.

“Merry Christmas Neil.” Todd whispers, the words can barely come out. “You-you’re not here physically but you’re here with me, and Charlie, and-and all the other Dead Poets.” he continues, “though- though Charlie isn’t here technically either. He left. Had to. He’s not graduating, at least he’s not at Welton” Todd looks down, brushes his emerging tears away with his shoulder

“I just wanted to come here and give you your gift, I’ve had it in the making for a while now, you’ve seen some of it already. I wish I could’ve given it to you earlier… if I had known this would happen.” he pulls out the journal, and opens it up.

“Here, I’ll read you some.” Todd, though already cold and miserable, situates himself next to Neil’s cold headstone and leans his head on it, opening the journal's contents to its first page.

“Dear Neil,” Todd’s starts, but adds an offside, “It’s dated on the 7th of a while back, my-my birthday.”

“I hope this book finds you well,” Todd’s breath hitches, “especially considering that I’m probably too anxious to deliver it to you. What you’ll see here is what we spoke about the night we first kissed. About freeing ourselves from any subconscious fear or dichotomous dread of both working with and against the grain or being liked or disliked. The people I look up to the most are inspirationally unpopular. So, here’s a suite of poems by yours truly. Hopefully you’ll find your own meaning and reverence in the words my brain has conjured up, words mostly pertaining to you. Every inch of your being alive has me transfixed and enamoured, and I’m truly gobsmacked on the good deed I must’ve committed to have deserved having you in my life.” Todd’s face is red and stuffy from the cold and his breathing is short and punctured.

“You’re sleeping right near me at this moment, and as a sweaty toothed madman once said. We were together. I forgot the rest. Consider this journal a detachable limb of my own self, something you can always carry around and know that I am with you, always. You can suck the life force, the bone marrow out of the words I have written in here and I would applaud and encourage you to do so. Without you, I have no idea where I’d be right now. I owe you so much Neil, you’ve taught me that sometimes the world can be good. That a person’s smile can brighten an entire room. A performance perfectly acted can be a person’s ultimate achievement and their triumph. You are the word phenomenal incarnate Neil, I hope my words do you some sort of justice.

You deserve the world, Neil. I’m brainstorming ways to give it to you.

With love, Todd.”

——————————————————————————

i hope you guys enjoyed!! its fucking brutal honestly but needed some angst and tragedy in my fictional life to reflect my own.

just a preface that some of the poem todd read's is borrowed from pete wentz old emo livejournal posts because i need to somehow tie my two big interests together and MAN does that man write some gay ass shit. hope your heart doesnt hurt too much <3

creds to @neilscrown on tiktok for posting the headcanon "Todd definitely bought Neil a Christmas present and he never got the chance to give it to him so he would sit in his once shared room and stare at it" it tore my HEART OUT and inspired this rambling

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

The Haunting of Thomas Sanders 

> Part 1 < Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Nico was beginning to think his new boyfriend was haunted by ghosts. He never planned to bring it up until the ghosts themselves came to him asking for help.

[AO3]

CW: food mention, alcohol mention, past breakup

Notes: Based off this text post I made. 

.

Nico had come to the mall for inspiration.

Anything to get out of his office would help him at this point, really. The meetings he had to go to were stifling any new ideas and the nosey, pompous co-workers were worse. The writer did not know what he was looking for, but what else brought people to malls? Maybe a new outfit would uncover confidence , maybe indulging in greasy food would be that final click he seemed to lack, maybe people-watching would offer the right story. Nico's bets were not on the last one.

The mall was not as busy as it once had been. When he was still a teen it was a lively place bustling with a constant traffic of people. Walking through shops offered hours of new stimulation and the hallways were towering, intricate skylights the crowning jewel. As time went on Nico got older and things changed. Online shopping is easier than anything and a fair few of the shops were closed down for good.

Nevertheless it was his favorite place to write if he had to choose. The buzz of energy helped him focus on work. Nico found peculiar security in being an irrelevant face in a crowd of hundreds, and knowing that each person had a life he could never even imagine opened floodgates of inspiration. The 'What if's?' and 'Why's?" he asked himself when people-watching could get the ball rolling.

Now there were less faces, less stories. Nico did not appreciate the way this shift reflected in his work. The difference was noticeable, and he struggled more with deadlines, but he worked with what he had.

He learned to pay attention to individuals more. However, currently what he had was waiting for his food, because at this point he might have more luck finding inspiration in eating then in others. There had only been a toddler throwing a tantrum, a teen scrolling on their phone, and a man who sat down across from him at the food court-

Oh hello, inspiration.

If Nico was staring, the only reason he got away with it was his laptop blocking his line of sight. He saw all he needed out of the corner of his eye. The floral shirt was extremely flattering, and if he wasn't mistaken he could see the outline of muscles. That brown hair looked fluffy, and what he would give to run his fingers through it while- Okay, Nico, you might be gay but that thought isn't for a stranger .

He could not even see his eye color. And the man in the floral shirt was eating, interrupting his meal would be rude. Maybe there was a way to make this still work? As his waitress got to his table and dropped off his food, he subtly turned his pinned-covered backpack in the direction of the stranger. If Mr. Handsome did not answer his silent plea then he would move on.

He tossed a fry into his mouth instead of letting himself think.

Maybe he had got his hopes up when the guy came in his direction, only to walk up to a Karrot King line. When the writer saw the man in the floral shirt inspect the plant, he wondered if he liked botany. Finally the same useless hope happened again when they made admittedly awkward eye contact for a few seconds. So he has brown eyes. The guy turned away rather fast so Nico dropped it. Maybe showing a pride pin made the guy uncomfortable and it was to good to be true.

Only when he heard a CRASH and saw somebody fall into a garbage can, did he finally get an idea about what to write. That was a metaphor he could spin into a story. Certainly it was not at all because he felt trashy for a missed opportunity. Nor was it due to that cute guy having disappeared, leaving his food uneaten.

Wait . You can still make this work, Flores.

He scarfed down the rest of his food and discarded the trash. Nico's fast pace to get to the table with the food turned a few heads, but he ignored it. Greasy bag in hand, he browsed the crowd for that familiar pattern. Every person wearing a floral shirt was either an older lady or a child. Nico swayed on the balls of his feet as he contemplated what to do next, but then he saw him coming out of the restroom.

Bingo!

None of what happened after went as planned. Serves him right for letting his overactive imagination create unrealistic expectations.

He should have known trying to do small talk with strangers would only backfire. After Nico had called out after him to return the food, he had tried to ask what made him leave in a rush to forget his food. Then the guy asked what was wrong with him and Nico dropped it. He gave the stranger his well-wishers and left afterwards. He would honestly rather head back to work then be here right now.  

No matter if he was admittedly cute, Nico Flores probably would have been mad at the man if he did not look like he was on the verge of a public anxiety attack. He was probably starving, too, if he had forgotten his lunch.

The man in the floral shirt hesitated behind him, running after Nico.

When they actually sat down to talk together, the man in the floral shirt - Mr. Sanders, Thomas - was quite charming. And funny. And intelligent. Oh, when he had called Thomas an inspiration earlier he had meant it. He just met a singer and an actor, is there a more perfect match to a writer and poet?

Leave it to his imagination to think of a man he just met reciting the poems and lovingly singing songs he writes.

The two had talked for over two hours without noticing. They had bounced ideas off of each other and Nico made an impressive amount of progress. He felt so giddy with just this one interaction! Nico was sad that they had to leave; Thomas seemed just as reluctant to part.

"Well you didn't get to eat much today at lunch right?"

Thomas fiddled with his fingers, "Yeah…"

Nico did not let himself second guess himself , he offered, "Then let me buy you dinner tonight!"

As a breath caught in Thomas' throat, Nico was self conscious that he might have said something wrong, but the heavy blush across the other man's face was not of offence or horror at all. Thomas was smiling at him again.

Finding ways to make Thomas go speechless was going to be his new favorite pastime… if Thomas would give him a chance, he decided. Just that alone lit a fire inside him, and later when he finished with writing for work, he would write some more. All he would be writing about would be this, a collection of poems to free these butterflies in his stomach. Thomas seemed to look around for approval from anybody else and nodded quickly

"I'd love to go with you, Nico! Maybe we can uh- get to know each other better?" Oh man, it was flattering to have somebody so cute get so nervous at him of all people.  

"Only if I could get to know the digits on your phone number better," he confirmed with a playful grin. It might have been cheesy, certainly. But he was also the person who told Thomas that they would not waste this opportunity. Pretending he was not corny now would be a lie.

Thomas taking his cliché advances in stride only made him more hopeful.

.

.

They both later met at a local bar and grill close to the beach. A salty sea breeze tousled his hair and the palm leaves. The hour was close to sunset, too hot for the mosquitoes to bug them but not too hot for the two of them to eat outside.

"I'm looking for a table for two? RSVP'd under the name 'Flores'?" He asked. The waitress nodded, sat him down with a menu. Thomas was not there, and a part of him wonders if he is getting stood up. Nico, not particularly interested in looking at food yet, fiddled with his laptop. He sighed because even If that was the case, Nico would try to make the most of the night.

The waitress brought Thomas to the table a few minutes later. The writer's heart soared before worry took root. Thomas was wearing that same expression from earlier that day on his face. He anxiously explained. "I'm so, so sorry for being late. And i totally get if you don't want me here and would prefer to just call this all off. I didn't mean to show up late, but then as I was about to leave my apartment I- my keys just-"

Nico grabbed one of Thomas' hands and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, I'm not angry you got here late."

Thomas really did look cute flustered, but he did not let go of the hand. Instead he ran his thumbs along his knuckles. "I'm happy you're here with me. Wanna order a drink and maybe share an appetizer with me?"

They both chatted about foods they disliked while waiting. Thomas hated carrots with a passion as it turned out, and he made a mental note to tease him about going to a Karrot King. Nico in turn talked about his dislike for most seafood and mushrooms because of the slimy texture. The waitress came and both agreed on a sampler platter to share.

"Mimosas at sunset?" He inquired.

Thomas smiled nervously. "I usually save them for brunches, with friends. All the other options I like are too much if I want to drive home tonight."

Nico nodded, understanding.

Just like in the food court, Talking with Thomas made time go past without him even noticing. They tried out food together, talked about music, and that led Nico into telling a story about a Highschool band. Thomas was red in the face and giggling uncontrollably by the time they paid for the check and had to leave.

They left the building together when Thomas stopped him. "There's a park around the corner. We can feed the ducks some leftovers."

If Nico noticed that Thomas was not ready to say bye just yet, he did not say it. The last of the sun was behind the horizon by the time they went through a breadstick. Watching Thomas interact with the ducks gave him the idea that this man loved animals. They were cute, he would admit, but nature found other ways to ruin his mood.

Nico laughed at himself, pulling his arms closer into his body. "I almost wish I dressed up a bit more. I didn't expect the mosquitoes to be this bad."

"I know it's warm out, but I can lend you a jacket?"

Nico did a double take at what Thomas was holding up. It was black with plaid sleeves, already oversized so it wouldn't have a problem fitting Nico. It honestly looked very comfortable, and it would keep him from being bit, but comfort wasn't what he was caught up on.

"Being warm beats being eaten alive."

When the fuck did Thomas have an extra jacket on him? Did he really not notice it?

He hesitated, and then asked a whole entirety different question. "Are you sure I can take this? I won't be able to return it to you tonight."

Thomas insisted, "Please, I don't mind- I don't need it. And you can keep it for tonight, or until we see each other again?"

Nico put the jacket on and it was soft. And it smelled like the cologne Thomas was wearing. Oh this was nice. "When will that be, Thomas?"

Thomas let his eyes linger on Nico in his jacket. "Saturday I'm free, I think. We could have brunch together, even."

He smiled. "Saturday sounds wonderful."

.

.

When they first had met, being infatuated was easy. It came to the pair more natural than breathing.

Nico originally did not know if his relationship with Thomas Sanders would go anywhere. But the first meeting had been so promising. And then they had a brunch date at Thomas' place, then a second and a third. Maybe… maybe Nico was moving too fast. Things kept going well nonetheless.

Four, five, six, seven. They kept on hanging out. Going out. They wanted to see more and more of each other. Quickly they were amassing a horde of good memories together. During nights away, they loved to text and call each other. They never put a label on what they did, which was starting to bother him. It felt more intimate than friendship. Were these dates?

According to his family, yes. They had noticed his change in mood and lack of free time quickly and demanded explanation. He kept it vague, but got advice anyways. Mama Flores said it was ridiculous that he had not brought Thomas by to meet the famila. Hid Papa was more doubtful. Even though it has been years since Nico's last major failed relationship, his father was still worried.

Papa Flores was a proud man, so it left a bad taste in his mouth when he requested Nico to take more time before giving his heart away. He had to oblige. Nico was over it, he healed, but some of his family was not. Nico's ex was like a second son to Papa, and everybody was hurt by him.

Call him cliché, but Thomas was different.

Even when Nico was past the stage of infatuation, Thomas took his breath away.

Could you be infatuated by somebody you have not actually kissed yet? It felt like it. Sure, when they had met at that food court, he had his breath taken away, and that feeling intensified when they saw each other more. He knew infatuation could feel like love, but these feelings passed the test of time and matured into something deeper. With more meaning. He did not like just the idea of Thomas and what their future might look like, he liked Thomas for his presence and as a person.

Suddenly his worries that they were moving too fast turned into frustrations they were moving too slow. They were more intimate than regular friends, but they never got far enough to be considered partners. It was frustrating to figure out. Nico was ready for a relationship, he was certain. The three months he spent getting to know Thomas were blissful, and calling their dates only "hangouts" had begun to feel forced.

So they talked about it.

Thomas said he was also ready but his actions seemed more… hesitant. He mentioned somebody from his past, who he moved on from but never could forget. Nico wanted to ask, to find out what happened to his heart for him to be so afraid. He knew what it felt like to have scars that still hurt, he wanted to be there for Thomas as he healed.

But that was not the time for the conversation. Not when Nico was nearly on Thomas' lap and his arms hung around his neck. Not when Thomas met his eyes and Nico stared at them for too long. It could have been him trying to figure out what emotions they held, maybe Thomas' eyes were that beautiful. His friend -- boyfriend? -- got so anxious and trapped in his head easily, but Thomas seemed in control of his more scary thoughts in that moment. It brought a smile to his face, unnoticed between the way they were slowly moving closer.

Still, cautious and vulnerable, eager and loving, Thomas had let Nico kiss him. Finally getting to show Thomas just how much he wanted to cherish him was amazing. And receiving that same passion in return was intoxicating.

Getting an answer never felt so good.

Nico's more-than-friendly feelings were not the only thing that was starting to add up in regards to Thomas either. There were strange happenings, though were so minuscule he had nothing tangible to go off of.

Thomas might be really good at sneaking things past Nico's eyes, common sense would say. Intuition told himself not to doubt what he saw. Thomas did not have that spare jacket on their first date originally. It literally had to of appeared from thin air. And when Thomas invited him for brunch, he noticed that two of the mimosas Thomas had prepared with brunch had vanished. Sometimes he experiences ghost touches when staying the night. The hands were gentle and comforting, calluses on the fingertips just like Thomas, but when he opened his eyes nobody was there.

That was the most noticeable of things. Though he could list off a dozen smaller happenings. He had no proof for them, as they could be explained, but Nico listened to his gut here.

And Nico has no idea what he would want to do with this information anyways. Thomas seemed to have some supernatural force that followed him around. What a fantastic conclusion to jump to! It would be weird to bring up, especially after Thomas had denied anything when Nico subtly brought it up. And the ghosts - for lack of better term - did nothing to harm Thomas.

The information that Thomas was haunted by ghosts was, for all intents and purposes, useless.

(Except it was not. It was fantastic material to write from. When he first called Thomas inspiration, his first impression never proved to be wrong.)

(And if Nico had started a personal project dedicated to a story based on it, nobody needed to know,)

The difference between Nico's feelings for Thomas and his feelings about his ghosts is that one actually got addressed.

He would be content to let Thomas have that secret to himself.

NEXT PART >>

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part IX

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

The next morning brought the day of the ritual itself, and Geralt found himself woefully unprepared for its arrival.

Jaskier was nervous. Geralt could tell by the on-again-off-again chatter, the way Jaskier would launch suddenly into a diatribe and then go suspiciously silent for the next twenty minutes. Their breakfast was stilted, and Geralt tried to make it quick, not wanting to linger in the tavern any longer than needed. The air within it felt thick with the years that had passed between them, and the words Geralt couldn’t bring himself to say.

He wanted to perform the ritual outside of the city, though they probably didn’t have to. Ida had said that the place needed to be of personal or magical significance, not both, but Geralt figured that going overboard couldn’t hurt. The area where they’d been attacked by Filavandrel was heavy with magic; Geralt could still remember the way his medallion had hummed against his chest in the great circle of stones. That was the place, he knew, where they would be most likely to find success.

If Jaskier even let him go through with it at all.

They walked the path as they had so many years ago, through the craggy valley of plenty to the base of the mountains. It was sunny, and the air tasted like summer had firmly arrived. The sky overhead was shockingly blue, an uncanny match to Jaskier’s eyes. The valley was rich with the scent of wildflowers, almost overpowering, and every patch of grass seemed to hold a shock of vibrant color.

It took them several hours to get to the spot, but Geralt knew instantly when they arrived, even without the gentle vibrations of his medallion. It looked exactly the same as before, as if even nature itself had refused to go to work against it. Jaskier spoke from behind him, leaning against one of the large stones. “This is it, right?” he asked, looking around. “I’m almost certain I remember you punching that faun just there.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “He had it coming.”

Jaskier grinned back at him, but then the smile dipped off of his face as he glanced around. “So, uh. How do we do this?”

Geralt shrugged off his pack, dropping it in the middle of the clearing. “It shouldn’t take much work,” he said, digging through it for the oathstone and the moonflax ribbons. Once he held each of the objects in his hands, he turned back to face Jaskier, and then stopped. Jaskier was looking at the objects with something like trepidation, and Geralt felt a swoop of anxiety in his gut. “It’s just a few words,” Geralt continued, hesitantly.

Jaskier wavered, shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. “Geralt, are you—are you sure about this? We still don’t know all that much about this ritual. What if it hurts you?”

It was a possibility. Ida had said that Jaskier wouldn’t be at risk, but he’d received no such assurances about his own safety. Geralt shrugged, and offered his hand to Jaskier, the pale oathstone resting in his palm. “It’s worth it,” he said simply.

Jaskier stared at him for another long moment, radiating hesitation. Finally, he stepped forward and took Geralt’s hand in his.

Letting out a barely audible sigh, Geralt pressed their palms more closely together, the oathstone warming to their touch. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said again, shaking out the ribbons so they lay flat. Gently, he draped them across their joined hands, the ends falling to brush the grass at their feet. This was what it would look like, he realized. It was like any old handfasting ceremony—all he had to do was say the words, and he and Jaskier would be bound together. The ribbons were soft against his skin, almost as soft as Jaskier’s sweaty palm in his. He paused, his free hand brushing across the fabric of the blue ribbon. All he had to do was wrap it gently around Jaskier’s exposed wrist, and then—

“Stop.”

Geralt paused, fingers twitching. He looked up from the ribbons to find Jaskier staring at them, his face tight and horrified. “What?” he asked, stomach dropping. Jaskier’s grip on his fingers would have been bruising to anyone but him.

“Geralt, we can’t… we can’t do this.” Jaskier stuttered, swallowing. His eyes finally lifted from the ribbons to find Geralt’s, and the pain and distress he saw there made his free hand itch for his sword.

“Why not?” he demanded, a little sharply. He was so close, and then he could live the rest of his long life with Jaskier at his side. Even if he wasn’t Geralt’s, it would be enough to have him live. He only had to finish the binding, and Geralt had half a mind to blurt out the words right then and see if they would stick. Jaskier didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve to be bound to someone like Geralt without asking for it, but Geralt could see the grey in Jaskier’s hair and the lines at the corners of his mouth as he frowned. This was his only chance, the only way he knew of to keep Jaskier from leaving him all too soon.

Jaskier winced at his tone, his free hand clenching at his side. “I—I wasn’t sure if you knew. But you mustn’t—Geralt, this isn’t just any spell. It’s a soul binding ritual.”

Geralt forced his breathing to remain regular, though his chest was tight with panic. “I know, Jaskier. My life force tied to yours, extending your life in the process. That’s the whole point.”

Jaskier bit his lip and took a deep breath. It shuddered a bit on the exhale. “Geralt,” he said, face scrunched up as if expecting a blow, “it’s a marriage ritual.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Geralt couldn’t help the feeling of defeat—of grief—that swept through him. That was it then. Jaskier would not only refuse to complete the ritual and die, but he’d also probably never want to speak to Geralt again. He wouldn’t be there in the winters, singing by the fireside and telling Ciri stories and jokes to pass the time. He wouldn’t whisper terrible little things about other bards when he dragged Geralt along to those horrible competitions in Novigrad. He wouldn’t sit quietly on the other side of the fire and offer Geralt soft smiles in the evenings, as he wrote about their adventures. He would die, and Geralt would have to live on with a hole in his chest that would never heal. He’d thought it was painful, to not have Jaskier the way he desired, or to skirt the subject of losing him, but this. Just knowing that it was inevitable now, facing it head on, made his gut lurch sickeningly.

The soft fabric of the binding ribbon felt terribly fragile in his grip.

He was reaching out before he could stop himself, taking Jaskier’s shoulder with the hand not still holding the oathstone between them. He started talking without knowing what he was even going to say, only knowing that there was a small chance that he might be able to salvage this if he could just say the right words. “Please,” he said urgently. Jaskier looked taken aback by his sudden intensity, but he couldn’t stop. “Please, just—It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m sorry, I should have—I know, I should have told you, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t have to be that, it can mean whatever you want, or nothing. We can still—”

Jaskier interrupted him, eyes wide in shock. “You mean you knew?” He was so beautiful, Geralt thought despairingly; even now he wanted badly to reach his hand up and cup Jaskier’s jaw, to trace his thumb across the red blush spilling across his cheekbones. Jaskier gasped, surprise and confusion warring across his features. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think it mattered.” Geralt stammered through the lie, swallowing. “How did you know?”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed as he answered, his eyes roving over Geralt’s face as if looking for answers there. “It’s—There’s a poem. A piece I studied years ago, when I was learning to translate Elder at Oxenfurt. Something Silvandrel said reminded me of it. So the stars may hear your oath, was I think how he phrased it. The translation isn’t exact, the word at the end can mean oath or promise, but also has... romantic connotations. Usually we translate it as ‘adoration.’ But I wasn’t sure, until I saw the ribbons. It’s, I mean,” and here he flushed, his nervous rambling breaking off for a moment as he floundered, palm shifting in Geralt’s. “It’s all quite familiar, isn’t it? We’re only missing the floral crowns.”

Geralt pushed the words past the lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have told you, I just thought—” He stopped, at a loss for how to continue.

Jaskier brushed over the statement anyhow, looking away from Geralt and down at their still half-bound hands. He laughed, a brittle, bitter sound that set Geralt’s teeth on edge. “I’m just surprised that you knew,” he said, the shoulder under Geralt’s other hand shifting in a slight shrug. “I mean, I assumed that if you knew you would never…” He shook his head, looking back at Geralt with a tight expression. “Silly of me. I should have known it wouldn’t matter to you, after all. I know you would never honestly consider marrying me.”

They were standing so close, hands clasped tight together between them, barely a foot apart. Jaskier offered him a slight smile, as if trying to share a joke, but this close Geralt could see how twisted it was. Jaskier’s eyes were wet, and his expression was pinched, mouth tight as if he was in pain. And suddenly it was as if all of Geralt’s other concerns were smothered by the desperate imperative to wipe that look from Jaskier’s face. “Why not?” he asked again, defensive on Jaskier’s behalf, reckless in the face of the incomprehensible bereftness on the bard’s face.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Geralt could hear how fast his heart was racing, and even if he couldn’t he would have been able to feel it under the hand that rested on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Well,” he stammered, clearly bewildered. “You wouldn’t—You’ve never, you’ve never wanted me. Like that. I know that, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Geralt took a half step closer, so that their joined hands were nearly pressed to his chest. This close, Jaskier had to look up at him, an ever so slight lift of his chin. Geralt took a breath, Jaskier’s fingers just brushing the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’ve always wanted you,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady. “I meant it. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“But not like that,” Jaskier argued, flustered, his free hand coming up to gesture between them. He looked near tears. “You don’t want me like that. You never have.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me,” Geralt said honestly. A part of him was still crying out that this was a mistake, that he was showing his hand, that Jaskier would run when he knew the full extent of Geralt’s feelings. But Jaskier had to know that he cared. Geralt had let him carry on in doubt for so long, thinking he wasn’t loved, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Jaskier was still, staring at him. His mask was gone. Geralt could see surprise and confusion in his face, and fear too. But there was also something that made his own heart race in his chest, made a warm burst of hope crackle through Geralt’s ribcage, dangerous and heady. “You were going to marry me,” Jaskier said, voice cracking on the word marry.

“I still want to,” Geralt said softly, and summoned the courage to raise his hand up to cradle the side of Jaskier’s neck. His skin was warm, sunkissed and flushed prettily. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to.”

“What if I do want it to?” Jaskier demanded. His voice was hard, but his eyes were still damp.

“Whatever you want,” Geralt agreed. “Anything.”

Jaskier paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes lowered to follow the motion compulsively, and when he glanced back up he found Jaskier looking down at his own lips. They were so close now, their still-bound hands held between their chests, sharing air. “Geralt,” Jaskier rasped, “I can’t do this unless we’re on the same page. If this isn’t going to mean… if it’s not going to be real, then I—”

“I’m in love with you,” Geralt said in a rush, and could have collapsed with the relief of it. He couldn’t help the small smile that stole across his face, even as his knees went weak at the admission. This could all go so badly, if he was reading this wrong. Even still, he felt lighter, as if speaking the words had allowed the feelings to seep past the barriers he’d built up around them.

Jaskier gasped, as if Geralt’s words had physically struck him. For a moment he just gaped, mouth opening and closing. Finally he put his free hand to his chest, pointing to himself emphatically. “With me?”

How was it possible to feel this fond of someone? It should have swallowed him whole, drowning him in a sea of affection. “For a while now, yes,” Geralt replied. “I understand if you don’t—”

Jaskier reached a hand out to grab the front of his shirt, and Geralt had time for one moment of crystalline shock before Jaskier’s mouth met his.

It was not hesitant, or gentle. Jaskier kissed him like he was trying to work himself so deep into Geralt’s mouth that he would never be able to pick all the pieces of him from his teeth. Geralt inhaled sharply at the warm touch of lips to his, and Jaskier wasted no time licking into his mouth. The hand in his shirt clenched tightly, keeping them pressed together with their bound hands awkwardly held between them.

Recovering from his shock, Geralt lifted his hand from Jaskier’s neck and finally held his cheek in his hand, like he’d been aching to the entire time. A slight tilt to Jaskier’s head changed the angle, and it was suddenly good, so good he could feel it in his toes. Jaskier made a wounded noise that Geralt eagerly swallowed. He flicked his tongue along the back of Jaskier’s teeth, and had to quickly take the bard’s weight as his knees buckled.

He lowered them to the grass carefully, separating to pant into the space between them. Jaskier laughed breathlessly as he half fell to his knees, a giddy sound that had Geralt grinning back at him. Geralt couldn’t help but lean forward and press another kiss to Jaskier’s lips, and then another, hot and sweet. Jaskier freed his fingers from where they’d been crushing Geralt’s shirt so that he could wrap his arm around the back of Geralt’s neck, pulling him in close. “You love me,” he laughed, and his eyes were so bright, Geralt could hardly breathe with it.

“I do,” he said, pressing yet another kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “You seem amenable to that.”

Jaskier made a noise that seemed caught halfway between a laugh and sob. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he confessed, voice thick. The words landed softly between them. “Since before the dragon hunt. I didn’t think you would ever—” He cut himself off, turning to bury his face in Geralt’s palm.

“Me either,” Geralt admitted, smoothing his thumb under Jaskier’s eye and catching the faint moisture there. “I mean, I didn’t think you would… want me. Like that.”

“I think I’ve been half in love with you since the beginning,” Jaskier said, chuckling wetly. “Gods, we’ve been a couple of fools, haven’t we? We wasted so much time.”

“I enjoyed it,” Geralt disagreed, a warm tingle spreading through him as Jaskier tightened his arm around his neck. “And we can still… If you still want to go through with it, we could have as much time as we want.”

Jaskier smiled, his heart beating wildly under Geralt’s palm. “So wanting to extend my lifespan wasn’t just about Ciri, then.”

Geralt huffed, ears tingling with embarrassment. “I told you that already,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about Ciri, but I didn’t start looking into the ritual because of her. I just…” And here he stopped, momentarily lost for words. Instead he pressed his lips to Jaskier’s again, before muttering, “I truly couldn’t bear the thought of living without you.”

Jaskier made a soft sound, a gentle oh of an exhale, and Geralt felt it against his lips. “Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier breathed, “you are quite the romantic.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, leaning in again. “Marry me,” he whispered, and what he meant was, Stay with me.

Jaskier surged forward to kiss him again, hard. Geralt had already lost count of how many kisses they’d exchanged in the last few minutes, but he was less and less eager to end them each time. Jaskier pulled away for just long enough to breathe a joyful, “Yes,” against Geralt’s lips. And after that they didn’t come up for air for a long, long time.

*

By the time they had gathered themselves again, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, the promise of night drawing near. The ribbons had become untangled from their hands in their eagerness, the oathstone cast carelessly aside. Sheepishly, they gathered up the materials for the ritual once again, kneeling before each other in the clearing.

It was amazing, Geralt thought, that he had ever managed to keep this a secret, had ever managed to restrain himself from reaching out and taking when Jaskier was before him. The low evening sun lit his hair in fiery shades of amber and gold, disheveled from where Geralt had run his hands through it. There was a dark red mark blooming on the pale skin of his throat, and Geralt wanted to fit his mouth over it again and see if he could match his teeth to the barely-there indents still visible. He had to stop himself from leaning forward again to catch Jaskier’s mouth when their eyes met; if they didn’t do this now they would be here all night.

It was surreal, knowing that this was how it would happen, that it finally was happening. Jaskier was smiling at him, the joy radiating from him echoing the feeling in Geralt’s chest. The earthy smell of the grass that they’d crushed under them filled the air, blanketing the sweet honey scent of the wildflowers. If they’d had time, if they’d been anything like other couples, they might have made crowns of those flowers to rest on each other’s heads. But Geralt didn’t want to wait, and he sensed Jaskier’s own impatience in the way he shifted forward, trousers stained green where his knees had been pressed into the dirt for too long.

It was time.

“Will you say it?” Geralt asked, breathless, anticipation bleeding into terror into longing. Jaskier’s eyebrows came together just slightly, and Geralt could see the question in the slight parting of his mouth, the forward twitch of his chin. So clear to him, after all these years, because this was Jaskier. Jaskier who he loved. “The poem,” he clarified.

Jaskier breathed in slightly, knelt before him in the grass. In the place where their lives had first been twined inexorably together, by choice rather than fate. Jaskier’s voice was as soft, but it rang through the clearing nonetheless, refracting off of the stones. “I will make my vows to thee,” he began, offering out his palm, “where ancient stone hears my voice.” Geralt pressed his own hand down to meet Jaskier’s, the smooth surface of the oathstone held safely in the cage of their fingers. “And the earth will know of my devotion.” The stone was warm against Geralt’s palm, and he didn’t know if it was from some magic or just the warmth of their joined hands. He didn’t think there was really a difference.

Reaching beside him with his free hand, he pulled the ribbon—blue, white, and gold braided carefully together—from his pocket. The white seemed to glow in the twilight, stark against their skin. “I will bind myself to thee in silver strands of moonlight,” Jaskier continued, and Geralt began to twist the ribbon around his own forearm, down and around their hands, back up around Jaskier’s wrist. Once done, he tied the ends together over the top, the knot resting in the hollow between their thumbs. “And the stars will know my adoration,” Jaskier breathed. Geralt looked up to find Jaskier watching him, eyes over bright. Geralt reached out, his hand curving around the back of Jaskier’s neck, thumb resting just under his jaw. He pulled them together, until Jaskier’s forehead rest against his own.

“In a court of our own making, I will make our halves whole,” Jaskier said, his breath ghosting against Geralt’s lips like a promise. “My hand to your hand, my heart to yours.”

“Me lámh le do lámh, me cáerme le do cáerme,” Geralt murmured, and then closed the distance one last time.

~

Last chapter before the epilogue! Truly amazing that this thing is almost done. I know for yall it’s been little over a week, but this has been a big project for me for the better part of a year, so it’s a little bittersweet to be wrapping it up! I’m very happy with how it all turned out, and I’m so grateful to everyone for your wonderful feedback. This chapter’s art is by @silvertonguelover​ and I couldn’t think of a better way to finish off the main story. Thank you!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

[babiesdreams]

Nct reaction to you saying “i love you” out of nowhere for the first time part 3

REQUESTED.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.300

Part 1  Part 2 

--Requests open--

Renjun: 

You decided to learn chinese, as you felt it could be good for communicating with Renjun, and he wanted to help you as much as he could, supporting you through the learning process. So you decided you would finally tell him what you feel in a special way. So you decided you were going to ask him for a bunch of things first. “Hey baby, I am studying verbs right now and I needed your help with some of them” After getting an explanation for the complex grammar, you finally asked him “And how do you say I love you?” you said, waiting for his reaction, but not really getting what you wanted as he was full-on teacher mode. So when he said “Oh that´s Wǒ ài nǐ (我爱你)” You cupped his face on your hands taking his attention back to you “Wǒ ài nǐ Huang Renjun” You said smiling at him sweetly. Even though it was just a purely sweet moment, Renjun could not restrain his tears from falling “You are just so perfect” He said, cleaning the tears from his face.

Jeno:

You and Jeno were on the rooftop hanging out, as you usually did, looking down and admiring the view of the busy highways mixed with the lights of the city in contrast to the dark night sky. You were thinking to yourself about your relationship with him, every little moment, passing through your thoughts as you got lost in them. And you realized right there that you were in love with the way he smiled at you, the looks he gave you and his affectionate kisses. You returned to reality when he started talking “I love this view” he just said looking at the sky. “I love you” It just came out of your mouth, without planning it, and both of you were shocked at your sudden words. But Jeno was fast reacting as he grabbed your hand and kissed it softly. “I love you too princess”

Haechan:

You and Donghyuck were at the beach playing truth or dare to kill the boredom. “Truth” You said. “What is the part of me you like the most?” “Um your personality I guess” You answered honestly. “Oh come on, tell the truth, I know you love this lips” He said kissing the air while joking. “I do, but it isn't the reason I fell in love with you” you explained. “Oh so you are in love with me” He said, raising his eyebrow. “Truth or dare Donghyuck” You said now tired of his jokes. “Dare” He said with a smirk. “I dare you to go into the water and stay there for a whole minute” You said laughing as you watched his reaction. “It is so cold, How dare you??” And before you could realize he caught you bridal style and ran towards the water. Both of you were now in the water and Donghyuck just said “I LOVE YOU Y/N” screaming so the whole world could hear him.

Jaemin:

 It´s been a month since you put a time capsule together with Jaemin. You were nervous as you remembered the content of your part. Jaemin already took it out of the ground and you looked at him expectantly.  You wrote him a long ass poem telling him your feelings and confessing how you loved him. You analized his face as he read the whole thing getting hints of different emotions from his eyes. “Baby, it's so beautiful, but I feel my capsule will answer yours” He said, passing it to you. You started reading his letter as a guitar started playing in front of you. Jaemin was concentrating on getting every note right and started singing the song I´m yours. The mix of the written words and the song made you feel the same way you wanted him to feel about your poem.

Yangyang:

You were excited because of the arrival of your parents´ package. You and Yangyang decided a while ago that it would be fun to share baby photos with each other. So you had to contact your parents to ask them for a couple of photos to share, and they finally arrived. You were both sitting together on the couch and commenting on the photos. “Oh I remember this one, I was four years old and I danced with this boy in the hotel´s party the whole night and I just told him I loved him and that I would marry him in the future” Yang yang started giggling “What?!, You don´t say those things to me” You chuckled and looked at him “Liu Yangyang, I love you and I´m pretty sure I will marry you in the future” You said jokingly. “I know for sure I'll marry you baby” He said kissing you tenderly.

Shotaro: 

You and shotaro were practicing origami and he was teaching you different techniques he looked up on the internet. “And if you do this, you have a dragon” He said showing you his perfect looking dragon, making you feel uneasy as weren't even near to his level. So you folded the paper in your hands making a heart shape with it. “And this is my heart, you know why?” You asked, he shook his head saying no “Because I love you and my heart is yours” You said in a cute way. Shotaro blinked a couple of times as the information was too much for him to process. “I- I think I love you too” He said, hiding his face behind his hands.

Chenle:

You and chenle were taking a walk together around the city as you talked about random memories together, and that day came out. “And you were so nervous just to say you liked me when we were already dating, it was so funny” He said laughing. “It was because I wanted to say something different, I swear i'm not that idiot” You said excusing yourself. “And what did you want to tell me huh?” “That's a secret” You said mysteriously. “Come on tell meeeeee” “I wanted to say that I love you” you just replied as he was sooo curious about it. “huh? You love me?” He would say confused. “Yes I love you so damn hard Chenle” You finally confessed. “I would love me too, it's understandable” he kept joking about it, as he was scared to confess to you too.

Sungchan: 

You were excited to see the result of your bet. You knew sungchan would never have done this if he didn't have too, and that made it fun. He walked around the shopping mall, until he was right on the spot with more people around. And then he looked at you trying to convince himself about what he was about to do. “Y/N I love you” He shouted, loudly enough for you to let it slide and then coming for you all embarrassed. “You did great” you said and he just looked at you challenging “And what about you?” He said coming closer. “Do you love me?” “Of course I love you honey” He chuckled at your confession and you both had a cute date at the mall.

Jisung: 

It was his birthday and you wanted to make something special for him. So you ordered a cake with the message as it was too much for you to just say it. So when the cake arrived you were more than excited. It was so pretty and cute and the words “I love you idiot” could be read from it. So it was no surprise for you when Jisung went straight in for the cake. “Did you order the message?” He said with his mouth full of cake. “Yes baby” you said looking down as the whole situation made you feel shy. “um, I love you too” he said, kissing your now rosy cheeks.

--Requests open--