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kienava · 4 years ago

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~~i stayed up til 4 am and wrote beauyasha and i regret nothing~~

When the Nein return to the tower, Beau finally has a chance to read Yasha's poem.

Awkward conversation ensues in a room full of flowers.

_______

how do i wake my spirit cold? [AO3 link]

It had taken Beau a solid three reads to convince herself that this poem was actually real, not just something that her cold-snapped brain had imagined for a fleeting sense of warmth. She’d gone from staring at the words blankly to reading slowly, scrutinizing the angles of each letter, and on her seventh read she’d discovered that it was impossible to tear her eyes off the piece of parchment in her hands. This was now the eighteenth time in a row she’d scanned over these four lines, though she’d long since memorized their contents. At this point, she was less reading a poem and more gazing at a painting. Its beautiful simplicity hit all at once, like a thin blade between the ribs.

Many months ago, Beau might have guessed that Yasha’s handwriting would resemble her intimidating appearance, or maybe even her fighting style: sharp and strong, rough strokes and firm lines. Now, the slight, slanted script on the page came as no surprise, not when Beau had all but reached out and touched the soft edges hidden under layers of rage and anguish - and shawls. Yasha was big on shawls.

Eventually, Beau knew, she would have to put this piece of paper down and stop reading, but her hands and eyes had yet to consider that idea for themselves.

Her breath stayed steady despite her sparking nerves, years of practice kicking in to steady her. After she folded that piece of parchment up, what could she possibly do? Sleep? Not a gods-damned chance. The tower was safe and still, much unlike the thumping in her chest. As skilled as she’d become at controlling her lungs and diaphragm, the ability to keep her heart calm eluded her.

She knew it was a symptom of something that she’d avoided addressing for as long as possible, a creature that would longer allow itself to be pushed off and locked up. Beau had done her best to drown it alive when she’d learned why Yasha pressed her own heart between the pages of a book to desiccate along with torn petals and broken thorns. Loving dead flowers left little room to tend a new garden.

For all Beau’s attempts to do otherwise, she kept coming back to this, perennially doomed to weather the most apocalyptic storms.

In an effort to inspire some new consideration besides poetry, Beau let the paper flutter onto her desk and took to the fighting post. She’d been curious to see how adaptable the tower’s contents really were, and she’d asked Caleb for a variety of weighted staves to train with in this rendition. She grabbed the heaviest one from its mount on the wall. Maybe if she exhausted herself by whaling on the fighting post, she’d be able to fall asleep sometime in the next several hours.

As soon as she started swinging, it was clear that her plan would be fruitless. Her muscles could go on autopilot and run through routines she knew deep in her bones, and she’d built up too much stamina fighting gnolls and ghosts and undead sea monsters to tire herself to the point of genuine exhaustion.

Despite all of her mediation training, she couldn’t shut her brain off. She’d been in research mode for weeks now, mind racing constantly to piece together theories that somehow sounded less and less wild the more their group trekked on. Even while sparring with this helpless post, she exerted more effort willing herself not to sit back down at her desk and scour between the grains of the paper Yasha had given her for clarity and truth.

She made a last-ditch effort at meditating, sitting in the middle of the room with her legs crossed, counting her inhales and exhales. It was the first technique Dairon had taught her, the simplest form of breathwork. The goal was not to control or influence the breath, but to build awareness of one’s natural pace without judgment. At the time, Beau laughed at the possibility that she could go a second without judging (herself or others). But she'd changed so much since then.

She felt herself smile, recalling a conversation from what felt like ages ago.

Thank you for not judging me, Beau.

Have you seen me? Who am I to fucking judge?

I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you a lot.

Was that it? Was that the moment that the harmless flirting had developed its own sense of gravity? That Beau had suddenly found herself tongue-tied during their most superficial conversations, yet secretly hoping for even the briefest moment alone together?

Without intention, her breath had started to line up with the endearingly crooked meter of the poem repeating infinitely in her mind. She inhaled through one line, then emptied her lungs by the end of the next.

Each time she ran through that short stanza again, more questions frayed out like a string splitting endlessly. None of the answers she sought could be found in the library. She’d only need to go one floor down, not two.

All distractions exhausted, Beau considered knocking on someone else’s door instead of seeking the one stamped with lilacs, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason to do so. Veth and Caleb would be together, huddled in front of a cozy fire and having one of those intense conversations meant only for them. Caduceus usually went to sleep early anyway, and he’d eaten a whopping dinner. No way he’d still be up. Fjord had taken up his own meditation practice, and far be it from Beau to interrupt that. Jester - well, that was just a bad idea. If Beau mentioned the poem (and there was very little chance she’d be able to talk about anything else), Jester might just drag her down to Yasha’s room and throw her through right the door.

If Yasha could be brave, so could Beau. In fights, that was the very thing that pushed her to go as hard as she did. She knew that Yasha would be there to pull her out of a giant lobster claw if her risks didn’t pay off. They had each other's backs, always.

Would that still be the case when neither of them held a weapon in their hands?

Only one way to find out.

Beau opened and closed her own door as quietly as possible. Jester had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Beau’s interactions with Yasha, and Beau really didn’t want to explain anything when she wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on herself. She whispered the command word to the lift and sank slowly to the next floor down. She was careful to keep her knock quiet, though it probably wouldn’t wake Caduceus. No promises that Jester wouldn’t somehow hear it, no matter how thick Caleb claimed the walls were.

There was a long beat before Beau heard footsteps. Her stomach flipped - had she woken Yasha up? Normally she relied on some burst of brash confidence to start a conversation, and it had already taken her nearly an hour to build up the courage to step into the hallway and onto the lift. This was too different from the casual check-ins and mid-battle flirting that had happened more often in recent weeks, and Beau forgot every normal greeting she knew when the lilac-emblazoned door swung open.

She only had one thought: “Yasha.”

“Goodnight, Beau,” Yasha said. Quickly, she added, “Not goodnight like ‘goodbye, you should leave.’ Goodnight as in good morning. Like a greeting, I mean.”

“Ha, yeah. Goodnight, I guess,” Beau replied with a little wave. This was going about as badly as possible. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no. I was just - well, I cannot read Zemnian, but those books Caleb gave us have very nice covers.”

“Yeah, they’re cool,” Beau said. She had an opening here. Might as well take it. “Speaking of reading...”

Yasha raised her eyebrows.

Beau tried to swallow the dryness in her mouth. It didn’t work. “I checked out your poem.”

“Oh, you did?” Yasha asked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.”

Beau wasn’t sure where to go with that, and all she could come up with was a stilted laugh.

Yasha joined in with her own quiet chuckle. The way she bit her lip, lost in thought, made it clear that she was just as much at a loss for words.

This was a bad idea. Beau hadn’t been thinking straight, obviously, when she’d come down here with a million questions and no plan for how to ask them.

“Okay,” Beau said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “I guess I’m gonna--”

“Do you want to come in?”

Beau blinked. “What? I mean, sure. Yeah.”

Yasha stepped back from the door to open it wider, and Beau stepped inside the flower-laden room for the first time since Caleb’s magical mansion tour.

The door settled shut behind them, and they were left standing in the middle of the bright, colorful blossoms.

“So,” Yasha started. She didn’t go on.

“Nice plants,” Beau commented, nearly smacking herself across the face for it.

Fortunately, Yasha smiled at that. “Caleb really thought of everything for this place.”

Beau’s mind flashed to the mirror mounted above her bed, and for the first time in many years she had to remind herself to breathe. She was more than getting ahead of herself.

“Anyway,” Yasha said, drawing out the end of the word a little more than normal, “what brings you down to the fifth floor?”

“Ah, just got lost on my way to the kitchen, thought I’d swing by,” Beau tried.

Every time Yasha let out even a small laugh, Beau counted it as a win.

The most concrete question burning in Beau’s skull was rooted in something ugly and frightened. She asked it anyway. “So did Jester put you up to that?”

“It was her idea, yes,” Yasha admitted.

“Oh,” Beau said, not quite catching her voice from cracking.

“I shouldn’t have said that. She only helped because I asked.”

“So it was your idea?”

“Not quite. I don’t think. Not the poem thing, specifically. I told her I wanted to...do something, for you, and that is what she suggested.”

Beau fought against the urge to convince herself that those words could mean anything other than what she wanted to hear. She’d been jumping through flaming mental hoops for weeks, maybe months, trying to talk herself out of this. And then Yasha had the pleasant audacity to write her a poem.

“No one’s ever done that before. For me,” Beau reiterated. She held her hands up. “Hey, I’m no expert, but I thought it was dope.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yasha dismissed.

“No, I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Yasha busied herself by stroking the petal of a nearby flower with her thumb, a small smile creeping in.

“Why’d you write it?” Beau asked.

Yasha’s fingers stilled. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flower in her hand, and her slight smile grew.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Beau?”

There was the answer Beau wanted to give, and then there was the truth. In the dense quiet, the latter won out. “Not really. Kinda wish I did. Do you?”

“I think...” Yasha gently plucked the flower from its stem. “I think they are all my favorite.”

“Really?”

Yasha nodded, cradling the flower in her palm.

It was, quite possibly, the happiest Beau had ever seen her. She suddenly wished that she knew the name of this plant, of every plant in the room. If something could bring Yasha such tranquil joy, it was worth knowing.

“The ones in this room are from all over. I’ve never even heard of some of them,” Yasha said.

“Caleb probably read about a thousand botany books just for this.”

“Probably,” Yasha laughed.

“Come on. You’ve gotta have a favorite,” Beau pushed, in the back of her mind hoping that she could use the information for future reference.

Yasha shook her head. “My book...I was keeping it for Zuala at first, but I think I am also keeping it for myself now. I want to remember the places that I’ve been and the things that happened there. Because those things have brought me here, and I am very happy about that, even if some of what happened was...not so happy. I would not be here, with all of you, without every single one of those flowers.”

She held her hand out, presenting the plucked flower. Beau stared at the five long, carefree, white petals, tinged with a sunshiny yellow at the tips. Slowly, she reached out and was surprised to find the petals were rich and soft like velvet. She couldn’t recall ever seeing it before - maybe it was from Xhorhas.

“And,” Yasha met Beau’s eyes, “finding new favorite flowers to add to my book does not mean I forget the old ones.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Beau agreed.

“This one reminds me a lot of you, actually,” Yasha said, almost whispering to herself.

Beau felt her heart skip. She’d never been given a poem before, and she’d certainly been compared to something so delicate and precious. She wracked her brain for something witty to say, but she’d never been very good at that around Yasha. “It does?” she choked out.

“It grows in the desert,” Yasha explained. “It's very stubborn and strong. We called it Sunsbane. Even with very little water, it survives the hottest days. The buds stay closed for many years, but the plant stays strong. The roots grow deeper than you’d ever guess just from looking at it above the surface. It can take a long time, but when the nights get cool enough, the flowers finally bloom.” She paused, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “You probably didn’t come here to hear so much about plants, though.”

Beau could very well have been in the desert herself at the moment - her mouth went dry again, and she felt like it was about a thousand degrees in that room.

Untrusting of her own ability to form words after that, she lifted the flower from Yasha’s hand, then reached up and tucked its short stem back where Yasha had fixed her hair.

“Hey,” Beau managed.

“Mhm?”

“You can tell me about plants anytime, alright?”

“Alright,” Yasha returned. “Okay.”

Beau retreated a step, realizing how close they’d been standing. “White’s kinda more your color, though. Plus, the yellow really...your eyes, it - works. Looks nice. Um, goodnight.”

There was a strange look on Yasha’s face, like she was thinking too hard.

“What?” Beau risked asking.

“Just that...I didn’t answer your question yet. About the poem.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s cool, honestly--”

“Beau.” Yasha said her name so softly that Beau had no choice but to stop protesting.

Yasha took the flower from behind her ear and clutched it to her chest. “You should know that I like this flower very much.”

So much of Beau’s old self - the person who’d just tried to leave again - wanted to bolt for the door, but her new self locked down and stood her ground. Inhale, exhale. “I think it likes you, too,” she said weakly.

Yasha waved her hand, still holding onto the flower. “Jester said some things, and I - well, I don’t know. I didn’t think I should hear them from someone else in case they weren’t true or--”

“They are,” Beau jumped in. “I don’t know what she said, exactly, but I can guess.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like I tried not to for a while. And then that became more impossible than it already was. Just like Sunsbane, I guess. Deep roots, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said suddenly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Not that I - I wasn’t expecting anything. You’ve surprised me in a lot of ways, is all.”

Beau couldn’t handle the guilt on Yasha’s face. It wasn’t her fault, everything that had happened to her, to them. Beau would’ve waited a thousand days in the desert if it meant letting Yasha heal and find herself.

The gap between them had shrunk again, somehow, but it was more unbearable than ever. It felt like every time they got closer by half, always lessening the space but never quite meeting. But Beau was very good at breaking things, and, for once, she could break something for good. Her palm met Yasha’s cheek, fingertips curling around a small braid hanging loosely.

“You said those flowers are pretty damn patient, right?” Beau said.

Yasha nodded almost imperceptibly, like she was afraid Beau’s hand would pull back.

“Then I think you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still.”

“Well,” with much less confidence than she’d hoped for, Beau asked, “you gonna kiss me or what?”

Yasha’s eyes closed for a moment, her expression neutral save for the slight crease between her brows and the subtle part of her lips. When her eyes opened again, her gaze was angled down slightly, plotting a trajectory that Beau had hardly dared to dream of.

“You’re sure?” Yasha said softly.

Beau’s answer was no more than a breath of a laugh.

Yasha went on. “I just want to make sure that you are sure. I’m very sure, at this point, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be--”

Beau cut her off as gently as possible.

For a moment, Beau’s mind went blissfully blank.

Then it hit her. She was kissing Yasha.

It started soft - not tentative, but quiet.

And then, miracle of miracles, Yasha was kissing her back, and she was much less patient. She was lightning and thunder striking at once, a storm raw and deafening in its power. Beau wondered when her knees would give out under the sheer weight of it - until solid arms circled around her waist and pulled her in.

Desperate to hold onto something, Beau’s fingers wound into Yasha’s hair. Her other hand was trapped just below Yasha’s collarbone, grasping tighter until blunt nails scraped past a cloth edge and found skin.

Maybe Beau did have a favorite flower, after all.

***

#beauyasha #beauyasha fic #beauyasha fluff #i haven't really written for them but i decided to fix that #my writing

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syeko · 4 years ago

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Taking Care of You Ch. 2

Find it on AO3 or down below the cut!

@marichatmay

The black leather clad superhero stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of pinks and whites of Marinette’s room. From the walls and the bedding and the furniture down to the sweats and fluffy socks she was wearing, a swirl of pinks and whites that was just so very Marinette, and if he wasn’t feeling as cagey as he was, he would have commented something. Instead of a pun however, he busied himself by fidgeting with his tail, the leather a comfortable weight in his palms as he watched Marinette. The horrible itch from earlier had subsided somewhat, but it was still very much there, preventing him from standing still as he watched Marinette make her way around her room, hands grasping at various items. A closer look confirmed that the pile materials his classmate was in the middle of picking up seemed like assorted fabrics and discarded sheets with notes and designs scribbled onto them.

“Sorry about the mess, Chat,” Marinette broke the silence, a soft upturn of her lips accentuating the smattering of red across her cheeks. She fiddled with her fingers, the action so familiar to Chat from their shared time in the classroom. He’d always found it endearing, the movements bringing a small smile onto his own face.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Princess,” he cocked his head to the side, green eyes sweeping over the fabrics and papers, and a small puddle of shame pooled in his stomach, “Were you in the middle of working on something?”

Marinette waved a hand, “Not really, nothing was coming together anyways,” she shrugged, “you just so happened to drop by at the perfect time, I could use a break.”

He blushed, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but the light huff of her laughter cut him off before he could say anything.

“Before you ask, no Ki-Chat, you aren’t bothering me, and no I’m not lying,” she crossed her arms loosely, “I really could use a break from designing, and what better way to do that than with the best cat in Paris?”

“Aww, Purrincess, do you really think I’m the best cat in Paris?” He grinned, the compliment, as silly as it was, making his heart swell, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering. Just as quickly had the feeling come however, it was dampened by a reminder of the mess he’d made outside and the time he was taking away from his friend. No doubt she had much better ways of spending her time than with a stray cat, but the promise of help with his…problem kept his curiosity peaked, and he would be lying to say that he wasn’t eager to feel normal again.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Marinette grinned before moving to her chaise, legs curling up on the cushions before she patted the spot next to her, “Come.”

Chat couldn’t help but raise a masked eyebrow at the request, but he obliged after a moment’s hesitation and an encouraging smile from the girl clad in pink. The confidence and authority she radiated, even in worn sweats and a t-shirt was new, at least towards him. Well, Adrien him. He was well aware of Marinette’s leadership and quick thinking capabilities spurred on by her undying resolve for justice, but he was hardly on the receiving end of such confidence. In fact, in most cases, it seemed like the midnight haired girl wanted nothing more than to scurry away from him at every given opportunity.

Shaking his head minutely to dispel the sidetracked thoughts, he focused on making his way over to the (once again, pink) chaise, sinking slowly into the soft cushions below. The sunlight from her window spilled into the room, warming up the seat just so, the temperature soothing his nerves and his muscles as he wiggled on the spot. The itch was back, simmering and swirling underneath his skin, but this time, it was accompanied by the almost instant drooping of his eyelids.

Everything was so deliciously warm, and cozy. The cushion was just the right amount of bounce and firmness, and had he been alone, he wouldn’t hesitate to sprawl himself all over the chaise, relishing in the space and the comfort. But, as much as he wished to, he forced himself to stay upright, blinking the haze away harshly in order to focus on his friend so she could fix whatever was wrong with him.

“So, what’s the plan?” He turned to face Marinette, surprised to see her giggling softly. He frowned, not following the reason for her laughter. Not that he minded hearing it, and the realization made him blink with a start. Before he had time to dwell on the revelation however, she reached out to place a warm palm against his shoulder.

“You’re such a cat,” she snorted softly before her expression settled into something more serious, “I think that’s the problem actually.”

He felt his nose scrunch up, trying and failing to keep his mind off the tingling sensation from where her skin was making contact with his suit.

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m not sure I quite follow?”

Her lips pursed, the thumb and pointer finger of her free hand curling around her chin. The action sparked a vague feeling of familiarity, and he was reminded fondly of a similar pose his Lady would don as she was coming up with a plan or thinking over new information.

“Well, and I’m only speculating here again, of course, because you know Alya, my friend, I’m sure you and Ladybug have seen her around a lot, she runs the Ladyblog you know so we talk a lot about this stuff so it’s not weird or anything-“

Chat blinked as her palm slipped away from his shoulder, her rambling and the gestures so characteristic, borderline comical, that he couldn’t help but splutter out a chuckle.

“You’re rambling, Marinette,” he patted her knee, offering a quick smile to placate the blush that stole her cheeks, “I know you’re only trying to help, so don’t worry okay?”

After a second of staring at him, wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights, she nodded slowly, the pink receding from her face and once again replaced with firm determination.

With a steady breath, she continued.

“I think that there are some spillover effects from the Miraculous. We know that the Miraculous are in some way representative of certain animals, Ladybug being well…a ladybug and yours being the black cat. Your powers are reflective of certain qualities related to those animals- kind of like instincts or behaviours? So what’s to say that the effects of the Black Cat Miraculous don't just pertain to agility or night vision?” Marinette paused to shrug, “It could be very possible that you’re experiencing the less uh…pronounced behaviours that have just been building up over time?”

Chat was taken aback, feline eyes wide as he processed what his friend was saying. The fact that Marinette was able to figure out something so quickly, much quicker than he himself could, from so little information was both astounding and terrifying. Marinette was smart and resourceful, he knew that, but if she had managed to figure out this much, it made him wonder what other information was out there waiting to be analyzed and figured out.

Hawkmoth had to have internet access after all.

The thought made him twitch, tail settling between his clawed fingers once more as he worried his bottom lip. The original reason for his presence in Marinette’s room was forgotten for a moment, he couldn’t but worry about the implications of this revelation.

“Chat...?”

Marinette’s voice was quiet as she looked at him with worried eyes, and he mentally smacked himself for letting a civilian worry. He boxed away his worries, making a note to bring it up to Ladybug at some point; maybe the two heroes would have to have a talk with Alya and other news reporters on the dangers of speculation and posting information online where villains could no doubt use to their advantage.

“Ah, my a-paw-logies Purriness, I was just blown away by your deductions. Tell me, have you ever considered forensics or law, Mademoiselle Sherlock?”

He grinned when she rolled her eyes, reaching out to flick his bell. The sound sent a wonderful shiver down his spine.

“That depends. Are you willing to be my Dr. Watson?”

“Well if you’re paw-sitive you can handle the galaxies inside this brain,” he winked.

Marinette pressed a flattened palm to her chest with a drawn out gasp, “However will we all cope? Imagine the headlines!”

Chat swiped a hand through the air, “I can see it now, ‘Local Cat Discovered to Have Infinite Braincells’.”

Marinette copied the gesture, barely suppressing her smirk, “‘Scientists Discover that None of Them Are Actually Functional After Testing’.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing,” she laughed, reaching up to scratch a spot behind his ears in apology. The change was almost instantaneous, surprising Marinette with just how fast his body froze for a moment before his eyes fluttered close. He leaned into her hand, and from this close, the young designer could see the ripple of his muscles relaxing underneath his suit, slumping against her.

Not that she minded too much.

Her earlier deductions, while not explicitly sourced from the internet, seemed to be right as a familiar low rumble filled the room, causing her lips to twitch fondly. Chat Noir had begun to purr again, the vibrations echoing in her own chest. She thanked Lady Luck that her Kitty’s eyes were still closed, because at the moment she was absolutely certain her poor cheeks were burning.

But this wasn’t about her, she sighed internally, carding her fingers through silken gold. The sunlight reflected against his hair, highlighting the gold of his eyelashes against the deep black of the domino mask. She traced patterns through the stray strands atop his head, discovering with suppressed delight that the spots behind both Chat’s human and cat ears had the same effect, and the longer the scratching and rhythmic movements went on, the louder the rumbling got.

Her eyes softened at the innocence of it all, recalling how he had purred earlier when he was caught red-handed on her balcony, no doubt in an effort to self-soothe. The initial sound had been quiet, hesitant and tinged with low notes, giving away the boy’s embarrassment at what occurred and Marinette marveled at the reminder of how sensitive Chat Noir could be. Now however, the vibrations were loud and light, and with a uncontrollable flutter of her heart, she couldn’t help but be proud that she was the cause of such a blatant display of relief and trust from her partner (despite him not knowing that she was his beloved Lady, but she’ll count it nonetheless).

Gently guiding Chat’s head to her lap, she realized with another powerful thud of her heart that the poor kitty had fallen asleep, she relaxed back against the pillows on her chaise. She’d doubted for a moment if leading Chat to her room and exposing so much was a good idea, knowing that with every encounter with the black cat, she ran the risk of compromising their identities. The familiar twinge of anxiety made her frown, and she knew that she would no doubt be hearing from Tikki later on about the unexpected development between her civilian identity and Chat Noir, and Marinette couldn’t help but dread the coming conversation. However, with a glance down at the serene expression on her partner’s porcelain complexion, she pushed her worries aside, saving them to card over later. For now, her kitty needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down.

In or out of the mask.

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #marichatmay2021 #sye writes

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see-arcane · 5 years ago

Text

Meal Plan

A conversation held in a cozy cabin.

“Jon?”

“Mm?”

“How well do you feed on paper statements? Like, how much do they really do for you, diet-wise?”

“Ah, not as much as I’d like. The closest thing I can compare it to is dietary supplements. Less food and more, you know, powder with all the vitamins and proteins mixed in.” Jon had made what he’d hoped was a comical face of disgust. “Taste just as dry too.”

Martin had hummed. His eyes no longer moved on his book.

“Live statements,” he said, “those were more like real food?”

“Like—yeah, like it used to be for me. Much as I can still, you know, process ‘real food,’ I’m starting to lose it once it gets past the teeth.”

“What? How do you ‘lose’ food?”

“I mean all the stuff that made it food to me is starting to fade. Less flavor when I bite in, less mass actually filling my stomach. If I, ah, still have an ordinary stomach. I-I read a statement once, about Albrecht von Closen, and he—it—,” a hard swallow from Jon, “it didn’t end well for him. Inside him, his anatomy had changed. A lot.” A forced laugh. “Best not to get an x-ray anytime soon. It’d probably give the radiologist a heart attack.”

“Oh.” More pensive quiet. No turning of pages. “Jon?”

“Yes?”

“How many statements are there in the Archives?”

Jon had Beheld the Knowledge, the exact number coming directly into his head with hardly a strain, and he’d nearly opened his mouth to say it. Nearly. He’d looked to Martin who was still staring at the unturned page.

“…Why do you ask?”

“Curious.”

“Why are you curious?”

“Well, between the investigation and the rarity of witnesses coming in to give real statements to begin with, I can’t imagine it’ll be an infinite supply. Not a healthy one either, if your appetite really is getting bigger. You went through three yesterday before you felt full.”

“I can pare it down. Go on a diet.”

“Jon, you’re a scarecrow as it is. Any more dieting and you’ll blow away in a strong breeze.”

“Don’t give the Vast ideas.”

“Don’t avoid the subject.”

“What subject?”

“If—,” Martin started, stopped. Restarted: “If a paper statement was written immediately after the writer experienced it, would that be a closer equivalent to a live statement?”

“In my experience, yes. So long as the statement was from present day and not some backlog from earlier years. Why?”

“Would it matter if—if it was the same person giving multiple statements? Just experiencing a bunch of scary run-ins with the Fears? Even if they, ah, sought them out? Hypothetically?”

“Martin.”

“Would it work with live sta—?”

“Martin.”

Martin had quieted. They’d looked at each other, measuring just how much resistance there was in the others’ face. How much they’d have to wheedle or coax or fight past to make the other give in. Neither of them saw easy battles.

“No,” from Jon.

“It’s a possibility.”

“It is not.”

“A last resort, then. If we can’t figure another—,”

“We will.”

“Maybe. But it’s always good to have a plan B.”

“That isn’t plan B. It isn’t even plan Z. Because that is not an option.”

“Neither is you risking your life, getting chewed up by eldritch horrors that have no right to exist in a sane world, and dragging me out of another dimension, just for you to kill yourself by refusing to eat what’s available—Jon? Jon.”

Jon had been out of the bed, then the room. Martin had followed him out to the porch. There had been no row, no proper shouting. Not even talk. Martin had just folded himself around Jon like a towering shawl and held him tight. Jon had turned against him and embraced back. Another look, another bout of measuring each other. Still no ground given. No easy victories.

But those battles weren’t for now.

Now was here, far and safe. Now was the heavy packet of statements still being consumed beside the fireplace, others to come. Hundreds, Jon would tell Martin later. Thousands. Honest. There was time. Martin would not disagree. They would not look at each other then.

In the end, it won’t matter. The Change would come and remove all thought of succor. That didn’t matter either.

They’d held onto the now as long and as hard as they could.

Neither of them craving anything beyond the circle of their arms.

Ao3 link

#my hobbies include making myself sad and making others sad #enjoy #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #storytime #the magnus archives

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is-that-another-soulmate-au · 4 years ago

Text

Zukka Soulmate AU part 11

@mypureessence

@chaoticidiott

@ari-shipping-stuff

@knightedbot

@idkhowbutimgayer

@swampy-beans

@angrylittleintrovert

"Kurt? Kurt I thought I'd never find you! And here of all places!" Jen called out as the pair turned to him "and... with an.. earth girl... Kurt, we've talked about this"

Kurt pushed Lily behind him "no, you burned me, there was no talking dad."

"Wait, this is your dad? Your dad was one of them?" Lily asked in a terrified voice "does that mean the other two are alive?"

"Uh... who are you exactly?" Jen asked with a bored tone

"Amber village the Soyin family you burned before being taken down by earthbenders? I fell out of the cupboard afterwards" Lily said while holding her side holstered blades.

"Oh yes! I remember you! The nonbender who was playing hide and seek with her big sister Yana right? Pity she didn't last long, her heart must have been struggling for a while, such a shame. Really it is. But its too late for you to save her now little Lily petal"

"YAAAAH" Lily pulled out her blades and threw them at Jen managing to pin him against the wall behind him without damaging anything else "How dare you speak her name! How dare you pretend to care! How dare you show yourself in a sacred library of all places!" Lily grabbed Kurt "I. Hope. You. ROT." Running off they quickly lost sight of him and closed in on where they knew the rest of the group was.

"I had no idea my dad was one of the men who... Im so sorry, I would have to-" Lily pulled Kurt into a kiss right as the reached the group

"Im not angry with you Kurt, now please stop talking so much... just, wait until we're out of here okay?"

"A-hem! Hello earth to love birds what's going on?" Sokka snipped out "come on we have a clue we need to figure out"

"Lily, He will get out of that, we have to get everyone out of here before he tries to kill us again" Kurt murmured when the others walked off

"Till that man who just left tries to kill you?" The researcher said from behind the pair making them turn to see a glimpse of Jen before he managed to get out.

"Yeah... that man..." Kurt said with a sigh of relief

"Well, I think you two are good now, go catch up with your friends"

Meanwhile outside the library Zuko was throwing flame after flame while landing kicks on the sandbenders to no avail, he was quickly caught in... well... sand, forced to sink in completely before Tarren could get to him. He held his breath knowing if he took a breath he would likely inhale sand and practically drown.

With his world dark and most of his senses practically shut off his mind spun around like an infinite top. In this moment he finally had the ability to think, and that was never good. Thinking to the band on his wrist he remembered Sokka being gentle with him that morning and tying it around his neck, and then his harshness when he told him how angry it made him to see it there. What did he want? All Zuko wanted was for Sokka to at least give him a chance. He just wanted that gentle feeling from that morning back. He didnt understand what was going on. But he wanted to, maybe he could fix it.

Suddenly he was being forced back up and his world was light again and Tarren ran over to him while he was gasping for air and choking "the sandbenders!" He wheezed out "where are they"

"Tarren said they ran off with Appa" that wasn't Tarren... Zuko looked up to see Sokka and flinched back "woah, what's gotten into you?"

"I... it's nothing," when Sokka went to help him up he pushed his hands away and stood up by himself seeing the disappointed look cross Sokka's face when he did.

With Aang flying off to find Appa and Katara leading the group around with an intoxicated Sokka, their odds of surviving were thin, but... eventually they made it out with the help of a sand sailor, a returned Aang, and the Sandbemders who took Appa in the first place.

After they made it out they stopped to recuperate at a town a good while away from the desert and oasis. They took up two rooms in the towns inn, the rooms being given for free on the account of Aang being the avatar. There were five cots in each room, Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph and Zuko took one while Tarren, Lily, Kurt, Iroh and Jee took the other.

"Ah! Cozy bed, not a hard ground with the possibility of pricklesnakes getting into Sokka's sleeping bag and him waking the rest of us up!" Toph exclaimed making everyone except Sokka laugh

"Oh will you guys shut up! It happened twice! And the first time it was Aang messing with me!" Sokka turned to see Zuko still laughing a bit, covering his mouth that was clearly formed into a smile as soon as Sokka turned. That smile that Sokka saw so rarely that it pissed him off. "Why are you laughing? You haven't even been in the group that long" Sokka snapped harshly at Zuko

Zuko looked surprised for a second before glaring at him hard "what is your problem with me!? Ive done anything and everything I can to help all of you since I joined, I just almost suffocated in sand trying to save your bison!"

"That doesn't matter! I mean yeah, it matters! But-!"

"But what?! But what Sokka!? I dont know what you want from me! I mean fuck! I was wearing this band on my wrist to be respectful to you because I know it looks similar to betrothal necklaces, but you were the one who tied it on my neck that morning! And then all of a sudden it makes you mad!? Whats that about huh!?" Zuko's voice cracked "do you really hate the fact that we're soulmates that much? Do you hate me that much?"

"I mean... of course you hate me! Why wouldnt you!? I'm a terrible person thats pretty clear right!? But I'm trying to do better and it just.. it just seems you don't even want me to.. to be here? To be alive? Fuck sokka why did you run to me when I was pulled out of the sand!?" Zuko let out a laugh through his spilling tears "I mean it's not like you care right? You don't even want me in the group!"

"Shut up! Of course I want you in the group! I don't hate you Zuko! I tied the band around your neck because I love you okay!? And thats why I'm so mad! I'm mad because people like you took my mom and now you're my soulmate, but I wouldn't change you out for anyone in the world and it makes me so mad how much thats true okay! Now can we all just go to sleep!?" Sokka blurted out while backing Zuko into a corner

"You... you love me?" Zuko breathed out in a near silent whisper

Sokka sighed "Zuko, shut up. Just go to sleep"

And with that Sokka turned and got into his own bed quickly dozing off as if he didnt just confess everything to Zuko infront of everyone. Zuko on the otherhand was frozen in place with red tear stained cheeks looking at everyone before Katara moved to help him to his cot "sorry" he mumbled to her only receiving a 'youre fine in return

Meanwhile in the other room the group was staring at the wall they shared before clearing their throats and turning back to eachother "well, Im glad nephew figured it out" Iroh said

"Yeah, hes been suppressing that outburst for a while, I was surprised he didn't snap before we got here" Jee shrugged before the two old men rolled over to sleep.

Tarren and Lily hand pushed their cots against either side of Kurts with Tarren bending some rock around the legs to keep them in place through the night. Kurt just laid stick straight, awkwardly laying there before Lily and Tarren wrapped their arms around him and he relaxed into the affection with a sigh. "Is this alright?" Tarren asked in a whisper

"Yeah, yeah, its okay" Kurt said with a small sigh when Lily ran her fingers through his hair and he absolutely melted into the feeling.

Soon enough the entire group had fallen asleep, though they would soon wake up and have to prepare for a journey to Ba Sing Se on foot.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #prince zuko #zuko #atla zuko #atla oc #atla sokka #sokka #zukka #i will die on my endless soulmate au hill #soulmate alternate universe #soulmates #soulmate #RayMakesSoulmates #earthbender oc #earthbender #firebender oc #firebender #nonbender

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carmenlire · 4 years ago

Text

Strawberry Skies

written for BTS Aspec Week over on twitter!

read on ao3

This date is pretty damned perfect, if Yoongi says so himself.

It’s a sunny day, late autumn air crisp, and there’s no place he’d rather be right now.

Right now being at an open air market in a cozy Seoul neighborhood. There are dozens of stalls selling everything from cheese to ornaments to toys. When Taehyung had invited him here for their next date, Yoongi hadn’t hesitated to accept.

It’s comfortable in the way Taehyung doesn’t hesitate to pull Yoongi to whatever stall catches his eye and the conversation flows smoothly. They’ve only been together a few weeks but Yoongi’s never felt so good with someone else, so warm and comfortable and, frankly, not annoyed at extended amounts of quality time spent together.

Taehyung keeps him on his toes, though, all while making sure he’s not overwhelmed or tired out or just over it all.

And while he won’t ever say it out loud, at least not yet, Yoongi privately thinks that it might just be impossible to tell Taehyung no, that Yoongi would do anything with him if he just asked.

There’s just one tiny, teensy, very small problem that’s not really a problem at all but more of a conundrum.

“Hey, hyung, look at this,” his boyfriend’s voice brings Yoongi over from where he was looking at carved wooden animals to the stall next door where Taehyung’s eyeing a cupcake.

As he nears, Yoongi shivers a little and pulls his coat closer to him. They’ve been here an hour or so and the temperature is dropping. It’s still sunny and barely enough to notice but Yoongi, who hates the cold, can definitely feel the difference. Crowding closer to Taehyung under the guise of looking at the cupcakes too, their hands knock into each other. Yoongi’s heart beats a little faster, even at so small a gesture, and he wants.

He wants to hold Taehyung’s hand.

But he’s nervous. Everything is still so new and Yoongi has been told a time or two in the past that he can be too clingy, that once he’s comfortable with someone, he’s too comfortable and he doesn’t want to freak his new boyfriend out by holding hands when he clearly doesn’t feel the same need.

See Yoongi’s predicament.

They haven’t done much of anything yet. Really, Yoongi wonders if they don’t look like just friends when they’re out on dates for there’s no kissing, no holding close, no hand-holding or footsie under the table or anything really to give away that Yoongi likes Taehyung so much he feels like vibrating sometimes when he’s on the receiving end of that boxy grin, like he’s won something infinitely precious whenever Taehyung laughs at something he says or looks at him with wide eyes like he’s seeing everything Yoongi tries so hard to hide.

It’s a lot. Taehyung’s a lot but Yoongi kinda feels like a sunflower opening up under that intense stare and warm smile.

The two of them don’t say anything for a moment, just look over the display of baked goods before Taehyung shifts and Yoongi freezes when an arm drops over his shoulders, shivers-- though definitely not from the cold-- when he feels Taehyung speak low into his ear.

“What do you think, hyung? Salted caramel or blueberry lemon?”

It takes a minute for the words to register, Yoongi far too aware of how close his boyfriend is. He feels small tucked into Taehyung like this and apparently his boyfriend is a heater masquerading as a human person because he’s so warm that Yoongi feels himself starting to thaw almost immediately.

Debating, Yoongi stares at the two cupcakes before shrugging and turning to look at Taehyung. When he turns, Yoongi realizes just how close the two of them are and he’s breathless for a whole new reason. Taehyung doesn’t look affected though, just looks at him expectantly with a wide smile and patient eyes, waiting for him to make a decision, and Yoongi is in definite like.

A little flustered, Yoongi manages to whisper, “Salted caramel.” Taehyung’s grin widens.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he exclaims and turns toward the cashier to order.

Yoongi zones out a little, still leeching Taehyung’s body heat, but he startles when Taehyung holds out a steaming cup. “I ordered a hot chocolate too. Want to share?”

Smiling, Yoongi accepts the drink. Humming a little, he brings the cup up to his face and breathes in, warm chocolate making everything seem that much cozier. When he looks up to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, he sees Taehyung watching him with a fond smile, something quieter than his usual. “Thanks, Tae-ah.”

“No problem, hyung. You looked a little cold anyway.”

Before Yoongi can reply, Taehyung is turning to the next stall. Yoongi takes a sip of the hot chocolate and almost chokes on it when he feels Taehyung’s hand take hold of his.

Just like that. Casual, without thought, Taehyung reaches for Yoongi with the hand not holding the cupcake and slides their palms together, intertwining their fingers.

It’s such a simple gesture but Yoongi loves it. It’s the way Taehyung keeps him close, a point of contact when the crowd gets a little busier, and his hand is so warm, so inviting.

Handholding is one of his favorite things and he hates that it’s so underrated. It’s intimate without being too much-- Yoongi’s not one for public displays but he’d happily hold Taehyung’s hand for the rest of the day.

Yoongi hopes Taehyung is ready for that.

Still, as they trade sips of hot chocolate and bites of cupcake, Yoongi marvels at Taehyung’s confident approach. His grip isn’t tight, Yoongi more than capable of letting go if he wanted, but he's starting to think Taehyung might be more hands-on than he’d thought at the beginning. In the way he’d unselfconsciously pulled Yoongi close, the seamless way he’d reached out for him, Taehyung seems very comfortable with the kind of clinginess that had made Yoongi’s other partners wary in the past.

Yoongi can only hope.

As afternoon fades into early evening and Yoongi’s feet start hurting, he curls a little tighter into Taehyung whenever they stop at a stall, holding his hand all the while. Yoongi doesn’t let go.

Taehyung doesn’t either.

Taehyung is so tired he could cry.

His train had been delayed for hours and it’s finally pulling into Seoul, well after dark and it might even be past midnight but he doesn’t even want to check the time.

He’d gone home to visit his family back in Daegu for a couple of weeks but he’d been antsy to return to the city. His family had noticed his eagerness and had teased him mercilessly, asking him what could be so important that he kept his phone on him at all times when usually, Taehyung was content enough to leave his cell in his room and forget about it until he went to bed at night.

When Taehyung unexpectedly blushed at his family’s gentle ribbing, he’d been almost as surprised as them. Because while he has the habit for falling for people for split seconds or a heavy moment, he’s never been so into someone like he is with Yoongi.

His dad had latched onto the name and with a raised brow, asked his son if things were serious, if he could see things becoming serious.

At that, Taehyung had felt his cheeks warm even more, if that was possible. He’s only been dating Yoongi for a couple of months but he’s so deep in like that he can already see it tipping over into something else, something more.

Which brings him back to now when he’s finally back in Seoul, hours after he’d told Yoongi he’d arrive. Yoongi was going to pick him up at the train station but Taehyung had texted him when he’d realized that the minor delay had become a dead end stop, letting his boyfriend know that it was hard to tell when he’d be back, that hyung you don’t need to pick me up, I’ll just see you on Wednesday for our usual movie night, no really it’s fine, I don’t want you to stick around a freezing train station just waiting for me for who knows how long.

The two of them had texted for a while, bickering lightly back and forth about everything from Yoongi insisting that it wasn’t a problem, he could just camp out at a coffee shop nearby, to debating how penguins pick the perfect pebble to give to their mates.

That was until Taehyung’s phone had died and had officially cemented this as the worst day he’s had all month.

He has a meeting early in the morning and it will be at least another hour after they finally arrive at the station before Taehyung will be walking into his apartment. He’d been hoping to enjoy a few hours with his boyfriend after being away for a couple weeks-- it was a little embarrassing maybe, how much he’d missed Yoongi-- but no, Taehyung will be lucky if he stumbles back to his place and manages a few hours sleep before he has to face a hectic day full of meetings and a long shoot in the afternoon that will probably also drag on past midnight by the time all’s said and done.

Taehyung is so tired, not just because of today but how it will have a definite and potentially disastrous domino effect on tomorrow, and he just wants to curl up and rest and reset.

Hearing the automated voice announce that they’ve reached their final destination, Taehyung sighs, grabs his bag and picks up his trash. He exits the train, following everyone else out in a zombie queue of fatigue and bitter resignation.

Tossing his trash in the nearest garbage can, Taehyung’s just debating whether to call a cab or take the bus to his place when a voice breaks through the din.

“Taehyung-ah?”

Startled, Taehyung looks up and stares dumbly at the person who’d called out. In the back of his mind, he officially puts one Min Yoongi on the list of most stubborn people he knows.

“Yoongi-hyung?”

His boyfriend smiles and while it starts as a hesitant, soft thing, it quickly moves to a full grin, visible gums and all. In his exhausted, drained haze, Taehyung’s breath catches at just how pretty Yoongi is and how lucky he is to be on the receiving end of such a look.

Before he can say anything though, Yoongi’s reaching for his bag and throwing it over his own shoulder, rushing out, “I know you said that I didn’t have to wait and I’m sorry if I overstepped and you want alone time but I didn’t think you’d want to have to mess with finding a ride home and--” Yoongi cuts off for a minute, seems to take a big uncertain breath before he softly trails off with, “and I missed you and wanted to see you, even if it’s only for a car ride home and you kind of look like death warmed over, no offense.”

Taehyung just stares at him, mouth slightly parted as he listens to the rambling explanation. There are butterflies erupting somewhere in him before he even fully takes in Yoongi’s words.

Before he quite knows what he’s doing, Taehyung steps closer to Yoongi and throws his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

The impact is solid and Taehyung hears Yoongi let out a little oof, then a thud as Taehyung’s duffel bag falls off Yoongi’s shoulder onto the ground.

Neither one pays any mind to it.

Yoongi is still for a moment and Taehyung’s brain has just started to come back online. He’s blearily wondering if he’d moved too fast-- for even though they’ve been dating for a couple of months, this is their first hug, the first time they’re so close together with hardly any space between them-- when Yoongi must get over the shock that is Taehyung, with his defenses down and his overwhelming need for physical affection, fairly launching himself at the object of said affections.

Yoongi slowly brings his arms up to wrap around Taehyung’s middle and they both melt into the touch, Yoongi’s squeezing just a little, just enough to bring them that much closer.

Sighing, Taehyung feels boneless as he buries his nose in Yoongi’s hair and just breathes.

He doesn’t feel like crying anymore, which is a definite plus, and even though he’s still exhausted and thinking about tomorrow, being surrounded by Yoongi tempers Taehyung’s edges in a way he hadn’t really been expecting.

Taehyung swings between exuberance and meditative, sometimes lightning quick. He enjoys both sides of himself but has found that touch is the best way to ground him or get him out of his head. Hugging is one of his favorite things in the world but there’s always a level of wariness when he approaches it with partners.

To most people, hugging is nothing special. To most partners, hugging is laughably casual while still carrying an undercurrent of tension.

Taehyung doesn’t feel that tension. He has often, however, felt pressure-- the pressure of knowing that hugging isn’t anywhere close to enough for a lot of people, the pressure of wondering when the right time is to tell his partner that hugging means quite a bit to him, that anything much beyond that is totally and completely out of the question.

As he holds Yoongi close, Taehyung marvels at how warm his hyung is, how solidly they fit together. Taehyung feels safe and comfortable, a little bit like a melting marshmallow, all gooey and warm and like he never wants to peel himself away from his boyfriend.

It’s hard to tell how long the two of them stay like that, just hugging in silence on a rapidly emptying train platform but Taehyung’s overwhelmingly content.

He can’t help but wonder, even in this blissful state, what will happen when Yoongi figures it out, when he asks for more and Taehyung has to shut him down. Their relationship is moving slowly, in measured little increments that’s vastly satisfying even if Taehyung’s worried what will happen when they reach the inexorable end.

To his relief, though, Yoongi also seems happy enough to wiggle closer and sigh into Taehyung’s neck. He doesn’t try anything else and Taehyung’s happy.

He really likes Yoongi and he likes what they’re building. And while there’s always apprehension during a new relationship, Taehyung finds himself wishing very much that Yoongi proves the exception to what he privately acknowledges is a bit of a dismal dating history.

Yoongi finally pulls back and he’s grinning softly at Taehyung. “Ready to go home and pass out?”

Groaning, Taehyung steps back and raising his arms above his head, stretching and trying to wake up a little bit. “God, yes.”

“Let’s go, then.” Yoongi grabs the bag again and hauls it over his shoulder, ignoring Taehyung’s protests.

As the two of them turn towards the parking lot outside, Yoongi reaches out without looking and snags Taehyung’s hand. Swinging their joined hands a little, Taehyung sees his boyfriend’s pleased smile and can’t help but echo it.

Less than an hour later, when Yoongi pulls up to Taehyung’s apartment building, his boyfriend is a perfect gentleman as he gets out to walk Taehyung to the door.

They exchange goodbyes, reminding each other of their weekly movie night plans, and Taehyung has just put his key into the lock when Yoongi clears his throat. “Wait.”

Turning around, Taehyung looks at him a little confused. Yoongi’s smile is shy and his cheeks are a little warm as he shuffles closer and pulls Taehyung into one last hug. He smells like coffee and the strawberry shampoo he favors and Taehyung closes his eyes as he leans into his boyfriend, glad that Yoongi is comfortable enough to ask for what he wants-- and very happy that they seem to be on the same wavelength, at least about this, at least so far.

Yoongi waits until Taehyung’s inside the building before he turns to leave and Taehyung’s last thought before he flings himself into his bed, finally, and falls into a dreamless sleep is that he’s even closer to falling off the edge of like than he’d thought.

Unlocking the door, Yoongi finally takes a deep breath, letting it back out in a deep sigh.

Today sucked.

If it wasn’t one thing it was another. He’d slept past his alarm, which never happens, and so he hadn’t had time for his morning coffee before he’d had to rush to a meeting with the new head of the creative department at his company.

They’d ripped his prospective title track to shreds-- something about it not fitting the girl group’s image, something else that included changing the comeback concept that had already been approved weeks ago, even though Yoongi had consulted with all of the members and they had been very enthusiastic about his ideas.

He has a bit of a reputation at the company. He’s been with them for almost a decade-- going back to his high school days when he’d hung around as an unpaid intern, all wide eyes and hungry for knowledge about an industry he was determined to make his mark in.

Yoongi’s worked hard to become one of the lead producers for the company. He knows his shit is good and it had been a very difficult pill to swallow, listening to a manager who was younger than him tell him that his music was uninspired and ill fitting when he’s been working with the group longer than the other man had even been in the industry.

Still, Yoongi had buried down his simmering resentment and listened to what his colleague had said, even going so far as to write down the man’s suggestions.

He’d then talked to the girls who had been outraged on his behalf and promised that they hadn’t said anything, which had gone a long way in smoothing Yoongi’s ruffled feathers. He respects creative differences and knows that he is but a background influence that ultimately answers to the artists he creates for. But he has known this group since their pre-debut days and had been stressed and a little annoyed if they had truly hated his idea but had just gone along with him anyway.

Knowing that was not the case, especially based on other things the girls had said about their new manager, Yoongi had gone back to his studio to see if inspiration would work its magic with a few tweaked ideas.

Never let it be said that Min Yoongi wasn’t willing to compromise.

But not before going to the head of the company for his monthly meeting. Thankfully, Hitman Bang had been in a good mood and the meeting had gone as it usually does-- mostly talking shit about others and bouncing ideas for next quarter comebacks.

Yoongi had brought up the new creative department manager, which had lead to a lengthy discussion and Yoongi had left the executive suite feeling his bad mood significantly tempered.

Until he’d decided to head to the coffee shop around the block to make up for his missed caffeine hit from his late start. He’d ordered his usual americano, with an extra shot, and had just been reaching for the front door when someone else had crashed through the entrance and Yoongi’s coffee-- without a single sip taken-- had landed all over his hoodie.

The man had been an asshole about it, too. Had barely offered a half-ass apology before he’d walked up to the line and had taken a call right there in the busy shop, talking far too loudly and aggressively and looking patently unconcerned with the looks everyone else was throwing him.

Yoongi had stood by the door for a moment, the heat of the coffee stinging his stomach a little and had closed his eyes while he carefully, slowly, counted to fifty.

Deciding not to risk another incident, he’d just looked down at his ruined clothes and walked out of the coffee shop, going back to his studio where he thankfully kept a change of clothes.

Alas, his concentration was shot and Yoongi, even though clean and dry in a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, couldn’t focus. He’d grabbed his phone, hoping Taehyung might’ve spammed him with cute pictures of dogs as he’s wont to do but nothing.

Yoongi slumps in his chair and even if he’s judging himself, that doesn’t stop him from opening his message thread with Taehyung.

The last text is from two days ago and Yoongi knows that’s not long, not long at all, but he’s having a shitty day and he could really use his boyfriend right now.

Taehyung’s busy, though, and Yoongi won’t bother him just because he’s feeling a little whiny and tired. Something about pulling overtime for a magazine fuck-up that had mandated Taehyung retake and re-edit an entire shoot with a very tight turnaround.

Yoongi thinks about sending an encouraging message, something that doesn’t require a response but might make Taehyung smile if he happens to glance at his phone for a minute, but Yoongi doesn’t want to seem clingy or distract his boyfriend from work.

Yoongi knows he himself can be a terror when working under a deadline and sympathizes.

So, he fucks around a little on his software but doesn’t make much progress. His stomach rumbles but he’s too tired to get up and do anything about it so he just sits in his chair instead like a sad lump of unmolded clay. Spends more time staring into space than getting any work done, but Yoongi perseveres, at least long enough so that he doesn’t feel guilty leaving too early.

It’s not like anyone around here keeps a regular schedule but there’s a piece of Yoongi that doesn't want his bad day to have too much power over him.

The days are short and night falls quicker now that it’s the shitty time of winter, after the holidays when everything is just gray and sad and dingy.

Huddling in his coat, Yoongi makes it back to his apartment with single-minded focus, so drained that he fumbles with his keys.

Yeah, today really sucked but at least he’s home now and doesn’t have to be a person until morning.

His apartment is dark and he quickly changes into pajamas-- an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants he’s had since his college days.

He’s just ready to put something on Netflix, something he’s already seen a few dozen times, and enter a fugue state until it’s time for bed, when his doorbell rings.

Standing in the middle of his living room, Yoongi stares at the door intently, wondering who the fuck it could be. He’s not in the mood for Hoseok or Jin, knows that Namjoon is away in L.A. for a few weeks working on a private project.

Wondering if his day is about to be capped by being bludgeoned to death, Yoongi swings the door open. Everything rights itself as he leans against the door and takes in his unexpected visitor.

Because there his boyfriend is, smiling even though he looks tired himself and holding a bag that smells suspiciously, deliciously, like fried chicken.

“Special delivery,” Taehyung says hopefully and waves the bag around a little.

Holding the door open wider so he can come in, Yoongi asks, “What are you doing here? I thought you had a deadline?”

Handing Yoongi the bag as he takes his shoes and coat off, Taehyung hums. “And I nailed it! Finished a few hours early and decided to surprise you with dinner and a quiet night in.”

At this, he turns toward Yoongi and takes him in, smiling softly. “It looks like we could both use it.”

Nodding numbly, Yoongi goes into the kitchen to set the bags down and then turns back to Taehyung. Not expecting that, Taehyung bumps right into him but Yoongi just pulls him closer and tucks his head under his boyfriend’s chin. Breathing deep, he lets himself be held and lets a lot of the tension that had kept his spine stiff and resolute finally melt away.

That leaves exhaustion though, and Yoongi is almost dizzy with it-- he hasn’t been sleeping well lately and this bad day has just exacerbated things.

He lifts his head up to thank his boyfriend for such a lovely, welcomed surprise just as Taehyung ducks down to presumably kiss his hair. Because Yoongi’s moved though, the two end up kissing each other right on the mouth.

It’s just a peck, closed-mouth and over in a flash but it sends warmth trickling through Yoongi’s nerves. They’ve been dating for a few months and while there have been hugs and handholding and kisses on cheeks and hair, this is their first kiss, really.

If Yoongi’s being honest, he’s been waiting for this. Really, he’s been waiting for Taehyung to get impatient with the glacial pace of their relationship and to address it but his boyfriend seems happy enough-- very happy indeed-- to follow his lead and to show his affection in the several ways they’ve established so far that are very okay and very much in demand.

He hears Taehyung gasp when their lips disconnect and there’s a moment where the two of them stare at each other, wide eyed and surprised. But then Yoongi’s heart melts as he sees Taehyung’s cheeks flush warm pink, as he sees that boxy grin take over his boyfriend’s face but this time with a flustered edge.

“Was that okay,” Yoongi whispers, tilting his head up so that he can make eye contact with Taehyung. It’s not always easy for him but Yoongi wants to be sure they’re on the same page, wants to make sure that they’re both enjoying where things are taking them.

“So okay,” Taehyung whispers back before lowering his head until Yoongi feels his breath on his lips. “Want to do it again?”

And all Yoongi can think to say is, “Yes, please,” and he closes his eyes as he feels Taehyung kiss him again, mouth warm and gentle. They move together slowly, taking their time, learning each other in this new way, so exciting even if there’s no particular heat behind it.

Yoongi loses himself in Taehyung, in being surrounded and held close and in the gentle way Taehyung wants him.

It’s not too much. Right now, it’s just enough.

Yoongi smiles into the kiss, soft and slow, and Taehyung mirrors him until they’re grinning so much that they can’t keep kissing. He giggles as Taehyung takes that as an opportunity to plant smacking kisses over his face, squeezing him close until they’re breathless.

Without thinking, Yoongi murmurs, “Love this.”

He doesn’t freeze but his mind stills for a split second as Taehyung hears him, as his boyfriend kisses his ear and replies, “Love this, too.”

The two of them finally break away and Yoongi clears his throat, flustered and very much happy, as he turns toward the chicken that’s probably a little cold by now.

A few minutes later, they’re settling on the couch, plates full as they share the middle cushion. Yoongi asks what Taehyung’s in the mood to watch but he’s vague, hands the decision right back into Yoongi’s court.

So Yoongi puts on some sort of space documentary that he’s seen before. It’s a little dry but interesting enough when one doesn’t have the focus for anything better.

His apartment is silent besides the narrator’s voice on the television. Outside it starts to sleet, icy rain hitting the windows at a good clip. The little noise breaks Yoongi’s attention, makes him look over to where Taehyung is taking a sip of his drink, eyes not leaving the television as he learns some mathematical theorem that goes over Yoongi’s head, no matter that this is the third time he’s watching this documentary.

The weather is dismal tonight and Yoongi quietly thinks about offering Taehyung the option to stay the night. That’s something else they haven’t done yet and Yoongi’s a little nervous to bring it up, now, when they’ve just shared their first kiss.

He wonders if Taehyung will take that as an invitation, if he’ll think that Yoongi-- now that he’s comfortable with one form of intimacy, if he’ll throw open the door to more.

Yoongi very much will not be opening that door.

But he’s not an asshole and a part of him thinks that maybe he should just get it over with. Tell his boyfriend that kisses are okay-- good, great, amazing-- but that’s all Yoongi will ever want.

He’s loathe to do that, especially right now, today. He’s had a shitty day and the thought of confronting Taehyung’s desires-- even facing his questions seems like too much right now.

Really, Yoongi just wants to stay like this, as close to Taehyung as he can get. No pressure for anything else.

Taehyung finishes eating first. He puts his empty plate on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, throwing an arm over Yoongi’s shoulders.

Smiling as he takes a bite of rice, Yoongi settles deeper into Taehyung’s side. He doesn’t realize the breath he’s let out until Taehyung breaks the little spell that’s fallen over them.

“How was your day?”

With a little laugh, Yoongi shakes his head. “Incredibly shitty,” he replies dryly.

Taehyung hums, thumb brushes over his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” Yoongi finishes dinner, sets his plate next to Tae’s, and just as he starts to resettle, he reconsiders.

He hesitates for a moment, looking down as he thinks. When he looks up, his boyfriend is watching him with patient eyes, as though just waiting for Yoongi to make a decision.

So he does. They’ve long since established that Taehyung likes touch-- holding hands, hugs, the casual barely conscious gestures that are as easy to him as breathing.

Yoongi is a little more reticent. It often takes ages for him to warm up to someone but Taehyung makes him feel so warm and he wants him so much that he decides not to overthink things for once.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and very studiously avoids eye contact as he moves, shifting so that he’s curled into Taehyung’s side, throwing his legs over one of Taehyung’s. He reaches for the blanket he keeps on the back of his couch and settles it over them, smoothing it out just to draw out the moment.

Finally, he releases his breath and very carefully eases his head down until he’s resting on Taehyung’s shoulder.

He waits for Taehyung to say something, to move, but his boyfriend doesn’t do any of that. He just wraps his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder, lets it sweep down his back until his hand brushes his hip.

It’s nice. It’s beyond nice and just what Yoongi needs to end this hell of a day. He all but melts against Taehyung and he feels Taehyung’s smile as he kisses the top of his head.

They watch the rest of the documentary like that, cozy and wrapped around each other. Towards the end, Yoongi’s eyes start drifting closed and he brushes his nose over Taehyung’s chest, snuggling closer.

Taehyung huffs out a laugh but doesn’t say anything, just readjusts the blanket.

When the documentary is over, Yoongi’s barely conscious. He feels Taehyung shifting, though, like he’s getting up, and he wraps his arms around him tighter. “No,” he mumbles, voice muffled since he’s talking into Taehyung’s shirt.

Taehyung brushes a hand through Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi leans into the gesture, silently asking for more.

Taehyung obliges but quietly says, “I should probably get going, hyung. It’s getting late and the weather’s turned to shit. I want to make sure I catch the last bus home.”

“No,” Yoongi repeats. “Stay.”

Taehyung stills and in Yoongi’s sleepy brain, an inkling starts that maybe Taehyung doesn’t want to stay. He opens his mouth to back track, to make sure he doesn’t feel any pressure, but his boyfriend beats him to it.

“You want me to spend the night?”

His voice sounds a little vulnerable and that’s what makes Yoongi straighten, blanket dropping around him as he looks up and finally takes in his face.

Taehyung blinks but he’s biting his lip nervously.

Yoongi nods and reaches up, gently tugging Taehyung’s bottom lip from his teeth. He brushes his thumb over Tae’s cheek, watches him slowly blink.

“I want you to spend the night,” Yoongi says simply. “You’ve had a hard week and I don’t want you out in this kind of weather if I can help it. Plus, you’re better than a pillow,” he grins.

Taehyung grins too, quick and bright, before it dims a little and he’s staring at Yoongi with a look in his eye that’s a little too intense for so late at night. “Just to sleep?”

“Yeah?” It’s Yoongi’s turn to blink. “I haven’t slept more than three hours a night this month and I’m about to pass out. There’s no way we’re doing anything but sleeping. Are you not tired?”

His mind is a little fuzzy and he feels a little dumb but it’s almost midnight and he had been so close to sleep before Taehyung had started to leave. He just wants to get back to that point as quickly as possible. He really hopes Taehyung doesn’t want to put another movie on-- his couch is comfortable but his bed is even more so and he doesn’t want to actually fall asleep just to have to drag himself to bed later.

Taehyung watches him for an impenetrable moment before he’s smiling again and standing abruptly. Yoongi groans as he almost falls face first where Taehyung was just sitting and Tae laughs as he hauls Yoongi up too, tangled in the blanket.

“Time to sleep,” Taehyung says brightly and Yoongi groans again but doesn’t try to hide his smile as he lets the blanket fall to the floor.

Deciding to leave it until morning, he forgets about the blanket as he guides Taehyung down the hallway, towards his bedroom. He has an extra toothbrush and offers Taehyung some clothes to change into and they stumble through a night time routine that’s remarkably comfortable, for all it’s their first time.

Yoongi blames it on the fact that he’s too tired to give a shit and as soon as he’s done, he falls into bed. Taehyung joins him seconds later and without thinking, Yoongi’s scooting closer, shifting until he’s right back where he was on the couch.

He settles against Taehyung’s side, laying his head over his heart and sighing deep as he wraps an arm around Taehyung’s middle.

Taehyung, for his part, seems comfortable, relaxing into the sheets and tangling their legs together. One of his arms sweeps down Yoongi’s back and it feels so good-- Yoongi is quickly falling back asleep-- until his boyfriend’s hand lands on his hip.

Yoongi stiffens a little as Taehyung’s hand slides under his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his lower back.

Suddenly more awake, Yoongi’s unaccountably nervous. Only now does it occur to him what Taehyung might have meant when he asked if they’d just be sleeping and he feels a little stupid for not picking up the hint earlier.

Still, Taehyung’s breathing slow and deep-- he might even already be asleep-- and Yoongi knows that he doesn’t have anything to worry about, that at least for tonight he could shy away and talk to him tomorrow, lay all his cards out on the table and deal with the fallout then.

He’s so deep into his thoughts, wondering if that hand is innocent or if there’s deeper meaning lingering in the touch, when Taehyung suddenly stills.

He deliberately moves his hand an inch, moves his thumb over the sensitive skin of Yoongi’s back.

Yoongi shivers but holds his breath.

“This okay?” Taehyung whispers the question into his ear, kisses it for good measure.

Knowing all the ways this could blow up in his face, Yoongi pushes up to his elbows and makes out Taehyung’s face in the moonlight. His eyes are sleepy but there’s a focus there and it’s all on Yoongi.

He doesn’t answer right away, takes stock. The truth is, he has no problems with this-- as long as this is what it stays.

He likes being close to Taehyung, likes when his boyfriend pulls him closer, stakes a claim even.

And Taehyung’s hand is warm, almost burning on his back, and it feels good, damned good.

Shaking his head a little, Yoongi eventually says, “It’s fine.” His voice is low as he tacks on, “No more, though.”

Part of him thinks that Taehyung might protest. Even if it’s late, even if neither of them had intentions, Yoongi’s been with people in the past who took one no as an always no-- and while it would be an always no from him, Yoongi didn’t want to deal with that headache tonight.

Thankfully, it looks like his momentary stress was unneeded. Taehyung just grins, sleepy at the edges, and pulls Yoongi down to kiss him. It’s firm but closed mouth and when he ends it a few seconds later, he gently guides Yoongi back to their previous position.

“No more,” he agrees easily enough.

It feels like Taehyung falls asleep the next minute, hand heavy on Yoongi’s back, breathing even.

Yoongi, for his part, knows that he’s not far behind.

Curling into Taehyung’s warmth, Yoongi sleeps better than he has in weeks. His last thought before passing out is that he’s so glad he met Taehyung, so happy that they’re here now, that he has someone who listens and cares and seems fine with going slowly.

Burying his face in Taehyung’s neck, Yoongi sighs, kisses his pulse, and falls asleep.

Without opening his eyes, Taehyung knows that it’s midmorning. The sun is bright against his eyelids and he shies away from it, buries his face in a messy mop of hair that smells like strawberries.

It’s only when the body attached to the messy hair wiggles a little that Taehyung wakes up enough to notice their position.

Now, Taehyung knows that he needs something to hold on to when he’s sleeping. In Jimin’s more colorful words, he’s a goddamn octopus-- and like the predator, will only squeeze you tighter if you try to escape.

It is what it is, as far as he’s concerned. However, things always get a little more complicated when he starts sleeping with someone new.

Yoongi-- so far at least-- is proving to be the exception to every rule Taehyung’s got.

They’ve been together for months at this point and Taehyung has taken to sleeping over at least once a week. Ever since that first time when he’d surprised Yoongi with dinner and had stayed late enough for his boyfriend to offer, it’s become a new little tradition of theirs.

Taehyung will come over for movie nights and almost always ends up spending the night. It’s a nice routine they’ve settled into, spicing it up occasionally with a weekend too, or a night at Taehyung’s, though that happens less often because he lives with Jimin.

It’s been weeks of them sleeping together and Taehyung loves it. He was uncertain that first night when Yoongi had asked him to stay. He’s taken dates up on that in the past, only for them to clearly have meant something by it.

That night, Taehyung was wiped out from fixing a screw-up with work and Yoongi had clearly had the day from hell but Taehyung’s always been a little amazed and repulsed at just how frequently people like to have sex, no matter their mood. He’d taken a chance on Yoongi, though, and it had paid off.

It was nice and easy getting ready for bed together and Yoongi’s thread count is definitely higher than his own because his hyung’s bed felt like a cloud and Taehyung had been sinking fast.

So fast, he’d been mostly asleep when he’d slipped a hand under his boyfriend’s shirt-- Taehyung likes skinship, especially when falling asleep with someone-- and hadn’t really noticed anything amiss until he’d realized Yoongi was stiff as a board on top of him.

He’d been so enjoying this new level of their relationship-- they kissed! Yoongi was comfortable enough to cuddle with him! They were sleeping in the same bed!-- but as soon as he’d realized, Taehyung had been stressed, even mostly asleep.

Wondering if Yoongi was going to take his hand as an invitation-- or perhaps they just weren’t ready yet-- he’d been very relieved when Yoongi had let the hand stay with a firm order of nothing else.

Taehyung was beyond happy to stick to Yoongi’s limits, especially considering his own would’ve been damn near identical.

When they’d woken up the next morning, Taehyung had been wrapped around Yoongi, which is not dissimilar to how they are now.

Yoongi makes a very good little spoon, curving back into Taehyung, limp and soft around the edges.

Taehyung has a leg over Yoongi’s hip, an arm slung low over his middle, fingers brushing over the bare skin of his stomach. His nose is in Yoongi’s hair, a little ticklish but too nice to make him move away.

This isn’t the first time Taehyung’s woken up like this, but each time there’s a tiny almost imperceptible but definitely present sliver of dread that spreads through him. There’s not an inch of space between them and Taehyung worries that it’s too much, too intimate or suggestive.

Every morning they wake up together, Taehyung wonders if this will be the time Yoongi wants more. They’ve been dating for almost five months but Yoongi has yet to even hint that he wants to have sex.

Most of his relationships have ended right around this time. When his partners realize that Taehyung isn’t a prude or just shy, when they finally understand that Taehyung means it when he says sex will not be happening and that time won’t change his mind, that nothing can change his mind on the matter.

Yoongi is such a gentleman, though. His grumpy hyung, Taehyung thinks sleepily with a grin. Yoongi never pushes Taehyung, never makes it feel like he’s just waiting for Taehyung to give the green light. He acts sincerely pleased and satisfied with what they do now. The cuddling is a wonderfully often thing these days, Yoongi soaking up affection like a sun-soaked kitten.

Then there’s the kissing. Things get a little heated sometimes but Yoongi never reaches for more, seems content enough to sit in Taehyung’s lap and hold him close and kiss him until he’s breathless.

Taehyung’s never waited so long to tell his partner that he’s ace but things are going so well with Yoongi. He doesn’t want to jinx it.

Which brings him to now. While Taehyung rarely likes to look a gift horse in the mouth, he’s well aware that many people wake up in a certain mood.

Thankfully, things have never been awkward with Yoongi but every morning, Taehyung wonders if this is it, if Yoongi will turn around and kiss Taehyung but keep going past his limits.

Granted, Yoongi doesn’t know his limits and would never play fast and loose with them if he did but it’s usually the kind of thing one learns in the heat of the moment, at least in Taehyung’s experience.

It’s starting to be a bit much, if Taehyung’s being honest. He’s getting tired of worrying about Yoongi’s reactions to things. He’s a perfect boyfriend-- grumpy yes but also soft and encouraging and attentive. He listens to Taehyung and surprises him with date ideas or little gifts that he says just remind him of Taehyung, always checks in when he knows Taehyung has something big going on.

He can talk to Yoongi about everything-- well most everything-- and his hyung makes him laugh and fills him with so much fondness that he knows it’s love at this point.

Not that he’s said anything, at least not yet, but Taehyung knows he’s rapidly reaching the point where he won’t be able to hold the words back-- not when Yoongi bowls a strike and does his funny little dance or when he’s cooking in Taehyung and Jimin’s tiny kitchen and trying to teach them too or when he’s working on song lyrics and looks so completely in his own little world that Taehyung’s left captivated by how pretty and talented his boyfriend is.

Taehyung’s so gone for Yoongi.

But every time he realizes that, he remembers that there’s a very important piece of himself that he hasn’t shared. He remembers that it affects their relationship, that it could bruise or even break it.

Taehyung doesn’t like to admit it but the prospect of Yoongi not being okay with things-- being so patient only under the guise that eventually everything would come to fruition-- makes Taehyung’s gut coil with dread.

Those thoughts and their implications are getting harder to ignore but whenever Yoongi starts wiggling around again, this time with purpose, it’s still so easy to put it on the back burner.

It’s hard to focus on tomorrow’s uncertainty when he has Yoongi in his arms, soft with sleep and smiling up at him with eyes narrowed against the sun.

“Morning,” Yoongi says softly, voice so low it’s almost indecipherable.

Humming a silly little tune, Taehyung leans down and kisses Yoongi. “Good morning, hyung.”

The two of them rest like that and Taehyung is almost positive Yoongi’s falling back asleep.

Taehyung doesn’t know how long they sleep like that, sheets warming under the morning sun until it’s almost too hot. He doesn’t move though, stuck in the sticky sweet feeling of being so close to Yoongi.

He’s learned a lot about Yoongi since they started dating. It took ages for Yoongi to become comfortable with him but Taehyung has patience to spare when it counts and watching his Suga-hyung-- as he’s taken to calling his boyfriend just to see him blush-- get to the point where he doesn’t hesitate to reach out, to ask for affection, makes Taehyung’s heart bloom with a combination of pride and fondness.

Yoongi curls up tighter into Taehyung. His breath is warm and slow against Taehyung’s neck and there’s no place he’d rather be, then right here.

They have plans to meet their friends later for dinner but until then, it’s just the two of them, wrapped around each other, enjoying the closeness.

This is Taehyung’s favorite kind of intimacy, when he’s so close to someone else that his own edges are blurred. He doesn’t need more than this, definitely doesn’t want anything else. For now, he rests with Yoongi and decides not to worry about expectations or confessions.

The quiet beckons when Yoongi’s the one he’s sharing it with. Taehyung wiggles down until they’re ’re face to face, ignoring his boyfriend grumbling about how he was already comfortable.

“Suga-hyung,” Taehyung whispers and Yoongi’s eyelids flutter even if he keeps them closed. His smile peaks out though, small and shy, and he ducks his head to keep Taehyung from seeing.

Yoongi’s too adorable, Taehyung thinks and he just knows his face is doing something stupid, his heart eyes out full force, his grin so wide his cheeks ache with the fondness of it all.

Shifting closer, he’s surprised when Yoongi’s the one who closes the last bit of distance between them. Eyes still closed, his lips find Taehyung’s and he sighs into the kiss, something soft and slow that makes Taehyung feel like melting chocolate.

They spend most of the morning like that, trading kisses between dozing and it’s Taehyung’s idea of perfection, his official favorite way to start the day.

Taehyung kisses like spun sugar with a molten edge and Yoongi can’t get enough. His boyfriend lets out these tiny little sounds, low whimpers, and Yoongi makes them his own.

Breaking apart for a split second to catch his breath, Yoongi dives back in. Taehyung’s hands sweep down, from resting against his throat all the way down to his hips and then he’s tugging Yoongi up, nudging him until he gets the hint.

Yoongi keeps kissing him as he’s half-lifted, half scrambles into his boyfriend’s lap. He’s so warm and Yoongi leans into it, just a little desperate.

It’s fun to lose himself in Taehyung-- in his hands, surrounded by his scent, lost in the way Taehyung keeps him close, then closer still.

They don’t do this often but sometimes Yoongi gets in a mood. Sometimes Taehyung looks at him and his gaze-- always intense-- burns straight through him. For Yoongi, this is one of his final doors unlocked and left open.

Taehyung walks through it like he’s done with all the rest-- tentatively, and then once it’s established that they’re both okay with the latest boundary line, with a shameless kind of enthusiasm.

Kissing is intimate for Yoongi and it had taken him a long time to realize that just because he liked it-- not just greeting pecks and chaste morning kisses-- but the way warmth flows throw him when he’s breathing someone else’s air, the slow sometimes desperate sweep of tongue, the bite-then-soothe rhythm that makes his mind all hazy at the edges, didn’t mean he had to like the rest.

In college, there had been enough drunken makeout sessions in corners of low lit living rooms or the dark edges of a bar’s dance floor for Yoongi to realize that he liked kissing well enough but enjoyed it far more when he knew the person, when there was an extra level of safety and fondness that just made everything that much better, that much easier to let himself go.

In college, he’d also learned that most people took Yoongi’s enjoyment for consent to everything else. He’d had more than one person call him a tease, tell him that he’d lead them on.

For most people, these kinds of kisses would only be a precursor to more but this, right here, is Yoongi’s happy place.

Taehyung’s hair is messy with the way Yoongi’s been running his hands through it. He holds Yoongi securely, close but not tight, and he hums into the kiss, wanting but not needy.

Taehyung hasn’t ever hinted for more-- never urged Yoongi past his comfort zone. There’s no desperate bucking of hips, no pulling and grinding, nothing but Taehyung’s mouth, warm and eager, and his hands wandering over Yoongi’s back.

Yoongi startles a little, though, as Taehyung’s hands smooth down to land on his ass, not groping or aggressive, just resting. He pulls back because this is new territory and even though Taehyung doesn’t seem especially eager for more, Yoongi needs to know what he’s thinking, if his wandering hands are trying to guide Yoongi into something else.

After all, they’ve been dating for almost six months and this is the most they’ve done. Yoongi knows by now that his boyfriend possesses the patience of a saint, that he’s guilelessly happy no matter what they’re doing, but Yoongi’s never made it this far into a relationship without The Talk happening.

He’s breathing a little fast and takes a few seconds to catch his breath, to settle. Taehyung lets him but can’t seem to resist a quick nip to his bottom lip before he noses along Yoongi’s jaw.

His hands are still on Yoongi’s ass, warm even through denim.

“Taehyungie,” Yoongi whispers, taking a deep breath and meeting his boyfriend’s eyes. “Your hands are on my butt,” he says plainly, part question.

Taehyung grins, pats his ass like he’s proud of himself. “You have a very cute butt, Yoongi-ah,” he replies seriously. His lips twitch into a smile he tries to tamp down.

Despite feeling his cheeks warm, Yoongi wraps his arms around Taehyung’s neck and leans in until their foreheads are touching. “Are you trying to get into my pants, Taehyung-ah?”

Watching the way Taehyung’s eyes widen, Yoongi almost wants to laugh at the panicked look that flares in his boyfriend’s eyes but he keeps his expression the same-- encouraging but carefully blank.

“What-- no, hyung, I promise I’m not trying to get into your pants! You’re just very pretty like this and I wasn’t lying when I said your butt is very cute and soft and I-- Well, I guess I just touched it without thinking,” Taehyung ends sheepishly before lifting his hands off Yoongi entirely and letting them rest in the space between them.

His head is bowed low now so Yoongi can’t read his face but he knows Taehyung. It’s been almost six months and his Taehyungie hasn’t ever been anything but honest with him.

Ignoring the brief stab of guilt that he can’t say the same right now, Yoongi just stares down at the top of Taehyung’s head and wonders where this puts them.

He doesn’t have any particular problems with Taehyung’s hands on his ass. It was just the implication that this could be leading to more that had made Yoongi pause and reconsider. But if this is what it stays-- just kissing and affectionate little touches-- he’s more than okay with that.

Biting his lip a little as he thinks, Yoongi finally clears his throat and offers, “You can put your hands back.”

Looking up, Taehyung studies his face with a combination of wariness and pleasant surprise. “Are you sure,” he asks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and I want to make sure you know that I’m not expecting anything else. This is fine-- great, perfect-- and I am more than okay with how things are right now.”

Smiling at how his boyfriend is always so eager to make sure they’re both comfortable, Yoongi feels his blush deepen as he reaches for Taehyung’s hands and brings them around until they’re firmly planted on his ass.

“I’m sure,” he says with a grin. He tilts Taehyung’s chin up and like this, straddling him, Yoongi’s taller. “As long as you’re really okay that this is all we do.”

His voice drops a little and there’s a shiver of smugness as he sees the way his boyfriend’s eyes darken at his tone. “I really like kissing you, Taehyung-ah. Want to keep doing that for awhile, if that’s okay with you.”

Taehyung swallows, eyes dropping to Yoongi’s lips. He seems almost dazed as he replies, “That’s fine, hyung. More than fine. Love kissing you, my sweet Suga-hyung,” in a low tone, eyes shining in a mix of anticipation and delight.

Yoongi’s still smiling when he lowers until he’s sitting in Taehyung’s lap, hands clasped behind his neck as he plays with hair at Taehyung’s nape, long and a little grown out.

Humming into the kiss, Taehyung relaxes and things pick back up where they left off.

There’s just something about Taehyung that makes Yoongi’s defenses shatter, almost on their own. He still worries about Taehyung’s reaction-- has talked to Namjoon and Jin and Hobi enough that they’re probably sick of him-- but when they’re like this, just the two of them sharing the same breath, Yoongi really can’t imagine anything changing.

He knows that’s probably naive, that there’s no way he could be lucky enough to find someone so completely okay with never having sex, someone who could find the same ease and contentment in simple kissing but he thinks Taehyung has to come pretty close.

Losing track of time, Yoongi and Taehyung don’t come up for air until the shadows grow long over his apartment, until the sun’s almost completely set and he feels warm and gooey at the edges, just a little sleepy, like Taehyung had poured his warmth into him until he was overflowing.

His mouth feels a little numb, swollen and throbbing lightly and when he pulls back a scant inch, Taehyung’s eyes are dark and Yoongi almost loses himself in the way his boyfriend watches him, not seeming to miss a thing.

But then Taehyung grins and it’s wide and open and desperately satisfied. He leans in until his nose brushes Yoongi’s and Yoongi’s own smile deepens until he can barely see and he just knows his gums are showing.

“Cutie,” Taehyung whispers and it sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just looks up at Taehyung. He knows there are stars in his eyes and in this moment, it slides home, everything that Taehyung makes him feel.

They fit together in a way Yoongi’s never really had, especially not with a partner. He makes Yoongi laugh, makes him feel safe and like there’s no place he’d rather be than right at his side.

Yoongi suddenly knows that this is it, this is love. He’s in love with Taehyung and the realization isn’t a dousing of cold water but more like sinking into a warm bath.

On its heels, though, is the apprehension of wondering what his boyfriend will say when he finally comes clean. His smile doesn’t falter and he still hugs Taehyung close for long minutes after the kissing is over, when they’re catching their breath and letting things simmer back down to simply enjoying each other’s closeness.

Still, Yoongi’s brain flies startling quick in the background, knowing that he has to tell Taehyung soon that he’s ace and that being okay with kissing for now has to mean being okay with kissing always.

Slowly, his heart slows to match Taehyung’s and he hums as Taehyung plays absently with his hair, as his other hand moves to rest against his back in a gesture that’s become almost expected.

Soon, Yoongi thinks. He’ll tell Taehyung soon and deal with whatever fallout emerges as best he can.

Taehyung turns off the water, reaches for a towel and absently wraps it around his waist.

He’d stayed the night at Yoongi’s again and the two of them have plans to spend the entire weekend together. The weather is supposed to be pleasant-- sunny and warm but not hot-- and they’re starting things off with brunch at home before Yoongi’s taking him to a tech expo.

Taehyung’s already made dinner reservations at a spot nearby, aims to surprise Yoongi with dinner on their patio. Afterwards, they’re going to an evening exhibition of a local art museum that Taehyung had bought tickets to months before.

It’s their six month anniversary and as he gets dressed, Taehyung finds himself smiling, something bright and happy at the way they’ve grown together the past half-year.

Things are so good with Yoongi. They’ve had a few disagreements-- when Yoongi brushed him off for a week because his mental health had made everything hard and exhausting and he hadn’t wanted to drag Taehyung down with him or when Taehyung had become uncharacteristically short with Yoongi for a few days, work riding him hard and his frustration and stress had plopped itself right in the middle of their relationship.

They talked, though, and those minor blips only served to make them stronger.

Still, it’s been six months and they haven’t talked about sex. Taehyung has a deep and abiding love for kissing and realizing that Yoongi felt the same, that this was something else they could enjoy together, had made Taehyung light up from the inside, all warm and fuzzy with the feelings Yoongi brings out in him.

At this point, Taehyung doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Six months is a long time to keep something like this under wraps and no matter how Jungkook and Jimin tell him that Yoongi is so gone for him that there’s no question, they’ll make it through this even better than before, Taehyung’s been burned in the past and it’s that lingering fear that keeps him in place now.

Yoongi never pressures him, never hints that he’s unsatisfied with things. They’ve reached a point where they’re almost too comfortable with each other.

Taehyung’s unselfconscious about nudity and Yoongi doesn’t mind when he leaves the shower, using his towel to rub at his hair instead of to cover his modesty. Yoongi, by contrast, is still shy and had only recently become comfortable enough to walk around shirtless when Taehyung’s around.

They’ve grown so much and Taehyung knows the little things about Yoongi that can both drive him crazy and make him feel like he’s going to explode in a mess of fondness and love. He knows how his boyfriend takes his tea, what his go-to candle scent is, the most effective ways to get him out of his head when he’s on the edge of drowning.

And Yoongi knows him, too. He knows that Taehyung doesn’t like coffee but has an unabashed weakness for smoothies. He knows when to dig in his heels about something and when to let Taehyung come to him. Yoongi sometimes surprises him with how observant he is, even when it seems like he wasn’t paying attention to something to begin with.

All of which bring Taehyung to now. Taehyung keeps a few things over at Yoongi’s now and he takes his time getting ready, the strong smell of coffee and vanilla letting him know that Yoongi’s well underway in cooking breakfast.

Makeup done, just enough to define his eyes and make his complexion flawless, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair and heads toward the hallway that will open up into the living room and kitchen.

The thoughts about finally telling Yoongi have been weighing heavier in his mind and when he sees his boyfriend, cracking eggs into a large glass bowl in between sips of coffee, Taehyung’s mind blanks at the perfect picture in front of him.

He blames that for the way his mouth just acts on its own.

“Is anything missing with us, hyung?”

Yoongi looks up from the eggs and frowns as he meets Taehyung’s gaze. “No?”

While Taehyung’s internal yelling at himself for broaching the subject today of all days when things are going so well and it’s supposed to be a calm, no-stress weekend, he just repeats, “No?” His voice is tight with suspicion. He supposes that now that he’s started, he might as well just finish things.

Yoongi squints at him. “No. Do you think anything is lacking between us?”

Taken aback, Taehyung just blinks. “Of course not.”

Yoongi looks like he wants to say something-- eyes flicking to the side, avoiding his gaze-- but he doesn’t. “Okay.”

And apparently Taehyung’s brain has just lost all sense because he doesn’t leave well enough alone. Yoongi seems uneasy and Taehyung doesn’t want him to feel bad even if he can’t give him what he wants.

Deciding to just go for it, Taehyung takes a deep breath. “Do you want to have sex,” he asks bluntly.

Yoongi, who had been taking a drink from his coffee, chokes. Taehyung rushes over and pats him on the back, maybe a little too hard in his panicked zeal and Yoongi winces, coughing a little.

Yoongi recovers from the brink of death a little too fast, if Taehyung is being completely honest because it’s just moments later that the kitchen is completely silent and waiting for an answer is becoming agonizing.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a long while and Taehyung’s nerves are crackling at what it must mean. His boyfriend must be trying to find a delicate way to let Taehyung know that he’s patient but he’s definitely waiting.

Now that he’s not coughing a lung out, Yoongi’s facade has shifted into something blank. Taehyung can’t get a read on him, which is concerning since he’s prided himself on learning his boyfriend over the past several months. Yoongi is never blank with him, not anymore.

Finally, Yoongi clears his throat. Instead of answering, though, he just flips the tables. “Do you want to have sex?”

And Taehyung’s brain is fried from the past four minutes so he just answers without thinking too much about it. “No,” he says, firm but with an undercurrent of nervousness.

Yoongi stills. Looks up until he’s looking right into Taehyung’s eyes. “No?”

His voice is soft, aching with uncertainty, and Taehyung suddenly feels so, so bad that Yoongi must think that he’s not into him or something else equally as wrong and off the mark.

It takes more courage than Taehyung thought he had, to maintain eye contact and to finally say what’s been hiding on his tongue all along. “Yoongi-hyung, I love you but I don’t want to have sex with you. I’ll never want to have sex with you.”

Taehyung expects Yoongi to look shocked, maybe a little offended.

Yoongi proves him right on the first count, eyes going wide as he stares at Taehyung like he doesn’t know him. However, instead of going on the defensive, it’s like all of Yoongi’s strings have been cut and he fairly collapses into Taehyung, burying his face in Tae’s sweater.

“Oh, thank God.” His voice is muffled but Taehyung hears him perfectly clearly nonetheless.

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to be confused. Before he can do much more than open his mouth, though, Yoongi’s straightening and looking up at him with a smile that takes over his whole face.

“Taehyung-ah,” he says slowly, making sure that Taehyung’s paying attention. “I have something to tell you.”

Rubbing an arm up and down Yoongi’s back, Taehyung just nods at him encouragingly. “Go ahead, hyung. I’m listening.”

Taking a slow breath, Yoongi says, “I’m ace, Taehyung. I don’t want to have sex with you either.”

Taehyung blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Parses through the handful of words that have just set his world off its axis for a split moment before it rights itself again and then suddenly he’s laughing.

It’s soft with a hysterical edge that neither mention. “Oh my God,” he says, voice shocked but the delight seeping through.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Yoongi holds him as Taehyung makes himself smaller, small enough to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck. He wonders if his boyfriend can feel his smile against his skin.

Running careful fingers through his hair, Yoongi kisses the shell of Taehyung’s ear. “We should’ve known,” he says wisely.

Sighing, Taehyung melts into Yoongi’s embrace. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Though I did think it was weird that I slept over so much and you never tried anything.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “You gave me a heart attack when you slid your hand under my shirt that first time. Not to mention when you grabbed my ass.”

Laugh loud in the quiet between them, Taehyung straightens so he can look at Yoongi fully. “I was so worried to tell you that I was ace. I thought it would ruin things, or at least bruise them for a little while.”

Yoongi sighs and this time there’s a sad edge to it. “I was worried too,” he confesses quietly. “Especially once so much time had passed. Thought you might think I was leading you on.”

Slowly, Taehyung shakes his head. “Never, hyung,” he whispers.

Smiling a little, Yoongi raises a little on his toes until he’s the same height as Taehyung and then he leans in and kisses Taehyung. It’s something delicate and full of wonder. “I’m glad we’ve finally got that cleared up,” he mumbles between them and Taehyung just hums in response.

The waffles are definitely cold by now and the eggs are forgotten as Taehyung kisses Yoongi in the kitchen.

The sun is bright and a weight he hadn’t even known was so heavy is lifted away from him, makes him feel free and invincible and like all is right in the world-- in his own little world with Yoongi.

Thinking about the morning’s developments, he laughs a little into their kiss and Yoongi starts smiling until it’s hard to kiss at all.

In hindsight, there were probably so many signs that he and Yoongi had always been on the right wavelength, even if they’d been too stuck in their heads to see it.

Pulling back a little, Taehyung rubs their noses together just to see Yoongi’s face scrunch, cute and reluctantly endeared.

“What are your limits, Yoongi-hyung?” He asks, curious and not wanting to run into any more misunderstandings.

Yoongi shrugs. “We’ve pretty much hit them all,” he says with an open expression. “I love kissing and don’t mind if it gets a little messy but I’ll never want anything more-- anything below the belt. What about you?”

Humming a little, Taehyung slowly waltzes them out of the kitchen and into the living room. “I’ve gone further and haven’t hated it but I’d prefer not to do anything that involves removing underwear. I love kissing, though, especially when it’s you. I like holding you, like feeling you on top of me,” he admits softly and smiles as he sees pink sweep over his Suga-hyung’s cheeks.

He moves them until they’re falling onto the couch in a mess of limbs. Yoongi’s looking up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky just for them and Taehyung soaks up the wide-eyed look like he’s bottling sunshine.

Yoongi sighs a little, rests his head against Taehyung’s cheeks.

Taehyung enjoys the quiet. He settles into the knowledge that nothing has to change, that everything can stay just as perfect as it’s been. While he knows there will be disagreements in the future, he can rest easy knowing now that sex will never be a reason why.

He doesn’t realize just how close he is to falling asleep with Yoongi as a warm weight in his arms, until his boyfriend suddenly straightens.

“Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi says softly, carding his fingers through his hair.

Looking up, Taehyung sees Yoongi watching him with the softest look. “What is it, hyung?”

Silent for a minute, Yoongi finally just smiles. He ducks close for a quick kiss and when he pulls back, he’s grinning. “I love you.”

Eyes going wide, Taehyung repeats the words in his head a few hundred times in the space it takes Yoongi to blink innocently.

Taehyung feels struck dumb, hearing the words making him so happy he can hardly bear it, and Yoongi just takes it in stride.

“Earlier you said that you loved me but you didn’t want to have sex with me. I figured I shouldn’t leave you hanging,” Yoongi says casually.

And Taehyung hadn’t even realized that he’d confessed, not when his heart had been going a mile a minute at the prospect of telling Yoongi his biggest secret that wasn’t ever supposed to be a secret, not really at least. A secret of omission, he supposes absently.

“You love me,” he finally asks, too vulnerable. He’s not surprised, not really, it had just been a shock to hear the words-- because while Yoongi doesn’t hide once he’s comfortable, he still keeps words close to his chest like they’re infinitely valuable jewels that must be looked after with care.

Yoongi’s love is in the way he cares for others, the way he cares for Taehyung. To hear the words makes Taehyung’s heart settle into something that feels a lot like home.

“I love you,” Yoongi says again, just as light but twice as serious.

Taehyung grins and pulls Yoongi close in a hug that squeezes his ribs. “I love you too, hyung. My grumpy sweet, kitten hyung.”

Yoongi’s rolling his eyes when Taehyung releases him and the two just watch each other for a few minutes. Taehyung’s lost in his boyfriend’s eyes, so clear and deep and showing everything he feels.

The past six months have gone by in the blink of an eye, Yoongi settling into his life so quietly, so completely, that Taehyung is still realizing how connected they’ve become.

Taehyung feels good, so good, knowing that they’re on the same page where it counts, that they’re both comfortable and safe and loved.

Yoongi kisses his shoulder, nosing along it like a kitten looking for love, and Taehyung does his best to make sure he always feels the force of it.

They lose track of time, and most of breakfast is unsalvageable by the time they remember.

They clean up the kitchen-- it taking twice as long as it should since they stop so often for quick pecks and not-so-quick kisses that make Taehyung’s smile dopey at the corners-- and they end up just stopping by a coffee shop on the way to the expo.

And Taehyung listens as Yoongi goes on for long minutes at every stall they pass, talking about how cool the technology is or what he could do with such equipment or what he’s hoping to see next year.

And hours later, when it’s his turn to show Yoongi around the museum, losing himself in talking about technique and little trivia facts about the artists, Taehyung comes back to himself just to see Yoongi staring up at him with wide eyes, completely attentive and so fond that it makes Taehyung’s heart ache in sympathy.

They end the day wrapped together and Taehyung falls asleep close enough to feel Yoongi’s heart beat, feeling his own echo in tandem.

#my writing #strawberry skies #taegi fic #taegi au #i can not believe this ended up being over 10k what the fuck

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lafaiette · 7 years ago

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Warm Heart

Sequel to Warm Home. This time Scarlet catches a cold and Solas, still not used to sickness and diseases, panics and hates himself even more, because he’s the reason elves (and consequently Scarlet, too) can fall sick, now. Fluffy and a little bit angsty ; v ;

Her throat aches and her head feels light when she opens her eyes. Her sleep and dreams have been pleasant and beautiful as always, but something felt weird as she wandered through the Fade hand in hand with Solas. An odd feeling at the edge of the mind, like an annoying sting or light burn.

She probably caught a cold in Emprise du Lion, when she fell into a freezing river and drenched herself with its icy, uncomfortable water, which seemed to reach her very bones and whose touch left her only much later, despite Solas’ warming magic and the comfort of a bowl of boiling stew.

Her nose is running, she can feel it. It’s stuffed, too, and she scrunches it miserably, trying to find some comfort and let more air into her lungs, but that sends a great pang of pain run through her head and she whines pitifully.

She hates getting sick. Being sick meant not being useful back in her clan, and even though nobody ever let someone feel bad for it, the best huntress couldn’t afford to stay in bed. Also, despite the Keeper’s healing magic, the harsh Dalish life could worsen one’s conditions and she remembers one particular hard night when her fever refused to go down and her parents stayed by her pallet for the whole time.

She touches her forehead, then her neck and armpits and she knows she has got a high fever just like that time. She wonders if Solas knows any old elven magic to help her, but then she remembers the time when he got sick and he had no idea what to do and what a cold actually was.

He’s still sleeping soundly next to her and her next thought goes to his wellbeing. He risks to catch her same illness, if they stay so close to each other, sharing the same air. Keeper Deshanna never allowed the other members of the clan to visit a sick friend for that very reason.

She softly groans, both because her throat hurts immensely and because Solas will inevitably worry about her and believe he is the one who caused her to fall sick in the first place. He recovered from his cold just a few days ago and he will surely come to the conclusion that he was contagious enough to spread it to her. And that will lead him to feel terribly bad, guilty, something she noticed he does a lot, and she doesn’t want that. She wants him to be happy, not feel bad about himself!

She holds her breath and tries to crawl out of bed without waking him up. It shouldn’t be difficult, since he sleeps pretty heavily, but today of all days he does not or maybe he was already half-awake in the first place, because his hand immediately touches her waist and his husky, tender voice says, making heat fill her belly despite her miserable condition:

“Good morning, ma vhenan.”

“Ah.” She desperately tries to think of a way to avoid replying. He will hear her stuffed voice and understand what’s happening. But if she doesn’t reply, he will understand something is wrong all the same and then he will look at her face and see her shiny eyes and red, running nose.

Mumbling a quick prayer to the Creators inwardly, she turns to him, trying to show her best, healthiest smile, hoping her fever can’t be seen that easily. But just then, just as Solas’ lips curl into a bigger smile and her heart thumps faster, happily, in her chest, she sneezes.

Right on his face, with no way for her to hold it back, so sudden it was.

She gasps, ashamed and shocked, and she’s about to apologize when another sneeze comes and then another one. She whines, pressing a hand on her mouth and keeping her eyes shut, to avoid seeing Solas’ expression. She is definitely as red as the tomatoes her clan used to steal from the rich Free Marcher farmers, now.

“I’m sorry!” she babbles and her panic grows, because her nose is running more, now, and she has nothing to dry or blow it with. She needs to get up and take her handkerchief, but she feels too weak and feverish and her head feels lighter than ever.

“My love!” Solas’ voice sounds concerned and as panicked as hers and she tentatively opens one eye to look at him. There are still some droplets on his face and she groans, falling back onto her pillow and refusing to look at him again.

“Scarlet.” Solas’ worry is reaching infinite levels and she feels even worse. “Scarlet, are you sick?” He touches her forehead and gasps, then he makes a soft noise that sounds like a choked sob. “Yes, you are! Scarlet, look at me!”

She does and he’s giving her such a sweet, loving look that she can’t help but cuddle a bit into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats lamely, but he shakes his head, his long, calloused fingers touching her cheeks and hair in the most beautiful way.

“For what, my light?” he says and his voice is still slightly high with panic, the same panic visible in his eyes, too. “This is my fault! I should have…”

“No, it’s not.” she firmly says, glaring at him. “Solas, I’m sick because I fell into freezing water in the middle of a snowstorm. Not because you caught a cold.”

He sniffles and frowns, ready to berate himself, ready to bear the fault, but she hushes him with a finger pressed on his soft lips and continues, smiling sweetly, albeit a bit weakly due to the fever: “Solas, ma vhenan. It’s not your fault. Alright?”

He hesitates for a long while, then he begrudgingly nods and asks timidly: “What do you need? Tell me and I will bring it to you, even if it is in the Black City itself.”

She giggles, touched by his melodramatic concern, which is endearing and adorable, but then a coughing fit shakes her body and the panic in Solas’ eyes turn into full despair, as if he never heard anyone cough before, despite all the sick refugees they saw during their travels.

“Scarlet!” he exclaims, grasping her right hand and squeezing it tightly, so much it almost hurts. “I will go call the healer!” He jumps out of the bed, without even glancing at his clothes neatly folded on the couch next to hers, ready to dash out of the room with his night shirt and pants, the comfortable ones she sewed for him.

“Wait!” she manages to croak out and he immediately goes back to her, cupping her cheek and taking her hand again. She nods at the pitcher of water on the small table near the couch and asks timidly: “Could you get me some water, please? I’m parched.”

“Of course.”

He runs to the table and comes back to the bed in less than five seconds, filling a cup with water and handing it gently to her. He caresses her hair as she drinks it and when she’s finished, she smiles at him and says: “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else?” He kisses her and she makes an alarmed sound, looking at him with outrage.

“Solas! I don’t want you to get sick again!”

“Hush.” He smiles and brushes back her hair from her sweaty forehead. “Can I bring you something else? Food, more pillows?” His eyes widen and he quickly gets up, heading to the small storeroom where they keep their spare sheets, a broom, and the mannequin Scarlet uses to sew.

He comes back with a pile of blanket in his arms and he sets them all around her in what looks like a strategic plan, all in different points of the bed, ensuring no draft can touch her, that all her feverish skin is adequately protected.

“Oh, Solas.” she sighs fondly, looking at him with a sweet, patient smile. He also brought some furs and their bed looks like the den of a wolf, now. She can’t deny it’s marvelously cozy and warm, but her fever is making her sweat a lot and she longs for some kind of comforting cold.

“You must sweat to lower your fever as quickly as possible.” Solas says with a stern look before she can protest, already recognizing the pout on her face. He reminds her of Keeper Deshanna for a second. “I know how this works, now!”

“Fine. I’ll stay among the hot furs.” she gives in, smiling at him again, and he smiles, too, a bit relieved. Then he shows her something else he retrieved, a clean, large handkerchief, and he presses it against her nose, saying gently: “Blow, vhenan.”

She does so and he taps her nose with the handkerchief after she’s done. Then he kisses her again, making her groan in defeat, and looks for another cloth to put on her forehead.

“It will lower your fever.” he says, trying to sound sure and confident, even though his panic obviously hasn’t left him yet. “Here, found it! Where’s the water?”

“Right there.” she reminds him, giggling, pointing at the pitcher he left on the dresser near the bed. “Solas, calm down. It’s just a cold.”

“You need rest. You need good, nutritious food!” he insists, wetting the cloth he found with shaky hands. “You need… You need…” He takes a deep breath and turns to her, watching her feverish, shivering form, her red-rimmed eyes, her crimson nose and pale cheeks. His lips quiver for a second, his fear and sorrow shine through his eyes, then he attempts to regain his composure and says quietly: “You shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

“Oh, vhenan.” She motions him to join her in bed again. ��Everyone gets sick. It’s perfectly normal, especially after falling into icy water.”

“No, it is not.” He sits on the bed again, laying the wet cloth on her forehead. It feels wonderfully cold on her skin and she sighs with relief. “There was a time when the elves knew no sickness, no disease, except for those caused by wrong, corrupted magic. They didn’t fall ill.”

“That was a long time ago.” she reminds him and he brushes his thumb across her kind, warm smile. “Things are different, now.” Something akin to longing flashes in her golden eyes, like it does every time he speaks of ancient Elvhenan. “I know we lost much. It would be wonderful if no more Dalish and city elves could ever fall sick again.”

He makes a low sound that sounds like a whine, a lament, and he rests his forehead against her warm chest, listening to her beating heart. His hands are on her hips, stroking the hot skin he feels through the embroidered nightgown, and his next words are almost inaudible: “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But we can do nothing about it.” she comforts him, caressing his bald head, and when he raises his head again, there are tears in his eyes.

“The elves deserve more than this.” he says. “You deserve more than this.”

“Solas…” She’s getting worried, now. She knows he hides a deep pain into his heart - Cole confirmed this multiple times with his cryptic comments -, but today he looks and sounds particularly sorrowful. Is it because he saw her being sick? Now that she thinks about it, she’s been badly hurt before and he always reacted this way, panicked, almost desperate, as if suddenly aware of her mortality, and sad, gloomy.

“I’m sorry. Ignore this old man’s words, vhenan.” He smiles, a small, weak thing that barely lightens his eyes up and shifts the muscles of his face. “I will go call the healer.” He kisses her chest and her lips, then he gets up, covers her better with the blankets and furs, and quickly leaves the room, not caring about the night clothes he’s wearing.

He’s back just a few minutes later, basically dragging the healer by the arm and speaking quickly, repeating all the symptoms Scarlet has. Cole is with him, a silent shadow that sits next to her and takes her hand, patting it gently, like a brother would do with his sick sister.

The healer touches her throat and forehead, looks into her mouth, checks her pulse and breathing, and then candidly says: “It’s just a cold, your Worship. With the right potions and food, you’ll be up in no time.”

“What about the fever?” Solas asks, glaring at the human woman. “The ache in her throat!”

The healer arches an eyebrow, eyeing him with amusement, and replies: “Those are the most common symptoms. Her Worship will have to bear with them for a short while.”

“But magic…! A spell might help her, let me try!”

“Like it helped you when you were sick, Messere Solas?” The woman shakes her head, her dry amusement moving from her eyes to her lips, too. “Magic can heal many things, but certain sicknesses are beyond a mage’s abilities. Otherwise, the poor and miserable of Thedas wouldn’t suffer like they do.”

Solas bites his lips and looks at Scarlet, who’s half-asleep, drifting between the waking world and the Fade, with its dreams and visions which will be probably stranger than ever, now that she’s affected by the high fever.

“My magic is strong.” he murmurs, a final protest against the healer’s words, but she doesn’t even listen to him and proceeds to list all the things Scarlet must eat to get better faster, food to be requested to the cooks, potions she will personally prepare and send later.

“Thank you.” Solas quietly says as she passes next to him and leaves. He’s been watching Scarlet for the whole time and once he’s alone with her and Cole, he quickly joins them. She briefly wakes up, then, and looks up at him with a drowsy smile.

“Hello, vhenan.”

“Hello, my heart.” He smiles, too, and caresses her hair. “Rest. You need to sleep.”

She makes a low sound and cuddles into his embrace. He helps her rest her head on his chest and she fights a little, at first, not wanting him to fall sick again, but he assures he will be fine and she’s too weak and sleepy to insist.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she murmurs, slowly closing her eyes, and Solas presses a kiss on her brow, replying tenderly: “Always, ma sa’lath. Wait for me there.”

Only when he’s sure she is deeply asleep, Cole speaks.

“You’re scared.”

Solas nods, swallowing, his eyes fixated on Scarlet’s serene sleeping face.

“I am.”

“Wounds and cuts and burns can be healed. They are outside and just a little bit inside, visible, and magic can reach them. But fever and labored breaths are hidden, you can feel them and hear them, but the spells don’t always affect them.”

Solas nods and he rests his cheek on top of Scarlet’s head, taking a deep, shaky breath that sounds like the prelude to tears. He keeps caressing her hair, his other hand stroking her right one.

The spirit boy waits a moment, then softly continues: “It reminds you of the Blight. It’s not the same thing, but you are not used to sickness. The only one you ever saw in the old, singing world was that red, mad one found in the wounded Earth.”

“Yes.” Solas swallows again and slightly moves his head to look at Scarlet. Tears are shining in his eyes, now, and Cole repeats, softer than before: “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know.”

“She won’t die, just like you didn’t die.”

“I know.” Solas looks at him, a tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t do anything to help her. I can’t help her, I am useless. My magic is useless.”

“You can stay with her.” Cole reminds him, smiling. “That will help her.”

He nods at her, adding: “Warm, he’s so warm. A strong scent, of trees and soil, of paper and old books. She feels safe and loved. She’s dreaming the wolves.”

Solas chokes on a sob, but he’s also smiling, now, and he presses light, delicate kisses on Scarlet’s happy face.

She wakes up much later. Cole left the room when Solas fell asleep, but her vhenan is awake, now, and he’s stirring the hot soup a servant brought straight from the kitchens, prepared using the healer’s instructions.

There are flowers and various gifts on the couch, “all gifts from the others”, Solas says with a smile. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra came to visit, but left immediately after realizing she was sleeping and they promised they would come back later.

“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting next to the bed on a chair, the bowl of soup and a spoon in his hands.

“Better. I think the fever went down a little and my throat doesn’t hurt as much as before.” She sniffs the air and looks down at her body, groaning. “Creators, I’m sweating like a sinner in a chantry!”

Solas laughs boyishly and leans down to press a loud kiss on her lips, making her blush, babble happily, but also complain: “Solas, stop it, or you will get sick again!”

“No, I won’t.” he promises, smiling lovingly and moving the spoon near her mouth. “Here, vhenan. This will make you feel better.”

He feeds her – and it makes both of them blush and smile timidly at each other -, then he helps her lie more comfortably in bed, adjusting the blankets and furs around her. He brings her all the handkerchiefs he can find in their room, then he massages her feet while narrating a short story that makes both of them laugh.

She tugs at his night clothes – which he hasn’t taken off yet – and he’s soon back at her side in bed, an open book on his lap, her head on his chest like before, listening to him read and watching his fingers turn the thin, yellow pages with care. Those same long fingers also caress her hair and cheek and he often stops reading to kiss her lips.

After half an hour, the book lies closed on the dresser and they are holding each other under the heavy blankets and pelts. Scarlet’s fever is indeed lower than before and Solas’ panic subsides, as he sees her smile and talk.

“You’re so warm, vhenan.” she suddenly says, nuzzling the space where his heart beats. “You always are, but especially here, where your heart is.”

“It’s because you are my heart.” he says, kissing her face. “As long as you are with me, I will keep living.”

She laughs and giggles – and this time that glorious sound doesn’t end with a coughing fit -, but then she looks at him with love, because he was serious and he’s looking at her in the same way, and they are both smiling.

“Let us sleep some more.” he softly says, fixing the blankets on her shoulders. “I am sure the others will make sure to let us know they are here.”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks again, their ritual, while kissing the warm space where his heart is beating fast. And he replies, holding her safe in his arms:

“Always, vhenan.”

#dragon age #da:i #solas #scarlet lavellan #solavellan #lafaiette's fic #MY BABIES #wow i wrote angst it's a miracle #it's mixed with a heavy dose of fluff BUT IT'S THERE #i need to write a papa solas fic asap now

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