#imaginary forehead touches are almost more vivid to me

[chronicowboy]

oh you're normal? cool. i go insane over two men touching foreheads :)

[loxbbg]

Ethereal

Chapter 1

Ethereal: extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.

Masterlist

The summer of 5th year was when things started to change. Your Upperclassmen, Cedric Diggory’s surprising death during the Triwizard tournaments shocked the wizarding world.

That year, we had Umbridge —a frog face, and sweetly wicked lady. If you weren’t trying to be on her good side to avoid painful detention with her, you would have joined the latter with getting her out. Acting like she owns Hogwarts ��like she owned she owned you.

Disgusting.

Along with that the topic of “he who must not be named” had once been Potter’s wild accusations soon became true from the recent attack at the ministry of magic. That summer is when your lives would reach the point of no return: meaning that you and Draco were now a part of the Dark lord’s army, or more knownably as Death Eater.

Draco seemed anxious, nowadays after bearing the mark. He barely ate, slept, or even smiled. You, on the other hand, were indifferent. You knew of the dark lord's coming, how could you not with your parents preaching it all the while you were at home, but you grew worried for Draco’s mentality —clearly all of this was taking a toll on him, with him being new and young. You tried your best to encourage him, but seemingly the words of affirmations soon turned to white noise to his ears.

“What is the reason for this dinner party anyways?” You questioned pulling the hem of your evening attire.The car ride to the Malfoy manor had been in cold silence, till you spoke up.

Your mother, sitting across from you, was holding up a golden handle mirror, examining her features and checking her makeup. Her hair curled to a bun with coils of strands elegantly hung to frame her face. You would have said she was beautiful, breathtaking, but her face held no emotion, just cold and disinterested. Your father, sitting beside her, has grown lines of age as well as grey hairs that came in contrast to his dark skin.

You cleared your throat, they obviously didn’t pay you any mind.

“Ahem!”

You mother humed, putting her mirror down to face you.

“He's going to become one isnt he?’ I interrupted whatever my mother was saying as I wasn't paying attention .

“Yes but,” I interrupt.

“It's not fair.” I snuff out.

“Yes but Y/N.” i interrupt again not letting her finish.

“It should be me. I know more about you guys Draco didn't know they were still active till the Quidditch World Cup I've known my life. You know what the Dark Lord will do to him if he fails mother.” I've rambled forgetting that Draco and Narcissa were behind us. We paused outside the car my mother stopping outside our car to take us to Malfoy Manor where we are going to stay the beginning of the summer because of Death Eater “business”

“Y/N, your father and I have been hiding something. I’ll tell you when we get home.”

“What? Just tell me now. Why tell me now? Draco put his hand on my shoulder giving me a reassuring look. I let out a huff of air not continuing my yelling. I hated being lied to especially by my own family. They told me everything even that they never stopped being death eaters. That I needed to be nice to the muggle lovers so that people would think that “they changed” when they had me. They were great parents, just had different ideals than other wizards that us pures should remain pure.

After falling asleep on Dracos shoulder on the ride home we arrived at Malfoy Manor After stepping inside and gaining my surroundings I wasted no time to get my answers.

“What are you hiding mother?” I ran my hand through my hair, mother looked surprised walking around me.

“Did you dye your hair?” ran a piece of my hair in her hands looking at it. Pulling away I pulled the strand she was looking at out her hands to my view. My usually off black hair was red. Looking over at draco to see if he did it he's shaking his head no.

“It's starting.” Narcissa said with a smile.

“What?” I looked over at her confused. My mother guides me over to a couch pulling out a book.

“Do you remember the story we told you of the cursed god child?” I haven't heard of that legend in years. Almost every wizard unless muggle born has heard of that legend for the last two generations.

“Yes the dark lord “cursed” well more like blessed his godchild with immaculate power maybe more powerful for him. The power to cast spells even without a wand.so on and so one their overpowered. It's a Myth. What? Are you going to tell me I'm the cursed godchild.” I chuckled but stopped after seeing no one, not even Draco laugh, rather he was looking behind me. I slowly turned around being met with the Dark lord standing next to my Father.

“Y/N meet your godfather.” My mother put her hands on my shoulder guiding me around the couch to be close to him.

“You were telling your mother that it's unfair that the Malfoy boy had to be a Death eater. Well child.” He grabbed my arm moving his wand over my wrist sending a shocking pain as it slowly revealed a tattoo that matched my parents.

“You have been a death eater before your first birthday. My Goddaughter. My greatest pride. My weapon to burn. You don't know just how powerful you are but you will.” How did he know what I told mother?

“I've always been with you listening, watching, in your dreams we have communicated for years you just never knew. I've guided you all your life.” Memories of vivid dreams, Imaginary friends helping with bullies when Draco wasn't around, I always thought it was a coincidence. I slowly walked into his hug accepting that I am the cursed godchild.

Looking around the room Bellatrix and other death eaters came out clapping and congratulating me and my parents and to make them proud. But I couldn't care less. I wanted to meet Draco's eyes. When I finally caught his gray eye I pulled away not focused on the people looking at me walking towards Draco.

“I didn't know. I would've done something.” His fingers ran over the dark mark that no longer feels like a sting but likes its been on me for years.

“ I knew.” I pulled away temporarily looking at him confused.

“3 years ago when your parents had come to pick you up early from here I overheard them talking about you and the Dark lord. I put two and two together. Whenever you mentioned the Darklord around they had a look. I just wanted to have you before all of this happened.” I wrapped my arm around him. I looked around the room, Voldimort holding his hand out to me. I knew what he wanted. He was going to train me, take me away for who knows how long.

“ I don't know what to do.” Draco pulled me closer to him running his hand in my hair mumbling something. A red glow appears on both our wrists.

“When we miss each other just touch it we’ll know.” Kissing my forehead he whispers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Ill be back I promise. Stay strong with me. We were chosen.” My mother always said the strong ones were chosen. Never knew what she meant until now.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Imaginary Friend

So, this is a silly AU I’ve had in my mind for a while and I was thinking of doing a chaptered fic of it. But I think I'll probably never get to it since I have about seven other chaptered fic ideas that interest me more. I still wanted to bring it to life somehow. So I made it into a little fic. The pacing is horrible but I still kinda like it.

---

Link was a peculiar child. When other boys gathered in packs to run and play together, Link seemed to enjoy spending his time alone in his room or in the forests lining the Cape Fear River. For a long while, his mother tried to get him to make some friends. Link always made an effort to do so when his mother encouraged him, but after a while, he was alone again.

Although, according to Link, he wasn’t alone. He had a friend. A best friend. 

At first, his mother thought it was cute. An imaginary friend. That was perfectly normal and surely an indication of a vivid imagination. But as the years went on and Link kept talking about Rhett as if he was someone Link could actually see and talk to, Sue got worried. He took Link to a professional after another. When after the fifth one, Link stopped talking about Rhett, his mother didn’t take it as a win. She was sure that Link still saw him.

She was right. Rhett had been there Link’s whole life. He had no memory of a time when Rhett hadn’t existed for him. Rhett was always the same age as him – well, a year older as he always remembered to obnoxiously correct Link – but Link knew that he wasn’t the same as other people. Rhett couldn’t interact with the world around him. He couldn’t touch or taste or smell anything, and sometimes he just disappeared and when he came back and Link asked where he’d went Rhett couldn’t answer him. For the longest time, Link thought that everyone had their own version of Rhett.

When it finally dawned on him that his Rhett was an anomaly, it was too late. His mother had already carted him off to a psychologist. The first one was an old man with round glasses and deep frown lines on his forehead. He regarded Link over the thin frames of his glasses and asked him again and again: “But you do realize Rhett is not real, right?”

It made Link angry. Of course, Rhett was real. He wasn’t like other people, yes, but he was real to Link, and that’s what mattered to him. After the bespectacled man, there was a stern-looking woman in a suit. After her, a grandma looking older woman with a soft smile. Then a young man in jeans that tried to convince Link that they were buddies. And all of them wanted Link to say Rhett wasn’t real. So, eventually, he did. He didn’t believe it, but at least, his mom stopped taking him to shrinks.

Rhett was as real to him as other kids were. When they were little, they played together and kept each other company when Link’s mom was at work. They mapped out the forests surrounding Link’s home and swam in the river. They collected pretty rocks and built campsites. They ran around the pastures and jumped over cows. They stayed up late and talked about important things like whether they liked Link’s mom’s new boyfriend and what was the best Capri sun flavor – though, Rhett couldn’t really take part in the voting of that and he just agreed with Link’s choice.

Rhett was there for Link when he was afraid. When it was dark, and the stormy skies were torn open with the sound of the thunder – Link hated the sound of it, it made his skin crawl and his throat close up – they hid under Link’s covers, and Rhett sang to him in a low soothing voice or told him wild stories about aliens and astronauts. With Rhett, Link felt safe.

They fought too. Angry words were exchanged often enough and sometimes after their arguments, Rhett was gone for hours. But he always came back, and they apologized and were soon laughing about how ridiculous the fight had been.

When they grew up, and Link got his license, they spent most of their time in the car. They chose a direction at random, blasted the radio and just drove aimlessly. Rhett would sit on the passenger’s seat, his impossibly long legs propped against the dashboard, hand hanging out the open window with a wide smile on his face. 

Link kept stealing glances at him, feeling a strange fluttering in his stomach. And then Rhett would turn to look at him, eyes twinkling with happiness and the pure freedom of their world, and Link’s heart would ache from the need to reach over and touch his hair. Just once, he pleaded silently, let me run my fingers through his curls just once, and I will be happy forever.

When Link got his first girlfriend, Rhett teased him mercilessly, following them on their first date and whispering such naughty things into Link’s ears that he spent the whole date red in his face and hard in his pants. There was no kiss goodnight. Link blamed Rhett. 

“You were distracting me, man!” he moaned when they got back home.

Rhett just laughed and crawled into their bed. The barrage of filth continued after Link turned off the lights and the night ended with a panting Link with his hand around his cock next to Rhett who was egging him on in a low, honeyed voice. 

Link broke up with the girl soon after. It felt like too much of a hassle. He had Rhett. He didn’t need anyone else. Rhett didn’t say anything, but Link had an inkling that he was happy with Link’s decision.

After high school, Link got into his first-choice college. He was excited, couldn’t stop talking about how he wanted to immerse himself into the whole college experience. Rhett didn’t seem as enthusiastic. When Link asked him about it, he just shrugged and said it would be boring to sit at the lectures with him. That seemed strange to Link since Rhett had sat in all of his high school classes as well and never complained, but he put it out of his mind.

They moved into a dorm. At first, it was weird to share a space with a stranger, but Gregg turned out to be a great guy and quickly became Link’s close friend. The downside of it was that it became increasingly hard to talk with Rhett. He became quieter and quieter as the semester went on. He kept disappearing more often, and when he came back, he always seemed a bit dazed and confused. Later, Link realized he should have been more worried about that, but at the time he only had space in his head for classes and parties. And guys.

It had finally dawned on Link that the reason he hadn’t actually wanted to kiss his girlfriend was because she was, in fact, a girl. Guys instead… There were more than one of those in college that he wouldn’t have minded kissing – or more. 

When he told Rhett about his discovery, he just rolled his eyes and scoffed “took you long enough”. It irritated Link. It was a big deal for him. A revelation that made him feel more like himself – more comfortable in his own skin and more confident as well. And Rhett just shrugged and went on with his half-existence as if nothing significant had happened.

They fought about it. Link cried with anger and hurt at Rhett’s indifference. Rhett sneered at him and said things that cut deeps wounds into Link’s heart. Rhett was gone long after that – days. When he came back, he seemed changed somehow. Almost like he was more wispy, flickering at the edges. They apologized to each other and spent the day going on silly adventures around the city. It almost felt like the good old days and Link promised himself that he would make more of an effort to include Rhett into his new life.

But then Link got a boyfriend. He was a cute little brunette, the singer of a punk band and he made Link feel bubbly and ashamedly turned on at inconvenient times. The relationship escalated soon from kissing to all kinds of touching, and in the excitement of it all, Link forgot Rhett for a while. 

After one particularly heated date, Link came back to their dorm room and found Rhett pacing around the room. Thrilled to have someone to share all these new feelings with, Link immediately dove to a play-by-play of his amazing night. 

He was jerked back when Rhett stopped in the middle of the room, tugged his hair with both of his hands and screamed, “Shut up!”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Link asked startled and annoyed. “You’ve been acting so strange lately…”

Rhett’s shoulders slumped, and his arms dropped to hang limply at his sides.

“Don’t you get it?” he whispered, agony in his voice so sharp it almost cut Link’s heart in half.

“What?” Link asked, terrified of the answer.

“I shouldn’t be here. I’m way overdue,” Rhett said with a deep sigh and sat on the couch. Link walked up to him and sat next to him. His legs were trembling, and a deep dark dread had settled into his stomach. 

“Don’t say that. Please. I need you.” 

“No, you don’t,” Rhett said with a hollow laugh. “That’s the problem. You stopped needing me ages ago. You wanna know why I’m still here, though?”

“Why?”

“Because I need you. Because I love you. Because I want to be the man you come home to. The man you imagine alone at night when you go to bed. The man who waits for you at the coffee cart before the morning class just so that he can walk with you for five minutes before you have to go your separate ways. I want to be the man to kiss you, to hold you, to make love to you. I wanna be yours.”

Link stared at Rhett through a film of tears. He lifted his feet on the couch and hugged his legs – a vain effort to keep himself from falling apart. 

“I want that too…” he whispered, swallowing down a sob. “Rhett, I love you, but…”

Rhett whipped his head back and let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“But… Isn’t that the thing, though? Gosh. Our whole lives… There has always been that. But. But I can’t. But I’m not. But I won't. I love you but… I want you but…”

Link’s fingers dug into his legs. He ached all over. He had never in his life wanted to touch Rhett more than now. He wanted to gather him in his arms. Wanted to kiss his tears away. Wanted to pet his hair and kiss his temple. Wanted to make everything okay again.

“Rhett…” 

Rhett took a shuddering breath. “I need to go. I need to… Link, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I held on this long. It was selfish of me.”

“No, please! Please, don’t. I don’t know what I’ll… I can’t be without you! Who am I without you? Nothing. A half of something. Please, Rhett. Don’t leave me.” Link said crying with violent sobs that wracked his trembling body.

“You’re Link. You’re smart and funny and dumb as a doorknob but in the most adorable way. You flirt without even realizing it, and everyone who’s graced by your presence is enchanted by your energy and positivity. You’re perfect as you are. You don’t need me.”

“Please… Not yet.”

Rhett bit his lip and sniffled. He was silent for a long time before whispering, “Okay. I’ll stay for one more night.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was more than nothing. They crawled into bed and settled their heads on Link’s pillow, noses so close there was an illusion of them actually touching each other. They talked. They reminisced about all the shenanigans they got into as kids. They reminded each other of memories, of nights spent in Link’s room listening to records, of days spent on the open roads, of evenings at the river. They talked late into the night, and Link valiantly fought the sleep that hung heavy over him. 

“You’re barely conscious anymore,” Rhett chuckled when Link’s lids slipped closed once again.

“No, I’m fine. A little while longer.”

“Go to sleep, bo.”

“No.”

“I won’t be gone in the morning,” Rhett tried to coax him. Link scoffed.

“You’re lying.”

“I am,” Rhett admitted.

“Prick,” Link said with a smile.

“Jerk,” Rhett replied with a smile of his own.

“I love you,” Link whispered, voice cracking.

“I love you more,” Rhett said, eyes glimmering with tears. 

“Not possible,” Link mumbled before falling asleep.

---

Link was woken up by the irritating clangor of his alarm. His hand shot to silence it and then moved over the bed as if in search of something – or someone. The bed was empty. Link opened his eyes and a rush of worry crashed through him. He stared at the empty space between him and the wall and shook his head. Had he dreamt that someone was there?   

He dragged himself up and slowly started his morning routine. He felt tired as hell and had no idea why. He was sure he’d gone to bed on time. Why did he feel like he’d been up half the night? 

The rest of the week was strange too. Every once in a while Link would hear something amusing or exciting or just downright stupid, and he’d turn to his side and open his mouth as if he was about comment on it. The empty air beside him always felt like a slap to his face. Who was he trying to talk to? He had no idea. 

Eventually, that stopped happening, but what was left behind was a peculiar feeling of something missing. Link felt slightly off-kilter, unfinished and oddly sad as if he was missing something he’d never had. Despite the feeling, Link went on with his life, explaining it away as something every young adult felt. It was hard to figure out who you were and where you belonged in the world. Who wouldn’t feel a bit incomplete?

After Christmas break, Link was full of vigor and excitement for the new semester. He came to the first class of the year way too early, determined to get a good seat this time. There was only one other person in the room. He sat in the middle row, wearing a red hoodie, hair in perfect dirty blonde curls. The guy lifted his head when Link walked in and turned to look at him. Link’s heart skipped a beat, and he stopped mid-step.

“Hey,” the guy said with a curious frown.

“Hey,” Link answered. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” they asked in unison and burst into amazed laughter. The guy was gorgeous: twinkly green eyes and a smile that took Link’s breath away. He got up and offered Link his hand.

“Hi, I’m Rhett.”

Link shook his hand and forgot to let go. They stood there for a while, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes. Link felt warm all over - warm and safe. A door banged open behind Link making him jump and let go. 

“Link. My name is Link,” he finally muttered back.

“Wanna sit here?” Rhett asked and pointed next to his seat. Link nodded and settled down next to Rhett.

“So, that was strange,” Rhett said, sitting almost sideways, staring at Link with unabashed marvel.

“Yeah,” Link said, returning the gaze without making any effort to hide the blush that had turned his cheeks bright red.

“We should probably figure that out. Wanna get coffee after the class?” Rhett asked looking so hopeful Link almost kissed him right then and there. 

Link felt something shift inside him, like pieces of a puzzle moving and clicking into place. He felt complete again – somehow made whole by the smiling giant of a man next to him. It left him feeling faint and heated to his core.  

“Sounds good,” Link answered finally and without really thinking about it, took Rhett’s hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. Rhett stared at their hands for a beat, looking as surprised as Link felt. But then he smiled, and somehow Link knew that he’d be seeing that smile for the rest of his life. 

[beyondtheciouds]

Vampires, Stale Scones, and Lucie Herondale

Part 2.

Lucie had successfully avoided Matthew’s painfully awkward question. 

Did Lucie love Jesse? 

The thought invaded her mind; curved into and controlled her emotions like a parasite. Lucie decided she had one choice and followed through. She promptly and conveniently pretended to fall asleep moments after he asked one of many questions she dreaded. Lucie could not trust herself to give him the answer he wanted, it seemed simple enough. She did not want to hurt Math, especially since they were chained to one another.

Plus, who knew what horrible, horrible plans Tatiana and Belial had for them!

Lucie felt guilty enough and thought reluctantly of the last words she had said to him. These words had escaped her hours before Grace threw her to the wolves. I love you too, Matthew Fairchild.

 Did she mean those three words? Lucie didn't know. All she was aware of was that she could not trust herself to be honest with him then, so how did she expect herself to be now? She did not want to inflict unnecessary pain on Math if it wasn't true.

Fatigue and hunger had staked their claim on her and for a little while, she slept. Now, she coughs as she struggles to free herself from her vivid dreams of decaying bodies. Her body arches as gurgling noises erupt from her belly and she clenches her teeth as she fights the pang of hunger. She has not eaten in three days.

Matthew's snores fill her ears, deep in the core of her dreams like the monsters under her bed. 

"Lucie. Luuucie. Wake up, Lu."

Her eyes snap beneath the sand-man crusted lids to someone calling her name. For a fleeting moment, Lucie thinks the voice is Will’s. She strains to listen, her neck stretching towards the sound. The imaginary sound of her father’s calming tone wills Lucie to listen. The voice sounds different although it is gentle and urgent; a fading whisper. 

Lucie is stiff, her arm feels numb and her wrist is throbbing beneath the cold metal. The cool touch of a hand rests on her shoulder and her eyes shoot open. Another cough escapes her scratchy throat as she searches the darkness, "Jesse?"

 Matthew's head is still resting in her lap; his wet cheek pressed against her thigh. Lucie’s free hand is woven and tangled in damp strands of gold and bronze. Matthew’s evergreen eyes are closed and he blissfully is sound asleep. During the night, Lucie awoke several times to find that he was twitching and shaking; sweating and moaning. He was cursing and occasionally mumbling incoherently.

 Lucie had been good to him and rubbed his head; his back and shoulders with her free hand. All was done in a bleak attempt to console him and shut him up. Lucie wonders how many days it had been since his last drink. She doesn’t know if it has been one or more. 

Now, glancing down at him she watches his chest rise and fall in a rhythmic motion. Her fingers glide out of his hair and down his forehead. She presses the back of her hand against his skin like her mother had taught her to do. Would she always have to take care of him like this?

Matthew would have a lot of growing up to do and so would Lucie. 

Lucie flips her hand over, her palm on his forehead as she considers a future with the Consul’s second son. She is having a hard time imagining herself as a wife to the wild libertine.  Could she settle for the lie? Is it a lie?

Matthew’s skin is dry and clammy. He looks like an angel when he sleeps and the image of him throws Lucie a curve; her heart flutters in her chest. Peaceful, Matthew had finally stopped sweating and his fever seems to have broken. Lucie is relieved and allows herself a small smile. 

A movement in the shadows catches her eye and gives her chills; goosebumps race along with her pale skin, almost like fingertips. Blue eyes shift over to the wall and her eyes spot her ghost in the shaft of moonlight; translucent but still very real. Jesse is leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and he does not look pleased. His usual smirk is gone, replaced with his lips pulled tight. "I'm here, Lu."

Lucie squints, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness surrounding her. "You know, don't you?" she askes, a tremble in her voice. She is cutting to the chase because this is one thing she is not going to wait on.

Jesse nods, solemn.”You looked beautiful that night Lucie,” he says slowly and pauses, getting lost in the glare of memory.

 “I did not mean for anything to happen with Matthew, Jesse. You must know that.” 

“Lulu,” his voice is a melody; the song of her heart.

Lucie's breath catches, "Jesse."

He is a winter night; stark black and white bathed in the sliver of silver moonlight. "Too beautiful. I had wished it was me with you in my arms."

Lucie blushes in the dark, but she is unsure of how to take the tone of his compliment. Her voice is rough, whispered in the dark as she throws her head back in shock at his admission. Her heart is under attack like a thunderclap in her chest. More than anything she wants to touch him; feel his pallid skin against hers. The shadow of doubt looms over the glimmer of hope; breaking her open like a rainstorm. "Jesse, I'm sorry."

Can we forgive and forget? Unspoken with all the lights out, the words fall between the ghost and the girl in the cell. The insidiousness of her doubt creeps up on the girl. She knows she will never hold him and it is far too much for such a young heart to bear.  

Lucie's mind is a whirl, even in a state of hunger and sorrow she finds a way to think of a storyline.  

 "Yes, I know, Lu. Although I am.. am...” Jesse pauses, thoughtful. He can’t put his feelings into words. “I don't blame you." His voice is still soft, teetering on the edge of the lust that was there moments ago, his eyes lingering on the boy sleeping in her lap. 

Jesse’s green eyes are glowing; neon green in the darkness as he takes in the length of Matthew’s body. "Matthew is a sick boy," Jesse pauses, considering the depth of Matthew’s inner demons. "maybe he is sicker than I was.” 

Lucie frowns, “Matthew wasn’t always like this...He was....” She trails off, remembering Math as a child. She does not have the words to describe the beautiful and damaged boy in her lap. 

Jesse’s anorexic shoulders seem to slump and Lucie knows if he could draw a breath, he would have sighed.  “I know he needs you to lean on to help get him through his problems. I get that because he is a childhood friend, you have a loyalty to those you love. Even though I understand, that does not mean I like seeing you with him."

Lucie shakes her head, brown, knotted strands untangling from her loose braid. A barrage of unexpected sobs erupts from her mouth and snot from her nose. "Cordelia is wrong," she says abruptly. "People can not fix people."

Jesse stares at her, confused. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step forwards into the darkness that is slowly swallowing Lucie. "What do you mean?"

"I can't fix, Matthew. No one can.” A pause and her chest heaves. “I can't fix you, Jesse. Only black magic can." Lucie clears her throat, another set of sobs building. "Hell, I can't even get out of this mess I have made."

"Luce, that is not true." Panic rises in Jesse's voice and his eyes go wide at the thought of losing the only shard of light in his mirror of darkness. "Please, Luce. We will find a way... I will convince Mother to let you go, " Jesse uncrosses his arms, lowering them. He places the palms out as if he means to grab her. "we could be together... we could run away. "

Lucie breaks down, removing her hand from Matthew's head of hair. "I am useless, Jesse. Purely useless as a Shadowhunter." She pauses and looks up at him, her eyes shiny blue and bleak. "Surely I have disappointed you and you will tell Grace."

"No, Luce.." Jesse begins and trails off, rattled.

The entire reality of her situation had finally cracked Lucie's resolve. She turns her face away as Jesse takes a few tentative steps without saying another word. He has never seen Lucie so broken before, he doesn't know how to react or what else he can say.

Lucie sobs into her free arm, struggling to be quiet. Matthew's eyes, redrimmed and bloodshot, shoot open as if he hears her. He leans into her and breathes in deep, exhaling as his gaze focuses on Lucie's face. "Luce? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Lucie straightens and ceases her childish crying session. She is stilled by the longing looks Jesse is giving her. She can’t let Matthew see her so overwhelmed. She needs to be strong as she hastily wipes her eyes on her sleeve. 

Lucie takes a deep breath and pretends to play with the metal chain attached to her handcuff. She looks away from where Jesse still stands, frozen. He is watching her sullenly as she exhales.

 "My wrist hurts," she says, glancing down at Matthew. "and it feels raw like the skin is rubbing off."

A lame excuse, but one he will believe.

Matthew smiles weakly, "Want an izrate? I still have my stele."

Lucie raises an eyebrow at him. "Belial let you keep it?"

Matthew shakes his head, smiling deviously in the dark. "Guess that vampire forgot I had it."

Lucie grins at him, "Smooth, Fairchild. Smooth." She waits for a beat for Jesse to vanish and when he doesn't, she nods her head at Matthew. "Alright, give me one."

Matthew sits up and digs in the pocket of his gear jacket. A second later he pulls out his stele, still intact. "Where should I draw the izrates?"

Jesse takes a few steps forward. For a moment Lucie thinks she sees curiosity flicker in his eyes as he watches Matthew lean over, the stele steady in one hand while the other gently brushes Lucie’s braid to the side like he has done this thousands of times to her. 

Lucie rolls the shoulder of her chained arm, trying to not wince as she glances over her shoulder. Matthew is smiling. "Anywhere on this arm Math," Lucie says, turning her gaze back to Jesse. 

Jesse kneels in front of Lucie, his eyes wide and curious. It dawns on Lucie this may be the first time he is watching a rune drawn up close. The thought stings and she gazes sadly at the burn in the shape of an eye on his right hand.

Two sets of different eyes stare at Lucie. Both shades of green watch her intensely as Matthew slips the arm of her dress down, over her arm. It drops soundlessly to the crook of her elbow. Lucie's corset is visible and Jesse stares in quiet admiration, wondering how many times Matthew has taken off her dress. Jesse is shy and bites his lower lip. Pale skin blushes as much as a ghost can. He does not move and to his own shock, he doesn't shy away. 

He is intrigued.

Matthew concentrates, his tongue peeking out of his lips. His hand is steady as he starts to draw the rune on the back of Lucie's arm. A moment later, Lucie feels the comforting burn on her skin. Her rune reminds her she is strong; she will escape this Hell. 

Matthew is precise and slow with the deliberate movement of his stele. Sudden heat floods Lucie's cheeks as he finishes and pulls his hand away. Lucie can feel his eyes still burning on her flesh. His gaze is intense like he is an artist and her body is the canvas. "Another, Luce?"

Lucie nods, closing her eyes. "Would an open rune work on my cuff, you think?" She asks, desperately needing the distraction.

Matthew sighs, licking his lips as his hand trembles. “We could certainly try.”

Jesse is still watching, his head tilted to the side like a curious dog. His sea-green eyes are luminous as he watches Matthew draw another izrate on Lucie’s bare shoulder.

***

Hours passed and the sun has risen; light illuminating the stone walls; attaching rays of gold to Lucie’s light brown hair.  Lucie was disappointed that the open rune did not work. They had each tried, drawing it from memory on the lock. Lucie’s hand still aches from the determined grip she had on Matthew’s stele, hardly aware that she was begging Raziel for a slice of luck out loud. 

Jesse had vanished from the cell once the sunlight trickled in, leaving her and Matthew in awkward but not unpleasant silence. 

Lucie knew Math was still expecting some kind of answer from her. Lucie had no answers and she wondered if it would be easier just to die.

Her blue eyes cast a sideways glance at Matthew. Her lips are set in a thin line, wondering if he had heard all of her exchange with Jesse last night. She decides after a moment not to pursue it by asking questions. 

She turns her gaze away from Math, her eyebrows furrow in concentration. She breaks the silence by thinking out loud. “Alright, so, James and Cordelia are presumed...missing...” Lucie clears her throat, trailing off. The idea of Jamie and Daisy in trouble makes her heart sink. She has to figure out a way out; a way to save herself and them. She hopes her parents and the families are also searching for the four of them. A bitterness curls her heartstrings as she scrunches her forehead, thinking out her plan. “ And you last saw them in the forest... five miles away?”

She wishes she hadn’t been fooled by Grace. 

She wishes she never snuck out that night. 

She wishes she had seen Jesse hiding behind that tree as Matthew ripped open her corset. 

Anxiety was making her ideas jumbled in a knot she could get loose. Memories of that night clouded in clusters of hot and cold across her skin as she catches Math’s eye once more.  

“ Yes, “ Matthew sighs, scooting closer to her, his hands on his knees. “Unfortunately, they are lost, looking for us, or Belial caught them and has them locked up somewhere.” 

Lucie frowns, pulling her gaze away. She stares at the rat chowing down on some scone crumbs. She does not want to think about her brother and her parabatai chained up or worse. Instead of dwelling, she keeps trying to remember Belial’s words to her the previous day when she demanded to speak with her brother. 

She thinks it would help, but she cannot remember. “He was acting sort of suspicious, but that might normal behavior for a Prince of Hell.”

Matthew kicks a scone away with the toe of his boot. His knees are drawn up and his head is lowered. His mossy eyes stare blankly at the stone floor and Lucie wonders if he is purposely avoiding her.  He shrugs his shoulders and she cannot help but stare at the roll of muscle under the tight fabric of his gear jacket. “Either way we have to come up with some kind of plan. What do you propose?”

Footsteps on the stairs disrupt Lucie before she has a chance to open her mouth in response.  Grace’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard.  Both Lucie and Matthew flinch as they glance up. 

“Hungry?” Grace calls, coming in to view carrying a plate of moldy scones and a pitcher of water. 

[michealanddavidprojects]

Il tuo cantante 2/ ?

Hello again!! I’m really happy to know you guys liked the first part 🖤. I think I will post it on my ao3 account too. So here is part two, I hope you all enjoy your reading, and sorry again for any misspellings.

Chapter 2 - Out

Aro was there. Right in front of him, on the first row, watching his movements with those hungry red eyes. It hadn't been hard to notice him there, not really, that pale face, his cute nose, his too dark hair, but tonight it was short a nice modern cut or perhaps it was his black suit or just because Peter had memorized every detail of that face. It felt so good being watched so closely by the other, he could feel every hair on his body standing in attention hyper aware of that gaze upon him, he had the feeling that if he looked too much at Aro he would end up succumbing to those red eyes and doing whatever the other wanted him to. What in the fucking hell was he thinking? Aro was a vampire, a fucking vampire and he hated them with all his heart. He really hated them . The Volturi were bloodthirsty creatures, they had huge parties for the only purpose of killing humans and Peter wanted nothing to do with him. Even though said bloodthirsty creature was the main star of Peter´s most indecent dreams, curiously said dreams usually involved the vampire's mouth around his throat, burying his teeth in his flesh and he just let himself go, throwing his arms around Aro´s neck, entwining his fingers in his black hair and letting himself be driven by the sensation of Aro's firm arms around his body, the sensation of cold lips his on him hot skin causing him to whimper. Peter shuddered, blaming the air conditioner of the theatre and not his reverie with the vampire.

Hypnotize the security guard at the door of the young magician's dressing room had been easy, he turned the doorknob and stepped in, the young man's scent all over the place filling his senses, making him feel dizzy and more of that sweet poison be produced in his mouth. Aro walked around the room looking for his human soon realizing he was in the bathroom changing, he sat on the black leather sofa and crossed his legs as if he had been kindly invited and had not just invaded the dressing room. Peter came out of the bathroom sometime later, wearing tight pants and a loose button-down all-black shirt, he was prettier without the wig he presented himself and didn't seem surprised to see him sitting there like they were old friends.

"Out," Peter said, leaning against the make-up counter the white lights around him. Their images reflected on mirror behind Peter.

"I don't think I introduced myself ...." Aro started with a cheerful smile, the young magician clicked his tongue and crossed his arms in front of his chest, showing a little more of skin, the vampire's eyes leaving his face for a few seconds to travel to that path of skin. Peter would never admit that he was just leaning against the make-up counter because his legs were too weak to walk, that his heart was in his mouth and everything in his body screamed to him to go to Aro and curl up in him, kiss his red lips and ask for things Peter didn't have the heart to say out loud that would most likely kill him.

He would deny to the end that those red eyes were making goose bumps rise in his flesh in a pleasurable way, that his hands trembled with desire to touch that very pale cheek, that he wanted to see the other's fangs up close, to be able to touch and even feel them while they were kissing, but Peter would never give voice to those mad thoughts and feelings.

- I know who you are and that's why I said: Out of here - Aro smiled, a loopsided smile getting up from the couch, staring at Peter intently, gluing him on place – Don´t get any closer , or I'll attack you ! - Peter said loudly, taking the first thing that was within reach which happened to be a can of hair spray, the vampire laughed softly reaching for him taking the hairspray can from his hands gently holding his clammy hands between his cold ones.

"Don't be silly, tesoro" the bastard said with a smug smile. Peter lowered his eyes for a few seconds to watch his lips hearing a low chuckle. "My eyes are up here, Peter."

“How do you know my name, bastard ?” Peter gasped almost without strength

Aro felt dizzy as he took Peter's hands, his daydreams coming in clear, vivid flashes making the vampire shiver all over his body and those whispers invading his mind again. Do you see ? I´m yours. He wouldn't need much to get at Peter´s heart, although he denied it Peter always had feelings for him. It was right there underneath of that pose and denial. But Peter hid his true feelings because of his hatred for everything the vampire was. For the little the vampire had seen he didn’t blamed peter from hating his species. Aro pressed his forehead to Peter's, feeling him practically melt in his arms.

"What are you doing to me ? You are hypnotizing me " The magician asked his voice above a whisper eyes locked with Aro´s. Aro could feel that Peter was making excuses for two reasons: Aro would never hypnotize anyone to kiss him. That was just disgusting to think about. Everything in him was made to be seductive.

“Am I ?”

“Of course you are…I would never want to kiss something dead like you…” The vampire chuckled again and whispered on his lips :

“Poveretto” Then with that Aro kissed him, one hand on the base of his back and the other on his neck. Aro's mouth was cold, it was expected, Peter didn't expect the soft texture and his touch on his waist was so gentle barely there. in his fantasies with Aro the vampire held him more firmly, really held him to himself, flushing their bodies together. Not that barely there touch. The vampire seemed to want to devour him with that kiss and the kiss was making his legs weaker and his body extra sensitive, he would not mind if the vampire took him in his arms and fled them to some luxurious hotel room. To Peter´s sadness it had been a short kiss which ended with a bite on his lower lip, when Peter opened his eyes and noticed the position he was in, his body against Aro's their faces close, the magician gathered the rest of his strength and punched the vampire´s shoulder who seemed very amused by the action.

"You …" the magician said, fake anger in his voice trying to pull his body out of that hug and failing, his body would not obey him and he knew the other was not hypnotizing him. Peter did not want to leave the vampires’ arms. The vampire took his hand kissing the back of it.

“Did you liked the kiss ?”

"Of course not ... Why woul- ?" He was interrupted by the vampire's mouth on his again, this time he was sitting on Aro's lap, on one of his knees, somehow they had ended up on the couch it impossible not to moan when cold fingers touched Peter´s hip under his shirt, it was almost a ghostly touch, it was barely there touch again and it frustrated him, frustrating him spending so much time dreaming about that touch and not having it completely, gently Aro's mouth went down his jaw tracing his skin with open mouthed kisses, down his throat, on his Adam pome, grazing his teeth, drawing imaginary circles on his sides . When Aro's cold lips touched his jugular it was, when the magician seemed to realize what was actually happening Peter froze. His parents were killed by someone like Aro, and here he is, forgetting about it and having pleasure in the arms of a damned man, who killed for sport without even thinking twice about the lives he was taking and his parents had been one of those lives. Obviously Aro wasn't responsible for their death but he was no better than Jerry. Aro killed without thinking. Luxury suits and seductive red eyes would not make him forget that, not even the memory of those hands on his skin, nor those touches that seemed to burn and his body seeming to beg for more. Peter slid off Aro's lap and took a little breath. He needed a bottle of cheap whiskey. Damn it ! He needed to go to Scotland to drink a whole barrel.

"You fucking pervert, get out of here or I'll stick a stake in your heart..." The ragged breath, the swollen lips and the messy hair made did not made his words sound like a real threat. Aro blinked “Out”. The vampire approached him again and kissed him lightly and said before disappearing :

“See you soon, tesoro”

[neoculturetechxgot7]

Gardenia on the crown - J.J.H.

2; Sun kissed gardens

pairing: Jung Jaehyun × Reader

genre: angst

length: around 2k words

warnings: profanity

``

The distance from the ballroom to the gardens is fairly short, having to cross only a few wide halls buzzing with the usual morning preparations as maids and servants swiftly moved around with hasty steps.

You're surprised to soon find yourself crossing a large patio paved with thick, grey gravel to reach what the king said to be the countryard, where a seemingly endless sea of green spread under the skyline. Without wasting a moment, you follow both elders as they begin making their way between big, voluminous bushes and blooming flowers covering each side of the stone path.

It seems to be more of a maze than a garden, its complicated spirals of greenery pushing you to the brim of dizziness, constant turns killing your sense of direction. At this point, it's a fact that you'd get lost if left alone in there.

The sky is clear and gifts you a generous supply of sun beams, which you presume to be nature's way of sympathizing with your new reality, trying to provide the slightest comfort. It's hard to enjoy even that though, with Jaehyun by your side. At least he makes sure to keep more than enough distance and you feel internally grateful for his understanding of personal space.

You steal a brief glance on your right where he strolls carelessly, hands in the pockets of his dress pants like a gentleman. Glaring far into the horizon, he seems to have retreated into his own thoughts which causes you to feel a little more relaxed, knowing he isn't intently watching your every move.

The sudden urge to run away almost overpowers you when his eyes, pink and purple lavender mirroring in their depths, lock with yours and embarrassment pierces through you so brutally. Once again, your cheeks probably get more blush than any rose in the entire palace as you quickly snap your head to the other side.

He literally just caught you staring.

But there is nothing wrong with that, right? He is your husband-to-be after all...

Thanfully, Jaehyun doesn't comment anything, only leaves a blanket of silence drape over you and the bold decision of looking at anything but him takes a good seat in the back of your head.

Thankfully, the plants around you can provide a great distraction as you get fascinated by their vivid colours and freshness, early dew still sliding off of velvety petals and leaves. They aren't as Iively as those back home nor is there as much variety, but still it remains a pretty sight.

What really catches your attention though are a few snowy white blooms emerging from a plush bush beside the path and your heart flutters, inevitably drawn to them. Ducking with golden satin pooling around your ankles, your fingers reach out to pluck one and the next moment you're burying your nose to deeply inhale in the beautiful scent that makes fairies dance on the crisp air.

You love it. That's why you can't bare to avert your gaze, instead standing over the plants as if you can somehow escape in their dreamy world, wiping tiny droplets from their surface to feel the coolness of morning.

"Gardenia." A voice comes from behind and you quickly realise it's Jaehyun, his heavy footsteps growing louder as he approached.

"I know." You reply, almost allowing a chuckle past your lips. "My mother adores them. She says it takes a lot of care for these to grow."

"We do take care of them here." There is a tone of pointing out the obvious lacing his words as he halts before the flowers and slowly leans to sniff one.

"You take care of them?" You ask with a finger pointing at him, genuinely curious to know if the prince of ice has a soft spot for gardening after all.

"No, of course not. Servants do." Jaehyun explains nonchalantly and, after looking back at the path, gestures for you to follow, since both your parents have already moved way ahead.

The hint of enthusiasm in your chest is quickly crashed by his answer and once again it feels so unbearably cold to be around him, an imaginary yet sturdy wall built between you two. He continues walking, completely ignoring the uneasiness being alone with him causes you.

You wish to rush to your father's side, hide under his wing and plea to stop the marriage, but your pride and unbending sense of responsibility leaves you simply scurrying to catch up.

You don't trade any other words as he continues pretending oblivion to your existence and you begin hating even the slightest idea of him, burning with desire for all of this mess to end.

♤

A torturous amount of time later, your heels are digging into the expensive burgundy carpet decorating a high staircase leading up to what the king said to be your royal chambers. You can't wait to go up these steps and sink in the peace and quiet of a well-made bed. Privacy and some time alone is all you need to put the tornado of incomprehensible thoughts racking your mind in order.

And while you're daydreaming about soft pillows and the chilling touch of cotton sheets, Jaehyun's father keeps on with his relentless ramble regarding the wedding, which, from what you understood, will be held under the next full moon, in about a month from now.

It then dawns on you how, truly, you have only 25 days before you allow that awful prince to slide a band of polished platinum on your ring finger and tie your lives together in eternity. Then, as the unwritten laws of the ancient proclaimed, you'd be inseparable.

Fuck all of this.

Screaming and shouting until the moon itself tears in half seems like a tempting option to let out the despair now nibbling at every inch of you skin. Hatred and so much fury boils in your bloodstream, especially after your gaze lands on your betrothed, who was eyeing you back, possibly with raw dislike.

You realize now that, really, you despise him.

He's standing just a step below, too close for your lungs to breathe freely but close enough for your nails to claw at his eyes and-

"...and the ceremony will take place at the palace, before the grand feast..." The hoarsennes of the king's voice scratches your ears almost cruelly.

You can't stand hearing whatever shit is coming out his mouth, already way past your breaking point. You can't take it anymore, you can't wait for him to finish that annoying monologue.

Your fingers start to tremble ever so slightly, golden rings clashing inaudibly against each other.

You don't want to hear anything else about that damned wedding, the upcoming end of life as you know it, and right now all you can think about is how to reach your room as soon as possible.

Then, a god-sent idea flashes before your conscious, dramatic yet somehow good, the distress in your eyes replaced by glimmering relief.

If this works, you'll be in the security of a spacious room within seconds, away from the overwhelming royals and their annoying chit-chat.

A soft gasp falls from your parted lips and a hand shot up to your forehead, knees bending slightly.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" Your dad's concern coated tone sends traces of guilt to crawl under your skin.

"Yes, I'm just feeling a little dizzy, father." You whine, sounding pathetic nonetheless, leaning towards his embrace for support.

"Do you need me to call the maids?"

Your inevitably gaze shoots to Jaehyun's father eyeing you, awaiting your answer.

"No, no, it's alright. I'd prefer to retreat from your company, though." You mentally cringe at the immerse politeness you're forced show when in reality all you long to say is a simple fuck off, all of you.

So your plan might be...really pitiful at its execution after all. You aren't sure if anyone will believe your pretentious groan of pain and the helpless tone, but even so, who can refuse a princess a such simple request?

"The sun. Its probably the heat that's caused this, my Lady." The unbothered king points out, without a single drop of regret in his voice for having you wander around the entire garden under the searing licks of sunshine.

And then, fingertips scorch a tight grasp around your wrist making you flinch, eyes darting daggers at Jaehyun who is taking a step forward to tower over you, blaze adorning his gaze.

"Are you sure you're alright, princess?" His other hand snakes its way around your waist so smoothly, fingers squeezing waves of newfound heat against your side.

You can burst any moment now and slap that pretty face of his that's now only a breath away as he pulls you ever so slightly towards his chest.

If you had a fake headache before, it's a certain fact that a real one is starting to pulse inside your head at right now.

"Guards!" The king loudly calls for the two men in light armor standing on either side of the base of the stairs and they hurry away from their positions to approach you. "Take her highness to her royal chambers immediately."

You'd be glad to be escorted by them, followed by the soft clatter of iron as you head for the comfort of your apartments, away from that stupid prince.

But apparently Jaehyun isn't about to allow that luxury, when he throws a sharp nod to stop them dead on their tracks.

"I got her."

No, no, no, no. Damnit, no.

You can barely contain your body's reaction to violently wiggle out of his grip and pick up your skirts to bolt away, not giving a shit about manners at this point. Being almost pressed flush with his body strangely drains you of energy and clouds your mind with a heavy daze, sensing his every warm inhale brush against your neck.

"Father, please continue without us."

You don't make it to hear what the others mumble -probably their farewells- as he spins you around, palm moving lower on the small of your back to support it, although it's really not necessary. If it weren't for his tight hold though, you would've fallen flat on your face after tripping on the first step, the clumsiness striking you yet again.

"Do you need me to carry you?" He leans to whisper in your ear, freezing you in place at the proximity and his spine-chilling touch.

You are somewhat disgusted. His concern is probably nothing more than sugar-coated pretence.

"No, I'm okay. I can do this alone." That's all you manage to blurt out, insides lit on ruby fire as you try to move away hopelessly.

Even so, his bony fingers don't loosen up. "There's only a few steps left."

His voice rings faintly, because everything around you except him seems to disintegrate into a blur and you melt painfully slow into his unwanted embrace. The erratic heartbeat thumping on your temples is louder than gunshots at this point, making you wonder if he can hear it so clearly too.

Jaehyun's scent of sandalwood and rosemary has a shaky breath hitch at your throat so painfully, overpowering all your senses in a feverish way.

You curse at your impatience, regretting not waiting for the king to end the annoying palace tour and bidding all three men goodbye to find your room all alone. Yes, that would've been perfect compared to the current situation.

Your whole body is tense, every muscle buzzing with electricity as you keep going up the staircase in the heated hands of your betrothed.

The devil holds you tight only to burn you tighter.

//

[thorsstorms]

The Garden

Winter Soldier/James x Reader (soulmate AU)

She thought she had grown out of her night mares, until she has another years later, and she remembers it this time in vivid detail. The heartbreaking sounds of a man in pain. Her soulmate was not what she expected, but shared dreams means they are your soulmate, right? She was going to love him no matter what.

Warnings: Shit ton of angst and worry.

Word count: 5k

Marvel Masterlist

Dreamscape Masterlist

The Garden

She’s found a way to control it. Almost.

It was a way to sneak into her dreams and take control. She could not live in fear. Closing her eyes at night was supposed to be a relief, filled with a state of comfort. She was grown out of being scared, no more. Every night she focused on recognizing that it was a dream, not real life. And when she woke she immediately turned to her bedside table and flipped open a worn notebook where she wrote down everything she could remember, always checking for any changes, but there were not many, if any. Sometimes she did not dream of that darkness, it was just a regular dream. Those were written down as well.

The darkness is what she began to call that place. Because it was just that, dark. The looks were dark, the feel was dark, the sounds were dark. There was nothing for her to see yet. Her dreamscape was filled with the dark cell. She hated it and grew frustrated.

During her waking hours she was torn between investigating the darkness, or returning to her dreamscape oasis, her garden. She did what she wanted in her garden. She grew pretty flowers, ate her favorite fruits, freshly picked. She could dream up a beautiful pond, and if she wanted, a lake. Animals of her mind would appear out of curiosity. Daunting fresh blooms of a plethora of flowers. The growing, but maintained greenery of the place gave her comfort. She loved her garden. But she was too curious about the darkness to tend to it correctly sometimes. She would arrive in it, in her dreamscape, and the garden would be overgrown, not taken care of. It was a reflection of her real life. The dreams were taking over. She was not taking care of herself. It needed to come to an end.

There was more to this cell, she knew it. She can create what she wants, do what she wants in her garden. Why can she not do that here?

This was a dream, she is dreaming. Her hands, she stared at them, counting her fingers. There was a door in the wall. It was a door, meaning it leads to somewhere else. She recognizes the doors existence and she has to leave, determined to. She had to know what was going on out there. The screaming was too much. It was perpetual, never ending screams of agony.

What was going on? Who was screaming? Why are they screaming?

The door did not budge. Her dreamscape hands fudged with the handle, but it was unmoving. She stared at it in frustration. Eventually closing her eyes and focusing on it. She dreamt the door away, but was disappointed with the other side. It was almost the same. She appeared in the hallway. Dark, cold, filled with echoes that brought chills to her soft skin of her arms due to the clarity of the sounds of agony. She followed the noise. She was going to help this man. He seemed trapped. Trapped in his head, trapped in the torture.

Her feet carried her along, gaining speed but never feeling the burning pain of her muscles because after all, this was a dream. The hallways were winding, but she never felt as if she was closer to the sounds of pain. She wished it would end, so it did. She closed her eyes and focused on her dreamscape and where she wants to be. She wants to be taken to the source of the noise.

There he was.

The shock of the man flooded her body, eyes wandering over him. He seemed to be in pain, but she couldn’t see the source. He was sitting, leaned back in a black leather chair. His hands seemingly forced to the arms of it by an invisible chain. He was alone, screaming for help. His cries pierced her ears at the proximity. His forehead was prickling with sweat, his chest heaving with adrenalin. Why is he screaming?

His eyes were open, scanning the room around him, locking on an invisible figure, following it when it caught his eye line. There were imaginary people in his mind torturing him in his dreams, but she could not see anyone but him. Literally. It was only him, alone. But his eyes wandered ferociously, following invisible figures she could not see. He was pleading for a break.

”NO MORE!” His screams echoed off the walls, hurting her ears.

“Hey.”

“Hey! What are you looking at?”

“Stop screaming!” She yelled back at him, trying to get him to snap out of whatever trance he is placed in. Her words went ignored. He was so lost in his own mind, that he could not hear her trying to help him.

“Let me help you!” She tossed at him. All she wanted to do was to make him stop feeling this pain.

His eyes suddenly focused in a stark form of clarity. The shock was prevalent, quickly fading to curiosity, before masked by determination filled by fear. This girl should not be here. Why was this girl here.

Get her out! She is not safe.

His body lurched towards her, but the invisible chains kept him in place.

“Go!” He screamed, staring deep into her eyes.

She woke up clutching at her sheets, eyes flying open in shock, thankful she fell asleep with the lamp on. How could he do that to her? How was it possible that she can be kicked out of her own dream? Is that what happened or was she simply obeying his request? Did it scare her awake?

~

She was back, she made it. As long as he doesn’t wish her away she can stay. She has tried and tried and tried but the screaming man has dreamt her away to safety more times than she could count, but this time she was trying a different approach, trying to remain calm from his screaming and stand her ground.

“I’m gonna help you!” She screamed over his noises. And he stopped screaming, glaring at her. Someone was going to help him? She seemed shocked by his sudden act of calmness. Eyes wide. She had not thought this far, what now?

“What’s your name?” She asks him. She does not expect an answer. Does this man know words other than “go away”?

“James Buchanon Barnes,” he repeats mechanically.

“James focus on me. All I see is you. Don’t- just stay put please, I want to talk to you. Don’t wish me away.” His head moved in a sly, small nod of acceptance in response, breathing heavily and looking wildly at the turn of events in his nightmares. This was a nightmare.

“James,” she reached out her hand, making sure to say his name so he can hear her voice is real and as grounding as it could be in a dreamscape. “Listen to me. You are dreaming. This is a dream. Look at me.” His eyes rush to hers as she places her hands on his own and releases the clenched fists he makes. “Close your eyes and hold on to my hands, I am going to get us out of here. Don’t be scared, please.”

He focused, zeroing in on her warm hands setting on top of his own. He could feel her warmth, a smooth gentle touch. Gentle was something that was lost on him. He stared, expecting her hands to bring him pain, waiting for the switch to flip.

He did not close his eyes, he could not. The soldier never closes his eyes, not willingly. But she closed hers and James watched with a wary gaze. He was zeroed in on her. The feel of her. Her smell. 

It was familiar. She felt familiar and he could not place it. The surrounding place switched in a blink. James barely noticed from the focus on his… his… this girl.

But when he realised he was gone, he grew alert. He blew caution to the wind and felt the sense of protection he grew to bask in, flood over his shoulders, infiltrating his muscles until the girl was drawn safely behind him while he searched his surroundings for a threat, for exits, for possible weapons. 

Keep her safe.

“James, no.” Her voice surfaced in his focus. How long had she been pushing away from his grip on her arm? “Stop James! This is my garden. You are safe here.”

Safe?

“Know one can come here unless I want them to. I told you, James. You are dreaming. This is a dream.” Her sweet voice was so fresh to his ears. His grip loosened to nothing as he continued to take in their surroundings. Flinching towards her when she steps away to a small, mint colored rod iron table. The chairs around it had nice pink cushions on them. 

Pink. His favorite color.

He watched her sit while he stood at attention unmoving. A statue, that's what he was. Unmoving until it was asked of him.

She watched him with curiosity as she poured herself some hot coffee that she suddenly wanted. She’s made it this far, that deserves a reward.

“James?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing his attention to her. “Will you come sit with me?”

Her question went unanswered as he stared at her. This was a new place. Regardless, he did not like yes or no questions, they got him in trouble.

A light bulb went off in her head. “James. Come sit next to me.” And he followed. Orders, that is what he needed to respond.

His stiff shoulders barely touched the back of the chair. Her heart broke at his demeanor. What could break this man like this.

“James,” She called again now that he was sitting down. His eyes stared at hers, waiting for a command. They were lacking life, glazed over. The blue was striking as ever, making it hard for her to focus on what she wanted to say. “You are safe here. I want you to try to relax in my garden. Okay?” He left a nod to her words, but nothing changed.

Maybe another way to break through. “Would you like some coffee?” She asked him. He did not answer her yes or no question, but ice water appeared on the table in front of him out of thin air. He jumped in surprise at its sudden appearance. But she understood. He wanted water, so he got water.

“James, drink your water.” His hands obeyed, reaching for the glass and bringing it to his lips. It may be a dream, but regardless, he could feel the cold liquid satisfying him.

She pitied him. She really did. She did not like telling him what to do. He was allowed to do what he wanted in her garden, she decided.

“James, I don’t like giving you commands.”

She is upset. He straightened his eyes, clenched his jaw and braced for the pain. 

But it didn’t come. Instead he found her looking at him shoulders slumped in defeat. Figuring when someone is upset was not new to him. He could read body language, better than anyone.

“I want you to relax here. Create what you want and explore. This can be our garden.”

Her nights went like this for weeks. 

She had to find him and get him out of the darkness and bring him to her garden. She had to coax him, break his shell and find the man that is inside. It was always the same. She offers him a drink. He never knows what he wants, ice water, it always is. He must be dehydrated and that was all she could think about. The aching feeling in her chest when she knows she can’t do anything but be there for him like this. It starts to get somewhere though.

One sleep, her eyes opened in her dreamscape, except she wasn't in the darkness, for the first time in weeks, she awoke in her garden. And there James was, sitting in his chair at the table with a glass of water. A look of fear slightly came and went in his body language. 

James, you are safe here.  Her voice echoed in his mind. He was allowed to be in her garden.

He closed his eyes at one point. He never knows exactly when it happens, but he did and his mind brought him straight to her. She silently praised him and the fact that it meant he was not torturing himself, bound to a chair with phantoms torturing him. Trapped, unable to escape his own mind.

She was excited to see him there and she expressed it. She expressed every moment she enjoyed and was proud about because she could almost see the praise break his walls. It was a positive reaction, he grew to like them.

His chair would migrate closer to hers when he sits down. James likes the comfort that she radiated. It was warm and filled with a sort of sweetness he would never get enough of. He did not know how to ask for more.

There was matching minty blue bench next to the table. It was not there before but she did not question it. She automatically sat down and James followed suit without being asked. He watched her speak to him as if he was her best friend. He wasn't sure what she was talking about sometimes, but he absorbed every sentence anyway. Furrowed brows, a slightly too intense gaze when she talked of a ‘text’ she received. His confusion was evident but she did not make him feel bad about it. The facial features he produced were enough for her to offer an explanation without missing a beat in her story. He appreciated it, though he still did not fully grasp the concept.

She liked the attention James offered up to her. Granted the garden might be slightly boring without the other there, they were growing accustomed to the presence of the other. She felt her heart swell when coffee would be waiting for her, steam rolling off the top. He was thinking of her and made sure she had what she might want. She offered him the largest and sincere smile, watching his eyes widen and brighten in a sort of curiosity at her gratitude.

He still didn’t talk much, but he grew familiar with her. He started to investigate the garden. His shy steps were light, watching his footing as he explored off the path. He examined the colors. There were so many. He always seemed to gravitate towards the pink colored ones. No matter the type, the carnations were beautiful. Even a pink hydrangeas, and peonies. The roses, they should be pink, he thought.

“I like these,” he spoke simply, turning back towards her as she sat at the table enjoying her hot drink. His finger points to the pink peonies and the rumble of his voice reaches her ears. She perks up at the sound of his voice. His was such a sweet melody that she craved.

“I do too,” she states, admiring the comfort that he is exuding. He's speaking, that's all she could ask for. 

Pink was a pure, innocent color that had her name written all over it. He was keen to her pink lacquered nails and the perfect shade of her lips. 

Of course he notices. 

All he does is stare at her the entire time as he basks in the warmth and sweetness their dreamscape offers him. It was enough to taint his memories during his waking hours. He thought of her and it brought him to a different place in his mind. She was always on his mind though he never let it show.

Each day was another step for him. More words were spoken from his lips. They were always directed towards her. He asked questions as she spoke.

“What was it about?” His lips move slowly, brows furrowed in genuine curiosity of what could make her cry, even if she claims it was a good cry.

“This girl loses her memory after a car crash, and her husband has to make her re-fall in love with him.” She goes on. “Its very sad and very sweet. A perfect combination, really.” She remembers how she felt as she watched the movie again that evening, a solemn, content grin growing from her lips.

“I’ll show it to you one day,” she offers him. But he dismisses the comment, her heart dropping at the realization of her words and the effect they had on him. He didn't mean to ruin her mood and the sense of contentment she felt, but as it was, no one would be able to show him that. 

No one will find him. 

One day might never come, and he could not reply to her, he did not know how, so he did nothing but look away.

She held his attention and she would be lying if she said she did not like it. Sometimes it is not always work for her to get him to loosen up here in their garden. Sometimes, if he has a good day, he will offer up himself to loosen up. Though he did not have much to give her about himself as he did not know too much, he would start a game of eye-spy. Though he learned the game from her teaching him before he would speak, he could just point. He offered the games up himself.

“I spy something… yellow,” he looks away from her trying to fool her by switching his line of sight.

“Hmm, the flowers on my dress?” Her wit was shining in her expression, watching him yank his face back towards her in astonishment of how she guessed it so fast. He was showing more emotions, showing how shocked and impressed he was, though he never voiced it.

“That was easy James! You have turned all of the flowers in the garden pink! There are no more yellows. Even our snapdragons are pink.” She teased him, pinching his forearm as he sat next to her. His eyes were bright with adoration, maybe a flick of a grin showing, but it was gone too fast to be sure.

Sometimes it was in silence, comfortable silence. James grew to love this kind of silence. He could focus on her breathing, hear her heartbeat in her chest even though she was a few feet away from him. He was calm as long as she was only a few feet away from him. A book would tag along with her presence ‘The Vow’ written across the cover.

“This is the book, James.” She was eager to show him. They sat in soft grass, her legs crossed over each other while he layed back and stared straight at the sky. The silence was nice, but she decided to read the book to him. Her voice was a sweet melody that could drawn him to sleep but there were two things wrong with that. 

One, he was already sleeping and he knew it. 

And two, how could he want to sleep when her voice was ringing in his ears. 

The sound of her voice reading to him was beyond what he could have asked for. His days were filled with dread and pain, he knew no sound as good as this. She was good to him. She made him want to fight, to gain control of himself. The control he had over himself in their dreamscape was addicting. What would it be like awake, he thought.

She was always searching to comfort him on bad days. He would avoid being within a few feet of her, afraid a touch would harm her. She did not deserve any pain in her life. His days were secret. Only he knows the sheer amount of rage and violence that encases his life, she should never know.  

So she did what she could to get him out of his own thoughts and told him about her days awake, her new and first ever ‘big girl job’. It paid enough that she could move out on her own. He watched her smile in admiration. His lips twitching, wanting to smile as well, but he does not know how.

Instead, his sleeping world revolves around her. It grew to be his escape. His waking days blocked in his mind to nothingness, but these dreams, nothing could take this away from him. No beating, no mission, no wipe of his mind could rid him of her. And he basked in the revelation.

She was afraid to ask about his life, so she didn't. The fear of regressing back to the darkness had instilled fear in her. She did not want to cause him any regression. She was keeping track, almost two months since she has woken in her dreamscape to being in the dark cell, having to find him again. He was doing so good. So good that he even took it upon himself to make her promise to never go back there. the never search for him there.

“Always wait for me, here,” he told her, pointing to the bench. “I will find you, I will always find you.”

~

“Do you like cookies James?”

“Yes.” He replied, an eyebrow perking in interest. It was hard to get reactions out of him. But she did notice the differences. She kept track of them in her dream journal. Every night his shoulders were a bit less stiff. He explored the garden, adding small green frogs around the pond. She even found lovely pink roses blooming in full next to their table. When she asked him about the roses, he bowed his head almost is a visual of embarrassment. But he responded no matter what.

“They remind me of you.” His hand pushing back a lock of chestnut brown hair from his face. She stared in awe of his reply. The more he spoke the more she saw the blues of his eyes perk up and glow in color, giving life to his handsome face. He was so handsome, slowly showing more emotion. She kept track of what made him happy and how he showed happiness. She worked hard at it, slowly pushing him more and more until one evening, her breath was locked away seemingly permanently.

James smiled. 

It was small, but a peak of beautiful white teeth were shining between his pink lips. It brought youth to his look. He was a beautiful young man and she knew it. So beautiful. She wished to see it everyday.

“Walk with me, James,” he stood and she held out her hand. He stared at it, brows drawing forward. Maybe it was too soon to touch him, she thought to herself. But she was surprised again. He walked to her other side and extended his hand, where she could feel his warmth. It was an offering that she rejoiced inside with. He was reaching out to her, physically, at that.

The song of birds and frogs were the only sounds in the garden. It was peaceful.

“What is that? Are those- strawberries?” She pulled her eyes from the bright red fruit and popping green leaves to look at him. They were not hers, after all. He nodded staring at them with bright eyes.  

“Would you like one?” She asked him with a smile. He nodded again. She moved towards them but he didn’t let go of her hand. It was too comforting. Too… perfect. Like he belonged there. This was where he belonged. It had to be.

She stood back up, handing him three large strawberries. He does not remember what they taste like, not really sure why he thought of them in the first place. When his teeth sunk into it and the sweet nectar filled his taste buds a quick and unprepared small moan fell from his lips. Her face was heating up, most likely that same color as the fruit itself at his sounds of contempt. She wasn’t even sure he knew that he made such a noise, so engrossed in the new flavor hitting his taste buds.

She got him to laugh. Finally.

 All her progress was so worth it, to hear his sounds of joy. She just went on and on about how boring her job can be, sorting through something she called ‘emails’ all day. He did not exactly know what she was talking about, but she told her stories in such a fashion that it elicited a humorous response.

It was only a small giggle at first, if you could call it that. A chuckle maybe. His eyes went down cast as he laughed, crinkling in the corners all while simultaneously sending a jar of exploding hearts inside her. She was in too deep with him.

How could she do anything but stare in awe of the beautiful sound of his enjoyment. She did not stop her elaborating.

She woke that morning, writing ten whole pages of notes about her dream. Three alone were dedicated to James and his new found sense of joy and the fact that she was able to give it to him.

~

It was almost a year. James was talking to her. Not about himself though. Things in general were the topic. Asking about her, about her mother, how she was doing after she broke her hand.

Asking about her work. Her new shoes that she dreamt up to show him, they were not his style, but he nodded in appreciation. They matched her light personality. Anything that made her happy would make him happy.

He laid his head in her lap one day, closing his eyes as she told him of her new niece that had just been born. His hair splayed across her thigh, perfect for her to run her fingers through. 

She started slowly first, adjusting a few strands but he didn't react, only shifted ever more closely to her, as if encouraging her without words. The serenity he was displaying was heart wrenching. There was always that underlying factor of what lies outside and beyond their dreamscape and it was sometimes visible beyond his exterior.

His livelihood was what she craved when she went to bed every night, excited about what was to come. He was such a prominent figure in her life. He was hers, without a doubt. She did not care if she never got to meet him in person. She may wish that he was within reach, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, but she would keep what she could get.

~

He did not show up. 

He was not at the garden, but she waited. Drinking her coffee, eating his cookies and strawberries but he was not there. Before, he had made her promise to never go back to the darkness. Actually, he scared the promise into her. She did not want to go back, he promised he would always find his way to the garden.

He was back the next day though. He apologized.

“I am not in a good place. I am getting away. I can’t sleep much.” He did not offer her much information. She did not ask what that meant, but nodded in a sort of understanding. He laid his head atop her thigh as she read him another book. Offering him a kiss on the head before she could feel herself waking up. There was no time for his reaction, he was just going to have to live with the fact that she wants to kiss him.

He was gone again. For the first time in weeks, she was left alone in the garden.

She grew bored and began reorganizing plants and growing new things. She rearranged the table set and moved the pond to a different, better location, she thought. She could try to keep herself busy and leave the garden looking as good as ever but it never replaced the missing piece. She was reluctant to let the hole in her heart at his absence affect the luxury of the garden, but sometimes it did not work, leaving the popping and lively greenery to look merely average and run down. It was a reflection of them both, after all.

When he showed up a few nights later he joked about double checking to make sure he was in the right garden, but she did not find it so funny. A shallow laugh escaped her, not wanting to disappoint or damage his mood, so she continued on his journey of finding life again. 

That night they lay in the grass. He laid his head in her lap. It was sending a light headed wave through her when she could see him relax. When he showed her just how much he had grown in their time together. The garden was something special.

Her fingers ran through his locks. He was clean, he smelled good. He grew to always be clean in the garden. He was not always clean though. The first weeks she could tell he was not taken care of but James now knew he could dream whatever he wanted, and dreamt that he was clean. He was able to stroll into the beautiful lake whenever he wanted. James did whatever he could to grasp onto this warmth that was elicited throughout the dreamscape. He craved it. Such a stark difference in his waking life. How could God be so cruel to him?

~

Two months.

She sometimes cries in his absence, waking with tear stained cheeks for wondering where he could be and what was keeping him from her. It grew and grew until she settled in the mindset he was not coming back. He did not need her anymore. She was his source of happiness and he did not need her anymore. Which must mean that he was not lost in his life. She hoped he escaped the darkness of his dreams, wishing his life was not half as bad as what she had seen. 

But what did she know? He did not tell her anything, not that she would want to know. It could not be good, she knew that much.

She explored the depths of her dreamscape. She always made sure to check back in a garden, their garden. But he wasn't ever there. She was left with disappointment, trying to see the positive. The hole was left gaping in her chest. The maintenance of the garden was wavering and becoming something she didn't recognize. But she couldn't complain because… He escaped the darkness.

_______________________________________________________________________

- To dream of a garden filled with greens and flowers denotes great peace of mind and comfort.

- To dream of strawberries symbolizes pleasure and obtaining a long-wished-for object. To eat strawberries symbolized requited love. To deal with them implies happiness. 

- To dream of seeing flowers blooming in gardens symbolizes pleasure and gain. Withered and dead flowers portray disappointment and gloom. 

- To dream of frogs indicates that you will have a pleasant and even-tempered friend as your confidant and counselor.

[marvelsuperfangirl]

Conscience ( Alex Summers x Reader )

His dream took him in the middle of the forrest. And as he looked around at the dark trees, towering over him, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone.

«  Alex »

The vocie made him jump. The atmosphere already quite unsettling, since he couldn’t see further than the trees and the whole place was plunged in darkness, the sky and the ground pitch black, engulfing him.

Such a surprise came upon him, seeing the O so familiar figure, he was seeing the say, but also at night in his wildest dreams and now, in this one. Y/N was standing feet away from him, wearing a white toga , her hair pulled back loosely in an haristyle he couldn’t quite make out in the dark and her feet were bare.

She was wearing the most magnificent smile, as always.

He wondered what the hell was happening and why the girl he liked was doing here, in the middle of a creepy forrest with him.

« Y/N, what are you doing there ? »

« We need to talk. And who can you have a better conversation with than your own conscience, right ? »

The young woman took a few steps forward.

«  I don’t get it »

He was becoming more confused as the dream became more and more vivid.

She giggled softly and reduced the gap between them so only a few inches were separating the two of them. With still a sweet smile illuminating her features, she put her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes plunged into his and despite the fact that he didn’t know what was really going on ; on faint smile chased away his confusion, under the lovely gesture.

Seeing that Alex was responsive, she slid her palm along the curbe of his neck and made it slowly go up to his cheek before lettign it settle here. The yougn man leaned in her touch as she cupped his cheek, what was faint earlier became a full smile of happiness.

« These days, you’ve been battling to make a decision about your feelings and unconsciously, you called me to the rescue »

«But why do you look like Y/N ? »

As the question was mentionned, she raised her eyebrows  and gave him a knowing look. And way too soon for his liking, she retrieved her hand back, the feeling of her skin lingering on his cheek.

« That’s exactly why I needed to see you, love. Your obsession for the young lady is something you need to act on. I recall that you’ve been pining for her and that, for a while now. And the time of debating if you should do something about it is over ! »

Her voice became harsh as she carried on talking , her words more firm.

«  But…I »

«  Wake up ! » she screamed at him with a worried expression overtaking her features.

«  What ? »

«  WAKE UP ! » she slapped him hard.

The background blurred and Y/N’s image faded , Alex’s vision lightened and if felt almost unbearable to keep his eyes open. When everything went white, he heard something…

A flow of words, a bunch of voices were reaching his ears and slowly the light became less bright and ark shapes could be seen.

He wasn’t able to decipher them just yet but something was happening.

«  Alex ! »

The, he felt it. Something was happening to him. Something was shaking him rather violently ; and he received another slap. After reality came back to him, he was now able to see clearly what was surrounding him.

But it seemed so unreal, that he thought he was still dreaming.

Between two blinks he saw Y/N, her face was over him, she looked worrier than she ever did and her cheeks were wet. She’d been crying and it seemed that she wasn’t done seeing how watery her eyes were.

«  Alex «  she called his name

Even if it sounded imaginary for him but itw as very real.

His eyes were fully open now and the young woman relaxed as more tears poured from her eyes and a smile lit up her face.

«  God ! You’re back ! You scared the hell out of us ! « 

Then shed id something that he never would’ve expected. She leaned down and kissed his forehead , cupping his face in her hands.

Euphoria washed over him and even if he felt  woozy from what just happened, he put his hands over hers.

The words his cosncience told him whether what he saw was real or just a dream, resonated through his mind.

It was time to stop thinking, now he needed to act.

«  I like you » he blurted out

Y/N backed away from him, taking in the appearance of the young man and giggled

«  Did I slap you too hard ? »

A chuckle left his mouth, her joy was contagious and he couldn’t wait to be more affected.

«  It seems like a good time to confess »

«  Well, considering I thought you were dying, I think it is « 

One of her hands made its way to his hair and gently hold his head while her thumb  that stayed on his cheek rubbed his skin. With the tiny bit of strength he recovered, he pushed his head off the floor and hi slips met hers.

Y/N supported his head in place to prevent him from falling back and both of them smiled into the first of many kisses they shared.

They lost themselves so much that they forgot they were in a room full of people.*

When they pulled back, everyone was staring at them either with disgust, smiles of pride, teasing expressions and some just looked away. Alex just took conscience of how good it feel to act on his feelings. And damn did he enjoy it !

[pffbts]

Hey loveee, can I request for an imagine where yoongi tells me what this year could just be another year of suffering,but only good things will come out of it? I hope this doesn't sound to werid or bad or anything, it's mainly for comfort if I were to be honest with u. Love u!!

―genre: fluff; angst; crack.

―characters: yoongi x female reader | no supporting character.

―w.c: 2.6 K

―author`s note: on the eve of the day before turning 19, i somehow felt connected to this request – somehow it felt close to heart. thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this. i hope i can touch you through my words. consider this as my birthday treat for you! much love

[11:53 PM] [the sakuras scattered under the wholesome night sky filled with stars for a new season, someone under the warm fuzzy blanket squeezes another`s]

― as usual, the warm baby blue coloured blanket smelled of you. yoongi`s face contorted to a smile getting born under the board daylight through the windows of his room. he called each night with you an unfinished business due at some corner of his existence. this was difficult. time has always been difficult with min yoongi. taking a toll on his words and thoughts, he flourishes in the thoughts that he might try again, just for the sake of you. getting up and on reflex feeling the strain of his neck, yoongi groaned at the warm sunlight which suddenly felt like balls of fire against his pale skin.

he couldn`t be too forward with you but he wanted to try again – try telling you that this new year that awaits for you will come in terms of normality. he wanted to wish that this year of 19 would turn somehow better than ever. this is the year both of you are graduating from school and as the seasons greets, soon you`ll be in some university probably away from each other.

he searched for his phone to catch the time. it read 08:45 AM. shoot, yoongi hissed, he has already wasted a number of precious hours lying on his futon thinking about skin damage and anxiety of being around you.

while taking a warm shower, yoongi started washing the skin of his hands, his chest – half of his face got clouded when he heard an imaginary you clutching onto your stomach and laughing at his skin treatment. ugh, what do you understand about skin treatment and keeping things clean? mindlessly, he showered successfully.

walking out of his house, he was greeted by a cloudy sky and the floating of the cherry blossoms in the air.

“so tomorrow`s spring, huh?”

yoongi looked to his left to find you in your long tracks, blue t-shirt and a cap, kicking the closest cherry blossom tree at its base. sighing internally, yoongi wondered, how can someone like you be born on the starting of people`s favourite season – spring?

“yes! aren`t you relieved?” yoongi started, walking towards you.

“not exactly. it`s just another season.”

of course, you wouldn`t be excited. yoongi knew it all along. it was just for a second he thought you might answer something different this time. after all, it`s your 19th birthday the next day which also according to this year`s calendar schedule is the starting of spring.

“we don`t have to suffer the extreme cold. that`s a relieve factor.” then, sizing up his thoughts, yoongi proceeded with the next words, “but someone here likes the cold too much, i guess.”

“yoongi.”

“yes, yes. i know. don`t get so worked up.”

typically as long as yoongi`s vivid memory goes, you were not completely this cold all the time. not until the death of your parents in a plane crash came down on you. it`s been exactly ten years since your 9th birthday that you`ve heard the heart-wrenching news of their death. before that very day, you were just like any other girl of the neighbourhood who liked flowers, who liked tying her hair in pretty braids. yoongi recalled how you loved the french braids the most. you were just like any other person who liked wearing the traditional outfits for any special occasion. you were like any other person who waited for spring to come because then you also get to celebrate it along with your birthday.

but the 9th year of your life made your world upside down and you ran back to your room waiting for a storm to come and blow you away. you walked away from yourself, from being any other normal human being. you started cutting your hair off, wearing boyish clothes, threw away your pretty sandals and opted for sneakers and vans. slowly, you erased everyone`s memory of the you which they saw growing up since the baby days.

10 years later, you`re still the same and the only one who accepted you for what you were and for what you became was yoongi – the next door boy who grew up along with you, going to the same class in the same school.

yoongi tried saying it every year during this time that the next year will bring something different. but every time he did he would get the cold shoulder from you in return resulting in his successful failure. the spirits of spring sigh every year at his efforts and showers his front yard with cherry blossoms just to console his aching heart.

“yoongi?” a hand which previously looked like fog started becoming clearer in front of his vision. jumping on his feet, yoongi shot a stunt look at you. “where are you, yoon?”

“earth.”

“better. i thought you teleported yourself to Neptune.”

suddenly yoongi realized, the still presently aged 18 years old you have started walking with your back facing him at a distance.

“wait! where are you going? wait for me!”

yoongi ran. as fast as he could to catch up with the same story he writes each year. this year he wanted you to remember that things do change and when they do, the sun won`t suddenly feel like the sun, instead, it would feel like the planets have gathered up for a casual visit with you. when it happens, he`ll always go back to you even if it breaks his heart.

*

“next spot – karaoke!” a red-faced, half-drunk in soju yoongi announced. sipping the regular coke from the straw, you shook your head disapproving of his plan in silence.

even though his face dropped, he demanded an explanation. then he told you to forget about giving an explanation instead he started lecturing you about how you`re just wasting the youthful days of your life and that you`re already someone in their 60s. then he proceeded to tease you about how your grandparents with whom you live at present are much more joyful than you.

slamming the cup of coke with a force on the spot of the table in front of you, you got up from your seat and pointed a strict finger at the middle of your friend`s brows.

“because unlike you, min yoongi, you`re still living the life.” pulling the finger away, you stared into his wide feline-like eyes, “consider me dead at this point, hun. i`ve been dead for the last ten years, okay? don`t try to do something that`s universally impossible to gain.”

stories. min yoongi has been writing stories for a long time. each year he tries to erase half of their sentences and joins new words to make up for all the things he missed out the previous years. every year he collects sakuras and tried to make it into something of some shape. but then your words strike his motive and he realizes, sakuras are not clay and even clay can`t form any shape if we don`t have waters.

somehow he wants to talk it out with you. but every word that gets thrown to the air in-between both of you, they build up to that moment of rebel where they break apart from your force.

the view in front of him turned into a fog but his ears were still untempted and so he heard the loud, frantic footsteps of your boots on the wooden floor retreating back to the exit and slowly as the sound fades in the air, his vision clears and he finds himself with his forehead resting against the table, his shoulders shaking.

“boys don`t cry, yoon!” a seven-year-old you once said that to him when yoongi fell on the gravel path while coming home from school and got a scratch on his knee. the blood which was seeping out looked too bright on his pale skin.

yoongi`s fist slammed the table beside his head and he felt the warm tears overflowing from his eyes. you always had it wrong. min yoongi always cried because somehow he still couldn`t find how to save you. he has been a useless human being in your life. maybe, maybe it wouldn`t even matter. even if he leaves the town, maybe you`ll not even miss him.

so he cried. if he`s the one who should be crying in that case then he will.

*

yoongi ran back to you – his eyes red, his emotions out of line and the stories flying here and there. tonight as the town closes in for the preparation of the new season tomorrow, he wants to let you know everything. everything that he has to build up till to this day. he is going to throw all his intuitions and his old, crappy stories. he`s going to write to a new verse, new poems celebrating them with you, even if that mean it would receive silence and empty gaps of air from you.

pulling out his phone from his pant`s pocket and almost stumbling into his room, he texted you to come over. this could go anywhere, yoongi knew this very well. but he still went for it.

after the longest ten minutes in the world, you came into his room and sat Indian style in front of his bed, your shoulder blades pressed against the mattress and wood. a half-asleep yoongi got up from his place in bed and sat there facing the same wall, almost mimicking your posture.

“if you called me to confess about your deep-shit feelings for me, then let me inform you, i`m not into dicks.”

yoongi squeaked at this new out of no-where information from you.

“you`re gay?” lunging forward yoongi tried reading your expression which was really difficult as it was only moonlight in his room. “when did this happen?”

“i`m kidding, idiot.” you replied, your voice sounds like it`s already bored telling the same thing repeatedly.

“thanks jesus. you almost gave me a stroke.”

yoongi, suddenly remembering what was his initial plan, he jolted up, sitting back straight and cleared his throat, “anyway, you can somehow call this a confession too but it`s not anything romantic just so you know.”

“yes, i remembered saying that i would cut your dick off if you ever leak your romantic juice on me, so i guess i can trust you on that.”

jeez,  yoongi squeezed his eyes shut for a second, this conversation has already turned into a dark fiction. he just wanted to stay true to his feelings and not get threatened of getting his dick cut off. this girl, he sighed.

“i just…just listen to me out, okay?” he started still questioning. why was he still questioning himself? he didn`t know obviously because he has always been the bad one in accepting the reality, i guess. “i`m not saying this because you`re turning 19 in one hour.”he knew, he just knew that you had glanced at the digital clock sitting on his cupboard pushed against the same wall both of you were facing. not even giving himself a chance to smile, he continued, “i`m just telling you that, you`ll probably suffer a lot this year. maybe this year pain will come in many different ways – much different than the way it had always come at you, at us. but you must know that there will always be a sunray trying to battle its way through the dark clouds. there`ll always be a flower which will bloom in the sidewalks just to let the passerby know that they exist too.”

“let`s just say that we will definitely suffer a lot and that we will cry a lot. maybe not you. maybe it will mostly be me, but i`ll cry a lot. i promise even if it`s for both of us. i hope you know that there are some people in your life who still wants you to live and exist like any other person in the world. i want to tell you that you`re not dead to me, instead, you`ve always been more than alive to me than anyone in my world. of course i love you. i love you a lot to not let you suffer alone because just know that anywhere you go, i`ll go with you. if you find solace in your washroom, crying silently then i`ll be there on the other side of the door, crying with you. if you ever want to laugh even if it is all silly and not needed, i`ll laugh with you.”

yoongi`s voice rose with each passing second, his voice almost grew numb at the choice of words and the emotions that they carried but then he felt light in his chest. for the first time this year, on this last hour of pre-spring, last hour of his friend`s 18th year, he wasn`t making up white lies instead he was overflowing with emotions. he could almost feel himself floating in them.

you, on the other hand, were scared. you were scared for yoongi`s next words and mostly scared to look at his face. because you believed that if you stare at him now, you will lose your sight. he must be glowing right now. he must have become the brightest thing in this room right now and you were scared for the first time to meet his eyes.

“so, yes. i love you, a lot. maybe you`ll get a boyfriend after you leave for college and then a husband after that but this fool right here will always love you and it`s not romantic, okay? you understand? this is not romantic.”

yoongi didn`t even put you in the seat of mercy. he just let you be what you wanted under his gaze and when you got up from your place, screaming, your face tainted with overflowing warm tears, you hit him hard everywhere you could. falling against his bed, both of you cried like there was no tomorrow. you cried with everything that you got. it was like giving birth to a new life, it was like chicks hatching out of their shell – you felt the pain seeping out of you and another set of lungs being replaced in place of the old ones cause they couldn`t function. they weren`t capable of the pain that shot through you.

*

the clock on his cupboard read 11:53 PM. seven minutes and it will be a new spring. a new day, a new year for the person soundly sleeping beside him, your head resting on the expanse of his chest, your hand resting on the side of his right cheek and another entangled with yoongi`s. the blankets lost the battle to you and to min yoongi, the new cherry blossoms that fell in his front yard looked like heaven`s call for a year that would bring the best spring of your life.

at the end of the day, you are the only spring that matters to him.

[gaycrouton]

Relentless

Words of Lust 18/27 [ A fight between Mulder and Scully ends in a dramatic climax.] (budum tss)

Relentless: (adjective) oppressively constant; incessant. 

(After Never Again)

It was none of his fucking business. He didn’t need to know how long it’s been since she’d been touched in the way her body craved. He didn’t need to know the only reason she was interested in Ed Jerse in the first place was because he reminded her of Mulder; the self deprecation, the puppy dog eyes, the hair, the strong jaw. Hell, if she imagined hard enough, it was Mulder grabbing her and kissing the breath out of her lungs, but imagination was never her strong suit.

She couldn’t ignore the different cologne, the lack of Mulder’s charm, the sense that violence was lurking beyond one wrong move, that damn ‘talking tattoo’. She thought she could live out the fantasy of being with Mulder vicariously through this man, but sometimes fantasies are just cruel. He didn’t need to know the way her body completely froze when her imagination was too weak and the reality that another man was taking off her clothes became too much, or that she laid alone all night in Ed Jerse’s bed, pretending it was Mulder’s shirt adoring her naked, lonely, unsatisfied body.

He didn’t need to know, but part of her wanted to tell him, to just blurt it out. Ever since she came back from Philadelphia, Mulder’s been acting like a different person. It was like he was eternally agitated and didn’t know how to act around her. The eyes the used to roam her body when he thought she wasn’t looking now were a mystery to her; the hands that would gently touch her now avoided all contact; and the voice that use to give her words of comfort and endearment was now cold and distant.

Maybe it was fear manifesting as anger, maybe he was just upset because she almost died and he thinks he drove her to it. They were bickering before she left and now it was worse. She just wanted to be seen as his equal, his partner, to be treated like her opinion mattered and that her work on the X-Files meant something. It wasn’t just because of the fucking desk. The fact he doesn’t see what not having a desk means about their power dynamic was just frustrating.

But she wasn’t going to tell him. No. That would just exacerbate the problem. Her saying, “Don’t worry, Mulder. I almost fucked Jerse, but I couldn’t go through with it because I want you” was essentially her just reporting back to him, “Don’t worry, I’m still your pristine, untouched partner, Mulder. Loyal to you and the X-Files exclusively.” He would be relieved, but it would further romanticize the idea that she only lived to be his sidekick and did whatever he wanted. She wanted him to realize she wanted more out of life than just work, and she really wanted him to realize she wanted him to be a part of that life too.

Instead, he took her adventure as a personal attack. Now, a week later, they were driving to their first case post-Jerse, and the tension was deafening. Small talk was almost non-existent because, when it happened, it was met with short, choppy answers from both parties. The coldness left her mouth before she could even stop it. She didn’t want things to be this way, she wanted it to get better and move on, but everytime he was short with her, she had to retaliate. It was a defense mechanism, blame it on her irish temper.

They were driving to a motel in Apex, North Carolina. Apparently entire families were disappearing for no reason. After deciding to take on the case, Mulder snidely asked her if it was interesting enough for her, “Sorry Scully, I can’t guarantee this case will have any handsome, dangerous men on it.” Asshole . It was about a four and a half hour ride and it was spent in relative silence. She had to pee for about an hour now, but she would rather eat glass than ask anything of him right now. They were only a few towns away, so she just decided to suffer. Since they expected to get there so late, they were just going to pick up reports the police left with the front desk and go over them before calling it a night. She glanced down at her watch to check the time when Mulder decided to speak up for maybe the fifth time the whole trip.

“Sorry if you’re bored, we’re about ten to fifteen minutes away.” On a normal basis, the sentence would have been fine, but right now it was laced with exasperation.

“Thanks,” she sighed unenthusiastically, letting her wrist drop onto her lap dramatically.

“Did I do something to piss you off? You’ve been standoffish this whole time,” he asked. Her jaw practically dropped open at the hypocrisy.

“I’m being standoffish?” she repeated incredulously. “You’ve been treating me like shit for days.”

“No I’m no-,” he stopped himself mid-sentence and just let out a tired breath, taking one hand off the wheel to run it through his hair. “I’m sorry if you feel that way.” For the first time in days, he sounded sincere, but his words gave her no comfort.

“I don’t just feel that way, you are. You’ve been punishing me for days for nothing,” she exclaimed. She turned her head to look at him and caught that he had been looking at her, his eyes quickly snapping back to the road when they met hers. She noticed his jaw was slightly clenched.

“Nothing,” he repeated the word as if it was a punchline to a morbid joke, but he offered nothing else. They were almost to the hotel, and she was honestly too tired to do this right now. She had spent the last week making up hypothetical arguments Mulder would throw at her and preparing her own snappy comebacks, perfecting her cool glare in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and ran through the imaginary scenarios, but none came to mind right now. It was ridiculous, but so was all this.

She just sighed and sat in silence the rest of the ride, the car felt hollow from the familiarity and pleasantry that should have been there. When the hotel came into sight, her irritation was replaced by her bladder’s reminder that she had to pee. Even though they were fighting right now, their routine still stayed in place. Without saying a word, Scully got out to get the keys and files from the front desk as Mulder unpacked the car. She came out and just told him what rooms they had, pleased to see him follow wordlessly with their bags in hand. They exchanged her bag for his key and the files. “I want to take a quick shower before I read the files. When you’re done with them, would you mind dropping them off in my room?” she asked.

“Will do,” he replied, opening his door and walking inside without so much as a second glance.She quickly went into her room, grabbed her shower things, and headed to the bathroom. She was honestly relieved to be out of Mulder’s sight for the first time in hours, something she never expected to happen.

After finally peeing, she stood up and stripped out of her business clothes. She stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at herself. Scully was surprised to see she looked thinner than normal, the bones of her ribs standing out ever so lightly against nearly translucent, pale skin. The words from Leonard Betts still rang clearly in her head, “You have something I need.” She unconsciously touched her fingers lightly to where Betts had pointed on her forehead. She was worried about the implications of what he meant, deep down the fear continued to grow, but she didn’t want to deal with it right now. She had no one to confide in, and the whole thing just made her feel more alone.

She ran her hand over her face and through her hair as if to rid herself of the stress. Focusing back on the task at hand, she turned on the shower, but before jumping in, turned to look at the new tattoo on her lower back. It had finally all peeled and was stark and vivid against her skin. Regardless of the events surrounding it, she liked the tattoo and what it meant to her.

Her shower was relatively event less. She took this moment of peace to ignore the outside stress plaguing her life. She just wanted to get clean, go to bed, and wake up to everything being normal again. She turned off the stream after about ten minutes and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in the motel’s uncomfortable, terry cloth towel. After exiting the bathroom, she made her way to her haphazardly discarded suitcase and rummaged around for her pyjamas, which just consisted of black sweatpants and a white tee-shirt. She had just slid the sweatpants up her legs when Mulder’s voice rang out behind her.

“Scully, do you want these files?” he called out from the other side of the adjoining door. Her’s was already open, but his had remained shut.

“In a second,” she called out. Apparently he misheard her because his adjoining door swung open and she heard him stutter a shocked apology as he took in the sight of her bare back. She quickly put her arms through the sleeves of her white t-shirt and pulled it over her head, fighting to roll the hem down her damp sides until it met the waistband of her cotton, black  sweatpants.

“What is it? Or am I not allowed to ask?” His question came out with a veil of disdain and she was surprised to turn around and see he hadn’t moved from his spot at the doorway.

She was shocked that he hadn’t averted his gaze to give her privacy, and his meaning was lost on her. “What’re you talking about, Mulder?” she sighed in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, I thought getting a new addition to your body would be memorable,” he sneered, strutting towards her slowly. Under normal circumstances, him walking in on her while she was changing would have been humorous, and they both probably would have acted like shy teenagers. However, the tension present during the car ride had permeated into the room, creating an unpleasant miasma that was almost suffocating, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“I’m sorry, I thought the common manner of not walking in on your partner while she’s half naked was memorable,” she sneered back, standing up straighter to glare at him.

“It was an accident, but I figured you wouldn’t mind since modesty doesn’t seem to be a concern of yours as of late,” he snapped defensively, as if he was offended she was implying he intruded on purpose. She was praying her face didn’t betray how harshly his words stung. It also made her become hyper aware of the transparency of her shirt, and she had to fight the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest.

“Excuse me?” she balked in almost a whisper, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I’m sorry, was that out of line?” His tone implied he didn’t care if it was. “I just find it funny that you meet a man for one weekend and you’re caught in his apartment wearing his clothes, but your partner of four years, and as far as I was aware, close friend, sees your back and that’s too much? Why did you get a tattoo there if you don’t want anyone to see it anyway?”

“It’s my body and I can do whatever I want with it,” she spat.

“Or whoever,” he replied snidely. Irritation and frustration were practically pulsing through her veins. She’d be surprised if he couldn’t see her veins popping out under her skin.

“What the fuck is your problem, Mulder?” she seethed in a breathy whisper. “These past few years I must have done things you haven’t agreed with, lord knows you love to try my patience, so what’s different now? Where do you get off treating me like this? What do you want, Mulder? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg your forgiveness? Do you want me to hate myself?”

He stared at her a few moments, the silence between them so charged it had its own heartbeat. For a moment, she thought he was going to turn around and leave when his defeated voice broke the silence. “How do you think I felt when I got the call that my partner was in the hospital after being almost murdered? Beaten, infected with a drug, and almost killed, all because I forced you to go on a mission you hadn’t even wanted to go on in the first place. You only went because I asked and treated you like shit for not jumping at the opportunity.”

“Was I supposed to detect some remorse when you came into my hospital room or when you saw me at work and just made fun of me? Was I expected to read between the lines and find an apology through your relentless jokes at my expense?” she retorted.

“What was I supposed to say when I saw the case report and I read the escapades of a woman I couldn’t even recognize on the page? What were you thinking?” he asked, looking at her like she grew a third head.

“Mulder, millions of people get tattoos, it’s nothing t-” she started before getting cut off.

“I’m not talking about the tattoo,” he blurted, raising his voice.

“Then what are you talking about, Mulder?” she shouted back, tired of this game.

“Why would you sleep with him?” Mulder shouted, taking her off guard. She was stunned into silence and he let out a stressed breath before talking again at a lower volume. “Scully, the report made it sound like he was being a total creep before you went back with him. You’re a brilliant woman, I just don’t understand why you would disregard your own life like that. For what, a lay?”

“We put ourselves in danger on every case we go on,” she was going to say more but he jumped in once again.

“ Cases , yes, Scully, not during our personal time. The file explicitly stated people had come by and saw you wearing his clothes and that you had spent the night there.”

She stood for a moment, simply watching him, really taking in his appearance for the first time in a while. It was easy to miss the signs of exhaustion when she was avoiding eye contact for a week on end, but now she could see the bags under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and his overall disheveled appearance. He looked sincerely bothered and upset. All her prior fury started to fade as she realized they were both just assuming the worst and lashing out at each other. She decided to just put the truth out on the table. They never were good at keeping secrets from each other anyhow. She let out a little sigh before averting her gaze to the floor and admitting in a mumble, “I only had to stay there because of the storm. I didn’t want to sleep with him.”

When she glanced at him through her lashes, she was met with a completely shocked expression, distress written all over his blanched face. His voice came out almost as a choked whisper as he tentatively asked, “Scully, did he force himself on you?” She was taken aback by the question until she realized she hadn’t exactly phrased her confession in the best way. She was touched nonetheless by his concern.

She took a step towards him, waving her hand in dismissal, “No, no, I’m sorry. I phrased that wrong.” He closed his eyes and visibly relaxed at her admittance, only to tense up again at her next statement, “I mean, he kissed me a few times, it seemed like we were going to have sex, but I couldn’t go through with it.”

“Why not?” he pried. She analyzed his face and saw no judgment this time around, purely curiosity.

If being honest would get them over this roadblock in their relationship, then so be it. “I just wanted to feel something. Have it be recognized that my life was more than just my investment in work. It’s hard coming home an empty apartment. I get sad realizing that I don’t have someone who is genuinely excited when they see me. Maybe my mom, but that’s different. Jerse was interested, and I liked that. When we got to his place and he was touching and grabbing me, I realized superficial appreciation isn’t a good substitute for what I want,” she explained, dismissively shrugging her shoulders in acceptance.

She was pleased that he had let her speak without interruption. When she looked up, she saw he was giving her his purest kicked puppy dog stare. “I’m genuinely excited when I see you,” he admitted softly.

She smiled at him, but reminded, “You’ve been mean to me recently. You made it sound like you don’t trust my judgement and that I’m incompetent at my job.”

His brows furrowed and he started shaking his head immediately, “No, no-Scully. I trust you implicitly, and I think you’re the most rational, level-headed person I have ever met. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just-” He stopped to consider his words as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like I only get to see you at work. It’s one of my favorite topics, and the only one I don’t feel intrusive asking you about. When you sound tired of it, I get scared.”

He sounded so vulnerable as he said this, she felt like he was bearing a part of his private thoughts to her. She couldn’t help but pry a little more, “Scared of what?”

“Scared that you’ll leave me,” he whispered. Realization hit her like a truck. He hadn’t been lashing out at her because he thought she was bad at her job, a weak link to the X-Files. He was lashing out at her because he saw her lack of dedication to the X-Files as a lack of dedication to him. In his eyes, she left him to go on a rendezvous with another man.

“Mulder,” she prompted, getting his attention. “Were you jealous of Jerse?”

“Jealous of a man who thought his tattoo could talk and tried to kill you. I’m afraid not. I was just worried about you.” He may have been convincing if his words hadn’t come out in a rush, and if, when he heard the word ‘jealousy’, his eyes hadn’t flitted down quickly to her t-shirt clad chest.

“I’ve had to deal with worry regarding people trying to kill you time and time again, but never have I lashed out at you and made it seem like it was your fault,” she informed, not wanting to provoke him, but wanting him to see her point.

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it before anything came out. Instead, he took a moment to absorb her words before declaring, “You’ve ignored my questions.”

Her brow furrowed at the topic change, not fully following him. “What questions?”

“What’s your tattoo of?” he reiterated.

“It’s an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail,” she informed. He nodded appreciatively, analyzing this new information, “Do you want to see it?” she offered. He nodded, stepping a bit closer. She turned around and lifted up the hem of her shirt to her waist as she felt him get on his knees behind her. He placed one hand on her bare waist to steady himself as he looked at it.

“What does it mean?” he asked, his breath tickling the fine hairs and flesh of her back.

“I don’t want my life to ever be stagnant, I don’t want to be in that endless line of two steps forward, three steps back,” she said reiterating her words from earlier. “Life is a cycle, and it’s just a reminder that I want a circular pattern of growth and development, not falling into the patterns that have plagued me. It’s just a personal reminder to myself.” It sounded cheesy when she said it out loud, but she had no doubts Mulder would understand.

He was silent for a moment, and she almost jumped when she felt his fingers tentatively reach out to trace the tattoo, his feather light touch floating around her back. She was embarrassed at the goosebumps that she knew were littering her whole body. Mulder’s hand strayed off course and she knew he was feeling them, probably with a cocky smirk on his face. His hand ended up parallel to his other one, now both of them grabbing her bare waist. She was about to ask what he was doing when she felt his lips press tenderly in the middle of where she knew the circle was. She accidentally gasped lightly from surprise and her body suddenly felt hot under his attention.

He raised himself up, not removing his hands, so she was still turned around as he murmured, “There’s one last question you hadn’t answered.” She made a verbal acknowledgement, prompting him to continue. “Why couldn’t you go through with having sex with Jerse”

“I told you, I-” she stopped when she felt him lean closer, his breath making her hair flutter a bit.

“You said superficial appreciation wasn’t a good substitute for what you want. So, what is it you want?” he asked.

You, she thought to herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that bold. She was too flustered at his closeness. “I want to be valued, loved.”

His thumbs were tracing little circles into her skin as he leaned closer, so that his mouth was at her ear. “By anyone?” She shook her head. “By someone specific?” He felt like he was getting impossibly closer. She nodded in response, feeling her hair graze his face lightly. “Who?” he asked.

Her heart was pounding so hard it was almost deafening, maybe that’s what led her to be so bold, she couldn’t hear her mind trying to be rational. She turned her head and was met with his adoring face, staring at her like she was the only person on the planet. She couldn’t bring herself to say it, instead she just took her eyes from his own down to his lips, licking her own subconsciously. For once, Mulder picked up on her subtle hints exactly like she wanted him to. He leaned closer as she did the same, stopping when their lips met for the first time.

Though it was their first kiss, it felt overwhelmingly familiar. She presumed if you imagined something for so long about someone you knew so well, you were bound to be accurate about a few aspects. She had always known that he would wait for her to deepen the kiss, and that when her tongue ran along his bottom lip, he would open his mouth as if accepting a precious gift. She knew his hands would roam her body with reverence, only getting confident at her encouragement. After she deepened the kiss, she swiveled her body in his grasp, moving so that they were front to front, his erection making itself known as it pressed eagerly into her abdomen. As she did this, his hands wandered up her shirt, stroking the smooth expanse of her back, fingering the delicate line of her spine like he was strumming a harp. She knew their kisses would only break when the need for breath was too much. She bit his lip gently as she pulled away, watching his eyes open to reveal dilated pupils beaming down at her.

“How could I be with him, when all I wanted was you?” she panted with an exerted voice. She needed to imprint this to her mind; be sweet to Mulder, and he will blush. It was painfully cute watching a sweet smile spread across his face as he looked down at her, a rosy dust spreading across his cheeks. How the night could have gone from tense, ill-placed animosity to this, she would never know. All she knew was that she was grateful to be in his arms right now.

“I’m sorry for earlier. My behavior was uncalled for, I was just scared of losing you,” he lamented, brushing some stray hairs from her face.

“That’ll never happen,” she reassured before crashing her lips back on his for a second time. This time was a bit more frenzied, fueled by their mutual desire to reconcile this past week, mixed with the relief that they had both been operating under misconceptions. His hands were now all the way up her back underneath her shirt, one hand at the base of her neck and the other sprawled across her shoulder blades. From how stretched out her shirt was, she disentangled her arms from the sleeves, glad when he took the hint and helped her out of it, tossing it in the corner of the room.

As soon as her head was free, she wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes and suckled at various points of flesh she could reach. His jaw bone, his neck, his pulse point, all eliciting very different, but equally erotic, sounds from Mulder. After one particularly playful nip to his collarbone, he surprised her by bending down and grabbing her around the waist, hoisting her up over his shoulder. “Ah! Mulder!” she playfully giggled from her awkward position. He laughed at her exclamation as he placed her down on the bed.

She laid down on her back, feeling inexplicably racy from the sensation of the bedspread against her bare back and the chill of the air conditioned air against her exposed breasts. Mulder took a moment to appreciate her sprawled, prone form, a sensuous gleam in his eye. He wanted to keep the playing ground fair so, before he joined her on the bed, he lifted his shirt up and off his body, throwing it in the same direction as hers. During his admiration, she lifted a leg off the bed and ran her foot up and down his inner thigh, only blocked by the fabric of his jeans. As he was temporarily blinded by his shirt, she went the extra few inches up and stroked his engorged erection, causing him to buck against her foot.

When his face was revealed, the smile was dimmed, replaced by an expression of poorly repressed pleasure. He practically collapsed on her, keeping most of his weight on his forearms bracketing her small frame. “Scully, are you trying to kill me?” he groaned as her hand kept doing the job her foot had been moments ago.

“No, I have different intentions for you right now,” she teased, switching from stroking to fully groping his cock. As his eyes rolled back with a loud moan, she deftly undid his belt and whipped it off in one fell swoop. As she was going for his button and fly, he grabbed her wrist gently to pause her.

She looked up at him and saw him gazing down at her with intense desire, “We can’t go back after this, are you comfortable with that?” His voice was much deeper than normal and the timbre went straight to her clit.

She lifted her knee a bit to graze him as she soothed, “I’ll never want to go back from this, this is what I want.” Mulder unleashed his feral side at her words and quickly stood up, hooking his fingers under her waistband and taking her sweatpants down her legs. Without taking his eyes off her, he undid the zipper of his jeans and discarded them callously. He put on knee on the bed when he quickly stepped back, realization coming through the cloud of lust.

She was about to ask what he was doing when he held a finger up in the air, instead, she sat up on her elbows and watched as he bent down and grabbed his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. When his wallet was in his hand she watched him look through every compartment, bringing out a plethora of coupons, a rewards card for Blockbuster, some sporadic dollar bills, a picture of herself and one of the Lone Gunmen. He made grunts of displeasure with every failure, but after turning it upside down and shaking it, a lone condom fell to the floor. She couldn’t help but laugh at the struggle he just went through and he looked up at her and gave an amused shrug, “What can I say? I haven’t needed this in years.”

He stood up and walked towards the bed, fiddling with the packaging. Scully sat up on the edge of the bed to meet him, practically face to face with his bobbing erection. “Please, let me do it,” she requested in a throaty voice she barely recognized. He placed the square of foil delicately in her hand. Glancing down at it the wrapper read ‘For her pleasure.’ How thoughtful, Mulder. She brought it to her lips and tore the perforated edge, blowing it out of her mouth and onto the floor. After extracting the condom from the wrapper, she threw the rest of the trash on the floor so she could focus on the task at hand.

Before putting on the condom, she glanced at Mulder’s full length and it was impressive. It twitched playfully in the air under her gaze and she shot Mulder an amused look, only to receive a flirtatious wink. It was already glistening from precum, but she wanted to make sure the shaft was lubricated to make the application easier, so she lifted her free hand and stroked him firmly up and down a few times, coating him in his own lubrication. Mulder bucked involuntarily into her hand and threw his head back.

She felt her body tingling in response to his arousal, and she lifted the condom to his tip and slid it down, utilizing both hands. When she was confident it was on right, she looked up at him coyly, meeting his lust-hooded gaze and placed a sweet kiss to the tip of his erection, never taking her eyes off him.

Within a beat, he swooped down and eased her further onto the bed, setting himself a top of her while groaning, “Fuck, you’re so hot, I love you.”

Her clit throbbed at his words and she arched her shoulders off the bed to capture his lips in another kiss, easing one hand in between their bodies to grab his cock and ease it into her wet heat. He thrust into her a few times experimentally, trying to maintain contact with her lips. She ended up breaking the kiss, her hands shooting to his back in pleasure, trying to encourage him to go faster. Instructions he took without question. He took this moment to finally get to play with her breast, moving both his hands so he could play with kneading them in his palms. A perfect fit. As he did this, he would tweak her nipples, studying her face to see what she liked best and adapting immediately.

She was rocking against him with as much momentum as she could, but it wasn’t enough. With momentum she didn’t know she had, she rocked him onto his back and situated herself on top of him. His face contorted into pure bliss, small beads of sweat gathering on his brow from exertion.

Her entire body felt like it was on fire under his gaze. It felt like she could do anything and he would still cherish her. She placed her palms flat against his chest and started rocking herself. Timidly at first, evaluating how she needed to move to avoid him sliding out of her, but after she got a handle on it, her movements became frantic and wild, riding him like it was the last thing she would ever do.

Mulder’s back arched sinfully off the bed as his head lolled from side to side, lost in pleasure. His hands instinctively shot to her hips and gripped with bruising force, helping her body gyrate on top of his. The sounds they were making were borderline pornographic. Between the relentless moans, pants, and whines and the slapping of his thighs against hers, she was surprised they weren’t getting noise complaints.

Hearing Mulder’s little grunts of pleasures and groans of appreciation made her realize how much the human voice was an aphrodisiac. With every sound, her clit’s need for release became more and more desperate. After a particularly good thrust that hit her g-spot just right, she sank onto him with reckless abandon. Grinding against him so hard they might as well blend into one. She had never been so fully connected to another human being before. Every inch of her crotch and inner thigh was attached to him. His balls were rubbing tortuously against her ass and the friction of her clit against his pubic bone was indescribable.

Her orgasm snuck up on her hard and fast. Her entire body went rigid as she convulsed against him, he was gently thrusting into her to help her prolong her orgasm as he watched her lose herself in rapture. She lazily undulated her body against his until she was spent. She took a moment to catch her breath, gulping in lungfuls of air. “That was the single hottest thing I have ever witnessed in my entire life,” he praised.

She sent him a sated smile and she felt his cock twitch against her clenched muscles in response. “Your turn,” she purred before violently thrusting against him again. This time she eased forward so that her breasts were rubbing against his chest and she could kiss his neck. He wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her pressed to him, as he sat upwards, so they were both upright with Scully on his lap. He started to thrust into her with reckless abandon, a man on a mission, and it was painfully sensual.

He placed a shaky hand to the side of her neck and brought her face down for another kiss, this time, as soon as their tongues touched, he moaned into her mouth and started shaking. She bit his lip before pulling back to watch his orgasm take over him. His jaw was agape in pleasure as his eyes bore into hers. She was just as patient with him as he had been with her, riding him until he was spent.

When he was done they both chuckled shyly at the new, much quieter, volume of the room. He quickly leaned off the bed so he could throw the condom in the trash and grab his discarded t-shirt. He carefully used the shirt to blot her forehead from sweat, followed by his own, before gently putting it between her thighs and wiping her clean, throwing it on the ground afterwards. The amount of care and dedication he took to making sure she was comfortable made her heart ache in happiness.

He yawned and she involuntarily did the same from watching him. The eased themselves under the covers, absolutely sated. She nuzzled closer to him, using his arm as a pillow, and sighed in contentment. Glazing up at him through sleepy eyes she beamed, “I love you too, Mulder.”

The smile that tugged on his lips broke as soon as his eyes peaked open, instead replaced by worry, “Scully, your nose is bleeding.”

[lizzzybooo]

One can never have too many warm and fluffy comfort/caring fics, especially dan comforting/caring for phil

sorry for the long wait love! hope you like it :)

Lay It On Me

Summary: ‘Most of the time, he didn’t think about it much, at least not in a bad way. He liked to analyze those dreams the day after, sitting with Dan on the couch and telling him about the monsters that hunted him the night before. Monsters that seemed quite silly in the day light, ridiculous even. And they would laugh about it and Dan would call him a spoon or a spork with a fond smile and that would be the end of it.

But sometimes, the dreams were different.’_______________________

Phil has a nightmare and Dan is there for comfort

Words:1516

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942786

He didn’t wake up with a jolt like he usually did after a nightmare.

He woke up slowly, gradually. Could feel his body leave the stillness and haze of unconsciousness before opening his eyes to a dark room.

His muscles were tense and stiff and he could still see the details of his dream in front of his eyes, like maybe he was still there, maybe it was all real.

He was no stranger to restless nights and bad dreams. He always had an overactive imagination, always had hard time shutting his brain up, even while sleeping. He’s dreams tended to be stressful most nights and sometimes even plain horrifying.

Most of the time, he didn’t think about it much, at least not in a bad way. He liked to analyze those dreams the day after, sitting with Dan on the couch and telling him about the monsters that hunted him the night before. Monsters that seemed quite silly in the day light, ridiculous even. And they would laugh about it and Dan would call him a spoon or a spork with a fond smile and that would be the end of it.

But sometimes, the dreams were different. Sometimes it wasn’t that easy to separate the dream world from the real one, to wake up and know it was all okay now because the nightmare was over.

It usually was a different variation of the same dream. Sometimes about his parents or brother, sometimes about his friends, sometimes about Dan.

Sometimes it was because of a car crush, sometimes because of an illness, sometimes with no explanation at all. But he never got used to it. Never knew how to handle to loss, no matter how many nights he’d experienced it.

When he was a kid, he used to sneak out of his room on nights like this and creep into his parents’ bedroom, watch them sleep and try to count their breaths in his head, making sure they were alive and well.

Sometimes he would go to Martyn’s room, and Martyn would wake up because he was a light sleeper and call him a creep for watching him sleep but would never fail to lift up his duvet and let him stay in his bed for the night, let him put his finger on his neck to feel his steady pulse, just in case.

But it has been years since he’d done that. Years since he left his childhood home and build himself a home of his own. Years since he had to leave his bed at night to find comfort.

He looked to his right, staring at the human shape lump under the covers next to him. He could see a bit of Dan’s face, hair messy and covering most of it from view. Under the faint light from the window Dan’s skin looked a little too grey, a little too familiar in the worst of ways, and Phil could feel his insides squeezed by an imaginary fist. It was all still too vivid.

But Dan’s chest was rising and falling and Phil could hear the sound of his heavy, deep breathing in the silence of the room and logically, he did know it was all just a dream.

But still, his heart was racing and he could feel grief settle deep in his core, feeling the pain of his dream self. Because even though it wasn’t real, he still felt it, and that was real enough for him.

He reached out to touch Dan’s cheek, to move the hair from his forehead and feel the warmth of his skin under his fingertips, so different from the cold feeling that was still so vivid in his memory.

Dan stirred, smacking his lips and turning a little to Phil’s direction, but Phil’s chest still felt heavy and tight.

He needed to see Dan’s brown eyes looking at his, hear his sleepy voice. He needed something, anything, because he knew it wasn’t real, knew that Dan was next to him. He was alive and well and he could hear the air going in and out of Dan’s slightly ajar mouth and it wasn’t real.

But, what if it was?

“Dan,” he whispered quietly, because even though he wanted to wake Dan up it still felt wrong to disturb the quite of the night.

Dan moved again, mumbling something incoherent that sounded a lot like “piss off,” but Phil wasn’t sure. Always so grumpy when he woke up.

He let his hand glide from Dan’s cheek to his bare shoulder, inching closer and rubbing Dan’s upper arm a little to get him to wake up.

“What time is it?” Dan grumbled, swatting Phil’s hand away from him and burying himself deeper inside the duvet.

Phil looked at his night stand, finding his Phone and squinting at it to try and see without his glasses.

“4: 30.”

“PM?” Dan suddenly jolted, looking at Phil with round eyes, and Phil couldn’t help but giggle, feeling some of the tension seep away from his body with the sound.

“No, AM,” he answered, hearing Dan’s exaggerated moan and watching his body physically deflate.

“Why the fuck are you waking me up at 4:30 AM?” he asked, already closing his eyes again, but not moving from Phil, which made Phil’s heart swell a little.

“Just had a bad dream,” he said it casually, shrugging his shoulders a little, but he knew Dan would get it. He always did.

He didn’t feel bad for waking Dan up. They’ve been together long enough, were there for each other through all of it and he knew for a fact Dan would never be mad at Phil for needing him.

Dan’s eyes opened again and looked at Phil through a sleep haze. He was close enough that Phil could see the small creases around his eyes and the soft of his lips even without his glasses and he could still feel how much it hurt to lose this.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dan asked and his voice was soft now, sympathetic, and he reached out and put his hand on the back of Phil’s head, letting his blunt fingernails scratch at his scalp absentmindedly.

And something about this casual touch made Phil feel like he was about to break down completely. The way Dan’s hand found its way to his head even in his sleepy state, the way his fingers knew what to do and how to touch exactly the way he liked it, exactly the way that always helped calm him down when he was upset, made all his emotions rise to the surface and threaten to leak from his eyes.

“Not really,” he managed to say, and his voice wasn’t stable and he could feel his insides turning again because even though it was a dream the feelings were still real, and there was no point in downplaying it in front of Dan.

Dan let his hand slide from his head to his back, pulling to get him closer. Phil went willingly, eagerly, settling in the crook of Dan’s neck, letting his cold nose nuzzle against the warm skin, breathing in deeply the scent of sweat and sleep and Dan.

Dan tangled their legs together, nudging his knee in-between Phil’s and wrapping him in both his arms tightly, holding him close.

Phil could feel one of Dan’s hands wandering on his body, going from his back to his shoulder and then down to his hand, taking it and guiding it to his chest, flattening his fingers above his heart and holding it there.

And Phil couldn’t stop the small watery laugh that came out of his lips, because Dan knew him so well it was almost ridiculous. He knew him so well that Phil didn’t have to tell him what his deepest, darkest fears were anymore. Didn’t have to explain what his worst nightmares were about.

Sometimes, they could help each other silently, gently, without the need to explain what was wrong or apologize for being a burden. They both learned to accept the other’s help long ago, welcoming it and seeking it in times of need.

Phil could feel Dan’s steady heartbeat under the palm of his hand, could feel the rise and fall of Dan’s chest and could hear the soft huffs and puffs of air in his hair, could feel soft lips pecking the top of his head again and again until his body melted against the warmth of Dan’s body.

He would still think about this dream tomorrow. Maybe even think about it for the next few days. Those dreams had a tendency to stay with him long after he’d woken up, settling somewhere at the back of his head and bothering him at the least convenient moments.

But for now, he’d let himself be lulled back to sleep by the feeling of Dan’s hand drawing patterns on his back and arm and shoulder and hope that in the morning they’ll wake just like this,

Warm and wrapped up together and pressed closely and alive.

[pigeoncheeks-archive]

“I think I love you.” for your Apprentice and his boyfriends.

He thinks it might be the hardest for Muriel to hear.

With Asra, the words come so easily, so naturally between them, lost for a while, but returning as if they never left. Asra’s eyes go soft at the corners when Trill says them, and he looks so very open and warm. He leans in and kisses Trill without fail every time, nuzzles into his hair and squeezes his hands, and whispers them in return against his temple. Again and again and again, like making up for lost time.

With Julian, it’s a little different, but not so much. They slip out easily, of course, Trill’s never been good at hiding his feelings, but every time it’s as if Julian is blown away by them. His eyes go wide and startled, his pallid cheeks stained with vivid red. Sometimes, he covers his mouth, sometimes his whole face, and sometimes he laughs, startled and delighted before he sweeps in to wrap Trill up in a powerful hug and pepper kisses all over his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. Bursting with joy and wonder that he’s, somehow, against all odds, allowed to have this happiness, this joy.

But Muriel is… different. He keeps his distance, holds back until Trill moves first, always unsure, always ponderous. He watches from a distance, always keeps a chasm of space between them, even when Trill tells him it’s alright to come closer, it’s alright to touch. Sometimes he looks afraid, hunted, and Trill wants nothing more than to gather him up and comfort him the only way he knows how, but he’s not sure if it’s welcome, or wanted.

With Asra around, it’s a bit easier. He can read Muriel better, can guide Trill on how to best approach. Slowly, not quietly, don’t sneak up on him or startle him. As large and powerful as Muriel is, he tends to frighten like a rabbit, and while he can hide it admirably, he doesn’t yet understand, no matter how much Trill tells him so, that he doesn’t have to.

It’s a cold night, and Trill is bundled up in quilts in bed with a mug of tea and a sheaf of papers, a plate on his bedside table with only the leftover crumbs of lemon shortbread cookies to tell the tale they ever existed.

He’s left his door open, of course. Julian is off at the Raven for the evening, regaling the patrons with tales of his time on the run. Asra is in his little back room, performing the last of his evening readings. They’ll slink into bed with him, in time.

Julian will be stumbling a bit, but slithering his long, lanky frame under the blankets, his skin cool to the touch until he can press himself full-body into Trill’s generous warmth, wrap himself around his plushy lover until the cold is leached from his skin. His kisses will taste like whiskey, sloppy and playful against Trill’s lips and chin and neck, to make him giggle so he can feel his belly shake because, for whatever reason, that delights Julian to no end.

Asra will slip in quietly, trailing smoky incense and a shroud of affected mystery that he sheds like an old coat the moment he crosses the threshold. He’ll all but flop onto the big bed (new, a gift from Nadia, and almost too large for Trill’s modest little bedroom– it takes up almost the entire space, and he’s had to re-purpose his parents’ room into something of a music room, and it hurts, but he knows they wouldn’t like him to keep it untouched, a sad shrine to their memory) exhale in a rush, and tuck his cheek into Trill’s chest, quietly watching him, and, if Julian’s gotten there first, ignoring his sleepy grumblings about rude witches and their knobby knees. Asra will stare, quietly, pitifully, until Trill leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose, and then he’ll squirm upwards to kiss him more fully, as he wiggles his way under the blankets on his side of the bed.

They take their time with it, and Trill doesn’t begrudge them that. After all the excitement of the palace, of the trial and Masquerade, Trill is content to have his old, quiet life back, though much, much fuller and warmer and happier now that he’s without the yawning chasm of loneliness left behind by his lost memories.

It’s a cold night, and Trill is settling in, flipping through sheet music, making notes, and occasionally reaching for a cookie and being rudely reminded that he’s already eaten them all. He thinks about shuffling to the kitchen to see if there are anymore (Asra tends to sneak a few between readings) but that would require leaving this cozy nest he’s made for himself.

He doesn’t realize he’s alone at first, busily scribbling notes into the margins between staffs, holds up his hands as if his harp is between them and plucks imaginary strings, shakes his head and waffles over tempo. It’s only when he’s huffing and shoving the papers into his bedside table drawer and fumbling for the oil lamp that he realizes he’s not alone.

A sliver of moonlight slips between the gap of the drawn curtains and casts a long shadow over the bed, a shadow that shifts a bit uncomfortably, now that it’s been noticed. Trill’s heartbeat kicks up, startled, for just a second before he smiles warmly. “You’re so quiet, Muri,” he teases gently, sitting up a little straighter against the pillows. “What time is it? I don’t usually stay up this late… Do you need something?”

Muriel inches closer, still wordless, and after a moment Trill can finally see his face in the soft mellow lamplight. His hair is tangled around his face, still a bit damp from the bath. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then furrows his brow and shuts it, shaking his head.

Trill purses his lips and hesitates for a moment, before taking a deep breath and scooting over a bit in the bed. “Would you… Do you want to join me?” he asks gently.

Muriel’s expression hardly changes beyond a barely-there widening of his eyes. His lips part slightly. He looks away, towards the door, and Trill nervously smooths down the quilts.

“I– Only for– I don’t mean– Oh, goodness,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I only meant… Well, there’s only so much space on those little sofas, and I know that’s where you’ve been sleeping, and there’s an awful lot of space in this bed, but I’m not expecting anything if you do join me, only–”

The edge of the bed dips very suddenly– so suddenly that Trill bounces a bit and lets out a startled little gasp.

He peeks between his fingers and sees nothing but Muriel’s broad back, draped in the thick, draped sweater Trill had spent weeks and a truly absurd amount of yarn working on for him.

“You… you can lie down, if you want. Here, I’ll–” He scoots away a bit, making room, and slowly, Muriel does, half-leaning against the mountain of pillows that Julian has a tendency to knock asunder in his sleep, and Asra likes to bury himself beneath.

Muriel still looks a bit stiff, uncomfortable, so Trill busies himself pulling up the blankets, tucking them around the massive frame, but careful not to touch too much or for too long. Muriel watches him quietly, passively, but allows him to fuss and fidget, and Trill very much appreciates that, because he is both fussy and fidgety in spades.

“Thank you,” Muriel rumbles. Trill likes his voice, so soft, but so deep it’s almost as if he feels it more than he hears it. He wishes he could tell Muriel that, but isn’t sure how to even broach such a subject.

“I… No thanks necessary,” Trill replies easily, and nestles back down, a little closer to Muriel than before. “I want you to be comfortable, and the sofa cannot be comfortable for someone so tall.”

“I… I’m fine on the floor,” Muriel offers. Trill frowns deeply.

“There are plenty of beds, too. Probably not much better than the sofa in terms of length, but I still have my parents’ bed in storage, and it might not be particularly spacious, but–”

A hand slides over his where it rests on the bedspread, massive and calloused and so, so warm. It squeezes his, and Trill’s heart feels like it might burst from joy at the unprompted contact.

“And, of course,” he adds shyly, “you’re always welcome in here. There’s plenty of room. It’s a bit absurd, really. Now, Julian’s a bit leggy and Asra tends to sprawl, but I like to curl up and there’s still a good bit of space between the three of us, so I’m sure we could manage a fourth.”

He looks up, and Muriel’s moss-green eyes are focused so intently on him he feels almost naked. His babbling trails off, he forgets what he was saying, and before he can think better of it, he’s pushing to his knees and leaning up to bunt his nose against Muriel’s. He remembers the dozens of times Muriel tried to warn him, tried to protect him, to make him remember, and now that he does he can only wonder what Muriel thought of him for all that time. Why he didn’t just give up when it seemed to much like a lost cause.

“I think I love you,” he breathes, feels Muriel’s breath hitch in return, then shudder against his mouth before– oh!

One huge hand curls around the back of his head, cups it gently, and pulls him the last few scant inches for their mouths to connect. It’s a timid kiss, incredibly soft, lasts only a second or two, but it leaves him starry-eyed and melty. “Oh,” he whispers. “I… That was…” He leans in a gain. “If I can– Can I have another?”

Muriel makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a whine and does as asked, and Trill squirms in delight, presses himself closer to the sturdy bulk of the bigger man and presses a hand to the warm, strong plane of his chest, thumb brushing over the dark curls dusting its surface.

Trill is fast asleep when Julian and Asra slip into the room, one after another, and Muriel is dozing. He blinks sleepily at Asra, who smiles fondly at the pair they make, the soft little shopkeep curled up practically on top of Muriel’s chest, the blankets draped over where their legs are tangled together.

Julian has no such moment of tender observation, merely huffs and shuffles his way over to take up his spot near the edge of the bed, pressing his back to the line of Muriel’s side and leaving Asra to climb over the mound of bodies on his own.

And they sleep, a bundle of tangled limbs and blankets, and too-warm bodies crowded together around the apprentice in the middle, who smiles and sighs happily in his sleep.