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bybibucky · 4 years ago

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We Do It All – Everything – on Our Own

All That I Ever Was – Chapter I

Bucky Barnes x reader Series – post Captain America: The Winter Soldier (WIP)

You are a damsel in distress, not matter how much you don’t want to be. Bucky Barnes is your knight in rusty armor, lost in his own head, trying to figure himself out. After having found each other, you go from there, accidentally fixing what shouldn’t be broken in the first place.

– song fic based on “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol

warnings overall: language, slow burn, angst, violence, mentions of death, injury, mentions of rape, prostitution, physical abuse

word count: 4.3k

author’s note: and so the journey begins. I’m hella excited, are you?

In a way, he should have seen this coming. Wandering around New York City, trying to relearn the ins and outs of the place, he was bound to run across something he wasn’t supposed to see. Usually, he was good at ignoring things that didn’t concern him, and he was by no means a vigilante of any sort, but that helpless, muffled scream that perked up his ears wasn’t anything to walk away from.

“Please.” The way just that simple word held so much fear was enough to make him grind his teeth together. Someone was in danger, helpless in the hands of a bad person, that much he knew and he also knew that, somewhere deep down, even though he didn’t want to allow himself to admit it, there was a part of him that was better. Maybe, this would take him a step further to rediscovering that person he had once been.

So, he briefly checked whether his gloves were still in place, and then walked towards the noise all the way down the alley. Every step made your whimpering that much easier to discern, his heightened senses always on high alert, and he could make out the unmistakable sound of fruitless struggling. When he saw you, he knew for sure.

“Stop fucking trying to escape.” The man, large but not muscular, had one hand tightly fisted in the fabric of your flimsy dress, one on the back of your head, pushing it against the rugged brick wall. Bucky knew from experience that it would leave a burning mark on your skin and he already wanted your attacker to feel the tenfold of that sharp pain.

Your voice was muffled against the stone when you tried to beg again. It wouldn’t go anywhere, and Bucky decided to make himself known. Taking both you and the attacker by surprise, he grabbed the latter by his collar, yanking him backward. He hadn’t even used his metal arm, but the man still lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Weak. Bucky followed suit and you could do nothing but watch. He straddled the guy’s legs to keep him still and, this time, used both hands punch to him black and blue, using some of his hidden fury that always seemed to be there to really make it hurt. But contrary to what everyone he knew thought, he was able to stop himself before he’d commit another murder. Watching his victim for a second, making sure that he’d stay down, he looked up to see you cowered against the wall, hands cradled to your chest, wide eyes leaking tears that had to sting in the fresh cuts on your cheek. You were favoring your right foot.

He stood up, hands raised to show he wouldn’t hurt you, and waited for you to react. He’d anticipated for you to scream or run away, to tell him he’d made a mistake, but what he hadn’t seen coming was for you to just, well, collapse. Bucky was just barely fast enough to catch you from where he had stood. You were limp in his arms, helpless, and he was looking around as if the dark alley had answers, running his mind to figure out what to do with you now.

:::::

You woke up on a mattress. Not a bed, but a mattress. And that alone made you sit up way too quickly, the blood rush forcing out a hiss between your teeth. But you pushed it aside, fingers rubbing your temples, and took in your surroundings. None of the things you saw belonged to either you or your roommates. Not any of the books scattered around the tiny apartment, not the piles of clothes on the floor, some neat, some carelessly dumped there, and not the small kitchen counter with the dirty dishes in the sink. The windows were covered by thick black fabric, basking the place in darkness which was only broken by the one window that didn’t have a makeshift curtain, and this told you it was already morning. Where the fuck were you?

“You’re awake,” came a deep voice from a corner of the room and you almost jumped out of your skin. Moving your hands to cover yourself on instinct, you noticed that someone had put a sweater on you.

“You were shivering,” was all the explanation you got and you chose to be okay with that. You were still wearing your dress and there wasn’t that unmistakable feeling between your legs that you weren’t wearing any panties. So he probably hadn’t raped you.

And then the memory came back. The way Dylan had pushed you against the wall, how he had threatened to kill you, once again, how his fingers had dug into your skin. You shook your head to clear it. “Where am I?” This guy had apparently saved you from Dylan but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t dangerous himself.

“My apartment.” He slowly moved out of his corner and when you finally saw him, your first thought was that he was absolutely gorgeous. The kind of guy you used to joke about with your friends that you would let him do anything to you. Besides the fact that he could use a shave and maybe a different outfit, he was beautiful.

“I brought you here when you passed out,” he said, “I don’t know where you live.”

The more he spoke the more it became clear that he didn’t converse with strangers very often. The pauses in between his sentences he used to figure out what to say next, and his voice was deep but not loud like you were used to. He might have beaten Dylan to a pulp but, from what you knew, he hadn’t laid a harming finger on you. You nodded.

“Thank you.”

The man flinched. You didn’t know what to do with that.

He changed the subject. “Are you hungry?” he asked, “I think I have something in the fridge.” And he pointed towards the old, crammed kitchen space.

You shook your head. “No, thank you.”

“Water?” He looked weirdly hopeful for a yes and you realized he probably didn’t get a lot of guests.

You nodded and the man hurried to the small kitchen. He emerged with a bottle of water that he handed you with a gloved hand. You chose not to ask. Thanking him again, you took it and screwed off the cap. The seal was still in place so you were sure he wasn’t trying to poison you. He watched intently as you brought the bottle to your lips and, finally realizing how parched you were, gulped down half of the liquid in seconds.

“Okay?” he asked and you nodded.

Something about his careful, almost shy demeanor made you feel like he was nothing like any other man you had met. While clearly being strong – you had watched his strength in person and even all the layers he wore couldn’t hide his muscular build – it hadn’t made him cocky. It was a nice change.

“Are you in pain?” he piped up again, softly and in the same deep rumble you had sort of gotten used to already.

You wanted to shake your head once more, but now that your adrenaline had subsided, you were starting to feel the events of the night. “A little.” There was no saying what he would do with that response and you wouldn’t have thought that you’d get to watch him ball his hands to tight fists by his sides before he walked out to a room you deduced must have been the bathroom. When he came back, the small first aid kid was comically tiny in his gloved hands that held it out to you. You had no idea what to do with it.

He gestured toward the bed, silently asking for permission to sit. You scooched over a little to give him more space on the small mattress. Silently, he got to work. Opening up the plastic box, he rummaged through its contents for some disinfectant spray that he applied on a cotton swab.

“This’ll probably sting,” he warned, before he carefully began to dab the area around the cuts on your face. You winced because you couldn’t help it, it really did sting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled but you shook your head.

“It’s not your fault.”

He was silent again, after you had spoken, and neither of you could deny the tension in your words. You suddenly felt the need to talk about it.

“Thank you for stepping in,” you said. He was avoiding your eyes, but you couldn’t keep yours off of him. Up close, he was even more beautiful, although his face was unreadable. The useless, almost frowning expression told you nothing except that he was probably concentrating. You didn’t know him well enough to place his behavior. But for some reason, and you found yourself scared of the answer, you weren’t scared of him. “He always threatens me,” you continued, “but this time I really thought he was going to kill me.” It was the truth. Last night had not been the first time Dylan had cornered you like this, and it hadn’t been the only time you had needed to be saved. Only the first time someone had actually intervened.

“This is going to bruise,” the man in front of you informed you, and you scoffed bitterly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His frown deepened. “Why would anyone hurt you?”

That made you laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, “that was my pimp. I’m a prostitute.”

He was taken aback, putting down the cotton swab. He knew about prostitutes. It wasn’t some new twenty-first century invention, but he had never met one. Not that he knew of. “Oh,” he said.

“You seriously didn’t realize?”

He shook his head, and suddenly, he looked so innocent. When he had first seen you, you had been wearing nothing but a thin negligée, panties, and heels, and that in mid-November air. Now, the only difference was the lack of heels that he had probably taken off for you and the additional sweater. This man was a puzzle to you.

“Do you like what you do?” he asked then, and instantly realized what he had said. “No, sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled. “It’s no big deal,” you assured him, “I did at first. It felt so empowering. But the years went by and this guy – the one in the alley – took me under his wing and he turned out to be real asshole.”

The man nodded, clearly deeply in thought at your words, but you didn’t want the pity.

“What’s your name?” you asked to change the subject but it didn’t seem to be the right one.

His eyes widened just barely, mouth open like a fish. “I’m not sure,” he confessed, and you were about to ask what the hell that meant, when he added, somewhat unsurely, “Bucky.”

That certainly had been weird but you weren’t perfect either. “I’m Y/N,” you replied, and it felt odd to have your real name on your tongue for once. These days, you only ever introduced yourself by your stage name.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” It was a simple line to portray politeness and it felt a little forced but with good intentions nonetheless. “Does anything else hurt?”

It did. Your whole body ached, in fact, but his little first aid kit wouldn’t be able to help with that. So you shook your head.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, briefly scanning your body. “Your foot,” he said, “and I’m guessing you might have a bruised rib or two.”

You gasped just barely, suddenly found out. No one had ever been this observant.

He shrugged. “I saw the foot thing in the alley and you’re taking really shallow breaths.”

You hadn’t even noticed.

“I can take a look to make sure nothing is broken, if you want.” He said it carefully, making sure he didn’t seem like a pervert. “Your foot.”

It hadn’t been the first time you’d had to lick your own wounds but you had no medical experience, he probably knew more than you. “Sure.” You pushed the thin blanket off your legs and held out your right foot. Brows knitted in concentration, he gently ran his hands across your calf down to your toes, stopping to apply pressure at certain points, waiting for you to wince or whimper. He placed his hand on the back of your heel, the other against the ball of your foot, rotating your ankle slightly. On instinct, because that really fucking hurt, your tried to pull your leg from his grasp and he let you.

“Sprain,” he deduced, before carding through the first aid kit again. He dug out a bandage of some sort and looked at you questioningly, silently asking for permission to touch you again.

You extended your leg toward him once more, and felt something weird swell in your chest that wasn’t the pain coming from your ribs. This man respected you. You observed as he began to bind your foot starting at your toes, the stretchy fabric putting a relieving pressure against the pain.

“Too tight?” he asked and you shook your head. Bucky snapped off the band with his teeth before tugging the end under the wraps.

“Thank you.”

He gave you a curt nod, standing up. From your low vantage point, you watched as he moved around the room, gathering some books and a few shirts from the neat pile. Wordlessly, he arranged them in a tower beside the mattress, and you were confused until he carefully lifted your leg and placed it on top.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. This man was so… kind. Each movement deliberately thought through, each word chosen with care, you found yourself wondering why he was alone. It was obvious that he didn’t spend much time with other people, even though you thought he deserved to. What had happened to him?

“Would you like to take a shower?”

The question surprised you. A shower hadn’t really crossed your mind, but now that he had mentioned it, you started yearning for one.

“Only if it’s not too much,” you said and Bucky’s eye twitched.

But he walked over and stretched out his arms, offering you help. You took them gladly, your small hands almost getting lost in the large leather gloves as he pulled you to your feet. Instantly, you shifted your weight onto your good foot.

“Can you walk?”

You didn’t like the thought of him carrying you again, so you proceeded an awkward wobbling dance towards the bathroom, leaning on Bucky’s forearm for support. It must have looked ridiculous but luckily, his apartment was tiny, so it didn’t take you too long to get there. Bucky leaned you against the wall like a broomstick, briefly gesturing for you stay put, before he disappeared into the living room and reemerged with a plastic stool.

You were ready to cry at the thoughtfulness, the small gesture bigger to you than anything that had happened in your life before last night. Unbelievable, how people like this actually still existed. To you, it seemed like that generation had lived a hundred years ago.

“Clever,” you admitted, “thanks.”

Giving you a quick run-down of the shower settings, offering you everything in his supply of cleaning products, which literally only was a bar of soap, but you’d make do, he handed you a rather rugged towel that you gratefully accepted. Why he was being so nice to you, you couldn’t wrap your head around.

He left you to your own devices, then, softly closing the bathroom door behind himself. You, in turn, fumbled around with the settings on the shower until you liked the temperature enough. Eager to get under the stream, your clothes were shed in a hurry, though only as quickly as possible with your injuries. You were glad that Bucky didn’t appear to have a mirror anywhere in the apartment, meaning you didn’t have to look at yourself. The extend of the bruises, you imagined, wasn’t something you wanted on your mind. You hoped Bucky wouldn’t see.

The hot water loosened your tense muscles instantly. A blissful sigh left your lips like it had been aching to for ages, and you relaxed against the back of the chair. You had needed this desperately. You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a hot shower. This was a luxury you didn’t feel like you deserved.

Forcing yourself to keep the whole ordeal as short possible – you didn’t want to strain your gifted resourced by any means – you went through a quick cleaning routine. The truth was, you were dreading the moment you’d have to leave this place. Yes, it was cluttered, undecorated, and frankly a little dusty, but the company was nice and you didn’t expect any respect relative to the one you were receiving now to be there once you said goodbye to Bucky. You lathered yourself up with the soap quickly, mindful of the bruises and keeping your injured foot away from the water. It was a difficult task but you didn’t want Bucky to have to patch you up again. Once was definitely too much already. The soap didn’t do a lot for your hair, but clean was clean.

After you had dried yourself off with the towel, you realized that you would have to put your old clothes back on. Or maybe you didn’t.

With a soft knock, Bucky squeezed a set of folded somethings through a tiny crack in the door. You took it, thanking him. Unfolding the garments, you discovered he had brought an arrangement of sweatpants, shirts, and boxer briefs. Grateful for not needing to wear your panties again, you chose the pair of underwear that looked the smallest, otherwise opting for a set of plain sweatpants and a sweatshirt. All of it was comically large on you, but so very comfortable. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this at ease. It was a stark difference to your work uniform.

Bare-footed, you tiptoed – ignoring the pain in your ankle – back to the rest of the apartment, finding Bucky by the sink.

Without facing you, he asked, “okay?”

You nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see you. “I really needed that, thank you.”

He didn’t respond further, busy cleaning the dishes. Oddly enough, he still wore the gloves and that was weird enough for you to ask.

“What’s with the gloves?”

Bucky tensed barely, but you noticed. He shrugged.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?” you asked. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

And Bucky relaxed. So it was a touchy subject. That was fine. He hadn’t pushed the topic of your profession once he’d realized you were uncomfortable with it. It was only respectful to treat him the same. Besides, it really was none of your business.

“Hungry?” he asked, this time, turning around. He had put the last plate on a folded dish towel next to the sink, letting it dry.

You were about to decline once more, but your growling stomach stole the show. Both of you breathed out a shy laugh. Most of the tension caused by the foreign nature of your relationship dissipated then, and something else, something slight and easy settled in its place.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky teased, though somewhat still careful that any word of his was in danger of being the wrong one. You wondered whether he had always been this way, or if someone had hurt him. He opened the fridge. “I have bread and, uh, eggs. Those should still be good.” The inside of this fridge resembled the décor in his apartment. Scarce and only the bare necessities.

“Wait,” he said, taking in your appearance, and suddenly gasped, “why are you standing?” He took one large step and was directly in front of you. “May I?” he asked, and even though you didn’t know what he was talking about, you nodded.

Bucky, then, wiped his hands on his worn jeans and sneaked them under your armpit, lifting you gently but efficiently so you were sat on the counter top. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and brought his attention to the stove to make scrambled eggs.

You watched every move. The way he broke the eggshells with a single tap against the side of the small pan, how he placed the spatula so it was exactly parallel with the edge of the stove, and how he stared down at the cooking meal, as if that would make it go faster.

He stuffed two untoasted slices of bread with the scrambled eggs before handing you the plate. Bucky didn’t have a dining table, so he stood opposite you as you both ate right there in the middle of the kitchen area, your legs dangling off the counter top. It felt strangely intimate, like you had been doing this for years, eating in a comfortable silence. To your surprise, the sandwich was quite delicious, too, given his limited resources. When you told him so, Bucky beamed a shy smile that warmed your heart.

“It’s not much, I know,” he said but you had to disagree. The gesture alone was worth more than any fancy meal you had ever eaten.

Once you were finished and Bucky had taken the empty plate from you, he spoke again. “Your phone rang while you were in the shower.” He was avoiding your eyes.

“Oh, thanks. I should probably check that.” But you were kind of stuck on the counter. “Could you, um…” You trailed off, hoping he would get what you meant.

Your idea had been for him to get your phone from the bed, but you let out a surprised shriek when Bucky sneaked his arm under your legs, the other around your back and carried you over there. Scared he would drop you, you clutched his shoulders, but he walked as if you weighed nothing.

He went down on one knee, setting you onto the mattress carefully, before he stood up. “I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, awkwardly looking around the apartment for a place where he’d be out of earshot. When you saw him glance toward the bathroom, you put an end to it.

“Wanna sit with me?” you asked, patting the space on your right.

Not hesitating, and you decided to jot that down as some sort of progress between the two of you, he pushed the scrunched-up blanket away, plopping down. You bounced slightly from the force of it, and found yourself giggling.

“Okay,” you said, “give me a sec.” One look at your phone, however, dampened your improved mood drastically. The cracked screen was littered with dozens of missed calls, hundreds of furious text messages. You were in big trouble. Sighing deeply, you gathered enough courage to call Dylan back.

“Were the fuck are you?” came his voice screaming through the speaker right after the first ring, “you have clients waiting for you! If you’re brave enough to come back, you better have your affairs in order because I am going to fucking kill you! You little bitch! I should have kicked your head in yesterday when I had the chance!” After that, you toned out his words. You’d heard them before countless of times. But still, because you really were weak like he always told you, there were tears in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall any second. What if this time, he’d be true to his word?

You’d completely forgotten about Bucky, who still sat next to you, able to hear everything Dylan yelled at the other end of the line. But he reminded you when he reached out to pull your phone from your grasp. Your breath hitched, suddenly looking at him, and from the force of the movement, a tear quickly rolled down your cheek.

“You can’t go back there,” he said, and his voice held something foreign that you couldn’t name.

You shook your head. He was right, but if there was any other way, you didn’t know it.

“He’ll hurt you again.”

You bit your lip, nodding. But if this was to be your fate, then so be it.

“Stay.”

There was a tiny gasp and it took you a second before you realized it had come from your own throat. “I couldn’t–“

“Please, don’t say no right away. Hear me out,” Bucky insisted, “I know this shitty apartment isn’t what you deserve, but I can make it better. I could get another chair or something. And I’m out most of the time anyway.” He paused. “But he hurt you. He’ll do it again and I–I can’t let that happen.”

“If I don’t go back, I won’t have any money.” This was ridiculous. You didn’t know each other and he was asking you to move in?

“Let’s make a deal,” Bucky said and he was the most energetic you’d ever seen him. Granted, he still was quiet and reserved, but he seemed genuinely determined. “You cook and maybe help me make this place livable and I let you stay and get us food and everything.”

“I can’t.” But Bucky, in a moment of bravery and probably desperation, grasped your hands.

“Y/N.” The word held everything from a plea to a promise, and something in his eyes told you he was trustworthy. So you yielded.

“Only until I can get something on my own,” you said pointedly, and Bucky nodded. Satisfied, he was back to his shy self and you wondered whether you’d get him to come out of his shell one day, whether you’d tear his walls down at some point.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes #Avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine

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simplybakugou · 4 years ago

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Stuck with You

↝ Dating a pro hero can be difficult... especially when paparazzi decide to interfere in your relationship.

BINGO SPACE: Pro Hero AU

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!jirou x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: fluff; swearing ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1562

A/N: because of all of these @bnhabookclub bingo fics, i’m slowly running out of ideas lmao so i’m sorry if this fic is a little shitty on my end (especially since i usually write a lot of pro hero au fics anyways). thank you to the anon who requested jirou for this prompt! the transparent jirou cap is from the bnhabookclub drive!

also special thanks to my wife izzy for helping me come up with this idea after i genuinely couldn’t think of anything else. idk what i’d do without you bby @bnhatrashh

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.26.2020✐

On these particular days, the air always felt more light and the world looked exceptionally brighter and more saturated than usual. Your speaker was blasting your favorite songs as you hummed along, not wanting to shake your hand as you attempted to draw a straight line on your eyelids with your favorite eyeliner. The excitement you were feeling only grew with every passing second as you anticipated your upcoming date with your girlfriend.

You set the eyeliner pen down onto your table, grabbing your phone to send a quick text to Jirou, asking if she was on her way. She almost immediately responded, informing you that she had just gotten into her car and was en route to your house. You grinned like a fool, a surge of exhilaration running through you as you put your phone back down, checking back into the mirror as you turned your body left and right, making sure there weren’t any wrinkles in your favorite outfit.

You and Jirou had known each other for a while now. You both went to the same middle school and although you weren’t close with one another back then, Jirou would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t have a crush on you. Then again, who didn’t have a crush on you? You had an energy that could make any person smile from ear to ear as you practically lit up every room you stepped foot into. Jirou experienced this at first hand as she was acquainted with you through mutual friends but by the time you both progressed onto high school, she unfortunately never got the opportunity to express her feelings to you.

Luckily Jirou was fortunate when your paths crossed once again, this time after both of you had graduated from your respective high schools and Jirou was becoming known as one of the top pro heroes in the world. You had managed to get a job as a secretary at none other than Yaoyorozu’s agency and while Jirou was on her way to not only visit her high school friend and for business relations, you and Jirou met and Jirou couldn’t help but tense up.

If it were even possible, you had managed to be even more beautiful than you were in middle school and you didn’t fail to take her breath away with just one look. On the other hand, you were quite shocked to find out someone as high profile as Jirou still remembered who you were.

Wanting to get closer to her, you gave her your number. Nonetheless you had managed to get closer to her, so close that she asked you out on a date. It had been two months since then and needless to say you were enjoying where this relationship was going so far, even though it hadn’t been that long.

Jirou finally pulled up to your house, parking her car onto the side of the curb. Just as she was about to exit the vehicle, her worst nightmare became a reality as numerous strange people had been following Jirou’s car without her knowledge, exiting their own vehicles with cameras and microphones in hand. They didn’t hesitate to swarm her car, shoving their cameras to the driver’s side of the door where she was seated.

“Earphone Jack! Is it true that this is your girlfriend’s house?!” One of the reporters exclaimed.

Jirou looked up at them all absolutely mortified. How the hell did they even know she had a girlfriend?

At this point you were peeking through the window in your bedroom, confused as to what was going on in your driveway. Concerned for Jirou’s safety, you went downstairs and opened the front door, emerging from your place.

The reporters began muttering to themselves before they saw you and a few of them ran off towards you. Jirou’s eyes widened into the shape of saucers as she realized what was going on. “Y/N, get back inside!”

But it was too late. The paparazzi started swarming you now as they crowded themselves around you, shoving their video cameras in your face as you gripped the door knob in fear. “You must be Earphone Jack’s girlfriend!” One of them exclaimed gleefully. “And it seems that your name is Y/N, correct?”

“Um…” you muttered, glancing back and forth between each person in front of you.

They proceeded to throw a bunch of questions at you and your head started hurting as you couldn’t keep up with what was going on, not to mention it was terrifying to have random strangers crowd around your house because of your pro hero girlfriend.

Jirou opened the door, not caring if she hit one of the reporters in the process. She ran towards the front door, pushing past the paparazzi circling around you as she grabbed your wrist, gently but urgently pushing you back inside with her. She slammed the door shut and locked it, leaning her back against it as she took a breath in and out. She looked through the peephole, feeling as the rude intruders pounded their fists against the door, demanding that she open the door as if she owed them anything.

You were shocked to say the least, not accustomed to these kinds of people badgering you for your private life and personal information. Jirou stood straight, placing her hands on your shoulders. “Are you alright?”

You nodded slowly. “Are those paparazzi?”

Jirou sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. “Yeah. Those assholes always follow me around. I didn’t think they’d find out about us so soon.”

She looked back at you once again. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I should’ve let you know from the beginning that shit like this would happen. I know you didn’t sign up for this and you must be scared right now.”

You parted your lips to say something but Jirou kept going. “I understand if you want to stop what we have now before anything gets serious. I can’t say people like them out there will stop coming to your house like this so I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I mean we’ve only been dating for a few months and these assholes outed us already.”

“It’s okay, Kyouka. I expected something like this was bound to happen. I was just a little shocked when it happened so soon.” You shook your head, smiling as you brought your hand up to her cheek, cupping her face in your hand. “But I really like you and I’m fine with dealing with a few annoying assholes if it means I get to go out with a woman like you.”

Jirou’s face heated up into a bright pink color as she wasn’t expecting this reaction. Although it would’ve broken her heart, she was expecting you to break things up between the two of you after this instance. She wouldn’t have blamed you as no one should have to deal with people like the paparazzi but here you were acting like the angel you are and accepting her and her lifestyle.

“I-I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to this date but it’s ruined now,” Jirou said, her tone filled with disappointment.

You tapped a finger to your chin. “Are they still out there?”

Jirou turned around, placing one open eye up to the peephole as she looked back outside. The reporters were still lounging around your front door, mumbling things to one another as some of them were furiously typing something into their phones. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

You clapped your hands together, coming to another conclusion. “Well that’s okay because I’ve got a good idea!”

“What is it?”

“Well we can’t just let our dinner be ruined ‘cause of these people!” You exclaimed, grasping onto Jirou’s wrist as you pulled her into your kitchen. You turned to look at her, giving her your signature grin. “We can just cook whatever we want!”

“Y/N you know damn well our cooking’s not gonna be as good as that restaurant we always like going to,” Jirou said with a sigh as she watched as you had already started grabbing vegetables and various other ingredients from your fridge.

You jutted out your bottom lip. “Yeah, but what else do you want us to do? Mope around because of this? No, we can make do with what’s going on and do our best!”

Jirou smiled slightly as she watched you begin to put yourself to work, washing the ingredients and already proceeding to chop them finely. She took a step towards you, wrapping her arms around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“Hmm, maybe you should say it a few more times. I don’t think I heard you the first time,” you teased and you both chuckled.

The rest of the night you both attempted your best to make a decent meal, in which you surprisingly succeeded to follow the recipe you found online to Jirou’s favorite dish. Jirou then played your favorite movies, cuddling in each other’s arms as your home had become a makeshift hideout until the reporters decided to leave.

Not that Jirou was complaining anyways because she managed to spend the night with the one woman she had been crushing on for as long as she could remember.

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theflashdriver · 4 years ago

Text

Faux (A fake dating Silvaze Fic)

Here’s a little something I wrote to promote Silvaze Week 2020. It starts on September 27th, for more information please go see the Silvaze Week twitter! This story uses the oblivious prompt and is over 11,000 words wrong!

---------

“I still don’t think I get it, Blaze. If nothing’s changing, what’re you asking me to actually do?” Silver the hedgehog said, sat at the foot royal bed. A book was sprawled open in his lap, but his attention was fully focused on the princess.

Blaze the cat was supposed to be working at her desk. The sun was well on its way to setting yet papers were still stacked high before her; agreements to endorse and budgets to look over and constructions to sign off on, it was nothing too out of the ordinary. Rather than tending to those though, she’d turned her chair to discuss a more personal matter and project with her closest companion. She’d thought it would be easy to explain but, in hindsight, the plan she’d propose was nothing like their usual fair. It didn’t help matters that neither of them had any experience in this department. Well, as far as she knew, he didn’t.

“I’m proposing that you say and pretend that you’re my boyfriend, Silver. That’s really all there is to it,” She instructed, using as simple and plain terms as possible, “I’ll do the same for you and we’ll go on a date tomorrow,” She caught the flexing of his brow and elaborated further, “A fake date, of course, just something small, we could visit the beach for a picnic lunch?

“Right,” He nodded but confusion still twisted his face, “But I’ve never actually been a boyfriend before, how will I know what to do?” It didn’t surprise Blaze that he was willing to go along with this, but it did surprise her that, of all the first questions, he’d landed on that. Not why they were going through this in the first place, just what he was supposed to do; it was very like him, but it still managed to catch her off-guard.

“I’ve not been a girlfriend, we’re both going into this blind and I think that’s what’ll make the ruse more believable,” She answered, “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have to do anything different. If anything, I’ll have to be a little more forward.”

“More forward?” His head gently tilted, and his eyes squinted; her phrasing was throwing him off. Perhaps she wasn’t being clear with him.

“We’re both new to this but I think it’s clear that I understand this potential task better than you. While I have not been in a relationship, those around me have,” Blaze elaborated, “That means I’ll have to take the lead, initiate bolder actions that’ll suggest to the public that we’re an actual couple; that we’re not just partners.”

Then again, that’d hardly be difficult. Silver was perfect for this plan because, frankly, that nature of their partnership was nebulous. They’d been mistaken for a couple more times than she could count. When Silver had first arrived in the Sol Dimension and her public had observed a total stranger hugging, laughing with and being doted on by the princess, rumours and gossip had quickly sailed to inform all corners of her kingdom. She’d never acknowledged that hearsay, denying a rumour only spread it further, but now she was going to use it to her advantage; she was going to turn that gossip on its head.

His ears were still slightly folded and, though it had faded, befuddlement lingered in his eyes and on his brow. The why was almost as important as the action itself, his curious nature would surely gnaw away at him and she wasn’t opposed to explaining. It was just a wordy and rather sad story, ideally the cliff notes alone would suffice.

“I know it’s all a little strange but my birthday’s only a couple of months away and I’m starting to worry,” Blaze began to explain, “When my mother turned eighteen, she started to get letters from suitors. People she’d never met wrote to her and asked for her hand in marriage. They were rich and powerful people, important to her kingdom but, equally, they were people she hardly even knew let alone loved,” The cogs in Silver’s head were turning, his fist tightened at what he surely thought and injustice, but Blaze thought it best to tell a more complete tale, “She was afraid to turn any of them down for fear of worsening her professional relationships but, atop that issue, she had already fallen in love with my father; she had a secret boyfriend. When that information became public those letters stopped arriving, but a few families felt as though they’d been led on and public relations worsened. Many of them refused to speak with her for several years, some won’t even speak to me.”

“What? People cut her off because she didn’t marry them, even though they didn’t even know her? Of course she didn’t want to marry them, why would she want to marry someone she doesn’t know?” Silver was aghast, she couldn’t help but smile at his innocence and the sense of justice behind it, “That’s awful! Did they just want to be in charge?”

“Yes,” Blaze affirmed, “They didn’t love her; they just wanted the royal name, be it to further their brands or grow their pride. A lot of parents wrote in on behalf of their children, many either much too old or much too young, offering them up to further the family’s social status.”

“So, you want to avoid all that by making them think you already have a boyfriend? That way, they won’t send any letters in the first place and won’t have anything to be angry about?” The hedgehog surmised. His stare was still galvanised by the tale of her mother.

“If you wouldn’t mind being that person Silver, yes,” Having made that request twice now, feeling a pang of guilt, Blaze hesitated, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this, but I know it’s a lot to ask. It’ll take up time and, obviously, stop you having this kind of relationship with anyone else. If you’re uncomfortable then we don’t have to, I don’t want to impose-

“If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, I’m willing to do anything, Blaze. I’ve never dated anyone before, but I’ll do my best to do it right,” Before she could finish, he’d bounded from his seated position and let his book tumble to the floor. He’d flown forward and taken her by the shoulders. When the hedgehog agreed to something, no matter how small, he made it his duty to see it through. She should have known that he’d want to see this through, “Starting tomorrow we’ll tell people that we’re dating. It can’t be that hard!”

The hedgehog had never quite understood personal space, his forehead was practically against hers and it’d only take a small push for their noses to collide. Blaze rolled her eyes, reaching up and returning his hold, “Thank you, Silver. Really, you have no idea how much more comfortable this will make me. I’ve been worrying about it for months now, weighing my options.”

“I just hope I can play the part well enough to convince everyone,” He awkwardly smiled, failing to mask his concern, “I’ve never had to act before, let alone trick people.”

“I doubt you’ll even have to act, just be yourself, you’re a very…” She searched for the perfect word, “Passionate person. When your mind is set on doing something, you invest in it so deeply; I’m sure that’ll come through and it’ll be more than enough,” Concern faded from his eyes, just a little, “But, like I said, I’ll take the lead. If I don’t think we’re being convincing enough, I’ll make a move.”

“Do you want me to do anything to help prepare? What about tomorrow’s date?” He asked, already trying to help even more, “I’ve got stuff back at the hut, I could easily put together a picnic if we do want to do a beach date?”

“I think that would be perfect, Silver,” She admitted, having intended to imply that was what she wanted later. Though he claimed to love her cooking, she had a far more rational palette, “This should be the last weekend before the weather turns, it’s already getting too cold for beach going. The crowds shouldn’t be huge but hopefully we’ll be visible enough that the word will spread itself.”

“We can go around the rock pools, walk along the beach and look for shells,” A new idea popped into his mind, his eyes lit up, “O-Or we could just relax if you prefer? Take a few books to read, maybe even get ice cream and…” Silver seemed to catch himself, his eyes began to lower, “I’m sorry, I’m trying to plan all this out. I want to help you Blaze; you should be free to choose who you want to love; you shouldn’t have to do this in the first place.”

He wanted to make things right, of course he did. The princess found herself shifting just a little closer as her grasp on him grew just a little tighter. Silver’s strong sense of justice didn’t have as many opportunities to shine through in this dimension, the world’s state of relative peace contributed to that, but it was a part of him she adored seeing. He was willing to put himself through so much and try so hard, she didn’t think he was romantically interested in anyone but even still; he was willing to put future romances on hold just so she could be comfortable.

“It’ll be easy, Silver. Don’t think of this like a date, think of it as one of our usual outings; like stargazing or visiting the crystal caves, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. We’ll do whatever comes naturally. All you need to do is stay by my side and be how you always are, all that’s changing is how we refer to each other,” Despite her reinforcement, his gaze drifted further from hers. She reached across and pushed his chin, turning him to face her. The worry seemed to vanish from his bright yellow eyes, “Just act natural, it’ll be fine. I’ll do the heavy lifting; it was my idea after all.”

“I’ll do my best,” As he promised, their heads came to touch. The contact seemed to invigorate him, “I’ll be the best boyfriend I can be! You don’t have to carry all the weight; I’ll handle it!”

Her smile only grew as she pushed against his contact, “You’re so naïve…”

----

Whittling the evening away, talking and toying with Silver, proved to be foolish. By the time he’d left, midnight was mere minutes away and a good two hours’ work still lay upon her desk. Coffee had helped her through it all but, unfortunately, it’d also scared away sleep for an additional hour at least. By the time she’d finally drifted off, it couldn’t have been far from four.

The princess awoke just after nine, her head made heavy and ears brought to curl by the incessant blaring of her alarm clock. Groggily rising, stretching cricks from her body, Blaze managed to stumble the path from her bed into her en suite. Warm water and morning rituals washed away much of her morning daze, though a small pain continued gnawing just behind her forehead. She supposed it was her own fault for leaving so much undone, but it surely wouldn’t make today any easier.

This proved to be true as the princess entered her walk-in wardrobe only to find herself befuddled. She’d already chosen an outfit for today, the same outfit she usually wore (her long sleeved tabard and tights, her standard guardian-wear), but, for whatever reason, it wasn’t appealing to her. Something about it didn’t seem right for today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Though she didn’t fight her gut intuition, Blaze told herself that it was the fault of nerves and a want to be more convincing more than anything. After all, the public had seen her dressed like that and with him a good few dozen times. Rather than take the garb at the front of her closet, she pressed herself to take a few steps deeper inside. Her stomach fizzed at the sight of jeans, dresses and other casual wear. She’d never intended to wear most of these articles, but they’d gathered here regardless of her want.

Most of her alternate outfits were gifts sent from fashion designers and clothing chains, dropped on her in the foolish hope that the princess would act as their living advertisement. She’d learned as a youth that it was wiser to wait a year and donate them rather than simply send them back, it was just another way she managed to avoid sour responses. Still, as she found herself near the back of her closet, none of those gifted items called out to her. One ensemble was singing to her, both loudly and clearly, but it had a far more embarrassing origin.

When Amy Rose set her mind to something, it was difficult to stop her. During one of her brief excursions to the other world, the young hedgehog had dragged the older feline away to pick out some summer clothes. Blaze had successfully rejected most of Amy’s recommendations but one of them had managed to pierce her armour, early into the outing Blaze had been caught off guard by a certain garb and the hedgehog had built upon it.

She pulled the hanger free and its scary splendour was fully revealed to her. It was an amber sundress, the fabric littered with inconsistent clusters of white lilies. Once Amy had pushed her into a changing room, the pink blur had rushed off to gather some matching accessories. An amber scrunchie to replace her usual red ring, a set of saltwater sandals and a pair of white rimmed sunglasses had been shoved beneath the changing room curtain before Blaze was even half changed.

This outfit would play into their charade incredibly well, Blaze knew how much a change in garb could do, but her stomach was doing backflips. She knew she was overreacting, when she’d tried it on for the first time she hadn’t felt like this, but that knowledge did nothing to curtain her errant emotions. It was only after she donned the full outfit the Blaze realised why she felt quite so tense. Utilising the full-length mirror attached to the closet’s outer door, Blaze found that her reflection’s cheeks had turned scarlet. The dress was pretty, undeniably pretty, and the lower five sixths of it were fine… but…

The dress hung from her shoulder on two, rather thin, fabric straps. The white fur of her underbelly wasn’t quite visible but, this dress exposed her shoulders, her arms and almost the entirety of her collar. Everything else about it was perfect but those straps were just too thin for her liking and the neckline was just a little too deep. Perhaps it was made for someone with a different body shape?

Why was she wasting so much time on this? For whatever reason she wanted to wear this dress but, simultaneously, couldn’t overcome its collar. Blaze knew that if she’d just force herself to wear her usual attire this’d be over with already but something about this just felt… right for today. She was worried about fully convincing her public, perhaps this change really was needed.

Eventually, she managed to come to a compromise. She decided to wear the amber sundress, and all the additions Amy had piled upon her, but don her swimsuit beneath. It was a plain, dark purple, one-piece leotard intended for sport rather than casual use. Fortunately, the dress was baggy enough to hide the under-outfit but its straps were too thick to be covered by those of the dress. Well, it didn’t alter the outfit and it did immediately make her feel a lot more comfortable. It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear swimsuits under their beachgoing clothes, was it? Settled, she managed to finally leave her room and, having snatched a banana for breakfast on the go, made her way out the front doors of the palace.

Immediately, the arrival of sunlight forced her to don her sunglasses. They were supposed to be in autumn but, even despite her pyrokinetic nature, Blaze could feel the heat. It wasn’t even muggy; the day was dry, and the sky was totally clear, it was as though a summer day had been transplanted later into the year. That would complicate things a little, she assumed. It was better this than it being rainy, but the beach would probably be a little better stocked than she’d assumed last night. This was a Saturday too…

Regardless, it’d take more than a new garb and a little sun to stop her. Silver was waiting, everything was prepared, their late-night planning couldn’t go to waste!

----

The uproar on the beach wasn’t just a little louder than she’d anticipated, it was much louder. She’d arrived outside Marine’s driftwood-hut, a good hundred or so metres from the sands, but the princess could hear the sounds of families shouting and playing… so many families. She’d hesitated at the doorstep, that noise and all it implied had managed to paralyse the powerful pyrokinetic. A few eyes she could handle, she’d given hundreds of speeches, but this was different. Blaze told herself that she could endure the stares, but would he be okay with this?

She hadn’t known the hedgehog to get stage fright, but this was new ground for both of them. If she didn’t know how she’d handle this, what chance did she have of guessing how he would? Well, then again, she’d watched him more than she’d watched herself. They probably had a better idea of how the other would react than themselves. Hopefully, ideally, he’d be too focused on their task to notice anyone else.

Mustering all of her courage, the princess brought her knuckle to rap against the door. Her thoughts on the hedgehog’s state were split into two distinct pieces. The first was that he’d try his best to lie and put on a front, following her lead, but, ultimately, his inability to lie convincingly would make today more than a little silly. Perhaps that was for the better, maybe that’d make her feel more relaxed.

Alternatively, it was entirely possible that his obliviousness in regard to romance would make this incredibly easy. He’d play along blissfully unaware of what he was actually doing, entirely comfortable in his position. Try as she might; Blaze struggled to picture Silver being romantic, let alone in a relationship. He’d been through so much, both with her and without her, that ideas of who he’d want to be with, let alone what he’d want to do with another person, assumedly hadn’t arrived in his mind. He almost seemed too selfless for love, too focused on other things.

Blaze supposed she hadn’t really pondered it until recently, whether he actually had an interest in romance. Just before she’d proposed this plan, she’d considered it and come to a similar conclusion but now, for whatever reason, that questioning refused to abate. Was he actually interested in romance? Who would he even be interested in? Were it not for her discordant mind, she’d be far more comfortable making assumptions about his position. Something about this morning was simply off, working too late must have been taking its toll.

The feline, so lost in a world of her own, almost fell backwards as the door flew open. Marine the Raccoon, garbed in her usual green dress and wearing a ludicrously knowing grin, had reared her head in Silver’s place. It was as though she’d been up and waiting for this moment for hours.

“Picked out some nifty duds, didn’t ya? Strewth, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen them. You’re lookin’ for your fella, aren’t ya?” Her smirk seemed to grow evermore with every passing second. Before Blaze could even offer up an answer, the raccoon had turned her back, “Silver! Your Sheila’s here! How could you just leave her out on the doorstep, some boyfriend you are, are you even up? Oi, mate? Mate…?” She toddled back inside, leaving Blaze’s eyes to roll in the sailor’s wake.

Marine had been more than a little insistent that the pair were together long before this plan had been hatched. She’d undoubtedly been overjoyed to hear the false news from Silver, she’d probably been the first person it’d spread to. When the truth eventually came out, she’d probably be a little disappointed but, surely, she’d be old enough by then to understand the princess’ position.

That was a thought, how long were they going to keep this up? Months perhaps, but years? She supposed they’d have to, the moment they admitted to the contrary she’d likely be bombarded with letters and gifts. Well, they didn’t have to, but she couldn’t see herself finding a reason to stop. No one really appealed to her but if Silver ever wanted out, she’d let him out. If he met someone or-

“Oh, Blaze! You’re here!” Just as her mind had refocused on Silver, she heard the hedgehog approaching from behind. She turned to look over her shoulder and his smile almost knocked Blaze from her feet, “Sorry I’m late, I had something to pick up in town. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long?”

Something about him was different today… well, many things looked different. Like her, the hedgehog was wearing casual attire, but it was an outfit she recognised all too well. She’d bought it for one of his birthdays, when she’d noticed him outgrowing much of the wardrobe he’d been gifted upon his arrival to this dimension. It was a basic but well-fitting garb she’d picked out because she’d thought it’d suit him and, well, today it especially seemed to. He was wearing a button up, short-sleeved, teal and navy shirt with a set of long navy shorts. In place of his typical boots, Silver had donned a thicker set of walking sandals, almost intended for hiking. Naturally, his cuffs and anklets had to remain so she’d chosen colours that wouldn’t clash with his aura or gold.

The psychic had worn the outfit quite a few times, though only on occasions he seemed to consider important. For as plain as they were, the hedgehog was very much making them work. They let him look relaxed, as she always liked him to be now that he was safely away from the future, without looking untidy. She hadn’t noticed that the outfit rather… accentuated a distracting feature of his. His quills were pulled back into a messy ponytail, an attempt to avoid battle with the sea breeze, but the edge of his chest fluff had managed to breach his shirt. Hiding some of his fluffiness only drew her eyes to what little remained. She blamed her choice in neckline for that latter issue.

There was something else though, something deeper than fabric that was drawing her attention; causing some strange quaking in her gut. She told herself that it was just grogginess, that she was just being silly, but even as her eyes broke from his form, the hedgehog’s visage lingered in her mind. Blaze supposed she just hadn’t seen him dressed in them for a while, the hedgehog liked to wear clothes but his outfits were usually more ragtag; tempest tossed quills, a hoodie pulled over his bare shoulders, dirty boots and crumpled trousers. He’d made an effort for her and… well…

It’d paid off. Try as Blaze might; she couldn’t deny it, he wasn’t exactly unpleasant to look at. But then, why were her eyes locked onto the ground?

“He was up half the night putting everything together; the clothes, the food…” Marine listed from the corner of the feline’s eye, “I’m glad you both finally came to your senses, I always knew he’d make the perfect boyfriend for you.”

For whatever reason, those words had stoked something within Blaze. The wriggling within her stomach longed to go on the offensive and chastise Marine but, being such a foolish feeling, the princess knew it would do neither her nor them any good. Instead, she simply brought her toes to curl and fists to ball. When the hedgehog arrived at the doorstep, the scent of sweet goods hit her nose and further drew her attention.

“Marine, could you get everything I made last night? There should be a little basket on the kitchen counter,” Rather immediately, the little sailor scampered off to do what he asked, “So, are we still doing this?

“Y-Yes,” Her response was quick, but that stutter wasn’t a result of speed. She swallowed, “As long as you’re still okay going through with this, I’m okay.”

“I feel the same. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. This is still a little strange to me but then it must be for you too. We can do this, I’m sure of it,” He hesitated for a moment, blinking at her slightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen this outfit before. You look really pretty!”

Her face went from red to boiling, he clearly had no idea what he was doing to her. Well, to be frank, she had no idea what he was doing to her either. She scrambled for a reply, “Y-You look nice too,” Was that arrogant to say? She had bought him that outfit after all.

As she looked up to him- no, as she realised that their difference in height forced her to look up to him, the wriggling and jostling in her stomach exploded into two dozen angry butterflies. Something about him today, the way his eyes met hers and his shoulders seemed broader, was holding her full attention. It was as though she hadn’t seen him in a while, no… it was more like she hadn’t looked at him in a while. He was surely still the naïve hedgehog she knew, but Silver had grown. He looked far more mature than Blaze recalled even last night. What had changed beyond her clothes? She supposed they had fake titles for each other now? But why would that-

“Blaze?” A shock ran from the top of her shoulders to the tip of her tail, bringing it to dance and curl around her waist, “Are you alright? You were staring…” He reached up, rubbing at his muzzle, “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-No Silver,” The princess practically choked on her stutter, she tore her gaze from him again, “I just didn’t get much sleep last night, I was too busy… planning all this. It was a lot of work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He cringed slightly, “I would have stayed and helped if you’d said.”

“I-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. What’s done is done,” She was usually better at lying but, for whatever reason, today was proving to be an exception to all of her norms.

He didn’t look entirely convinced but Marine had returned, he gently stuffed his current bag into the she’d retrieved basket, “What’s the plan then? Are we still heading for the beach?”

“It does seem a little busy,” Blaze mused, trying to resign his worry to the business of the beach, “Perhaps we could keep to the cliff face, the near edge. That way we won’t be getting in anyone’s way and their attention should be towards the water.”

“That seems like a great idea, that way we’ll be seen but not too seen,” He enthusiastically nodded, “The cliff should keep our picnic in the shade too, it’ll be perfect!”

The excitement in his voice sent a wave of heat up her face to tip her ears, as her temperature rose the hedgehog’s gaze overwhelmed her; Blaze’s stare fell to the ground. Only three words managed to slip beyond her lips, “Y-You’re so naïve.”

With an awkward wave goodbye to Marine the two finally set off towards the beach, walking together as faux boyfriend and girlfriend for the first time.

----

The beach was just as busy as it had sounded; children were running wild, frolicking in and out of the water with reckless abandon. Beach towel after beach towel littered the sand, slovenly forms comfortably spread across each and every one of them. They’d stuck to their plan, keeping to the far side of the beach and walking alongside the great cliff edge that shaded it; passing into and out of its shadow based upon the warping of bluffs.

Talk had been, admittedly, sparser than usual. He had made attempts to start conversations, but her mouth had been rather useless today. Speaking seemed to further the heat on her face and strip her tongue of its rationality, resulting in stuttering. Thus, she’d kept replies brief; a handful of words at best, awkward nods and headshakes at worst. If she was walking with anyone else, they’d surely think she was being rude. At least with Silver, he’d been around long enough that walking quietly was normalised. Still, given the nature of this current outing, she couldn’t help but assume he was either worried or confused.

Blaze was a good half pace behind him, rending her stare from the sand to throw him a look every so often. Since their arrival on the beach, she’d kept her sunglasses firmly covering her eyes; both to partially obscure where she was looking and hide some of her panic. Unfortunately, they weren’t doing much to prevent her embarrassment.

Their difference in height was really throwing her off, the feline felt like she should have been walking on her tiptoes to better match him. Had it really been so long since she’d worn flats? Had the difference between their heights grown so great without her even noticing? The Silver she saw in her mind’s eye was sweet and insecure, she could hardly even identify him as anything beyond his name; he was simply Silver, her partner, a person she could trust above all others. Looking at him now it was… it was as though she was actually seeing him as a man and that was, somehow, far more embarrassing than being dressed as she was. She’d probably find it easier to publicly admit that they were together than spend five minutes eye to eye with him, something had changed; he wasn’t the same cute, naïve, hedgehog she’d once known.

Well, he was still naïve, and he was undeniably cute; just not in the way she recalled it, not in a way she could bring herself to describe internally let alone audibly. How had he gone from the amorphous, fluffy, form she pictured in her mind’s eye, to this in only one night? What had changed? It couldn’t just be his clothes. It was so fascinating and yet so hard to dwell upon.

As he turned to look at her, Blaze’s gaze darted towards the waters and stumbled between the people watching them. There weren’t too many gazes on them, at least not consistently. A few people were whispering, and an elderly pair were throwing some kind of stare their way but most of the public seemed squarely focused on their time at the beach.

“Blaze?” His words drew her stare back to him, there was concern in his eyes.

She couldn’t muster a word in response, only an acknowledging hum. Her tongue was weighed, if she spoke then she’d surely stutter. How long would this feeling last?

“Is everything okay? Am I doing this right?” He’d slowed and taken a step closer, her eyes dropped to meet what little chest fur was free before darting up to meet his eye again. At this distance, she had no idea if he could make out where she was looking, “You’ve been very quiet. I thought we were supposed to be making a scene, drawing attention to us being together.”

“O-Oh,“ She gulped, ballistic at herself for swallowing, “I’m not entirely certain how we’d go about that. I think we’re drawing enough stares as it is, it’s probably fine...”

“Is this making you uncomfortable? Is it too much?” He fumbled with the picnic basket, switching it into his right hand as he looked past her and to the beach, “We can swap places if you want, that way they’d be looking at me instead.”

Despite this feeling in her gut, Silver was still Silver. If he thought he could do anything to help, even the slightest thing, he’d offer it without hesitation. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong, let alone that she was being bombarded by feelings she couldn’t explain, “Thank you, Silver.”

He shifted to her outer side, acting as a barrier between her and the stares, but part of the endeavour caused her heart to skip a beat. Once he’d arrived on that side, Silver had slipped his left hand into her right. She almost stumbled and he quickly looked back at her, very clearly confused. This kind of contact was regular for them, whenever the other was troubled the other would take their hand or wrap an arm around their shoulder; last night even, he’d held her by the shoulders and she’d casually returned that grasp. They’d held hands thousands of times, more than she could ever hope to count but, today, this afternoon, there was something almost electrifying about that contact.

He was staring, waiting for some kind of response, but her tongue would surely fail her again. She had to make up for its lack of fluidity.

Bluntly, boldly, she brought her fingers to lock between his and squeezed his hand tight; forcing herself into the leading position, she spoke without turning back to him, “L-Lets find somewhere quieter to eat. I’m starving.”

Her cheeks were on fire, she locked her eyes on the path ahead but no matter how she charged or tried to distract herself; Blaze’s embarrassment refused to shift. A lack of sleep had never done anything like this to her, at least not before today. Was that all this was? Tiredness and the stupor brought on by it? It had to be, nothing else made sense.

He’d caught up, matching her quickened pace to walk beside her, “Somewhere quieter, okay, um…”

Silver cast his eyes to the beach and Blaze’s stare followed, it seemed that their shift in pace had caused them to draw more attention. Rather than one or two older couples, a larger group of multiple families seemed to have noticed them. That, or word had simply spread up the beach and the world had finally noticed them together; dressed differently and holding hands, more than likely on a date. She slowed her pace again, turning to the cliff face. She’d had an idea, born of his recommendation of picnicking in the cliff’s shade. It was a stupid thought, so very stupid, but she knew somewhere more private. People might still see them, people could still reach them, but it’d perhaps make her feel more comfortable long term… even if it was bound to make her less comfortable in the short term and draw many more eyes.

“What about up there? We’d be away from the beach itself, but it’d be a little more private. I think we’d still be seen enough,” She suggested, gesturing up the cliff face, “They’d see you carrying me up there, perhaps that’s enough of a sign that we’re...”

He came to a stop, glancing up the cliff’s edge before quickly turning to the beach behind them, “Are you sure you’d be comfortable with that?”

Blaze knew what he was implying. Not only would this draw more eyes to them initially, but it involved scaling to a height that, while not ludicrous, was a little beyond what he knew her to be comfortable with. The concern in his eyes was so genuine…

“I know you won’t drop me, Silver. I trust you,” She squeezed his hand again, “Just, please, make it quick but not too quick.”

He managed a nod, his worry quelled, and slipped his hand from hers to shift the picnic basket further up his arm. Without blinking or flinching, he turned and put his right hand to her back while crouching and lowering his left arm for her to swing her legs up and across. While she’d focused on his concern her embarrassment had faded. Now, the heat had returned.

This was how he usually lifted her, it was more comfortable to lie in his grasp than to cling to him as he flew, but, due to her addled and tired mind, she was having further thoughts. Usually she’d have stepped up without flinching, she’d allow her head to fall against his shoulder and focus solely on his face until they reached their destination. They’d make conversation, he’d distract her from the distance between them and the ground. Today however, that seemed more difficult. Her tiredness couldn’t be responsible for that. Was it because she was wearing a dress?

Briefly catching his eye again, Blaze rapidly neatened her clothes a little. As she finally brought her legs over his arm, she tried to keep herself decent. It was stupid, the skirt of her dress was long, but it didn’t do anything to dispel the heat on her face. Her head still found his shoulder and, although she’d been looking up at him all day, at least this was a more familiar view.

“Are you ready?” He made sure, she felt his grasp tighten just above her knee and around her shoulders. Something about that contact, contact she’d experienced hundreds of times, coupled with the view energised the butterflies in her stomach.

She forced her gaze to roll from him and to the rock wall in front of them, “Yes.”

Cyan light crept into her vision and weightlessness set in. Her choice to focus on the wall didn’t serve her well. While it was better than looking down, she could tell that they were rising and with each passing second the ground drifted further away. They weren’t going slowly, but Silver was making sure to keep things stable; ergo, their pace wasn’t as fast as she knew he could fly, or he’d even normally fly with her.

As his concern for her was made manifest and the shifting rockface began to make her queasy, the princess couldn’t help but return to her normal position. Historically, her cheek would be cushioned by the edge of his chest fluff but now his shirt was in the way. Why did she miss that comfort?

Her shifting brought his attention back to her; those piercing yellow eyes were upon her again. Without so much as thinking, she stuttered out; “Sh-Shouldn’t you be watching the sky?”

He responded to her request immediately, shifting to look upwards, so he didn’t catch her grimacing at her own stupidity. Her gaze lowered slightly, and she ended up staring at what little of his fluff was visible. Despite his endeavour to look presentable, a few tufts were out of place. If she was feeling more regular, she might have seen reason to undo its tugs and neaten him. As things were though, Blaze could only stare.

Though he stopped ascending when he reached the green grass that topped the cliff, he didn’t quite put her down. Instead, the hedgehog flew just a little more inland so that she wouldn’t have to see the worst of the height; they touched down a good twenty paces from the edge. He gently set her down, dipping her legs and allowing her to step free from his hold. The grass wasn’t exactly thin up here, they were a little off the beaten trail, but it seemed like a fine spot for a picnic. The tide was out, so they could see where the beach met the waves, and to their backs was a lush palm tree forest. They would only be visible to those close to the water’s edge and out at sea. More eyes were on them for the moment than had been before, a few kids had run up the beach to watch their flight, but she knew they would drift with time. In the long run, this was better.

“Here seems pretty perfect for a picnic,” He commented, taking in their surroundings, “This was a great idea Blaze!”

“I suppose it will do,” Blaze tried to underplay her decision, unwilling to claim praise for what was an impulse decision rather than a planned one, “Let’s just relax for a while, away from so many prying eyes, and return to our walk later.”

The princess wasn’t sure if she was instructing him or herself.

With a nod, Silver reached into the hamper and drew out a large plaid picnic blanket. Without so much as blinking, he tossed it into the air and caught it with his psychic aura; completely flattening it and holding it in the air. He slowly lowered it with a single glowing hand, the long grass beneath the blanket was made to bend down flat, free to pop up whenever the cover was removed but smoothed for their sitting. That done, he dropped to the ground and dug through the basket. First revealed was a flask and two tin mugs, next a reasonably sized plastic container and, finally, a smaller white paper bag that was, assumedly, the reason he’d been late to meet her

Everything set out, he caught Blaze in the midst of staring. Rather quickly, the feline dropped down to sit with him; positioning herself on the other side of their bounty. The lid was popped free from the container and steam rose from its depths. Six pastry parcels, surely too much for the pair of them to eat, were revealed, perfectly browned and sealed along their top.

“They’ve got prawn and salmon in them with a cream sauce and some vegetables,” He quickly explained, offering her the box.

She knew his taste; this was more for her than it was for him. Without so much as hesitating, she picked up one and took a bite. They’d managed to maintain their heat in the box, she’d known that by sight and touch, but the taste managed to fully draw her attention. The blending of flavours was perfect, the sauce didn’t overwhelm the fish and the fish didn’t overwhelm the sauce; the prawns were just small enough not to manifest in large chunks.

He’d been about to reach for the box himself only for a realisation to strike him, “I’m supposed to be being the best boyfriend I can, r-right, okay…” With a wave of his hand, the flask and tin cups were pulled toward him. He poured her a cup of tea, gesturing again to hover napkins, a small sugar-jar and a spoon from the basket. Once he’d presented her the mug, he unwrapped and opened the white paper bag. Inside was a small assortment of muffins and fairy cakes, “I would have baked us a cake, but we were a little too short notice. I hope that’s okay…”

She took the jar, adding two teaspoonfuls of sugar to her brew, “Silver, this is more than okay. I was expecting sandwiches or something small, not all this. How long did you stay up last night?”

Somehow, unlike the stares or most of today’s endeavour, that managed to prompt a bashful response from the hedgehog. His cheeks lit pink as he claimed a pasty of his own, “It took a couple of tries to get them perfect, but It wasn’t too long. I got up a few hours earlier rather than staying up late, I just wish I’d had a little more time.”

“Don’t be silly, I only planned the walk while you did so much; even though this was all my idea,” She passed him back the jar as he poured the flask.

He added far more sugar to his cup, the blush had spread from his muzzle to his ears, “But this is just what we normally do. If we’re pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend, shouldn’t I be doing more?”

Having something to eat, as well as seeing his blush, seemed to reduce her own embarrassment, “This isn’t about actually embodying those roles so much as just making others think we are. You don’t have to go to extra effort like that, you do more than enough by just being you. A lot of people already debate whether we are a couple,” She managed to smile, blowing her tea to cool it, “All we need to do are the public things, the more blatant things. Go out together, hold hands and hug in public, those kinds of things. Don’t worry too much about the little details.”

“I’ll try not to, but I promised to do this right,” He affirmed as she took a sip. Despite his flush still lingering, he gave a proclamation, “I’m going to do my best, I’m going to be the best boyfriend possible!”

“Y-You’re so naïve,” She pretended to sigh and grumble, turning her attention towards the meal.

He’d probably said that both to renew his promise to her and to bolster himself for the coming task. Just as she’d begun to overcome her embarrassment, he’d managed to stoke it again. Despite that fact and despite the renewed heat on her face, Blaze flicked her sunglasses up. She couldn’t keep hiding forever and brewing thoughts were becoming too much to contain.

He wasn’t wrong to have done all this, and Blaze knew she should be showing more gratitude, but the feline’s state was making that impossible. The hedgehog had also led her to think on an interesting aspect of their plan; just what should they be doing, what would convince the public and what were they willing to do? Were there lines she wanted to draw and what lines would he like to draw? A certain concept, a thought, fluttered up to reach her brain that Blaze couldn’t help pondering. There was no easy way of broaching it though. Two questions were gnawing at the back of her head, a thought that was relevant to this concept, but she wasn’t willing to entertain.

Was she willing to kiss him, and would he be willing to kiss her? If they did kiss among the public, that was all the proof they’d ever need.

Last night she would have said yes to that question without hesitation. If it meant completing their ruse, she’d be more than willing. But as these feelings spiralled both in her head and through her gut, Blaze couldn’t help but squirm. She threw Silver a quick glance only to find him entirely focused on his meal, being up so early and going to the bakery had perhaps caused him to miss breakfast. He was willing to go so far for her, could she plant her lips on his for her own sake?

For a split second, her eyes drifted to her muzzle only to be torn away and thrown to the plaid blanket beneath them. She wouldn’t have been opposed to it before, so she supposed she wasn’t now, just a lot more nervous about it. If they did it, it’d only have to be a peck; nothing too scandalous, something small. Blaze had chosen him to play this role for a reason, she trusted him and was willing to do things with him that she wasn’t comfortable doing with others. She could see herself doing it, embarrassment aside, but what about him?

Silver was like her; he’d never been in a relationship before. While she’d accept him as her first kiss, would she be his? Would he want her to be his? Well, she’d brought up not knowing how to draw stares before. Perhaps she could ask through that? Now that the concept was in her head, Blaze wanted to know if there were any boundaries between them; was he saving certain things for someone else? As he reached for his next pasty, she took a deep breath and made a move.

“Well,” It was going to be roundabout, but she had to prompt this discussion somehow, “Is there anything you think would make it more obvious that we’re a couple? Something quick and easy, anything we can do to get the message across. I was up last night considering options but couldn’t come up with a concrete solution.”

“We already do most of the things couples do, right? We hug, we hold hands and we visit all kinds of places together,” He pondered aloud, tugging at what little exposed chest fur he had as he thought, “I guess there’s other stuff we can do; like writing each other love letters, wearing clothes that match or just telling others how much we’re in love. More blunt stuff,” Silver managed to answer, “I think that’s what couples do. You know, they kiss and stuff; give people some kind of undeniable sign.”

What he thought couples did; he’d phrased it so innocently but implied so much. He’d hit the nail on the head, brought up the very object of her curiosity. He’d been so casual, did that mean he was willing to do it?!

“R-Right, yes, th-they…” Her stuttering came to a head, her tongue was useless; she should have taken a moment and considered her words.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Blaze? You’ve been kind of red all day,” He, so helpfully, informed her.

“Yes, don’t worry, I’m fine,” She waved him off, almost pulling down her shades but catching herself before she could, “I’ve probably just caught a cold, they’re common at this time of year.”

That’d surely worried him, her brain was going a mile a minute. Blaze knew he’d never been in a relationship, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t set on someone. She didn’t know who they could be, a fact that made her want to assume that there was nobody, but a larger chunk of herself wanted to be sure.

“Silver,” She was fighting to keep a straight face, attempting to hold back her stutter merely forced Blaze to pause and hold her breath, “Have you ever actually…” She knew it was better to be blunt, best to keep things simple, but it was the most embarrassing way to ask, “Kissed anyone before?”

“No,” His reply was immediate, he didn’t even blink!

“Oh,” He looked confused at her response, “I-It’s just that, most people think first kisses are important. I wouldn’t want to take something like that from you. By having you pretend to be my boyfriend, I feel like I’m already asking a lot,” She was blabbering, not asking what she really wanted. Her fists clenched, “I-I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with kissing me or…”

“Blaze,” He crawled closer, their knees almost came to touch, “You’re my partner. I agreed to do this because I want to help you, you’re not asking anything of me. I decided to do this, it’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“It’s still…” She wrestled with herself. There was only one way to reach her desired answer; to ask her desired question, “Is there anyone you’d want to be that first kiss?”

“Well, people only kiss those they’re close to, right? Specifically, the person they’re closest to and want to stay with…” He defined, clearly deep in thought but trying to relax her at the same time, “I’m not an expert on it or anything, but that’s how it always seems in books. I don’t really know a lot about this dating stuff, just what I’ve heard from Amy really.”

The mention of Amy immediately explained a lot of things; his change in garb, the holding of her hand and this picnic. Though they’d only met a handful of times, across both this and their past life, the pink hedgehog overabundant love for Sonic made sense as an informant to Silver’s understanding. She was though, admittedly, a terrifying informant.

Swallowing, she nodded, “Yes, that’s not how it always is but that’s how people romanticise it, Silver. If there was someone you wanted to kiss, that should be someone you care about in a way that’s different to how you care for everyone else.”

“Well, the person I’m closest to is you, Blaze. I don’t think I could ever share the kind of bond we have with anyone else,” That feeling was undeniably mutual, she knew where this was going but he wasn’t done talking. She felt the butterflies squirm in her stomach, “So, if I was going to kiss anyone, I guess I’d want to kiss you.”

Her heart skipped beats and she couldn’t help but shift, he’d called out her blushing before but now it was surely worse. He’d used such simple and honest words, the likes of which she had no defence against. His heart was on his sleeve, she couldn’t deny its existence; there was no front, there was no lie.

“Just, promise me you’ll say if that changes,” She insisted, taking on a sterner tone in an attempt to smother her slurring, “If, for whatever reason, you either don’t feel the same about us or you meet someone or… whatever it is, just promise you’ll say.”

“I don’t think that will ever happen…” She couldn’t help but frown at that. His eyes softened, her concern had gotten through to him, “If that happens then I’ll say, but I’ll still help you in whatever other ways I can. You’re my best friend and I want you to be happy.”

“Good,” She managed to huff, “A-And thank you.”

A moment passed. While he’d smiled at her response, after another sip of tea and a few bites, confusion crossed his brow and he dared to ask, “Blaze, have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No, I haven’t really considered…” Well, she had no more than a moment ago. She’d worried about whether he’d be okay with her kissing him, albeit to further their ruse. With that exception though; “I’ve never even thought about it. I worried so much that it’d be a suitor that I never considered who I’d rather k-kiss instead.”

She longed to snuff her stutter, but an immediate shift in Silver’s demeanour caught her off guard. His brow hardened and he’d set down his food, shifting closer still to put his hand atop hers, he said, “Well, now you will be able to think about that without worrying. You’re amazing, whoever you chose will be so lucky; after all, they get to be the closest person to you.”

He was just being protective, being a good friend and bearing his sense of justice, but the combination of his honesty and physical touch sent her senses into further disarray. She couldn’t meet his eye and, for what felt like hours, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Part of her was screaming to admit, as he had, that Silver was the only person she’d truly consider kissing but another part kept promising Blaze that saying so would lead to ruination. He’d ask more questions, or he’d ask if they should kiss or something else naïve yet heartfelt.

“I-I only asked because…” Her tail was dragging across the ground without her consent, “If this goes on for too long, people might expect us to kiss. I’m glad you’re okay with that.”

“If you’re okay with it then I’m okay with it,” He swore, squeezing her hand, “First kisses are supposed to be important but, I guess, since we’re not actually together, it wouldn’t count if we kissed? So, you don’t have to worry about that.”

The way that was worded, it was almost an invitation to kiss him whenever she felt like it. While it didn’t outright state it, it implied that they could essentially practice using each other. Somewhat stunned, Blaze could only manage a meagre, “S-Sure, I guess so.”

“If you ever think we should, just say and we can!” He promised, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Thoughts and emotions bubbled and boiled; his hand was still in hers, had he even noticed? The butterflies had never settled in her stomach, but their vigour seemed to have been renewed. What was wrong with today, what was wrong with her today? Ever since she’d woken up, something had been off. Everything they’d done so far was regular for them, they’d regularly visit the beach and picnic, let alone hold hands and talk.

“Oh, huh,” The engine of her heart skipped a beat, bringing her train of thought to a ludicrously quick stop. What could possibly fall from his mouth next? “We’ve got the same hair now.”

The most bizarre concoction of relief, embarrassment and anguish flared across Blaze’s face. Her muzzle was cast in scarlet, but not the burning red of before, “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Pushing herself, to speak more quickly proved unwise. Rather than complementing the change, her blush led her to chastise him, “You should take better care of your quills. I-If you kept them like this, they wouldn’t get into such a mess.”

Despite her rudeness he continued to smile at her and enjoy the meal, “They’re getting a little too long again,” He admitted, trying to look over his shoulder at those fluffy extremities, “Maybe I should cut them more properly.”

Despite her initial outburst, this conversation was a relaxing breath of fresh air compared to their last one. Drawing her tea to her lips, she tried to talk from her heart rather than her flushed face, “I wouldn’t clip them too short, just short enough that they’re easier to manage. I could do it tomorrow if you’d like?”

“That’d be great! We can try to have a more relaxed day,” He immediately grinned, but a realisation overtook him, “Wait, would that be our second date? Or would we just be doing that as friends?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” She practically blurted out before quickly realising what that implied, “I-It’ll be in private though, so we hardly have to call it a date. Perhaps, if someone asks about your quills, then we’ll say it was, but we can actually treat it like a normal day.”

“Alright, that’ll work!” He practically cheered, finally releasing her hand and drawing out another pastry from the box.

She took that opportunity to change her grasp, holding her teacup in both hands. Despite her pyrokinesis and the mug’s heat, her hand felt substantially colder without his touch. This grogginess was playing games with her senses now, what could be next?

She managed to turn her attention towards the picnic spread, quickly reaching down and claiming another pasty. It was only as she did that, that Blaze realised why he’d brought up their matching ponytails. He’d mentioned matching clothes before, clearly implying the likes of matching shirts and wedding rings, but their current hairstyles were a way they matched. While she didn’t think it made them look more like a couple, he had planned this out even more than she thought.

Attempting to distract herself, she began to eat the baked good and tried her hardest to focus upon its creamy flavour. Despite how delicious it was, it was not enough. Blaze found herself dwelling upon the shift in how she viewed their relationship; the change she had undergone but he hadn’t. She’d done all this to avoid marrying a suitor, but who did she want to take the place of a suitor? She’d convinced herself that this was for long term convenience, that it would give her the chance to find someone, but, the truth was, she hadn’t planned to look. She hadn’t considered where to start, let alone where to find someone she trusted as much as Silver. She couldn’t see herself being closer to anyone than she was to him; their bond had lasted beyond her death and into this next life, they’d survived the unsurvivable together. Who could even come close to filling his role?

She’d never considered her endeavours with Silver to be romantic, it was simply how they were with each other, but some combination of their lifted burdens, their actions’ current context and time had freed this realisation from her subconscious. Time was surely an important factor, in their last life things hadn’t had the opportunity to blossom this far; they hadn’t had the chance to grow both physically, as individuals, and as a pair. This time though, not only had they been in a more comfortable position for growth but they’d both learned what life was like without the other; they understood what that loss felt like. Not to mention, they were newly adults now; they’d aged further than that last life. No wonder she was embarrassed, she’d asked the only person she’d consider dating to pretend to go out with her.

She didn’t think she’d change much physically, but Silver had undeniably grown while she hadn’t been paying attention. The most obvious changes were physical, he’d grown taller and his shoulders had broadened, but there’d surely been internal shifts that Blaze couldn’t quite discern. Silver was still very naïve, his heart was attached to his sleeve and he’d shown his want for justice throughout the whole endeavour, but his living in a more peaceful world had led him to acquire hobbies and interests. She was seeing him at his best, better than he’d ever been. Many of his skills, his interests too, either matched or complemented hers.

Having finished the pasty just as her thoughts concluded, Blaze threw him another glance. He was fairly focused on the coast, absentmindedly making headway on a third pasty. Following his gaze, she found that his eyes had landed upon a flock of migrating birds; a sign of the coming Winter. This would be their last chance to walk the beach comfortably for at least three months. She should have been making the most of this.

She reached into the bakery bag, drawing out a muffin before pushing the bag his way, “Come on, let’s hurry and head down again.”

----

Unfortunately, despite now understanding her state, Blaze found herself no better equipped to combat her embarrassment. Talk was less scant than it had been last time, Blaze was trying her best, but she still wasn’t comfortable with this sudden upwelling of understanding. She’d stutter and stammer, catch herself staring, tear her eyes from him and, occasionally, chastise him when her embarrassment became too much to bear. It wasn’t perfect, but at least they were talking this time.

Still, she was managing to walk hand in hand with him. The hedgehog himself, seemingly in response to her slightly calmer demeanour, had shed most of his worry. He’d panic, just a little whenever she told him off too harshly, but he was certainly smiling more now. They were almost walking shoulder to shoulder, Silver on the water’s side, approaching the rockier far edge of the beach; where sand gave way to low crags, a prime site for rock pools. Of course, as a result of that, this part of the beach was particularly swamped. Many families with younger children were searching for the likes of hermit crabs and trying to make memories.

As they reached the shift in ground, Silver came to a halt. Before she could even fully turn to him, his hand had slipped from hers; both his left palm and right were suddenly on her shoulders. Her eyes collided with his and a pair of stern brows. The concern that she’d just thought abolished had returned in an instant, bringing her prior embarrassment with it.

“Is this going to be okay? Are there too many people over there?” He asked, his concern and care on display, “We can turn around if you want.”

Blaze looked over her shoulder, both to better scan how many families had gathered and, more primarily, to simply hide her renewed blush. The hedgehog’s hands were in the exact same position they had been last night; she had looked him in the eyes, returned his touch and thanked him for his aid. Right now, she could only think to avoid his gaze and call him naïve.

But she didn’t want to do that. There were families by the rockpools, yes, but before today she would’ve been entirely comfortable among her people and beside him. Her boosted bashfulness had swollen to such an extent that not only was Silver pointing it out, he was actively concerned about it. She couldn’t let this stick; she couldn’t let it drag into the future days! She’d promised to take initiative and that was exactly what she’d do.

Her hands came to latch on his biceps, her brow steeled, and lips pursed as she met his eyes once more, “W-Well, what about you, Silver?”

“Wh-What about me?” He asked, concern quickly being dashed by confusion.

“You’ve said it before, but I’ll ask again; are you okay with this?” She had to be more specific. She took a step forward; surprised, he almost stumbled back, “Are you okay with us being seen like this?”

“I am!” He swore without hesitation, “As long as you are, I am.”

“So, you do want to be here with me?” She went further, tightening her grasp and taking another step. As long as she kept moving, she could overlook the stutter in her voice and the heat on her muzzle. If she controlled the pace, if she took hold of the momentum, then she could manage all of this.

“Of course I do,” He immediately answered. His seriousness grew further but it couldn’t match hers, she’d always known this, “Even if we weren’t pretending to be together, you know I like being with you.”

He had no idea what she’d prompted from him but, essentially, she’d managed to tease free an admittance that he wanted to be here with her. That fact he’d admitted to wanting to be there, regardless of their overall scheme, went a long way to setting her at ease. Despite that though, she still had a point to get across.

“And as long as you’re okay with this, I’m okay with this. This was all my idea after all,” She forced her amber orbs to burn into his brighter set, “Don’t worry about me being uncomfortable, but I want to know if you are,” Blaze refused to let herself flinch and denied herself even the right to blink. She rose to her tiptoes and brought her head closer to his, mirroring the way he’d leaned down to her last night, “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“R-Right,” His stutter wasn’t born of embarrassment, merely a combination of surprise and confusion. He broke from her gaze and took a deep breath. His grasp had tightened when he met her eyes again, “Let’s do it then, it’ll be easy.”

“If you change your mind or worry about anything, you just have to say,” She wanted to press her forehead against his, but height wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she opted to take yet another step. With that, they escaped the shade of the cliff, “You can rely on me just as much as I do you, you know this?”

“I do, of course I do! I don’t know what I’d do without you,” He insisted, not so much embarrassed but flustered by her endeavour. Strangely, Silver somehow looked cuter still when positioned like this. Despite that, he managed to keep talking, “You look out for me and I look out for you, th-that’s what we do.”

She let herself drop to her heels, her arms left his, “Good. Then we’ll make it through this,” He, almost lost and confused, replicated her release; allowing her to turn back towards the rockpools, “We’ll look out for each other, no matter what.”

They resumed their approach, many eyes had turned upon them but, noticing their shift, were quickly dropping towards the pools. Blaze hadn’t had the gall to retake his hand, but she was still leading, she was succeeding!

This would be easy. If she could keep a tight grip on herself and control of the pace, then she was certain she’d make it through today’s date at least. Tomorrow would be a more private affair, prime for both self-discovery and prying further into how he felt. She wasn’t sure how long this fake dating scheme could last now, it would be immoral to steal kisses from him with her new understanding, but hopefully this state’s replacement would eventually grant her that freedom. She couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by that thought but, as long as she could subdue it, overcoming this meant future efforts would become easier. She just had to chip away at these feelings, work and practice until she could properly control th-

“Oh, I meant to ask earlier,” Her ear twitched, registering the return to his more casual tone, “Why’re you wearing a swimsuit under your dress, are we going swimming later?”

She’d entirely forgotten that was a choice she’d made; a choice that’d become especially obvious when his hands found her shoulders and she’d drawn so close. As Blaze’s cheeks reddened, and her temperature spiked, the undeniable became clear. She was far from overcoming this embarrassment. With a quick fumble, her sunglasses were made to lower again in a half-hearted attempt to hide her panic.

“It’s just, I didn’t bring my stuff with me,” He continued, seemingly oblivious, “I don’t want to ruin these-

“Sh-Shush!” She took hold of his hand again, dragging him towards the rocks with a speed unmatched by any prior, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it! Let’s just go find some crabs, o-or something.”

Finding her ideal partner, the very goal of this scheme, had taken no time at all, but being comfortable seeing him in such a light… that was going to take much longer.

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #silverxblaze #Marine The Raccoon #fanfiction #writing

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gguktarts · 5 years ago

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bluebells & buttercups | myg

summary: the Fae Folk had a notorious reputation, despite how no one had seen them for years. but no matter what people said, you knew better. you knew better because when you got lost in the forest, their home, something lead you back to yours. so really, what else to do but invite one over to your humble abode?

pairing: fae!yoongi x reader genre: fantasy au || fluff (a bit domestic, really) || strangers to lovers word count: 20.4k cw: none note: i wrote this fic a looong while ago for a dear friend of mine (@michimindi), but she gave me permission to post it so here it is! the elf race here (modeled after the ones in LOTR) is called Elven,, and they’ll make their own appearance in my future fics!

Late Winter

The village by the northwest side of the great river was always an odd one. It was surrounded by thick trunks that reach the heavens, leaves that sway without the help of the wind, and a forest with an air that threatens to pull everyone in it. And while a small village in which everyone knew everyone, it shone in the privacy people—humans granted each other. Though maybe this had to do with it being a rather prosperous home, despite the sparsity of its inhabitants. That is not to say rumors did not spread, nor that the folk did not gossip. Nevertheless, despite so, they were all very much aware of the plague of misinformation, though less and less with time.

It mostly has to do with their ties and knowledge of the arcane. Half of the residents were descendants of human practitioners of magic, even though they themselves did not participate or think much of such practices. But they could not deny their roots, so they opted to ignore it.

This is also how they knew of the forest around them, and how the respect and hesitant fear their ancestors showed it had lingered throughout the years.

The forest, above all of its inhabitants, was ruled by the Fae Folk. They were humanoid beings, with pointy ears and fair skin but void eyes—beautiful and alluring, or so the old witches used to say. No one in recent times had actually seen one, but that did not matter. Faes had shadows, whispers, and it was widely known how utterly mischievous they tended to be, and how they absolutely loved a good bargain. Anyone walking along the forest paths, or out of them, did so knowingly under the chance of losing their way, of forgetting their steps—and sometimes, sometimes they never returned home.

But people knew that what lives in the forest tends to stay there, grace and matters of theirs far superior to human ones. There’s no reason to get them mixed as long as there’s respect. People were still called towards the vast, giant trees, but the village agreed it was to be expected and did nothing to stop it, much less when they tried denying the very magical explanation behind it.

In actuality, very few villagers openly disliked the idea of the Fae. These ones were scared of them, of their pranking ways, and wanted nothing more but to erase their memories of such things. Most lived ignorantly by choice, ignoring what lay beyond what their gaze could see. They would rather hate their magical past, no matter how bound to it they were.

Others with more direct ancestry, others such as yourself, were… more curious.

Being the last member and only child of your family, you were left to run the small herb & plant shop they ran on the lower grounds of your two-floored house. This responsibility served to help your loneliness—thoughts of it always plagued your mind since young, after being raised mostly by your fragile father.

Often you kept busy tending and selling the plants, drying and packaging herbs, and more often than not with restocking everything.

The way your parents had set the business was not through importing the variety of specimens, but through collecting them from the forest all year around. It was a practice that went back to your great grandmother, being the originator of what was then an apothecary. (You always thought of reopening that medical elixir part—it wasn’t like you had much to do besides sell and recollect herbs to make a living.)

So each season you ventured to the forest, the grounds already fairly imprinted in your memory, and got whichever flower, weed, root, or vine you needed. Those were the times your curiosity ran a bit wild—you would go each time only slightly off course, to see, to experience. That’s how you were sure of the forests’ safety, of the Fae’s dim interest in humans such as yourself.

The Fae Folk always intrigued you, a product of stories of old told by your grandmother and heard by her mother. You often kept an extra eye open during your trips, wondering, hoping you would see one. You never did. At least, never fully. While they taunted your peripheral, they never exposed themselves, never played with you for more than whispered seconds.

They played with Jimin once, your closest friend and hired co-worker. You didn’t send him on gathering trips any longer after that, afraid he’d take away his own presence from your home or even worse, be tricked into losing himself by the Folk to never return.

But this winter it went a bit differently for you. Jimin saw you off alone, bag on your back and eyes observant—this was routine. With the air being cold and biting, and snow threatening to eat your feet however, you went fully equipped: fur padded snow boots on, scarf, long warm stockings and a very, very thick jacket courtesy of your late grandmother. A winter routine, and needed safety precautions.

The cold was harsher earlier that year, too. But this was no indication of possible changes in your trips, or at least you didn’t think so.

While the wind didn’t pick up more than usual, the fallen snow was heavier, threatening to swallow your footsteps. It covered what little green spots and live tree branches there were left and collected itself amongst the others, amongst your feet, quite higher than the visible passage towards the forest. But your trust in your memory blindsided you, failed you when combined with your drifting thoughts.

You went as far as you usually did, and then farther after noticing snow had covered some roots you needed for your apothecary plans. And farther, and farther, with the snow turning every detail you knew so uniform and strikingly identical that by the time you noticed how deep you had gone, it was far too late.

Your heart raced faster with the knowledge, and you weren’t sure if the shadow that lingered by the corners of your eyes were real or product of your panic, but you kept on walking towards the direction you thought you came from.

It didn’t take long before the shadow came clearer for only a second—but it blended with the snow somehow, more of a white outline than thick grays. Were Fae Folk even human size? Much speculation was said about their height, most often the small pixie whispers reigned over the rest. But what you saw, whatever it was you saw, was certainly not small.

You tried following it before fear took over, but only a peaceful humming became present to you with the passing seconds. The shadow went back to being a shadow, and you were sure you were being observed. Usually your skin would have gotten goosebumps at the feeling, but the humming was lulling and your body sensed no threat, so your heart began to calm down. But time was ticking and the chill was getting to your bones, and despite the calmness in your chest, you began to shiver.

Soon after, faint flickering lights appeared before you, each right after the other, leading off to the unknown in your sudden loss of direction.

You looked everywhere again, eyes searching frantically. Did they want you to follow that? But where would they take you? Would they lead you astray, now that you were so far gone into their land, surely into their home?

Pouting slightly, you decided to put your faith in them this once—a chance to see what they would do. You had, after all, barely any other choice besides take your chances and die by frostbite, and a part of you didn’t want to be rude and ignore what you were sure was them attempting contact.

So you followed the lights, and followed them, and followed them, until the sun was lower in the sky and your heart felt uncertain again.

But then finally you saw it, the edge of the forest, the outskirts of your home. Your heart could only swell with relief, relief and unmatched curiosity. The Fae Folk… they clearly helped you, brought you back, hadn’t they? They lead you home.

Before leaving the forest entirely your steps slowed to a halt, and you turned back slightly. Your eyes took the scenery in, and you hoped they conveyed the gratitude you tried to express with a soft “thank you”, before taking off towards your house where Jimin awaited, surely worried.

Unbeknownst to you, coal eyes stared at your retrieving form as they always did, his interest in your behavior multiplied.

He always kept a watchful eye on you whenever you paid them a visit.

Early Spring.

Since that last time, your desire to know about the Fae Folk increased each passing day. You spent the long, unforgiving winter nights cuddled with your blankets and old journals passed down to your grandmother as Jimin snored away in the next room.

You were thankful for his constant presence, the loneliness being too much sometimes. But you had him, his worried eyes, and the visits from your other friends, Hoseok and Namjoon.

Once you returned that fated day in winter, you found them all around your small kitchen. They were quick to give you a blanket and hear the tale you were eager to tell. If they disapproved of your curiosity in the Folk, something already widely known, they didn’t show it.

And when you decided a few days later to search through your grandmother’s possessions in hopes of finding her mother’s arcane journals, they raised an eyebrow but let you be. As long as you always returned safe and sound, they all let you be. Jimin had made a point by personally staying with you more often then, out of concern, and you welcomed the company.

Currently you were reading theories and advice from your great grandmother on how to please the Fae. It seemed she was a fan of them, always attempting to communicate and welcoming them to her resting place.

“The Fae are mischievous, but appreciative of their home and all that it bounds to it,” the page you were reading began, “and so I’ve gathered enough information on plants that appear to encourage them to visit other places besides their trees. It is best if they are grown within a small space, maybe I should build a garden for them?”

The next few pages focused more on other topics, such as “Food: They seem to enjoy a grand variety of sweets, although some would rather taste the bitterness of other edibles. Conjuring up both kinds would be best, I believe, though I should have utmost care with the recipes.”

With a journal and a pen at hand you eagerly took notes, carefully choosing amongst the recipes and flowers named and drawn over the aging papers of your great grandmother’s book.

You were going to do just as she had. You were going to create a garden.

After finishing your list of Fae-garden requirements, the days turned a bit more hectic than usual. Jimin noted so too. Sending him out and about was rather odd of you, but it was decided as a last resort when your attention could simply not leave the kitchen or the gardening table at the back of the shop.

You spent hours tending to a patch of soil right in the corner of the backroom, right behind the workstation, squared off to tend to any special plants you could get your hands on previous to your sudden efforts. It looked more like a garden day by day after that, similar to the one Jimin and you were expanding and tending to in the back of the house, slowly but surely filled with bluebells and buttercups (for calling the Fae and for the ones to come to be compassionate and kind, according to your notes), as well as the ever attractive clovers, toadstools, lilacs and foxgloves, and even a sheltering fern. It grew quickly, too, as your eyes were always scanning the space and your voice constantly offered solace and company to the leaves. Jimin sometimes whispered to them when you weren’t looking, and had even become accustomed to the recollecting favors—not that he minded. You were safer home, and he was thankful for that.

Or, as safe as you could be. You were never the most talented when it came to matters of the kitchen, but it never did stop you from trying. Only once did Jimin and the boys come back to find a single piece of burnt bread, and you refused to think of that as a failure considering everything was still very much alive and standing (“thank you very much!”). Well, save for the bread. But still, it only fueled your determination.

Every afternoon you took to baking pastries and desserts, making the minutes before the shop closed what Jimin now happily called “dessert hour”. By the time he was finished closing up, whatever recipe you were trying out was seconds out the oven, and both of you gathered around the island to taste the confection of the day. Sometimes it did go wrong (Jimin had to learn to let you try it first lest his stomach and throat betray him one more time), but speaking to the blooming flowers inside the square perked you up right after. They loved hearing about your days, no matter their subsequent monotony.

Your skills had developed enough around the time the violets by the mushrooms began to bud. The February days had thinned out when a visually appealing (and hopefully equally tasting) Lemon & Thyme Cake became the current product of your love, dedication and hope. It took a good few hours, but you managed with newfound confidence in your hands, and you were eager to try it.

You couldn’t hide the shy smile that overtook your face as you cut the spongy yellow cake into pieces, serving some for Jimin and yourself on the plates you brought from the upstairs kitchen. He didn’t bite into it until after you ate a slice.

His eyes went wide. “Wow, this actually tastes pretty good!” he exclaimed, cheeks full, and you almost smacked him silly had it not been for how cute he looked. “Way better than last Wednesday’s strudel, too.”

“Right? Well, cake is easier to bake - but I’d like to think that pouring everything I have into it was the trick.” Not to say you hadn’t put all your effort into that apple strudel but, this cake had more purpose than just feeding you two or serving as just another practice batch. It was the result of one of the recipes from your book, the one you chose to leave as a food offering that day.

The younger boy chuckled as he took another bite, and to prevent any choking accidents (though there shouldn’t have been, considering it turned out rather moist), you poured two cups of the Elderberry wine you had been brewing since last spring and handed one to him.

He drank it rather eagerly, all satisfied grin and half moon eyes. “Poured everything, you say? Are you really sure? You mean every single spice in the pantry? Because, y’know, I’d really like to keep my insides intact, noona.”

“Har,” you rolled your eyes at his teasing, “har. What I mean is I poured my heart and soul into it after weeks of trying.”

“I know, I know.”

You shook your head at his antics but said no more, attention having gone to cutting a smaller piece of the confection. It was supposed to be the most attractive of treats to the Fae Folk, from what your great grandmother’s notes and attempts told, anyway, which made it indispensable in your own. In reality, you weren’t even sure it would work, unknowing if the folk changed their taste in a matter of years just as humans tend to do. But it was the only piece of information at your disposal, and therefore the only way forward.

With caution you placed both tea plate and cup of wine in the center of the square, and touched the crystal bell chimes Namjoon helped you hang from the little room’s ceiling. It’s done, you thought, going back to admire your work. Pretty.

Jimin had his eyes glued to your form, curious of your actions. When you decided to spend the days looking over those old books, no one said a thing, not even him. When you began sending him off on restocking duties, he nodded along because he thought you somehow feared going back after winter past. But seeing you dedicate yourself to a garden, and to putting food and wine as what was most definitely an offering, he couldn’t stop himself from prying. In an effort to look out of you, of course.

“Lily,“ he called. It was the nickname your father gave you for your love of the particular flower. “What are you doing?”

His words seemed to snap you out of a daze, and you jumped slightly at the sound before looking back at him. “Oh, just,” sucking in your lips, you briefly wondered if you should tell him. Jimin was your closest friend, trustworthy, a man of kindness built entirely humble despite his lonely upbringing. He also han interest in creatures outside the village grounds, though never on the Fae themselves as far as you were concerned. You decided it was best not keep secrets from him, and briefly explained. “I’m making a garden for the Fae.”

“For the Fae?” One of his eyebrows rose in confusion, but you saw no shame or anger behind his expression, and your heart turned lighter. You did the right thing.

“But, don’t they never leave their forest?”

Humming, you began cleaning up the mess on the work table. “So people say. But my great grandmother, you know, the one I always say was a witch?” Jimin nodded in reply, taking the empty cake plates and wine cups and waiting by the stairs for you. “Well, according to her books they do, but they need to be welcomed to one’s home.”

“And the fastest way to do that is building them a garden?”

After picking up the utensils and making sure everything was in working order, you looked to the garden one last time to make sure everything was well, and followed Jimin upstairs. “Yes. And to offer them treats they like.”

“But… aren’t the Fae Folk… small?”

You pursed your lips, suddenly wondering the same for a very brief moment before shaking your head. Remembering your trip, you concluded that if the shadow you saw by the forest was indication of their sizes, they were definitely not small. You humored him nonetheless. “Well, even if they are tiny, like you—”

Jimin turned to you like a whip. “Hey!! I am NOT—”

“—I’m sure they’ll appreciate the amount of food and drink I put for them,” you finished with a teasing smile.

“I’m not tiny—I'm—I’m taller than you,” he huffed, putting everything by the sink and watching as you began to wash the dishes. “I just meant, they say their sizes are…” to provide an example, he took his hands to make an invisible square the size of a lullaby box. “Teeny tiny.”

Giggles filled the room as you turned back to your task. Yes… those were the rumors. But no one had really seen a Fae in years, and everyone who had was long dead now. If there were any records of their interactions, none that you knew of were preserved. And thinking about it, not even your old books mentioned anything about size or height. You only had your peripheral as a sort of confirmation.

“Who knows, really,” you said, “Maybe they are, or maybe they’re not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

You had high hopes for an encounter that very night, your mind wandering through all the ways it could go and all the questions that could be answered. How would they speak? Was it the same language? How did they look? Did they have wings? Were they tricksters? Would they be interested in you as you were in them?

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have had such high ones in such a short time, and on a first attempt.

You had to remind yourself, once the clock stroke 3 AM, that being in the right track did not equal immediate results, when suddenly a familiar chiming sound came ringing from downstairs.

It was faint, but your excitement hadn’t let you sleep peacefully, and combined with your light slumber, it was no surprise your eyes blinked open and your feet made to follow.

Silently as to not wake Jimin, you padded downstairs and onto the backroom, silent profanities leaving your lips whenever the old wood panels creaked below your feet.

You hadn’t made much noise at all, but the Fae must have sensitive ears, you concluded.

The garden was empty. A few toadstools were crooked, the flowers seemed to glow, and the chimes were still shivering, but no one was there.

But at least… the cake and the wine were tasted. Nothing more than inconspicuous bites littered the cake, but the cup was now halfway empty. You pouted at the realization you might have scared them away with your approach, but at least it was confirmed: you were on the right track, you were confident.

And yet as the days passed, most of the feeling chipped away.

You still baked, and you still tended and talked to the plants, and you still hoped, but only similar results remained. The offerings were taken, sometimes never fully, but their presence was never shared. Only the trails remained, the ghosts of a visit shown in the touched plants and resplandescent flowers.

After a week, Jimin (who had also caught on to the visitor’s tendencies) decided to intervene, not that he could do much but offer solace. He went to buy your favorite brand of sparkling water, put a blanket atop your cold shoulders and sat to talk in front of the hearth, just besides your form.

“Is there maybe something you overlooked in those books?” he asked, eyeing the leather bound pages open on your lap.

You were passing your fingers throughout the rough parchment pages when his words registered, but nothing clicked. “I don’t think so,” you sighed, “I’ve been through all of these, and they’re not all about the Fae. Great grandmother was a plant witch, so about 3 quarters of these are dedicated to that.”

“And those are the only ones she left?”

“Yes, well,” you passed a few pages on the properties of mandrakes, “these were the only ones grandmother kept. I think there was one more, but I vaguely remember her attempting something and burning off her eyebrow along with a book, so that might have been it?”

Jimin stifled a laugh and cleared his throat, noting it was best not to laugh at the mistakes of a dead woman. “Right.”

“She would have laughed too, don’t worry,” you chuckled, although your eyes never left the papers. She was the type to laugh at misery in the face, just so her frown didn’t worry others.

He shook his head. “Do you think that book might have had more information on the Fae?”

“No, all that she wrote on the Fae Folk was limited to this book here. It had a beginning and an end, and everything is here. She wrote somewhere that this was all the information she could recollect… and I’ve done everything?” I’ve already baked all there is here, and I’ve kept the garden clean and enchanting, but all that ever varies is the level of consumption.” You were less exasperated and more sullen at the facts finally laid out on the table. It was supposed to work, with every factor written reviewed and every possibility taken into consideration, and yet, why hadn’t it?

Jimin hummed in thought. “Maybe you can add plants to the garden that signify safety?”

You nodded, changing the pages towards the list of suggested plants for the garden again. “Maybe…” a sigh escaped your lips and Jimin frowned, “what else is there to do?”

While the question was more rhetorical, the younger boy decided to answer anyway. He certainly had… ideas.

“What if— what if we contact someone else?” His words caught your attention, and you furrowed your eyebrows once you noticed him biting his lip. He was nervous?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” his voice came as a whisper, “are you willing to contact another magic practitioner?”

“Another? But there’s no one else in our village, not anymore.”

“No,” he said, “not from here. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t others outside, near the North or to the East, or even Across the River.”

He was right. Living in the small village where you did often made you forget about the rest of the world. With the Fae Forest surrounding most of the terrain of your collective home, it was easy to lose oneself in the calm and mythless life everyone there ends up leading. But the world out there, it was different.

The highest village was known for its pact with Nightwalkers and Moon Howlers, and most others were home to Halflings and Dwarves. From what you’ve heard, that treaty remained to this day. And other talk told that the village nearest to the River was no stranger to the creatures swimming inside it. You knew not much besides those generalities and stories, though.

Villages were more often than not separated one from another, and information about their standings only came around twice a month—unless an emergency occurred.

From the January news you could tell that humans still reigned amongst them, just like in years past. The other beings, while crossing and redrawing the amicable line humans drew between them, mostly opted to home their own lands in surrounding areas, very much like your and Jimin’s hometown.

This sometimes caused reality to become myth, not unlike what happened with the Fae Folk, and especially so in remote villages. If there was no interaction, and if there was no explicit presence, humans were quick to discard facts and turn to a life of ignorance. The South, for example, most likely did not deal with any sort of Fae, and neither did their thoughts. That was simply the way of life they chose.

The same happened to magic and its practitioners, although they were more common amongst all.

It all made your heart ache, knowing you’d likely never encounter any of them, never validate their existence, but you were just one and you couldn’t do much but keep living where you were.

“But… how? And who? I’ve never left this place, I don’t know any other practitioners.”

“No, but there are witches on the village North of the Great Lake,” he said, “Namjoon hyung has mentioned it.”

You sometimes forgot how knowledgeable that man was. Without other factors he was far beyond his years, but with his job, he was as wise as any witch or any Elven. His near eidetic memory helped, as well.

Namjoon was a messenger, a News Traveler for the villages. Perhaps collectively, you mused, he had seen more than the eyes of the whole village combined. He often went away for two weeks or so, and stayed home for a month while other groups of News Travelers began carrying out their duties. Whenever he came back he had stories for days, no matter the distance of his predetermined route. You figured it was during one of those instances that he mentioned the fact to Jimin.

His favorite ventures included the more advanced and populated villages, where creatures were more welcome and both their inclusion and the whispers of the arcane were open to congenial discussion. You couldn’t ever deny your jealousy over that sort of freedom, of seeing and speaking to anything not human and wary of difference.

“He says he’s heard the village in the West side of the River talk about witches from the North of the Great Lake, which means the ones by the Northern Lights should still be alive and active, too.”

His words were quick to catch your interest, and your ears perking up at the specific choice of words. Jimin had never spoken to you about things beyond village borders, notwithstanding his eagerness for Namjoon’s stories and late night ramblings. He was always concerned with his own job, or with your shared friends, or with joking about the villagers within the borders. Raising an eyebrow, you questioned, “Northern Lights? Still?”

He was quick to offer a sheepish smile, but his eyes remained on his fumbling hands. “I…” His loose shirt suddenly seemed very interesting to him, and noting the hesitation, you moved your eyes back to the book to take away the pressure of your stare. You didn’t want to push him to say anything, even though he did start it himself.

Already you passed the suggested plants once more, and the colorless sketches and instructions of your great grandmother came into view. She drew a pretty mean sunflower cake.

“Before she died, my mother sent me here and I’ve been an orphan ever since. But you already knew that. It’s just… my mother, she - she was half Elven.”

You took a few seconds to respond, shock resonating through you. “Half Elven?” You blinked. Honestly, you should have known, that everlasting baby face of his should have sign enough. “You’re half Elven?”

Jimin’s smile was small, his hand coming to part his hair and showing you his ear. From far away it had the roundness of any human’s, but once you looked closely, very closely, you could see the top dipping into a ghostly point. It was barely noticeable at all, and had you not been looking for it, you might have lived the rest of your life not knowing about it. “Sort of,” he confessed, “though it’s more thin blood than anything.”

Your big, wondrous eyes had him laughing shortly after, definitely filled with more questions that you could contain and yet deciding to store them to another time, for when he felt like he could tell you more about it.

“We can talk about it some other time,” he promised, as if reading your mind, “it’s not a big deal—”

The look you gave him had his small hands reaching out to pinch your cheeks, and you slapped them away lightly. “I mentioned it because that’s where my mother was from. I don’t remember much else, but… that place, sometimes it visits me, understand?”

You did. Jimin would spend a lot of his time helping around the shop, but what was left went to either dancing or visiting the other boys and sharing jokes, or sleeping. And for some reason unknown to you and himself, he always managed to dream about something every single night. The next afternoon he’d tell you how x or y person or x or y place visited him in his dreams. It was alike what your great grandmother wrote about soul-projection, now that you thought about it, and you made a point to read more about it eventually.

Nodding along, you went back to the book, the pages having thinned out considerably. “But why mention it? Elven are not— oh!”

You hurriedly put the book in front of your bodies, hands trembling with renewed excitement as you pointed to a small paper no bigger than a matchbox, a sort of memo, previously folded and attached to a side of one of the last illustrations. It was the same kind and age, inconspicuous only in its thinness and how flattened time had made it.

“This,” you pointed to the arcane symbols littering the piece, their ink seeming to fade at the ends. “This is Elvish, isn’t it?” You were then thankful for your grandmother’s arcane language lessons and talks (that and stories of the Fae Folk were her favorite to tell, albeit she herself denied dabbling into anything outside tales, much like her mother so she said). Even when you yourself retained zero practical knowledge, you could at least identify all of the most relevant ones.

Realization hitting him, Jimin nodded enthusiastically at the new find. “Yes,” His body left your side for an instant to come back with paper and pen, and you watched attentively as he began drawing the symbols on the new surface, hand gliding effortlessly, as if he knew it all by heart. “I’ve barely any knowledge of it, though.”

You hummed in acceptance, knowing there was no way he could have retained his mother’s tongue after being so many years parted from it, from her. That, and the conversations about the different languages out there with Namjoon in Hoseok’s library flooded your mind. He must have been interested in learning about it now that he could.

“Maybe Hoseok has books we can use?” you offered, eyes captivated by the difference in elegance between his lines and the ones from your great grandmother. His lineage was oddly evident in the little things, now that you thought about it.

After making sure everything was precisely mimicked, he folded the paper and handed it to you.

“Maybe. But I think we’re better off speaking with Namjoon, since he knows an Elven.”

Getting a hold of a News Traveler was never difficult, per se. It was more of a waiting game. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on your favor, or maybe it was Jimin's—you couldn’t tell anymore after finding out about his lineage. Around three mornings after your discovery, word had come in that Namjoon, along with his trusty bike, had returned for the month, and despite wanting to give the man some breathing room, you still dragged Jimin along to pay a visit.

It turned out to be a rather long one this time around. He told you of new movement from the Night Walkers, and that apparently the Merfolk of the Deep Lake were seen more towards the shores of the nearest village. Peculiar, but you were more interested in the beings inside the forest to be more inquisitive about other matters.

You thought it cute how your question about Elvish was taken with as much child-like wonder as you expected. After a quick explanation about your Fae-Folk-welcoming and your books, Namjoon took the paper to gaze at it with curiosity. He wasn’t precisely fluent, but he explained he knew an Elven from the North that was always willing to teach him certain scripts and meanings during his visits. He wasn’t able to translate the whole sentence, but could make out the words “coffea” and “leaves,” and quite frankly that was enough for your heart to swell in excitement and hope again.

That same night you paid an extra visit to the garden in the back of the house, grabbed a few coffea leaves with silent apologies between your lips, and stacked them neatly behind the toadstools inside the backroom. You thought it a bit odd, though. By the amount of sweets in your great grandmother’s suggestion list, you guessed Fae Folk were more attracted to that type of taste. Coffea leaves were… rather bitter, even for you, but you shrugged it off nonetheless. Maybe the Folk did vary their taste just as humans did.

Sleep came easy that night after that, much unlike the first time your trial and error began, though who could blame you. Between the newfound determination and the rollercoaster of emotions you went through, lost hours were bound to catch up with you even if in the most inconvenient times. By the way the bed felt softer than ever, even the universe knew you were meant to go on for a few good hours, if only a resonating whisper from your dreams and a persistent feeling of thirst hadn’t woken you in the middle of the night. Typical with your light sleep, though annoying and really hard to get rid of, even with your herbs.

Sighing and hoping to go back as soon as possible, your hand shot out to an empty nightstand and a shiver ran up your spine.

A shadow fell by your beside, you could feel it, but you couldn’t see it, and the presence went away before you could even pinpoint it. It wasn’t at all like the blending of shadows from your outings. This time you couldn’t see it because it simply vanished, replaced by dust. Frowning and rubbing your eyes, you decided not to question it before heading to grab a cup of water. No memory, no fight or flight response. Just thirst. The house was protected by your great grandmother and the witches before her, anyway, or so you told yourself. Your throat needed water.

If Jimin were awake he would definitely call you a zombie, with your eyes partially closed and walk all slow all the way to the kitchen and the fridge. It was laughable, your pitter-patter and your mind blank as it usually turned at that hour. Jimin’s laugh at your expense was what usually brought clarity to your mind in the mornings, shaking you out of your stupor after the constant of it throughout the years, but he never woke this early. Instead, the pair of eyes watching you from behind the island did the trick, and you stopped right in your tracks.

“Would you do me the favor of brewing some tea?”

Your body stiffened, more alert than ever before as your gaze took him in and your mind slowly unraveled his words.

Tea. He wanted— A he, with eyes entirely ink and lashes putting yours to shame. And he wanted tea. Coffea leaf tea. Right.

“Uh—” clearing your throat, you nodded almost meekly, unsure of your voice with how dry that sounded and the racing thoughts going through your head. You could only mustered the will to answer after you drank a cup of your sparkling water and turned off your internal red lights. All throughout, you felt his gaze glued to your form. “Yeah, yes of course.”

The Fae nodded and pushed the leaves towards your side of the counter, waiting. You set up the kettle and focused on the metal pot just so your eyes didn’t stray to his form, to stare unabashedly like you wanted desperately to do. No, you maintained a sense of civility and strayed from rudeness, at least a little bit. It was a hard thing to do when the Fae’s aura practically screamed at others to pay attention to details, and he had so many.

When you peeked for a good few seconds, you could visualize why the shadow had blended in that one time—if, if the Fae was even the same one.

His silver hair bordered on white, softly tousled and (desirably) velvety to the touch, falling around his face to give an aura of delicate nobility. Around the top, a warm brown gathered in a makeshift circlet of small dots, alike the pale butterfly wings of the ones commonly seen inhabiting the forest. His skin was an ivory tone, but it seemed to glow even under the faint, crooked lightbulb that hung from your ceiling, and complemented his white billowy shirt. Even his dark eyebrows and pierced ears proved to reinforce his status as creature more attune with magic than anything other than so. Not that you’ve ever seen a creature that was non-human before him (Jimin didn’t exactly count), but his etherealness was unmistakable—even amongst his own kind he would stick out, surely.

“What’s your name?” you asked, finding enough courage along the way to trust yourself a bit more, and to shift your gaze to him again.

His face was resting on his palm, expression telling of his decision.

“That is delicate information.”

You nodded in agreement, understanding the precaution of telling a stranger your name, moreso a human stranger in his case, even if absurdly comical considering he asked for you to make him tea. Still, names could be used for rituals, for cursing, for hexes and chants. He didn’t know if you could do any of those particularly well, but maybe being used to dealing with his kind made him highly precautious, if whispers of mischievousness were any true.

“So you won’t tell me who I’m doing a favor for?” you tried again. He said nothing but raised an eyebrow.

“Alright. How about we exchange our names, then?”

Fascination coursed through you as you took in the way his pointed ears twitched slightly, his lips curling up.

“Interesting proposal. I’ll think about it.”

You rolled your eyes at his precaution, saying no more as to keep from pestering him after being denied twice. Picking up your favorite teacup, you settled for serving him the tea and putting the kettle besides his cup. You nibbled on your lip when you saw him clink the spoon around. Usually, you would offer him honey, but with some more thought you decided against it. What brought him to your home was the bitterness of the leaves, not the sweetness of the cake or the wine.

To give yourself something to do, you began to clean around the already tidy kitchen, moving your arms around to swipe the surface and move utilities while trying to find something to say. Maybe something that didn’t quite involve your inquisitive nature, though that proved really hard. You wanted to ask, to see, to learn about the differences way beyond the obvious physical traits. Could he fly? Did the Fae Folk use conventional magic like practitioners use? If it were just a little bit later, your mind might have been able to properly ask them, but seeing as it was too early for everything —including a caffeinated drink—, you stayed quiet all throughout.

He finished his cups (he refilled it, twice) in proper timing, when sleep was beginning to grab you by the ankles, and you stared at the empty piece of porcelain in thought. Everything felt very convenient, altered in a way suggestive of his will, if that made sense. He arrived and you woke, and he’s close to leaving and you’re welcomed to sleep again. Or maybe it was nothing but you hazily overthinking around the comfortable but steady silence that enveloped the kitchen, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask about that, eventually.

His chuckle brought you out of that stupor, and your cheeks burned slightly at having him witness your sluggishness.

“Thank you, for the tea.” His voice was smooth and warm, and somehow also verging on teasing. He stood up when you whispered a “you’re welcome.”

Your eyes widened, “W-wait,” panic fighting with drowsiness. You couldn’t help but stop him in his tracks, suddenly abhorred at how you’d done nothing but make him tea and ask for his name and nothing else. You even stared a little bit, and— “I… I imagined you different.” That… didn’t come out right, but you held back the flinch that came with it. You wanted him to come back at another time, not offend him. Though if he was, he showed no sign of it, which at least took away the uneasiness in your chest.

The way he eyed you amusedly, stars in his vast stare as you’d never seen before in the little time he’s graced you with his presence, also helped.

“Are you disappointed, little human?”

“No,” you breathed out hurriedly, certain but so quick your cheeks grew red in fluster.

Your curiosities about the Fae Folk were just that, blanks that you wanted them—him to fill somehow, far more than anything, and what wasn’t blank were the differences in your head more in tune with your great grandmother’s notes and hopeful day dreaming, really. You hadn’t expected much, imagined much, but you guessed maybe more mischievousness and deal making and maybe even wings were in the unconsciously expected mix. It wasn’t bad he seemed different, though. Then again, it was only the first visit.

He must have taken your response as a surprise, because his eyes widened before he could control it, and his smile made your skin prick, a newfound feeling surfacing and making you shiver.

“You’re like your ancestor.”

What?

You opened your mouth instinctively, your body acting faster than your mind as you processed the words. You were almost ready to ask him what he meant by that, ask if he had any connection to your great grandmother. Yet before your vocal chords could function accordingly, he vanished, only smoke and sparkling dust left behind.

You tried looking around, feet taking you to where he stood mere moments ago and hands clutching your nightgown in confusion, but upon finding nothing physical to the touch, a heavy sigh replaced your unsaid words instead. And instantly, your body felt the weight of the hours and the visit on your shoulders.

With the knowledge that he would definitely not visit again for the night, your legs half-heartedly dragged you to your room automatically. Your heart sunk along with your body under the plush covers, the too short interaction already turning sluggish in your memory while the bed too alluring. You didn’t dream of anything after shutting your eyes.

And once morning came, you became unsure if it was a dream or reality.

No answer came until your next trip to the forest.

The cold wind passing through the village had thinned out. It was merely cool morning and refreshing afternoons now, the trees having already regained their greenery and the flowers in pink bloom. The sole path you took towards the forest was lonely as ever, but the vibrant colors of the newborn plants brought a smile to your face and a light skip to your step.

Tending to the garden for a whole month had left you with little time to venture out when you also had to man and look after the shop most days. You tried your best in accompanying Jimin during his shifts, as well. He hated being alone for long periods of time just as much as you did, so it was unavoidable.

There was also the matter of sending him out for errands or quick run-ins to search for certain plants as you carefully practiced and took care of the Fae welcoming garden.

It was no surprise for the younger boy when you woke up eager to go out that morning, hoping to see the familiar trees and curves along the forest path and trying to control your jittery feet. While you didn’t have to tell him, you knew he was much aware of the other reason you wanted out. You didn’t even make an effort to conceal the warm thermos inside your messenger bag.

In truth, a week had passed since the early morning visit, and not even the coffea leaves had done the trick. You had started to think that maybe it was all a part of your head, but your heart denied the thought as fiercely as possible, tugging you out to the woods to try, and try, and try, if needed.

Your need for restocking on thyme was very real, too. The transition of the seasons had brought about fits of cough here and there as it always did, and without fail (despite all your efforts) all had been used or sold to that very day. Seeing as the spring still had its tight clutch upon the weather, you thought it a perfect opportunity to try a hand in crafting the different remedies for cough and other minor ailments yourself, also as a way to encourage yourself to begin building for a proper apothecary. Beginning small was good, and you took advantage of the growing amount of sunlight.

You dressed lightly that morning, with a thin hooded jacket Jimin had draped over your shoulders in worry, and you silently thanked him when a chilly breeze passed through and encouraged the trees to dance softly. You let your eyes travel to them, more towards the sky than forward in your steps, while your hands clutched your messenger bag closer to your body. Hopefully the thermos kept warm enough until you reached…wherever.

One thing you were sure to remember later was how light the Fae Folk seemed to be on their feet, or at least him specifically. Combined with your attention being on the shaking leaves and the bright petals, transfixed on the subtle movements of bigger yet smaller things, it was no surprise you didn’t hear his approach. The hair on the back of your neck rose—you could feel his presence, but before you made sense of it, your back was pressed against something solid, warmth radiating right through and putting the jacket to shame. You jumped slightly at the contact, and a low tone caressed your ears.

“Little human, what are you looking for?”

The voice was the same, and it washed away any doubt you had that it wasn’t him, the same Fae you wished to see again. Maybe it was an effect of what he was, or maybe it was simply that it was him particularly, but his voice practically lulled your shoulders to an ease, and you had to fight the urge to not lean back on his chest. Like a spell, you answered truthfully, and without hesitation.

“For thyme.”

You could feel his chest tremble with a chuckle, and you scolded yourself internally for not even questioning what he found amusing, but rather focusing on how nice it felt.

“It grows on the ground, you know. Not the trees.”

His teasing nature sparked a roll of your eyes.

“I’m much aware, Mr. Smarty Pants.”

“And yet you look at the trees and the skies,” he countered, shifting to stand in front of you, eyebrow curious. “Instead of the ground by your feet.”

Seeing him more clearly this time, with the sun shining on his silver locks and falling into the dark depths of his eyes, you practically gaped in awe. His lashes danced atop his cheekbones whenever he blinked, a soft contrast to the black scleras, and you were utterly captivated. He looked both ethereal and deadly should he choose to be, even when he stood only a few inches above you.

When you offered no immediate answer he broke out in a smile, stars inside his eyes. You blinked furiously and cleared your throat, mentally praying he took no offence of what you tried so hard to avoid that one morning, or that you were saved of words that fueled your already very rosy cheeks. You made to speak before he could even attempt that, though, just in case.

“I was admiring—” his smile grew further, gummy and far cuter than you had imagined in the little time you had to think about it, “—admiring spring. I—I haven’t been to the woods in quite some time.”

“I know.”

He what?

“How—”

“You, and the man that works with you, are the only people to ever venture out into our home.”

He began moving eastward as he spoke, footsteps like bells and pace telling you to follow. You did.

“Ji—” you caught yourself from saying the name of your best friend, suddenly wary of how name exchanges were special to the Fae. You gulped before changing the subject, far from smoothly, though he did not comment on it. “So… you watch? All—eh, some of you?”

“We feel you a mile away. But I, myself, just keep a lookout. Wouldn’t want you to get lost now, wouldn’t we?”

You mulled his words over carefully, wondering if he spoke truths or mistruths about his people’s tendencies. You couldn’t quite tell, but you believed him nonetheless, deciding to nudge elsewhere and keep those questions for a later time. You didn’t mind waiting, as long as you could secure the answers some other time.

“Last winter, was that—was that you?”

He tilted his head back to give you a look—curiosity kept flashing before his eyes, but it was with something else you couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t even answer, not until he stopped walking. You came to a stop beside him, and the sight before you almost made you throw yourself onto him. Almost.

“Yes.”

The sunlight showered the small clearing in beams and golden dust, the air humid and fresh. Sprouting thyme was everywhere, bright dewdrops scattered around its evergreen leaves, a remnant of light rain from the night before, no doubt. The whole area looked untouched, as if no human foot had ever come close to it, and while your chest swelled at the idea of having been special enough to show such a place, you couldn’t help but wonder why. Why did he go against every tale, however close to the truth it was? Asking him was out of your plans, though. For the time being, at least, you decided to indulge into what was given to you, as long as you had permission.

“Are you sure I can take these? It feels awfully like disturbing the peace…”

“I brought you here for a reason,” he answered, corner of his lips twitching to a faint smile once more. “Thank you for asking, but there’s no need.”

You nodded in response, about to step forward when his fingers grazed your shoulder, warm in their scarcity even then. He took them back when your eyes drifted to him, and you had to suppress a pout at the lack of touch. This startled you, although you didn’t show it. Why your reactions to a being you had only met once before was like this was unknown to you, it scared you to think more about it then. Thankfully (or was it, really?) he distracted you with more unspoken questions as he asked his own.

“You brought me something, haven’t you?”

“Ah! Y—yes, how’d you— Oh, nevermind,” you huffed in embarrassment, your hand going to find the sleek black thermos within your bag and offering it to him. “Just in case you wanted more tea. You can always bring it back to me if you want it refilled.”

The Fae blinked a few times, surprised at your words, but took it carefully and with a strong grip.

Knowing he might not say much else, you decided asking was worth a shot.

“You’re always welcome in our little house, Mr…?”

But he only smirked at your attempt.

“Maybe next time, little human. Don’t get lost on the way back.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was all smoke and Fae dust again. You could only sigh, and go finish the other task you ventured out to do.

By midday, a few hours and a successful trip back later (you had no idea where the clearing was in the first place, so you thought maybe he kept an eye on you as you trudged onwards since you made it back safely), Jimin had to run and help you with the new size of your bag. He was dumbfounded at the amount within your possession, but mirrored your happiness once you told him your set goals. You were most definitely going to begin brewing for the future Apothecary, starting immediately.

The ‘next time’ the Fae had mentioned occurred sooner than you expected. It happened during the time of day you set aside for practicing general cooking, an hour before sundown and around the time the shop closed.

Your hands were busy mashing some potatoes when slivers of bell chimes were carried all the way to your ears from the Fae garden downstairs, and your mind instantly went to the male you had encountered twice until then. You wondered how he was, if he enjoyed the tea or let it run cold, or if he would return. You couldn’t help but want him to. The garden you had spent your efforts on was a general offering for all of his kind, not a … right, you knew not even his name. Either way, it wasn’t a him garden as far as you knew. He couldn’t be the only Fae that could get curious enough to visit the house, the math said so (not that you were exceptionally good at math). Yet something about him made your spine tingle in an addicting kind of way. He was secretive but he seemed nice enough, breathtakingly beautiful too. Wanting to see him again was natural, wasn’t it?

Pouting, you left the pot of potatoes on the stove to look for plates, when a soft thunk replaced the softer sounds from before, and you almost dropped the ceramic dishes with the speed at which you turned.

Black stared at you with curiosity like he always had so far, dark eyebrow raised. He was sitting on top of your island counter, arms besides his folded legs, and briefly, panic struck you. Had he read your mind? Could even do that? Fae Folk used magic, certainly. But—

“Okay, the shop is officially closed and—oh,” Jimin’s words fell to a meek silence, halfway frozen atop the staircase that led from the shop to the kitchen.

The Fae, who had his eyes trained on you, shifted them briefly to the dark haired boy only to watch him rub his own as if trying to make sure the sight before him wasn’t a dream.

“You’re—”

“A visitor,” you finished quickly, but it seemed to go unheard as he continued on regardless.

“You’re a Fae, aren’t you?”

The male in question turned his attention back to you instead, however, the corners of his lips threatening to curve upwards as he pinned you to the spot. Your cheeks went red at his stare, suddenly self-conscious and desperately trying to keep your mind blank of any thoughts of him.

“What gave it away?” he asked, but you were unsure to whom exactly.

He was teasing, obvious in the answer that everyone in the room knew. Just in case, and not trusting yourself, you let Jimin speak as he moved.

“Pretty much everything, eyes especially” he began, pointing to the pitch black gaze of the Fae, when amusement suddenly painted his cheeks, “and the height.”

“Hey!” You pinched him at the comment, very aware of his implications. When had Jimin turned so cheeky it was beyond you.

“With that criteria, are you so sure you aren’t a Fae yourself?”

Jimin stilled in his movement, then crossing his arms and uttering out a soft “whatever” as he pouted indignantly from besides you, opting for ignoring the fire tongued guest in favor for looking at the mashed potatoes and the chicken you had proudly managed not to burn to a crisp.

A giggle escaped you at the quick back and forth between them, and you patted his shoulder for comfort (he hated to be reminded of his less than average stature in comparison to much of the village, save for yourself) until you noticed the object that had made you turn around in the first place.

Besides the Fae’s tight clothed thigh stood the thermos you had given him, certainly empty. Look at the thermos, not his thigh, look at the thermos, not his thigh.

“Can you hand me that?” you asked.

He did as told, attention solely on you as you shifted around the kitchen to get the kettle working and the bottle clean. You would pour him a cup at the moment, but send him off with more tea before he went away.

“Do you want to eat with us?” you offered after putting the new cup besides him, moving to keep busy and not look at him directly. You couldn’t bring yourself to it, knowing he might reject the offer, or even be gone as quickly and quietly as he often did around you. You wanted him to stay, to ask about him, but you didn’t know what he liked, and you refused to show your hopeful gaze. Instead, you went to help Jimin serve two plates of mashed potatoes and chicken on the other side of the island. By the subtle clinking and gulps, you could at least tell he was drinking the tea.

“Hm, I accept,” he answered, “just the potatoes though.”

Minutes later he sat besides Jimin and you on the small dining table by the wall, his eating pace slow. He was scrutinizing you both, and on more than one occasion you had to give up on the staring contest that started every time your eyes settled on him, your cheeks flaming and his smirk growing.

Jimin was content on eating and eyeing the interaction, clearly too hungry to exert his energy elsehow.

“Why’d you raise the garden?” he asked, and you paused your spoon mid-way in surprise. He was the one with the questions now, turning everything around and getting a head start. Maybe it was best that way. You didn’t know when to stop walking on eggshells around him just to keep him coming back, but this seemed incentive enough to do otherwise.

“I—” you gulped at the way his eyes didn’t falter, “just wanted to come into contact with one of your kind.”

Not even once. “Why, exactly?”

You hummed as you swallowed your next bite, thinking of how to answer him without sounding naive. You couldn’t find a way, so you settled with a simple, and a bit embarrassing, “just… for selfish reasons.”

He didn’t seem surprised at your words, but rather stayed silent and egged you on.

“I have lots of questions, and no one had seen any of you properly in years and, well,” you tried again, “I wanted to see how far from the rumors you guys are…”

The Fae scrunched his nose, mirth glazing over his features, and you weren’t sure at what. You could almost swear golden Fae dust fell from his hair when he rested his head on the palm of his hand, but it was gone before it settled anywhere near the table or his empty plate.

“So,” he drawled, “you’re sure we’re all unlike your people’s tell-tales?”

“You implied so yourself just now, didn’t you?” you countered, and the way he narrowed his eyes at you had you shuffling in your seat, nevermind how you found no threat in them even after all you said.

“I did. But the stories aren’t baseless. Not all of them, anyway.”

“I, for one, whoreheartedly expected wings.” Jimin, already having finished his dinner, finally joined in with a jab, leaning to the side from his seat in a lazy attempt to look at the Fae’s back before returning to his previous position. He had already seen his wingless back, but one could never be too sure. Maybe they were hidden, or something along those lines.

The Fae’s lips twitched at his actions, though you weren’t sure if it was out of annoyance or playfulness. “I expected you to have pointier ears, halfling descendent.”

The word echoed in your head for a few seconds, “Halfling?” you repeated, only to have Jimin continue with the query and stealing the words right out of your mouth.

“How’d you know that?”

For a second the male looked confused himself, as if questioning the reason behind the reactions, but the look didn’t last, a lopsided smirk settling into place.

“Magic recognizes magic, no matter how very faint it is.”

Jimin nodded, and you couldn’t help but stare in both interest and a nagging sense of loss. No matter how much you knew of him and his life, you remembered there was a part completely unknown to you until a few days ago. It took a long chat before bedtime for him to tell you most of what he knew—which was little more than fragmented memories and sensations that came and went—and you were thankful that it took no proding (not that you intended to prod). Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you truly did not know the boy you grew up playing with as much as you thought you did. Your chest ached further at the thought that he, too, probably did not know most parts of himself either.

“And you,” the Fae continued, his voice bringing you back to the matter, “you might not have the same type in you, but your affinity towards it is there. Because of your ancestor.”

“My great grandmother?” you echoed, remembering his words during those forsaken hours in the morning (and briefly making a mental note to ask about Fae age). “You met her back then?”

He hummed in confirmation, gaze shifting to the rest of your body before settling back on your face. It was making your blood run hot with embarrassment, suddenly uneasy and self-conscious of your body, of your clothes, and for what you were unsure—for all you know he might be comparing you to your great grandmother, which was more believable than thinking he was appreciating your body. But there was a part of you that wished he did, and it unsettled you. You didn’t even know his name.

“Yes. She often welcomed my people into her home, back when she was few years older than you. We watched her work,” he confessed, his voice turning softer at the memory, until it dipped in something sour, “and we also watched how her own people turned against her and others that practiced witchcraft alike. She was the last to contact us—properly, that is. We stopped coming after she swore to break her ties to magic.”

The history of your great grandmother’s time was not new to you, having heard it already from your father and your grandmother years before, and neither was the pain your clenching jaw felt whenever you heard it, nor the following tightness in your chest at how unfair it all was. You couldn’t help but feel the aching guilt, either, belonging and living with the very people that thought and acted like their own ancestors, fearing what was different or shutting themselves off from what they didn’t understand and never bothered to in the first place. Some were different, you knew. There were some more inclined to their curious side and ancestry, like Namjoon and Hoseok, for example, but for the most part everything stayed the same within the village.

In a way, you envied him. He had met her when she was at her peak, he actually spoke to her. All you were left with were stories of her affinity and quirks—the same ones your grandmother and father saw in you, the ones you lacked someone to share them with.

The frown that settled on your face was genuine - you didn’t even fight it, and had you not looked away to find words to say, you wouldn’t have missed the way it made his gaze softened.

“I—I can’t change other people’s views on things, but for me—for us, at least it can be different. Thank you,” you stammered out quietly, “for taking the chance to visit.”

“Well,” he said, moving an arm to rest behind his chair and tracing patterns on the wooden table with his long, delicate fingers. His voice ripped your eyes away from them seconds after. “You practically screamed.”

“All she did was build a garden and bake for you—that was enough?” Jimin piped in, latching on to his last words.

The Fae shifted in his position, dismissing him with a simple “we have our own fixations” as if it explained anything. If you knew more about him you’d have sworn he was partially embarrassed by the way his ears flattened briefly, instead you steered the conversation elsewhere.

“Are you the only one that dared to come?”

“We’ve long since had our own matters to deal with, much aren’t interested in dealing with your kind in these parts any longer,” he answered.

You thought so as well, but you couldn’t help but wonder why had he been the only one to come your way. Why at all?

“Why did you visit me, though? Not that—” your jolted with alarm at your own words, your cheeks flaming and your hand going to tuck loose strands behind your ear. “Not that I don’t want you to visit— I do—I mean, I’m just wondering…”

Jimin cooed at your agonizingly cute behaviour, his hands flying to grab your cheeks and pull on them lightly just to annoy you. You swatted at his chubby hands and tried telling him to stop but it was effortless, nothing could stop him until he was satisfied. Even with all the muttering and swaying, though, you managed to see the gummy grin adorning the other male’s face and your pulse quickened at the pretty sight. Did he wink?

When you finally got Jimin’s hands off your cheeks and whined out your last ‘stoooop,’ you weren’t sure if you spoke to him or your own sprinting heartbeat.

“I already told you,” the Fae said after the other boy settled, “I keep a lookout around these parts of our home. You can say my job is alike your human… guards.”

You blinked. Right, he mentioned that when you were in the forest.

“So, were you visiting to make sure it was safe? Or are you the only Fae that keeps a lookout here, therefore the only one curious enough to come here?”

He chuckled. “You’re the one that’s awfully curious, actually. How many questions do you have, exactly?”

Pouting, you looked back at your unfinished chicken to avoid any more embarrassment, only taking glances at his incessant shape tracing fingers. What was he even doing?

“I—”

“Probably a lot, knowing her,” Jimin answered with a fond smile before eyeing the silver haired male up and down. “You don’t mind, though, do you? ”

“Not really,” he shrugged, “I’m rather amused. But we’ll have to leave it for another time.”

Your heart sunk a little at the implication, and you tried not to dwell on it. “You’re leaving?”

“Already?”

The Fae nodded, gazing one last time at the place his fingers drew upon, where thin silver lines shone only briefly before dying out and leaving no trace.

“What—what was that?” you asked, leaning on the table to see the now empty spot.

“Was it a sigil?” Jimin suggested, following your actions and poking the wood with an awed gaze.

“It’s to let my kind know it’s safe here, a refuge if they’re ever in these parts.”

“Oh.”

He then stood up, and you automatically began stacking the plates in a pile to take them to the kitchen, remembering the tea. Jimin helped with the cups but stopped by the island to turn to the Fae with a tease hanging from his tongue.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, even if you did insult my height. But I forgive you.”

You trailed behind your friend, missing the Fae’s playful eye roll at the jab, just to return with the black thermos he brought to you, now full of the tea he unabashedly enjoyed.

“Take this,” you offered, “You already know you can come back whenever.”

His fingers grazed yours when he grabbed it, a phantom touch all warm and electrifying, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathless gasp. Once more you were unsure if your body reacted the way it did because of what he was, or if it happened simply because it was him. Both answers scared you all the same. Though the soft curl of his lips made a tiny part of you hope for the latter.

“Thank you—”

You interrupted, damning all the warnings of keeping your name unknown to offer another sense of safety. “Y/N. My name is Y/N. But my friends call me Lily.”

“I know,” he confessed with mirth, “don’t worry too much, though. I won’t hex you, or trick you all that often. Consider it me paying respects to your ancestor.”

“You knew?” you squeaked, “wait, ‘all that often’?”

“What? Noona, I told you my rings were moving and disappearing last week!” Jimin practically screeched from the kitchen sink, turning to you and then narrowing his eyes at the other male. “That was you, wasn’t it!” Jimin accused more than asked, pouting with furrowed brows as if grievously annoyed. You knew better, though. He always found his rings anyway. Well, most of them.

“I already told you we have our fixations,” the Fae replied, deep chuckles escaping at the memory. “I’m not to blame, little Jimin. Though I wouldn’t say no if you want to bargain for them.”

You rolled your eyes at the quip while Jimin mumbled another whiney, defeated “no thank you!”, not even surprised he knew his name as well, and not falling for any bargaining traps either. His heart couldn’t take another hit to his stature, the pain enough to overpower any attention he could have given to the Fae’s offer.

Just before said creature turned to smoke and dust again, the Fae winked and spoke once more.

“If it makes you both feel better, my name is Yoongi.”

And then he was gone.

The next day there were whispers of how Mrs. Young’s little boy almost get lost in the woods trying to search for his bouncy ball. He appeared asleep on the edges of the forest, with no memory of his trek between the oaks and pines, and absolutely no sign of his toy.

Yoongi.

His name rolled off your tongue easily, tasting and dripping like warm honey. You tended not to say it, but rather think about it lest you were willing to withstand your housemate’s teasing. But sometimes, more often than not, when the name slipped from your lips in sudden desires of hearing it, it… called to him.

You weren’t sure how it worked, if he could hear you or sense you saying it or if he was always magically nearby to hear it. You just knew not to fight it.

The first time it happened was during a late morning in March. You were running the shop that day, offering out the new brews you managed to concoct effectively and tending to some other purchases while Jimin cleaned the workstation at the back. All it took were a few distracting seconds straight after a customer had left for you to busy yourself with thoughts of the Fae. And you said his name, and then seconds after, he was there.

You immediately panicked, running towards the front to put one of your “taking a break” signs and facing him with eyes wide as saucers. Was he crazy?

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as always, Fae dust falling from his fingers with a lazy wave. He was crossed-legged besides your cheap register, and fully aware he had appeared unannounced yet again, and in the shop during working hours, when customers came and went like a pendulum. He didn’t seem to care.

That day you learned the Fae had their own language, much like any other line of creature, and additionally knew common tongue in case of any interaction they had with others. Upon Jimin’s insistency he was also willing to admit the Fae had two forms: the human sized form he always presented himself with, and a much smaller version the size of a clam’s pearl. In that version they did have wings, but they resembled fireflies in their shine, their bodies hidden by bright light and glow. You and Jimin were both satisfied with the answer, but had yet to see him transformed, so the certainty of it being true was yet to be confirmed.

You did not learn why he visited that time, though, and small details of his presence remained appearing around the house. Jimin still lost his rings, some potted plants changed their positions to other rooms, whatever flower you planted grew too fast, and your shoes were never where you left them. Your sneakers always had the laces tied, however, never the other way around, and you were thankful for that.

After the fourth and fifth visits, all faults of you saying or humming Yoongi’s name, Jimin was positive you had a looming crush - mainly because your blush wouldn’t stop when the Fae came around, and because of how consecutive and frequent the visits became. He often teased you about it until you smacked him, denial everywhere.

Yes, he was beautiful, yes you liked how his eyes held the galaxy in them, and yes, his touch was as electrifying as that one time in the kitchen, and it was true that maybe you enjoyed spending dead hours of night asking him questions and answering whichever ones he had a little bit too much, but none of that was indication of you being putty in his hands.

But you were.

Plus, who was to say that whatever you felt was more than fondness and attraction generated by the very nature of his being? The Fae were known to be alluring, for how else would they make others follow them to the depths of their home? You had no evidence, and no reason to name the sinking feeling of your stomach when he was away, or the jolts in your spine whenever he was around. So you decided the thoughts on the matter were better put aside for the time being, at least until you had more to go on.

It would have been easier if he hadn’t made it so difficult.

Amongst all spring, he was still the only Fae to ever visit you. Often he caught you cooking; his peculiar tastes became very apparent whenever he scrunched his nose or dipped his finger in the pots to taste, or when his ears twitched with pleasure. It came in handy with the offerings, the plates by the toadstools left empty by the time he parted ways.

When he didn’t stop by to talk, you would at least know he came to eat and see the Fae—no, his garden. This happened a lot more than you would like, and sometimes not even you saying his name brought him back.

During the last nights of May your heart was in a perpetual fall, never quite reaching your stomach yet ambiguous in its pain and place. Your lips would turn into an inconspicuous pout, and your sleep replaced with tosses and turns, restless and ceasing with a jolt when the lulling bells of the garden reached your room. At first you carefully got out of bed and thrudged downstairs, but upon finding nothing each and every time you woke, you stopped trying.

You missed him, and even Jimin knew, though he never heard you say it. Even he found odd when nothing ended up in another place around the house, or when the food in the garden was left untouched.

Neither of you worded the feelings out, persisting in the day to day tasks. Running the shop, experimenting with different concoctions for the apothecary, taking care of the two now overgrown gardens (an effect of his presence, surely), cooking, visiting Hoseok and Namjoon, and following the same biweekly routine of visiting the forest were common tasks for you. It was all you knew after years of routine. Missing someone you so shortly got attached to and acting upon it so determinately, that was wholeheartedly new.

Which was why, as you made your way across the now vividly green forest path, your hands trembled as they wrung the strap of your shoulder bag. Unlike the past weeks of his silence, when you gave up calling him, no longer saying his name, this time you were determined to try again. You brought the usual black thermos he was used to keeping, guilt nibbling at your chest from having forgotten to refill it for him before the last time any of you saw him, and a small bag of the crackers he liked to dip in the tea included in the pouch.

With your bag already filled with satchels of hollyhocks and parsley, you were reaching the end of the drawn trail, the weeds growing thicker beyond in the horizon being hidden by the drooping mane of your favorite weeping willow, standing lonesome before you. The fact that you hadn’t been intercepted yet by him stung less when you reached the dancing leaves, colored lime in the season despite it’s subliminal melancholy. Sitting under its shade was a decision easily made, and you basked in the serenity of the woods, the distant song of birds putting your heart at ease for just a second longer than expected until you got lost in thought once more.

When your gaze flickered to your wristwatch you almost cursed and rushed to stand with a frown, half an hour had already gone by—Jimin must have been worried again.

As you moved to leave the shade, something brushed the back of your shoulder, and you whirled, eyes wide and expecting, just to notice one of the slender leaves practically wave goodbye as it sailed in the sudden breeze. You blinked, closing your already parted lips, and fought to contain the embarrassment flooding your system. Right, you probably looked so foolish, borderline begging to see him in any corner of your peripheral only to be let down in continuity.

You were about to trudge back had it not been for the wisp of white fluttering between the branches. It was one of the white butterflies natives to the forest, the ones that shared his hair color. Something came over you then, an unknown energy controlling your will, and before you could stop yourself and process what you were doing, you were already whispering, desperate to know the answer to the burning question: why do I miss Yoongi that much?

As if on cue, the breeze picked up it’s steady rhythm, sweeping up stray, loose leaves and withering pink petals in its wake. It surrounded your body, looping around once, twice, and away as you noticed—it was making a floating path to be followed. So you did, eyes trained on the butterfly ahead and ignoring how you were now treading in unknown parts of the forest, indistinct paths ahead. Your intelligence was surely questionable in times like these, when matters of the heart were involved, but you continued on without hesitation nonetheless, following the petals like serpentines until the last one fell and you saw something you had never encountered anywhere else. Before you was a low archway made entirely of two twisting pines, grown curved and intertwining by the middle.

You couldn’t help but think it looked like a doorway, and with tentative steps you stopped near the edge, taking in the oddity of the pine’s growth before flickering your gaze to the butterfly now going inside it. You let out a gasp when it disappeared entirely once through the arch, as if it were never there, the space within it rippled like disturbed water. Your hands were itching to touch it despite the internal warning signs, but your curiosity was stronger than ever at that very instant, and what if—what if you could find him inside, wherever that led to?

The possibility, however low, was enough for you to nudge a hand through, slowly at first but fully once deemed safe and free from any sort of pain. You didn’t even think about how it felt, nor registered the sensation it gave, when a strong pull had you falling to your knees with a breathless ‘oof’. Had your hands not caught you in time, your face would have eaten grass and your chin would have probably suffered the same fate your palms did. They stung, and you were sure you were bleeding because a faint hint of iron found your nostrils, but none of that mattered, not when you felt a burning stare in the back of your spine.

When you met it head on, one pair turned to two, your breath catching in your throat at the creatures only a matter of feet away, a name leaving you in a whisper.

Yoongi and another Fae stood, eyeing you with so much heed you scrambled to stand back up, dusting your knees and smearing the caking blood from your palms in the process. It was more of a thoughtless action that left you wincing, your eyes leaving the Folk to glance at the state of your injuries for a second. Noting they were lighter than what you thought, you let yourself do what you hadn’t before—you oogled as the shock rooted you to the spot.

Yoongi seemed to have turned to you partially, half of him still facing his companion. This time he wore a silver shoulder plate held by a leather harness, and if circumstances were different your spine would have shuddered with an energy you dared not mention. Instead your shoulders sagged with relief at his presence, his expression turning equally soft at your reaction.

The Fae behind him stood at his same height, his clothes and armour mirrored in type but not in color. Being more sculpted, the billows did nothing to hide the shape of his biceps, nor did the dip help in hiding the marks that ran from his arms to his chest. Positively stunning, but allure less intense than Yoongi’s.

He was the first to speak, words unknown and tone mysterious to you. The black curls that fell on his forehead bounced when he turned his head to your frequent visitor. While you blinked in confusion, Yoongi easily replied in his Fae tongue, eyes not once ripped from you.

Your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment at the sudden realization that you had intruded deeper than where welcomed into their home, apologies threatening to fall but ceasing as to not interrupt the conversation and humiliate you further.

Then suddenly the other Fae’s words turned to common tongue, and you got the feeling he did so just so you could understand him.

“Be careful, and don’t do anything else foolish for a creature you barely know,” the male advised in warning with a flicker of his eyes your way, though you found no malice in his gaze or his tone. “Call if you need anything. Your post is permanent here now, it’ll get boring.”

Yoongi smiled, responding with a “Goodbye, Yu” just as said Fae turned to smoke, and sauntering your way.

Your heartbeat sped up with each step he took, steady to erratic by the time he was within reach. A part of you were scared it’d give out when his silken hand touched your cheek, but a bigger part didn’t quite care. Not when he was so close the scent of brambly woods reached your nose—you could practically taste the blackberries in the aroma.

“Miss me, little human?”

You practically melted in his touch, the truth spewing out of your mouth before you could even think about the consequences of their reveal. “I—I did.”

If the tug at the corner of his lips were any indication, your answer must have pleased him.

They looked so positively soft…

You wanted to touch him back, make sure with your own fingertips that he was there, present and in the flesh, but you stayed put, only allowing a hand to lay above his own on your cheek.

“I—” you began, yet the spell-like trance you were under shushed your unspoken apologies at the intrusion when he came closer, his chest pressed against yours and his next words said to your ear.

“You’ve gone an awfully long way from home, dove. Why don’t I take you back?”

Apparently, the reminder that you were in Fae territory was enough to knock some semblance of common sense into you, making you blink away the rest of the haze and turning beat red afterwards. You could only nod as he led you away.

The way back had been comfortably silent, an air of contentment surrounding your frame all the way until he let you reach the house and disappeared to meet you inside.

“When I went through that arch, did I…. um, transport or something?” you broke the silence once you were both seated with cups of lukewarm tea, and some biscuits you baked for him in the first place.

“No,” he smiled after a bite, “you went through a glamour wall. It’s there to make sure others don’t see into the depths of our home. For protection.”

Your eyebrows must have knotted in worry because he stopped you before you could apologize.

“Don’t fret, your visit was harmless,” he said with a slight shrug, continuing after a brief pause to take a sip of his tea. “I’d appreciate, however, if you didn’t go near it again.”

The statement shouldn’t have tugged at your chest the way it did, your mind aware of the possible dangers and consequences of trespassing, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the lonely pluck of a heartstring. It must have been evident in your face again, or maybe he could read you far better than you thought he could, because as soon as your eyes trailed elsewhere out of fear of showing him your disappointment, he explained.

“For your safety. Other Fae… might do more than move the things around your house.”

You nodded solemnly as a silent promise.

“Why did you go away for so long?”

Yoongi’s head tilted slightly at the string of words, most likely surprised at how your tone let your frustration slip right through. You would have admonished yourself for sounding such a way, for even asking it in the first place when he had no reason to answer, when he owed you nothing, but the genuine grin that overtook his face made you malfunction. Your cheeks turned red as if by hobby, and Fae dust fell from his movement just to disappeared yet again.

“I missed you too, dove. Believe it or not.”

You ignored the fluttering that riddled your stomach at the confession.

“Then, why?”

“We’re not stationed in permanent areas. We’re protectors, we rotate once every few years,” he answered. “And based on how much I come visit, I was to have a chat with our Queen.”

The nonchalant way he said it had your eyes like saucers, questions flying to your mind and fighting to escape. “What? Your— the Queen? Are you—are you in trouble?”

Yoongi shook his head as he took another biscuit, “No. Our system is very lax in rules, though it is still tight and homogeneous in many other aspects. I just had to give my due report, ask for some permissions, the usual.”

“But the other Fae, he said—did you ask to be stationed in this part of the forest?”

He hummed in agreement. “I want to keep bothering that descendant for as long as the years go.”

Oh. “Jiminie?”

A chuckle resonated throughout the room when he registered the disappointed dip of your voice.

“Mhmm. And to keep tasting your confections. You always try so hard to keep me coming back, it’s the least I could do. ”

At the playful words you flushed once more, not being able to deny the truth but finding no way to retaliate with facts of your own. You tried changing the topic instead, though your questions didn’t make you feel any better.

“But… it’s permanent? What if you get bored or tired, or—”

“As I said, our system is somewhat lax. I’m sure if I tell them I’d like to go elsewhere they’ll permit it.”

“Okay… but the other Fae,you called him Yu,” you countered, determined to make sure he was alright. “He seemed worried about something else. Are you really okay?”

Yoongi stopped drinking the tea at the topic, his eyes narrowing with concentration as he mulled something over, settling for “Do you really want to know?” When you nodded, he continued.

“By Fae Law, Jimin and you are, to us Fae Folk, my humans. He’s worried I do more than claim you as that, is all.”

You jolted upright in your chair, a warm feeling settling in the pit of your abdomen at the choice of expression and the promise of the statement. What did he even mean?

“More than claim me as your human?”

“When Fae get attached, they become a bit… possessive of their playthings. In some rare cases, things go farther than mere infatuation. Being the homogeneous group we are, some of my people are a bit unsettled. Yu’s words were uttered in precaution.”

The things he mentioned, all of them were new to you. In all the times you’d ask him about his people, never did topics like these rose from you. Mostly because complications of crossed lines were at the back of your mind when it concerned him, and you wondered briefly for the hundredth time if it had to do with his charm as a Fae. Some of his choice of words still left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you chose to ignore it considering their nature.

“Some of your own people have gone beyond claiming another creature?”

His answer came with care, and you could tell he was turning attentive to your following expressions by the twitch at the side of his lips.

“Yes. Some give up immortality to court the limited life of the one they ‘own’, others become outcasts for as long as their partner lives and come back once they’re gone, and the fewest… they become befallen.”

When your curiosity surfaced despite the sorrowful aura you emmanated at the thought of each outcome, he cleared your unvoiced doubt.

“The befallen are Fae who forsake their own lineage, those daring enough to hand it to another’s timeline. It’s like offering immortality to your kind at the price of our existence as Fae.”

“They stop being Fae folk?” you asked, your arms brought around your chest in efforts of keeping out a dread-filled chill.

Yoongi hummed in affirmation. “They’re turned to demons. Usually incubi, as far as my people are concerned. Interesting, isn’t it? To think some of us are lunatic enough to do that.”

Despite his answer, his neutral tone told you he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as much as it seemed by word choice, and you couldn’t help thinking about his choice if he were in their shoes. It was a fleeting thought you discarded asking before it nagged your mind.

“Does the other creature turn into a sort of Fae hybrid?”

“No. They’re just doomed with immortality when all the rest of their brethren die at the hands of time. It’s a consequence they usually don’t know about, and are told when it’s too late. We’re selfish creatures by nature and choose the outcomes all on our own.”

“Oh…”

Your lips tugged into a frown, abruptly ending the topic of choice for both of you. After being away for more than two weeks and having gone without seeing him in so long, you were adamant to change everything to a lighter note. He was the Fae that visited you and played tricks in your house—you didn’t want to imagine him suffering through any of the burdens some of his people did. Even if it meant making yourself believe whatever you felt for him was nothing more than the enticement all who faced the Fae were under.

Some things were easier said than done, however, and when time passed and your mind smudged the memory of the conversation, all it would take were seconds for your heart to beat in the rhythm of his own. Of that, you were certain.

For now, changing the subject would have to be enough.

“I also went to see an Elven witch from the North, if that interests you. Want to hear about it?”

You couldn’t seem eager enough, and his smile made it all better.

The days had returned to a newfound normalcy after that encounter, the routines you followed different only in his increasing presence and syrupy touch. He hadn’t ever been so touchy with you before, opting more for a safe distance and traveling eyes rather than sharing warmth. That was, up until you found him behind the glamour wall. You figured it might have been triggered by your response to it in the first place, having been guilty of nuzzling your cheek ever so slightly and enjoying it much more than you let on. He could probably tell, and being the mischievous little thing he was, faint touches here and there (a hand behind your back, a tuck of your hair behind your ear, a grip on your hip whenever he looked over your shoulder) became the norm until you were fully conditioned to expect them, to want them. And though you never asked for them, you followed his hands whenever they shifted away.

Jimin was always one to tease you as soon as Yoongi left, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge and afterthoughts of annoyance. All he got were tugs at his hair and being a pillow to lean on whenever he was free and the Fae drowsy. He didn’t complain either, though.

The other difference was the amount of sales going on since you began selling elixirs. Word had traveled around the village that the apothecary opened once more after years of silence, and by the great granddaughter of the Witch herself no less. No one could resist the temptation of coming to visit, some in awe, others for keeping an eye out.

It was a funny sight, watching how wary and jittery-fingered villagers entered the shop, their steps hesitant and eyes watchful, yet never leaving without at least one of your remedies. They were cheaper than those sold at the local pharmacy, and all natural, and while at first everyone was apprehensive because of those very reasons, no one could deny the potency of your brews. (Or at least, that was the spoken reason that reached your ears.) Some of the more spiteful old men spent their money solely to destroy your work, the only living remnant of magic within the borders, you could tell.

Off-handed comments about your sudden practices reached you both within the shop and outside it, when trekking around the establishments near the center of the village. Jimin was always quick to ease you, take away your thoughts of the spiteful tones. “They’re just baseless spews of nonsense,” he would say, “they mean nothing, they know nothing. Let’s forget them ok? They’re harmless fools anyway.”

For the most part, they were harmless, but harm comes in many ways, and Yoongi, who knew not of most of the things that went on in the shop (opting to hide from the rest of the people and visiting specifically when you were alone, or with Jimin), could protect you from his people but not from your own.

“Namjoon’s coming back today isn’t he?” you asked a sweeping Jimin, hands busy tying your shoe laces and bag empty enough for half your list of groceries.

“Yea. He’ll stop by at nighttime, Hoseok too.”

All finished, you patted your behind after standing and made your way to the door.

“Ok, got it. I’ll be right back then, we need ingredients for dinner,” you said, “I’ll get chicken, too.”

Jimin nodded squeakily, waving before requesting beef instead—for the occasion. While you rolled your eyes at the use of his whiney voice, hating how much power it had over you, he knew you’d still comply nonetheless. You always did like spoiling him.

That autumn morning you went off peacefully, taking your time to get everything you needed for a healthy supper, bountiful enough for 3 seemingly starving men and yourself. You were well-rested, you had a good breakfast, and it was a day off from work as well. So the reason why, halfway into the trip and well inside the market, a sharpness prickled your spine was uncertain to you. While odd, the discomfort lasted so little you simply paid no heed to it.

What you couldn’t ignore was the swift wave of tiredness that swallowed your shoulders and turned your feet sluggish, your hands grabbing at the tomatoes and cabbages with such a weak hold they almost fell from your fingers.

Cabbage, tomatoes, onions, garlic, spice, rice… chicken, did you get the chicken? No, Jimin wanted beef. Beef…

Your feet made it towards the freezer aisle, your hand shooting out to grab the thickest serving of red meat without further thought and hauling it to the cart. You moved it with a huff, sweat trickling at the back of your neck in defiance of the blasting air conditioner, and you could only hope you didn’t look as bad as you felt. You didn’t need more rumors or prolonging stares. However by the time you reached the register, you knew otherwise. Shivers clearly wrecked through your body as your neck and ears flushed an unhealthy shade of red.

You felt suffocated, stuffy—you had to get out of there.

Trying to pay no mind to the worker, you fished out your wallet a little bit too quick, the coins spilling everywhere. Had it not been for Mrs. Young’s son, you would have taken an eternity to recollect them. Giving him a few spare ones, you thanked him and rushed your way out as soon as possible, a plastic bag in each hand.

By the time the front door came into view, Jimin had to take the groceries from your trembling hands and ushered you to bed.

You were fast asleep before you could feel the soft fur of your favorite blanket, and before you could see Yoongi appear, breathless and with a desperate look swirling inside his dark eyes.

One of your favorite parts about sleeping was how numb it felt. There were no traces of outer or inner pains and aches—save for nightmares, but you barely dreamt in the first place. What you didn’t quite like was waking up, which was inevitable, and just the more agonizing when your body felt like it been stoned by at least a dozen people.

What woke you this time were muffled sounds, voices filtering into your mind from somewhere far away. It took a while to distinguish some of the words, your fingers twitching from your waking state.

“She gave you a what?”

“Let me see it.”

“Will it help her? Is—Is that a map?”

“Hey, be careful with that—”

They would have continued had you not groaned in pain, your head pounding as soon as your back hit the mattress and your arms gave up their attempt at holding you upright. Your body felt like pounds of lead, and everything was far too dark—how long had you slept for?

A look to your wall clock told it was already 7PM, 8 hours since you got home from the supermarket. Your mind fleetingly thought of the groceries left in Jimin’s care, but you didn’t have time to wonder if they were put to use when the memory of having Namjoon and Hoseok visiting your home and being left to starve almost fueled enough adrenaline in you to rip off your blanket. Almost, since right then the door opened to reveal all men in question.

Hoseok’s golden skin and auburn head of hair were the first to greet you, worry evident in his eyes as much as it filled Namjoon’s own.

“Hey girlie, how are you feeling?” asked Hoseok, voice thin and feet edging closer.

“Do you need anything?” questioned Namjoon, pointing to the kitchen behind them, “Water?”

You nodded meekly, the thought of cool liquid for your parched throat giving you enough energy to sit upright as he shuffled out of the room.

“I’m okay,” you croaked out Hoseok’s way.

Jimin, who had entered behind them, came to stand by your bedside. His hands quickly found yours and gave it a comforting squeeze, something he did whenever any of you two felt worry or fear. You reciprocated, but whatever answer you had for his next question got stuck in your throat at the sight of Yoongi.

He stood by the doorframe briefly, eyeing you with scrunched eyebrows and a far away look until it slipped away, replaced with softer features that despite their nature, only served to make your heart thud incessantly, confusion and panic settling in. He must have noticed your questioning gaze as to why he was there when other people could see him, because seconds after your eyes widened, he spoke.

“It wasn’t expected but I sensed something was wrong so I came by,” he explained. “We met in the kitchen.”

“I introduced them,” Jimin said, “it’s all fine.”

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us you finally contacted a Fae, Lily?” asked Hoseok, a playful lilt sliding through, “we could have become friends earlier.”

You blinked, faltering and dreading to answering a question that had at least two alternatives. Sure, it wasn’t your choice to make, but you also knew you’d prefer he kept to your house, to your eyes, to your time, even if knowing your friends would gladly accept him. They were the only other curious and different ones from the bunch, after all.

“I— it wasn’t my decision, I just…”

Hoseok heart shaped smile told you he was kidding, so you quieted down and took the glass of bubbly water Namjoon returned with, thankful at the distraction.

He stood besides Hoseok, and when he crossed his arms, the whole room shifted in tone.

“So, noona,” Jimin began, giving your hand another squeeze to get your attention before continuing, “Did something happen on your trip to the market?”

You began shaking your head, but at the throbbing pain, you let out a soft “no” instead.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes in response, coming to stand by the foot of your bed. “Why do you still live here?”

“What do you mean?”

“The people in this village don’t like your kind,” he said, “nor are they fans of people like all of you. So why do you all live here?”

“We grew up here, so we sort of just stayed. It’s not all that bad,” Namjoon offered, and Jimin voiced your thoughts.

“But what does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re simply not wanted here by a good deal of the other villagers. Not anymore, and you especially, dove.”

“Why? Is it because of my great grandmother? Or because of my new practices?”

Jimin’s thumb soothed over the palm of your hand in absent thought. “Even if they don’t… what can they do? They themselves hold no magic, they’re normal humans. Half of them aren’t even descendents.”

“Do you know why this house is placed in the outskirts of the village? Far from most other places such as the market you all go to?” At everyone’s silence, Yoongi answered himself. “It’s because of energy, and how in concentration, it’s as potent as magic for some creatures. Humans are included in that mix.”

“Energy?” asked Hoseok, a glint of understanding in his warm eyes, “you mean people’s projected auras?”

“And their intentions, I think,” added Namjoon.

Yoongi hummed in confirmation. “Precisely. They may be human, but enough hatred and twisted desires can taint what energy they expel into the atmosphere. And if it’s against you, it will reach you.”

“But—is that why you came? You could feel it reach me?” you queried. His reply was a sharp nod.

“Why do you think it reached me now?”

“You never carry any protection on you,” he pointed out, “and the house lost its protection as well.”

“So that’s why she gave me the charm and the mandrake,” mumbled Namjoon with a faraway look, shifting on his feet before looking at Hoseok, and then at Yoongi.

You shot Namjoon a questioning look and he just shrugged. “My friend from the North, the Witch I mentioned, gave it to me—for you” answered Namjoon.

“For me? She knows about me?”

“Witches know a lot of things, Lily.”

“And what— how was this house protected?” As far as your memory went, there was no talk of hexes or spells upon the house. The feeling of safety it expelled was something you were just accustomed to, its protection something you hoped for. And if there were any spells placed, who would have dispelled them? You had no knowledge of that, and you were sure no one in the village did either. There were no satchels on any corner, or spell jars anywhere that you knew of, nor circles of plants surrounding the premises. What was left?

“Your great grandmother buried a mandrake near the front door of the house around the time my people visited this place,” Yoongi confessed, “Mandrakes easily absorb energy and counter magic, but they die if they get stuffed with too much of it. My guess is that the one she placed died when you began selling more elixers to continue her craft.”

“So we have to replace it with the one Namjoon-hyung brought?” piped in Jimin, his brows knotted in clear confusion. “Is that all we can do?”

“Yes, and no. Y/N should be fine in around a week if we change it now, but I can help speed up the process.”

Though you hated the idea of spending more than one day as slow as a slug and as weak as cotton candy, your heart leapt at the promise of a quick recovery. You would go mad laying around and not doing any of the tasks you were so used to taking care of.

“How—”

“Just focus on taking care of the mandrake, little Jiminie. Follow the map she left, wear gloves and earmuffs, all of you, and place the dead one in the same box the new one came in.”

Hoseok nodded, “and then what do we do with it? Shouldn’t it be cleansed or something?”

“Fire can do that, I think. The Witch mentioned it before I left,” Namjoon piped in.

“Yes. And hurry,” Yoongi warned, and you instantly recognized the impish glaze over his dark eyes, “before the newborn mandrake starts crying. It’ll shatter your eardrums if it screams.”

Hoseok and Namjoon visibly paled, making to shuffle out of the room as quickly as possible with Jimin close behind. Though, not until after pinching Yoongi as a punishment for scaring them off, and giving one last worried look your way as the door closed behind him.

“So,” you started, breaking the comfortable silence that filled the room. “I’ll be fine in around a week?”

“If you don’t leave the house, and if I help.” Yoongi, who had maintained a distance until then, took the empty glass from your hand to place it in the nightstand, and you noticed there was an empty milk bottle right beside it. You didn’t have time to question it as he came to sit by your side, his hands coming to fix your bed hair and crooked shirt. You suppress a shiver almost instantly, but failed to stop yourself from clutching his fingers.

“Will you?” Your question came as a whisper, verging on a silent plead even though you knew the answer. “Help, I mean.”

“You’re very aware of my answer, dove. Do you just want to hear me say it?”

You never could get used to him knowing you like the back of his hand, and the heat surfaced to your cheeks with bite at his throaty chuckle. “And if I do?”

He must have liked it, because he let his smirk grow as he cornered you between his arms, your hands intertwined and pinned under his own. His actions brought a squeak out of you, the proximity between your faces so minimal you could feel his breath playing on your cheeks, blackberry playing on your tongue. You could finally admire the smoothness of his skin, the flutter of his lashes, and the vastness of the very eyes that trapped you in stillness, but at what price?

“You’re a bit cheeky today, aren’t you?”

His tone dipped low, stilling the words inside your throat before you could try uttering anything more than a shuddering breath. A shot of energy leaked through your spine, all the feelings you tried so poorly to suppress breaking through with ease when he complied and answered.

“I will take care of you—make sure your body’s healthy again,” he said, leaning back to give you room to breathe, his eyes traveling and pointy ears twitching. “You’ll be fine in no time.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll take care of you then too, for as long as you want me to.”

You could tell the small smile he gave you was sincere, and while his features then completely contrasted his earlier timbre, you let yourself relax at the softer change. It barely lasted.

“Okay.”

“Now,” he leaned back into you steadily, “I need to take some of that energy out of you.”

“How?”

A sultry tint glazed his half lidded eyes, shifting without effort as sparks of thrill came out as warning.

“Don’t fret,” he said, “it’s fun.”

His lips found yours in one swift swoop, locking in place for a second just to being brushing against your own in an agonizingly slow pace. Embarrassment painted the tips of your ears and cheeks at how unhesitant you were to reciprocate, your eyes falling shut in an instant as you savored the taste of him for as long as you could.

One of your hands left his hold to rest on the back of his neck, tentatively inching closer until your fingers threaded through his hair. It was as if your body responded on its own, overjoyed and electrified at how his hair was as velvety, and how his lips were as smooth as you imagined. When you gave a gentle tug you could feel the ghost of a smirk playing against your lips. It prompted him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip lazily until a heady whine left your throat and he could do nothing but swallow it to continue. The blush that bloomed across your shoulders and chest radiated warmth as your thoughts jumbled and turn to absolute mush, entirely intoxicated on the plush strokes of his tongue and the bitten tugs he gave your lower lip. Your legs pressed together as your nails found his clothed back, and he pressed himself further against you, tongue all but consuming yours. He left you utterly breathless in every sense of the word, wanting more whenever he paused for breath, but you quickly grew far too weak to follow him.

Your hands left his back and fell gently besides you. Then your mind turned blank, a wave of exhaustion taking over your limbs as unconsciousness reached closer and closer, it’s grasp so near all you could do was let your eyes flutter open to have one last look of his pretty, abyssal eyes surrounded by strikingly dark veins before you let fatigue overtake you.

You thought maybe you imagined the feeling of a light kiss pressed against your forehead, but you couldn’t be sure.

Mandrakes were… uglier than he had expected, truthfully. Even the one they had buried was nothing but a pale, wrinkled root with branches resembling fat appendages and an irregular line oddly similar to a mouth. It unsettled him, but nothing was worse the the dead one he was sealing away. This one was pure black, carbony to the touch despite it’s solidity, and where the line was in the other, a deep hollowing circle took its place. It looked abhorred, and Jimin thought with a frown that it was most likely pained from everything it had to endure and absorb.

The idea that Lily could have been in a much worse state had it not been for Namjoon and Yoongi brought him out of his stupor, shifting his gaze from the root to her bedroom window, and then the wooden front door where Yoongi stood by. He was holding one of their empty milk bottles, now filled with black mist crammed and curling inside it, only sealed by a corkscrew tightly in place. Jimin couldn’t help but eye apprehensively it as he approached the Fae, box in hand.

“How’s Lily doing?”

“She’s resting again,” he replied, “I’ve taken most of the tainted energy from her body.” Yoongi lifted the bottle to signal it’s contents, then placed it besides the dead mandrake as his eyes drifted to the other two guys. They were gathering wood and placing it behind the house, far from where curious villager’s eyes could reach.

“Will she wake up soon?” Jimin asked him, thinking about the duties of the store with worry. He knew how to run everything, but he was just one man, and the demand was high for Lily’s elixirs.

“In a few hours she’ll be up, and very hungry I believe.”

“I saved some of today’s dinner for her, though she’ll probably want something light instead,” he said, shifting on his feet before following Yoongi upstairs to the kitchen.

“Most likely. Now,” Yoongi halted in front of the pantries, his hands opening and closing the ones he wasn’t accustomed to peeking into as he moved along. “Do you have any salt?”

“Yes—it’s in the bottom one. Why?”

“A circle needs to be excavated around the fire and filled with salt. Wouldn’t want the energy to escape now, would we?”

A few hours later, when it grew darker and everybody else was ready to be tucked in bed, the fire Hoseok lighted grew in the backyard. The three boys watched it burn, the box melting away in the middle to reveal the foul within it. Ghastly whispers and hisses rose with the flames, a screech dissolving into the night sky until, with great speed, the smoke returned to the center to consume itself with the blaze. A puff of cleansed air was all that remained, threading through their hairs and ruffling their clothes in release.

Yoongi stood by the windowsill in your room, watching the spectacle with leisure. Once done, he went back to your side, sitting on the edge of your bed as his eyes roamed your peaceful face with a mixture of curiosity and a form of fondness he wasn’t quite used to. You shifted when his hand found your cheek, his thumb tracing soothing patterns when a sigh left your lips and raised a chuckle out of him. Just like then, your body searched for his caress, and the idea of this being a casual thing pulled the strings of his heart in ways it hadn’t before. He hadn’t even thought of offering a deal to help you like he could have done, like any of his people would have done, for goodness’ sake.

In that moment, he was certain he was more attached to you than he thought, and with bemused acceptance at his newfound sentiment, he pulled his hand back after kissing your forehead one last time.

“Gods, I’m a lunatic, aren’t I, dove?” he whispered, then disappeared out of the room to find the others.

After that night, everything went back to how it used to be, for the most part.

Yoongi had kept true to his word, keeping around the house and your room more than ever before, helping with the gardens and your waves of intermittent dizziness as much as he was able while Jimin tended the majority of the customers in the shop and apothecary.

Namjoon and Hoseok visited as often as their jobs allowed as well, wanting to interact with the Fae every chance they got. It eased your heart how friendly they became, and how easy it was to get used to having a full house.

What you hadn’t quite gotten used to was the more constant spike in your blood pressure, courtesy of the only Fae in your life.

Every night or two, without mistake, Yoongi stayed with you in bed until your mind numbed enough and your eyes gave away to sleep, whatever remnants of the tainted energy slipping away from your form. But what happened before you dozed off and he disappeared was the problem, because you always thought of the same thing, the same moment, happening over, and over, and over, until he seemed to read your mind and your flushed features, and he pressed his lips against yours with a fervency that rivaled your own. The stare that caressed you before the kisses unfailingly rendered you weak, shivers rolling down your spine when the sweetness turned too heated, though it never got farther than that.

They began following you in the mornings when he was absent the night before, light presses against your temple, on your nose, or your shoulder as you cooked breakfast or woke to read a really good book. Ultimately it got so normal that Jimin became used to the randomized displays of minimal affection when Yoongi visited during the daytime. He often mentioned he was glad you let yourself be sure of your own emotions, and that was when it hit you.

You loved him. Of course he must have known, though your confession a few nights later drove him absolutely wild. (You had never seen so much Fae dust sparkling around your room.) For the first time, he spent the night over, wrapped around your sheets as you cuddled next to him.

When he said it back, however, it triggered the memory of the day you found him beyond the glamour wall, of your talk afterwards, and along with it a flood of trepidation.

You couldn’t contain the worry seeping through your eyes one night, sitting in front of him on the windowsill. He was looking outside, to the forest he once called home, oddly forgotten after acclimatizing himself to the house, to Jimin, to you, while your eyes remained on him. His hair remained as silvery as ever, now contrasting against a more golden skin from all of the accompanied trips to his home. Even just sitting there, it was outstanding the pull he had on you.

A soft touch on his bicep brought his attention to you.

“Yoongi. You got attached to us, didn’t you?”

The smile he offered wasn’t bitter, but it was the answer you needed, and a flash of his earlier words threatened to cease your beating heart on the spot.

‘We’re selfish creatures by nature and choose the outcomes all on our own.’

“Did you… did you choose already?”

A look of regret flashed through his eyes but you could barely registered it, his hand smoothing out your hair distractedly. Then he answered.

“I have.”

#yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts yoongi #yoongi x y/n #bts fic #bluebells and buttercups

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writethehousedown · 4 years ago

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Trust Fund, Gold Tongue 4/7 (Crygi) - Peridot

A/N: Chapter four is here! I’m so so grateful for the continuous support. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and the longest thing I’ve ever written, so your support means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and feel free to leave any feedback here or on ao3 or at my sideblog @artificialperidot. Enjoy!

They hadn’t kissed immediately.

No one kisses immediately after they declare their love. At least not in Gigi’s experience. There’s usually too many emotions involved, and it would feel awkward to kiss so soon. She wanted to wait. Sure she had drunkenly kissed her friends or random strangers at house parties plenty of times without waiting, but this was different. This was Crystal, and Crystal was most certainly different from anyone than Gigi had known before.

Their tennis-court meet ups were the only thing that were keeping Gigi sane, if she were to be totally honest. Crystal was her refuge - she could forget about her family for just a little bit and get lost in her chocolate eyes and her freckled face and her dimples, and just talk. She had never had someone like that, who she could talk to about absolutely anything with no fear, no shame. She didn’t feel like she had a reputation to uphold when she was with Crystal - she felt normal for the first time in her life. She was sure that she could spend a lifetime talking with her, about everything and nothing at the same time.

And boy did she need someone to talk to when Matthew arrived at the country club.

He had showed up on a Thursday afternoon in a Gucci sweatshirt and a smirk. Gigi had wanted to slap the smirk off of his face from the moment they had first met.

He introduced himself as Matt, but Gigi stuck with Matthew, because she did not intend to get to know him on a nickname basis. He had a quiff of golden hair and green eyes and a blue-white smile, and was textbook-attractive.

Gigi was not interested in the slightest.

It wasn’t Matthew’s fault that Gigi hated him, really. It was more her parent’s fault. They were delusional if they thought Gigi wouldn’t notice their meddling, how they seemed to send him after her at every turn. He probably would’ve been nice enough if Gigi had ever allowed herself to talk to him. But she was adamant that she wasn’t going to - the last thing she needed was for her parents to get the wrong idea and assume that she had changed her mind about dating him, or dating men altogether. Oh no, instead she made a point of ignoring him - answering his questions with snappy, one-word lines, putting in her AirPods when he tried to speak, and talking over him at any given opportunity.

It was a bitchy move, but she didn’t know how else her parents would get the message to back off.

Every afternoon she would complain about him to Crystal, and every afternoon Crystal would wrap her arm around her shoulders and remind her that she was Gigi fucking Goode, and give her a pep talk to get through the rest of the day. Gigi became addicted to the feeling.

One day, though, things didn’t go to plan.

It was two minutes to three, and Gigi was just about to sneak off to the tennis courts, when out of nowhere, the last person she wanted to see was calling out to her.

“Gigi!”

Matthew. She was tempted to ignore him, walk away as if she hadn’t heard, but before she had the opportunity to make her escape, he was bounding up to her and she had no choice but to address him.

He was dressed in a pair of knee high khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt, with a sweater vest over the top despite the heat. But more concerningly, he had a golf bag slung over his shoulder.

“Gigi, the whole family is down on the golf course,” he said, panting. Gigi cringed at the idea of all of her family being together in one place, planning on playing a very forced game of golf, but cringed even more at the fact this boy considered himself a part of ‘the family’. Delusional. “We’re about to start a game, are you coming?”

No, she was absolutely not coming, not if she was able to get out of it. She couldn’t think of anything worse than spending her whole afternoon trekking around a golf course in the sweltering mid-July heat, with her already-detestable parents watching her like a hawk as she did her best to ignore the stuck-up boy who never seemed to leave her alone.

That sounded like a terrible idea.

“Uh, I’m actually a little busy right now, sorry Matthew,” she said without looking at him, fully intending to start speed-walking away at 70 miles per hour.

“But everyone’s waiting on you!”

“Then tell them to start without me,” she replied, hoping her voice was stern enough to scare him away.

“We can’t start without you! We’ll be on hole five before you show up.” There was a hint of anger and his voice, and sure, it was probably justified, but Gigi didn’t like the sound of it, not one bit.

“Well maybe I don’t wanna spend my afternoon playing fucking golf,” she spat, her brows furrowed and a tightness rising in her chest. She hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive, to escalate the conversation like that, but she had already come too far to turn back.“Maybe I’ve got better things to do.”

Matthew was silent for a moment, his face stoic. Gigi could practically see the cogs turning in his brain before he spoke again. “What, Gigi? What better things do you have to do? Because as far as I can see, you’re wandering around alone doing nothing.”

Shit. She bit the inside of her cheek, staying silent.

“Come on, Gigi. It’s the least you can do,” he continued. “You don’t wanna upset your family, do you? Your dad was just saying how he wondered why you never spend any time with the family anymore, right before I came to find you.”

Gigi wanted to slap him around the face at that, because god damn it, he knew exactly what he was doing, the smug bastard. Gigi was trapped - she couldn’t risk telling him the truth about her and Crystal, especially since he seemed to be so buddy-buddy with her parents. And any lie she would’ve told wouldn’t have worked, either, because what could be so important in a country club that she’d have to give up spending time with her family?

And the cherry on the top of the cake was his mention of her dad’s suspicions. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Gigi knew that her parents would start to get suspicious of her whereabouts eventually, and the last thing she wanted was for her dad to find out about the waitress she had been spending quite a lot of time with, and destroy the only thing that was keeping her going.

She was well and truly screwed.

“Fine, I’ll come,” she sighed in defeat. Her heart was heavy as Matthew grinned, and as she followed him to the golf course, her limbs felt like lead.

The guilt felt hollow in her chest, but it weighed her down like an anchor as she trudged to the golf course, worries and thoughts of Crystal becoming all-consuming.

She knew Crystal would be waiting for her. And she could only imagine the disappointment she’d face when Gigi didn’t turn up.

***

Needless to say, Gigi did not enjoy the game of golf that afternoon.

She couldn’t remember who won - she hadn’t really been paying any attention. She couldn’t pay attention, not when worries were swimming in her brain like fucking Olympic athletes. She hadn’t remembered golf taking so long before. She was sure it had been the longest game of her life. Or, at least, it felt that way.

The second she had putted the ball in the ninth hole, she was off, frantically saying goodbye to her family, and heading straight for the tennis courts.

She knew she was delusional. She knew Crystal wouldn’t be there. Her break was only so long, and the game of golf had taken hours. But she had to check. Just to be sure she wasn’t still waiting.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but when she reached their court and found it completely deserted, her heart sank to her feet. She didn’t even want to begin thinking about how Crystal felt. How long she had waited before inevitably giving up. How she probably hated Gigi now. How she was angry and upset, and it was all Gigi’s fault.

Gigi found herself blinking back tears.

She had to apologise, and fast.

***

Nine o’ clock struck, and Gigi was waiting in the front lobby.

She had tried to find Crystal all evening, but she had no success. But she was not about to sleep on this and let the emotions fester. No, she needed to say sorry and explain, right now.

She knew Crystal’s shift finished at 9pm or 10pm, depending on the day. She showed up at 8:45, just to be safe. And she would’ve waited until midnight if she had to.

Luckily, she didn’t have to.

Crystal strode out from a ‘staff only’ door the second nine o clock hit, her red hair wild around her head and a backpack on her shoulder. And, thankfully for Gigi, she was alone. She was busily typing something on her phone, and didn’t even look up for long enough to notice Gigi lingering by the door. Or at least that’s what Gigi hoped. She hoped she wasn’t purposefully ignoring her.

Gigi scanned the area with her eyes, making sure no one was paying attention to them, before grabbing Crystal by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. Crystal looked up from her phone in shock, and upon locking eyes with Gigi, her face stilled, emotionless.

“I need to talk to you,” Gigi said.

Crystal was quiet for a moment, before she mumbled an “okay,” and without another word, she led Gigi out the door. They made their way to Crystal’s car, parked in the staff lot just outside the main entrance, for some privacy, Gigi supposed.

Gigi hadn’t seen that type of car before. It was small and old and a rusty red colour, sort of like her hair. It looked a little run down, and it was definitely not what Gigi was used to, but the seats had leopard-print coverings and it felt very Crystal. Crystal unlocked the door and clambered into the driver’s seat, Gigi hopping in on the other side and shutting the door.

It was already 9pm, but it hadn’t gotten dark yet, and the two of them were left staring at the evening sky through the windscreen, orange and pink and red. They were quiet for a few moments, both staring into space and not quite sure what to say, not exactly sure how to put their emotions to words. Gigi wanted to speak, wanted desperately to apologise, but now that she had the opportunity the words weren’t coming to her, and she was hitting a roadblock.

“If you’re here to tell me you don’t wanna talk to me anymore, I got your message loud and clear when you stood me up,” Crystal said, breaking the silence and staring straight ahead blankly.

“What?”

“I should’ve seen it coming sooner,” she continued, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Our talks obviously meant more to me than to you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t care about a fucking waitress.”

“What? No, Crystal, that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” she said, turning to Gigi sharply, and whilst her tone was cutting, Gigi could see the pain behind her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up?”

“I couldn’t,” Gigi said, and the tears were back in her eyes again. It took all of her willpower to keep them from brimming their banks. “Matthew came by and told me that we were playing golf and that the whole family was waiting on me and that my dad was getting suspicious and I couldn’t risk him finding out about us, because I can’t lose you,” she rambled, choking up.

She met Crystal’s gaze, and there was something new in the way she looked at her. It was almost like she pitied her.

Gigi was sure she had never been pitied in her life, at least not to her knowledge. How could she be? She was from a fucking multimillionaire family. She had all the best clothes, the best car, the best house, any material thing she could ever want and then some. She wasn’t oblivious to her privilege. She knew full well how lucky she was, and she hated the guilt that came with it. How could anyone pity someone who could have anything they wanted, when people would kill to have a fraction of the money she had?

Little did everyone know that the things Gigi wanted were the only things she couldn’t have. A normal life. A stable family. To be open and honest about who she truly was.

But more than anything, she wanted Crystal.

Crystal reached out a hand and grasped Gigi’s, tethering her back to reality.

“It’s okay, Gigi, I get it,” she said softly, but despite her sympathy Gigi could tell all was not fixed just yet. “You could’ve texted me or something, though.”

Shit. Holy shit. Gigi could’ve texted her. But she had been so caught up in her head, it didn’t occur to her.

“Fuck, Crystal, I didn’t even think of that,” she confessed, her body going rigid and her muscles tensing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking dumb. I should’ve texted you, that would’ve been so obvious, god I’m such an idiot.” The tears had started to escape her eyes now though, rolling painfully slowly over her cheekbones. “I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m a fucking bitch. I never meant to hurt you. I totally understand if you hate me now, I should’ve told-“

Before she could finish her sentence, Crystal cupped her face with her hands.

And suddenly, her lips were on Gigi’s.

The kiss was soft. It was slow, and gentle, and Gigi found her stress disintegrating away slowly, leaving her body. Crystal’s lips moved on hers with patience, lazily, as if she had all day to linger on Gigi’s lips, and Gigi felt herself melt into the feeling, her brain empty. It was tender. It was sunsets and sugary candy floss and warmth.

And then, the warmth turned to heat. Gigi’s hands found their way into Crystal’s mane of red hair, and Crystal’s grip on her cheek became a little firmer, and they kissed each other a little harder, a little more passionately, as if they needed it to breathe - though really, Gigi’s breath had been taken away. Suddenly, Gigi’s empty brain was filled with thoughts of Crystal’s tongue and Crystal’s teeth and Crystal’s lips, and all of her senses were overwhelmed. Kissing Crystal was electric and explosive and addictive. It was bonfires and fireworks and passion.

And Gigi felt the puzzle pieces finally slot back into place.

She was sure she had never loved someone like this before.

They broke apart, and Gigi could feel her heart in her throat and a tightness in her chest, overwhelmed and emotional. Crystal smiled at her. A real, genuine smile.

“It’s okay, Gigi,” she whispered, stroking her cheek. “I forgive you.”

And with that, Gigi’s world was perfectly okay again.

“Thank you,” she said, her own smile returning to her face. Crystal beamed, and Gigi decided she never wanted to forget just how beautiful she looked when she grinned. “You’re a really good kisser,” she added when she had caught her breath, because, fuck it, it was true.

Crystal looked pleasantly surprised. “Wow, thanks,” she said, giggling a little. “I’ve, uh, I’ve never actually kissed someone before. Before just now,” she added nervously.

Gigi’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? You were great!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I guess I was just born with the gift, then,” she said, putting on a cocky act. “I can’t help it, I’m just so talented.” she said with a cheesy wink.

Gigi dissolved into laughter, and she couldn’t help but agree.

“Will you show me your talents again, kissing-expert?”

Crystal rolled her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t hide her bright smile. “If I must, miss Goode.”

They hadn’t kissed immediately, but rather they kissed when Gigi was least expecting it.

And they did not plan on stopping any time soon.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jan sport #trust fund gold tongue #peridot #lesbian au #fluff #angst #tw: homophobia but not in this chapter #summer lovin' 2020 #day 4: heat #submission

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brandstifter-sys · 5 years ago

Text

Projections

Word Count: 2530

Characters: Patton, Deceit, Remus, Virgil

Rating: M (not smut)

Warnings: Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sutures, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Patton is fed up with himself because of how strangers online see him. It takes three unlikely sides to save him and help him work through things.

The following is not an attempt to critique the fandom in any way. This is a vent fic and I was working through my own shit via Patton. I hesitated to post this for a long time out of fear that it would blow up in my face.

Patton stood in the bathroom under the artificial light. The only part of his room that was free from clutter and the one place he could see himself as he truly was, the bathroom was the only place he could go where the memories couldn't reach him—except the ones at the top of his head.

Manipulative…

Strict…

Overbearing…

Abusive…

Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as he thought about the recent surge of hate. He stared at the flushed yet pallid face in the mirror and shuddered as bile crept up his throat. He couldn't bring himself to fight the voices in his head, screaming at him.

Did he split Creativity all those years ago? Was it his fault that Roman was insecure and that Remus was unhinged? He couldn't tell, they were all just toddlers. Even so, he knew he was to blame for the divide in the mindscape. No matter how hard he tried to lessen the impact, tried to see value in the gothic sides, tried to make amends slowly but surely, no matter what he was still to blame.

Strict…

Overbearing...

He had been strict recently, he found that out the fun way. But at least it was Logan who said it, not the other side who knew early on. He wanted Thomas to be a good person and a good friend. He wanted to be there to guide Thomas, but he was so confused! Right and wrong shifted and he lost his footing. He should have said something, but no he buckled down and tried to force the morals he knew back into place. He hurt everyone with that decision, especially Thomas. He failed at his job.

Manipulative…

He leaned over the sink, tightening his grip around the handle. Maybe this next step was just a new way to weasel some pity out of the others, a threat for attention. He overstepped his bounds in terms of influence and with his family. How did Roman forgive him for the guilt trips? Why would he? Because of morals. He manipulated everyone by existing.

Abusive…

Was he abusive? The theories and stories he read painted him as a monster. Was his own perception skewed so badly that he pretended to be a good guy while being the real villain?

"Patton, you messed up everything!" he growled at his reflection, "You fucked up so bad! It's time for Thomas to have a new, better morality!" He dried his eyes and pressed the blade to his wrist, pressing until red oozed from the wound. The joyful catharsis that filled him only grew stronger as he opened his arm. It was time.

"Patton!" two familiar voices yelped. In an instant he was being held to one side's chest while the other took his box cutter. He squirmed in the tight grasp and fought with all his might.

"Remus hold him still!" Deceit ordered as he conjured a suture kit.

"This is going to hurt. Bear with me." Deceit said flatly to Patton as he tied a tourniquet around his upper arm to stop the bleeding. Patton's eyes widened and he squirmed in Remus' grasp. They were not going to take this away from him! It was the only service he could provide for the mindscape and he would see it through!

"Hey!" Remus hissed when he was kicked in the shin. He shared a look with Deceit as if asking a question. Deceit nodded as he cleaned away the blood.

"Hey Pattycake you should skip the Crofter's in your next batch of cupcakes—ocular fluid would do a better job."

"There won't be a next batch!" Patton wailed, "Let go!"

"No? I was gonna offer you my eyes too!" Remus giggled. Deceit internally groaned at the duke's attempts and lifted a free hand while he threaded the needle.

"Why the hell are you—?" Virgil grumbled low and peeked inside the bathroom door.

"PATTON!?" he shrieked upon seeing the fatherly side with blood oozing from his arm, clearly miserable—and not because Deceit was holding his arm still or because Remus had him pinned to his chest.

"Virgil, thank you for your prompt arrival." Deceit hissed, "Be a dear and paralyze Morality with fear, he has to stop moving." Virgil swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was scared enough that only the slightest touch could freeze Patton in his tracks.

He slunk in next to Deceit and pressed his trembling hand to Patton's throat, letting it become enveloped in black smoke. For a second, Patton hoped Virgil would choke him to death to finish the job. He was wrong. His muscles tightened and his breathing became shallow.

"Oh dear," Deceit tsked, "I have to use quite a bit of grafting material. This could take some time. It will be as pleasant as Remus' fingers."

Remus shoved a surprisingly clean hand in his mouth and growled, "Bite." Patton did, and it was unpleasant.

"It's gonna be okay, Patt." Virgil breathed with tears welling in his eyes. Patton doubted that as the needle went through his vein. He screamed and bit down hard on Remus' hand. Virgil cringed at the muffled sound. Deceit blocked it out and continued his work, using all six hands to make sure everything was perfect.

"Did you do this to yourself, Patt?" Virgil asked, lip trembling. Patton's eyes watered and he averted his gaze. The sorrow and confusion were agony. He didn't deserve pity.

"Yeah, with the sharp knife on the ground." Remus answered for him as he screamed.

"Why?"

"He believes he is only causing harm." Deceit grunted and carefully moved as swiftly as possible, "Unfortunately that is a lie and I was summoned."

"And I showed up because he was having some fun ideas. And then I realized that they weren't just passing fancy and I got scared." Remus frowned.

"So why didn't I get summoned when you were scared?"

"I'm always scared! Have you heard the shit that comes out of my mouth?" Remus giggled awkwardly as a muffled "language" escaped Patton between screams.

"Is there a way to numb him or knock him out?" Remus grunted when Patton's teeth broke through his skin.

"I can," Virgil said, "But we need to lay him down."

"Do it." Deceit ordered "And keep him down. Remus we're going to the lab, don't think about holding him like a baby when he's out cold." Patton shrieked and argued, his vision blurred with tears. Virgil moved his hand to the back of his neck...

And everything went black.

Patton blinked and glanced around the room. He was in the common area, but not his usual commons. The walls were too dark and the air was too cold. He could smell something tomatoey and delicious cooking in the next room, but his stomach was not interested.

He tried to sit up, but he yelped and fell back against the couch. He lifted his arm and stared at the dark stitches running along the underside—that nightmare was real. He was so close! He couldn't even die right!

"Morality!" Deceit gasped and hurried into the room. He was surprisingly without his hat and gloves. In fact he was dressed in black sweats and a yellow hoodie, not at all his usual attire.

"Deceit?" Patton groaned as he tried to sit up again, his head spinning. Deceit hurried over and gently pushed him back.

"No, stay right where you are. You lost a lot of blood and you need to rest." he said and sat on the edge of the seat, studying his face.

"Why?" Patton breathed as two more sides entered the room without saying a word.

"Why did we save you?" Remus asked and shrugged, "Because we need you, Daddy—oh! Daddio!" He rubbed his shoulder where Virgil punched him and pouted.

"But Thomas could make a new, better Morality. A Morality who wasn't the scum of the Earth."

"Pat, what are you talking about?" Virgil questioned and sat next to him on the ground.

"I'm bad. I caused a huge rift in the mindscape, I manipulate the people around me, I'm abusive and strict, and I—"

"Abusive?" Remus questioned, "Since when?"

"Since I caused you and Roman to split. Since I valued one twin over the other."

"You did nothing of the sort. You couldn't have, if you could, Anxiety would be Fear and Vigilance, separately. I would be Self-Care and Deception, in the same way." Deceit scoffed, "Sides split themselves based on Thomas' development."

"I'm the demonstration. Roman is the inspiration. He might not remember what the King planned but I do." Remus explained with a regal air the Patton never expected from him.

"Too bad he was a kid with no foresight with no way of knowing that we'd be so different. He had no idea I would be plagued with intrusive thoughts, violent urges, and a nearly manic state of being that could cause the entire mindscape to implode, splattering side guts against collapsing walls." Remus continued, losing that dignified aura. Patton winced at the implications.

"Hey, Douche, zip it. Literally." Virgil hissed and shifted to his knees to run his fingers through Patton's hair, just enough to ease his tension.

"Patton, you aren't the only one who caused the rift. That was all Thomas as he was growing and learning. You're as much a product of that time as we are." Deceit sighed.

"Besides you weren't the only one forcing the divide, Deceit and I are just as guilty." Virgil added.

"What gave you the idea it was all your fault? Who told you that you were abusive and manipulative?" Remus asked. Virgil shot him a look and Remus zippered his mouth shut, with a cartoonish zipper.

"Well, I kept seeing all these theories and stories and—" Patton began.

"They're absolutely right, a character who they're projecting onto without all the information has to be exactly as they invision." Deceit droned sarcastically, cutting him off.

"You can't please everyone, you have to focus on the people who matter most." Virgil said, "And those things that a bunch of strangers say aren't necessarily the truth. Take it from us."

"But those things have to come from somewhere!" Patton sobbed, "And what if they're right?"

"You can choose to believe me if you want," Deceit sighed, "You are not the exaggerated character in most stories—abusive, or stupid, or naive, or without bias. None of us are merely common tropes, despite the way the series is scripted. Sometimes people need a character to use as a stand-in." He averted his gaze an inhaled slowly.

"Deceit?" Patton whimpered. And that's when Remus unzipped his mouth.

"They made him abusive, murderous, conniving, the scum of the earth, a victim of abuse, suicidal, a soft little baby, a skeezy flirt, and the villain only I could come up with, all after appearing one time!" Remus cheered. Deceit and Virgil glared at him but that didn't stop him.

"They like to make me an obsessive, out-of-control, homicidal maniac who wants Roman to suffer—I mean that's not entirely inaccurate, I have my moments with Princey and I can get pretty manic, but they don't know me! Some of them make me a deranged puppy, suffering from horrible thoughts and isolation. And don't get me started on the shit they put Virgil through!"

"No! Not you too Virge!" Patton cried. Virgil zipped Remus' mouth shut again and sighed.

"Pops, you know I'm not a soft little innocent baby. You know how I'm mean and judgemental and I make threats. There's fics and theories about me being abusive too and fics that make me out to be a shy timid softie. Fics that make me the villain to make these two look better. But you don't believe those, or anything about the rest of us that you haven't learned first hand." Virgil replied.

"Yeah, you have a point there," Patton pouted, "but I can't come up with an outsider perspective for myself."

"You rely too much on how others perceive you." Deceit hummed, "In both positive and negative lights. Take it from any of us, falling for the diverse opinions of strangers is harmful."

"Especially when they're so varied." Virgil added.

"mphhhhh hmmm mmmm mmmph!" Remus grumbled enthusiastically. Then paused to banish the zipper.

"We all get shit, but only the finest compost is allowed in." he chuckled, "Think you can sort out the critique to let your garden bloom?"

"That was incredibly well thought out and positive." Patton commented all too soon.

"And then you'll have your choice of poisonous plants to play with and make the people in your way suffer an agonizing death!"

"There it is." Virgil grunted.

"Well at least the first part was uplifting." Patton pouted.

"Indeed. And if you find it hard to sort out the truth from the projections, my door is open." Deceit said, offering a half smile, "I know how hard it is to let them have their catharsis and keep a sense of self."

"For better or worse you have the three of us." Remus smiled, "The sly, the mad, and the stinky!"

"Pops, you have a whole lot more family than you think." Virgil added, and stood up,

"But right now I gotta go, teach Remus how to be you."

"Why Remus?" Patton questioned.

"Deceit is busy." Remus shrugged, "Byeeee!!" Then he and Virgil sank out. Patton was confused but oddly comforted. Deceit was watching him with concern and a certain fondness.

"After all I did to you, why did you come running?" Patton questioned and tried to sit up, "Why not get Roman and Logan?"

"Neither of them are quite equipped to handle that situation, not when Roman would blame himself and doubt his capability as a prince, and certainly not Logan, who's been bottling his feelings for far too long, seeing you like that would break him."

"But what about you and the other two?"

"Fight-or-flight is an instinctual protection, I am self-preservation, and Remus is a far more hands-on creativity, thinking on the fly and worming his way out of danger as quickly as he finds it," Deceit answered, "We shadowlings are here to protect Thomas, all of him, as prevention and damage control. We care about all of him, even if we don't see eye to eye."

"But Princey and Lo care about him."

"Despite his insistence on being a heroic knight, Roman is not a form of protection. Logic can provide some insight, but overall he is a guide, the three of you are."

"You have it all figured out." Patton pouted. Deceit shook his head and returned that pout in earnest.

"I don't." he sighed, "I'm not going to pretend that I do, unlike a certain educator. But I do know one thing for certain."

"What's that?"

"Thomas needs all of us, especially his emotions and morals. He needs you, Patton, no matter what anyone says."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Actions speak louder than words. Who was it who stitched you up and made pasta for you?"

"You made pasta?"

"With your secret ingredient." Deceit chuckled.

"Cumin." Patton said with a knowing grin.

"Yes." Deceit responded, flashing a snakey fang.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #blood tw #gore tw #self-hatred tw #patton angst #angst tw #hurt/comfort #sandyscribed

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gryffindorcls · 5 years ago

Text

Figuring It Out: Part 1

Revelations and Rescue

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Hello, lovely readers! Welcome to “Figuring It Out”.

For those of you who have read my fic "Please Tell Me I'm Awake Right Now", consider this its angsty older cousin. I wrote this before I started writing that one, and scrapped this when I decided to take a fluffier route. Well, I figured out a plot for this one, and I hope you enjoy reading it. There are some elements in it that you may find familiar because of its relationship to my other fic.

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If only they had one more minute. If only she had turned down a different alleyway. If only she had been able to close her eyes faster. If only.

It was useless to think about what could have happened now. There was no point. Once the transformations melted away, all they could do was stand slack-jawed while staring at the other person. However, as soon as her brain began functioning again, there was only thing Marinette could think to do: run.

She ran without saying a word, and she didn't think to stop and see the expression on Adrien’s face. It wasn't something she could deal with at that moment. Right now, she needed to get away and think. She would face the consequences later. For now, being alone would help her figure it all out.

Marinette decided that staying in her room that night would have been suffocating, so she sought refuge at the Trocadero. Usually, this was her den of inspiration, but tonight she hoped that it would be her sanctuary.

She sat in pensive silence for hours. Marinette didn't notice when the sun sank beneath the horizon causing a chill to permeate the air. It didn't even register in her mind that she was shivering in the dark until it was almost ten o'clock.

“Marinette,” a small voice invaded her thoughts, “I think it’s time to go home.”

This finally snapped out of her trance. She looked down at her phone and cringed. While she did have a few messages from Alya and her mother inquiring as to her whereabouts, the crippling panic started to set in when she saw 5 missed calls and 17 text messages from Adrien.

She. Couldn't. Do. This.

Not right now. She just needed a little more time.

“I think you’re right, Tikki,” Marinette responded, “I didn’t even realize that it got dark. Let’s go home.”

Regardless of her lack of preparedness to face her new reality with her crush and her partner being the SAME PERSON, she knew that if she didn’t leave now, her parents would send out a search party. Her curfew was rapidly approaching, and she needed to have one thing go right today.

Marinette slowly got up from the bench and stretched her stiffened limbs. She moved her hands to her face and (to her surprise) brushed away wetness. Had she been...crying? She hadn't noticed, and she wasn't even sad. Overwhelmed? Yes. But sad? Definitely not.

”Something as pretty as you shouldn't be out here crying all alone, ” said an unfamiliar voice that snapped her out of her reverie.

“Tikki! Hide!” Marinette whispered harshly.

She saw Tikki zoom off into the night. Before she could call for her Kwami to return, the source of the unknown voice stepped in front of her. Her means of escape was gone.

“You are Ladybug,” she thought, “You are smart and strong. You can get yourself out of this situation.”

Marinette looked up to see a tall, lanky man sporting a dark brown, slicked-back hairstyle. Upon further inspection, she could see his icy blue eyes. There was no kindness there; instead, she was greeted with a face that caused a knot of uneasiness to settle in her gut. She knew that she needed to leave…right now.

“Thank you for the concern,” she stated briskly, “but I’m leaving now.”

As she started to walk away from the bench, a clammy hand forcefully snatched her wrist. Marinette was no stranger to dangerous situations. During her time as Ladybug, she had learned to defend herself. Even though wielding a Miraculous afforded her extraordinary strength when transformed, the same powers did not carry over into her civilian form. This was not to say that she was weak as a civilian, but at this moment the foreign grip that was clenched around her hand was unusually strong.

Marinette tried to free her hand with a swift tug and was met with a second hand grabbing her other wrist. “Please stop,” Marinette pleaded, “You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her captor whispered in a voice dripping with ill-intent, “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re cute, and I want to see you smile. Let me show you a good time.”

“NO!” Marinette cried. She delivered a swift kick to the man’s shin, but this did not appear to deter him. Instead, he tugged her away from the bench with renewed vigor.

This was one of those rare moments where Marinette was out of ideas. She felt helpless...and she hated it. Nonetheless, she still attempted to escape the man’s grasp.

“STOP! PLEASE!” she was crying now, “I want to go home. Please!”

His predatory gaze landed on her squirming form with malice. “You really need to stop screaming, sweetheart. It’s starting to hurt my ears,” he said with anger dripping in his voice.

“Then allow me to break something else on you so you can forget about the pain in your ears,” a familiar voice growled behind Marinette.

Fear instantly replaced her attacker’s angry glare as a dark figure reached for the hand wrapped around Marinette’s wrist.

Chat was here.

Her Chat was here.

Marinette could always trust him to be there for her. A pang of guilt ripped through her gut at how her judgment had been clouded by the discovery of each other’s identities.

How could she have ever run away from her Chat? The shock from earlier that day seemed trivial now.

Chat Noir lunged at the man and ripped his hands away from Marinette. The attacker winced. Not wanted to be injured more, the man recoiled. Chat gripped him harder.

“The lady said no,” the hero seethed, “You need to learn some respect. Allow me to teach you.”

Chat lifted the man by his shirt and snarled. Marinette has never seen her partner this angry before. His looked almost...feral.

“Chat, stop!” Marinette yelled, “He’s not worth it. Go hand him over to the authorities.”

The leather-clad hero never took his eyes off of the man in his grasp. “You’re lucky the lady is here,” he sneered.

He then turned to Marinette and softened his expression. “As you wish, Princess. I will be back in five minutes. Please stay here,” he implored.

Before she could respond, Chat vaulted away with her attacker. Once again she was left alone with her thoughts in the quietness of the evening. Albeit rattled, she surprisingly felt more at peace now than before the unwanted solicitation.

“Maybe,” she thought, “just maybe this could be a good thing.”

***

Chat all but threw the man at the officer’s feet.

“Here,” he spat, “I found this one harassing a young woman in the park.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” the man whimpered.

“Oh, yeah!” Chat was fuming, “It sure didn’t look like that when you had your hands around her wrists and she was begging you to stop.”

“We were only having some fun,” the man mumbled.

Chat emitted a low, guttural growl, and the man recoiled.

Not wanting the altercation to escalate further, the officer turned to the superhero. “Thank you, Chat Noir. Your service to this city, as always, is greatly appreciated. We will make sure he is taken care of accordingly.”

Chat grunted and bounded away. Marinette was right--this man wasn’t worth his time. He needed to get back to his Princess.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Marinette exactly where he had left her. He was so afraid that she would run away again.

He rushed over and enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug. She returned his embrace with equal force. He proceeded to check her for any injuries and then pull her back into his arms again when he concluded that she was physically unharmed.

“Thank you, minou,” Marinette whispered into his chest.

“Please don’t ever scare me like that again,” he managed to croak while refusing to end the embrace.

Marinette broke free from his arms to look at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that it had gotten dark, and when I got up to leave he was there. I…” Chat cut her off.

“That’s not what I was talking about. Don’t get me wrong, we will be talking about THIS,” he gestured wildly around him, “at some point. I’m talking about earlier.”

Marinette tensed, and a soft “oh” was the only response that came from her lips. She lowered her head and looked at the ground.

Chat gently placed his finger on her chin and lifted it, and his heart fluttered as their eyes met. He made sure that his face showed no malice or anger; instead, he had it convey nothing but love and admiration. Because of this, he could see the tension in Marinette’s body melt away.

“Princess,” he began, “I think we have a few things to talk about.”

Marinette emitted a soft giggle and nodded her head with the ghost of a smile. He felt his insides melt. Without hesitation, he sighed and rested his forehead against hers.

He closed his eyes and swallowed before asking, “Is there anywhere we could go and talk? Maybe somewhere a little less...public?”

“Yeah,” Marinette responded breathlessly, “Umm...could we go to my place?”

“If that is what the lady wishes, then I am more than happy to oblige,” he smiled. Chat could almost feel the fear of seeing Marinette in danger fade away.

Marinette smiled in return, “Silly, kitty.”

Chat reached for his baton and readied himself to vault into the darkness. Marinette emitted a surprised squeak as he picked her up and held her in his arms.

He looked at Marinette with concern. The panic from moments before flooded back. “What if she actually is hurt? What if carrying her like this is hurting her more? Surely she would have told me...right?” Chat’s thoughts raced around his head like molecules in a cloud of steam.

His mouth felt dry, “What’s wrong?” he asked trying to keep his voice calm.

“It’s Tikki,” Marinette exclaimed, “she’s my Kwami. She zipped off when that man approached me. I can’t leave without her!”

It was Chat’s turn to relax. He breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. Marinette shot him a glare that only Ladybug would give him when she annoyed with him.

“I was so blind. All this time she was right there,” he mused inside his mind.

“How do you think I was able to find you so quickly, Bugaboo?” he chuckled, “Tikki came to me and told me that you needed help.”

“Oh thank goodness,” she said, tightening her hold, “But where are you keeping her?”

“She’s hiding in my hair.”

Marinette laughed. It was a sound that filled him with unbridled joy. Chat had a smile on his face as he used his baton to spring into the air.

A few minutes later, Chat landed on Marinette’s balcony and allowed his transformation to drop, leaving Adrien in his stead. Tikki and Plagg zipped away without saying anything to their respective holders.

“Please, Princess,” he pleaded, “help me understand. Why did you run away? With or without the mask, I’m still the same person. Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you with my life,” Marinette whispered with her head hung low.

Adrien reached out and touched her arm. “Then why?”

Marinette’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze with eyes filled with heartache.

“Because I love you!” she shouted. Her hands pulled away from his and clasped over her mouth.

“What,” Adrien was stunned, “I...what...you...you love me?”

She looked away. “Adrien, it’s always been you. There’s never been anyone else but you. It started as an infatuation, but as I got to know you it became so much more. You are so kind and gentle. You’re not perfect, but that makes you even more wonderful. You are funny and smart and a total dork...and I love all of it. And...you never knew it, but you have my whole heart. It’s yours and yours alone, but…”

Marinette choked back a sob before continuing. “Here I was pushing you away all these years because I loved you. You are my best friend, and every time I rejected Chat, it hurt me more than you can imagine. It’s because I do love you, kitty. I knew that you would be an amazing boyfriend. I mean...look at you! You are the embodiment of a hopeless romantic. I knew that Chat Noir would treat me like royalty. Even if you’re a goofball, you’re still incredible. But I fell in love with a boy who gave me his only umbrella and told me that he’d never had friends before. I hopelessly pined for Adrien Agreste, and I didn’t give Chat a chance because of it. I mean...of course, you’re Adrien. Who else would you be? You used the mask to experience the freedom you could never have as a civilian. I see that now. My unfair judgment of you...I’m sorry...I was a terrible partner. I should have known.”

Her tears began to freely flow, “And now it doesn’t even matter anymore. I’ve broken your heart more times than I can count. Why would you even want to be with me anymore? I never even stood a chance. I’m so sorry, Adrien. I understand if you never want to see me again.”

If Marinette had looked up, she would have seen the pure, unfiltered love in Adrien’s eyes. He swiftly pulled her into a tight embrace and buried his face into her hair.

“Please don’t cry, Marinette,” his voice was gentle and calming, “please don’t cry for me. I never want to see you sad. I love you, too.”

“What?” Marinette asked.

“I love you.”

“But...how?”

“First, never ask how I could love you ever again. I don’t know what I did in life to deserve having someone like you, but you are a treasure. Loving you is a privilege.”

Adrien moved his hands to her cheeks and wiped away her tears.

“Second,” he continued, “I meant it when I said that I would love whoever was on the other side of the mask. This morning when I saw you detransform, it was the greatest moment of my life. Princess, I’ve always admired you, and I’ve always thought you were amazing. You can do so many things, and I have seen the depth of your kindness. I would be lying if I said that the thought of being with Marinette didn’t cross my mind. I consider you one of my closest friends and loving you before all this would have been so easy. If anything, I’ve been kicking myself for not seeing that it was you sooner. I’ve always loved Ladybug. She’s incredible, but so untouchable because I didn’t know who she was. Knowing that Ladybug is the Marinette...wow...I didn’t think I could love you any more than I already did, but I was very wrong. Knowing that it’s you...it feels like my love became this thing I can touch. It feels real now.”

To conclude, he mirrored her words, “Of course you’re Ladybug. Who else could it be?”

A smile spread across Marinette’s face. Adrien returned the gesture by taking both of her hands in his own.

Marinette scoffed and shook her head. “We’ve been dancing around each other for the past three years. Jeez...we’re such idiots.”

“That you are,” interrupted Plagg. He floated to the space between Adrien and Marinette. “I have a whole list. Don’t even get me started on the time…”

Tikki zoomed over to Plagg and dragged him away before he was able to complete his sentence.

“I am so sorry,” she squeaked at their holders.

“But, Sugarcube!” he whined.

Tikki glared. “You will NOT interrupt them. Not this time.”

Adrien and Marinette could still hear the distant mumblings of their Kwamis from their hiding place across the room. They both laughed at the absurdity of their situation.

When they were finally able to compose themselves and lapse into a comfortable silence, Marinette posed a question.

“What now?” she said breathlessly.

Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, Adrien stated, “Well, I know for sure that I don’t want to spend another day without you in it. Going back to a life where I can’t love you openly is not an option. I would go insane.”

Marinette’s breath hitched and a fiery blush spread across her cheeks. Adrien chuckled and rested his forehead against hers.

“I-I don’t think I want to spend a day without you in my life either,” Marinette responded in a whisper.

Adrien released a short sigh of relief as an even wider smile enveloped his face. “Thank God.”

“But,” she began, “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Well, we planned to reveal ourselves after the threat of Hawkmoth was gone. However, he’s still here, and we know each other’s civilian identities. Don’t get me wrong...I’m so happy that it’s you, and I definitely want to be your girlfriend...but now we could be in danger.”

Adrien grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “You want to be my girlfriend?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “That’s what you got out of my last statement?”

“Well, I would really like to be your boyfriend if you would be my girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he pulled her into his arms, “What do you say?”

She reached up and ruffled his hair. “Okay. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Purr-fect,” he cooed in her ear.

Marinette rested her head on his chest and released a happy hum. She then pushed herself away from Adrien and looked him in the eyes.

“What are we going to do about Hawkmoth though?” She bit her lip with worry.

“Easy,” Adrien shrugged, “We’re going to take him down.”

“But we’ve been trying to do that for years.”

“Now that we can work together as civilians, we can come up with an effective plan.”

“Okay...yeah, we can do this.” Marinette nodded her head in affirmation.

He shot her a toothy grin. “Good, let’s go hunting for Hawkmoth.”

Next -----> (Coming Soon)

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Thank you so much for reading! YOU ARE AWESOME!

My username on AO3 and FanFiction is clslovegood47.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Seeing all your responses fills my heart with joy! Also, my asks are always open.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates.

Thank you all for reading!

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Tagged Peeps:

@hermionemonica

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien x marinette #marichat #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #aged up #angst #fluff #drama is coming #fanfiction #ao3 #Figuring It Out #Part 1 #identity reveal

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justwritingscibbles · 7 years ago

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A Fine Welcome

Fic Request:

“How about a fic where zombie Robbie finds nb reader, bc u smell nice he later reveals, walking ur dog and he hugs u u can barely scream bc his body pressed against u. He gets scared but it tickles and he holds u closer when Anti knocks u out. The septics freak bc "we told you to find rob not kidnap someone" but u+ur dog are treated nicely by the Septics who only keep u to make sure Anti+rob didn't hurt u, complimenting your dog that chase defo plays with and its the start of Robs first romance”

“What the hell do you mean ‘they can’t stay’? You do realise I had to knock them across the head, right? We let them go, they’re gonna start a riot somewhere.”

It was the warmth of a familiar furry body that began to stir you from the heavy sleep. The scratchy voice further stirring you from the black. The same voice you heard before something heavy struck the back of your head.

“No! They....stay.... pup too.” Another voice spoke. It was familiar too. The scent of heavy cologne tickled your nose. The memory of a shambled walk. A violet head of hair and the sensation of being crushed by his arms.

A hug.... one you don’t remember asking for.

“Robbie, the dog and your new friend cannot stay.” A softer voice spoke up. Closer to you. Like they were sitting directly beside you. “We need to get them somewhere else. A hospital. O-Or a hotel.”

“Zat vould be a mistake. Vhat if they remember Anti? Ve cannot risk letting them go. Not until ve know zey aren’t a threat to us.”

Their words were swirling in your mind. They all sounded so similar you were sure it was just one person speaking.

You groaned and you felt something cool press against your head. It was damp, providing a sense of ease to the discomfort behind your skull.

The bed dipped and a wet nose prodded your cheek, followed by a whimper as the warm body moved closer to snuggle into you.

Silence settled for a few heart-beats and you could feel the burning sensation of multiple gazes on you.

You were beginning to worry now.

“Friend...scared.” The slurred voice mumbled. “P-Pulse...faster.”

“Zen they are avake.” The more heavily accented man hissed. “Ve need to decide now.”

“No!” The damp cloth fell away as you felt the world shift. Cold arms wrapped around you and you felt your head roll onto the fabric of a shirt. That same heavy scent of cologne filled your nostrils and you forced your eyes open. Coughing weakly. You were ignored as the person holding you curled around you; almost protectively. “Friend stay!”

Around the room, you glimpsed four men. Almost all identical in looks stare at you in defeat.

To them, they were at a stand-still. They couldn’t tear you away from Robbie without causing a very dangerous situation. It would risk Robbie Turning, or you getting injured or panicking.

The man with a baseball cap sighed and looked to the other three. His gaze close to pleading.

“Let’s talk to them. They’re human after all, and they have a dog. Dog people are trust-worthy.”

“Chase, that is so stupid even I’m surprised it came from your mouth.” The scratchy voice came from a man with a scar across his neck. His green hair messy and all over the place. His eyes a vibrant green, like they were glowing. “You do realise dog-fighting is a thing. And they consist mostly of dog-people.”

The man, Chase, frowned and glared at the more menacing guy. But said nothing, he looked a little heartbroken.

The arms around you tightened when Anti turned back to look at you. Meeting your confused gaze with a sharp scowl.

“I still think Marvin should hex them.” He said after a moment. Receiving a gurgled growl from the person holding you. “Hey man, it’s not gonna hurt them. Just put them to sleep for a bit. And make them forget us.”

“No.” Robbie snarled. Falling quiet when your dog glanced at him.

Panting happily.

Your pet was probably overjoyed to be on a bed with you. Despite the fact that there were many strange men around you and you were practically trembling with fear. (Y/D/N) didn’t care. They were probably expecting a cuddle or even a treat.

Seeing that these guys weren’t taking you seriously yet, you decided it was time to test out your voice. Your head was pounding, you were being held hostage by a man who reeked of cheap store deodorant and you had no idea what was happening.

“My name is (y/n). Look, I don’t know what is going on, but I promise not to tell anyone. J-Just let me go.” You were surprised by how calm you sounded. But one cold look from Anti and you were back to shaking.

This Robbie guy moved you so he was shielding you from those neon green eyes. His teeth bared in a snarl.

“Rob, buddy, mind explaining why you attacked this person?” The baseball cap guy, Chase, crouched beside the bed. Catching Robbie’s attention and you felt the guy instantly relax a little.

You liked this Chase. He was more friendly and obviously knew that demanding something or arguing wasn’t going to help.

You turned your head enough so that you could see the man that held you.

At the park he looked horrible. His skin had been dry and flaky. Eyes dead and almost emotionless; shambling towards you like a horror film zombie.

It had been a terrifying experience and before you could sprint off, you had been captured in his arm. After that, it was a blur.

But here, Robbie’s skin was smooth. Despite a small cut to his lip.

Had you done that? When you tried to fight him off?

“Smell... nice.” Robbie said and Chase’s lips quirked in an uncertain laugh. Pressing a hand to his lips as Robbie continued. “Pup wanted...to play. (Y/n)’s hair..smelt...pretty.”

“Oh dear fucking god, Robbie.” Anti huffed and beside him, a masked man had to hide his grin behind a cough. All of them seemed to find this a little humorous. But you were very confused. Had you been kidnapped because of your shampoo??

“An-i tried to... hurt them...” Robbie’s tone dipped into a growl and all eyes turned to Anti. Who quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Cutting off a rising scolding from the last man in the group.

“No. No, that is not what happened! Robbie had them in a headlock! He was hugging them so tight they couldn’t breath. I was trying to remove him off them. Schneep you said so yourself; that the, uh, thingumabobs, on their neck is like they were being strangled.”

The man who has started the scolding, Schneep, sighed heavily and nodded. Fixing his glasses to sit on his nose as he crossed his arms.

“It iz true. (Y/n) had abbreviations around their neck and shoulders zat could be early signs of strangulation. Robbie vouldn’t have tried to kill zem. But he iz known to get.... overexcited.”

“Robbie not hurt (y/n)!” The man’s voice sharpened and became clearer with the rising anger. But his strength increased too and you were quickly feeling the same sensation of being crushed like before.

(Y/D/N) whined and started barking when you flailed, trying to push the man off you. Managing to dislodge the guy enough to almost knock him away.

Chase was quick to grab you and Anti glitched in behind Robbie. Peeling his arms off you and pinning him to the bed.

“No! Let go, An-i!” Robbie screeched. His hands reaching for you as Chase escorted you out. Making soft whistle noises to your pup, who bounded after the both of you.

Schneep slammed the door shut the moment you and your dog were free of the room. The sounds of Robbie’s cries echoed after you as Chase guided you into the kitchen.

“I’m real sorry about this,” Chase said. Offering you a seat on a stool by the kitchen counter. “Usually Robbie is better behaved. He must really like you if he had tried to hug you in public. He’s not one for stranger interactions.”

“To be honest we’ve met before. He was walking by my house and (y/d/n) started playing with him through the fence. I didn’t really recognise him till now.” The words tumbled from your lips as the memory flooded back. Was that why you hadn’t attacked the moment he hugged you? Did you think he was coming over to say hi?

It was still a blur. And it frustrated you trying to piece it all together.

Chase gave you a sympathetic smile and flicked on the kettle. Preparing to make you a warm beverage.

“To be honest, it’s kinda our fault this happened. We try to keep Robbie indoors so he doesn’t disturb anyone. But sometimes we forget to lock the doors and Robbie has a way of finding an exit out of yards. He’s an escape artist, I’m telling you. Anytime you need a way out of prison, I’d suggest going to him.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of you fell into an awkward silence. What were you meant to say to one of the five men that kidnapped you?

Chase clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Scrambling to find some topic to fill the silence.

Glancing at your dog as it pushed it nose into the trash can; almost knocking it over in it’s determination to explore the smells there.

“Your dog is adorable. Robbie has a way with animals. They seem to love him, even when he’s Turned.”

Suddenly realising that he shouldn’t have said that; Chase clamped his lips shut and looked at you hopefully.

“Ignore that. Please? I don’t wanna get dragged into the scolding from Schneep when you leave. I’ve already heard the whole ‘no secrets to outsiders’ rule.”

It was obvious that something was going on here. But they seemed like pretty cool guys. Even though, yes, they did kidnap you and seemed like they were threatening to dump you in a random location after... “hexing” you.

But they were still to try any real threats to you. And they were half being polite.

“I promise not to tell anyone.” You said. And Chase didn’t miss the flash of fear in your eyes. He smiled softly. It reminded you a parent trying to comfort their child after a nightmare.

It was warm and friendly. It surprisingly comforted you, even despite his next words.

“Don’t worry. We won’t do anything to you. Robbie will make sure of it.” It was meant as a joke. But Chase was never good at those.

After Chase made your tea and you both fell into a silent understanding that there was no more talking; you both fell into a tense quiet.

Up until the rest of the group came out to join you both.

The masked man and Schneep were the first to come out. Watching expectantly as Robbie and Anti followed. They looked like two kids who had been caught with their hand in a cookie jar.

Schneep crossed his arms and nodded to you. “Apologise. Or Marvin makes you cluck.”

“Sorry~” Robbie said instantly. His gaze was gentle; matching the same gaze (y/d/n) gives you when they’ve chewed up your shoes again. “I...didn’t mean.. to hurt you....” Robbie concentrated on every syllable so his voice carried them clearly. It was obvious to you that he had some sort of speech impediment.

Anti however glared at you and glanced away. Mumbling under his breath; too quiet for you to catch.

The masked guy, Marvin you guessed, rolled his eyes and withdrew a wand from his cloak. He waved it once and Anti’s eyes widened as his lips opened and a loud chicken like “cluck” burst from his mouth.

Robbie giggled as Anti muffled the rest of the series of chirps and clicks. Eyes shining like sparks of green hell-fire as Marvin returned his wand to his cloak.

“Louder this time.” Marvin said and Anti groaned.

Head bowed and shoulders slumped, Anti stuffed his hands into his jeans and forced through clamped teeth. “I’m. Sorry....for kidnapping you.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. But you smiled and nodded.

“I, uh, forgive you. Just... don’t do it again.”

“Ve can promise zat,” Schneep said. His gaze turning to you; hardening as he continued. “Only if you promise us zat you vill not share vhat happened here. Ve mean no harm. But ve vill if you push-”

“No!” Again, Robbie’s arms caged you against his chest. Almost pulling you off your chair as Robbie hugged you tight against him. “No hurt, (y/n).”

You chuckled at the collective groans from the other men. This was probably something that happened often. Not to strangers, but it did look like Robbie liked to take hold of someone and not let go. This was further showed through the exasperated tone Chase had.

“Robbie, we aren’t going to hurt them. We just want to make sure they don’t spill the beans on us. Alright.”

“They...promised.” Robbie snapped. His hold much more careful now he had you again. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore then he already had. “They...friend.”

“Alright, alright. Look Robbie, just let them go and we can talk, ok?” Marvin smiled under his mask. Hoping to coax his brother into releasing you.

But Robbie shook his head, his bottom lip trembling a little and everyone tensed when his eyes began to turn grey.

“Uh, Rob, it’s ok. You can stay with them until we work it out. It’s ok.” Chase moved closer and Robbie continued to shake his head. He was trembling and you didn’t like the small whimpers that were slipping out of his chest. It was sad.

You reached up and squeezed his fingers. Hushing him gently.

“Hey, it’s ok Robbie. I’m not going to leave yet. We can sort this out, ok? Let go and you can sit with me.”

“Robbie...can’t.” The violet haired man whimpered. And everyone froze, expecting the worse. His eyes turning down to you and your heart nearly broke upon seeing the distraught expression he was wearing. “Robbie...stuck.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but everyone around you started to laugh. Chase covered his face with his hat as Marvin shook his head, his shoulder shaking from his cackles.

Anti wore a grin of dark amusement as he came closer and took a seat next to you.

“Better get use to it. He’s a zombie. Robbie get’s rigor-mortis whenever he stays in a certain position for too long. So get comfortable. Because he can stay that way for hours.”

“.... What do you mean he’s a zombie?!”

732 notes · View notes

btsbound-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Hai Shi Shan Meng (M)

Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung Genre: Angst, Smut, Horror, Fantasy Summary: Three instances where Yoongi holds Taehyung’s life in his hands, and the only response Taehyung gives is, “We’ll meet again, my love”.

*A/N: This fic was originally written for jemkook for the BTSBound Fic Exchange of June 2017. However, since they did not produce their work in time for this Reveal Date, I am going to dedicate this work to the person jemkook was supposed to write for, @wheresjhope. I apologize that you will not be reading a fic that you originally requested, but I hope this suffices. ~Admin Sarcasm*

~Meng, Off the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1457~

Though the land has been stripped of its trees where the earth meets the water, thick pines and elms still stand proudly close to the shore, coating the already night sky in a deep darkness that held many curiosities, many fears. The moon was their guide, but the branches still stretch to shade even the pure white light that shines down on them.

The Westerners settled nearly half a century ago, bringing prospects of a God that would save their people from the depths of a Hell the Meng natives hadn’t believed in. But these Westerners also brought materials foreign to the natives’ eyes, and a ferocity that left everyone bowing. And fifty years later, everything had been established: their language, their God, their homes, their ways. Min Yoongi was no stranger to this, and neither was Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi walks the earth of those tree laden areas now -forests, as the Westerners call them. He keeps his eyes on his feet hitting the path before him, afraid of any missteps that may come his way if he doesn’t keep his eyes glued beneath him.

His grandparents told him of a world before the Westerners brought their God. How events like the one he was going to now were not things for their own beliefs. These...these events were not so gruesome in the past. The Meng people used to believe in quick deaths, not dragging out the inevitable. But these Westerners believed in horrid punishments, supposedly to fit the horrid crimes of the people who commit them.

A Witch Burning.

Yoongi has never attended one of these before, mainly because they don’t happen all that often, and because they happen at night, when the town is asleep safely in their own beds, after having prayed to their new God in hopes to keep Him happy. Additionally, Yoongi has never relished the idea of watching someone die, quickly or otherwise. He believes people that enjoy to watch life fade from humans are sick in their soul and maybe long to have the same fate brought upon themselves.

When they finally make it to the clearing, the smell of wood masks the usually potent and salty smell of the sea. A gathering of people (the sick, as Yoongi thinks) circle an opening, and the town officials that were walking with Yoongi shove him forward until he stands at the front of the crowd, taking in the sight before him.

Naked, save for the cloth that wraps around slender hips to cover his privates, Kim Taehyung stands with his arms raised straight above his head. His wrists are bound to the wooden stake and his ankles are in the same position, the vine woven rope digging harshly into smooth skin.

Under the spotlight of the moon, Yoongi notes that the other’s usually golden skin seems rather pale, probably as pale as his own. It’s a sight Yoongi isn’t all that used to, and had Taehyung not been bound to a stake with branches circling his feet, he would drag the younger to a rocky fortress, graze and touch at the wonder their night sun does for the otherworldly beautiful Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung’s head is tilted up, staring at said moon with dark eyes, as though he is engaged in a fascinating conversation between himself and the light in their night sky. But at the shushing silence that wraps around from the audience he has created, Taehyung drops his head down, meeting the sleepy eyes of the man that betrayed him, his love, Yoongi.

One of the officers that accompanied Yoongi through the woods clears his throat, ready to speak.

“We have all gathered here on this night to witness the burning of Kim Taehyung, alleged and proven Witch. He did not have a trial since he confessed to practicing witchcraft, as well as having two very reliable witnesses. Mr. Hemmings, please read the accounts on which Mr. Kim is charged.”

Another guard steps forward, holding a parchment that he originally held rolled in his fist. He, too, clears his throat before reading out the charges written on the page.

“First Name: Taehyung, Last Name: Kim. Charged with: Practicing witchcraft; Outwardly displaying demonic tendencies; Using said witchcraft to lure another man into his bed for,” Mr. Hemmings pauses, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks as he finishes the sentence, “For intimate activities. The punishment: Burned to death at the stake.”

Yoongi has heard that, though these practices seem a tad barbaric and wild, witch burnings are supposed to be civil, professional, as orderly as any other state official execution. But when the first officer scoffs, however, Yoongi knows that the night shows a different type of order.

“Does he even deserve a stake, the filthy devil? Why not strap him down in a bundle of twigs?” His words provoke a wave of laughter from the otherwise quiet audience, their cackles low and high and hearty and...disgusting. These people are the ones that sound possessed, demonic and hellish, not the man on trial. It’s not like Yoongi is any different.

Hemmings laughs along, but when he speaks his words are neutral. “He saved a man from death, so we’ll show him some mercy.”

“That’s right!” The first officer chimes in too gleefully. “But now is the time! We must bring forth the witness and the victim, Min Yoongi.”

At the sound of his name, Yoongi tears his eyes away from a pliant Taehyung. Even in the pale of night, Yoongi can still catch the warmth in the officer’s cheeks, the splotches on his cheeks probably not just the warm night air. No doubt the man has been drinking his share of alcohol, as if that is not one of the sins these Westerners spit so vehemently.

Someone from the crowd hands the officer a lit torch and soon hands it over to Yoongi, making sure his hand is steady before letting it go. “Yoongi, my boy,” the guard says, and Yoongi can practically smell the liquor on his words. “Make this heathen pay for what he did to you.”

The short walk to the center of their circle seems miles away as the crowd goes silent again, this time in anticipation. The wood in his hand is warm to the touch, prickling the glands in his palm and suddenly he feels his nails dig into the grains for fear of dropping it. He was here because of himself. Taehyung was here because of him.

They worked for the same family of settlers, a lovely couple with two children growing in years in front of their eyes. Taehyung began working for the family when the daughter was a mere child that wore bows like they could cure all the world’s problems. And Yoongi fell for that man, the one that played with the children and kept for the dog, made sure the garden remained neat. Sometimes Yoongi would peer at this man from the kitchen window, watching as the golden sun kissed the man’s skin and sprinkled moles in odd places, like the tip of his nose.

Yoongi was well aware that having feelings for another man was wrong, but Taehyung felt like the Heaven Westerners promised the Meng natives. Yoongi thought that maybe he had done so much good in his life that he deserved a piece of Heaven in the form of a man taller than him, just as thin but broader, one that held Yoongi with care but ripped pleasure from every part of his body so that it left him breathless and in the clouds. That’s where Heaven was, right, up in the clouds?

And when Yoongi grew ill with a foreign sickness, one the Westerners unintentionally brought with them along with their materials and notions of God, Taehyung was the man that cared for him, stayed by his side after the doctor drew his tainted blood. Taehyung was the one to come back with a potion he suaded Yoongi to take in a state of delirium, placing kisses at his sweaty skin and uttering words that were neither native to the Meng nor the Westerners. And he did this on several days right after the doctor would leave.

The mistake came when the daughter had caught sight of this, watching Taehyung’s lips move along Yoongi’s, watching as Taehyung drew symbols in the air with his long fingers. No one had been wrong in guessing then that Kim Taehyung practiced witchcraft.

The true wrong, Yoongi believes, that happened in this situation, came from when authorities questioned him once he was healed. In a moment of oblivion and darkness within Yoongi’s own head, he doubted Taehyung’s feelings for him, his intentions. And in that moment, Yoongi decided to save his own skin, to make himself out as the victim. Quick he was to admit to the magic Taehyung performed on him to make him feel better, and sudden Yoongi was to add on that Taehyung also used his demonic ways to seduce him into sex.

Not only was Kim Taehyung a witch, but also homosexual? Oh, the people nearly trembled in their spots at the idea of such a monster.

Which is probably why they stare so intently now, as Yoongi inches closer and closer. Taehyung’s features morph, a sneaky smile that Yoongi has seen a few times before gracing his lips. It sends a shock down Yoongi’s spine as he finally stands there, face-to-face with the man he never loved aloud, but whispered into the tan skin that cloaked him underneath thin sheets.

“Any final words,” Yoongi asks, some disdain seeping from his voice as he speaks. “Faggot?”

The insult seems to amuse Taehyung, a chuckle rising from his throat just as the word is uttered. When he speaks, his voice is calm, low, and sweet.

“I’m glad to see you are doing well. I pray you find someone that can fuck you better than I did.”

Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, a brief second lapsed before his glare is hardened again. It’s easy to displace anger, Yoongi is now realizing.

“Your gods cannot help you now,” he hisses, the comeback rather weak.

With a moment of silence, Taehyung seems to cut past the act Yoongi dons for the crowd around them. He can’t even admit to himself how much he loves it, how bare Taehyung makes him feel with just his gaze alone.

“Stay safe in these shadowed worlds, Yoongi.” The words are spoken faintly, as though they’re only meant for Yoongi’s ears. He’s not sure how well that was achieved.

Yoongi knows that eyes stare him down, waiting none too patiently for the fire to ignite at the criminal’s feet. He doesn’t show any hesitance, but he can feel his breath stop as the first flame catches onto the wood on the ground, on the outer edge of the ring.

When he backs away, standing again next to the guards that brought him, his eyes watch the embers rise, burning quickly around Taehyung. The fire helps to bring back the golden tan to his skin, the shadows of flickering flames dancing off his skin so beautifully and so painfully.

“We’ll meet again, my love,” Taehyung says, just as the fire craws toward his feet caressing at his flesh the same way Yoongi did many times before.

Yoongi soon realizes that what people love the most about witch burnings is the noise. There’s something about the wails of terror and pain that really rile the crowd up, because yes they deserve to die so painfully and slowly. They deserve their own slice of Hell on this earth. Yoongi deserves this piece of Hell.

As roars of pain rip from Taehyung’s throat, something animal laces with his guttural noises. Everyone can hear it, Yoongi is sure. It’s neither demonic nor angelic, just primal, and it strikes as much fear in the crowd as it does anger. All it strikes in Yoongi is ache. And soon he cannot see the charring skin of his love, cannot hear the cries that sound like they belong in the heart of the jungle.

As the fire grows with blinding light, he hears those words whispered and flooded into his brain.

We’ll meet again, my love.

~Port Meng, On the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1787~

Yoongi awakens to an early morning darkness. He isn’t sure when the last night was that he had a full night’s rest, waking to the maids pulling at heavy curtains so the sun could flood into his bedroom. He knows it was most certainly before he joined the army, choosing to join the men that fought for the land both the Meng natives and Westerners worked so hard to upkeep and make better. They’re not called Westerners anymore, but some of the older generations will still refer to the European settlers as that because it’s what they grew up saying, but also to show some distance.

He shuffles quietly, pulling on his trousers and boots, making sure the suspenders fit nicely on his shoulders before throwing on his jacket. Normally he would lay in bed and wait for the hour to come to him when he was supposed to be awake, the horn that would sound through halls to wake the other soldiers blaring until he had no choice but to follow his fellow mates. This morning, however, he walks the halls by himself, making sure to keep his steps quiet as he trails down winding halls until he gets to an exit. The night is still upon them, but behind Yoongi, a hint of morning winks in the distance.

Yoongi is not sure if this makes him a traitor or not, fighting with these men. To be technical, no one is fighting. There hasn’t been a war yet, but there are whispers of it, and sometimes Yoongi regrets his rash decision to join these men.

The majority are Westerners or half-breeds, as some like to call them. Yoongi finds it laughable that the Meng people believe the natives still have the power just because the royal family are natives, as well. But when the militia is made up of a vast majority of those that are not native, it seems a bit peculiar, to say the least.

At any rate, Yoongi has his reasons for joining. And war or not, he will see his reasons through to the very end.

The army base sits right near the edge of the shore of Port Meng. Thus the soldiers are usually tasked with overlooking the boats and ships that sail to and from the pier, checking the cartel of those that wish to bring their items into the city. The base sits made of stone cut and dug from the mountains further inland, something way before Yoongi’s time, to his fortune. At this time of the morning, though there is hardly enough light to see, Yoongi thinks he can spot some ships off in the distance, ships that will either park to make business or to rest for a few days. There’s one ship in particular he believes he looks out for, though he is not quite sure what it looks like.

Yoongi leans against the stone wall, peering out onto the sea, when he hears it first: foot steps. They could be that of another soldier coming to inspect any disturbance...but it could also be someone completely unrelated-

“An angel from above graces my presence.” The voice is familiar, deep and a tad slurred, but still the words are all purposeful.

Though he so much wishes to look, Yoongi keeps his face to the waters. “You speak too boldly, Kim.”

This seems to get the other’s attention, a loud silence with a smile that Yoongi can almost feel. “Kim? You know me?” The voice ascends only a little, and Yoongi fears for if the man sees his face. He can’t have that.

Taking a step to the side and away from the wall, Yoongi begins to inch closer to the shore. “Every soul in Port Meng knows of Captain Kim Taehyung. Were you aware that you are a wanted man, Captain Kim?”

Taehyung seems to follow, the heavy thud of his boots similar to Yoongi’s. “Of course I am wanted. I’m quite handsome.” He pauses, and Yoongi still longs to turn around and see the face of the infamous pirate that others fear of; he longs to see if the deviant still wears the line of hoops that pierce his ears with only one long silver cross to hang from his lobe. “But I assume you mean I am wanted by a particular person. Who does it be?”

“The King.” They’re almost at the pier, the subdued stench of salty sea and alcohol wafting from the ports curl through the morning air. It’s almost calming, Yoongi finds.

Taehyung gasps, “The King! Praytell, on what grounds am I wanted?”

Yoongi stops, keepings his eyes on the wood at his feet. He wouldn’t want to go too far out with a man of the sea; then Yoongi would be the vulnerable one. He answers then.

“Well, for starters, you’re a pirate-”

“Oh, thank heavens!” Taehyung interrupts with a laugh to accompany his words. “I was pondering on that, but I am glad to know I was correct in knowing that I am a pirate. Continue.”

“And you stole something from his son.” These words, Yoongi says, hold a sharper intonation.

“Oh? I’ve stolen from the Prince? And how is it that a lowly soldier like you knows this?”

Right, Yoongi is wearing his uniform, albeit unkempt. He almost betrays himself, turning to look the pirate in the eyes, only to stop himself midway. “Like I said...all of Port Meng-”

“So, does all of Port Meng know what it is that I stole from the Prince...and how I got it?” He can hear the sneer in Taehyung’s voice, can feel his eyes darken on the side of his neck. “If you allow me to speak so boldly again, Mr. Min, I would like to counter that it is not the King that wants my head...but the Prince.”

Though Yoongi can hear the muffled beats of Taehyung inching closer, he stays rooted in his spot. “Min...you know me?”

“More’r so...I remember you.” Taehyung stands a breath behind Yoongi now, his voice dropping so the empty piers cannot hear what he says. “And how could I not remember a voice so rough and mellow? It is a pleasure to meet you again...my Prince.”

Yoongi finally turns, meeting a darkened silhouette as Taehyung bows dramatically with his left hand to his chest and his right arm stretched behind him. Even in the dim light as morning crawls over them, Yoongi can catch the sun bleached strands of Taehyung’s dirty hair, the rag on his head washed till it’s frayed at the edges. When the pirate picks his his head up, Yoongi is met with the shining tan skin, eyes lined with kohl and dark, bitten lips (and, as Yoongi had hoped, the cross earring hangs from his earlobe).

Though the sight of Kim Taehyung makes him seethe in his skin, he cannot deny the man is irresistible -handsome, as Taehyung had put it.

“Am I truly your prince when you don’t have a place to call home on these lands?”

Taehyung straightens, taking advantage of the inches he has on Yoongi. “Home is where you find comfort and care, Yoongi.” He leans forwards, and Yoongi is almost surprised he doesn’t smell a hint of liquor on the other’s tongue. “And if that is the definition of home, I think I have found one between your legs.” He pulls away with a chuckle. Ah, he thinks he has won. Yoongi presses forward, walking back to the base.

“You know what I’m curious to know?” he calls back. He’s sure Taehyung is following him. Either way, he still turns back. “Do your men know about the company you keep in your motel rooms?”

The sky grows lighter, just enough for Yoongi to see the shift in the other’s gaze, how some irritation flashes. “I garner the respect of my crew, if that’s where your curiosity truly lies. But the same can be wondered about you, Yoongi.” He continues walking, just as Yoongi marches onward. “Do the people of Port Meng know how much you like being on your knees? Do they know how much you love to sneak off into forbidden territories?”

Yoongi knows Taehyung is talking about the night they met. The Prince had set on a voyage of his own and ended up at Jay Island, a small patch of land notorious for harboring pirates, whores, and fugitives. There in the dead of night with just a few candles and lanterns to light the rooms, Yoongi and Taehyung laid naked together for hours and hours doing acts that were possibly very similar to what other couples did in other rooms, just with different company.

At Yoongi’s silence, Taehyung continues. “Do they know that you mask yourself under the guise of a soldier? And why a soldier, of all things?”

This, Yoongi is confident in the answer to. “I wanted to have my hand in you death.” He turns to meet the pirate’s stare. “But I might just let you get a head start on escaping if you hand over what you stole from me.”

Taehyung smiles almost wistfully. “Your heart?”

“The ring,” Yoongi snaps. “Give me the damned ring!” He hardly remembers to keep his voice down as his anger boils. They’re once again at the stone wall.

“A ring. I have stolen many and bartered many. Who is to say I still have it?”

Not like Yoongi hadn’t taken every chance he could to eye the man in front of him. He can distinctly remember the other naked; under the warm glow of burning fires, his skin glistened like rich honey, and his voice dripped just as such. And his eyes can’t help but trail down the sharp angle of his jaw, down to the silver that decorates his long, thick neck so beautifully. And what sits at the end of the chain makes him huff out a laugh.

“Even with your pretty words, you cannot tell me that is not my ring around your neck.” Just to prove his point, Taehyung brings a hand to clasp around the silver chain.

“I wanted to keep it close to my heart.” he reasons. “A souvenir for the nights we spent together, the mess we made of each other.”

Though he exhales a stuttered breath, Yoongi still speaks evenly. “Only speak for yourself, Taehyung. And give me back the ring.”

Taehyung takes a minute, and Yoongi tries to keep his guard as he feels those heavy, dark eyes tear right through the veils until he feels nothing covering him. It seems to click, then. “Oh, that is why you’re here! This ring, it must be very important. So important it evoked anger in your father. Did he tell you not to come home until you found it?”

Some part of Yoongi ached to tell Taehyung he was right, to let go of the restraints that kept him together and fall into the other. But he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to do that, royalty or not.

“I’ll get the ring from you,” Yoongi hisses through clenched teeth. “Whether you’re dead or alive.”

He still has those eyes, Taehyung does. And it frustrates Yoongi even more. “Then let me have it till death. I wouldn’t want to leave this world without a piece of you.”

The sun has made its ascent by now, still low in the morning, but high enough to alight the sea, the port and pier, the duo that stand not meters away from the entrance of the army base.

“Suit yourself, Tae.”

Taehyung isn’t sure what kept him stuck to his spot. It could have been hearing the name that Yoongi moaned into his skin months before; it could have been the look of defeat in those precious, narrow eyes. Maybe Taehyung was ready to face whatever Yoongi had for him. But he stayed there as Yoongi shouted and cried for the guards, hearing the horn blare from inside the stone walls and watching as red coats like Yoongi’s flooded his vision.

Soon, guards lined in front of Taehyung as he stood with his back to the stone wall. Yoongi was among those men that held rifles aimed at him.

“Well done, Yoongi!” One of the soldiers congratulated him. “You actually caught Captain Taehyung!”

One of the generals call for them to aim. And Yoongi peers at the man on the wall that stares him down.

“Any last words, Captain Kim Taehyung?” he asks.

He smiles, adam’s apple bobbing as he laughs low. When he speaks, the words are cut as the general tells them to fire. But Yoongi hears them, over the blast of rifle barrels, over the cheers of happy men that got to kill. He eyes the lifeless look in Taehyung’s eyes, and it’s chilling. The gold ring with the black opal lodged into the metal rests against a tanned, bleeding chest. Yoongi hears the words loudly as they flood his brain.

We’ll meet again...my love.

~Kkum Coast, City right on the Yellow Sea, New Age China 2017~

“Fuck!”

Yoongi’s eyes are screwed shut, head thrown into the pillow beneath him and mouth gaping open though nothing comes out as the pleasure courses through his every vein.

After what feels like minutes of riding the blissful torrent of ecstasy, he finally heaves an exhale, shaky and heavy as it escapes from his lungs. He can again feel the sheets beneath him, where some bits ball uncomfortably under his lower back, can feel the bruising grip he has on flesh under his fingers, can hear the rugged breathing of the man atop him. When his eyes flutter open, his vision takes a second to clear out the details of tan skin, a slight contrast between Yoongi’s own pale skin.

Taehyung is beautiful like this, Yoongi admires. Not to say he isn’t always beautiful, but Yoongi can never get enough of Taehyung post-orgasm, when chestnut strands cling to his damp forehead, his cheeks the lightest shade of dusty pink -both signs of the exertion from their activities. There’s a blissed-out smile on his lips, and his chest rises up and down with exhausted breaths. Naked above Yoongi is when Taehyung looks the best (though he may say the same if the latter is under him; so maybe he’s not the best to ask about Taehyungs in terms of beauty).

White floods his vision as Taehyung rolls his hips, pain searing from his core and spreading outwards. Yoongi chokes on a groan as he uses his grip on Taehyung’s hips to still him.

“Shit, Tae! You can’t seriously be ready to go again.” Though his words are incredulous, his voice is too raspy to sound anything but tired.

Taehyung leans forward, nails digging into Yoongi’s chest as his brow furrows, another tremble wracking his body as he whimpers. “Don’t wanna...stop.”

Yoongi feels it, too, the desire to keep going; lust is like a drug to them, the most addictive kind...or maybe the addiction lies within each other. Either way, neither can get enough.

With a soft chuckle, Yoongi nods in a slight motion. “C’mere.” When Taehyung’s lips are breaths away, he unclasps one hand from the other’s hip to drag those last few inches until they’re nonexistent. They don’t bother to keep the kiss sweet, cutting straight to tongue and teeth and breathy moans. “Gimme a minute to catch up. Then we can go again.” Yoongi promises when they part for air.

There’s only the hint of a pout on Taehyung’s lips before Yoongi is on him again, breathing in his love as though that’s the only air he needs.

“Women can have more than one orgasm during one round. ‘S not fair,” Taehyung sighs.

“Grow a vagina, then,” Yoongi jokes.

He’s not sure how long they stay tangled together like this, but Yoongi can feel the fire begin to pour in his center again, his heart thudding erratically in excitement at the thought of fucking his boyfriend again-

That’s when there’s the shrill of a phone ringing. Yoongi’s phone, on their nightstand.

“Isn’t that Jimin’s ringtone?” Taehyung asks lazily, pulling away from Yoongi’s swollen lips to lick at his jaw, trailing down to his neck.

“No,” Yoongi lies simply. Taehyung obviously doesn’t believe him, if he can tell from the way the other pulls away to stare at him. “If it’s important, he’ll leave a voicemail.”

That only pulls Taehyung further away as he reaches over to grab the phone, answering the call and shoving the screen into Yoongi’s ear.

With a gruff, Yoongi snaps. “What?” He glares at a happy Taehyung, that opts for going back to his previous task of laving at the elder’s neck.

“Geeze, did I wake you from your daily nap or something?” Jimin sounds just as annoyed on the other end.

It’s not entirely distracting having Taehyung’s tongue on him, but it peeves Yoongi that he can’t just focus on that alone. “On the contrary,” Yoongi answers. “We were just about to see if Taehyung possesses any dormant Y chromosomes.”

On the other end, Jimin scrunches his nose in confusion. “What? How can you check if Tae-” but his question is stopped short when there’s the indistinguishable sound of a broken moan. “Suddenly, I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Do you have any actual news for us, or are you just doing your friendly duty as a Cock-Block?”

Oh, right. What Jimin called for. “Right! A new assignment for the Tomb Raiders.” Jimin says the name a bit too proudly, given he and Taehyung had come up with the name when they all started this “business”.

That business being Yoongi and Taehyung raiding and stealing from other places that people hire them to (plus Jimin, their handy-dandy computer nerd that helps them figure out how to do all of that without getting caught). They’ve only been doing this for a year or so, using the money they get from pawning off stolen items to pay for their basic necessities. Most jobs can last them for a few months, which is why they haven’t found any reason to stop.

“Mkay, who is it?”

At Jimin’s silence, Yoongi takes the time to revel in the curl of Taehyung’s tongue right below his ear, tensing when Jimin finally answers.

“It’s anonymous, actually. And they want you to raid the Port Meng Army Base.” Jimin speaks slowly as he reads the message. “Apparently there’re some things in there that are ‘incredibly valuable’.”

The hand Yoongi wasn’t even aware crawled to latch onto Taehyung’s hair grips tighter at the name. “Port Meng Army Base? What could possibly be in that old ass place? And why now?”

“Is this a thing now? Are we gonna start asking people why they want us to go through places and steal shit? They didn’t give much specifics. All they said was that there’s some shit in there that are beyond valuable and worth a lot.” He could tell Jimin was getting tired of this call. “You in or you out?”

“We’re in.” Taehyung says, intercepting Yoongi and pulling his mouth close to the speaker.

With wide eyes, Yoongi eyes his boyfriend. “Excuse you?”

Taehyung shrugs. “What harm can it do? Hell, we can inspect the place first before we give an answer. So let’s go over there and see what we can find, first.” He goes back to Yoongi’s ear, leaving pecks there and whispering. “Now, can you hang up so we can hunt down where multiple orgasms come from?”

Jimin hacks, shouting so Yoongi has to pull the phone away from his ear. “C’mon, Tae! I can still fucking hear you. And I seriously didn’t need to hear tha-”

Yoongi ends the call, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand and settling his hand back at the younger’s hip.

“We could’ve totally let that go to voicemail,” he quips half-heartedly.

“Shut up,” Taehyung sighs, going in for a quick peck. “Your dick is half hard inside me and it feels weird. So let’s focus on that.”

The other blanches. “Wha- I was literally soft not just a minute ago. Flaccid! And you’re complaining about a semi?” He wants to create more of a fuss (or maybe he doesn’t), but Taehyung flashes a bright smile that looks so irresistible, he needs a taste for himself.

The city of Kkum Coast has molded and changed over the centuries. For one, it used to be Port Meng over two centuries ago. But with the independence of the Meng from the Europeans came a change in power, in language, in beliefs. Even through the progress of the New Age Chinese city, one thing still stood just off the shore of the Yellow Sea, a stone building once probably admired with honour, now stands unkempt.

Dark vines weave through the cracks of the dark, chipped stone; any sharpness to its edges worn away with years and years of abandonment. As Taehyung and Yoongi make their way to an entrance, they note the lack of people around. Desolate. That’s what this place was.

The iron door creaks on its rusted hinges as they pull it open, listening to the groans echo through the empty halls. The temperature drops, cold and dark walls not allowing much light in. There are doors that line the hall, and the duo takes note of them all, unsure of where to start.

“You think we should split up?” Taehyung considers aloud though his voice is low.

The idea makes Yoongi tense next to his boyfriend. “When has splitting up ever gone well for people in horror films? No, we’re staying together.” At the sound of a smirk, he adds on, “Besides, I don’t trust you to not fall through the floor like that one office building-”

“But who was the one that fell face first into a storm door?” Taehyung mocks. “You can’t blame me for the conditions of these places.”

His eyes follow the cracks in the walls. He can’t argue with Taehyung there. “We probably would have better luck searching an actual tomb.”

Not wanting to waste more time, they go through the first door, finding a small room that looks to have been an office, perhaps. The room is completely empty minus the layers of dust that coat every possible surface, so they go on to the next room.

This continues for the majority of the rooms, until they get to the end of the hall where a much larger room sits. A few cots and drawers lay scattered amongst the floor, piles of miscellaneous things in corners. It’s enough to pique their intrigue, and with lights in their fists, they go to rummage through whatever there is.

Yoongi’s neck is just bordering on feeling stiff when he finally lifts his head. “Find anything?”

Taehyung needs a second to find his voice after having worked in silence. “Besides old bird nests and dust bunnies, nope. You?”

He holds his one finding between his fingers, blowing away some of the collected dust. “Found a bullet casing. What did this place use to be, again?”

He can practically hear Taehyung shrug. “Dunno. I think it was an army base created when people started sailing here for trade and whatnot.”

The answer sounds correct, and Yoongi doesn’t hold back in showing his surprise. With a huff he laughs. “That was an oddly specific answer. You sure you didn’t actually pass History class senior year?”

Taehyung scoffs. “That history class was bullshit. All we learned about was when the settlers came and forced Christianity onto the Mengs. Oh!” he perks at a memory. “And there was that one paragraph about pirates that really got to me. Teacher wouldn’t let us spend the whole lecture talking about it. Can you believe those used to exist?”

Ah, there was Yoongi’s boyfriend he knew and loved. “You know pirates are still a thing, Tae.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But they're not as cool. All they do is overthrow ships and hold people hostage.” Like they didn’t do that back then, as well.

Yoongi grunts in false agreement. “Yeah. I dare you to set sail for Tortuga and tell any pirates you run into how bland they are.” He hears a gasp, and before he can worry, Taehyung calls for him.

“Uh, racist much?” And Yoongi has to turn to see what his boyfriend means.

“What?”

The other scoffs again, as if whatever he’s talking about is obvious. “Are you implying that there’s only pirates in the Caribbean? They were obviously here, too!”

“I mean, yeah, there were a few pirates here. But they kinda dispersed after that one pirate captain was killed.” When Yoongi finishes, he blinks seeing that Taehyung has the same expression.

The younger’s eyes squint in confusion. “What?”

“I…” Yoongi turns back to his corner. “I have no idea where that came from...maybe I heard it somewhere...maybe?” The explanation doesn’t seem to quell either, but they let it past, going back to gingerly digging through trash.

“Oh man!” exclaims Taehyung, just missing knocking his head on the cot he’d been bent under, to stand next to Yoongi. “Check out this ring; so cool!”

He drops the ring into Yoongi’s hand so that the latter can inspect it, and he’s taken with the weight it holds. It looks to be gold, something brown coating sparse areas. An opal gem lays in the band.

“Kay,” he mumbles. “Either this isn’t real gold or something is rusted over it.” He looks to Taehyung for his thoughts, only to receive a noncommittal head tilt. “Mmm, I’ll send a picture over to Jimin, and maybe he can tell us if there’s any info on it. See how much it’s worth.”

The plan seems good enough for Taehyung, who already heads for the exit. “I’ll keep checkin’ around,” he calls back, despite Yoongi’s earlier dislike for splitting up.

Taehyung’s movements can be heard from above, the sounds of flying pages and thuds of moving across the floor keeping Yoongi’s worries at ease. After going through the last of the trash in the room, Yoongi is ready to leave when his phone rings; it’s Jimin.

“Hey, did you get something?” He answers with the question.

Jimin’s excited tone is not what Yoongi is expecting. “I have a fucking love story!”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, unsure of where his friend is going. “This love story better end with a happy ending...AKA selling this ring for a high ass price.”

The tech doesn’t miss a beat. “I looked up the ring and found an image of the one you sent me, though it looks to be in much better condition. Turns out that ring used to belong to the King of Meng in the late 1700s!”

So, it’s safe to say the ring is made of real gold. “Holy shit…”

“But the one you have, it seems to be the one his son stole from him before he went on this trip to Jay Island. Anyways, while he was there, the Prince met this notorious pirate that stole it from him. This post also claims that he and this pirate were lovers.” Yoongi can hear Jimin’s brows waggle through the phone at the implication. He doesn’t fight his eye roll.

“Wow, gay romance in the olden days,” he states in monotone. “Continue; so far I’m not completely repulsed by this story.”

This seems to be the right answer for Jimin. “So, the Prince had to get the ring back and he couldn’t just tell his father how it is the ring was ‘lost’ or the fact that he went to Jay Island, which apparently at the time was a popular place for pirates and criminals to go. So, the Prince enlisted into the army with hopes of running into the pirate and getting his ring back.”

Yoongi can feel his brain turning to mush with how long the story is turning out to be. Like they didn’t know he was impatient. “I know I said I was intrigued, but tell me the end is near.”

“Shut it. So, this pirate actually comes to Port Meng, though it doesn’t specify what he was there for. But he runs into the Prince under the guise of the soldier, and he asks for his ring back -but the pirate refuses. Then the Prince decides that he’ll kill the pirate first and get the ring when he’s dead. And -here’s where it gets good- fucking guess what the pirate said right before the militia shot him.”

Yoongi moans as he looks for the answer, playing along with Jimin’s eagerness. “Mmm…’We’ll meet again, my love’.” He says, adding a wispy tone to sell the ridiculous words.

The other side is quiet for a beat too long, and Yoongi checks to see if the call disconnected. “Hello? Jimin? Still there?”

“That’s…” Jimin sounds astounded. “That’s exactly what he said. How did you know that?”

Truthfully, when Yoongi imagined the words, he heard Taehyung’s voice, almost perfectly clearly, as if the boy stood next to him. There was something about that, however, that seemed off...like that couldn’t possibly be a good reason.

He sputters. “You...you told me to guess. And I guess I’m just a great guesser. Don’t hate the player. So is that it?” He inquires quickly to change the subject.

Of course, to Yoongi’s misfortune, there is more. “One last thing: so after the pirate is dead and they take all his belongings -probs stolen- and toss his body in the sea, the Prince takes the ring and watches the body float away. Okay, guess what the Prince said, since you’re just an amazing guesser.”

“Nah,” Yoongi declines lightly. “Tired of playing the game.” That’s only half the truth. “What he say?”

“It’s some old phrase from Ancient China...probably when the Meng still spoke Mandarin. I hope I don’t butcher this: ‘hai shi shan meng’. Apparently, it means ‘oath of eternal love to swear by all the Gods’...” Jimin pauses, and once again, Yoongi is too slow to pull the phone away from his ear as Jimin shouts. “Isn’t that the fucking cutest? The Prince actually loved the pirate back.”

There’s something odd about the room, Yoongi notices. Is it darker? Wait, what happened to the shuffling noises?

“Yoongi? Are you stunned by my storytelling skills?”

Yoongi is already heading out the room, climbing the stairs he know Taehyung must have gone up to get to the second floor. “More of the opposite; that story was shit and I still don’t know how much this ring is worth.”

Jimin knows he should have told Taehyung the story. His best friend would fawn with him over it. “It’s pure gold with black opal, Yoongi. Figure it out.”

“Was that story even real? There’s no names of the characters. Where did you even find that?” When he makes it to the top of the staircase, an emptiness hangs low over the halls.

“It’s on some website about historical artifacts.” Jimin scrolls over the page, clicking to isolate the post. “The post is anonymous. Actually...it was posted today.”

That can’t be a coincidence. “You think you can...run where the anonymous message we got came from and this post?”

Jimin must have the same idea as Yoongi asks the question, already opening the tab with the anonymous message. “It’ll take me a few minutes, but I might be able to find out. I’ll call you back when I have something.”

With his attention solely focused on finding Taehyung, Yoongi breezes through the rooms, all of them small enough to peer through and see that Taehyung is nowhere to be found. How could he possibly slip past Yoongi without him noticing? Outside one barred window, sounds of laughter float through, hearty, high and low...but none of those voices sound remotely like Taehyung’s.

Just to double check, Yoongi makes sure to walk through every room, kicking up dust as he goes along. It’s safe to say that the second and last floor is more barren than the ground floor...so what had made the fluttering noises of pages?

Outside the same barred window, the sky darkens, not from night but from thick, grey clouds. Storms were common when you lived next to the sea, but no one had expected one today, during this afternoon.

Maybe Taehyung’s outside, and the thought is still being processed in Yoongi’s brain when he shoves past the door they came through. And the surroundings are just as he last saw them: desolate.

But hadn’t he heard laughter?

His phone rings in his pocket again, and he answers without giving much thought to who it is. “Yeah.”

“Um,” Jimin starts. “This is gonna sound really strange. Swear you won’t freak out on me.”

Really, Yoongi is sure he’s past that point, though he keeps it together quite well. “A) When do I freak out? And B) no promises.”

“Both the message and the post...they actually came from the army base.”

Though his eyes are on the sea before him, his brain is taking its time to transcribe what Jimin has just informed him. “You mean the one I’m at right now?”

That wording doesn’t seem right. “Didn’t you go with Tae?”

And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Yoongi finds it harder to breathe though he tries to speak evenly. “Yeah, but I can’t find him...fuck, okay. Thanks, Jimin. I’ll call you later.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before hanging up and stuffing the phone into his pocket. Maybe he came to inspect outside. Yoongi walks along the wall, stabbing pains hitting his chest the further along he goes.

Hai shi shan meng, the words whisper over and over in his head. And every time the words are uttered, something clicks painfully into place, into a puzzle he had no idea he was trying to finish.

The Prince saying those words...had that really been the end of the story? Or had the story truly ended with the Prince holding that ring to his heart before shooting himself in the head? The brown that rusted over the gold, it was fucking blood, wasn’t it? Somehow, Yoongi knew this to be the truth, just as he heard his own voice say the words. Hai shi shan meng.

Just as Yoongi rounds the corner, his foot gets caught on one of the many vines that grow from the ground to wrap around the fortress. As he stumbles, his nose meets the dirt ground, and suddenly the stench of charred flesh coats his nostrils; his heart shatters again, the pain of a memory that cannot be his melting in his mind.

Did the story end when the ashes of that witch molded with the earth? Or did the witch’s victim not use those ashes to write the very words on his chest to bind them together for all of eternity...to swear by all the Gods? Again, Yoongi hears his own voice cry out the lover’s oath as the victim bawled. Curling into the ground, flashes of golden skin paled by the moon flutter behind his eyelids; he sees the face of his love as the flames rise, but the scene is blurred through his own tears.

“Hai shi shan meng,” Yoongi croaks, feeling the weight lift at the sound of those words. The pain still keeps him heavy to the ground, unable to move.

There’s the sound of footsteps that catches Yoongi’s attention. He lifts his head just as a familiar pair of legs stand before him. Sitting up, he stares at the man he has loved for centuries, and is sure to love for more to come.

“Taehyung…” Yoongi sighs.

This sneaky grin that the other wears, Yoongi has seen it many times -over the years that they have known each other...and hundreds of years ago before now. Though the intentions may not be pure, Yoongi feels safe, seeing such a hellish look on such beautiful features.

“My love,” Taehyung speaks lowly with a curling smile.

“We meet again.”

#june2k17 #bts scenarios #bts smut #min yoongi #kim taehyung #taegi #horror #fantasy #enjoy?#admin sarcasm

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