#and they would kiss on the edge of the cliff and mia would say “i wish i could choose you” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

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Emily can't stop crying after the birth of their son, and Aaron is just trying his best to make it better.

-x-

This is just pure, ridiculous, unadulterated family/domestic fluff. My brain has melted due to the heat, and this is what it came up with. Based off of this photo, and the following prompt I got from an anon for my birthday prompts:

“Not to be drastic, but I would jump off a cliff for you.”

Also, consider this a mini celebration for me hitting 400 followers. Actual celebration fic to follow soon. I love you all very much, and I am constantly blown away by the fact this many of you care enough about my work to follow me. Forever thankful!! <3

-x-

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: non-descriptive mentions of pregnancy/birth, very hormonal postpartum Emily. Very descriptive mentions of Aaron's arms.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut!

“He’s so small.”

Aaron looks up from zipping up the duffel bag on his wife's hospital bed, the last of her and their newborn’s things packed away so he could take them home. He smiles at the sight of them together, their son tiny in her arms, her eyes fixed on him. He sits on the edge of the bed and places his hand on Emily’s thigh, smiling when their eyes briefly meet before she looks back down at the infant.

“He’s smaller than Mia was,” Aaron says, thinking of their little girl at home, the almost 3-year-old eagerly looking forward to seeing her mother, her reaction to her little brother somewhat underwhelming, “and I didn’t think that was possible.”

He looks up from his son to his wife when he hears her sniffle, and isn’t surprised when he sees unshed tears in her eyes, something that had been present almost permanently since the baby had been born. Noah came 5 weeks early, a drawn-out labour in comparison to his sisters, an emergency c-section that had led to him and Emily staying in hospital for a few days.

She was emotional when Mia was born, but this was different. She cried at almost anything, something the doctors assured them was perfectly normal but that didn’t stop Emily from being frustrated at herself, her anger and her tears an almost constant cycle since Noah’s birth three days prior.

“Damn it,” Emily says, shifting one hand from under the baby in her arms to wipe at her cheeks, she sniffs again, her lower lip trembling, “I think I’ve cried more in the last few days than I have my entire life.”

Aaron smiles at her and stands up, kissing her forehead before he gently takes Noah from her arms. He smiles down at his son and kisses his head before he turns to lower him into the car seat, the baby already half asleep.

“There you go, buddy, you excited to go home?” He asks, checking the straps securing his son into the seat. “Your brother and sister are excited to see you.”

That, Aaron knew, was half true. Jack was very excited to be a big brother again, a role he took very seriously. Mia, on the other hand, was definitely jealous. It was something that had started to become evident during Emily’s last trimester, the little girl suddenly incredibly clingy with her mother, her somewhat limited understanding of the big change about to come into their lives settling in. When Jessica had brought Jack and Mia to the hospital the day Noah was born she’d shown very little interest in her baby brother, simply laying up against Emily instead, snuggling into her mother’s arms.

Last night she’d asked Aaron when they were taking Noah back to where they’d got him from. He hadn’t told Emily yet, worried that the very normal sibling jealousy would upset her, deciding it was something he’d tell her when her hormones had settled down a bit more, and were no longer wreaking havoc on her usual ability to control her emotions.

He lifts the car seat gently, keen to ensure Noah stays asleep, and looks at Emily, sighing softly when he sees the tears on her cheeks again.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently, “what’s wrong?”

“You’re such a good dad.” She replies, wiping at her cheeks furiously.

It was going to be a long few days.

___

Emily considers it a win when she only cries once on the 20 minute car journey from the hospital to their house, the sight of Noah fast asleep in his car seat making her heart twist in her chest. He was so small, impossibly tiny in the newborn sizes onesie Penelope had bought him. The material almost engulfed him, loose around his tiny frame, the tiny bears printed onto it almost mocking Emily as she needlessly rearranged the straps holding her son in place.

She doesn’t think she’s ever loved Aaron more when he doesn’t say anything about it, his obvious concern limited to his frequent checks on her through the rearview mirror, a small smile on his face whenever he caught sight of her looking at their little boy.

She’s just about able to keep it together when they get into the house. She feels nothing but relief at the usual sense of comfort settling over her like a warm blanket as she walks through the doors, glad to be home for the first time since she went into early labour.

“Momma!”

Emily can’t help but smile at the sight of her daughter running towards her, Jack and Jessica several paces behind her.

“Hi, sweet girl!” Emily says, grunting slightly when Mia hits her legs at full force, the jolt to her abdomen, pain from her c-section incision briefly pulsing throughout her body.

“Mia, we talked about this,” Aaron says from behind her, closing the door with one hand, Noah still fast asleep in his car seat in the other, “be careful with Mommy, ok?”

Emily spots the slight frown on the little girl's face, so much like Aaron when she was upset, and she puts her hand on her daughter's head, internally cursing herself when the feel of her soft hair is enough to make tears press at the back of her eyes.

She was losing her mind, she was sure of it.

She looks over her shoulder and at her husband, shaking her head slightly, letting him know he’d deal with it. Jack and Jessica both greet her as they go past, immediately going over to say hi to Noah again, like they both hadn’t held him in the hospital every day since he was born.

“Don’t worry baby,” Emily says, looking down at Mia, “why don’t we go sit on the couch, huh? We can snuggle there.”

Mia smiles at her and nods, grabbing her hand and gently tugging her towards the couch. Emily sits down carefully, hyper-aware of the pain in her belly. Mia is next to her immediately, already cuddling into her side.

“Missed you, Momma.” She says, burrowing herself into Emily as if it had been weeks since she’d seen her, not the matter of hours it had actually been since her visit to the hospital yesterday.

Emily feels her throat clog up, the emotion that had been overpowering her for days choking her. She leans down and kisses the top of her daughter's head. “I missed you too, so much.”

The others join them in the living room, Jessica having clearly left. Noah was now contently laying in Jack’s arms, the preteen looking ecstatic to hold his baby brother. Aaron sits next to Emily and puts his arm around her, his lips pressed into her temple.

“How are my girls doing?”

She knew she’d never be able to explain it, why his innocent question immediately makes the tears she’d been attempting to hold back finally fall, but it does. She groans and wipes at her cheeks again.

“We’re fine,” she replies, her shaky voice contradicting her words, “aren’t we Mia?” She looks down at the toddler and the concern she sees in her daughter’s eyes and it makes her chest hurt, adding to the familiar ache in her breasts, a sure sign Noah would need feeding soon.

“Momma sad?” She asks, her tiny hand reaching out for her cheek, the press of her warm skin against her own, combined with the crinkle in her brow that makes her look exactly like Aaron, is enough to tip Emily over the edge.

Her tears immediately turn into sobs, and she turns so her face is turned into Aaron’s shoulder, barely catching the look of shock on her daughter’s face, and the concern on Jack’s.

“Mommy is fine,” Aaron says, running his hand up and down her arm, “she’s tired after having Noah, that’s all.”

Emily’s about to interrupt him, to say that she’s sure this is just who she is now. Cursed to cry forever, or until she died of dehydration, when a squalling cry comes from Noah, and she looks up, sniffing and wiping at her face as she does so, to see a concerned look on Jack’s face.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear.” He says, looking down at the infant in horror.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Aaron says, standing up, raising an eyebrow at Emily when she tries to, and he eases his youngest out of his eldest’s arms, “he’s probably just hungry.”

Emily is grateful when she has her son back in her arms, her frayed emotions feeling the tiniest bit placated by it, gently shushing him as he cries, readjusting her clothing so she can start to feed him.

“You’re ok, sweet boy,” she says as she smiles down at him. She feels Mia’s tiny hands grasp onto her shirt, pulling herself up to stand on the couch, her head peering over Emily’s shoulder to look at her brother. Emily meets her daughter’s eyes, “you excited that your brother’s home?”

Mia scrunches up her nose and shakes her head, ��my momma.”

Emily feels Mia’s grip tighten on her, one of her fists shifting into her hair, grasping at it like she hadn’t since she was a baby.

“I’m his mommy too,” she says, desperately trying to remember what all the books she’d read about parenting had said about jealousy, the memory lost somewhere amongst the exhaustion of having a newborn and the pain of having major surgery, “I love you both, and Jack, very much.”

Mia looks like she’s considering it before she looks past Emily to Aaron. “We take him back now?”

___

“She hates him.”

Aaron stops his pacing to look at her, Noah in his arms, freshly changed and fed, ready to sleep in the bassinet in their room for the first time.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft, understanding in the way he reserved for her and their children, “she’s 2. She doesn’t hate him, she’s just adjusting.”

“She kept saying she wants to take him back,” Emily exclaims, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“Em, love, it’s completely normal. You’re her favourite person in the world, she’s just going to have to get used to sharing you with someone else.”

She knows he’s right, that everything he’s saying makes sense, but she’s just so tired. Every part of her sore in a way she’d forgotten about since having Mia, nature's way of tricking you into having more children.

She looks up at him and is taken aback by the sight of him. His sleeves rolled up, Noah held securely against him, the size of Aaron’s watch in comparison to their son almost ridiculous. Noah’s dark eyes were open, Aaron’s attempts to get him to sleep failing so far, his fist tight around the material of his father’s shirt.

It was enough to make her start crying again. Primal love for the two of them, for their whole family, making her so happy there is no option for it to spill out of her, the now familiar tears flowing down her cheeks.

“You have got to stop.” She says, more annoyance in her voice than she intended, clearly startling Aaron, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head up at her.

“Em-”

“You’re just…I don’t,” she doesn’t know how to put it into words, wiping at her cheeks again, sure that her skin was going to go raw from it, “look at you.” She finally exclaims, waving her hand in his general direction. “He’s just so small, and you look so good holding him,” she sniffs, her voice cracking, “and you’re such a good dad, and a great husband and you have got to stop.”

“You want me to…stop being a good husband and dad?”

“No.” She says, sighing. “Of course not. I…” she drifts off, growling in frustration at herself, “I want to stop crying. It’s driving me crazy.”

He does his best to suppress his smile, she’ll give him that, and he walks over, sitting next to her, adjusting their son so he was against his shoulder. She reaches out and offers Noah her finger, smiling when he grasps her, his little fist tight.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and she looks at him, finding nothing but love and adoration for her in his eyes, “you’ve got to be easier on yourself. You had a baby 3 days ago. Earlier than you should have, and you had major surgery.” He uses the hand not securing their newborn to his chest, his palm almost covering the entirety of his back, to wipe a tear from under her eye. “And you’re still being a fantastic mother to our other children. You’re doing great.”

She smiles at him, aware of how it trembles, and she nods. “Thank you, you’re the best.” She leans in and kisses him, stamping her lips against his twice in quick succession. “I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” he replies, smiling at her as he pulls back. “Not to be drastic, but I would jump off a cliff for you.” He says, smiling at her so both dimples are on show, his eyebrow raised to let her know he’s trying to make her smile.

It usually worked, something he learnt early on in their relationship. That she’d scrunch her nose up and fight a smile when he said something cliche, her cheeks warm as she pretended she hated it. But she stares at him as she feels the now familiar wave of emotion wash over her, her throat tightening with it. A sob escapes her and she covers her mouth in a pointless attempt to muffle it.

“For fucks sake, Aaron,” she exclaims, watching as his face falls, the smile slipping away, “I only just stopped crying.”

-x-

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ruewrites · 2 years ago

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Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 21: Follow the Siren's Song

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 5036

Warning: None

A/N:

*Realizes it's been a little over two months since I updated*

*Realizes I left it unupdated at a very mean cliff hanger*

*Realizes I put a chapter cap but no update*

Sorry guys. I didn't mean to leave you hanging! I hope you can forgive me! I also hope that you continue to enjoy these last couple chapters as well as the journey! We're almost there!

Comments are appreciated!

"Your poor handsome face."

Solomon wiggled his fingers. They stuck outside both the cast and sling, and if he was being honest, they felt naked. Luckily, the healer had been able to doctor up his injuries a bit, but he would still need time to rest and recover. In the meantime, he had a rather diligent husband looking after him.

"Barbatos feels absolutely terrible, you know," Asmodeus said. His delicate hands removed his bandages, ready to wipe away any filth and fix him up with new ones.

"It isn't his fault."

"That's what I told him, but he won't have it." Asmo huffed and dabbed a wet rag over his wounds, "He promises that he'll make it up to us, but I said the only thing I will accept from him is him not blaming himself!"

"Kind of like how you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened to Diavolo?"

"Hush."

Solomon chuckled as Asmo pecked his lips. He then switched to drying off the areas he'd made wet so he could apply the bandages. At least his hands weren't shaking anymore, and his lip wasn't trembling at the idea of 'what if?'. They hadn't brought up Azazel in a while now. No one had. Solomon concluded that he was still MIA.

No one had heard him.

No one had seen him.

And this had Solomon on edge.

Azazel had made one last threat against Solomon's new family, and even with his absence he still managed to hurt Asmodeus. It wasn't fair, and Solomon was going to make him pay.

Solomon watched as Asmo stood and walked towards a little tray with food on it. "You must be hungry, right darling?" he asked, rolling the cart closer.

"I am feeling a little peckish, especially since someone insists I still rest in our room this morning," Solomon leaned against the counter and smirked. He knew he still looked like hell despite the fixing up, but for whatever reason, Asmo still seemed to find him incredibly attractive. There were still kisses at all hours of the day, and excuses made to touch him. Although, Asmo never really needed an excuse to touch him.

Asmo didn't entertain him with a response. Instead he held a fork of food up to his mouth, "Say 'Ah'."

Oh, Solomon adored him. He wasn't going to complain about being fed in the slightest. It made things easier for him, and Asmo seemed to think he was absolutely adorable when being spoon-fed.

"I must admit, the table is a little easier to sit at the table with Uncle gone," Asmodeus said, "I never realized how hard it was to breathe with him around until he was gone, it's exactly how father made me feel."

Solomon wasn't going to tell Asmo that Azazel was still suffocating him. "I can only imagine how your father made you feel." he used his uninjured hand to caress Asmo's cheek. He leaned into his touch without hesitation, long eyelashes fluttering, and he sought comfort in Solomon. "I'm sorry I ever entertained either of them."

"We wouldn't be here now if you hadn't."

"It was still awful of me."

Asmo opened his eyes and moved forward to kiss him. His lips were incredibly soft and tasted of honey. He was right; they wouldn't be together if Solomon hadn't agreed to the late king's terms back before love even entered the equation back before it snuck upon him. But he also hadn't had any reason to get comfortable with Azazel. Well, he had had a reason, but not one he looked back on fondly now.

"Stop blaming yourself," Asmo whispered, "I don't like it."

"I'm going to do plenty of things you don't like in my lifetime darling."

"True, but you're giving yourself tension, and tension leads to wrinkles," his voice came out in a sing-song manner; it was playful. And Solomon couldn't help the smirk that came onto his face.

"And do you know a way to relieve tension?"

Asmo was already making himself comfortable in his lap. Oh he never imagined that he'd ever feel so giddy over such sultry acts. The way Asmo looked down at him had him excited. There was a twinkle in his eye, one he'd become very accustomed to on their wedding night, and the day after. He probably would have had more time too if Azazel hadn't interrupted them.

"I know plenty of ways to relieve tension," he purred, fingers brushing back some of Solomon's hair, "I think all of them are fun."

Solomon's hand snaked down and grabbed at his ass. He had a very nice one, and Solomon was more than happy to paw at it, "Show me then."

"With pleasure."

They came together so easily, as if they were one being. Asmo's fingers were working the buttons of his shirt with amazing skill as he himself moved up into Asmo teasingly. Asmodeus formed a hurricane inside of him, one that could switch his mood from solemn to giddy without any effort at all. The marks from their first coupling still hadn't faded and served as wonderful reminders. They were poems inked on skin, lovely promises, and temporary reminders. Solomon was drunk off of them. Memories came flooding back into his mind, sending him into a state of euphoria he didn't even know he could reach.

He squeezed tighter before letting his fingers dance up his lover's spine, and his body reacted in the most lovely way. Everything was going swimmingly, that was until he felt the pressure on his shoulder, quickly reminding him that not only was his arm broken, but his shoulder had been dislocated at some point. A yelp left him, dissolving into a hiss as he leaned back against the chair.

"Sorry!" Asmo was quick to apologize, peppering the side of Solomon's face and his shoulder with kisses, "Stupid Uncle, still ruining my fun even after he vanished. Are you alright darling? I didn't make matters worse did I?"

Solomon hummed, forcing his body to relax under Asmo's gentle ministrations. Anxiety was prickling the edges of Asmo's voice, he had his own scars from Azazel as Solomon did. He wanted to be the definition of perfection, absolute perfection. It would take a long time to drain the poison Azazel had dripped into his mind. Asmo was already perfect to him, and he would continue to be perfect no matter what. Besides, this little hiccup was Solomon's own fault for being a little too eager. He needed to give his body time to heal and then he could express himself properly to his husband. But that didn't mean he had to cut himself off. No. He would indulge every second he had with Asmodeus. "I do have some reading to complete if you'd like to stay where you are. We can figure out our other matters later."

He couldn't tell if he was getting closer or farther away from finding a more permanent cure for the poison seeping through Diavolo's veins. But he'd be damned before he stopped here. When words started to blur together, and language lost its meaning, the spine of the book in his hands hit the desk with a thump, and his head nestled its way between Asmo's shoulders. He needed to find a cure. He needed to… to…

Asmo had gotten up from his lap and moved behind him. His fingers kneaded into tight muscles, careful of his injured shoulder this time around. It felt good, really good. A sigh left his lips and his head lolled back into Asmo. A giggle left his husband's lips, and the hand on his injured shoulder moved up into his hair.

Oh god.

Now this, this felt incredibly nice.

“You’re adorable,” Asmo murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away. Solomon almost couldn’t believe the whine that had left his own mouth, as he reached out for his partner to stay. While the old him would have been embarrassed, he didn’t feel a thing but yearning. He was a different man from when he had first arrived in Arcadia. He had to wonder if Asmo underwent some sort of change too. “I’m just going to go get a hot towel or two for your shoulder, It’ll make you feel a lot better.”

Solomon’s eyes followed him, even as Asmo threw him a wink before giggling and disappearing around the door frame. His head lulled back and his eyes shut. What had he even read just a few moments ago? All he could picture were sunset eyes that cast fire upon every inch of his body they fell upon, lips softer than the finest silk he could buy, and hair strung with gold.

A soft sigh left his lips. Whatever was he going to do with him?

“Well, don’t you look pampered.”

Solomon let his eyes opened and glanced over to Simeon as he stepped into the room. Luke was trailing not too far behind, carrying a stack of folded scrolls and a quill in his tiny arms. It was almost comical. Luke was so tiny, one day he would no longer be small but those days were far far away.

“And I’m happy to feel pampered, I feel like I was trampled by a thousand horses.”

“So you’re not feeling any better?” Luke piped up. He looked more worried than Solomon had ever seen him before, young blue eyes growing five times their normal size. “Are you ever going to get better? Is your arm going to be like that forever?”

“Now Luke-”

“I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling better than I was,” Solomon assured, “Asmodeus is taking wonderful care of me. As you can see, I am being perfectly pampered as Simeon said.” He didn’t want Luke to worry. Apparently chaos had erupted when he had emerged from the caverns, and Luke had been absolutely mortified. He had no doubt that they were both worried they had lost him, just as Asmodeus had been.

Simeon looked skeptical, one brow raised. Solomon could feel his contradictions before he even opened his mouth. “You feel better despite feeling like you were trampled by a thousand horses?”

“Well before it was ten thousand horses.”

“That’s a lot of horses.” Luke set the scrolls down and started organizing them. Were they notes for Simeon or recipes from Barbatos? Perhaps they were both, Solomon couldn’t say.

“It sure is, and my husband has managed to wrangle them all.”

Simeon moved to his opposite side,taking a seat next to the window, “I bet you feel very lucky to have married him then.”

“Incredibly lucky,” Solomon agreed, “As I am also lucky to have friends like you and Luke by my side.”

Simeon smiled, and for the first time Solomon took note of the signs of exhaustion on his face. What had his friends been through? What hardships had they endured for the sake of his own ambition? Had they been able to adjust in Arcadia as well as he thought they had?

“I would agree that you are very lucky indeed, so lucky in fact that Luke and I decided to bring you a present to help with your recovery.”

Luke dropped something onto the desk, making Solomon turn his head. On the table laid a book, beautifully bound with a mahogany cover and golden threads. He recognized this book.

“Simeon said this was your favorite story,” Luke chirped, “Did we get the right one? Is it really your favorite?”

Solomon smiled fondly, tracing the cover with his fingers. Memories came flooding back of the stories within. This book had fueled Solomon’s imagination, and looking back memories with this book were the only times Solomon could recall that he had truly ever felt like a child.

“It is, I adored this one when I was a child. Wherever did you manage to find it?”

He would have to share it with Asmodeus.

“There was a tiny bookshop in the marketplace, we stopped by when we were out buying ingredients for Luke’s latest masterpiece,” Simeon explained.

Luke nodded along in agreement, “Will it help you feel better?”

“You know what? I think it will. Thank you, both of you. I’ll have Asmodeus read it to me every night from here on out, just like I had when I was about your age Luke.”

Luke’s face immediately lit up, any trace of worry had left his body, “Did you hear that Simeon? I bet Solomon only feels like he got run over by five hundred horses now! Just you wait Solomon! We’re going to help take care of you too! I’m going to get Barbatos to help me bake a cake just for you tomorrow! When we’re finished you’ll barely even feel like you were run over by one horse!”

Alas if broken bones were only that easy to heal, but all the same, Solomon couldn’t help but smile as he listened to Luke’s ramblings. When he was finally finished looking through the books before him, he would have his husband read to him as a treat. He had such a lovely voice after all. Perhaps one day Luke and Simeon could listen to him read as well. His husband was talented, and Solomon wanted to show him off in any way he could. Not only that, but Solomon would get to share something incredibly important with Asmodeus, something that had probably contributed to shape Solomon in one way or another. Inside the bindings of the book were fantastic tales of magic, adventure, and peril, surely it had some hand in the way Solomon turned out. The more he thought about it, the harder it was to deny.

This book had been an important part of his childhood. Maybe, well, perhaps if Solomon managed to find an heir for his own throne one day he’d share it with them. Perhaps he and Asmodeus would take turns reading aloud, or maybe they would prefer to read it quietly in the confines of their room by themself under the light of the moon as Solomon had all those years ago.

Solomon had craved and yearned for adventure back then, and now it seemed that he finally got his wish in a rather roundabout way. Although the author of his own story had yet to conclude his epic. How would his story conclude? Would he get a happy ending just like the heroes in his stories? Did he deserve a happy ending?

***

"So you really didn't know what was up here?"

"I knew Uncle had his own study, but I assumed he just had personal copies of texts, but I wasn't even aware that some of these scripts existed."

Satan thumbed through one of the books, eyes glossing over the text as he went. He looked perplexed, and appeared to reread the sentence he was on a few times, "They certainly never mentioned any of this in our lessons."

Solomon hoped that Satan's eyes might be able to help him find the missing piece he was looking for, but a part of him had also apparently hoped he would never have to come back to this room. Nausea was bubbling up in his stomach and his eyes quickly gazed over the case he now knew to be a hidden door. His arm tingled, and part of him remained on edge, waiting for the monster he'd encountered to burst into the room sending splinters raining upon him. It had been at least a week now hadn't it? Why did these thoughts still plague him?

Parts of the underground system had become off-limits since Azazel's disappearance. Anything that was not absolutely needed for travel had been blocked for everyone's safety. Lucifer had mentioned he’d prefer if no one traveled below, even if it was inconvenient, and for certain doors to remain locked. This room would be next, Lucifer had given them enough time to root through the books and that was it. So why did he still feel so uneasy?

"Would you mind helping me organize these books in the library?" Satan's voice brought him out of his haze slightly, but a part of him still remained behind, "Of course we have to look over all of them first, but it would help to have more than one pair of eyes."

"No, I wouldn't."

Solomon hoped his smile was genuine. He didn't want to begin describing what was running through his head. How could he even begin to describe what was running through his head? He hadn't really gone through any of it in detail with anyone. Not even Asmo. How could you tell someone what horrible monster was left behind of their father even if he was a monster to begin with? It was a terrible situation no matter which way it was spun, and he had to live through it. Would Azazel have turned him into one of those things? Of course he would have, Azazel had wanted an army, he wanted control. Asmodeus and Belphegor had different roles to play-

No.

No, he couldn't let his mind wander. Thinking of Asmodeus in a position like that. It wasn't right for him. How many times would Azazel drag him around in a ruse? How many kings would Asmo be made to put on a show for? How many performances of "Lilith" would it take before he broke? He could picture the unkind men, men who he had been no different from. They would be nothing but a pack of wolves ready to devour his little bunny, and Solomon would be nothing more than a lifeless puppet. The thoughts were too heavy to bear.

Bile rose in his throat.

If everyone else was out of the way, what was to stop Azazel from beating Asmodeus into submission once more? What if he murdered him just as he had murdered the real Lilith?

And Solomon would be helpless to all of it. He wanted to be there for his partner, and he couldn't do that if he was a mindless monster under Azazel's thumb.

He had already been a mindless monster under Azazel's thumb at one point.

Maybe coming up here had been a bad idea. After today, Solomon didn't think he would come up here ever again if he could avoid it. The room reeked of evil, and it reminded him too much of his own shortcomings. Asmo didn't want him taking on guilt, true, but he also couldn't help it. There was so much he could have done. So much he could have prevented. Maybe Asmo shouldn't have married him.

Solomon reached for yet another book on the shelf. As soon as he pulled it back a scroll rolled down and fell at his feet. Despite being hidden behind the bookshelf, it looked rather pristine. There wasn't a single crinkle or tear in the parchment itself, and upon further inspection the writing remained unsmudged.

"What is that?" Satan peered over his shoulder, eyes scanning over the paper. The words were familiar.

Why would Azazel have this tucked away where it couldn't be easily accessed?

The memory came back in drips. A day that Solomon also didn't want to remember, a day that was supposed to be beautiful and happy. A voice clung to the words on the paper, softly at first. It clawed its way from the back of his mind until it consumed his thoughts. Why didn't he think about this sooner? Everything was right under his nose. Everything!

He was nothing but a man blinded by ambition. A fool's king.

He rolled the scroll up, and looked Satan in the eye, "I need to speak with Asmodeus."

***

The twins sat close to Asmo. Belphegor had seemed to be avoiding him before when Solomon first arrived (if not acting outright hostile), but now things seemed to be settling if not settled. As much as Solomon needed to speak with his spouse, it didn't seem like it would be possible to tear him away from the conversation he was currently engaged in.

"I hope he starves down there. He should rot and never be allowed to see the light of day ever again. He deserves to suffer for what he did to Lilith," Belphie was gripping the table tightly in his hand so hard that Solomon swore he could see each of the individual bones in his fingers, "He killed her. He killed her and replaced her."

"He didn't care. He never cared," Asmo's face looked green. Solomon would have to check in with him after they were finished talking. Azazel had hurt the family so much, Asmo deserved time to talk about it.

Beel's eyes were fixed squarely to the table, "I was supposed to go out with her that day, we were going to go to the market together."

Solomon hadn't heard Beel speak much during his time in Arcadia, he hadn't seen much of the twins at all, but in this moment where Belphie carried anger and resentment, Beelzebub looked defeated and broken. From what Solomon gathered he was a boulder of a man, strong, and seen as fit to stay close to Lucifer's side when he became king. But now he was crumbling.

"If we had gone… Maybe she- Maybe he wouldn't have-"

"Maybe he wouldn't have just stopped at one on that day. Maybe he would have done the same thing to you that he had done to our wretch of a father," Belphie spat, "He would have killed any of us without remorse, he made that clear."

"He did have a talent for saying unkind things, and committing even crueler acts." Maybe Solomon was focusing a bit too much on his husband. There was a chance he had become hyper analytic of his actions, but the way Asmo rubbed his hands and arms as he spoke made Solomon's blood boil.

"Because he is the scum of the earth. Do you want to know what he said to me once?" The laugh that left Belphie chilled Solomon straight to his core, "Listen to this, he told me that two is a blessing, you never need two, but you have one just in case something happens to the other.”

His grip on the table loosened, and for a second his eyes betrayed how weakness had consumed his body, "He never cared about us, neither did father. We were nothing but easily disposable pawns."

His body fell forward slightly before he caught himself.

"Belphie," Asmo's voice fell flat, as silence stretched between the three youngest siblings, "I think, maybe you should go rest now. Do you need help walking back to your room?"

"I've got it, I think you have someone waiting for you."

Beel nodded towards Solomon. Had he been that noticeable? He wasn't trying to be. Although he didn't want to sneak around either. Solomon lifted his hand to wave as the twins stood to leave. Embarrassment gripped at his stomach and rose up to his cheeks for every second that eyes were on him. Asmo seemed hesitant to leave at first, but as soon as Belphegor waved him off that hesitation disappeared.

"Oh! Darling, do you need anything? Does your arm ache? Do I need to fetch a healer?"

Solomon laughed lightly as Asmo pressed a hand to his forehead. He had no idea what that had to do with his arm, but Asmo was displaying concern, and Solomon wasn't about to mock him for it. Instead, he took Asmo's hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. His skin felt warm against his chilled lips, like the summer sun melting away the last of winter's frost and bringing him to life.

"There's actually something important I'd like to discuss with you, or I believe it to be important, I'm unsure."

He undid the scroll and laid it flat on the table, "You recognize this don't you?"

Asmo's eyes glanced over the words before furrowing his brow and looking at Solomon, "Of course I know it, it's the same ballad I told you about before. The one with the two lovers and the Heart."

Of course it was. At first Solomon had believed it was nothing more than a mere legend, simple fantasy. But what if the song really did hold some truths to it? Maybe he was being desperate, grasping at any straw he could to save Diavolo. But then again, why would Azazel hide something of such little importance? Maybe it was one last way to mess with his mind, to toy with him, or maybe it was as important as he thought it was.

"Have you really forgotten about it already? Is your memory really that short or did Uncle hit you harder than we thought?" One of Asmo's well manicured fingers pressed directly into the center of his forehead. The feeling alone sent something through him. It tingled and warmed him. It thrilled and excited him. It calmed and grounded him.

He took Asmo's hand and pressed his lips against his knucked, and allowed his face to rest against his skin. "No, that's not it. I just wanted to make sure I was thinking about the right thing is all."

And now that he knew it was the right thing he could take his suspicions to Lucifer.

"Why take an interest in it now?"

"Why are you so inquisitive today?"

"We're married!" Asmo wrapped his arms around Solomon's and pulled, "You should be telling me everything."

"Everything eh?"

"Yes."

"Even what I ate for lunch yesterday?"

Solomon couldn't help but laugh at Asmo's pout, "Yes. Everything!"

"So a man can't have his secrets?"

"Solomon!"

"Alright, alright," he pecked Asmo's cheek and stayed close, "I understand. I'm still figuring it out but I promise that I'll tell you once I understand yeah?"

Asmodeus leaned into him with a sigh, "I suppose that is acceptable."

"Wonderful, now would you mind telling me about the story once more?"

***

Lucifer's hands were folded over each other in thought, his face barely illuminated by candle light. He hadn't spoken in a while, eyes deep in thought. When he did, his voice was quiet. Barbatos was making himself as small as possible, quickly and quietly refilling and replacing teacups, reheating lukewarm tea, and cleaning the remains of snack trays. The slight tremor in his hand was barely noticeable. Solomon wondered what could be the cause of it. His thoughts jumped from Diavolo’s condition down to what had happened to himself. Whatever the case, Barbatos refused to let anything else bubble to the surface that might betray his anxieties.

"You're sure about this?"

"As sure as I can be," Solomon hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He could be wrong. Incredibly wrong. But what other choice did they have? There was no other possible cure, and the one he had concocted was temporary.

"I don't know about this,” Diavolo’s phantom form was haunting. The poison had been slowed, but it was still aiming to claim its victim, “We blocked off unneeded pathways for a reason. I’m not too fond of the idea of you possibly going down there and getting hurt in the name of a false hope.”

“And I’m not too fond of the idea of standing idling by while I continue to watch you waste away,” Lucifer retorted, turning to meet Diavolo’s gaze. Solomon had never heard him sound so stern with Diavolo before. It felt wrong for him to be here now, he was an intruder, this wasn’t a moment he was meant to witness. Looking at him now, Solomon wondered if Lucifer was holding his breath through his words, “I can’t do that. Not when I know I could save you.”

Diavolo slowly reached for him, taking Lucifer’s hand and squeezing with what strength he still had, “I know love, but you are a king of a great nation, your people will need you.”

“And you are my world and I need you.”

Something flickered in Diavolo’s eyes, even if only for a moment. It wasn’t quite sadness, it was deeper than that, so much deeper. His grip loosened but Lucifer refused to let go. His other hand joined the embrace and he placed it over his own heart. They belonged together, they truly did, and Solomon swore he would do anything to keep them this way, to save Diavolo’s life.

Diavolo chuckled, “You’re such a stubborn man.”

“You have the audacity to say that to me? With how you yourself are?”

Even now they found time to banter.

“Barbatos will take marvelous care of you until I come back. He always does.”

“Of course, he always has. And you will come back to us.”

“I will, just as I will return to your side later tonight and be here when you wake in the morning,” Lucifer’s voice was barely a whisper now, kissing Diavolo’s knuckles as his head hit the pillows behind him, “For now, Solomon and I have plans to make.”

They certainly did, and Solomon was afraid that he would have no idea where to start.

He was betting everything he had on a hunch, and in the end a hunch was all they had.

***

Two lovers and a bond between them so strong that it defies reality as we know it. Within death they find rebirth. No matter how many different iterations have been passed down through the years, those two themes are a common factor. While I am still skeptical about the truth behind the story, I do believe that the Heart lies within the caverns below, and that if it is invoked, it can call forth powerful magic beyond comprehension. My hope is that we can use it to reverse the poison’s effects. I still have many unanswered questions, but I simply don’t have time to answer all of them. It may be as simple as asking, it may not. I have tried to find instructions within the story with little to no avail. A sacrifice and a plea are both made, neither is uncommon for strong magic, but I fear that if the exact steps are not completed our mission shall be for naught.

#ruewrites #obey me #solodeus #soloasmo #asmosolo #asmodeus x solomon #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me satan #obey me barbatos #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #royalty!au #arranged marriage!au #tabol

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nalgenewhore · 4 years ago

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Too Late To Turn Back Now - Eight

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was the first to wake. He yawned, turning his head from where it was buried in the crook of Elide’s neck to look outside at the sunny skies. Only a few fluffy clouds dotted the blue expanse.

He looked back at the bed, looking at how they were tangled together in a comfortable mess. They were both on their stomachs, Elide sprawled out half-beneath him, one of his legs slotted between hers. Her arms were tightly wrapped around a pillow and she had the most adorable scrunch on her brow, her full lips twisted into a pout when he moved and the duvet shifted. Goose flesh erupted over her bare skin and he leaned down, brushing his lips over her tattoo.

Elide hummed softly, smiling as he chuckled dryly and continued, not one to deny her a single pleasure.

Slowly, he moved up the curve of her shoulder, his lips softly drawing her from her deep slumber. Lorcan knew she was awake by the time his teeth grazed against her jaw, but she let him be as he continued his path. He pulled back, smiling at her whine of protest that he quickly soothed by pressing his lips to the head of her inked wyvern

She hummed again and twisted beneath him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “It’s sunny,” she whispered, pulling back to look him in the eye, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone.

Lorcan rose a brow, “It seems we have a detective in our midst. Tell me, princess, how did you deduce that?”

“I’m a gal of many talents,” she whispered with a hoarse voice, shifting beneath him and wrapping her legs around his waist as she looped her arms around his neck. Lorcan smiled and tilted her chin up, kissing her again.

A needy sound formed in her throat and Elide deepened the embrace, not satisfied until he gave into her borderline desperation. She craved him, like nothing she’d ever felt before, a yearning that was hardly satiated even with him in her arms.

It seemed as though Lorcan felt the same as he started to move down her body, his destination clear. Only, they were interrupted by the growling of her stomach and he laughed, propping himself above her. “You hungry?”

Lorcan caught the wicked glint in her eyes too late before she was expertly flipping them and bracing her hands against his chest. “For food, El.”

She just winked and lowered herself, skipping his lips and trailing hers down his jaw and throat, her hands travelling over his sides. He sucked in a breath when her nails scraped over his ribs and she moved lower, kneeling between his legs. “Princess,” he ground out, his hands fisted in the sheets.

“Yes?” she asked him, making her slender eyes wide and innocent.

“Stop being distracting.”

“Why?” Fuck her for pouting, that was a dirty move. And wrapping her hand around him, that was just cruel.

“Elide,” he panted, locking his jaw as she trailed her tongue over the tendril of ink that crept over his hip and connected to the artwork on his back.

There was more than a little smugness in her eyes and voice, “Use your words, baby.”

“We have to…” Lorcan trailed off, suddenly very unable to figure out why he was debating this.

“Are you saying no?”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Half an hour later, a satisfied Lorcan was shaking his head as a cocky Elide threw him a saucy smirk over her shoulder and practically skipped down the hall, her happy laughter echoing through the house.

Elide was wearing a pair of his boxers and an old hockey jersey of his from highschool, one of the sleeves slipping down her shoulder while he was clad in his classic low-slung sweats and nothing else.

The kitchen was empty when they got there and he nudged her to a barstool while he got their food ready. Someone had already been up and filled the coffee pot, so as Lorcan gathered the necessary ingredients, Elide poured them mugfulls and put his down on the counter next to him. She rose to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and spun away before he could wrap his arms around her.

Lorcan focused back on the waffle batter and he swore, he tried to pay attention, he really did, but then music started playing and Elide was dancing, her hips swaying hypnotizingly to the beat.

She was so caught up in her sultry dance that she didn’t notice she’d danced herself to him, bumping into Lorcan and startling. Before she could evade his grasp again, he gripped her hips and pulled her back against him, “You said you couldn’t dance.”

Elide smiled and put her coffee down, twisting to face him, “Mm, I don’t know how to do ballroom dancing.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Lochan,” he said, teasing as he faked a glare down at her.

Shrugging, she turned again and slipped from his arms, continuing her previous movements. Lorcan made a sound of protest, his mouth popping open as Elide looked back at him and cackled. He frowned and she only laughed louder, clutching her stomach as she bent at the waist.

“Oh, really? That’s, that’s how it is then, huh?”

It took a few seconds for Elide to calm down enough to say to him: “Lemme, let me just think… oh, oh wait. Yeah, that’s how it is.”

“You’re a fucking brat. I don’t like you very much.”

Elide nodded, very convinced as she scooped up her coffee again and hopped up onto a barstool, happy to sit back and watch him.

He noticed her watchful gaze, of course he did, and commented, without looking at her, “You could help me if you wanted.”

“Now why would I do that, when I could sit down, enjoy my coffee and watch a fine-ass man do it for me?”

He couldn’t argue with that and rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head as he poured the batter into the waffle iron.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

As they ate, they were joined by Fenrys, Rowan, Connall, Vaughan, Aelin, and Nehemia. The boys were already cheery, smiling easily at Elide as she said hello and told them to serve themselves.

Aelin was nearly comatose, moving on autopilot as she loaded her plate and filled the tea kettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she plopped herself down next to Elide.

The breakfast table was in a cozy nook, set in bay windows with cushioned benches. Nehemia joined the girls on one of the couches, silently sipping her coffee. The colourful scarf on her head that amassed her curls to the top of her skull was at odds with the stormy expression on her ethereal face. Fenrys helpfully supplied: “Mia isn’t exactly a morning person. Ain’t that right, baby?”

Nehemia glared at him and to his credit, he only winced after she had shut her eyes, still half-asleep. Aelin perked up when Rowan placed her cup of tea in front of her and kissed the top of her head, murmuring something in a language foreign to Elide’s ears.

Soon enough, the table was crowded and they were all talking loudly above one another. Elide mainly observed, letting Nehemia lean on her as she ate her waffles. Aneha joined them a little later, saying that her twin was working on her next masterpiece and couldn’t possibly grace the peasants with her presence.

It was chaotic and abrasive, but Elide had never felt happy like this, feeling like she had finally found her people. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, she looked up and met Lorcan’s soft gaze, his dark eyes open and depthless.

Suddenly, it felt as though everything else slowed and nothing else mattered but them and this moment. Later, after the kitchen had been cleaned and everyone was fully awake, the boys decided to live out their days of youth and go cliff-jumping. Aelin was game, while Nehemia said she’d stay in the boat and Elide agreed with her.

It was cold and Elide snuggled down into Lorcan’s fleece pullover, agreeing with Nehemia when she told the gang that they were crazy. They had taken the deck boat, not the sleek speedboat, to fit everyone and Elide and Nehemia were currently curled up on the leather bench-seat, huddled under a blanket and everyone else’s coats and jackets.

They dropped anchor about fifty or so metres from the rock face and the boys shoved each other out of the way as they raced to the water, swimming fast to the cliff. Rowan touched the rock first, but Aelin was quick in the water, wrapping a hand around his ankle and yanking him back beneath the waves.

They brawled it out while the twins passed them and were quick to scale the cliff. Nehemia cheered as Fenrys made it to the top first and roared his victory to the skies, taunting the rest of them as they made their way up.

Elide chuckled as Lorcan and Rowan started boxing, her heart clenching as they got too close to the edge, but thankfully Aneha shouted and pulled them back, berating them as she slapped them upside the head.

The brothers looked at each other and nodded, easily picking her up and tossing the brunette out. Aneha screamed obscenities as she fell, managing to land in a cannonball.

As she surfaced, she treaded water and yelled, “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“Are they always like this?” Elide asked Nehemia, eyes on Lorcan as he took a running start and leaped, twisting and flipping off Aneha as they passed each other, one falling through the air and the other climbing back up.

“All the time,” Nehemia said, grinning as she procured a silver flask from where it had been stashed somewhere in the boat and two red cups. Elide’s grin matched hers and they poured themselves cup fulls, spending their day by drinking and judging the jumps, either booing or calling out appraisals.

The day passed them by slowly and it was a while before everyone swam back to the boat. When Aelin sat on Rowan’s lap and when they pulled the blanket over their heads, the rest of the group yelled and threw their empties at them.

Lorcan groaned in disgust and hid his face in Elide’s shoulder, pulling her half in front of him. She rolled her eyes and leaned back into him, smiling as he lifted his head and rested his chin on the top of her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

They had driven back to the house and after everyone had changed into warmer clothes, their shivers mostly gone, they began the lengthy discussion of what to do for lunch.

Lorcan was hanging back in the discussion, toying with their joined hands. Elide was a bit confused, she’d seen him jump into the petty arguments they dissolved to with little encouragement, but she thought nothing of it and leaned back against his front.

“Why don’t we just go into town? No one has to cook,” offered Connall, ever the peacemaker. The group paused and agreed, turning when neither Lorcan or Elide had voiced their opinions, though the latter had preferred to be an observer of this debate.

Before she could agree to anything, Lorcan was saying: “Nah, we’re good. I want to show El something, we’ll see you all later, ok?”

They all shrugged and with a few yelled good-byes, off they went. Sadirah was still working on her newest painting and was not to be disturbed, but she welcomed dropped off food or mugs of tea. Elide got to working on just that, not looking at Lorcan as she asked, “So, whatcha gonna show me?”

“The reserve,” he told her calmly, but with the way that he was fidgeting and not meeting her eye when she did turn to look at him told a different story. “Unless you want to do something else—”

“No! No, I’d love to,” Elide said, smiling widely. “I’d love to.”

He blushed and she took a mental picture of it. “Well… good. We can- we can go when you’re ready?”

She hummed her agreement and took the now-ready tea for his sister in her hands as well as a plate of toast with peanut butter on it, “Let me drop this off to Dee and I’ll be ready.” She rocked onto her tiptoes and just barely managed to kiss his cheek. A frown graced her brow and when he asked her why, he laughed at her pouty response of: “You’re too tall.”

He sent her off to the artist’s creaky attic with a conciliatory kiss and a promising smile, promising what, she didn’t exactly know but whatever it was, it made her stomach ripple in anticipation.

Elide made her way up the creaky steps and smiled as she heard Sadirah’s music pouring from the halfway open door - Rico Nasty. A girl with taste, Sadirah was.

She tentatively knocked on the doorframe, stepping in after the young artist called for her to come in. “Hey, Dee. Brought you some sustenance.”

Sadirah popped up from behind the canvas, paint streaked across her cheeks and forehead, a half-crazed smile on her lips. “Hey, Ellie! Oh, thank you, I’m starving.” She stumbled off her stool and kept her palette and brush in hand as she toddled around her messy studio, seemingly knowing where everything was in the chaotically organized mess.

“So, I see you stan Rico.”

Lorcan’s youngest sister smiled again and nodded. “Yeah, she puts me in the right headspace to paint!” she said before she gulped down a good portion of tea and took a bite of toast.

“Do I get to see said masterpiece?”

“Oh my gosh, sure, if you want. It’s just a little thing,” she said, beckoning Elide over. “It’s actually for you and L, if you want it or anything, you don’t have to though.”

Elide grinned at Sadirah’s poor visage of nonchalance and set her eyes on the painting. Since it was only just started, it took her a bit to suss out what it was, but when she figured it out, her breath hitched. “Oh,” she breathed, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s us.”

It was a painting of the two of them on the speedboat, sitting together on the bench as Lorcan warmed her hands for her as a pretense. There was a small smile on Elide’s part way finished face and she could see her relaxed posture, almost melting into his side. It was such a forgotten moment, Elide thought, a throwaway thing he’d done because he’d seen her - truly. Elide turned to Sadirah, who was waiting anxiously, idly mixing a colour on her palette.

“It’s beautiful. Really.” Out of the unignorable urge, she hugged Sadirah, careful not to disturb her palette. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sadirah said, a smile in her voice as she hugged Elide as tightly as she could with one arm. “I’m happy you do, I’m always nervous about showing people the paintings of them.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elide repeated, letting Sadirah go as she heard Lorcan call out from the bottom of the stairs and begin to walk up.

“Hey,” came a distinctly male voice. They both turned to face Lorcan, his eyebrows raising at Elide’s red eyes. “Are you crying?”

“Nope.”

“You so are. What did you do, Dee?”

Sadirah exclaimed in outrage, “Hey! I’m the nice one! I would never.”

Lorcan chuckled, “That’s fair. You ready to go, princess?”

Elide nodded and waved good-bye to Sadirah, cautiously making her way over to the door. She didn’t understand Sadirah’s system, but it wasn’t her place to fix anything so she did her best to leave everything untouched.

Lorcan gave her a look as he too said a farewell and they walked downstairs, their hands brushing against each other’s. After a few surreptitious touches, Elide laced her fingers in his and pulled him down behind her quicker. “So, what’s the reserve like?”

“Oh, pretty normal. Just like any other small town.” He shrugged and they put on their shoes and jackets before walking down to the boat. She didn’t hesitate to step climb in and take her seat, looking excitedly out at the glittering blue expanse of sea.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her eagerness, such a stark difference from the first time she’d been in the boat. After stepping in and sitting at the wheel, he turned the engine on and it rumbled to life. “Ready?”

Her wide smile was answer enough and they were off, smoothly coasting to the top speed as he expertly maneuvered the water craft to the next grouping of islands. “The reserve is spread across five different islands, with different bands, but we’re going to the biggest one!” Lorcan shouted over the loud noise.

Elide gave him a thumbs up and resumed her ocean gazing until they slowed and floated up to the jetty and tied the boat up.

Already, there were kids swarming around them and when a few of the older ones recognized Lorcan, they began yelling in Ozuye and mobbed him, smiling wildly. Elide grinned at the sight and smiled at a shy little girl that traipsed up to her, looking up at Elide with big brown eyes.

Elide crouched, “Hi there. My name’s Elide. What’s yours?”

“Akicita,” the girl whispered. “Are you Lorcan’s friend?”

“I am,” Elide confirmed. “He wanted to show me around.”

Akicita grinned as Elide stood and the group began to walk up to land. Elide looked to Lorcan, who had a kid on his shoulders and another holding his hand. The others trailed around him, chattering nonstop as they walked.

There was a big, brown building and Lorcan stopped, waiting for Elide. He explained, “Need to state that you’re here ‘cause you aren’t a band member. Then we’ll go see some other stuff.” She nodded and gently took Akicita’s hand when the little girl offered it.

Lorcan had to put down the child before they walked in and assured them he would be back soon. The office was bustling as they walked in and someone called out, “Ah, the hotshot returns!”

He laughed, “Fuck off, Dres.” Elide spied the shorn-haired woman with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I need to sign El in.”

Other people noticed the two of them and began conversing with him in their mother tongue. She didn’t feel excluded or like an outsider, really, more like an observer. It was nice and when he slung his arm over her shoulders, she let him.

Soon enough, someone was passing her a clipboard with a form on it and she filled it out, thanking the older woman who’d given it to her.

“A’ight, we’re good to go then,” Lorcan said, saying good-bye to everyone as they walked out.

“So,” Elide began, lifting her hand to lace her fingers in the hand that dangled from her shoulder, “where to now?”

He showed her all over the island, his old haunts like the elementary Essar now taught at and high school he attended, his old house, the beach where he’d lost his virginity. She teased him for that. The kids trailed after them everywhere they went, not that Elide or Lorcan were complaining. After a while, the little Akicita had become sleepy and tired so Elide picked her up and let her fall asleep.

Finally, Lorcan brought her to the elders, who were sitting on the porch of a great big building - the longhouse - and they paid their respects to them. A group of the boys insisted on Lorcan playing basketball with them so Elide had sat down with the still-dozing Akicita and spoken quietly with the elders.

They were a riot and shared many humiliating stories about her so-called fiancé with her. Elide had nearly cried in laughter, trying to suppress it so as to not wake the little one. She watched Lorcan with a fond eye, recognizing how he played purposefully badly with the kids and went along with them as they cheered their many victories.

Elide was almost reluctant to leave when the sun began to dip and she softly waved good-bye to the new friend she’d made when Akicita’s mother came to get her. Akicita sleepily waved her fist, causing Elide and her mother - Ewahee - to exchange sweet smiles.

It took Lorcan a little while longer to say his farewells but eventually he did and he migrated back to her side, placing a hand on the small of her back as they walked away. Elide paused and turned to him, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair that had escaped his braids behind his ear, “Thank you for showing me this. I want…”

“Yeah?” he encouraged her, revelling in the feeling of her fingertips lingering on his cheekbone.

“I want to cook dinner. I can make Blackbeak food?”

Lorcan thought about teasing her, after having seen the barrenness of her kitchen a few times, could she even cook? But her face was nervous and anxiety swam in her slanted eyes so he nodded, “I’d love that.”

She smiled and dropped her hand, her eyes travelling over everything in sight as they walked back to the boat. “You really like it here, huh?”

Elide looked back over her shoulder, a furrow in her brows. “What’s not to like? It’s your home,” she said, shrugging and continuing on like normal, like Lorcan’s entire world hadn’t just shifted completely with three little words.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Where’s the…” Elide muttered, searching the shelf in front of them for whatever it was. She refused to tell him about any of the ingredients and went as far as to cover their basket with her jacket, not taking any chances.

She spotted the spice on the top shelf, way too far for her arm reach. “Oh. There it is,” she said. Lorcan moved to get it for her, able to track her gaze but Elide stopped him, “I got it.”

Lorcan watched, mildly horrified as she proceeded to scale the shelves and grab the bottle before neatly hopping down and dropping it under the jacket. “Ok! That’s everything.”

He tried to sneak a look into the basket, too curious and impatient to stop himself. Elide caught him and flicked his nose, “Hey! No peeking, Salvaterre! I meant it.” She glared at him until a look of realization passed over her breathtaking face, “Oh, I forgot- can you go get some lamb?”

“Mm-hmm, how much do you want?”

“Let’s see, mmm,” she did a few calculations in her head, no doubt counting how many people would be at dinner. “You, me, the twins, the boys, your mother, Ae and Mia… I guess eleven? Some people will eat less than one and you brutes can have more, right? Yeah, enough for eleven.”

“Sounds good.” He was about to walk off but paused, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Meet you at the cashier.”

“Ok,” Elide breathed, scowling when Lorcan smirked at her flushed cheeks. “I hate you.”

“That’s not what you said last night. And your actions this morning prove otherwise.”

“Yeah, well, that was a hate blowjob. You can give those out of hate, you know.”

Lorcan laughed loudly and she smiled despite herself, soaking up his delight. “Whatever you say, I’ll go get your stuff, yeah?”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“No, baby, that’s not how you do it,” Elide said as she watched Lorcan attempt to wrap a cabbage roll. She decided to make sarma, a relatively simple dish of pork and rice stuffed cabbage rolls that were cooked in a pot over lamb chops and in a spiced tomato sauce.

Elide was showing the group - Lorcan, Rowan, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, Aelin, Nehemia, Aneha, and Sadirah - how to wrap them as she prepared the lamb.

Lorcan pouted at her and she laughed, kissing his cheek before showing him and the others. While it was nice to be all together, making dinner, they tended to become distracted and now all focused as their wraps were hardly any better.

Sadirah and Aneha excelled at it and basked in Elide’s praise, taunting their brothers. The whole gang viewed the girls as their baby sisters and one look between Vaughan and Fenrys had the guys scooping them up and tickling them mercilessly.

Elide laughed easily, unable to name the feeling of home deep in her soul. Something caught her eye and she looked up to see Odette leaning against the archway, gazing fondly at Elide. She beckoned her over and Elide went, swallowing hard. “I’m glad he found you, Elide.”

Elide felt like bursting into tears but controlled her emotions, accepting the warm hug that Lorcan’s mother offered. “You’re good for him, sweetheart,” Odette whispered. “Don’t forget that, alright? You two deserve each other.”

“I won’t,” Elide whispered back, her throat tight. How it hurt her very being, lying to them all like this.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Everyone was sitting around the patio table, chatting animatedly as they ate. Elide was smiling as she conversed with Fenrys, her shoulders loose and grin easy.

Every time Lorcan looked away to something else, his gaze slid right back to her and she remained oblivious. Or so he thought. She noticed out of the corner of her eye and sipped from her drink, whispering, “Is there a reason you’re staring?”

He dropped his head, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “I enjoy looking at beautiful things.”

Lorcan smirked as she blushed and muttered into her drink, “Charmer. It won’t work.”

“What won’t work?”

“Your plan to seduce me,” she declared, finally turning her head to look him in the eyes. Her gaze dropped to his lips and Lorcan let a rough chuckled slip past them.

“Is that right, princess?”

“Mm-hmm,” she breathed, her voice hitching. “That’s right, baby.”

“I’m so convinced right now,” he told her, grinning at the nickname that seemed to roll off her tongue so naturally.

Elide huffed and rolled her eyes, leaning into his side. “Shut up.”

After dinner, everyone had migrated to the kitchen, efficiently cleaning before they moved to the fire pit and listened as Odette told them stories. Elide listened, but her eyes were stuck on Lorcan’s face, watching the almost childlike excitement as his mother recited the stories he learned when he was a wee little lad.

Slowly, her heart filled with something heavy - a comforting weight and warmth as she had slid into Lorcan’s lap when he’d opened his arms for her and wrapped a blanket around the two of them.

When it became late, Odette corralled her youngest children to bed, threatening to maim anybody who dared wake them up when they finally went to bed.

That was when Aelin and Fenrys had broken out their stashes of booze and things had gotten a little wild.

Elide’s vision was blurry, slipping in and out of focus as she sat down across the table from Lorcan, who was relatively sober. “Alright, Salvaterre,” she slurred slightly, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. “You ready?”

“For what, princess?”

Elide made a happy noise at the nickname and planted her elbow in the middle of the table, “Arm wrestle!”

Lorcan snorted and placed his elbow on the wooden surface, humouring her as he gripped her hand. Aelin cheered and elected herself as referee.

“Fighter one, are you ready?”

“Yessir,” Elide said, a pleased smile on her lips. “You’re going down, baby.”

“Fighter two, are you ready?”

“Yup,” Lorcan said, popping the ‘p’.

“Let’s get it on!”

Lorcan’s arm didn’t budge and Elide stood up - for leverage. Aelin and Nehemia backed Elide up, egging her on as Lorcan remained in place. Before he could stop her, Elide leaned across the table and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, using the distraction to pin his hand to the table. With a victory cry, she stood up on the bench, lifting her hands to the skies, “YES! I’M THE CHAMP! YOU FUCKIN’ SUCK!”

Lorcan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “That cannot count. Ref?” he asked Aelin, who was standing on the bench next to Elide and whooping. Nehemia cackled and joined them, the golden jewellery adorning her hair glinting in the light of the fire.

“All’s fair in love and war, Lorcy,” she declared, grabbing Elide’s fist and lifting it like an actual martial art referee to signify her win. They started dancing, jumping around until Elide slipped. Nehemia caught her and they all burst into peals of drunken giggles.

Lorcan stood up and walked around to the other side, helping the three of them down to earth, “Alright, let’s dance on the ground, yeah?”

Aelin went off, spinning and spinning, her golden tresses catching the light from the fire. Nehemia cackled and skipped over to Fenrys while Elide stayed with Lorcan, opening and closing her hands in a grabby motion. “Up!”

Chuckling, he easily picked her up, his hands under her thighs. “Better?”

Elide smiled serenely, her face blissful as she locked her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Very much,” she said, breathing in the sandalwood and cedar scent that clung to him all the time as she buried her face in his neck. “It’s very better.”

He chuckled again and she made a gentle noise in the back of her throat - she loved it when he laughed. She loved it when he was happy.

She loved-

No. She couldn’t. Because she would be leaving him soon enough after tomorrow, because this was a sham. Nothing about this was real.

She still let herself believe that it was and whispered, so soft her broken admission and in a language he didn’t understand, “I love you, Lorcan Salvaterre.”

“Hmm? Baby, you know I don’t speak Blackbeak,” he said, rocking her back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Nothing,” she told him, laying her head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. “Just a prayer.”

He sighed softly, still swaying slowly. Gently, he began to sing, just loud enough so that she could hear it as she succumbed to the thick tendrils of sleep.

“It’s too late… to turn back now,” he hummed, “I believe, I believe, I believe I’m falling in love…”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: wouldn’t it be nice if everything went well after this....

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein @rosegoldannie @pilesoffriles @julemmaes

#too late to turn back now #tlttbn chapter eight #the proposal au #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

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my-proof-is-you · 5 years ago

Text

The Cost of Protection - Ch. 20

Summary: Pain, bruises, and cover-up. You had come to accept that this was now your life. He was cruel, but you had to stay with him. It was the only choice. That is, until you meet the green-eyed stranger that refuses to let it go… You have protected others for a long time. Can you learn to be the one to be protected? Can you trust two strangers that say they won’t let anything bad happen?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; abuse

**I do not own any images or gifs

Masterlist

You

You opened your eyes and found that you had been transported somewhere by the demon. You were on a cliff, nothing but ocean in front of you.

You turned to look at the demon, who was sitting on a boulder, calmly looking at his fingernails.

“What do you want from me?” You asked, knife still held at the ready.

“Oh, my dear, it’s not what I want. It’s who. And it’s you,” he responded, barely looking up.

“M-me? Why?”

“Ah, let me explain. You can put that little knife down. It won’t work on me,” he said, gesturing to your knife as he stood. “My name is Rahab. I'm not a demon. I’m an angel.”

You scoffed. “Angel my ass. Last I checked angels don’t make blood calls to hell.”

“True. But I’m not just any angel. I’m a fallen angel. My allegiance is no longer to heaven. It’s to hell—but I say that lightly, as it really is just to myself,” Rahab explained.

“Okay then, why do you want me?” You asked, backing up a little. You were right at the edge of the cliff and really had nowhere to go.

“Oh, my dear, I know all about you. You would be the perfect pet for me. You see, my name means violence. I fell from heaven, and this is what I became. The king of violence down here. And I have to tell you: you humans really tend to take care of most of the violence on your own. So, I’m bored. And I think you will entertain me.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to stay with you? Or that Sam and Dean will just let me go?” You asked, trying to think of a way out of this.

“They’ll let you go because you will convince them to do so. If not, I’ll rip them limb from limb. Then your family…and anyone else you’ve ever loved,” Rahab said, coming closer to you.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You traded one psycho for a much more powerful one. You thought as hard as you could about how to get around this, but knew it was no use. An angel? You had no defense against an angel.

“What do I need to do?” You asked, your face blank.

“Good girl. I’m going to send you back to them, and you’re going to tell them that you killed me. You’ll go home, have a normal night, then leave a note and go in the middle of the night. I will come get you.”

“A note? You seriously think a note will work?” You asked.

“You better make it convincing. And no tipping off the brothers. I will be watching, and I will know.”

Your heart sank. You knew you had to do what he said, at least until you came up with a plan. You nodded your head.

“Alright. Then lets make this look believable, shall we?” He said, stroking your cheek.

He reached his hand back and slapped you so hard that you fell to the ground. You could feel your eye already swelling shut. He kicked you a few times in the ribs, then brought you back up to standing.

“Mmm, I sure do love the feeling that gives me,” he said, his eyes glowing green.

With your next blink, you were back at the abandoned house with Sam and Dean.

“Y/N! Oh, God, are you okay?” Dean asked, rushing to your side.

You nodded, not sure you could speak just yet.

“What happened?” Sam asked, helping Dean hold you up.

“I—I got him. He wanted to keep me but I got to him with the knife, and made him send me back. Just as he transported me, I threw the knife. I saw it hit him. He’s dead,” you said, spitting blood out of your mouth.

“Okay, sweetheart, let's get you home,” Dean said, scooping you up into his arms. You nuzzled your head there, treasuring every moment you had left with him.

You had stayed silent throughout the car ride back to the bunker, trying desperately to come up with a plan to get you out of what was coming. So far, you had nothing.

You couldn't believe you were in this situation again.

Is there a neon sign that says ‘victim’ on my forehead?

When you arrived home, you got out of the car and held Dean’s hand as you walked down the hall to your room. Sam said goodnight, and you let go of Dean’s hand briefly to give him a hug since you didn’t know when you’d see him again.

Sam hugged you back, a little confused, but didn’t say anything. You followed Dean into his room and sat on the bed.

"You okay, darlin'?" He asked.

You gave him a small smile. You knew if you let on at all that anything was wrong he would try to get it out of you, and he wouldn’t let you go. You couldn’t let that happen, not when you had an angel on your ass.

“I’m fine. Come here,” you said, holding out your hand. You pulled Dean down on the bed with you, kissing him lightly. He took the hint and laid back in the bed with you, kissing you back. You kept the pace slow but still passionate this time. You wanted to savor every moment with Dean. For all you knew, you could be dead soon.

Dean rolled you over so he was on top of you. You slowly stripped out of your shirt and bra. You reached down and removed your pants and underwear as well. When you were completely naked, Dean ran his eyes up and down your body. You squirmed a little under his stare.

Dean took off his own clothes, watching you the entire time. Then, he was back, positioning himself at your entrance. You grasped onto his shoulders, readying yourself for him.

He slowly pushed inside you, filling you completely. He gave you a moment to once again adjust to his size before pulling out slowly and pushing back in at the same pace.

The sex was tender and heartfelt…just what you needed. As you got closer to climax, you felt your eyes starting to well with tears. You ignored them, pushing them back and focusing on how Dean was making you feel.

He looked deep into your eyes as you both got closer to coming. You started to moan, and he picked up his pace. You felt your walls clenching around him and knew you were close. Dean bent down and kissed you everywhere: your nose, cheeks, shoulder, chest, and breasts. He placed his fingers on your clit which sent you over the edge, your orgasm a slow burn this time. As you reveled in your aftershocks, Dean continued to push and pull in and out of you until he reached his own climax.

Dean laid down next to you, looking into your eyes. You tried to smile, but only felt the feeling of loss you knew was coming in a few short hours.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asked, concern in his eyes.

You smiled. “Yes, I’m sure.”

He smiled back. “Y/N…I love you.”

You were surprised at the words, but could tell that he meant them. You knew that you felt the same. You were afraid to say it back, though, as you knew it would just make things harder when you left.

He deserves to know.

“I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean's entire face lit up in a smile, and he pulled you close, kissing you deeply. You snuggled in next to him, trying to keep yourself from crying—at least until Dean fell asleep.

When Dean was asleep, you crawled out of bed, careful not to wake him. You pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, not too concerned about your wardrobe for that son-of-a-bitch.

You took out a pad of paper and a pen, ready to write the cursed note. You tried to think of a way to hint at where you were, but knew that Rahab would see it. So you did what you had to.

Dean,

What I said earlier is true. I do love you. But I have to go. I can’t do this, and I’m so sorry. I will never forget the words we shared in our bed, between the sheets. Don’t come looking for me. This is for your own good.

I will always love you,

Y/N

You folded the note and put the pen in your pocket. You walked back to the bed, placing the note on your pillow. You crawled between the sheets one more time, wanting to watch Dean sleep for just a little longer. You lay with your hands at your side, looking at his long eyelashes and peaceful sleeping form.

After a few minutes, you got up quietly and walked out the door, tears falling down your cheeks. You stood outside the bunker.

“Alright. I’m ready.” You heard a light rustle of wings and you were gone.

Forevers:

@malfoysqueen14

@divadinag

@lynne1993

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

@infj-slytherclaw

@onethirstyunicorn

@sammykb1994

Deanies:

@tftumblin

@deans-baby-momma

@akshi8278

@weepingwillowphoenix

@playingdeep17

This Fic:

@my-soul-is-the-moon

@riverdalesserpent

@savannah0111

@sourwolf-sterek32

@justanotherwinchester

@obama-mia

@samsgirl93

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #SPN #spn fanfic #spnfandom #SPNFamily #spn imagine #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester/reader #Sam Winchester #abuse #fanfic #fluff #angst

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heliads · 5 years ago

Text

Neverland Rebel Chapter Twenty Three

Saramia Gibson didn’t want to be taken to Neverland, but apparently, she didn’t have a choice. Now, Saramia has to escape the island before Pan finds her- because that means a certain death for her. Can she escape in time?

previous / series masterlist

I can't believe I just said that. Did that really happen? Did I actually say that? I'm freaking out, hiding in the middle of the forest. What have I done? Will he kick me off the island? Look, Saramia, just breathe. If you pretend it never happened, you can move on. Maybe he'll forget in a few weeks. Besides, I think, looking down on the camp, there are a lot of injured Lost Boys who need your help right now. Go bandage their wounds.

Forcing myself to leave my hiding place, I move quickly to the camp. I stop by the first boy I see, who's cradling a cut leg. I apply herbs, dress the wound, and bandage it. Done! I can do this. The next one is bleeding a lot, so I apply pressure and cover it. As I'm working on healing him, he leans close to me. "That was really cool what you did, you know," he whispers, "With the knife and the pirate." I can't help but smile. "Maybe later I can teach you." His eyes light up. I find myself moving in a blur around the campground, and as I work, my mind can't help but to stop worrying over telling Pan I love him, which is nice. Before long, though, I feel tired. I stand up, stretch, and look around. More boys are helping bandage cuts and clean wounds, and I need to take a break, so I walk towards the bay once again. I flop down to the ground, sitting up and propping my hands next to me. Practicing medicine takes a lot out of you, I guess. My eyes trace the shapes of the horizon, from the gentle lapping of the waves to the movement of the leaves in the trees to the gentle light of the morning flickering through the air. I let out my breath in one soft sigh.

When I hear soft footsteps behind me, I freeze. I know it's Pan, I know he wants to talk about what I said, I know I should go away so I don't have to talk about it, but I know I'm tired of running away. He sits down next to me. "Mia, do you remember when you first came to the island? You escaped out of the cage, which no one had done before, you hid in the trees until I had to use my magic to find you, then you lead us all on a chase throughout the island." I chuckle. "I can't believe no one escaped from the cage. The bars were made of wood! I had a knife in my boot! What was I going to do, sit there?" Pan sighs dramatically, but I see a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. "Anyways, you kept challenging what I said and disobeying my rules. I would ask for one thing, and you'd find the exact opposite thing to do. You always asked me why I let you do that, and I didn't know. Then we jumped off that cliff during capture the flag and I was surprised, because no other boys were willing to treat me like their friend and do the same before. We trained together, and then when you left, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't find you, even though I used my magic. I lost you, Mia, and I didn't know what to do. When the pirates attacked, and you threw the knife, it was like the sun rising through the darkest night I'd ever seen. Now, I know why I always let you get your way, or talk back to me, or be the rebellious self that you are. It was because I loved you, and I'd never realized it before." He looks at me, and I look back, astonished. "You love me?" He nods, smiling. "But, if you loved me, why did you ignore me? The second you brought Anastasia, you didn't want anything to do with me." Pan shakes his head. "I realized I loved you, and I thought you would never love me back, so I tried to get over myself. I thought that by bringing Anastasia to the island, I could forget about my love for you and just move on as King of Neverland, but I just pushed you away instead. I have to ask, though, you said loving me was the worst mistake you ever made. Do you still think so?" I laugh, feeling freer than I have in weeks. "Of course not. My mistake was never telling you how I felt, and letting Anastasia come in between us. I love you, Peter Pan, and that is the best thing I've done so far." He smiles gently, and kisses me. When he finally leans back, he says, "I think I like it when you call me Peter. No one's ever really done it before." I laugh. "Peter it is."

We stay there on the beach for a long time. When we finally walk back to camp, Felix walks over to me. "Thank god you're back, Saramia. Pan kept moping around all the time. It was pretty depressing." I laugh at that. "I'm here to stay, Felix. No worries. Although, I need to talk to a certain Lost Girl." Felix gestures towards the forest, muttering something about how Anastasia isn't even a real Lost Girl because she was too annoying to be a proper one, and I walk into the woods. When I finally find Anastasia, she's waiting for me on a tree stump. "So, you finally decided to show up? Figures." She stands up, walking towards me. "We were all so happy that you left! No one had to deal with your insufferable presence, and you have some nerve to come back. I think it would be best if you ran along to your hiding place." I'm not letting her words get under my skin. "Some nerve? I wasn't the one hiding under a tree because some pirates attacked. Did you think no one saw that? Trust me, Annie, you aren't in control of me." She glares at me when I call her the nickname, and growls at me, "Watch what you say. Pan would do anything for me, you lousy-"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you." Peter walks out of the woods towards us. Suddenly, Anastasia is all smiles. "Hey, Pan! I just wanted to thank you for saving me during the pirate attack! You were so brave.." Peter rolls his eyes. "The only one saving you is Saramia, and I just heard you trying to insult her. Speaking of which, you've been bratty and spiteful the entire time you've been on the island, and frankly, we're all a little tired of it. What do you say, Mia?" I grin. "Let's get rid of her, Peter." Upon hearing this, Anastasia looks frantic. "Look, I just wanted to have fun. So what?" Peter shakes his head and calls to his shadow, which comes through the trees. Anastasia looks scared at this and tries to run off, but she doesn't get far before the shadow swoops down on her and starts carrying her off the island. "That's a relief." Peter grins, and we turn to each other. He holds out his hand. "Back to camp?" I take it, smiling. "Love you, Peter. "Love you too, Mia."

* * *

A/N: Oh my goodness! I can't believe I finally finished this story. I came up with the idea a few years ago but never actually wrote it or finished writing it until now. This is my first ever completed work, and I am so grateful for the support of you guys. I never thought I'd actually finish something like this, but I have! Thank you so much for reading,

sunny-reys

#neverland rebel #ouat #once upon a time #peter pan #peter pan imagines #peter pan x reader #peter pan x reader ouat

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noobmvster69-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Who’s It Gonna Be?

My attempt at a Romanogers one shot. Inspired by Avengers: Endgame

——————————————————————————

“In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.”

It took a lot of convincing on Natasha’s part to get Nebula to talk. She had a feeling (call it spy instincts) that Nebula was holding back information about Vormir and the Soul stone during their team meeting.

Natasha knows what she has to do. Will she actually pull this off? She has to.

God how things have changed in the last five years. Tony became a dad to an adorable little girl; Bruce, the genius that he is, became one with “the other guy”...literally and you have Clint and Thor who went MIA up until recently.

As for Steve and Natasha, they finally gave in to the undeniable chemistry between them. Though their relationship is fairly new, it doesn’t feel that way to the both them. Thanks to more than a decade of friendship and partnership.

Which is why this is not going to be easy. Natasha knows how Steve is. Always willing to make the sacrifice. Not this time. Not if she can help it.

“So who’s it gonna be?” The stonekeeper asks.

“Steve, I think we both know who it’s gotta be” Natasha says softly looking into Steve’s eyes. “I think we do” Steve replies returning Natasha’s gaze. Steve was the first to break eye contact, turning to look at the cliff where one of them will make the ultimate sacrifice.

“I’m starting to think we don’t mean the same person here.” Natasha says which gets Steve’s attention away from the cliff and back to her. “Nat-“

“Steve, please. I need to do this. This is what I’ve been waiting for for the last five years, this exact moment. A chance to make things right. To bring everyone back.” Natasha says taking Steve’s hand in hers.

Steve takes a deep breath before breaking the silence. “Alright, you win” Steve says then gently tackles Natasha to the ground which makes the latter groan as she was not expecting that.

“They’re gonna need someone to catch them up and lead them” Steve says looking down at Natasha. Natasha manages to roll them over and stand up. “Which is why they need you” Natasha says before firing one of her bites. She takes this distraction as an opportunity to run to the edge of the cliff. Steve escapes the widow bite and runs to stop Natasha from jumping.

He tackles her to the ground again, not so gently this time, kisses her long and hard (let’s see who’s distracted now). Steve quickly gets up and runs to the edge. “Oh no you don’t, Rogers!” Natasha says getting back up on her feet and runs after Steve.

Natasha jumps after Steve and she ends up grappling him from the back. Natasha (the ever prepared spy), manages to hook a climbing rope onto Steve’s belt loop and shoots the other end onto the side of the cliff - all while airborne. When Steve realizes what she did, he grabs a hold of her wrist.

“Damn you!” Steve couldn’t help but spit out. “Let go. It’s okay.” Natasha whispers. Tears starting to fill her eyes as she realizes that this is it. This is the end for her.

Is she scared? Fuck yes! Who wouldn’t be? When you’re about to fall hundreds of feet literally to your death. But at the same time she somewhat feels at peace knowing that her sacrifice could bring back millions of people unfairly taken from their families. This is her chance to wipe clean the red on her ledger. Her life for the lives of millions.

But most importantly, she feels at peace knowing that Steve doesn’t have to make the heroic act this time. He’s already done that when he went in the ice.

She saw how hard it was for him. Waking up and finding out that you’ve missed the last 70 years of your life. Become a man out of time and having to adapt to the modern world.

She doesn’t know exactly when or how but Steve stole her heart and never returned it since. She’s okay with that though, because she knows that it’s safe with him.

“No! I won’t let go, Natasha.” Steve replies tightening his hold on her. His eyes glistening with tears. “Remember when you said you’d trust me to save your life? This is it, Steve. And not just your life but the lives of millions of people. Please!” Natasha pleads.

“I can’t, Nat. I love you” Steve said now sobbing. “I know. I love you too. I’m sorry” Natasha replies teary-eyed before pushing off the side of the cliff to get momentum. This catches Steve off guard causing him to let go of his hold on Natasha. “NOOOOOOO!” Steve cries out loud trying to reach out for Natasha but failing.

——————————————————————————

After coming back to the present and breaking the news to the team, Steve goes to his room to be alone. He finds a letter neatly placed on his bed. He slowly opens it and reads it:

Steve,

If you’re reading this, it means that everything went according to plan. You got the stone but more importantly, you’re safe and alive. Yes, I knew beforehand the consequence of going to Vormir was. Nebula told me - actually I annoyed it out of her.

Don’t be mad at her, I made her promise not to tell you. Im sorry I kept it from you. I know you would stop me if you knew.

I also know that you are blaming yourself right now...don’t. It was MY choice, Steve. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I found it, by the way - the ring. Sock drawers are not a good hiding place fyi. It’s beautiful! Who knew Captain America has good taste in jewelry?

Just so you know, I would’ve said yes. I love you, Steve. And I want you to be happy.

Now go bring everyone back, Captain!

Love,

Nat

#romanogers #captasha #capwidow #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #marvel #mcu #avengers #fanfic

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ghostheadcanons · 6 years ago

Note

Ah, yes, I should clarify! Their first kiss with their s/o!

Ahhh, there we go. The Papas + Copia’s first kiss with their s/o! I can do that.

Some of these are about to get +18, so beware!

Papa Nihil:

“Papa!”

Nihil looked up from his desk towards the door. You were standing there with a letter in your hands and a smile on your face.

Immediately the old man’s face lit up with a smile of his own.

“Ah, cara mia!” he laughs, slowly getting to his feet. “It is always good to see you smiling. What is going on?”

You practically bounce into Papa Nihil’s office. “They accepted my novel! They’re going to send an agent out to talk business in the next week!”

“That is wonderful news!” The old man clapped his hands together, walking towards you.

You close the distance, embracing him in a tight hug. He has some of the wind knocked out of him, but laughs, hugging you back.

“You opened so many doors for me, Papa...thank you...”

And it’s true. Without Nihil’s connections, your writing might not ever have seen the light of day outside your computer. He had been moved by your work and had spent ages with you working to get it published, saying it would be a great benefit to the church.

This man meant the world to you.

You look at one other for a moment. Then, on an impulse, you press your lips to his in a kiss.

Nihil lets out a surprised sound. “Mph!”

All too quickly, you realize what you’ve done. “Ah--oh no!” you stammer. “I-I’m sorry, Papa, forgive me, I shouldn’t have--”

You try to pull away, but Papa Nihil cuts you off by pulling you into a kiss of his own. He tastes like caramel and apples. When he pulls away, you feel slightly dazed--and like you might need a hit off of the old Papa’s oxygen tank yourself.

“No, no.” Nihil’s milky white eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you. “I like where this is headed, cara mia. Don’t stop now.”

Papa I:

You had fallen asleep at your desk again.

Papa I shook his head with a tsk-ing sound, frowning. He had told you time and time again to go to bed at a reasonable hour, but you never listened. “Just one more passage,” you insisted, sometimes pleaded. “One more passage and I’ll turn in. I promise.”

But you never seemed to make it to your bedroom.

Papa I bent down beside your desk and picked up the fuzzy blanket neatly folded there. Carefully, carefully, he spread it over you, tucking in the ends so you would be warm throughout the night.

Even if he wished you’d take better care of yourself, he admired your dedication to your studies.

“My hard-working student,” he murmurs, watching you. A soft smile wrinkled across his face. Papa I leaned down and gently kissed your forehead, brushing a few strands out of your eyes while he was there.

Then, he settles in at the desk nearby, book in hand. He has his own studies to attend to, after all.

Papa II (+18):

“You stand upon the brink.”

You tremble. The infernal pope towered above you, even without his clothes on.

And yet, you tremble not in fear, but in excitement. This man had you so helplessly ensnared with his voice, his eyes, his hands, that he could have pointed to the edge of a cliff and you would have happily walked off.

You are completely bare. As this is your first night with him, he has decided to show mercy and take it easy on you. Your hands are bound above you, and you are splayed out on the bed.

“Tell me your safe word, pet.” Papa II leans down, staring intensely into your eyes. A single finger loops under the leather collar around your neck and tugs you forward, ever-so-slightly. “What is it?”

“Deviled eggs,” you breathe.

“Good.” The man’s hands slide down your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“Yes...” you all but moan.

“And who do you belong to?”

“You, Papa.”

“Such a good pet.” He takes your face in his hands and kisses you, a kiss that burns with the unholy fires of passion, and you welcome the pink haze that settles over your mind.

Papa III:

"...and the man says to me, ‘a goat? that was my wife!’”

“HA!”

The pair of you burst out laughing. Loud, snorting, wheezing laughter that dies down to little giggles before getting loud again. The pair of you are on one of the church balconies, having ditched the party going on inside to sit outside and talk.

Oh, and both of you were a little drunk. A bottle of wine is being passed between the two of you.

“Y’know, you’re really funny, Papa,” you sigh. “But not like....in a dumb way.....”

Papa III looks over from where he was drinking directly from the wine bottle. “Is there another way?”

“Yeah....you’re like....” You wave your hands, trying to think of the right words. Without warning, you lose your balance, and fall over with a yelp.

CRASH!

The pair of you end up hitting the floor of the balcony. You stare into eachother’s eyes for a moment, before III whispers, “Funny like that?”

You cackle like an idiot while Papa grins. You haven’t got a clue what he means, but damn, he’s pretty.

“Damn, you’re pretty,” you mumble. III blinks, but seems to take it in stride. He gets a smirk, reaching up and cupping your cheek. His voice drips with seduction.

“I’m not pretty. I’m Papa.”

That sets you off giggling again. “Aaaaah! You dork!”

“You’re the pretty one here.”

“Stooooooop,” you whine playfully, waving a hand.

“I mean it, carina. You’re the prettiest thing here.” A pause. “...next to me, anyway.”

You blink. Papa III sits you up, a devilish gleam in his eye.

“And I think I’m going to kiss you. Would you like that?”

“...uh huh,” is all you can manage.

The two of you come together for a soft, sweet kiss that leaves you seeing stars.

Not a bad way to start the night.

Cardinal Copia:

“...so I was wondering...”

Copia’s tone is tentative. You blink, looking up from the text you were sharing with the Cardinal. He’s staring at the ceiling of the library, fiddling with his gloves.

“Yes, Cardinal?” you inquire.

“Copia,” he says quickly. “...you can call me Copia.”

“Just as long as I’m not overstepping. What’s up?”

“Ah. Hm.” Copia clears his throat. “...you know, there is...a very nice cafe, over in town....”

“Yes?”

Your heart flutters just a little faster in your chest. Is the Cardinal blushing?

“Uh, yes! Yes, there is. Very nice. Good food, excellent drinks....” he trails off.

Is this really happening? you ask yourself. Here, one of the men you most admired in the world was sitting beside you, unable to look you in the eyes as he tried to ask you out.

“And...and I was wondering...”

“Yes?” You lean in.

“I...” His brow furrows. At this point, his face is almost as red as his cassock. “I was wondering--”

“Copia?”

You put a finger to his lips, silencing the man. He finally, finally manages to look you in the eyes.

“Shut up,” you say, not unkindly, and kiss him.

It’s short, and sweet, and when you pull away for air, Copia has a dazed sort of smile on his face.

“I’ll be ready at six. Can you pick me up then?”

“Yes,” he nods slightly. “That--that works.”

“Good.” You smile softly and stand up, walking off to get ready for your date. “I’ll see you then.”

#ghost #ghost bc #ghost headcanons #ghost bc headcanons #papa nihil #papa i #papa ii #papa iii #copia #cardinal copia #kissing #fluff #headcanons #just-here-for-copia

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gossamie · 6 years ago

Text

before i forget you.

SUMMARY — He wakes you up to ask you for one last thing— before he loses everything.

PAIRING — jeon jungkook x reader

GENRE — angst

WORD COUNT — 1,392

WARNINGS — mentions of disease/trauma

NOTES — WOW i haven’t written in a hot minute!! i’m finally on thanksgiving break, which means i have way more time to write. i apologize for my inactivity and i hope this makes up for my absence :’) enjoy!

p.s. thank you to mia (aka @taenchanted) for giving this story a beta read! thankful for you bb!

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” - Pablo Neruda

When he looks at you, you know that he has forgotten everything.

You can tell from the emptiness in Jungkook’s eyes and how it creates an abyss of endless depths, darker than the pitch black that envelops your small bedroom. At this point, you don’t even need to see him; this has happened too many times before, so often that you’ve gotten used to seeing him forget. That look has been ingrained into your memory and etched into your soul and carved into your heart but you are numb to the pain, and you have been for a long time.

You are numb to the pain because, since the accident, Jungkook has forgotten every single memory regarding your relationship— every kiss, every smile, every “I miss you” and every “I’ll see you soon”— and you’ve found that you spend far less nights crying yourself to sleep when you push down the tears and ignore the heartache.

There are only two things that Jungkook remembers: the fact that you exist and the fact that he loves you.

What hurts the most is not the fact that he doesn’t remember you entirely, but the fact that he does not remember himself entirely. For Jungkook, every day is a struggle to remember how he likes his eggs in the morning, how he likes to style his hair, how he likes to put together an outfit; every day is a struggle to remember how to be him. Whenever you see him, he looks lost within himself, as if he is merely a shadow of the Jungkook you once loved.

Your worst fear has always been losing Jungkook.

You never knew that you would lose him like this.

As Jungkook’s empty gaze stays locked on yours, you notice that there is something different, something unusual tainting the darkness in his eyes. Its presence is like the moon; it does not resemble the warm rays of the sun, but its light pierces through the abyss and strikes the scars in your heart and tears you apart until you are left open, vulnerable, completely under its control.

It is fear.

You can’t remember the last time Jungkook has shown any emotion since the accident and you have no idea how to react. Questions begin to race through your mind. You want to ask, Have you realized that you’ve forgotten everything that’s happened yesterday? Have you realized that you’ve forgotten every single day before that? Have you realized that you’ve forgotten everything about us?

Have you realized that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to love me?

Instead, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook blinks. The pain doesn’t leave his eyes. “I almost forgot you.”

You do not respond. You wish that sentence never came out of his mouth.

He stays silent for a moment, as if to register those four words in his brain. Then, “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Of course.” I’d do anything for you.

“Take me far, far away from here. I need new memories. I need something I want to remember.”

You do not hesitate to accept Jungkook’s request because you’d do anything for him, so you and Jungkook put on your shoes, leave your small apartment, and drive. You drive past all the bright lights illuminating the cities and all the hills dotting the countryside and everything in between until you reach the topmost cliff bordering the very edge of the Yellow Sea.

The sun is beginning to rise when you arrive. The lines between the sky and the sea are nebulous, blending together into a blur of blush, marigold, and cerulean. From your vantage point, the ocean stretches into infinity and molds itself to the skies. Long shoots of grass bend and sway in the summer breeze, bowing to the majesty of the scene before them. You do not risk blinking, for you want to bask in the beauty of the universe’s creation for as long as possible.

You ignore the fact that Jungkook will not remember this tomorrow night.

You dare a glance towards Jungkook. His eyelids are closed, fluttering ever so slightly as the wind floats through the car’s open window. There is a slow, rhythmic rise and fall in his chest as he breathes in, breathes out in time with the beat of your heart. You are transfixed by what you see because, for the first time, he looks like at peace; for the first time, he looks like he has found himself, no longer drifting in the vacuum of his mind.

For the first time, Jungkook looks real.

When he opens his eyes, though, he fades as quickly as he appears.

He shifts his head towards you. His lips open and close, his mind struggling to piece together words from thoughts. Finally, he asks, “What’s your favorite memory of us?”

“There’s too many to choose from,” you reply.

“Well, if you had to pick one, which one would it be?”

You pause for a moment, sifting through the memories you have accumulated for the past two years of your relationship with Jungkook. After being wrapped in your thoughts, you say, “Our first kiss.”

“Why?”

“Everything about that moment was perfect. For those eleven seconds, it was just you and me and the stars. It seemed like the moon was watching us and the stars were shining brighter for us and everything was so beautiful and it was all I ever wanted that moment to be.” You finish your sentence, breathless. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken with such complete and utter honesty before.

Jungkook remains quiet for some time. The silence that stretches between you and him in those few seconds is endless.

Then, “Why can’t I remember that?”

He looks at you, and you can see the fear warping those beautiful brown eyes of his in striking detail. “If that memory was so important to you,” he continues, “then it must have been important to me. I want to remember that, Y/N. I want to remember that so badly.”

“You know I don’t expect you to remember anything.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jungkook replies, shaking his head. “I’m not going to remember this tomorrow, and that scares me. It scares me that I don’t remember that or us or me or you. When I woke up this morning and I almost didn’t recognize you, I was so, so scared.

“Y/N, I— I’m falling. I’m falling through this void and I’ve been falling every day for the past year. I need something to hold onto, only if it’s for a moment.”

Then, he kisses you.

The tips of his fingers trace your jawline with the touch of a wilting flower and the short locks of his hair brushes against your forehead with the fragility of a dying sun but his kiss is filled with hunger, burning with such ferocity it makes your fingernails dig into the fabric of his shirt. You keep yourself locked in this moment, focused on the way his lips move against yours, on the way the sun’s newborn rays illuminate the gold underneath his skin. This moment is fleeting, temporary, but for Jungkook, it is everything.

But even now, as he holds you in a secure embrace, you can feel that Jungkook’s not really there. You know that his mind is already slipping away from him, scratching itself out until it is nothing more than a blank page. You will be the only thing that remains of this moment, the only proof that these past few hours even occurred. By tomorrow night, this memory will be gone; by tomorrow night, Jungkook will have lost everything.

You pull away from his kiss, and you begin to cry.

You are crying because you lost all hope when it disappeared with Jungkook’s memories. You are crying because, though you can feel his heart beating from where your cheek is pressed against his chest, Jungkook is gone and you will never find him again. You are crying because you and Jungkook’s story will never be complete, for there cannot be an ending if the beginning is always being erased. This is all you will remember of this day: the kiss, the tears, and the emptiness that will forever divide your love.

When the sun sets, you and Jungkook are forced to begin again.

#btsguild #kpopwritingnet #bts fic #bts au #bts angst #jungkook fic #jungkook au #jungkook angst #writing this made me so SAD #but i hope you enjoyed!#love you all #<3

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written-seoks · 6 years ago

Text

finally facing my waterloo

BTS | OT7 | Mamma Mia AU | Explicit

find this on ao3 here

After retiring from the group, Yoongi buys a small island villa somewhere in Greece and makes a lonely home there, bitter over the band's break up, the way they left things, romantically, untied and sour. Over the years on the island, he gets close to the townsfolk as they force him to open up, leading him to host the wedding of a young trio. In return for all he's done, the trio invites Yoongi's old band, ignorant to their unresolved romantic (and sexual) tension. Yoongi freaks out, realizing that he won't be able to avoid them forever. The night before the wedding, Namjoon asks him for a dance, and it all unravels from there.

In Media Res.

Quietly groaning under his breath, Yoongi plops down on the old wooden bench in his villa’s courtyard. The whole place is filled with people dancing and laughing gaily, all filled with joy for the soon-to-be-wed. Yoongi’s eyes catch on the three betrothed, clutching each other in the center, laughing with heads thrown back. He smiles fondly, these kids really are something, aren’t they?

After he’d fled Seoul, they had been the ones to help him open up again.

Though, Yoongi supposes, “fled” isn’t exactly the right term - he wasn’t being chased - but, well, isn’t that the trouble?

Even as he slouches, he recognizes that those six are around here somewhere, and he’s also trying to remember what else has to be done before the ceremony tomorrow, making his mind tense. Jordan’s hair must be done for the ceremony, now that they’ve finally let it grow out, and he has to remind them to put in a conditioning mask before bed. Yoongi himself knows the benefits of a good conditioning mask, even if his hair was never the same after all those years of hair dye.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Yoongi jumps in fright. “God! What!” He exclaims, turning to see - “Oh, Namjoon.” He sighs, relaxing again. “What do you want now?”

“A dance, if you don’t mind. Sorry for scaring you, hyung.” Even after these years living in Kalokairi, he can’t help but slip into old habits when he hears Namjoon speak in his mother tongue.

“I’ve done more than enough dancing in my lifetime, Namjoonah. I’d thought that you would have agreed with me on that. How are your joints these days?”

Namjoon groans, “Don’t remind me, I creak to walk up a stair these days. But I’m envisioning more of a sway than actual dancing, hyung. Your young ones seem to have the rest all covered.”

Yoongi smiles fondly where Jordan, Gale, and Tristan, those three kids who he’d met his first day here, awkward and young, dance in semi-traditional patterns among the rest of the townsfolk. Jimin and Seokjin are in there somewhere, he thinks, and if not them then it’s Hoseok and Taehyung running around the edges, between the people. Jungkook is hanging out around the drinks. “Yeah, that they do.” He stands, creaking as he goes just like Namjoon had mentioned, “I can spare one dance, I think. But I have something to do beforehand.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, Namjoonah.”

“Alright. I’ll let you go as long as you promise me that dance.” Namjoon acquiesces gently.

“If I must,” Yoongi says, leaving in a teasing lean of his body towards Namjoon. He makes his way towards the piano near the edge of the party, the one he rolled out by the cliff this morning, claiming to Jordan that he wanted the nice view while he played. He’d left it out there just for this purpose, even though he winces to feel the humid air seeping into his baby grand piano. His old brown one hadn’t made the trip, he’d been forced to leave it behind with his parents.

Standing next to the keys, he turns to find Gale’s eye. Gale watches him, smiling, and catching Jordan and Tristan by their arms to point him out. He smiles back, feeling a familiar excitement and nervousness crawl up his arms. One of the townspeople - Ms. Michelakis, the sweet old lady - comes up to him with a microphone stand. He nods graciously at her and she claps twice to get everyone’s attention, music quieting down. “Everyone!” He speaks loudly so that even Namjoon, on the other side of the courtyard, can hear him clearly. “It is an amazing honor to me that these three - Jordan, Gale, and Tristan - are in my life. I’ve put together a little something for them in honor of their union tomorrow.”

He takes a seat at the piano. And plays. It’s not quite something that’s on paper, but he knows it by heart. He sings and hums with melancholy into the microphone, about love and loss and - something that was there and never there at all. How love is found again on sandy beaches.

By the end, a tear trails down Tristan’s face, down Seokjin’s and Jordan’s as well. Jungkook appears next to him with suspiciously misty eyes, although Jordan runs forward for a hug before he can start in on what Yoongi just sang. Yoongi is jolted back onto the keys, letting out a discordant chord, but he still receives the hug with a laugh as Gale and Tristan fall onto him as well. “Watch the piano, you kids!” He exclaims, struggling to stand up under the weight of their hug.

“Yoongi, that - that was amazing - !” Jordan exclaims, tears sparkling in their eyes. Yoongi scrubs the back of his head with his nails.

“Really, it wasn’t a problem…”

Tristan pats Yoongi on the back and draws back with a knowing look, “We appreciate the thought, Yoongi.” He grins and flicks his head towards Jungkook, “I’m sure that they do as well.” Again, Yoongi looks embarrassed.

“Ah, well…” He huffs and deflects, “I don’t know what you’re doing worrying over me, you’ve got a wedding tomorrow.”

It’s Gale’s turn to grin as he draws them both away, “I’ll make sure they don’t worry themselves too much if you make sure to…” He trails off, making a meaningful look towards where the rest of his old friends have gathered around Jungkook, chatting seriously.

Yoongi studies his hands, “I’ll… work on it.” He relaxes, but snaps to attention suddenly to point imperiously at Jordan as he remembers - “Don’t forget! Don’t forget the hair mask! If you want dry hair, that’s your business!” Jordan only laughs as they’re drawn away by both Tristan and Gale, “You brat, I’m serious, don’t forget!”

“Goodnight, Yoongi!”

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s here again, next to him and oh, Yoongi remembers how Jungkook used to approach him with that same tone of voice late at night. They all had their insecurities, but Jungkook was perhaps the most vulnerable about it, perhaps because of his youth, perhaps because he was just that sort of person. But tonight it’s not just him, it’s the rest of them as well, Seokjin, Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin gathered behind him.

“May we have this dance?” Namjoon stretches out a hand in offering as the music starts up again, even though those to-be-wed have left. “You promised.” Namjoon nudges when he sees Yoongi hesitate. Yoongi takes his hand, trying to put on a reluctant facade. As Namjoon and he walk out into the center of the courtyard to sway to the sweet, bittersweet music, the rest casually sway with them, encircling them somewhat. Yoongi knows that the townspeople are watching this all unfold, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yoongi-hyung.” Namjoon whispers, focusing Yoongi on him.

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what? Of course, I did.” Seokjin swoops in to switch out with Namjoon as Yoongi responds to his question.

“Did you really mean it?” Seokjin asks again.

“Mean what?” Yoongi asks coyly, even as Seokjin slips out of his grasp, spinning him to be met with Hoseok.

“Did you mean it, hyung?”

“Mean what?” Yoongi asks.

“Did you mean it, Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook asks softly, sweeping in to pull him close.

“Mean what? What did I mean?” Yoongi asks, just as softly.

“Do you mean it?” Taehyung whispers, drawing Yoongi into a tight sway as the rest crowd close.

“Do you know what I mean?” Yoongi whispers back.

“Do you really mean it, hyung?” Jimin asks, sliding in for a final spin and a bow -

“Of course I mean it,” Yoongi answers, drawing to his full height. “Of course I still love you all.” Yoongi looks at his cobblestoned courtyard and scuffs the stone with his shoe. “How could I not? One doesn’t just lose that sort of first love.” He looks up. Seokjin is standing in front of him. He regrets this, perhaps, the most, that this is something he and Seokjin could have solved together if they hadn’t started in on each other as they had. He wouldn’t ever blame his hyung, but he can’t help but wonder if his hyung blames him.

Jimin leans on Seokjin while the rest circle round them, and they all look at him. Jimin darts in to kiss him first, surprisingly uncaring of the townspeople watching, willing to trust them if Yoongi trusts them. Yoongi holds on to Jimin tightly with trembling hands that were released by Hoseok and Taehyung just moments before. Yoongi melts into Jimin’s kiss, into hands that cup his jaw and keep him close.

Jimin pulls away first, “Oh…” Jimin touches his lips in a daze, “Hyung…”

Hoseok chuckles at Jimin’s dazed tone. Yoongi closes his eyes, savoring the kiss. Seokjin grins and leans forward to take a quick, surprise kiss from Yoongi - making his eyes blink open - before saying, “Why don’t we go inside, Yoongiah? You’ve got a long day tomorrow so you should get some rest. We can talk later.”

“Y- yeah, hyung.” Yoongi stutters out, before being tugged by the hand to his own villa.

Once they get inside, Yoongi decides to take the lead to bring them all up to his spacious bedroom, grateful now that he opted for a large bed, because he suspected that they wouldn’t be leaving him alone anytime soon. Which was fine with Yoongi, to say the least.

“I’m - uh, I gotta- gonna take a shower before bed. You guys should as well, if you want to go grab pajamas…” Yoongi gestures loosely to his bathroom, not meeting their eyes. Jungkook dips his head in to look at the bathroom real quick and grins.

“Yeah, I’ll go grab some pajamas for all of us and we can all take a shower. Since it’ll take too long otherwise. If you don’t mind, hyung?”

“Of course, Jungkookie,” Namjoon answers for Yoongi. The rest of the group nod in thanks to Jungkook as he skips out of the room to go find some pajamas.

Yoongi leads them into the bathroom, blushing. The bathroom is white plaster and tile with royal blue accents, in true Greek style. Next to the door, there is a white basin-style sink with exposed silver plumbing and simple mirror hanging above it. On the wall across from the sink and to the right a little, there’s a toilet and beyond that, a bathtub that cuts the large room in three-quarters. Against the back wall and separated by the bathtub, is the large open shower that Yoongi had installed, sick of the small showers he had to deal with in their older dorms, hotels, and occasionally at Music Banks. There’s a bench with his usual products (very few compared to the number he had in his idol days) and a large rainfall showerhead that covers most of the space, aided by some smaller showerheads on the wall to either side. Also, there’s a removable handle shower head on the wall.

There’s no curtain because Yoongi had never thought that he’d need one, but now he regrets it, as unless they want to be awkwardly taking showers for an hour, then they’d have to share. They’d probably share regardless. And it’s not like the shower isn’t big enough for all of them.

Taehyung is the first to start to get undressed, pulling his shirt off and folding it neatly over the vanity, “Come tell me how to work your shower, hyungie.” He beckons, heat blazing behind calm brown eyes.

Yoongi lets his shoulders slump in acceptance of this semi-ridiculous situation. His whole life is ridiculous. “Yeah, Taehyungie. Lemme show you.” He goes over to the boy and reaches across him to get to the knobs, explaining each quietly.

Meanwhile, Seokjin and Jimin inspect his collection of products. “What’s this, Yoongi ah? You’re still using this awful two-in-one? I thought the stylists had trained you out of it!” Seokjin exclaims, snickering with Jimin. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“I was just biding my time, hyung. Besides, I don’t dye my hair as much now, so - “

“What? You mean you’re not hiding any grey hair and touching up your roots every month? I’m astounded!” Jimin teases.

“Listen, Jiminah - Fuck! Tae!” The showerheads on the wall spurt on and catch Yoongi’s gesturing arm. “Careful!”

“Sorry, hyung.” Taehyung doesn’t look sorry at all, grinning unabashedly. Yoongi gives him a resigned sigh of acceptance, relaxing with the slow return of nostalgia in the room. They used to laugh and joke like this all the time. Back then.

Namjoon, who had been watching all of this with amusement in his eyes, approaches then. “Come on, Yoongi-hyung. It’s getting late now. We all know how you need your rest.”

Yoongi pouts but acquiesces, “You know, my sleep isn’t that bad, nowadays. Probably has something to do with how we don’t have schedules into ass-o’clock like we did back then, plus I splurged on a good mattress.” He turns to Hoseok, “How are you sleeping, recently?”

Hoseok hums and uncrosses his arms from where he was leaned against the door, coming over as well, “So-so. Now that I don’t move around so much, it’s better.” Yoongi nods absentmindedly.

Seokjin and Jimin have already gotten down to their boxers, but they all seem apprehensive to go any further, even as Taehyung shucks off his pants. Having given up on folding, the clothes have turned into a pile that falls from the vanity to the ground. “Your clothes are going to get wet, you know.” Namjoon points out to them, “Just go put them in Yoongi-hyung’s room, if that’s okay with you?” He directs the last part at Yoongi.

Again, Yoongi nods, fiddling with the edge of his white linen blouse. He’d transitioned to much looser clothes on the island, and with the sun beating down on them from day to day, he’d had to switch out his black ensembles as well. Unconsciously, Yoongi leans into Hoseok, standing next to him. Jimin and Taehyung start to argue quietly, tiredly, about what music to listen to in the shower while Seokjin gathers up all their clothes to bring into the main room. Namjoon watches them both, still. “Yoongi-hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna shower on your own?” It’s Hoseok who actually asks, while Jimin and Taehyung conspicuously do not stop arguing.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, “No. I don’t wanna shower alone. I’m tired.”

Hoseok smiles, satisfied, and rests the hem of his shirt from his fiddling hands, “Okay then, hyung. Raise your arms, for me?” Yoongi does and Hoseok pulls his shirt off slowly. Namjoon nears and rests his hands on his belt and this is good, this is fine, especially with the background bickering of Jimin and Taehyung and the footsteps of Jin-hyung and Jungkook, finally returning with everyone’s pajamas.

Jungkook steps into the bathroom just as Hoseok pulls his shirt over his head. “Hyung, I gotta say, this is a really ni- oh -” He stutters over his next few syllables and it sounds like Seokjin is laughing at him while Jimin coos endearingly. Yoongi can’t see because his shirt has gotten stuck over his head, thanks to Hoseok’s over-eagerness. Suddenly there are warm hands on his torso, traveling over his sides teasingly.

“Ah - Stop it - ha- hahahaha- “ Yoongi chokes and giggles as the light fingers trigger his laugh reflex unexpectedly. “Fuck - haha- Quit!” He struggles out of the shirt, with no help from Hoseok, to find that it’s Jungkook and Namjoon both trailing hands over his sensitive sides. “You two!” He brings his arms down hard, trapping their hands where they are and effectively stopping the teasing. “Honestly! We’re trying to get ready for bed! Stop getting me riled up!” He berates them. Namjoon and Jungkook just share a look between them and then burst out laughing. Jimin slides into the spot vacated by Hoseok.

“Aw, hyung, you sure we can’t rile you up?” He asks, silkily.

The tingling in his body from the tickling fades out into a shiver at the way Jimin’s voice brushes his ear. “I - I - We have a long day tomorrow.” It’s very clearly not a no, the way that Yoongi’s voice curls uncertainly around the phrase.

He can feel Jimin shrug against him - “It’s up to you hyung. For now, let's get clean, hm?” Jimin slips away again, probably to properly undress and finally shower, if the sound of rushing water behind him is anything to go by.

Yoongi still has his boxers on, though. He focuses back in front of him to see Namjoon and Jungkook studying him with similar smiles on their faces, shifting closer unconsciously. Yoongi meets their eyes one after another and leans closer himself, hips braced against Namjoon’s strong figure, locked in by his fingers intertwined with Yoongi’s belt loops, and supported by one of Jungkook’s hands around his waist. They lean in too close and too quickly though, as Namjoon and Jungkook jump apart with a hiss, temples knocking against each other. Yoongi struggles to hide a smirk, covering his mouth with a fist. He snickers and receives pitiful looks from both of them.

“Oh, honestly, you two.” He leans in to kiss them instead, leaving a peck on Namjoon’s lips before going for Jungkook’s. Jungkook quickly brings a hand to cup the back of his head, though, and keeps him close. Yoongi, feeling fulfilled and happy and oh- he kisses back sweetly, enjoying the slide of slightly moist lips against his as the shower fills with steam. Namjoon makes a wounded noise from right next to his ear and Yoongi smiles helplessly into his kiss with Jungkook. He’s about to try and pull away to give Namjoon the attention he wants, when he’s assaulted with Namjoon’s lips on his neck, exposed by the angle he’s kissing Jungkook at. And again a different body presses to his bare back, seeming to be Seokjin, this time.

“Come on, Yoongiah, aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one out of these youngsters? You know you need your rest.” Seokjin chides, taking a step back and pulling Yoongi with him, ignoring the whines of the two younger men. Seokjin takes the task of finally, finally undressing Yoongi to himself and unbelts, unbuttons, and unzips his jeans all from his position behind him, arms encircling Yoongi’s lithe form. Namjoon and Jungkook break away from where Jungkook had been making up for stealing Yoongi away to help Seokjin at this point as if drawn by some sixth sense. Namjoon goes in for a kiss from the side while Jungkook kneels to peel off his trousers, Yoongi already having stepped out of his shoes long ago. Yoongi’s breath catches at the sight of Jungkook on his knees, but he doesn’t have time to get as involved in it as he would like to, Namjoon kissing him fiercely. Namjoon and he have always had something together, though Yoongi would never presume to label it, to make it real. At least until now.

Yoongi feels the aching need press up in his chest as he rises into the kiss, eyebrows furrowing in feeling and focus. He almost doesn’t notice when Jungkook pulls off his underwear, leaving him completely bare except for the rings on his fingers and a simple cord necklace around his neck. Namjoon fingers the cord before grasping the simple rectangular pendant that hangs at the bottom, pulling away from the kiss and staring at it wondrously. “You… You found it? I thought… After you threw it away…Well.”

Yoongi grasps Namjoon’s hand which holds the pendant, “I know. I shouldn’t have thrown it away. Momentary anger doesn’t make up for the years we had together.” He looks away, ashamed, and Jungkook strokes his thighs comfortingly. “I went back and found it before I left... “ He sighs, “Don’t do that when you’re that close to my dick, Jungkookie.” He scolds lightly, trying to distract from the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

Jungkook giggles and rises, “Sorry, hyung.” He kisses Yoongi quickly before leaving to strip and join the other young ones in the shower.

Namjoon presses his own kiss to Yoongi’s forehead, “It’s something we can talk more about later, hyung. For now, we’re all together and all has been confessed.” Namjoon always manages to weave his words into beauty, Yoongi marvels, looking up at him with a sparkle in his eye.

“You’re right,” Yoongi allows.

Seokjin, who had been silent through that exchange, speaks up, “Come on, I wanna try this two-in-one shampoo you’re so in love with.”

Yoongi lets himself relax into Seokjin’s grip as Namjoon shakes his head, stepping away to join the rest in the shower. “It’ll ruin your color, Seokjin-hyung.” Yoongi points out.

Seokjin sniffs, “Well, if you took better care of your own hair, then maybe my hair wouldn’t be in danger.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yoongi says, escaping Seokjin’s grip and spinning to kiss him deeply. Seokjin makes a semi-surprised noise but goes to immediately grip Yoongi closer by the waist and then by his ass. “Fuck- “ Is all a flustered and flushed Yoongi can manage as his soft cock brushes Seokjin’s thigh, whimpered against Seokjin’s mouth.

Seokjin himself gasps as Yoongi invades his mouth, tongues slipping together with fervor. Before they can get too riled up, however, Taehyung infringes with a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Come on, hyungs. Weren’t you just talking about how we needed to get to bed?”

Seokjin breaks away from Yoongi and gives Taehyung a glare that could kill God. Taehyung just stares back with a barely suppressed smug smile. Seokjin gives in and groans and lets Yoongi go to shuck off his own pants, as they finally all crowd into the shower.

It’s unbearably steamy and slick in surprisingly un-sexy ways as they viciously snatch the shampoo and body wash from each other at intervals. It reminds Yoongi so much of the old days, sharing showers to conserve water, to save time before bed. He hums and washes under his arm fiercely before handing the bar of soap to Namjoon, who is the only other one using it. The rest of them don’t want to suck the moisture out of their skin or something, Yoongi doesn’t know. After passing the bar away, he steps past where Taehyung and Jungkook are washing each other’s hair, sneaking up behind Jimin to steal the face wash from him. Jimin yells and spins, hand still holding a dollop of the product in his palm. “Hyung!” He whines. Yoongi snickers and finishes pouring out his own portion, handing it back to Jimin.

“You all are going to use up all of my products at this rate,” Yoongi grumbles good-naturedly. The rest of them just laugh. Hoseok comes up behind him as Yoongi starts to wash his face, startling him with a hand on his waist.

“D’you want me to wash your back, hyung?” He asks, smiling at a half-blind Yoongi.

“Mmm, sure,” Yoongi says, relaxing with half of his body in the warm spray of the shower. Taehyung and Jungkook are laughing away as they scrub increasingly hard at each other’s scalp, and Namjoon half-heartedly scolds them that they should be winding down for sleep. God, this is exactly like the old days. Well, maybe Jungkook is more comfortable around them than he was in the old days, but other than that, the echoing of laughter and good-natured teasing and half-hearted scolding brings him into sweet nostalgia. He leans back into Hoseok like a cat as his hands massage and wash his back in turns, digging his thumb into the meat of his upper trap, lower shoulder blade, and along his spine, where he used to get the most pain.

Hoseok rubs his back sensually and Yoongi can’t help his responding moan, even though this really isn’t the time. Well, it could be argued that this is exactly the time for this, in a shower together, about to go to bed, but Yoongi isn’t sure that they’re all ready for that sort of step. He blinks open his eyes after washing them out sleepily to see Seokjin and Jimin staring at him with hunger in their gaze. Yoongi meets their stare meaningfully but lets his eyes fall shut as Hoseok continues his wash/massage. Hoseok starts to pull away, but Yoongi whines and leans back enough that they meet back to chest. “Aw, hyung. Are you getting tired?”

“Mm… Yeah, a little. Relaxed. Happy.”

“Sweetheart…” Someone coos from in front of them. Yoongi opens one eye and sees Seokjin and Namjoon in front of him.

“You guys done?” Yoongi mumbles out.

“Yeah, hyung. You want us to go get your pajamas?” Namjoon asks as Seokjin leans in to peck Hoseok over Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi nods at Namjoon and he smiles, going to grab his towel and dry off quickly.

Jimin approaches them as Jungkook turns off the shower, leaving Taehyung staring up at nothing, instead of the warm spray of water that was there a moment ago. He pouts at Jungkook, who smiles and kisses him. Jimin pulls Yoongi away from where Hoseok and Seokjin are still kissing, taking a towel off the rack and turning to Yoongi with it, held out like he was a child. Yoongi grumbles but steps into the towel and lets Jimin rub him down with the fluffy towel. He huffs and groans as Jimin rubs over sore muscles, leaving kisses anywhere he pleases, along Yoongi’s neck and arm and shoulder and stomach and thigh before kissing him on the lips properly at last. Yoongi presses into the kiss languidly, letting it slide slowly filthier as Jimin grasps his jaw in a strong hand, entering his mouth with a slick movement in complete contrast to their first kiss. Yoongi moans helplessly and strains desperately closer to Jimin’s firm, still wet body. Jimin finally pulls away with a laugh, leaving Yoongi bereft as he picks up another towel from the rack and wipes himself down quickly.

Namjoon has somehow find Yoongi’s pajamas by this time and, grinning, hands them to him. Yoongi, towel still around his shoulders, pulls them on, ignoring his arousal for the nice silk pants and matching, embroidered top. He pouts at Namjoon and Jimin who snicker at him, eyes flicking to his pants, where it’s getting to be obvious that he’s aroused. Yoongi pretends to not realize though and crosses his arms. Jungkook, from behind them, laughs and says, “Really? Silk pajamas, hyung? Like way back when in… Uh… 2016?”

Seokjin passes by them and says, “Yeah, Blood Sweat and Tears era. And you always teased that you didn’t wear underwear with yours,” He mentions, nodding at Yoongi.

Yoongi smirks and lets his head fall to the side. “Yeah, I did.”

Namjoon snorts, “No, you did not. I know the stylists, nevermind the managers, would never have allowed that. You just wore your jockstrap instead and called it going commando.”

Yoongi swats him lazily, “Shut up! Silk feels nice.”

“You know the fans used to go mad watching fancams for your dick.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” Yoongi rolls his eyes and changes the subject.

“Come on, let’s all go to bed, it’s getting late.” He leads them into his beige-colored bedroom. He’s thankful for his king-sized mattress now, though it’s probably still going to be a squeeze for all of them. They all follow him, getting dry and dressed respectively. Namjoon already pulled on his sleep pants and Jungkook only puts on boxers for bed. It’s awkward for a long, long moment as silence overcomes the sounds of them all getting dressed.

Yoongi looks around at all of them. “So, who wants to be boiled alive?” He asks, trying to break the tension. There’s a spattering of chuckles and Seokjin, who gets cold easily, raises his hand, making his way to the bed next to Yoongi. He looks at Yoongi and Yoongi just looks back, eyes dimmed with sleep and arousal. “Well. Get in, hyung.” Seokjin just sighs and pulls back the covers, taking the middle position, having already plugged in his phone.

After that, Jungkook slides into Seokjin’s left, as he also gets cold. Jimin and Taehyung quietly bicker over who gets to be next to Jungkook as Yoongi gets to the side of the bed and slides in behind Seokjin. Namjoon takes advantage of Jimin and Taehyung’s preoccupation and sneaks in next to Jungkook. Taehyung and Jimin only look disappointed for a moment before Taehyung takes the spot facing Namjoon and Jimin places himself front-to-back with Yoongi on the other side. Finally, Hoseok, being the lightest sleeper out of all of them, slips in behind Jimin.

They all get settled quickly before Yoongi realizes - oh, “Oh, Seokjin-hyung, you’re on my heating pad.”

Seokjin looks confused before feeling underneath himself and the pillow to find a blue heating pad with an attached wire and control. He flips over to face Yoongi, holding it and frowning, “You still need this? For your shoulder?”

Yoongi tries not to look ashamed as he grabs it from Seokjin’s hands, “Yeah.”

“I thought your shoulder was better?”

“Doesn’t really go away. It’s better in waves nowadays, but sometimes it gets achy. I like to just stave it off with the heating pad.” He explains, defensively, as he struggles to situate the pad beneath his shoulder just how he likes it.

Seokjin sighs and takes the pad back from Yoongi without much trouble, gesturing for him to sit up, the rest of the bed grumbling at all the movement. He places it beneath Yoongi’s shoulder so that the edges of the pad can roll over his upper trap, at the junction between his neck and shoulder. “That good?” Seokjin asks softly.

Yoongi nods, “Yeah… Thanks, hyung.”

After getting situated, Jimin wraps his arms around Yoongi haphazardly, Seokjin pushing his nose into Yoongi’s collarbone. “I’ll give you a good massage someday, since I’m sure you still have awful knots in your shoulders from hunching over your computer all the time.”

Yoongi smiles into Seokjin’s hair at the thought. Jimin’s small, but strong, hands make it so that his massages are always amazing, great at getting into the trigger point of the knot. “That sounds good, Jiminah.”

The room is dark, as Hoseok had turned off the lights before getting into bed, and it’s quiet as Yoongi shifts on the warm heating pad, with Jimin to his back and Seokjin snuffling dreamily into his collarbone. Jimin is breathing on his neck, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s riling, as Yoongi shifts closer to Jimin’s solid body, causing Seokjin to whine softly and shuffle closer as well. Abruptly, now that it’s silent and the only sound is breathing and rustling of everyone he cares about, Yoongi can’t find the peace to sleep.

Yoongi shifts again, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. But Seokjin’s thigh is dangerously close to his cock and Jimin is pressed tightly against his back. They’re close enough in size that his hips line up with Yoongi’s perfectly, his cock pressed against Yoongi’s ass.

Fuck, probably not good timing. Definitely not good timing. He tries to think of nasty things, like his grandmama, naked.

Jimin blows on his ear.

Yoongi jumps violently but somehow manages not to wake Seokjin up, if his continued smooth breathing is anything to go by.

“Hyung, are you asleep?”

“Not after that, I’m not. What the hell, Jiminie?”

Jimin smiles into his neck. “You haven’t called me that in so long.”

Yoongi breathes out, “Yeah, I guess.”

Jimin’s smile turns into a kiss against his neck. His hand tightens on Yoongi’s hip. “I missed it. Missed you calling me that, hyungie.”

Yoongi hides a nostalgic smile in Seokjin’s hair, “I missed it too, Jiminie.”

Seokjin shifts suddenly and presses further into Yoongi, mouth breathing on his collarbone and thigh properly slotting between Yoongi’s legs. Yoongi sucks in a breath quietly.

“Oh, what’s wrong, hyungie?” Jimin’s voice sounds so innocent but there’s something mischievous in the grin he can feel against his neck.

“Nothing.”

“Really?” Jimin’s hand shoves down between Seokjin and Yoongi’s bodies, not being subtle at all. Yoongi feels a bit of whiplash at how they shifted from sweet and nostalgic to tension-filled and aroused so quickly. Although, it’s been happening all night long, so Yoongi supposes he should be used to it by now. Jimin’s hand finds Yoongi’s chub through his pants and grasps it, making Yoongi jerk. Seokjin smiles into his collarbones.

Oh, those two sneaky bastards. “This isn’t fair,” Yoongi says, though it comes out as more of a whine than he intends. He pokes Seokjin in the side, making Seokjin shake with suppressed giggles. He kisses Yoongi’s neck sloppily.

“You caught on quick, Yoongiah.” Seokjin hums, sucking a hickey on his neck.

“Fuck - ah, hyung, please don’t leave marks - I don’t wanna wear a scarf in seventy-degree weather tomorrow - oh -” Yoongi bites his lip as Seokjin finds a particularly sensitive spot and Jimin adjusts his grip on his slowly fattening cock.

“Will you stop worrying, hyungie. You think too much.” Someone from behind Seokjin says, and Yoongi can see that Taehyung has raised up on his elbows above Jungkook and Namjoon, who look like they’re sleeping face to face, but Yoongi suspects that they’ve woken up by now.

Yoongi scoffs breathlessly, “You’re not the one who’d be walking down the aisle in front of fifty people with a scarf, Taehyungah.”

“You’ve performed a cute version of a song about capitalism in front of nearly 20,000 people, hyung.”

“Shut - up! I didn’t ah- do that with a hickey on my neck, though - Jiminie, fuck - “ Jimin grinds his cock against Yoongi’s ass just as he finally, finally sticks his hand down Yoongi’s pants to stroke his cock, distracting him. Seokjin has unbuttoned some of Yoongi’s shirt so that he can pinch Yoongi’s nipples, making Yoongi arch roughly, warmth building in his stomach -

There’s a loud thump from behind him.

“What the fuck was that?” Jungkook asks, sat up from where he was kissing Namjoon into a daze.

Jimin pulls away from Yoongi slightly to look behind him. Jimin bursts out into raucous laughter. “Ha- Oh my god! I’m so sorry, hyung!” He chokes out.

“I’m glad you feel sympathy for my situation, Jimin.” Hoseok growls. Yoongi twists to look over his shoulder and sees Hoseok, sitting on the ground, earplugs hanging out of only one of his ears.

“Wha - what are you doing down there, Hoseokah?” Yoongi asks, dazed from all the attention he was just getting.

“I was fucking inspecting your hardwoods, I love the cherry wood.”

“I got it imported - Wait, what?” Yoongi blinks heavily.

“He fell off the bed when you got too rowdy, hyungie,” Jimin explains, laughter still in his eyes.

Hoseok sighs, “I asked Jungkook for my earplugs so I could hopefully catch a couple of good hours of sleep. So, I didn’t hear whatever you nasties were up to.” He ends this statement with a glare, continuing, “And then, all of a sudden, Jimin’s fatass was pushing me off the bed!”

Jimin makes a cry of outrage, “Hey! You like this fat ass! You were pushing your cock against this ass not five minutes ago!”

Hoseok looks offended - “I can’t be held responsible for wet-dream Hoseok or his actions.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, “You definitely can, but I’ll let it slide.”

“Thank you, oh mighty Namjoon.” Hoseok praises in an overly mocking tone. He turns to Jimin, “Is that why you didn’t think to include me? You thought I was already awake?” Jimin nods.

“I’ll make it up to you, though, hyung.” Jimin offers, sultry. Yoongi whines, though, bereft at the thought of losing Jimin’s warm cock and perfect hand. “Don’t worry, Yoongiah, I can take care of you as well. But don’t you think you should pay attention to your hyung as well?” Jimin prompts, nodding to Seokjin behind him. Apparently, Yoongi can’t be assed to tell him off about honorifics when he’s in this state of dazed need.

Yoongi turns back to Seokjin, who looks up at him with a smug, self-satisfied, sultry smile. “Come on Yoongiah, you were about to ride my thigh so cutely earlier. Come rub off on your hyung like a horny little baby, hm?” Fuck. Yoongi goes grumbly breathless at the comparison, ashamed and turned on at the same time, but he lets Seokjin’s thigh press up on his cock through the silk, regardless.

Jungkook and Namjoon seem to go back to whatever they were doing prior, while Jimin pulls Hoseok back on the bed, whispering about the benefits of an orgasm before bed. Taehyung seems to be content to cuddle up against Namjoon’s back while the rest of them get off, but he’s definitely interested, if the slick noises coming from him are anything to go by. Yoongi doesn’t pay attention to any of this, though, too preoccupied with sliding his dick along Seokjin’s strong thigh carefully, getting the perfect, smooth feeling of the silk against his cock and Seokjin’s gentle kisses along his neck, sliding up to his mouth. Yoongi squeak is muffled into his mouth as Seokjin tweaks his nipples, rubbing his thumb over them to sooth them afterward.

“Oh, fuck - hyungie! Seokjin- “ Yoongi gasps, toes curling and back knocking against Jimin, who is debauching Hoseok behind him on the bed. He ruts faster onto Seokjin’s leg, hands coming to his ass and massaging and helping him thrust better. Seokjin takes control of Yoongi’s movements gently, rocking him on to his thigh and making him throw his head back and whine loudly, in time with Namjoon making a high noise in the back of his throat as they all undulate in rhythm.

Jungkook is the first to come with a loud - “Oh! Hyung - Namjoon, hyung, hyung -” He trails off into a keen as Taehyung shushes him, jerking off Namjoon.

Yoongi is close behind, but Jimin gets Hoseok there first with his mouth and hands, making Hoseok come with a whine of Jimin’s name, hands buried in his hair as Jimin noses his groin, cock buried deep in his throat.

Seokjin pulls Yoongi down on to his thigh a final time and Yoongi cries out, freezing up and seizing, his stomach tensing as warmth tingles down his limbs, Seokjin slowly rocking him through it. He watches Yoongi’s face closely, licking his lips with desire. As Yoongi slowly calms down and his body relaxes, Seokjin pulls him down by the hair to kiss him deeply.

Yoongi smiles lazily into the kiss before pulling away and shifting to turn around, pressing his ass against Seokjin’s cock, entertained by the lovely sight of Hoseok kissing Jimin roughly while rubbing his dick sensually. Seokjin’s hands grasp his hips and he shoves his nose into Yoongi’s neck, breathing heavily. Yoongi can imagine that having someone rub off on you would be pretty arousing. Hoseok tugs Jimin’s head back by the hair and lets Jimin grind into his tight stomach, making Jimin moan prettily. “Oh, Jiminah, you’re so beautiful, aren’t you? My beautiful Jiminie, hm? Gonna come for me? Gonna come for your hyung?” Jimin nods helplessly, head thrashing slightly as he gets closer to the edge, riled up by the words coming out of Hoseok’s mouth.

Jimin whimpers and meets Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi grins sleepily at Jimin, eyes lit with arousal despite his exhaustion. “Fuck - ah, Hobi-hyung, hyung-” Jimin tugs against Hoseok’s tight grip on his hair before his face crinkles and he comes silently, face frozen in pleasure.

“Jimin looks so beautiful, doesn’t he, hyung?” Yoongi mumbles to Seokjin, still thrusting against Yoongi’s ass.

“Y-yeah, Yoongiah - ah -” Seokjin gasps and bites down on Yoongi’s shoulder, pressing him further into the mattress, shifting so that he’s straddling Yoongi more, getting a better angle to shove his cock between Yoongi’s cheeks. He has one hand on Yoongi’s hip, giving him leverage, and one hand on Yoongi’s neck, pushing him down into the pillows, almost smothering him. Yoongi doesn’t complain though, just takes it. “You’re so, so good for me, Yoongiah. So - good, such a perfect ass, hm? Taking it like a - a - oh, so good.” He ruts against him harshly, cutting his own words off with groans while Jimin and Hoseok, lazily lying together, watch him.

“Like a perfect little whore, you mean, hyung?” Jimin asks, voice laughingly tired.

Yoongi groans and bucks back against one of Seokjin’s thrusts at the word, surprised at how much he likes it. “You like that, hyung?” Hoseok asks, amused. He nods into the pillow.

Seokjin growls and presses him down harder, “You like being called a whore, Yoongiah? My sweet slut? Gonna take whatever I give you?”

“Yeah, yeah, hyung. G- Wanna be good for you -” Yoongi gasps, finding breathing difficult as Seokjin’s weight forces the air out of his lungs.

Seokjin groans and finally lets up, sitting up and rubbing his cock against Yoongi’s ass a few final times, hips stuttering. He bites his lip as his face contorts in pleasure, coming into his pants, moans caught in his throat. Seokjin and Yoongi pant breathlessly as he slowly slides off, falling together side-by-side.

In their silence, Namjoon and Taehyung’s soft panting becomes loud, and Yoongi turns over on to his side, re-wrapping the heating pad on his shoulder, ignoring the sticky cum in his pants for now. Jungkook looks back at them from where he was watching them get off together and grins, before looking back. Namjoon and Taehyung pant into the same space, noses pressed together, mouths open but barely touching. They seem to be jerking each other off, though Yoongi can’t tell exactly. Namjoon comes first, voice catching on high notes, choking through his orgasm, body jerking. Jungkook rubs his back comfortingly while Taehyung’s own voice becomes louder, Namjoon jerking him off the best he can. Taehyung’s eyes clench closed and his mouth hangs open, silent for a moment before he works through his orgasm with a whimper.

It’s finally silent in the room, except for the combined panting of seven men coming down from orgasms.

“Fuck.” Yoongi breathes to the ceiling.

“Fuck.” Jimin agrees, and Seokjin laughs into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“And we just got out of the shower.” Namjoon points out, tired amusement in his voice.

“Ugh - I don’t want to get up.” Jungkook groans, pouting, flopping his arms around.

“You’re not sleeping next to me with cum in your boxers,” Seokjin says pointedly. He at least makes an effort to sit up, though Yoongi’s arms around his waist hinder movement.

“We’re probably going to have to steal your sleep clothes, Yoongi-hyung.” Taehyung sounds a little chagrined, but he gets off the bed anyway, wincing as his warm feet hit the cold wood flooring. “Oof, your floors are cold.”

“Mmf - I didn’t see the point in heated floors, sorry,” Yoongi says, leaning into Seokjin’s stomach. Seokjin smiles down at him and strokes his hair.

Hoseok sighs and forces himself out of the bed as well. Taehyung turns on the light in the bathroom, making them all groan when the light touches their eyes. “Tae!” Jungkook whines, turning over onto his stomach, arms hitting Namjoon on his left.

At this abuse, Namjoon also shuffles out of the bed, leaving Jungkook cold. Jimin hums and leans into Yoongi on the other side - “I don’t need to shower.” He sounds unbearably smug. Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well the rest of us do, so if you don’t want to be left alone…” He shrugs, unconcerned. Jimin groans and smothers his face in Yoongi’s side.

“I’ve got mouthwash in my cabinet if you want it.” Yoongi offers.

“Fuck… Fine, come on, show me where it is, hyungie.” Jimin says, sitting up and tugging Yoongi with him. Yoongi’s slack limbs are dragged to the edge of the bed, forcing Yoongi to open his eyes and put a foot down on the cold floors.

“Maybe I should look into heated floors…” Yoongi trails off, watching his feet as Jimin leads him into the bathroom, which hadn’t even dried from their last shower. Taehyung has already turned on the shower but thankfully had found the light dimmer. This time they’re just jumping into the warm spray, washing off the accumulated cum from their bodies, and jumping out. Yoongi has to drag himself out of the warmth and into another towel, this time held up by Hoseok, who wraps it around him in a hug.

Jungkook stumbles into the bathroom to wash off at last, pushed in by Seokjin, both rubbing at their eyes. Hoseok and Yoongi waddle in a burrito of towels past them, followed by Jimin and Taehyung, who pause to kiss deeply in between steps. Yoongi pulls out a pair of silk pants for himself and Hoseok, and Taehyung snatches up his relatively clean pair of pajama pants, rummaging in Yoongi’s drawers for boxers to wear. Jimin suggests that he goes commando, but Taehyung laughs him off and says that then they’d never get any sleep at all. Yoongi is inclined to agree with him, begrudgingly, as now that he is with them, he can’t imagine being apart.

They tumble back to bed, loose-limbed, smushed closer than they were before in a mishmash order with Yoongi in the middle. They’re all more comfortable now, arms and legs splayed across other legs and arms, all crisscrossing to create a warm pile of limbs and smiles. Yoongi and Namjoon lazily trade kisses in between smiles, while Seokjin sighs and falls right to sleep, Jungkook next to him. Taehyung and Jimin whisper sweet nothings and Hoseok hangs half off the bed, earplugs back in. Yoongi leans in for one final kiss from Namjoon before finally settling in for real, pressing his nose into the sheets and listening to the rustle of the fan above them.

When he wakes to his alarm, Yoongi doesn’t jerk awake, even though his bed is filled with strange weight. Instead, he is lifted softly to warm light and a hand in his hair. Seokjin snuffles into his collarbone as Namjoon looks on fondly. Yoongi smiles at him sleepily before sitting up slightly, rearranging his pillows. He feels something dig into his back, and is surprised to find that it’s his heating pad, forgotten and cold. He must have forgotten to turn it back on.

He places it on his pillows and clicks the button, leaning back into the heat as Namjoon snuggles closer. Seokjin frowns in his sleep and pulls him closer in response, obviously a jealous cuddler. Yoongi laughs quietly to himself as he tries to figure a way out of this situation without waking his bedmates.

It’s made easier by the fact that Namjoon is already awake, and that Hoseok’s on the other side of the bed. Meaning that Yoongi can slide out the other way if he’s willing to wake Jimin and Taehyung. He’s not sure he should brave that temptation though, as those two would just invite him with half-lidded eyes back to sleep. He has to get up and make sure preparations are finished for the wedding, though, and help set up.

Past that, he’d promised Jordan to help them with their hair and makeup. He knows that he’s really there to be his friend’s moral support, though. Jordan had been a timid child when he had first come to the island, but they’ve grown into themself now, thanks to their partners. And, maybe, thanks to Yoongi as well. Seeing Jordan, Tristan, and Gale grow together had been hard at first, as if it was a reminder of all that Yoongi had willfully lost, but watching Jordan come out of their insecurities and doubts to become someone who could love with their whole heart and laugh carefreely… It had given Yoongi some hope, he thinks. He can’t help but be grateful to the brats for inviting his old group members to their wedding, terrified as he was at first. It’s given him an opportunity he’d never seek out on his own.

Yoongi watches the time on the clock grow steadily later and groans, deciding to brave the seduction of a half-asleep Jimin and the octopus arms of a fully-asleep Taehyung in order to get out of bed before his second alarm goes off. He crawls over their entangled legs carefully, exiting the bed in a diagonal manner, by the corner. He turns off his alarm just in time and gets dressed as a drowsy Namjoon watches on. He only pulls on boxers, slacks, and a linen shirt, making a note to give himself time to get properly dressed for the wedding later in the evening, at sunset. He slaps some toner and moisturizer on his face before giving a tiny wave to Namjoon as he leaves. Namjoon gives him the cutest possible wave back, yawning slightly, and Yoongi’s heart clenches.

He slips out the door smoothly and downstairs, sandaled feet padding on his stone floors. Opening the large barn doors of his foyer to the sunlit courtyard, he’s gratified to see some of the town’s people bumbling around with chairs and flowers in hand to set up the reception. Thankfully, the church on the hill had already been set up, as Jordan, Tristan, and Gale had opted for a simple ceremony. Yoongi agrees with them, as he thinks that the rustic stone of the church is enough decoration and makes for good photos. He’s been told that he’s not allowed to touch his camera today, however, as the three of them want him to enjoy the ceremony instead. Yoongi smiles to himself, stopping to chat with one of the town’s people and checking up on how things are going. Those three kids won’t be awake for a little while longer, if he has anything to say about it, so Yoongi takes the opportunity to help set up tables and flower arrangements. He sweeps the grounds, polishes the centerpiece, washes the windows, even helps tie the bows on the chair’s covers.

Eventually, though, his phone goes off with another alarm. This one reminds him to go wake up Jordan and separate them from their soon-to-be spouses, as tradition dictates. Tristan had thought it was stupid, but Jordan and Gale, romantics that they are, had wanted to adhere to it. Gale would be taken care of by one of his childhood friends and Tristan by his mother, who lived on the island.

Yoongi makes the short trip down the winding road of the town to find the three’s house, entering with the key they had given him. He walks up the creaking steps to their bedroom and smiles when he finds Tristan already awake, watching the two that are still sleeping from the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. “Hey, why are you awake so early?” He asks, slipping into English. Over his years of living here, his English had improved in leaps and bounds, since he was forced to interact with the locals. Jordan and the boys had also picked up Korean phrases from him, but not enough to hold a full conversation that wasn’t about the ocean or the weather.

Tristan jumps, apparently too absorbed in watching his soulmates sleep to hear him. “Oh - Yoongi. You scared me.” He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head - “Couldn’t sleep, too… excited. I’m so excited.” He sounds giddy, and his body curls as if he’s preparing to launch into the atmosphere with excitement.

Yoongi laughs, patting Tristan on the arm. “Alright, alright. I get it. It’s an exciting day, after all.” He gives an indulgent smile, “Come on, help me wake those two up, before Gale’s mother comes and storms the place.”

Tristan nods, but instead of moving, for a moment he just watches his loves sleep. Then, shaking his head, he sets his cup of coffee down and shakes Jordan’s shoulder, leaving Gale to be woken up by Yoongi. While Jordan is softly awakened with a hand brushing their bangs away, Gale gets a rougher treatment, being rudely shaken awake by Yoongi. Gale blinks up at him and instantly glares. Yoongi smiles down at him with false sweetness. He goes to brush Gale’s bangs away sarcastically but is batted away by an awake Gale.

Eventually, they all shift down to the kitchen, just in time for Gale to be whisked away by his friend. Tristan’s mom comes in only a minute later, kissing them all on the forehead before pushing Yoongi and Jordan out the door.

They make their way back up to Yoongi’s villa, where the reception will be held. The townsfolk call out congratulations from their windows to a slowly reddening Jordan as they walk through the curved streets, smiling to themselves.

Reaching the villa, Yoongi only hopes that the lazy men he left in his bed have cleared out. Thankfully, when he opens the door to his room, the bed is empty and made, while all their clothes have disappeared from the floor. Yoongi sighs in relief and Jordan stifles a laugh, “Did you have guests over, Yoongi?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at their question, “Ah, be quiet. I know it was you three who invited them, besides.”

“Are you mad?” They ask, a little tentatively, shedding their clothes while Yoongi grabs a robe off the back of his closet door. He has their wedding dress in another room, safe in its bag.

Yoongi turns around at their signal, seeing them sat at the small vanity in the bathroom. He rests his hands on their shoulders and shakes his head. “How could I be?” He responds, a bit of a helpless note creeping into his voice. “I would never have reached out to them on my own, no matter how… Lonely I got.” He picks up a brush and combs it through their hair to calm their bed head, spritzing some sort of spray to help calm the frizz, caused by bedhead and humidity. “Did you use that hair mask I gave you?” Yoongi says, changing the subject.

They fall into a quiet pattern of conversation that is familiar to them, both introverted, think-before-you-speak, sort of people.

Before too long, Jordan’s hair is done up elegantly. He knows that they were scared to let it grow out, but he’s glad they did. Yoongi’s humming and hawing over what to do for their makeup while Jordan cuts their own nails carefully when there’s a knock on the door. Yoongi goes to the door, opening it only slightly in case it’s one of Jordan’s boys. Instead, he finds Jungkook, smiling shyly at Yoongi. “Hey, hyung. I was helping out downstairs, but ah- I forgot my phone up here.”

Yoongi laughs and lets him in to find his phone, “And you didn’t notice until now? You don’t need to help, by the way, most of the town is out helping us today.”

Jungkook shrugs helplessly, waving at Jordan as he picks up his phone. “No, I was too busy helping, and before that the hyungs kept me occupied.” Yoongi snorts at the blush dusting Jungkook’s ears. “I know they didn’t need help, but if I can, then why not? How are you two doing in here, anyway?”

Suddenly, Yoongi’s gaze turns speculative. “I’m trying to figure out what to do for Jordan’s makeup…” He trails off meaningfully, but true to Jungkook’s nature, he doesn’t pick up on his tone.

“Oh! Good luck, hyung!”

Yoongi sighs and turns to a smiling Jordan to shake his head exasperatedly. “Do you want to give me a hand, Jungkookie? You used to be pretty good.”

Jungkook chokes on air, “Uh - hyung - “ He swallows thickly and nods, “Yeah, I can help. But-” Now he turns to Jordan. “Are you sure you want my help? I’m mostly experienced in subtle, natural style makeup.”

Jordan responds eagerly, “Yes! That’s exactly what I want. I trust Yoongi to do it, but if you have more experience, then that’d be useful.” Yoongi smiles ruefully.

Jungkook shoots off a text on his phone, presumably to the rest of the group, letting them know what was going on, before scrolling through his gallery. “Like this?” He says, showing a picture to Jordan.

“Perfect, thanks!”

Jungkook and Jordan take a while to warm up to each other, but eventually, they’re chatting quietly about makeup. Jordan doesn’t have any experience with it, but Jungkook is eager to teach and explain what he’s doing as he brushes a dark brown over their lids.

Yoongi takes this as his cue to go, after checking with Jordan that they’d be alright until he came back. He pads downstairs again to find the rest of his group mates hanging out with the townspeople and setting up. Seokjin and Namjoon help arrange flowers in vases on the tables, while Taehyung and Jimin laugh with the old ladies and tie bows around the party favors for the guests. Hoseok is even leading a band of kids around the edge of the courtyard, effectively keeping them out of the way. He leans in his doorway and smiles, watching them work and laugh together.

Seokjin is the first to notice him and he strides up with a flower in grasp, bowing gallantly and offering it to him while the children laugh in the background. Yoongi takes it, feeling red brush his cheeks as he holds the white lily to his nose. “You’re an idiot,” He tells Seokjin, who just laughs and kisses his cheek, taking the flower back to be put where it needs to go.

Hoseok waves from the other side of the courtyard while Jimin and Taehyung whisper conspiratorily with their new best friends, hands nimbly tying bow after bow. Yoongi waves back before going to check in with some of the townsfolk who are putting up the garlands along the walls and are hanging lights across the yard. Satisfied that everything is in its place, or will be soon enough, Yoongi travels back upstairs.

He steps into his bedroom, checking his watch and carrying Jordan’s dress. He finds Jungkook and Jordan embracing tightly inside, tears sliding down both of their faces. Yoongi panics, coughing wildly and flailing with the dress in his hands, trying to figure out what to do. Upon hearing him enter, though, the two pull away from each other, laughing stuffily and wiping their eyes carefully. Yoongi manages to hang the dress on the door and rushes to them both, hands flickering around them. “Wha- What happened you two! I left and everything was fine!”

Jungkook waves a hand, scrubbing his nose with the other, “It’s fine, it’s fine, hyung. Nothing - Nothing bad happened.” He sniffs and stands taller, looking at Yoongi with a gently pinched expression, eyes still filled with water. Yoongi looks to Jordan as if to confirm, who nods at him firmly, makeup thankfully still intact.

“Fuck -” Yoong’s shoulders relax. “You two scared me! Today of all days... And you- “ He turns to Jordan with a scolding finger - “You can’t cry yet! You’re getting married today, you should save your tears.” Jordan bursts into tears again. Yoongi starts flailing again. Jungkook snorts, which turns into full-blown laughter at Yoongi’s frantic behavior as he hovers over Jordan.

Eventually, Jordan gets fed up with this and catches Yoongi in a tight hug, crying into his shirt. Yoongi goes still for a moment, looking helplessly at a still-mirthful Jungkook, who offers no help. Carefully, Yoongi wraps his arms around Jordan’s small frame, crushing them into a hug. They hold on to his shirt and cry harder. Yoongi takes a deep breath and whispers soothing words into their ear, “Shhh- It’s okay, Jordie. It’s okay. You know they love you. They love you so much, Jordan.” He whispers.

He looks up at Jungkook as Jordan slowly calms down to find him smiling fondly at him. Yoongi scowls, embarrassed and looks away.

After making sure that Jordan’s make up is perfect, and their hair still in place. Yoongi packs a small bag, gets changed into his suit, and leads them out the back of the villa. Jungkook stays behind to get changed and to remind the others to get changed as well. Jordan and Yoongi hike up the hill, emergency bag and dress suitor being lugged behind them. They hadn’t wanted to get Jordan’s dress dirty, so they set up a little section of the old stone church where they could get changed.

There are a few of the townspeople already there, finishing the chair set up and decorating the altar. The town preacher is there as well, smiling genially over the crowd that bustles around him. He calls out a warm greeting to Jordan, who runs to hug him. Yoongi smiles fondly at the scene and brings the dress into the small room they’d set up. The photographer is in there already, and Yoongi chats with her while waiting for Jordan. The wedding is due to start in an hour, and most of the guests are milling about outside, but the grooms won’t be arriving for another twenty minutes or so.

Soon enough, Jordan pulls the curtain back and grins sheepishly. Yoongi shakes his head at them but gestures them in quickly. “Come on, then, your grooms will be here soon and I’m sure you’ll want to look over your vows before - “ Jordan gasps and pats down their pockets frantically.

Yoongi hands them their vows, handwritten on a sheet of paper, from his emergency bag. “You really thought I’d let you forget them?”

Jordan coughs self-consciously and takes them, reading them over slowly. They’re reading their own writing, but tears still fill their eyes by the second line. Yoongi shakes his head, pulling them away, “What did I say about crying before the wedding, kid?” Yoongi wipes under their eyes, careful not to mess up Jungkook’s hard work, taking the vows back gently. The photographer has been silently taking photos of them, thankfully unobtrusive.

The photographer in question steps out of the room for a moment while Jordan gets undressed and into their pretty lingerie, gone to take photos of the guests, but they call her back in when it’s time for the dress. Yoongi helps slip the dress over Jordan’s head and shimmies it down their torso. He steps back to let the photographer get a close-up of the beading, done by the tailor lady down the road from Yoongi. He watches this kid, close enough to his kid, bashfully brush their hands over the beautiful lace-bead combinations in the form of flowers, with some pastel rose detailing. He sniffs quietly. Jordan had been through a lot and still found love. Jordan’s love had not been easy, but every day they were proving that it was worth it. Could Yoongi do that?

Yoongi could never love easily, every moment he has is fought for, but truly, it’s a worthy fight, he thinks. Jordan has shown him that you can grow from sandy rocks, that love is worth it in the end. He sniffs again, louder this time. Fuck. Jordan, this sweet kid, had found love, had worked hard so that Yoongi could have another chance at his love as well. Now he just can’t mess it up, he thinks to himself. He rubs a hand over his eyes.

Jordan wraps an arm around his shoulders. Yoongi chokes and sobs softly. What’s he crying over? Is it the hope for a second chance at love? Is it the thought that Jordan is finally getting what they deserve, this kid who he’s grown close to? What does he have to be sad about anymore? Fuck. He sniffs one last time, taking a ragged breath.

He pulls away, embarrassed at his outburst. “You’re a good kid, Jordie.” He says softly. “I’m proud to be the one to walk you down the aisle.”

Jordan beams. Yoongi smiles back. The photographer snaps a photo.

They get everything properly sorted out with the dress and Yoongi presses a cool towel to his eyes to remove the redness. Eventually, there’s a knock on the door to let them know it’s time. Yoongi peaks out to see the preacher and the pianist all set up, Gale and Tristan fidgeting at the altar. His boys are in the first row to the left, on Jordan’s ‘side’ of the aisle, all dressed up and styled to the nines. He smiles and turns to Jordan. “It’s time, kid.”

Jordan takes a shaky breath and rubs their hands together. Yoongi offers them his arm to hold on to. They clutch it desperately. The photographer leaves first so she can get a better angle, while Yoongi breathes slowly and deeply to try and calm Jordan. “They’re out there because they love you, Jordan, you don’t need to be scared.” He reminds them. Jordan looks up to him with wide eyes.

“I’m not scared, Yoongi.” They shake their head and straighten their shoulders, “I’m excited,” They say. Yoongi smiles and pulls back the curtain nodding to the pianist, who starts up the strains to the Wedding March. Jordan takes measured steps with him as they turn out of the room and down the aisle. But as soon as they look up and see Gale and Tristan, it’s all over.

Jordan hurries Yoongi down the aisle subtly, barely keeping their excitement or their tears in check. There’s not a dry eye in the place, besides. At the end of the aisle, Yoongi kisses each of their cheeks and lets them go to the altar, to stand between Gale and Tristan, facing the priest.

Yoongi sits on the seat innermost to the aisle, next to Jungkook and the rest of them.

Jungkook leans in close, taking his hand from his lap to hold, and murmurs - “Are you okay, hyung?”

Yoongi looks at him, really looks at him, before letting his gaze slide to the others, who are divided between watching him and watching the ceremony. He licks his lips and smiles at Jungkook - “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi laughs as one of the men finishes a story about Gale in his youth, clinking his wine glass with Jimin and Seokjin on either side of him and taking a long sip in a toast. The ceremony had been beautiful, and just as Jordan had started their vows, the island’s golden hour had hit, lighting them all in an angelic glow. There hadn’t been a single person who hadn’t wiped away a tear or two, and Yoongi isn’t ashamed to say that he’d straight up bawled into Jungkook’s suit jacket like a child when Gale and Tristan said their vows as well.

Now, though, everything has settled, even as the festivities have really begun. Raucous music and wine fill the courtyard, decorated with tables and garlands and a large space for dancing in the middle. Yoongi feels a tap on his shoulder and, looking up, is somehow unsurprised to see Namjoon smiling down at him.

“I think you owe me a dance, hyungie.” He says demurely.

Yoongi hums and studies his wine glass, as Jimin leans into his shoulder and Seokjin giggles slightly. “Are you sure? I thought I gave you your dance last night?”

Namjoon sighs, “Come on, hyung, I only got to dance with you for a moment.”

Yoongi sniffs but puts down his glass, “Not my fault you all decided to take up dramatics and ambush me like that.”

Seokjin smacks his arm, “Hey!” He whines, “I thought it was romantic!”

Yoongi breaks into giggles against Seokjin’s shoulder, “It’s okay, hyung. I was just kidding. It was all very romantic. I guess.” Jimin snorts and falls into Yoongi’s side as well, crushing him between them. Seokjin huffs and ruffles Yoongi’s hair roughly.

“Yah! You brat - Your hyung is very romantic. I’ll prove it to you!”

Yoongi smiles so big he can barely see, “I’d like that, hyung. I expect you to keep your promise, no take backs!” Seokjin acts aloof but throws an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders regardless. “But! I think I’ve ignored Namjoonie for long enough.” He shakes off Seokjin’s arm and pushes his chair back, Namjoon watches him fondly.

“Come on then, hyung. I asked the DJ for a slow song since I know your old joints ache.”

“You ask me to dance and then insult me! You’re a brat, Namjoonie.” Yoongi puts a hand to his chest in mock offense - “Weren’t you just agreeing with me that we’ve done enough dancing for our lifetimes?”

Namjoon shifts on his feet as the promised slow song comes on. He offers his hand to Yoongi, other one hovering around his waist - “Aish, hyung. I was just joking. I just thought this might be more - how did Seokjin-hyung put it?” He grins, “Romantic.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and takes Namjoon’s hand, stepping into the hand on his waist to do a basic waltz with Namjoon. They only stumble once or twice as the townspeople spin around them. “This is quite romantic, Namjoonie,” Yoongi mumbles over the music, while Namjoon tugs him closer by the waist.

Namjoon laughs into his neck, “I’m glad you feel romanced, hyung. I hope I get the chance to show you just how romantic I can be.” Pause - “Plus, you promised Seokjin-hyung the opportunity to romance you as well.”

Yoongi blushes and curls his arm over Namjoon’s shoulder, pressing his face into the sleek blazer. “Ah.”

Namjoon flings him out for a spin and Yoongi goes easily, redirecting the momentum and ending up closer to Namjoon than he was before, if that’s possible. “You’re alright with being romanced? It might take us all a while.” Yoongi’s blush intensifies.

“I - Namjoonie.” Yoongi sways against Namjoon and they step away in time with the music to return - “Namjoon.” He takes a breath - “I’ve just got you back, really. I’m not going to let any of you go just yet. I made that mistake once, I won’t again.”

Namjoon huffs, “More like we just got you back, hyung. Don’t think that we’ll let you go so easily this time, either.”

The song shifts into it’s final, smooth jazz portion, slowing them down to a sway. Yoongi hums and sways with Namjoon in something that’s closer to a hug, head pressed into his shoulder. “I don't mind.”

#seokah #bts fanfiction #bts #bts fic #jungkook #yoongi #namjoon #seokjin #jimin #taehyung #hoseok #ot7 #fanfiction #y

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