#please I need music to enter my veins and become one with my soul

[since-times-long-forgotten]

maybe if I just listen to The Amazing Devil enough times, maybe then my breath could embody a wildfire starting (and what you hear is not silence, it’s just the trees waiting to hear what next you’ll hum)

[sketchguk]

a world alone; myg

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi, street racer!yoongi x reader

➳ genre: modern vampire AU, street racer AU, bad boy AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 11.3k

➳ synopsis: the rest of the world will pay no mind to yoongi’s gentle soul. they’ll take one look at his etched skin, bruised knuckles, and gnarly scar and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart he wears on his sleeve. they think they know everything about your best friend, yet they’ll never know about his bloodlust and his need for speed.

➳ warnings: explicit language, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, heavy petting, blood sucking, menstrual blood, oral (f receiving), handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex.

➳ a/n: this is dedicated to my delightful destinee, @yourdelights​ 🥺💖 i was heavily inspired by Lorde’s music, and I’m dying for her comeback!! yoongi’s character was also based on jess’ character from gilmore girls (shout-out to vic for reigniting my love for that show @minsprings​ !!)

Your parents always warn you about hanging out with the wrong crowd. They’re under the false impression that anyone who surfs the internet for “fun” and recreationally smokes weed in their parents’ basement — two crimes worthy of capital punishment — is inherently the offspring of Satan.

It’s quite melodramatic to say the least, but they don’t even know the half of it.

Sure, you understand the consequences of drinking fireballs until your throat is raw and getting plastered beyond recognition. You can also see why it’d be a bad idea to stick and poke needles into one another’s arms or to have unprotected sex. It’s inevitably a part of suburban culture when there’s nothing else to do in this deadbeat town besides pray to a God who doesn’t even care to listen.

But if they think their advice is going to stop you from being a quote unquote deadbeat, they’re gravely mistaken.  

There’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, right? Because if there’s one thing you can’t wrap your head around, it’s reasons to stay away from Min Yoongi.

They claim that the infamous bad boy is “nothing but trouble,” but to you, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about his warm eyes and gentle hands. He may be a little wild and fluorescent in the dark, but under the moonlight, the way he wraps you around in his ink spattered arms makes you feel safer than no other. Although Yoongi is anything but perfect, you can easily acknowledge that.

Yoongi has his flaws. A million and one bad habits to kick. He has tired eyes, no doubt from his unhealthy lack of sleep. His caffeine addiction keeps him up at night, yet you can’t help but spur it every time you secretly drop by his place with an americano in hand. Not only is his hot breath laced with coffee beans, but on occasion, it’s unmistakably mingled with some potent nicotine. To be quite honest, the taste isn’t as bad as your parents describe it to be. You’ve been trying to wean him off of it though, and it’s been working for the most part.

Rather, in place of smoking a pack a week, Yoongi subconsciously bites his nails. Even though chewing off his cuticles isn’t a healthy substitute either, it’s certainly better than killing his lungs and filling it with smoke. You can also admit to biting your own nails out of fear or anxiety sometimes, but ever since you started to hang around the older boy, the habit has diminished significantly. Nowadays, your mouth is fixated on other things your mother wouldn’t be proud to hear about.

In the hazy, quiet of the night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, you situate yourself on top of Yoongi’s lap, straddling him on either side of his thigh just like clockwork. The novel you were once reading is long forgotten from your dainty hands, too busy carding it through his dark locks and pulling at his roots. Your mouths are preoccupied with one another as he’s the one to bite your lip, and you’re the one to bite your tongue, holding back secrets he’s not ready to hear.

With parted lips and clashing teeth, Yoongi rolls his tongue around yours. In a fight for dominance, you’d gladly submit to him any day. A gasp falls between your teeth and a shiver runs down your spine as he trails his cold hands down your sides, rubbing circles into your exposed hip bones with his calloused thumbs, never daring to dip further south without your permission.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat with his swollen lips, sucking bruises into the tender skin. Yoongi focuses his attention at the base of your neck, lapping at the pretty love bites adorning your clavicle. You brace yourself for what’s to come by squeezing at his broad shoulders. Growing restless, you begin to bounce on his lap, begging for him to use you at his disposal.

The faint glow of the overhead lamp illuminates his profile, his honey skin glistening in the low light. Your heavy lidded eyes wills itself to open up, meeting your sight with the man beneath you. While your eyes darken with lust, a clouded vision of Yoongi overcomes you ー his pupils shining with an otherworldly brilliance, a golden glare so intense that you fall prey to him every night.

Your sultry eyes are pleading for him to sink his teeth into your flesh, and who is Yoongi to deny you of all the finer things in life? He caresses your waist with a soft touch, gently squeezing at your sides as if he’s too afraid to let go, but Yoongi is vastly acute of all your reactions. So with the nod of your head and a whisper of affirmation, you confess that you want this ー him ー more than anything in the world.

Yoongi runs his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your neck, sucking on the prominent vein at the juncture of your shoulder. He slows down to massage his teeth into your skin, biting gently before piercing your jugular with his canine fangs. All the blood in your body rushes through your vessels, satiating Yoongi’s bloodlust thirst. You’re at a loss of breath, panting heavily as you overheat under the scope of his fiery glare and the electrifying graze of his extremities.

In any other lifetime, you would revolt at the sight of blood and its metallic taste, yet in this time and space, you would allow your best friend to do anything he pleases ー even if his greatest wish is to suck the life out of you. To Yoongi, your viscous blood is sickly sweet and beyond addicting. He doesn’t have a clue as to why he’d ever pick up another cigarette when you’re the only addiction he needs.

As the life drains out of you, one drop of blood at a time, you can feel yourself grow weaker in Yoongi’s arms. You fall limp, becoming a victim to his voracious fervor. But Yoongi understands your limits, being so in tune to your body, and he’s sure to stop before you descend into a comatose.

Your lungs are starting to cave inside of you as heavy sighs escape from your parted lips. Weakly tugging on the strands of Yoongi’s hair, you warn him of the dangerous territory he’s about to enter.

Yoongi suckles at your punctured skin, running his tongue over the point of contact before retracting his fangs and sealing the wound he had gouged with a kiss. He wipes his mouth clean of any residue with the back of his hand, whispering a thank you into the shell of your ear.

You nod your head and wrap your arms around Yoongi’s neck to catch your breath, barely even conscious of his soft coos and gentle caresses. Your head is spinning on an axis, but you allow yourself to fall deeper into Yoongi’s arms, fully knowing that he’s always going to be the one to catch you no matter what.

His sweet nothings reverberate around your skull ー a deep voice echoing like a polyphony, lulling you into your rapture. He brushes your hair back behind your head, and before you know it, your cheek is nuzzling into the cotton of the pillows as he lowers your body onto the firm mattress.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for, but Yoongi’s delicate voice and quiet hushes bring you back to earth. You can feel his slightly chapped lips planting a kiss at the top of your temple and the soft tickle of his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Yoongi calls you by your name, fanning his breath over your plush cheeks until you stir back into reality. In your groggy state, your eyes unwillingly blink open, and although your vision is blurry, the sight of Yoongi and his precious smile is clear as day.

He helps you to sit up before passing you a glass of your favorite concoction. While you’re still stuck in a daze, your face instantly lights up at the sight of the tiny cocktail umbrella sitting at the rim of your cup.

“Small umbrellas bring big smiles,” he offers, “Drink up.”

It’s cheesy as hell, but you throw your head back to take a sip, making it all the more difficult for yourself when you can’t erase the larger than life smile from your lips. You’re instantly hit with the earthy taste of greens as there’s a mixture of kale, cucumber, and celery, but most importantly, Yoongi is sure to throw in a generous amount of spinach to replenish the iron that you’ve lost from his feasting. Even though most people would rather die than drink a blend of vegetables, you’re no stranger to Yoongi's Midas touch in the kitchen. He’s an expert when it comes to food, always going above and beyond without even trying. You can’t even fathom how a carnivore like him has gone as far as creating the perfect vegetarian steak as per your request – mentioned jokingly in passing, of course.

“You hungry?” He inquires.

You shake your head no, but he’s all ready to step back into the kitchen to prepare you a meal from the sparse ingredients in his low-humming fridge.

“Just want you beside me,” you pout, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to climb underneath the covers with you.

Yoongi gives into your wishes, interlacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature. You lower your drink onto the stack of books designed to be a makeshift nightstand as he reaches for your paperback copy of Metamorphoses, lying precariously at the edge of the mattress. He settles beside you as you comfortably situate yourself across the bed, laying your head onto his lap and scrunching up into a fetal position.

Too wrapped up in your own world, you don’t seem to notice the presence of Yoongi’s ginger moggie until he’s curled up beside you, nudging at your bare arm, begging to be pet. You give into the scraggy feline, keeping busy, while Yoongi turns to your marked, dog ear page, finishing up Book IV with the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Ideally, this is exactly how you want to spend the entirety of your Sundays. Although this is how your night always ends, it doesn’t always start off this way. Typically, you’re hanging around his apartment alone, pacing the age-old floorboards, biting your nails and waiting for Yoongi to arrive home safely from his lucrative hustle. You’d even chat it out with Yoongi’s kitten to keep your sanity intact, only to receive a hollow meow in return. Meanwhile, Yoongi spends his Sunday evenings doing all the things your parents warn you not to do. All in good faith, Yoongi earns some quick and dirty cash by participating in the underground street race scene. For you, it’s never been about the money, but more about his safety and wellbeing. And every week, with a few scratches in sight and give or take a couple of bruised knuckles, Yoongi returns home with a pocket full of cash like a double edged scheme. Regardless, you know for a fact that he does whatever he wants purely for his own happiness. It’s all for the cheap thrills, and if this is what he wants to do, who are you to stop him from doing so?

Yoongi rests his hand on top of yours to keep you safe when in reality, shouldn’t you be the one to do that to him? He’s reading the story out loud to you, and you’d probably never acknowledge this fact in the open, but in the repressed part of your subconscious, you’re more drawn to the deep lull of Yoongi’s voice than the enchanting story itself. The words go in through one ear, and out the other, but it’s not important because you’ve read this story at least a dozen times before. Instead, your attention is directed towards Yoongi and the subtle purse of his lips. Your eyes are fixated on the gentle slope of his rounded nose and the faint beauty mark that’s slightly off center.

It’s also hard to ignore the scar that cuts through the middle of his right eye. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard to believe that everyone perceives Yoongi as the tough guy because to you, he’s just… Yoongi.

Your Yoongi.

He’s the same guy who would save a stray kitten from the side of the road, befriending it and accepting it into his run down home despite the nasty claw mark that’s embedded into his face. And although Yoongi doesn’t have much to offer financially, he’d still give it his all to take care of the scruffy kitten. Per your informally formal one-woman petition, you’ve requested that Yoongi deem the domestic long-haired cat as San, and ever since then, he’s been inseparable with the little critter. It’s quite endearing to watch this man and his little bundle of sunshine cuddle like it’s nobody’s business or slow dance around the apartment with a cat in his arms in spite of his two left feet.

However, it’s upsetting how the rest of the world will never see the delicate side of your best friend in the same way you see him. Even now, as you lie in bed with him, fiddling with his pretty hands, you can never not think about how they fit perfectly between the spaces of your fingers, comforting you like no other man in your life could. You can’t even look at them without imagining how elegant they are when they’re dancing across the rusty and slightly out of tune grand piano in the corner of the room.

Even if his arms are inked in tattoos, the rest of the world will pay no mind to his gentle soul. They’ll take one look at Yoongi’s etched skin and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart that he wears on his sleeve.

“Remind me again why you like this stuff?” Yoongi wonders, placing the paperback face down on the bed. Your lack of attention causes him to call your name repeatedly until he finally resorts to poking at your sides.

“HUH?” You yelp, breaking out of your reverie, not fully comprehending anything he’s said in the last five minutes or so.

“Ovid.”

You lift yourself in an upright position, rolling your eyes at his blissful ignorance and lack of taste for Greco-Roman literature. “This is a relic of antiquity, and Ovid pretty much lays the groundwork for Shakespeare, bro. Pay some respect to his name.”

Yoongi breaks out in a smile at your term of endearment but shakes his head in utter disagreement. “You know I’m not a fan of Shakespeare,” he almost gags at the sound of his name. “I’ll admit that the dude has a way with words, and I applaud him for keeping up with the meter, but it’s just not my style.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches up in distaste, his eyes squinting shut.

“We literally wouldn’t have some of the greatest works known to humankind if Ovid didn’t exist.” Your arms run wild, waving in the air as if your points will come across stronger because of how manic you are. Perhaps you’re being a little too dramatic, but in your defense, Ovid is an absolute legend. “I mean think about it, we have The Tempest, Pygmalionー”

“Rousseau’s Pygmalion or Shaw’s Pygmalion?”

“To each one’s own, but you have to know that I’d pick Rousseau any day,” you shrug.

“Yeah, Shaw didn’t have that philosophical flavor, you know,” he chuckles. “I guess you have a point. Let’s not forget A Midsummer Night’s Dream though, a classic.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across your lips at the mention of one of your favorite works. You know that Yoongi is bringing it up for your sake more than his because of his strong hatred towards the brilliance that is Shakespeare. And you know for a fact that he likes A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but he’d never outrightly dare to admit how much he enjoys your book recommendations ー especially if they involve Shakespeare.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways,” you smile smugly. “Besides, back to the point, Dickens was inspired by Ovid, and Oliver Twist is still your favorite novel.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, completely defeated by your argument. “Hey! That’s not fair now. It’s basically a social commentary about my life. C’mon, you’re gonna pull that card on me now?”

“Exactly, so you’re not giving him enough credit,” you plead with a pout. “We read this when we were in high school, but I think you’d really enjoy it if you gave it another shot.”

Yoongi bites his lips and picks up the book once again in hesitation, observing it from cover to cover. He plays with the myriad of pink post-it notes that protrude from the worn edges, flipping through the pages and thumbing through all of your annotations.

“Fine,” he grumbles, placing the book back onto his bed. “I’ll give it another try, and I’ll have a full, in-depth review ready for you by this weekend but... you have to come to my race on Sunday.”

“Are you serious?” You ponder over his proposition.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

Although you’re still skeptical about Yoongi’s side hustle, you’d still support him no matter what (even if it’s in stubborn petulance). Shrugging your shoulders and saying “what the hell,” you give in to his proposal.

Yoongi flashes you his infamous gummy smile, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in the center of your chest. Call it what you want ー elation, glee, fondness, tenderness, something entirely nuanced, or perhaps something above and beyond all of that. Regardless, it’s easy to shrug it off when the feeling comes and goes every so often.

And shrugging it off is what you do best.

Nevertheless, Yoongi’s willingness to appease you causes you to squeal and ramble on about how excited you are for his commentary. Your mouth is too busy running while Yoongi stumbles across his tiny studio, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his army green utility jacket. He reaches for your outerwear and your white high tops while listening intently to your excitement about the activities you have planned for this Saturday. He hums in affirmation as he slides his hoodie over your raised arms and tugs the black material over your torso, getting you ready to sneak back into your parents’ home.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with a smile plastered on his lips, “Can’t wait, babe.” He tries to conceal his joy as he ducks his head down, sliding your Converse past your ankles and tying the shoelaces up for you.

With your grasp in his one hand and his car keys in the other, he ushers you out of his apartment and into his run-down 1986 Grandeur Azera. The neon green digital clock on his car radio taunts him, blinking every few seconds to count down the limited time he has left with you before kissing your cheek goodnight, or rather good morning, and sending you off to the sheltered life kept under wraps by your overprotective parents.

Yoongi tries not to think too much about the impermanence of the greatest things in his life as the slow burn of sunrise peeks over the horizon. Rather, he’s focused on how the car ride is filled with some of his favorite sounds ー the low hum of old school hip hop playing through his vintage radio and the ring of your laughter resounding over his stupid jokes.

The weekend rolls around quicker than you expect it to.

Days in the cul-de-sac are abnormally slow, especially when you’re in the midst of June. With each passing day, sunlight drags on a little longer because of the impending summer solstice. From the confinements of your window, it seems like all you ever do lately is watch the golden sun rise and set over the lake.

On occasions, your eyes are drawn to the far distance where there are freight trains that chug across the railroad at the crack of dawn. You can’t help but think about the places they’ll go and the things they’ll see in cities outside of your own.

In all honesty, you should probably do something more productive with your days. While everyone you know is complaining about work or studying for a degree they won’t ever use, you’re too busy studying the floor. And although daydreaming about the bright lights and city sounds is a way to kill the time, you’d much rather do it with Yoongi at your side.

Each second that you spend with him is more precious than the last. It’s hard to contain your excitement over the little things like movie nights at the drive in with him because it’s pretty much the highlight of your entire week, hence why you drop by his workplace extra early today – a whole hour before his shift ends.

Your presence is made known to the entire auto shop when the shout of your name is amplified throughout the garage. Of course, you catch Jimin and Taehyung dallying around before they even take notice of you standing in the doorway. They race over to engulf you in a hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You giggle at the two boys.

Jimin lies through his teeth, as expected of him. “Working hard, of course.”

He grabs the mysterious, white paper box from your hands, curious as to what’s inside.

“Cupcakes? For me?” Taehyung asks with innocence in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to wait for your response because the two boys are already ravaging away at the sweet delectables.

Surely you had the boys in mind having stepped foot into the antique bakery shop earlier that day, hence the extras. But earnestly, out of the kindness of your heart, your primary goal is to surprise Yoongi with his favorite red velvet cupcakes. At the same time, you wouldn’t deny its leverage as a way to sway him and his opinions on the awe-inspiring Ovid.

“Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” You warn the boys before wandering off to find Yoongi.

You first expect him to be in his office, doing paperwork of some sort, so you make a beeline towards the backroom. However, there’s nothing in sight of his office beside his cold coffee perched at the edge of his desk. There are also scraps of yellow notepad paper with lyrics sprawled across the pages and a framed photo of the two of you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s still not what you’re quite looking for.

You make your way out of Yoongi’s office and down the hall, continuing your search for him. You come to a halt when your ears perk up at the sound of a kick drum and a bass guitar laying down the beats to an iconic Nas song. The faint sound of music slowly crescendos as you lead yourself to the source.

It should be no surprise to you that Yoongi is hot rodding his car and making last minute improvements for tomorrow’s race. Yet again, you find him with his head between the hood, either replacing the worn out brake pads or the loose fan belt (in which he’s shown you how to do a dozen times before).

Yoongi’s reactions might be a little slow for being a vampire considering he hasn’t acknowledged your presence just yet. Sometimes he’s a little short of hearing, especially when his radio is a tad too loud.

The only reason he turns around from the car is because his right hand man has gone unusually silent. Yoongi doesn’t even know how long it's been since you dismissed Namjoon, telling him that you’ve got it covered. Nevertheless, he’s grateful because he can indulge in endless discourse about Metamorphoses, his new favorite anthology, rather than botany which Namjoon never shuts up about.

Being so lost in conversation about literature, and with the cupcakes long forgotten, the two of you hardly even notice the time that’s gone by.

“Boss, we’re gonna clock out,” Namjoon interrupts the two of you.

“Clock out? Oh shit, what time is it?” A quarter to six.

“We’re gonna be late,” you worry.

Yoongi digs his hand into the pocket of his navy coveralls, dishing out a set of keys. He hands them over to Namjoon before coming to his senses, thereby chucking it to Jimin who is arguably more responsible.

“Don’t fuck up,” Yoongi warns them, albeit without any menace in his tone.

Yoongi tugs off his coveralls before grabbing your hand and heading towards his car, listening to the boys wolf whistle from behind him. He shrugs it off, but the smug grin he bites back says otherwise.

He opens the passenger door for you, allowing you to settle in first. Then he does a half run, half walk around the hood. Putting the car in reverse, Yoongi rests his hand behind your seat and throws his head over his shoulder. He drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and zips off into the quiet roads where you can both talk nonsensically as if there’s something to say.

Saturday evenings always start this way.

With two souls as hollow as the bottles you drain and a brown, paper bag full of snacks from the dingy 7-Eleven down the block, you and Yoongi would recline your seats far enough to comfortably watch the movie on the big projection screen.

This must be your week because not only does Yoongi confess his new found love for Greco-Roman literature, but he’s also willing to brave through a romantic melodrama with you ー A Walk to Remember, no less.

Yoongi takes a lot of pride in never having to cry, but this time around, he doesn’t hide the stray tear that rolls down his face. The crying quickly subsides, but still, he gladly accepts the tissue you offer him with no denial in his eyes.

While the end credits roll and everyone has a chance to exit out of the car park, Yoongi would feed you the remaining gummy worms until the bag empties out. Meanwhile, you’d feed him the rest of the chocolate you’d rather not eat. The two of you would also take the time to digest the movie ー tonight’s topic of discussion revolving around the fact that Jamie and Landon deserved better.

But once the coast is clear, your mouth always finds its way to his. And somehow, the two of you always end up undressed ー or at least with your pants pulled down to your ankles. Usually, it’s the both of you, but sometimes it’s one or the other. This time around, it’s just you.

Yoongi always knows how to take care of you, but there’s something telling you that tonight isn’t necessarily your night ー the need for an orgasm being his first priority but a second one for you.

“I wanna make you happy,” he pleads. A double entendre you fail to notice.

But no matter how blissful his lips feel against your cunt, you’re still hyper aware of how bloodthirsty he is at this moment.

He doesn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm as he laps his tongue around your entrance, licking up the residue you’ve pooled from your time of the month. His hunger is insatiable, and it’s evident from the way he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking on the tiny bundle of nerves.

His tongue delves between your folds, playing with your juices, and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Yoongi’s overgrown bangs are parted when your hands find their way to his hair. His line of sight no longer obstructed by his dark, gelled locks. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yoongi looks up at you ー his irises gleaming with gold.

A glob of spit forces its way down your dry throat as you try to overcome this heady feeling. Typically, you’re a woman of many words, but Yoongi obliterates every thought in your head with just a single swipe of his tongue against your heat. A string of curses warble from your throat as he’s relentless in his endeavor, pushing his tongue in and out of your walls, massaging the tender flesh until it's raw.

Your jaw falls slack as your mouth parts open to release a sigh. “Ngh, pl- please, Yoongi,” you stutter out.

“Mmm?” He hums against your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

Your thighs quiver as you fight the need to clamp your legs around Yoongi’s head, but he’s quick to spread them, wedging his tongue further into your tight hole. It’s slick with your arousal, and the squelch of your juices is amplified further with the intensity of Yoongi’s ravage.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your impending high as your walls clench tighter, but you take it like the good girl everyone knows you are. You’re overcome with desperation as your hips cant upwards, rutting yourself against his mouth. Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit to coax you to your climax, stimulating the nub until whimpers escape from your pretty lips.

It feels as if you’ve lost all of your senses as you reach the edge of your release, pleasure rippling throughout your body. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and you swear that you can see all of the stars in the night sky. Your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath, and your heart races as you descend from your high.

But as always, Yoongi is right there to catch you.

He licks his lips clean to collect every last drop of your sweet nectar. He presses a chaste kiss against your overly-sensitive clit before repositioning your underwear back into place. Then, he peppers kisses up your body and burrows his head into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against the column of your throat, revelling in the afterglow. Once your heavy breathing slows down and your heartbeat plateaus, Yoongi looks up at you with the pretty brown eyes you know and love. And although you’ve recovered from your high, your pussy no longer pulsating, the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest never dissipates.

Yoongi brushes his lips against yours before kissing you with fervor, saying all that needs to be said. Your mouths are having the unspoken conversation you’re too afraid to have when you’re both tongue-tied and trapped outside of your own mind. Whenever his lips meet yours, it feels as if the rest of the world is falling away at your feet. It’s comforting in a way that his words will never be.

But that’s okay because it’s precisely how you and Yoongi work.

He’ll hold you tight and kiss you goodnight, but you’ll just have to settle for that because the innermost part of your brain would rather wonder forever than know the disappointing truth about where you two stand.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t been kicked out of the car park yet, but to be frank, you don’t really care and certainly neither does the security.

Yoongi is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You still coming to my race tomorrow?” His nose nudges against your cheek, and he lays a chaste kiss on your supple skin.

Your mouth presses together in a straight line as you contemplate your options. You’ve always been a little skeptical of his illegal pastimes granted that you’ve been raised to reprimand such activities all your life. But knowing Yoongi, you’d trust him with your heart and soul in his hands, and thus, you nod your head in agreement.

“Yeah, I’ll still come,” you shrug, humming in a low voice.

The two of you remain quiet in the backseat of his car, wrapped in the safety of one another’s arms, listening to the soothing melody that plays on the radio. Mindlessly, you trace the pretty ink on Yoongi’s forearms, running your finger over the ornamental designs.

“Is this new?” Your movements come to a halt upon spotting a piece of ink you’ve never noticed before.

Jamais seule written in a simple, fine line ink.

“Huh?” He asks, looking down at his wrist. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk did a custom for me earlier this week.”

In an attempt to hide your smile, you nestle your head into the crevice of his neck.

“What’re you smiling for?” A grin creeps onto his lips, but Yoongi doesn’t even need to ask because he knows better than anyone.

It’s just another reason to add to the list as to why there’s nobody in this world you’d rather be with than your best friend. At the thought of the tattoo, memories begin to flood your mind:

“Conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense.”

Yoongi refuses to answer the question. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Uhm, no? Yoongi, can you justー”

“My coffee’s getting cold. Do you want another cup?” Yet another excuse.

Your mouth opens up to refute, but he’s already on his feet, heading towards the coffee station at the corner of the cafe. Your hands cup around the mug that he’s left on the table, and you’re not surprised that the ceramic is relatively warm against your palms.

After spending the last hour studying for tomorrow’s French exam, you would have thought you’d make a breakthrough with Yoongi. But time and time again, he refuses to cooperate with you.

You don’t even know why he bothers returning to his seat when he doesn’t even care to study.

You let out a huff in another attempt to get him to learn. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Can you conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense?”

“The coffee here is good, no?” Yoongi takes a sip from his mug once again, observing the hot liquid slosh around. The only thing he’s committed to is tiptoeing around his responsibilities (as well as his feelings, but that’s a whole other conversation).

“Look, I’m trying to help you study. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you please focus and pay attention?” To no avail, Yoongi doesn’t respond.

“… Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t understand you. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting away and paying no mind to what you have to say.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” You enunciate again with a scowl on your lips. Your jaw tightens as you pull out your own phone, angrily typing away at the keyboard.

You (1m ago): Yoongi, I want to help you study, so if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you focus and pay attention?? Please?? Do you understand me??

Yoongi (now): 🥺

Yoongi pouts and looks up from his device with sadness in his eyes. “I understand,” he mumbles under his breath. He finally puts his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and opens up his textbook, taking one step in the right direction.

You can’t say you didn’t try unlike all of your high school teachers. They’ve practically given up on the boy, seeing that he hasn’t shown up to class as he should. And when he does, he’s keeping it lowkey in the back of the classroom, sticking his nose in a new novel each week or scribbling away in his black, leatherbound journal. You’re not even sure how you got Yoongi to sit down with you knowing that he’s hard to get a hold of. But really, you’re just unaware that he’s afraid, always running away in the face of uncertainty.

Not even ten minutes go by before Yoongi is finding another excuse to fool around. It’s a whole new record, and you’re pretty proud of his accomplishment nevertheless.

“I’m sick of studying,” he groans with slumped shoulders.

“How can you be sick of studying? In the last hour, I’ve watched you make coffee and spin your textbook on your finger as if it’s a basketball.”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a straight line, but there’s no denying your observations.

“You’ve also tried to convince me that Tupac is the Mozart of our time. It’s not that I’m disagreeing with you, don’t get me wrong, but which part of this consummates studying?” You query with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what, let’s make a deal, okay?”

You shake your head at the thought of his proposal. “Oh, so you’re gonna bargain with me now?” Your voice is filled with exasperation.

“What do you think about ice cream?”

“What’s not to like about it?” Your arms cross over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

A wide, gummy smile spreads across Yoongi’s lips. “If we take an ice cream break, I swear that we’ll come back and study.”

A sigh falls from your lips because you’re not totally convinced, yet you ponder over the proposition. “I really doubt that you can keep your worー”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He mimics the motion by tracing his finger over his chest. “I’ll even drive,” he adds.

Your eyes squint, still uncertain.

“I’ll treat you,” he offers.

“Min Yoongi, you are one convincing dude,” you chuckle.

Closing your textbook and gathering all of your belongings, you chuck them in the backseat of Yoongi’s car and head off to the ice cream parlor.

You make it just in time before closing, being the last two customers in store that they have to kick out. While you pick a flavor as peculiar as butter pecan, Yoongi decides on a fruity flavor ー orange to be precise. The two of you enjoy your dessert, licking away at the sugary mess before it has the chance to melt onto the black, leather interior of his car.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” You pry, looking over at Yoongi.

“Shoot.”

“Why is it that you’re flunking when you’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school?”

“Ah,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “It takes more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

You scoff in rebuttal. “Seriously? You can quote Dostoevsky word for word, and I’m sure you can recite the entirety of Crime and Punishment in your sleep.”

You can see him shrug his shoulders out of the corners of your eyes. “I really don’t see the point when I’m not going to go to college.”

“Okay, so what’s your big dream, then?” You ask with worry laced in your tone.

“I don’t think you necessarily need to have a big dream.”

A drop of your ice cream melts onto your hand, and you’re quick to wipe it away. You’re shocked to hear what he has to say because everyone in this deadbeat town has a dream. It usually involves getting away from said deadbeat town. “Okay, enlighten me then?”

“You just need to be happy.” He’s stoic in his response.

“Are you happy?” You ask. It’s a loaded question.

He shrugs.

It’s quiet.

Moments go by.

Yoongi’s the first one to break the comfortable silence. “They’re flunking me because I’m truant. I work in the auto shop outside of town, so when I’m not in school, I’m picking up extra shifts there. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s enough to keep me alive, you know? It’s enough to cover the car too.”

Another drop of ice cream melts onto your wrist. You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hasn’t addressed your question. “But are you happy? Is this what you want?” You try again.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pondering. “I’ve always thought about doing this, but... I want to drive out to L.A. and take my chance at music production or something.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid, I know.”

A fond smile makes its way onto your face. “I think that’s so cool,” you reassure him.

He cocks his head to the side as he tries to hide the smile that mirrors yours, but you can see his hard exterior break down before your very eyes. Nobody has ever believed in him the way that you do.

His eyes sparkle in the moonlight as if the galaxy lays dormant in his lonely irises. “... But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to be out and about in this world alone.”

You’ve never seen Yoongi so vulnerable before, and you never thought you’d have the chance to see it. So you comfort him in the way that you know best.

“Jamais seule,” you offer in consolation.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Jamais seule,” you repeat once again, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s French for ‘never alone.’”

He chuckles at your explanation. “Are you trying to make this a teaching moment?”

You nod your head in response, a proud smile making its way onto your lips.

“Okay, then what about you, huh?” He inquires. “What’s your big goal then?”

“Me?”

He nods his head. Of course he’s talking to you, but you’re taken aback because nobody’s ever really taken interest in what it is that you want to do.

“Realistically, I guess I’d be a teacher? When I was younger, I was thinking about doing dance, but I think I should specialize in French or maybe even English? I want to learn other languages too, but I’m not totally sure if I can make a career out of it.” Your nose scrunches up at the uncertainty.

Yoongi orients his body towards yours, taking in your profile. “Fuck that. Learn all of the languages you want to learn, okay? But tell me what it is that you really want to do now, unrealistically speaking.”

You look over at him, and your heart swells up inside your chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling overtakes you as you brace yourself to share this part of your life because honestly, you’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone before in part because nobody has ever bothered to ask or even care in the way that Yoongi does.

“I want to be a flight attendant.” It almost feels as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest as you heave out a sigh. “I want to see other countries, experience different cultures, and meet new people. I just want to see what the world is like outside of this town, you know?”

“I know,” he mouths. His gummy smile resurfaces on his lips as he nods his head, listening to you speak so passionately about your dreams. “I think you’d make the best flight attendant in the whole world.”

In the entire cosmos, there’s a short list of things that you genuinely love. One being the delicacy of antique books, worn and torn with age, brimming with the faded passages of time, two being chips and guac, the magic elixir to instant happiness, and three being Min Yoongi.

It should be no surprise to you that you’d do anything in the world for your best friend, but hanging around the dirt drag to watch tonight’s race is the last thing you would ever expect.

As you approach the spectator crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and seared tarmac infiltrates your senses. There’s a cloud of smoke rings floating around you while the people huff and puff on their Newports and Marlboros. Some of them even offer you a lighter, but you politely decline.

It’s pretty obvious that you don’t fit into this scene. You’ve never even shown your face in this part of town before, but everyone else seems to know one another relatively well, hanging out on the hood of their cars and getting drunk off bottles of Smirnoff.

“Hey, princess, take a shot with us why don’t ya?” Someone whistles.

You turn your head to the side, only to find a group of girls eyeing you from head to toe. “No thanks, I’m good,” you offer with a timid voice, shrinking away at their electrifying gaze.

Yoongi pulls you closer to his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and squeezing his fingers into your hip bones. His eyes glimmer with gold as he shoots daggers at the group of girls.

“Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? Stick with Hobi,” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

It’s not long before you come across Hoseok, socializing with a group of people who appear to be crossfaded. Yoongi pats him on the back, drawing his attention away from the dead end conversation.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts with enthusiasm. He wedges himself between you and Yoongi, resting his arms around both of your shoulders. He turns your attention away from the group of people he was once conversing with, walking in the opposite direction. But once you step far away enough, out of reach from the crowd, Hoseok sighs in relief.

“Thank God for saving me, I literally don’t know how much longer I can talk to them for,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes in spite of the happy-go-lucky personality you’re so familiar with.  

The blare of an air horn cuts through the bustling night, indicating that the race is soon to start. Yoongi cups his hand around Hoseok’s ear to tell him something in secret, and in response, he nods his head in affirmation.

Yoongi turns to you and flashes his sweet smile. “When I win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, okay? Ice cream? Pizza? Tom kha gai from that Thai place you like? Name it and it’s yours.” Yoongi walks backward to take one last glance at you before tugging his headset over his ears and running off to the direction of his car.

You smile to yourself as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest begins to bloom once again.

You shout “good luck” to him as he steps away, but you know for a fact that he can’t hear you. He doesn’t need the luck anyways.

Hoseok taps on your shoulder, gathering your attention to lead you to the frontlines where you have a good view of the action. He fiddles with the device in front of him, tuning his CB radio, twisting the dial back and forth to find the right frequency.

“Agust D, this is J-Hope, OVER.” Hoseok shouts into his intercom with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Dude, we’re not gonna do this,” Yoongi complains through the static of the speakers. You can’t help but giggle at his response. It’s very characteristic of Yoongi, and you can already imagine the creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes look over towards the two approaching cars, one of them being the black and yellow Grandeur Azera you know so well. Yoongi and his opponent toe their tires to the starting line, making sure it’s a fair game.

The host speaks through his megaphone, but it’s hard to hear over the screaming crowd. His words are muffled, and it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s most likely explaining the rules and safety to everyone, or at least you hope he is.

Yoongi, being the cocky bitch he is, revs his engine over the voice of the announcer. Through his rolled down windows, you can see him tap his fingers over his mouth to let out a dramatic yawn. He even checks the time on his watch just to show off.

You shake your head at his overwhelming pride, and just in time, he looks over at you to send a wink. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can’t hide the heat that rushes to the apples of your cheeks.

The countdown begins as the announcer yells through his megaphone. The crowd amplifies his voice as they count alongside him. The two cars rev their engines, and it’s deafening to your sensitive ears.

An overwhelming sense of nervousness rushes through your veins, but you squeeze onto Hobi’s arm to anchor yourself. The thought of Yoongi getting into a fatal accident crosses your conscience, but you quickly wipe the image away from your mind. You trust Yoongi, and there’s nobody in the world who does it better than him.

In the blink of an eye, you nearly miss the cars zipping off into the dead of the night, too lost in your thoughts.

Looking over Hoseok’s shoulder, you can see the red and green dots floating across the monitor, the green symbol representing Yoongi’s GPS signal as he zips around the circumference of town. All the red symbols show the police hotspots within a 10 mile radius.

“Yoongi, right turn in 3 blocks,” Hoseok says into the intercom. According to the police scanner, the cops are too close for comfort.

“Yep, gotcha.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faded through the speakers.

In hopes of clearing the static, Hoseok fiddles with the dials. “What the fuck? I’m losing you.”

Panic rises to your chest as you watch the green dot speed across town, driving in close proximity to the law enforcement. Even worse, you’re losing communication with him. It’s nothing but static.

Hoseok slaps the radio in rage, but of course, nothing happens. “What the hell’s going on?” He even rips out the batteries and puts it back into the device to no avail. He looks over at you as if you have the answers, but you’re rendered useless when your mind draws a blank.

Hoseok pulls your hand away from your mouth, not even realizing that you’ve been chewing on your nails all this time.

“Well shit, now what?”

“Hope and pray?” He shrugs.  

At the sound of his words, your heart drops to your stomach.

Your hands begin to tremble as you monitor the screen. He’s cutting close to the finish line, but you have no eyes on his opponent. Meanwhile, the cops are spreading across the map, probably searching for the source of the disturbance.

Yoongi has yet to be caught, but he’s smart enough to maneuver through the backroads he knows better than anyone ー the ones he’s practically grown up on.

The green dot races across the screen, coming closer and closer to your marked location. The boisterous rev of an engine can be heard within earshot, so your attention shifts to the far end of the dirt path. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you cross your fingers, praying and hoping that Yoongi is the one who’s returning to you.

The lack of street lights makes it difficult to see down the cloudy road, but you never seem to give up, leaning over the makeshift barrier and tiptoeing above the crowd.

The sound of the engine elevates as the frontliner approaches. Your attention focuses on the two tiny, bright lights emerging from the distance. However, your vision is blurred as the two lights diverge into four. Another car follows behind it, charging full speed towards the finish line. Your hands squeeze around Hoseok’s wrist as the two of you anxiously wait to see the winner. The headlights illuminate at a greater lux as it speeds down the path. You begin to squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light to make out the license plate number or at least something that’s telling of who the lead driver is.

But fear not, because a sigh of relief escapes from your lungs as the yellow detailings on the infamous Grandeur Azera is within sight. Yoongi crosses the finish line with full speed, and the crowd erupts in a roar.

He decelerates before coming to a full stop. There’s a haze of dust that trails behind his car, and a silhouette of a figure emerges from the smoke. It’s none other than Yoongi who trudges out of the car, and it’s unmistakable from his golden glare which shines through the exhaust.

You let go of Hoseok’s wrist in favor of racing towards Yoongi to wrap him up in the safety of your arms. He immediately reciprocates and melts into your embrace. He squeezes you tightly around your torso, and you fall further into his arms. Your nose presses against his shoulder, burrowing your head against the crook of his neck.

You chuckle through the stray tear that rolls down your cheek and onto the green denim of his jacket. “You idiot, you love scaring the life out of me, huh?”

Yoongi pulls away from you to cup your cheeks, angling your face so that he can gaze into your eyes. His irises slowly revert back to the shade of brown you’ve come to love. He wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks and tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Iー” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it. Instead, his lips come crashing down onto yours, kissing you as if it’s his last breath.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” You slam the door shut behind you.

Yoongi refuses to answer.

The air doesn’t feel clear between the two of you, and it hasn’t ever since the kiss. It feels off. Tense, even. As a matter of fact, it’s been unusually quiet since the car ride home.

Your head has been spinning round and round because Yoongi never acts like this. Whatever it is that goes on between the two of you doesn’t go beyond the confinements of these four, egg white walls (with the exception of his car, of course).

But bottom line: It’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between you stays between you.

Yoongi is sullen in his contemplation. He kicks off his boots, trudging into his apartment with heavy feet as if he’s a teenager ridden with angst. You would think that he’s retired from the days when he keeps to himself and feeds the world with the “I’m misunderstood” bullshit as some lame excuse. But yet again, he’s crawling back into the shell of the man he once was.

He chooses to ignore the obvious problem as he shrugs off his jacket and switches out one t-shirt for another. You hate the idea of him going to bed upset, but no matter how much you try to get him to talk, you’re left with utter silence.

Being tired and frustrated of his lack of communication, you decide to stand up from the edge of the mattress, plodding through the creaky floorboards to stand before Yoongi. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, but his glassy eyes avert yours, looking anywhere but at you. All you can see is the faint beauty mark on the side of his nose, but never in your life did you think that you’d frown at the sight of it.

You opt for getting his attention by wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the violent storm that pulses beneath the shell of your ear.  

His arms hang by his side. You squeeze him a little tighter, and he huffs out a sigh, falling prey to your touch. Your cheek is pressed tighter against his chest as he envelops you in a hug. His fingers trail up and down your spine in an effort to comfort you, but really, it’s more appeasing to him than to you knowing that you’re within arms reach.

“They tapped into my radio.” His voice cuts through the quiet air.

You swallow down the knot in your throat as you listen to his every word.

“God, they said some fucked up shit to me.” His hands clench tighter against the cotton of your t-shirt, and you can hear his heart pound harder against his chest.

A painful sigh escapes from your lips as you listen to the tremble of his voice. “Whatever they say isn’t true, you know?” You offer in consolation, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“It wasn’t even about me, ughー They were talking about you, and... fuck, Iー” Yoongi fights against the tears that are threatening to spill, the frustration evident in his tone.

Your heart shatters at the sound of his broken voice. “Yoongi, people are gonna talk, and nothing they say will ever matter, so just let ‘em talk.”

Your words ring through his ear as he harshly swallows a glob of spit down his throat. He thinks to himself in silence, wondering whether or not his words will ever matter to you.

“Can I tell you something?” He pulls away from you to take a better look at your expressions.

“Yeah, of course, anything,” you knit your eyebrows together and nod your head in solace.

Yoongi walks backwards until the back of his knees knock against the edge of his bed, allowing you to climb onto his lap, mounting his thighs with one leg on either side. He licks his lips to ease his nerves, anxiety bubbling up to the surface. His hands get clammy as he rests them on the curve of your waist.

But all of that dissipates once he fixates his attention on your eyes.

It feels as if you two are in your own little world together while everyone else dances around in the ruins of their dreams.

His eyes soften and a shy smile spans across his lips. “I love you.”

You’re taken aback by his confession, almost as if you didn’t hear him correctly granted his low murmurs. Your mouth hangs open, jaw slack. Your eyes blink, stunned by what you may or may not have heard.

It takes four and half seconds for you to register that ー holy shit ー did he just say what you think he just said?

“What’d you say?” Your brows knit together and your forehead creases asking for the much needed confirmation.

“You really want me to say it again?” He’s bashful as he hides his rosy cheeks in the crevice of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“Say it again,” you encourage. Your face starts to ache with the beaming smile painted across your lips.

Yoongi’s mouth curls into a smile to mimic yours as he peppers kisses against the column of your throat. He repeats his words once again, each syllable caught between a featherlight kiss.

“Iー” His lips ghost against your jaw.

“Loveー” Onto your chin.

“You.”

His soft eyes flash open to gawk at your lips, waiting for permission to kiss you where he so desperately wants to. He blinks, looking up to peer into the depths of your soul through the gateway of your irises. You can see the whirl of emotions in his eyes, a mixture between elation and tenderness and everything in between.

But above all, you can see the love.

A shy look is exchanged before you flutter your eyes close and lean forward to hesitantly brush your lips against his, testing the waters. But once he melts into your touch, you dive into the deep end, firmly committing to your desires.

It takes another half second for you to register that ー holy fucking shit ー you’re actually kissing the love of your life.

Although you are no stranger to Yoongi’s lips, something about this feels different. Yet again, you’re drunk off serotonin and intoxicated by his fiery touch. The world around you disappears alongside your worries and your troubles. All of your feelings, your emotions, your secrets, and all of your wishes are laid bare before you.

But what’s different about this kiss is that for the first time in your life, you know for a fact that this is what love is supposed to be.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you finally confess with your whole chest. Tears begin to form in your eyes and a smile that’s larger than life spreads across your lips, bringing pains and aches to your cheeks. But nevertheless, it’s all worth it because Yoongi loves you and you love him.

It doesn’t even register in your head that your back is now flat against the mattress, nor do you register the embarrassing amount of slick that has pooled at your entrance. At least not until Yoongi presses his fingers against the slim cotton of your underwear, teasing your folds with the glide of his calloused fingers.

“You’re wet already?”

You mewl upon his comment. “Can’t help it.”

Yoongi tugs off your shorts with your underwear in tow. His mouth reconnects with yours in longing, and his lips taste exactly like blackberries, bay leaves, and blissful midnights blanketed underneath the stars.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shudder under his touch as he grazes over your clit. His finger dips between your folds, collecting your arousal before rubbing soothing circles over your sensitive nub. Your heavy eyelids fall close, and Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyebrows creasing together.

Growing restless of his teasing, you lurch forward to palm the tent in his pants. You will yourself to open your eyes just the slightest bit.

“Hard already?” You tease with raised brows.  

“Can’t help it,” he echoes.

You pull on the fabric of his jeans, begging him to remove the material from his legs. He obliges while you strip your top off.

At the sight of your bare breasts, Yoongi’s lips find its way to your pert nipples, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on the tender flesh until the blood rushes to the surface of your skin. His hand trails its way down your body, dipping two fingers into your tight hole, pumping in and out to massage your walls.

A thick glob of saliva forms in the back of your throat, and you sputter it into the palm of your hands. Reaching down for Yoongi’s shaft, you jerk him off exactly how he likes it. Your thumb traces over the tip of his cock, swiping over the slit as he leaks beads of precum.

Yoongi sighs as you work faster, milking him for all of his worth. He grips his hand around your wrist to slow down your movements, wanting to change it up. Instead, he trails kisses up your body until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Don’t wanna come like this,” he says with a heavy sigh.

His hand replaces yours as he pumps his length and lines it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself by squeezing your hands around his shoulders, clinging on to him for dear life. He pushes his member one inch at a time until your fingernails dig into his supple skin, dragging him down to meet your lips.

A gasp falls from your throat as the angle changes, and he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you quiver.

Yoongi lays a kiss upon your cheek before meeting your eyes once again. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you nod.

A blinding smile makes its way to Yoongi’s lips and you can’t help but reciprocate. He pushes his length further until he’s balls deep, his pelvis pressed up against yours.

You throw your head back against the mattress, exposing the blank canvas of your neck. For a second, his eyes are gilded with gold, but it quickly regresses. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before languidly licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He suckles on your skin until it discolors, leaving behind a love bite that’s none other than a mark of his love.

As you finally adjust to the thick stretch of Yoongi’s cock, you start to fidget, rutting your hips against his.

“Yoongi, please move,” you cry out, wrapping your legs around the small of his waist. And you swear you could physically cry in this very moment.

At your request, his hips begin to thrust, fucking himself into your wanting pussy. With the drag of his dick, you can feel every inch of him move inside of you. Your walls contract and mold against his shaft, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. The filthy sounds fill the tiny space of his studio apartment, as does the squelches of your arousal.

Yoongi bites his lip as he relishes this very moment. The way you look beneath him, taking his cock like a good girl, fucked out and in total bliss as a dribble of spit cascades down your lips. He tucks his hand underneath your chin to wipe away at the saliva, only to fall back down into a plank position.

Your chest heaves and your head lolls to the side. You can hardly see through your eyelids which are falling shut, but somehow, you resist, seeing the pretty ink that’s engraved into Yoongi’s skin. The most prominent one ー and also the newest addition to his sleeve ー being at eye level. Leaning over the slightest bit, you press your lips against the simple, fine line ink.

A fire within Yoongi is ignited upon your action. His hips begin to stutter, reaching close to the end of his release. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking on the digits until they’re nice and wet. His hand trails a path down your body, only to find its way to your clit. It’s hot and slick down there, especially with the newly added pressure.

A series of moans tumble from your lips as he relentlessly rubs harsh circles onto your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi ー Yeah, just like that,” you whimper when the tip of his cock pushes against your cervix. Your eyes are starting to water at the immense amount of pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?” He smirks, “Like that?”

His thrusts are harder as he quickens the pace. Your body drifts further up the mattress with the force of his hips and your arms wrap around his upper torso to keep yourself anchored. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin, leaving behind a trail of red marks down his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi, Iー” A strangled noise escapes from your parted lips.

“Yes, baby? You can come for me.” The soft coo against your ear contrasts against the harsh slap of his hips, sending you further into your release.

“Yoongi… I- I love you,” you manage to sputter out, albeit weakly from the current, fucked out state that you’re in.

At the sound of your confession once again, Yoongi grunts harshly, his breath fanning across your face. His cock grinds harder against your cervix as he chases your high.

The knot in the pit of your stomach unfurls with a harsh thrust, and you dissolve into pleasure. Your walls clench around his dick which continues to pound into you. Your body heats up and your heart races a hundred beats per second as waves of bliss come crashing through you.

Yoongi molds his lips against yours, kissing you with ardor. As you tremble beneath him, your vision starts to blur and your eyelids fall shut, yet with a few more pumps, Yoongi is releasing himself inside of you, painting your inner walls white with his cum. He collapses on top of you, chest heaving.

Your pussy is bare and battered, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with sticky thighs and Yoongi’s pulsating cock inside of you.

The two of you lie down together in the safety of one another’s arms in an attempt to catch your breath. Your fingers run through his raven locks as he rests his head against your chest, listening to the come down of your beating heart.

In the dead of the night, the air in this tiny space is quiet and still while every other deadbeat in this town runs rampant in the world, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as you are never alone.

[ktheist]

saving grace | 1

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 6.1k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

x

“that’s not a reward,” you heatedly claim, somewhere in your periphery, the royal assistant flinches from your tone, “that’s banishment! you wish to banish me to another country where i’ll be of no threat to you because of the information i hold!”

“l-lady ___, please lower your voice.” jungkook, seokjin’s new advisor, tries to placate only to stagger back from a glare you shot.

the music and chatters is loud enough to drown a scream - and you haven’t reached that point of wanting to yell your heart out at this man. the area you are in - on the second floor on the veranda overseeing the ocean of people dancing in the hall - is secluded enough to give the king his privacy.

“now, why would i do that to my most trusted confidant?” the smile on seokjin’s face could not have been more dubious. though he may wear the crown and sit upon the throne, his crude nature is what he truly is.

it’s not a secret that seokjin is the son of a maid who rose to the top but it couldn’t have been possible without the help of the count’s daughter. he needed information but his status as a prince born from a mere maid, hadn’t allow him to attend the social functions nor received any acknowledgement from the aristocrats. it was you who offered to be his eyes and ears in exchange for moving into the royal palace once he becomes king after the siege.

“as i recall, you wished to live in a palace like a princess,” his voice is unusually high pitched, laced with mockery of what you can only assume is an attempt to mimic yours, “and it just so happens that the prince of aflar is looking for a bride - who knows, despite being the 12th prince, perhaps he’ll be able to rise as the king. that way, you’ll become queen.”

“i don’t wish to become queen! i wish to live a free life without my parents dictating who i should marry just because a lady cannot inherit the family title.” this time, the heel of your foot hurts from the stomp but the anger rushing through your veins allow forbids you from showing it.

“___,” he’s used to calling you by your name - of course, it’s been five years since you’ve known each other. five years after finding out the second prince’s true nature and regretting choosing his side every waking day of your life, “you wish to live in the palace but refuse to take lessons to prepare you as my queen - what would people think of the respectable lady who doesn’t have any prior relations to the second prince-turned-king suddenly living with him under the same roof?”

“there are thousands of servants living in the palace.” you plainly point out - he must’ve expected this if he doesn’t even bat an eye at your words.

“servants don’t go prancing around the palace looking for the king as they please.”

“th-that’s because you’ve been avoiding me under the guise of the workload left by the previous king,” the stutter is what brings about the sly smirk on his lips.

“my, then your reputation is already ruined,” he feigns a disheartened sigh, almost as though he truly cares, “it’s not like the servants are loyal to me so they’ll talk - they might even be talking now - if news gets out that we’ve been acting like lovers, your chances of marrying well has dwindled to zero. you ought to quickly find a marriage prospect to mend the mess you made.”

something in the way he pans out his words causes your shoulder line to jolt backwards - as though physically slapped by the truth of his narration. though not proven yet, and though the thought of having a man to call your husband would fix everything makes you sick - you can’t deny the simple-minded way of thinking of these aristocrats.

the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. whether you’re seokjin’s - as he had time and time indicated - lover. what matters is the double-edged sword you’ve forged for yourself.

one wrong move, and they’d believe seokjin if he’d called you his lover and then claimed you a traitor who tried assassinating him in his sleep.

but as of now, despite becoming the king, he’s still struggling with the lack of support from the aristocrats. and having managed to wedge your way into the top circle is possibly the only reason you’re still able to do whatever you want.

all of a sudden, a disarming smile curls on your lips - seokjin must’ve noticed if he’s trying to control the curiosity that flashes in his eyes before he sports a bored expression.

“very well, i thank you for giving your blessing for me to pick out any marriage prospect i want.” the smile stretches gleefully over your features as the man’s eyes widen at your next words.

“what are you-”

“i wish to wed the duke of cralon and head knight of the kingdom, yoongi min.”

x

“the min family is rumored to be the wealthiest family in the kingdom - perhaps far surpassing the previous king. one word from the duke and these filthy aristocrats will grovel at his feet,” the voice you use trickles with sweet honey while seokjin’s hands tightly grip the seat, “but for some reason he’s staying quiet after coming back from the war and finding out the king he serves has had his head cut off.”

“what are you trying to say, lady ___?”

it’s the honorific that tells you he’s speaking as the king and everything that allows him to sit on the throne. his features, when he’s glowering, is heartbreakingly beautiful.

that’s how it feels to be driven into a corner, seokjin.

“i never told you but the duke fancies me. every year, he sends me birthday gifts,” technically he isn’t the only one - it’s just a formality to maintain an amicable relationship between the houses of nobles but having been out of touch with the ways of the nobility, you’re almost sure seokjin isn’t aware of said ways, “but my parents wouldn’t allow us to meet because of his infamous reputation and i never had any interest in marriage,” the pleasant smile on your lips is a contrast to the man’s contorting features - he must understand where you both stand now, “but if i accept his proposal, the duke won’t stand and watch as the new king sends away his fiance, will he?”

when the king glares up at you but doesn’t seem to have anything to say, you thought that’s the end of it. thought you can curtsy and call it a night whilst devising plans on how to get the duke’s attention and make him fall for you within the limited span of time you have to show seokjin how smitten the knight is for you.

...until the man himself steps out of the shadow without even a scrape of his boot against the ground. the duke is a man of many things but graceful had been far beyond your imagination. and yet here he is, in his knightly attire in black and hints of yellow lines on the sleeves and shoulders - a glaring contrast to his porcelain white skin and silvery grey hair yet perhaps what contributes to highlighting his crimson eyes. the color that’s rumored to be the curse of the goddess for the min family’s generational brute and violence that lead them to winning wars and coming back unscathed.

“your ma-” it all happens too fast.

he’s about to greet seokjin - whether it is with weighty contempt or newfound alliance, you’re not sure - with a hand on his chest and an uncaring glance your way. then you’re running towards him and before you know it, your arms are around his neck and your voice is pitched higher than you would like, “your grace, i’m glad you came back safely!”

you never thought someone could actually turn into stone in a split second but you don’t think the man in your arms is breathing at the moment. and you know exactly who’s fault that is - your own.

“please, play along,” in contrast to the high pitched tone from earlier, you curse yourself for sounding meek and timid - if your heart isn’t beating like a galloping horse and your body isn’t heating up like a baker’s oven, perhaps, you would have had better control of the situation, “my life depends on it and if we walk out of here alive, i’ll do anything you wish, duke.”

...was what you said but it all seems too far blown out of proportion, you might as well forego all your worldly desires and surrender yourself to the church and become a woman of god.

“perhaps, marrying the foreign prince would have been a better option after all.” you lament out loud, pressing the sleeve of your nightgown to your eyes but instead of being engulfed in darkness, you see a vivid replay of seokjin’s knitted brows and troubled expression. and if you’d just focus, you would still feel yoongi’s muscles underneath your fingers as you held onto his arm after flinging yourself at him whilst you make your way back to where you were standing - in front of the king.

pleasantries were exchanged while a dark cloud loomed over the three of you before yoongi excused himself and since you were clinging onto his arm, you ended up leaving as well. before you’d managed to conjure up a plausible explanation for your behavior towards a person you’ve never met. but right in that moment, leslie, your maid had called for you to inform you of the carriage waiting outside.

relief threatened to paint your features but you’d hid it with a dip before peeking at the crimson eyes that’d stared right into your soul. ‘letter’ you’d mouthed before leaving joining leslie in search for the carriage.

it’s been three days since then and there is not a single spot on the table perched in front of your window that isn’t covered with the thin bundles of papers leslie has presented you with when you ordered her to find out more about duke min. he isn’t particularly a social butterfly but his reclusive nature had extended to a point where only the butler is the only one who ever spoke to him. besides that, ever since he’d came back from war, he’d been swarmed with reports and the recent issue of missing goods from the iyesgarth port owned by the ducal house. none of which are useful for you to attract the attention of the duke for an exchange of protection.

“what was that, my lady?” at the familiar fluttery voice, your whole body shoots up.

“leslie!” the woman’s name tumbles out of your lips in surprise, “when did you get in?”

you didn’t even hear her enter-

“a few minutes ago while you were still snoring off,” she answers simply as she walks over, inspecting the teal dress she must have gotten from your closet while murmuring to herself about the ‘handiwork is terrible. we shouldn’t order dresses from vivian’s boutique anymore.’

it didn’t seem like she heard anything but if she did, leslie has always had a knack for going about her day as though she knew nothing. you wonder how much information she holds just from that uncaring personality of hers that allows people to feel at ease with knowing she wouldn’t tattle.

but this isn’t something you could let go, “leslie, how much did you-” but it’s her rambling that almost has you biting down on your tongue as you clamp your mouth shut.

“...won’t do. you need to dress pretty for the duke, my lady.”

almost as though the traces of sleep has flown out of the window, you’re crawling over the bed and grasping onto the maid’s shoulders for dear life, “d-did you say duke?”

an unsuspecting smile graces your lips once the realization that your unusual behavior, is caused by the news of the duke, “yes, he’s on his way here as we speak!”

it takes a moment for you to register her words. another for you to blink back at her as though waiting for her ever smiling face to fade into the dark before you finally wake up, wishing fullheartedly that this is all just a bad dream.

“my lady?” leslie cocks her head to the side, as though searching for your conscience that’d retreated so far back into your existence, she realizes she’s staring back at nothing but a shell.

“why...” the lowest murmur leaves your lips like a calm before a storm before a hurricane rages and whirls out of your entire being, “why is the duke coming here?”

x

“___! what did you do to summon the rage of the duke to our home!” your father, dressed unusually impeccably, stopped in the middle of ordering the butler and servants for when the duke arrives.

“m-me?” yes, you knew you had sounded utterly audacious for someone who boasted - and even blackmailed the king - about the duke’s affection for you, “i didn’t do anything!”

it was in that moment that the clamor of a carriage had echoed from outside. the sound of the horses neighing comes a second later. but nobody heard the footsteps of duke min as he tread towards the open doors of the mansion.

he wasn’t named grim reaper for nothing.

“my apologies for coming on such short notice,” at least he's rational enough to admit his fault.

you catch the sight of the tip of his fringes falling over his face as he bows, before you curtsy, head lowered and eyes fixed to the ground.

your mother had scolded you an earful about peeking while curtsying, “___! have some refinement! a lady does not peek like an uncivilized cavewoman!”

if you’d lived in a cave, you wouldn’t have to be constricted to such formalities in the first place.

“please, don’t apologize,” your father presses smoothly, unlike his frazzled self from just a minute ago - it must have taken him years to hone such composure as to not tremble under the duke’s crimson eyes, “we at the ___ manor, are honored to have you as our guest, your grace. though we are quite puzzled by your grace’s reason for coming here.”

“reason.” the duke echoes, it seems the only thing delicate about him is his features but you’d be lying if you said you don’t find the low gruff of his voice thunderous to your heart.

a short silence lapses as though he’s sifting through his memories and finally letting his gaze travel to you - though his tone doesn’t seem to harbor any murderous intention, those crimson eyes that seek yours render your body cold. you clasp your hands together out of needing something to hold onto as you fix him one of your schooled, noble smile.

“i wish to speak to the eldest daughter of this house,” he says simply, “about our engagement.”

that same smile on your face falters into a pressed line.

x

“my, my,” your mother laughs, royal purple fan that’s been fluttering over his face now being lowered to her lap, “what troublesome rumor has spread about our beloved ___.”

the slightest twitch on her pristine smile tells you otherwise. but you can’t challenge her genuinity - not in front of the yoongi, at least.

and to be truthful, the more pressing matter - one that plagues your very talk as of now - is the fact that the conversation pertaining your supposed blessed marriage had only been attended by seokjin, jungkook and you - there were guards but you doubt any of them were interested in gossips about a count’s daughter’s affairs.

...could seokjin be the one to have spread the rumor?

before you can even come to a plausible conclusion as to why the king would do such a thing, you’re brought out of your train of thoughts by the woman covering your hands that are on your lap, grasping onto them tightly - at first glance, it would appear she’s genuinely concerned for you, “how do you plan to take responsibility over daughter’s wounded reputation, your grace?”

it’s commendable how your mother is still able to let her lips stretch over her face as though the man’s red eyes aren’t piercing through her skull like a spear. you’ve always known she was a scary woman - she wished to pass on her legacy onto you and perhaps that was why you would always end up huffing and trudging back to your room every time you tried to tell her you didn’t want to follow such path.

her ways were effective but you weren’t looking to gain something out of another’s suffering.

“mother!” your voice bounces over the walls, “his grace’s reputation is also tarnished by the rumor, how could you ask him to take responsibility as if it was his fault?”

the woman stares down at you with her signature glare but after years of being on the receiving end of it, you’d grown a spine or two, “silly child, who’s going to marry you now that the rumor of your engagement with the grim reaper has spread far and wide?”

“mother!” it almost comes out a chide at the word she uses to describe the man sitting right across from you.

“d-dear wife,” your father is sweating bullets from his seat as he bravely speaks up, “why don’t we let the duke and ___ discuss this matter privately? it is, after all, their reputations that are on the line.”

“theirs?” your mother’s hiss causes your father’s shoulder line to shrink back.

yoongi’s reputation may have been borne by only him but for a lady, everything you do reflects on your family name. that, you understand and for once, your mother’s outburst is well-founded.

the roots of rage almost tangles around your ankles as well - but the uncertainty of the source of rumor lingers on your mind.

it is the moment when the door shuts behind the butler after your parents which required a lot of pleading from your father, do you allow yourself to feel the heat of yoongi’s eyes on you - if looks could kill you’d be dead for simply and foolishly meeting his gaze.

“your grace, i apologize on my mother’s behalf... my mother, she’s only worried about my future like any mother would,” the head that’s held up high, the shoulders that line straight and the schooled smile on your lips - does well to conceal the inner turmoil inside you. but when all you receive is a steel gaze and a pin-drop silence, you’re forced to change the topic, “i was in the middle of writing you a letter.”

in other words, you mean to say you’re too hasty, duke.

unlike you, the man has his legs crossed languidly, his sword - said to be forged by the spine of the devil himself - is leaned next to his foot, almost as though ready for him to pull it out of its sheath if you so much as move, “i thought you would chip a nail writing me one so i decided to spare you the pain and pay you a visit, my lady.”

the underlying mockery in his words does not go past you yet it takes a moment for it to register - he looked like a straightforward man based on the menial conversation he shared with seokjin and you as a witness.

but it’s true what they say about judging books by their cover.

“that’s very considerate of you, your grace,” the smile you force on goes against the normal order of nature but the man doesn’t seem fazed. his crimson eyes fixes themselves on yours as though trying to take a peek into your soul and find out your darkest secret. if there’d been any trace of humor, it’s all vanished into thin air now.

“your grace, i told you my life was on the line that night. and you helped me regardless of who i was - i’m thankful for you. there’s no way i’d start a rumor of us being engaged and trouble you further,” you begin, capturing yoongi’s gaze with yours - where you get such courage for someone who’s about to spew half-truths, you don’t know, “but that night - it was because seok- his majesty was about to marry me off to the 12th prince of aflar because i’d offended him with my words.”

“so he does whatever he wants just like his father,” his eyes glazes over you, as though picturing the new king at the back of his head as you speak. the matter of what he came for no longer as pressing as he made it out to be - dare you say, it was just an excuse to for him to come barging in.

“no!” the hurried denial warrants a narrow of eyes from the duke - as though wondering why the lady whose pleas were ignored, is defending the very person who’d ignored them. you only wanted a way out - not breathe the flames of an uproar from the nobles who chooses to remain neutral, “what i mean is, i’m sure his majesty will understand if you let me stand by you for a short while - i promise i won’t get in your grace’s way.” the last part is added as an afterthought when his eye twitches just the slightest bit as though displeased by the thought of some lady sticking to his side like glue.

the silence that lapses between you is tangible as your body screams to be released from the frozen state you’re in - you couldn’t move a finger even if you’d wanted to, at least not until yoongi seems to finish thinking.

“what exactly did you say to the king to have him want to send you away for good?” comes the million gold question.

this is it. you know he’d catch on but you’re not so prepared to give an answer. you’re not sure if the hesitance shows in your face but you doubt your mastery for hiding your emotions is as spectacular as his.

and so, with a tilted chin, you set a resolute gaze upon the duke, “the missing shipments from the port iyesgarth,” you state, noticing the curious raise of brow, “how are armwells doing these days?”

“impossible,” the frown that etches itself on his face is another kind of heartbreaking beauty. leaning back against the chair again and consequently allowing you to let out the breath you never knew you were holding, he continues, “the armwells own the warehouses. why would they steal shipments from merchants who pay them plenty just to leave goods in their warehouses?”

“the answer you’ve been looking for is right there,” the smile that blooms on your face is a pleasant one and the knit of yoongi’s eyebrows is all heartbreakingly adorable. “their spendthrift son has been gambling away the money and however much they make over the warehouse fee is starting to not be enough.”

there’s a light in his eyes that shines with doubt and with that, births the shadow of, dare you say, plausible confidence in what you’re saying.

“the goods from the shipment are being sold in the black market,” those crimson eyes follows your every movement as rise from your seat, hand clasped together in front of you - a habit you’d developed to appear small and unsuspecting, “ask around for a franny.”

x

franny is baron armwell’s alias. he couldn’t go around selling stolen goods under his name because the authorities - namely, the duke as part of his line of work after coming back from war - would catch on. it had just so happened that isabelle armwell, a lady you occasionally talk to at gatherings was sporting a long face at the debutante ball. she was spilling every single family secret after a trip to the washroom and a consoling hug.

with a heavy heart, you wave at the girl with the brightest blue eyes and blonde locks that flows past her bosom in waves. she’s wearing a light blue dress with minute diamonds pooling around the hem and dispersing up her waist. it’s been exactly five days after the duke min’s visit and over one week of celebrating the knights’ victory.

“___, i didn’t think you’d be here!” her beaming smile reminds you of the smudged makeup and tear stained eyes you bore witness just a month ago.

“why would you think that?” you blink despite having an inkling of where this conversation is going-

“well, since the rumors of you and duke min’s engagement...” she fiddles with her fingers from what you can only assume to be jitters. of course, a lady her age who’s just debuted into society would be curious of how you tamed the beast laying dormant.

to be frank, you did not.

“-remains a baseless rumor.” you speak rather loudly, hands on your hips as you steal a glance at the throne where seokjin sits, his eyes already on you, “i’m not sure who started it but duke min and i are-”

“lady ___,” a familiar guttural voice greets you from behind you. isabelle’s shock-stricken gaze that’s fixed at something - or rather, someone - past your shoulders is enough to confirm who the bearer of your doom is.

and true enough, standing before you, in the min family’s signature black suit and maroon undershirt, is none other than the devil himself. as opposed to last time, there’s a suave smile on his cherry pink lips - perhaps, nothing more than a show - and his silver hair is swept back, revealing his round visage and making his otherwise soft feature appear sharp and clean.

“your grace,” you dip down, dress lifted midair just below your hips before coming up and noticing the man also in the middle of standing back straight after bowing, “for a moment there, i thought it wasn’t you, but a shapeshifter who looked like you and attended this ball.”

if there’s anything you know - and you know plenty - about the duke of cralon, is that he rarely shows his face at balls and parties. even the ones held by the previous king.

the first time you met him was purely coincidental but not unprecedented. granted, the ball was held to celebrate the victory of the winter knights in the war. if there was any celebration duke min would attend, then it was that one. and he did attend.

but for him to appear at a regular ball held by the new king...

“alas, it is i and not some monstrous shapeshifter - i was hoping you’d spare me a dance, lady ___.” a gloved hand extends your way, hovering in the air as you scrutinize the man’s uncharacteristically smiling face - as though he’d found humor in your underlying tone.

his motives are unclear but the fact that you have his attention must mean your lead has lead to a fruitful discovery.

“why, this will pour oil to the flames,” you murmur under your breath - low enough for only him to hear and yet slip your own hand in his.

“so you’re friends with lady armwell,” the mellow tune of the cello pours into the room as a new song begins.

the feeling of the hand on your waist is unsettlingly gentle and careful - almost as though he’s fearful that your bones may break if he held on tighter.

“she only tearfully told me about the her brother’s unmanageable gambling habits, the information i gave you was out of my own findings - i can find out a plenty of many things for your grace if you choose to help me shake his majesty’s eyes off me,” you search for those crimson eyes as he twirls you around once, “i trust it’s been helpful to your grace, but if you are still unconvinced of my expertise-”

the bells of chuckles that drums in your ears are the last thing you expect to hear - quite frankly, the chances of gaining a threat for whatever reason is much higher than bearing witness to the duke’s laughter.

“there’s no need,” this time, his hair doesn’t brush over his eyebrows when he shakes his head, “you’ll make a fine fiance, ___.”

the lack of honorific doesn’t entirely go past you but that isn’t a material matter at the moment.

did he just said... fiance?

“your grace, unless my ears are-”

“yoongi.”

“p-pardon?” the warmth on your hip and hand seeps into you as he directs your body to move with the melody of the instruments, reminding you that there are hundred pairs of eyes on you and if the lady were to stop dancing all of a sudden, then there is no doubt of a new kind of rumor surfacing.

but judging from the way he dips his head and his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, you can almost hear the squeals and gossip that will fill tomorrow’s tea party, “since we’re engaged, shouldn’t we at least call each other by our names?”

words die in your throat, as does the music. you barely notice the hands that held you falling away as you watch the man take a step backwards and lower his head - so much for formalities after deciding to forego it just five seconds ago.

“i’ll send a letter tomorrow notifying my visit in three day’s time.” with that, you’re left staring like a fool at the black and red insignia engraved on the back of his jacket.

it is a moment later that isabelle and the other ladies begin to crowd you, that you finally come to your senses.

“it it true? you’re engaged to the duke of cralon?” lady irene’s beaming smile is far too close for your liking.

“calm down, lady irene. don’t make a-”

before lady krystal manages to finish her sentence, you already find yourself slipping past bodies and out of the ball room. your destination is unclear but you saw yoongi take a left and that could only mean that he’s heading towards the garden instead of the double doors of the exit.

lights line the tall walls surrounding the palace but you wouldn’t have spot the grey locks that appear almost white if not for the moonlight. the crimson dragons on either side of the shield symbolizes the min family’s pledge to protect the crown. the fact that he’s wearing this and not the official knight outwear means he’s not here as the head knight but as a-

“your grace,” you send a prayer to the goddess for the sternness in your tone but it easily dwindles down and hits the ground as you’re met with the echoing footsteps of the duke who doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

your temple throbs as the image of the duke’s handsome features come unnervingly close to you whilst he whispers-

“yoongi.” you almost scream.

it is settled knowledge that the duke of cralon possesses inhumane abilities that helped him and his predecessors win wars for the kingdom, cearis. if his unfailing reputation isn’t enough, then you’ve already seen how you would be completely helpless in his undetectable presence that night when you failed to notice him until he presents himself to seokjin and consequently you.

but in your haste to right the wrong, you’ve forgotten the possibility of abruptly calling his name ending up with your face buried in his chest when he whirls around to face you.

with cheeks that feels like they’re surrounded by a thousand suns, you quickly clear your throat after taking one step back. his raised eyebrow, however, tells you he thinks nothing of the minor mishap just now.

still, you meet yoongi’s gaze with a pair of knitted brows and a distraught tug in the corners of your lips, “i believe there’s been a misunderstanding, your grace,” the briefest lift of eyebrows as though he is painfully aware of the way you address him, doesn’t go unnoticed by you though you wish it would, “when i asked if i could stand by your side, i did not mean as your fiance - it makes me think you don’t trust me enough to believe that it wasn’t me who spread the rumor.”

“i do believe you,” he says simply, “but wouldn’t you say the rumor plays in your favor, ___?” there he goes again, addressing you informally, “since everyone saw us dancing together, they’ll feed into the rumor. it doesn’t matter if the king doesn’t buy into it. as of now, his position is vulnerable and if he were to break two lovers who are mad for each other apart and marry the other off in the name of political gain, the aristocrats won’t sit still.”

“so just now...” you trail off, the image of isabelle and the other nobles’ fallen jaws flashing at the back of your mind, “it was a return of favor because i helped solve the mystery of the missing shipments?”

“you don’t seem pleased,” his eyebrows begin to knit together.

“how can i be when i was not consulted of such plans prior to this?” the silence that lapses between you is no different than back in the parlor in your mansion, except yoongi seems to consider your request more seriously this time judging from the hard lines set upon his otherwise smooth forehead.

“then, what would you have suggested, ___?” the blinking red doesn’t seem too menacing now that he’s staring at you with genuine concern.

sighing, you curse yourself for admitting the truth in his words, “your grace is correct that the rumor gives us an advantage. however, next time we are to make a public appearance, i’d like to have a say on how it’s to be executed.”

his gaze lingers on you for the longest time - you’re not sure whether he’s debating on foregoing your investigative expertise or whether he should reveal to seokjin that this is all a faux. but what he does next could never have crossed your mind in the list of things he duke yoongi min could be thinking.

“i understand,” the figure in front of you dips to a bow, a gloved black hand levitating midair as a shadow casts itself over his gentle features and contrasting glowing eyes, “my apologies for acting without taking your feelings into consideration just now, lady ___.”

the title returns in his mouth yet your chest caves in displeasure. you’re not too fond of him calling you just by name but you’re not any glad that he’s back to using that honorific.

“v-very well, you’re forgiven,” you force out after realizing you’ve made him wait long enough, cheeks warm as you place your hand in his, eyes fixed on his lips that presses against your knuckles - they really are as soft as they look.

a halo encases his body when he stands straight. and if it weren’t for his abrupt remark, you would have pondered on the faintest hint of smile on his features, “now then, may i ask another favor from you, ___?”

another one? right after you assisted him in finding out the culprit?

“your grace may, though please bear in mind tonight doesn’t count as you returning the favor so you’ll be owing me two public appearances.” you shrug as casually as possible.

“that’s fair,” he nods a little too nonchalantly before getting to the point - and perhaps a tendril of regret wraps around your heart for agreeing without hearing his request first when he utters his next words-

“i wish us to call each other by our names - it’s suffocating to be so polite.” he sighs, hand ruffling his silvery tresses like a child tired of the etiquette lessons forced on him and not at all like the man that had you on the edge of your seat back in your mansion.

“th-that’s-” the words teeter on your tongue but refuse to leave your mouth as you fumble for a reason to object but the longer you stare into those indecipherable eyes, the emptier your mind gets and the harder your heart races.

“r-reasonable,” you stammer out, the flash of anticipation across the duke’s face leaving you no choice but to add, “yoongi.”

x

note. hello!! i’ve been working on this for a month or so (whew) bc i got super into historical au’s and just wanna write something without prince and princesses as the main leads and this happened!! hope you guys enjoyed it and are looking forward for more. drop your @ below if you want to be included the taglist!

[ask-them-bois]

Ancient Sounds 5/5

AS.pt.1 AS.pt.2 AS.pt.3 AS.pt.4

Tw: Mild blood, cult

The tapping, clicking sound of Oliver’s cane on the ancient stone was the only sound the blind oliveblood heard as he navigated the dark tunnels with ease. 

He wore his black ice skating uniform; an outfit he never wore on the rink. It was sleeveless, to show off his tattoo, but had a high neck. It clung to his body like a second skin, the gems splattered across it like bloodstains glittering like fire in the faint light. It matched the black band that covered his eyes. A feather-shouldered, glittering cape flowed behind him, just barely kissing the ground, where his black and silver heels walked. The golden rings on his horn were traded for black-gold, although the emerald that dangled from the tip stayed.

Faint sounds, that would have been invisible to less-trained ears, drew Oliver deeper into the underground. Deeper and deeper he went, until the smell of fresh air was all but gone.

He was walking through a long abandoned brooding cavern, left to collapse and be used by wild lusii. That had never happened, though. Instead of a home for beasts, it had become a sanctuary for much rarer creatures.

The noises grew louder, louder, until Oliver could pick out the sounds of voices, music, and the clink of glasses individually. She rounded the final bend, and entered the largest, deepest chamber.

“Master!”

“The Master has arrived!”

“The Phoenix is here! Someone fetch the other master!”

The voices of Oliver’s Black Hand made them smile.

“Good evening, my lovelies!” They cried, only to be answered with uproarious cheers. The crowd parted to let them through, only to surge forward and crowd around at the same time, the members trying to touch their leader’s cape, cane, anywhere they could reach.

Oliver purred, holding out a hand to them and letting them touch his fingers, kiss his palm and knuckles. “Hello, my dears, hello, yes!” He crooned gleefully, as if he was speaking to grubs. He blindly cupped the face of a believer, stroking their scarred and pockmarked cheek, before releasing them. Immediately, the crowd surged towards that troll, wanting to touch their face, too.

Oliver snickered, as the crowd had moved enough to let her through to her place; part of the ground was raised in a gentle ramp, up to a perch that let her oversee the entire cavern. Not that she did much of the overseeing. Still, she stopped and turned back towards the cavern, her ears doing the looking for her.

She could hear the ever-so-faint buzz of the strings of lights that were mounted along the walls and ceilings, under the music that pumped from the speakers.

The smell of food to her left indicated the secondary chamber was offering food. The sharp smell of polish told her someone had cleaned the altar and shine on the right. Incense pumped from burning orbs on the ceiling, filling the cave with the smell of spice.

Even that, though, could not cover up the smell of rot; the smell of disease and sickness that clung to nearly every one of her underlings. She could hear their wheezing breaths, their croaking words from raw throats, the fluttery, uncertain beats of their blood-pumpers. Among them, those who were not sick still smelled wrong; mutant bloods, those with extra limbs, eyes, tails, or just off colored ichor in their veins. They held up those too weak to stand as the crowd fell silent and turned to look up at their leader.

“Good evening, my brothers and sisters!” Oliver said again, beaming down at them, “It’s been much too long since we were in one another’s graces. It pained me to be away from my sweet siblings for so long, my very soul ached to be near you all again.”

There were murmurs of ascent from the congregation. Oliver simply waited for them to be silent again.

“I can feel the pain you have all suffered since we last met, my loves. As always, the shrine is open to those in need of the Slaughtering Scapegrace’s light. The bowl is out for any who can spare their caigers for their siblings, and for those who need to take coin to cover their expenses. And my ears are open, to hear your voices.

Tonight, not only will you all be graced with my presence, and the voice of our lord, but I have a very, very special treat for you. But first- where is he? Where is my most precious diamond, the second master of the Apocalyptic Blight’s grace?” Oliver held a hand out, searching, pleading.

There was shuffling movement and the sudden sound of running footsteps.

“I’m here, baby!” The loud, bellowing, gleeful voice of Oliver’s morail cried. He skidded to a stop and fell to his knees before the oliveblood, grasping their hand.

Instantly, Oliver was flushed through with the pinkest, palest adoration. That was the voice they knew all too well, a hand they knew as if it were their own.

“Welcome home, Bohwie Akshai.” Oliver breathed.

Bohwie looked up at his morail’s face and smiled, kissing their knuckles once more. He rose from his knees and embraced the oliveblood, who instantly clung to him in return, pressing their face into his chest.

“How I’ve missed you, my love.” Oliver breathed, her claws digging into his back.

“I missed you, too, Olly.” Bohwie crooned, pressing a kiss to Oliver’s hair before he pulled away.

Oliver smiled up at him, before she turned to address the watching crowd, still holding the cerulean’s hand. “My sweet siblings of darkened fingers, now I may tell you the wondrous gift I have brought for you!” She announced. There was a ripple of murmured excitement as she dug in her pocket. She pulled out an old, recently cleaned and polished, bronze pocket watch on a black chain.

He held it aloft, so that they could all see it. “Over four hundred and sixty-one solar sweeps ago, a man named Dmitri Akshai stood in these very caverns. He was the first troll to feel Neviserrath Apocriyna’s power, the first to be gifted his grace. He reached into Grimruinox, the realm of our god, and was duly embraced by the Shifting Darkness. He was named the Hierophant, for he was the leader of our band, the interpreter of our god’s word.  He founded the Black Hand, so that all may be embraced by the Horrendous Black.

When Neviserrath claimed him, none were strong enough to hold our lord’s might, and the Black Hand faded into the night. Now I, with his descendant at my side, have rebirthed the Hierophant’s work!” She clutched Bohwie’s hand and held it aloft, and the watching crowd broke into a frenzy of applause and cheers.

“From the ashes and fire, as your phoenix I was born, and with the Hierophant’s blood-son at my side, we gathered you!” Oliver cried over them, “You, our greatest, strongest, and most noble of siblings! While the Empire spits upon you, buries you, and mocks you, they are blinder than even I to the power you possess! Weak as your bodies may be, your souls burn bright enough that even I can see them! Tonight, let that flame consume you!”

Descending from her perch, she walked over to the shine, pulling Bohwie with her, and laid the pocket watch on the altar as if she were laying down a newly hatched grub.

“Tonight, my siblings of blackened grace, we call back the first of our kind, the one who began it all! We hail is name, only second to Neviserrath, in the hope that he will honor us, come before us, and know of our greatness!” He cried, grinning. He turned towards Bohwie, his smile softening. “There is only one more thing we need, my love.” He said, suddenly quiet, the crowd hushing so they could hear him. Holding up Bohwie’s hand, he ran his fingers over the cerulean’s palm. “The blood of our first leader rushes through you. Would you not give but a few drops to meet him?”

Bohwie closed his hand, gently squeezing Oliver’s fingers. “For our siblings, for our god, I would let you bleed me dry, my love.” He breathed, his voice trembling with excitement. “I need only a blade to do the deed with.”

Instantly, the crowd responded. The smell of steel was sharp in the air as each of them produced their own blades and held them out to their masters.

“Use mine!”

“No, mine!”

“Mine, please!”

Bohwie giggled, giddy, and reached across the altar to take one, thanking the troll who offered it. Turning back to his morail, Oliver cupped Bohwie’s free hand in their own as Bohwie placed the knife to his palm.

With a flick of his wrist, he scored the blade across his hand, and watched as his deep blue blood beaded up, pooling in the lines of his hands.

Oliver breathed deeply, the iron tang of blood burning her lungs. Cradling Bohwie’s hand, she extended it over the altar and released him, leaving him to turn his hand. She heard the blood splatter on the stone, her breath hitching in her chest.

“The blood is on the watch, my love.” Bohwie reported, a smile in his voice, “What now?”

“Now it’s my turn.” Oliver rumbled. Bohwie stepped back, and Oliver moved to stand before the altar. He pressed his hands together as if he were praying, before he reached up and undid the ribbon around his eyes. He let it flutter to the floor and opened his sightless, black and green eyes.

Oliver placed their hands on the altar and bowed their head.

There was a silent, tense moment, all eyes on the Blind Phoenix, as the oliveblood took a deep, slow breath.

Then with a bellow, he threw back his head and slammed his hands onto the altar.

Light and noise exploded around the shrine, the roar of wind and fire consuming the Black Hand leader as the light blinded the congregation. They cried out and shielded their eyes, clapped their hands over their ears, and shied away from the brunt, almost physical force of power that burst from the altar. There were pops and cracks as the strings of lights shattered and snapped. Ceramic shards hailed from the broken incense orbs.

All of it happened in the span of a moment, before the light vanished. Torches, set in sconces around the walls, suddenly burst into flame, returning light to the cavern.

The members of the crowd hesitantly looked towards the altar again, to see a physical, black shadow manifesting on the stone. It grew thicker, more solid by the second, taking on the form of a troll. The shadow moved, rolling off the altar and standing, before the darkness that cocooned it vanished.

And there, in the flickering light of the torches’ fire, stood the Hierophant.

The elder cerulean blinked, looking around in visible confusion, as if he’d been suddenly woken.

Behind him, Oliver had pitched forward and fell to her knees, shaking and panting with exhaustion. Still, she pulled herself up and turned her head towards the older troll. Bohwie stepped closer and pulled her to her feet, letting her lean on his side.

“Dmitri Akshai,” She rasped, forcing a smile. Hierophant turned to her. “I am Oliver Maddel, your humble servant and successor to your throne. I welcome you, back among the living and among your siblings of the darkened claws.”

“Dmitri,” Bohwie began, “I am Bohwie, your descendant.”

The Hierophant looked between the two of them. “It is an honor to meet you, Bohwie Akshai, descendant.” He said. His voice was deep, rich, and firm. He bowed slightly to Bohwie, before he turned to Oliver. “But you,” He continued, glaring over the top of his glasses, “are not my successor.”

Oliver’s eyebrows rose and he stood up, able to stand without his morail now. “I do not understand, my master.”

“I am not your master, either. There is another. Neviserrath tells me they wear the robes, when you clearly do not.”

“R- robes?” Oliver repeated.

Bohwie suddenly gasped. “Musrio!” He snarled. Oliver stiffened.

“What about him?”

“Hierophant, his- his robes- they look just like Musrio’s! Only blue!”

Oliver’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Musrio?” Hierophant repeated. He closed his eyes momentarily, a blissful smile on his face. “Yes. That is his name. Musrio is the one who succeeds me. Neviserrath chose him, just as he chose me, then.”

“But- but master, surely that is a mistake! Musrio- he- he wants to be rid of us!” Oliver cried. She lurched around the altar and grabbed Hierophant’s sleeve, her face tilted up towards his, her expression pleading. “He wishes the Black Hand gone! He does not worship Neviserrath, only uses his powers like playthings! He stole our chosen child, the one who would truly hold our god’s power and change this wretched world!”

“No, Oliver.” Hierophant removed the oliveblood’s hands from his sleeve and stared down at him coolly, “It is you who plays with Neviserrath’s gifts. You were not chosen. You took your powers, did you not? Demanded our god to give them to you? You took what was not meant to be taken, only given. Musrio was gifted his powers, and his robes- the robes meant for the harbinger. There is no “chosen child”. The holy war you insist on fighting does not exist. There is only one who could ever dispel our god, but she is far, far from Alternia.”

“But- but I brought the Black Hand back from the ashes! I am the Blind Phoenix!” Oliver insisted, his voice cracking.

“The Blind Phoenix? Is that a name you chose yourself, or did Neviserrath give it to you?” Heirophant inquired, a soft, cruel smile on his face.

“I… I-”

Hierophant chuckled. He adjusted his robes and turned away, heading for the exit. “Oh, my dear Oliver Maddel. You have no idea what powers you toy with. You are ignorant, nay, stupid, to take what is not yours. Our god does not love you. You are being set up to fail.”

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

EVERYONE PLEASE WELCOME BOHWIE AND DMITRI “HIEROPHANT” AKSHAI!!!

[kmomof4]

The Moon... Tells the Sea

Oh y'all!!! I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally share this fic inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ were-mermaid aesthetic for the @cssns​!!!! When she showed me what she was working on back in February, an entire outline of a story just spilled out of me. And with her blessing and tremendous excitement, I wrote it! I truly hope you enjoy it! Please make sure and give Kayla lots of love!!!

Muchos love and thanks to @searchingwardrobes​ for her outstanding beta services. I am truly embarrassed at how all over the place my tenses were before she got ahold of them 🤦🏻‍♀️. Also to @hollyethecurious​ for her help in brainstorming early on, and last but not least to Kayla herself for making this GORGEOUS and PERFECT aesthetic that inspired the entire fic!!!!

Fic Summary: Nearly a century has passed since she became what she is when a new figure enters her lonely world. Who is he? And more importantly, WHAT is he?

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: Nearly 7100

Tags: Werewolves, Mermaids, Kidnapping, Smut

Find it on ao3 here

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

He appeared for the first time just after the full moon. The pale moonlight shone down on his face, turning the dark hair on his head to almost a silver. He was tall and lean, and the scruff on his face lined a perfectly sharp jawline. The melancholy on his countenance was achingly familiar and somehow soothed the restlessness and agitation in her soul. She felt a drawing to him that she couldn’t explain, a kinship, a connection. He walked back and forth along the beach of the lagoon where she made her home, sometimes keeping his eyes on the white sand beneath his bare feet, other times gazing out at the water. She hoped that he saw her beneath the gentle waves, a flash of gold from her hair or the moonlight reflecting off the sea green scales on her tail. Alas, after several circuits on her beach, he turned back into the woods in the direction of the village that she once, long ago, called home.

It was nigh on a century ago when Emma walked this beach and splashed in this lagoon as a sixteen year old girl. There wasn’t much time allowed for leisure in her life, but she and some of the other girls were able to come down to the beach on occasion for a modicum of recreation. They would remove their shoes and wiggle their toes in the sand and splash in the surf which would inevitably devolve into a water fight, competing to see who could get who the wettest before they inevitably had to return to the tavern of their employ.

It was on one of these excursions that the most lovely music reached her ears. Music from across the water. When she walked further out into the lagoon seeking the source of the tune, she was suddenly pulled under. Her companions stared in shock, too far from her to even attempt a rescue. The water closed over her head, turning her screams into a gurgle, as she reached out for anything that would keep her from being carried away. Once underwater, she became aware of what exactly had pulled her under. The orange arm of an octopus was all she could see wrapped around her ankles and working its way up her body, pulling her away from everything that she had ever known, further and further away from the sunlight on the surface of the lagoon and closer and closer to the dropoff marking the boundary and the open ocean beyond. The sense of flying under the water intensified as the melody continued on, and even became louder the deeper she went. It was working its way into her heart and mind, telling her to not resist, that she was safe, that she would live forever. The assurances did nothing to assuage her fear and anger, even as a creeping lethargy enveloped her limbs, halting her struggles against the iron grip of the tentacle. Finally arriving at the bottom of the ocean, the tentacle released her to join its brothers as part of the most horrifying sight she had ever beheld. A green skinned man from the waist up, while below, a multitude of orange tentacles waved lazily in the deep water currents.  

Neal had taken advantage of her passivity, brought about by the melody that apparently he had sent to lure her into deep enough water that he could take her and make her his own. Upon her arrival in his underwater home, he immediately gave her fins instead of legs. He spoke words of love and tenderness to her, thinking to woo her to his side, but when he was unsuccessful after several weeks, his supposed love descended into a violent possessiveness, making her his by force. It was at this time that the full moon rose high in the sky and even though its light didn’t reach the depths, she still nearly drowned in her wolf form. If she hadn’t been fighting for her life, Neal’s surprise would have been comical. His surveillance had obviously been incomplete as he had no idea that he had kidnapped a werewolf. His magic placed her back on land where she’d be safe from drowning, but he warned her when the sun rose and she reverted back to human form, that she belonged to him and that his eyes would always be watching her when she was on land. He would not hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take what was his, including her, should she try to escape from him. Resigned to her fate, she endured the transformation each month and returned to the lagoon from whence Neal had taken her when the cycle came to an end. At least he allowed her that, only summoning her to his side when he wanted to remind her who she belonged to, which was, thankfully, relatively seldom all these years later.

She shuddered as the memories washed over her. Pushing them back down where they belonged, she looked back in the direction that the man had gone. She could only hope that he might come back.

The next night, he did come back. And the night after that, and the night after that. Every night, about an hour after sunset, he arrived at her beach. Some nights he would simply walk. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wished that she could speak to him, bring him some comfort in his distress. Other nights, he would sit on her beach and stare out at the sea for hours, tears tracking down his cheeks. It was those nights that the desire to reveal herself to him nearly overwhelmed her. But then she remembered Neal’s threats. She would not put this man in danger.

The next night was the first night of the full moon. She swam to the shallows as the sun set and she could feel the first stirrings of her change coming upon her. It was one thing to endure the pain of the transformation as a human, but as a mermaid, it was so much worse. She first had to face the agony of becoming human before she became the wolf.

Once the transformation was complete, her wolf still trembling with the aftereffects of the torment that had lately seized her, she ran for the shelter of the woods, desperate to hide herself among the foliage before he came for his evening constitutional. Tonight, being on the land instead of the sea and possessing the enhanced acuity of a wolf, she became aware of his presence before he was even beyond the borders of the town, about a mile away.

His steps were a bit slower this evening, and she was able to perceive details of his appearance that had been hidden in the previous weeks. The scruff that lined his jaw was tinged with ginger and his eyes were the blue of the lagoon that she now called home. He was dressed in the garb of a laborer and his hands were filthy. She wondered if he worked in the blacksmith shop.

He made the cover of the trees and her nose twitched with the scent she perceived on the night air coming off of him in waves. It couldn’t be. He turned from the path and disappeared from her sight. She was still over half a mile away from him. She ran to him, desperate to see if what she could smell was correct. Jumping over the detritus and long fallen, rotting trees that lay along the unseen paths used by the inhabitants of the forest, she raced toward her goal, her salvation. Arriving at her target, she came to a sudden stop. There, nestled in the bracken of the forest floor, was a wolf. A wolf dark as midnight under a new moon. His transformation was complete, but he had not yet recovered enough to make any sort of move against her.

She trod gingerly over to him. A low growl, full of menace reached her from deep in his chest. He may not be quite recuperated from the transformation, but he was far from defenseless, if the strength of that growl was anything to go by. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Electric blue met verdant green in a dance as old as time. He rose from his forest bed and nosed along her muzzle. She held as still as she could while he nosed along the length of her, pausing below her tail to scent her. His tongue flicked out and the vibrating tension that had held her still since their eyes met broke. Emma spun away from him and mouthed gently at his muzzle before taking off through the woods. She didn’t need her heightened hearing to know that he was following her lead. The blood sang in her veins as she unleashed a howl at the full moon up above. He joined her in a chilling duet that carried both to the village and to the lagoon. She made to jump over a huge decaying log across their path when her back leg was caught in the rotting bark. A surprised and pain-filled whine was torn from her as she landed on top of the log. Mere seconds passed before the other wolf was by her side and ripping at the disintegrating log. Finally free, she jumped off the log, landing gingerly on the injured leg. The pain speared through her with each step she took, so she walked with a slight limp. He was by her side in an instant, bumping into her, supporting her as she tried to walk off the pain.

It took a few minutes, but the supernatural healing did its work and she resumed the chase through the woods until they burst through the foliage onto her beach. Suddenly mindful that Neal would have a much easier time seeing her and her companion when they were this exposed, she ran back for the cover of the forest. She came to a stop and turned back towards him, just as he burst through and tackled her. They rolled a few times until Emma laid on her back. The black wolf hovered over her before he lowered his face to hers and stretched himself out, half on top of her, half along her side. A wolfish sigh left her as she tentatively licked his muzzle. The crystal blue eyes half shut in pleasure and a pleased low growl left him.

She was still coming to terms with the fact that this man she had watched all month was also a werewolf like her, but as she snuggled closer into his solid bulk and her eyes fell shut, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had found her true mate. Now she just needed to figure out how to get away from Neal.

~*~*~

The sun was just breaking over the horizon when Emma woke, back in her human form. She was naked and the huge black wolf stretched out next to her was keeping her warm in the chill of the dawn. She looked around and found that they collapsed under a small copse of trees that the morning light was just barely able to penetrate. She wet her lips as her attention was drawn back to the creature next to her. She couldn’t help but reach out to touch his fur to see if it was as soft as it looked.

She buried her hand in the scruff of his neck, eyes rolling in the back of her head as the softness enveloped her. She came back to herself and studied him again. In the light of the morning, she could see that his fur wasn’t as dark as she thought last night. There was some white mixed in on his head, making it more of a dark grey rather than solid black. His underside was also more grey than black. He stretched beside her and she snatched her hand away, not wanting to wake him. With his back legs stretched out, she could clearly see that he was taller than she was.

She looked around, trying to find a place to hide from him. He’d be awake soon and she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not for a first meeting, anyway. His eyes were starting to open, the deep blue shining through his still half closed eyelids. She stood and suppressed a shiver brought on by the sudden loss of his body heat, and moved to hide herself behind a tall tree just at the edge of their sanctuary.

She hunkered down, trying to conserve her own body heat when she heard him stand in the loam where they made their bed. Peeking out from behind her tree, she was captivated by the full effect of the vivid blue eyes as they met hers. She couldn’t look away as a full body shudder ripped through him and he crouched there without moving as his own transformation overtook him. Once it was complete, he stood before her, in all his glory. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, with a dusting of chest hair leading down to where his hands covered himself. He obviously felt the same way she did about their initial meeting. His arms and legs were strong, perfectly toned muscles that she’d love to feel under her fingers. She knew that he saw her, his blush and heavy swallow testimony to that. Her eyes widened and fell away from him as she felt her own blush spreading over her cheeks.

He moved a few feet away and hid himself behind another tree. Moments later his voice reached her.

“Are you alright, lass? No worse for wear from our romp last night?”

His accent seemed to wrap around her and draw her to him. She peeked around her hiding place once again to answer him.

“Oh, my leg?” She moved it just to make sure. “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Silence reigned for a long moment. “I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

“I’m Emma,” she replied.

“How have I never seen you in the village, Emma?”

“I’m not from the village. Not now, anyway.”

“What do you mean, lass?”

“I’m originally from the village, but I haven’t been there in many years.”

“I see.” He obviously did not see. She knew for a fact that he hadn’t been aware of her presence in the lagoon all month, and without that essential piece of the puzzle, there was no way that he could understand exactly what she meant. “Do you need anything? Since you’re hiding yourself from me, I can only assume that you’re also nude. Do you have clothes to put on?”

She blushed even harder at his perceptiveness. “Uh, no. I don’t.”

“May I bring you some from the village? My clothes are where I left them last night and I have some time before I’m expected in the blacksmith’s shop.”

“That would be lovely,” she breathed, utterly flabbergasted that he’d want to help her in this way. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all, Emma. I’ll return shortly.”

It was only about thirty minutes before he returned to her hiding place, bearing a white shift in his arms.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you anything more substantial, but I didn’t have much money with me.” He reached behind her tree, where she was still hidden, and held it out to her. She took it and let the soft cotton slide through her fingers. She hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, she couldn’t wait to feel it against her skin.

She slipped it on and came out from behind her tree. She swallowed heavily before looking up at him from beneath her lashes, feeling very exposed and bashful now that she was face to face with him. He reached up and drew his knuckles down her cheek as he looked into her eyes. He smiled gently at her.

“It’s very nice to meet you face to face, Emma.”

“You too, Killian.” She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Will I see you tonight? The blacksmith doesn’t close down until the sun sets, and I’d assume that since you were already a wolf before I was last night and were human again before I was this morning, that you’ll be in your wolf form before I return to the woods tonight?”

She nodded. “Yes, I turn with the sunset and rise.”

“I can control my turning,” he shared with her.

“So that’s why you didn’t turn until you were in the woods, and were still a wolf when I woke?”

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “So will I see you again tonight?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking back up into his incredibly blue eyes.

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the town. “I have to get to work. Until tonight, Emma.” He turned back toward her and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

Her hand raised to where the place he had kissed her still tingled as he walked away. “Until tonight, Killian,” she murmured.

~*~*~

Emma was never far from his thoughts the entire day. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose a hand, given the work he was doing and the level of distraction he was dealing with.

He may have only just met her, but the connection he felt with her last night and then this morning could not be denied.

A connection that made the wolf inside of him howl with delight and filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in ages. Not since long before he’d wandered into this small village about a month before.

Killian had been traveling from kingdom to kingdom, village to village after losing his brother almost three years before when he was only 15. He and his brother had been raised on the ship where their father had taken work after their mother had died when Killian was only a toddler. Today, he couldn’t imagine how hard it had to have been for his father to lose his wife and having to take work anywhere he could find it while raising two boys on his own. Two boys that were destined to become wolves when puberty hit. By the time his own time came, their father had passed and Liam was the one to help Killian through the transition and teach him how to control his shift.

It was the following year when Liam had been lost at sea during a storm and Killian had gone ashore. Life on the sea was in his blood, but with the painful memories that came with it, he decided to forge his own path on land.

Since then he’d drifted. Never staying in one place for more than a few months. Never long enough to form a connection with anyone, never long enough to put down roots. But meeting Emma last night changed everything.

She was the most beautiful wolf he’d ever laid eyes on. Fur as white as the freshly fallen snow. Green eyes that glittered under the full moon. He remembered the scent that had flooded him as he still lay recovering from his shift. The scent of were. He knew when he finally gazed upon her that she was not just a wolf. She was also a werewolf like him. He knew as they ran through the forest under the light of the moon that she was his and he was hers. His true mate.

Beholding her beauty in the flesh this morning, it was no wonder that even now, thoughts of her had his blood running south. Blonde hair that looked kissed by the sun, green eyes that had so captivated him the night before, firm muscles still supple with youth. She looked to be about a year younger than he was, or no more than two. She had said that she was from this village originally, but hadn’t been there in many years. How many years? Where had she been in the meantime? And why didn’t she have any clothes? The mysteries surrounding this woman swirled around in his brain until the sun finally set and he was free to leave.

Reaching the edge of the village, he looked up to the tree line. There she was. Mostly concealed, but the large pupils flashed under the light of the full moon allowing him to see her. He quickened his pace until he joined her under the canopy of the forest.

“Emma?” he asked. He knew it was her, but he just wanted that little bit more. Confirmation that she was what he thought she was. Her expression softened before she turned her back to him and moved forward. A grin broke out on his face as he followed her deeper into the woods.

She led him back to the same copse of trees that they slept in the night before. She turned in a circle a couple of times before curling up on the ground. Even with the white of her fur, he could barely see her in their safe haven. The light of the moon didn’t reach this deep into the forest, much less through the intertwined boughs of their shelter. It was more that he heard her settling and the pants of her breathing that told him where she was.

He settled down next to her and reached out to try and touch her. His hand found the deep, thick fur of her scruff. Never had he felt anything so soft. He moved his hand until it reached her ears and he could feel her raise her head, seeking more attention in that spot. He chuckled and proceeded to scratch at the sensitive area. After a few moments of the activity, Emma giving a contented low whine as he continued his ministrations, she stood from her spot, moved in front of him, and jumped up on him, placing her paws on his shoulders, pushing him backward into the earth. A laugh broke out of him as he lay still and waited to see what she would do next. This close, he could finally get a good look at her face. Her green eyes sparkled in the low light as she brought her muzzle close to his face and nuzzled into his cheek before she surprised him with a slow lick. He grabbed her scruff and nuzzled his own face into the softness that he found there. Pulling away from him, she turned around right above his head before she laid down again, scooching as close to his head as she could. When he raised up, trying to catch her eyes, she slid herself underneath his head, so that when he lay his head back down, it was the softness of her fur and underbelly that met him rather than the hard ground.

“Is this comfortable for you, Emma?” he murmured. His position allowed her to reach his face with another lick. She continued licking, as if she tasted something good along his skin. Laughing, he finally pushed her away when he’d had enough of her affection. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Laying there in their own safe place, he gazed up through the branches trying to see the night sky above. There was one area off to his left that was completely unobscured both by their little den and by the forest at large. He looked that way, seeing just a sliver of the full moon. He was pretty sure that he had time to tell her about himself before the whole of the full moon flooded their hideaway. Once it did, he wanted to turn and run with his mate.

He told Emma of his earliest memories aboard the ship and how he didn’t remember his mother at all. He told her about his father and brother, how they taught him about his wolf nature, and how he lost both of them. By the time he got to the current time, the full moon lit up their retreat. He raised himself up and looked at the beautiful wolf beside him.

“Are you ready to run, darling?”

She lifted her muzzle to the sky and let out a ringing howl. He raised his own face to the moon and joined her in her wolf song as he gave his shift full rein over his body. Short minutes later, his wolf senses much more attuned to the exquisite creature by his side, he tore through the underbrush of their oasis into the forest, Emma right on his heels.

They ran like the wind, indulging in their delight at being together. The scent of a rabbit crossed their trail causing them to run back toward the village that was Killian’s temporary home. Catching up to the terrified creature, they made short work of their meal before engaging in a game of tag that ended when Killian was so caught up in the presence of her that he lost track of where he was and instead of jumping to sidestep the edge of the ravine they were running along, lost his footing and fell to the bottom of it. Landing on his feet, he looked up at where Emma stood watching him, tongue lolling, her green eyes filled with mirth. Running back up the side of the ravine to her, he pounced, his front legs laying across her shoulders and neck, mouthing gently at her snout in a sign of affection. Her head turned toward his as she accepted his overtures before he got off her and she turned back toward their secret hideaway.

Once they arrived safely, they snuggled together and slept.

~*~*~

Emma was awakened by a hand rubbing up and down her naked back. She was snuggled into Killians side, head on his shoulder and the rest of her body flush with his side. She buried her face into his neck and let out a distressed moan.

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, gently, never halting his light touch.

“I should have awakened and hidden before you woke up. Like I did yesterday.”

Killian chuckled. “Why? I don’t know about you, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m yours. All of me.” He took her hand in his other one and brought it up to his lips where he kissed each finger tip before looking deeply into her eyes. “I’ve never met a female werewolf, darling. How could I possibly be with anyone else?”

“But you don’t know anything about me,” she protested. “You only met me yesterday! At least I had the benefit of hearing your story last night and watching you all month when you walked along the beach. I knew that there was just something about you. When I watched you walk along the beach or sit and stare out at the water, I wanted nothing more than to reveal myself to you. Comfort you. Be with you.” The last part was a whisper as she looked away from his piercing gaze, only to be met with his naked body.

“So tell me,” he encouraged her. “When I felt you turn with the sunrise, I allowed myself to turn as well. I thought it might be comforting for you and I to have a few minutes together as humans before I had to go back to the village.”

She looked up into the azure blue of his eyes that she thought she would surely drown in. Seeing nothing but honest sincerity in his gaze, she began her own tale.

“I was born in the village, but abandoned as a baby. I was raised by Granny along with her own granddaughter, Ruby.” Killian’s brow furrowed at the mention of the names. “They were werewolves and owned the Red Wolf tavern. Granny somehow knew that I was were and took me in because of it. Granny taught me everything I needed to know about being a werewolf. How to live as a wolf during the full moon, how to keep my secret the rest of the month. Ruby, the other girls employed at the tavern, and I would come to the beach on occasion for some fun. Just a chance to relax, play, forget our troubles. Just for a little while…” her voice trailed away into a whisper.

Killian had gone very still. “Yes, Emma?” he questioned, “Keep going. I’m listening.”

“I was 16. I had apparently attracted the attention of a merman, Neal. The girls and I  were just doing what we always did when I heard the most beautiful music. Music that he sent to lure me to deeper water so that he could take me. When I was far enough away from Ruby and the others, he kidnapped me. Brought me to his underwater home, turned me into a mermaid, and tried to win my affections. When I refused him, he forced me to remain with him. When he realized that I was a werewolf, he allowed me to spend those days and nights on the shore, after making sure that I knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take me from him. Including myself, if I tried to escape from him.”

Emma could feel Killian’s fury rolling off of him. “I’ll kill him, Emma. I’ll kill the bastard. When was this? How long ago were you kidnapped?”

She buried her face into his neck again, not wanting to see his face when she told him. “It’s been nearly one hundred years.”

Killian grabbed her shoulders and lifted her away from him. It was all she could do to meet his eyes as he scrutinized her. “I knew that it’d have to have been many years, because the Red Wolf tavern and most of the village burned down 70 years ago. By that time, Granny was long gone, and Ruby was killed in the fire. The old timers still talk about it like it was yesterday. But I had no idea how long it had been for you.” He pulled her to him and held her gently as the tears that had gathered in her eyes started to fall.

Once her tears were spent, she looked back up to him. Raising her with him, he sat up, tenderly cupped her face within his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. A soft moan worked its way out of her mouth as she opened beneath the cautious questing of his tongue. He was so gentle and loving that she never wanted this to end. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands plunging into his raven locks as they rocked together. He lay back down with Emma atop him, never releasing her lips as his hands began to roam her naked body. Her nerve endings fired wherever he touched, leaving anticipatory shivers in their wake.

When air became necessary, they broke apart, both panting heavily. “As much as I’d like to continue this, Emma, I’m expected in the village soon.”

“I know,” she murmured into the space between them. She was loathe to let him go, but knew she must.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow morning,” he assured her.

“But I’ll be a mermaid again with the sunrise!”

“Then we’ll wait until next month.” He pushed back on her shoulders until his fierce blue eyes bored into hers. “We will be together, Emma. I swear it. I will always find you.”

“I will always find you,” she whispered back to him. She pressed another kiss to his lips and rose from their makeshift bed. Donning her shift, she turned back to where he was pulling his own clothes on.

“Until tonight, Emma,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers and running his fingers down her face.

“Until tonight, Killian.”

~*~*~

That night passed in much the same way as the previous night did. Killian arrived shortly after the sun set and joined Emma in their wolf form. They ran together under the full moon, played a game of hide and seek (Emma could only stand playing one round, her white fur making it very difficult to hide from another were), and hunted for their meal before they finally collapsed together in a fluffy pile in their temporary home.

It was about an hour before sunrise when she felt Killian change beside her. Still mostly asleep, she barely remembered him whispering to her that he’d be back in a bit before pressing a kiss into her scruff and leaving the copse. She had gotten so used to having Killian beside her the last two nights that she couldn’t fall back into the sleep that beckoned her. She finally gave up and rose to go look for him.

His scent led her to the beach. Was he walking along the beach waiting for the sunrise as he had been doing all month after darkness fell? She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the forest, just before it met the beach when she heard two voices raised in anger. One beloved, the other a voice that she would have been quite happy to never hear again as long as she lived. In the gray morning before the sun rose, she could see Killian, as a man, standing before Neal, his tentacles undulating on the surface of the lagoon. She could hear Neal’s laughter as Killian’s voice rose in a shout demanding her freedom.

Several things happened at once. Neal’s face morphed from taunting mirth into a sneer as one of his tentacles surged forward and wrapped securely around Killian’s middle, squeezing tightly and dragging him toward the water. Emma could no longer remain hidden. She knew that Neal meant to drown Killian and she couldn’t let that happen to her love. To her mate. She burst from the trees and raced to the shore where Killian was being dragged. He was transforming within Neal’s grasp, perhaps thinking that Neal would lose his grip on a wolf instead of a man.

She could see the fury in Neal’s eyes as she arrived at Killian’s side. His turn halted as his arms reached around her, resulting in a tug of war between herself and Neal. Killian’s arms grasped desperately and she pulled back with all her might, trying to get him away first from Neal and second from the dangerous waves that seemed to nearly be an extension of Neal himself. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but they seemed to be grabbing at Killian as well, trying to drown him within their depths. She was able to get close enough to one of Neal’s arms that she clamped down on it, biting all the way through, a clean amputation in between the adversaries. Neal roared, releasing Killian to fall to the beach, gasping for air. She leapt at her captor, heedless of his other tentacles writhing in agony and the waves where he could easily drown her.

Neal was unprepared for her leap, and though he caught her in his arms, her bulk pushed him beneath the waves as she clamped her teeth down on his throat and ripped it out. His blood painted her muzzle bright red as the water closed over them. His arms loosened from catching her and she watched as the light dimmed and was extinguished from his eyes. Blood continued to pour from the gaping wound into the water that surrounded them. Swimming as best she could for the surface, her head broke through just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Helpless to stop her change from coming over her, she nearly whimpered in relief as strong arms wrapped around her body and carried her to shore. Never had she been held in someone’s arms as she turned. Never had she felt so safe, so protected, so loved as she did at that moment. Killian gently lay her on the white sand of the beach, staring into her eyes so reverently as she recovered from her transformation.

When she came back to herself, cradled in her mate’s arms, staring into eyes the exact same shade of her lagoon, she reached up and pulled him down into a desperate kiss. It was when his hands began caressing her hip that realization dawned. She was human! The sunrise should have brought her mermaid form with it, but with Neal’s death, his curse on her was broken as well. She pulled away and stared down at her body before meeting Killian’s amazed and joyful gaze with her own.

“I’m human.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “That you are, lass.”

Her mouth opened and shut several times before she found her voice again. “I’m not a mermaid anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m free,” she breathed, “Neal is dead and I’m free!”

Killian gathered her in his arms and held her close, their heartbeats synchronizing in their elation.

It wasn’t long, however, before they both became aware of Emma’s nude state. Drawing back from her, Killian raised a salacious eyebrow at his beloved. “We need to get you dressed, my love, before my desire overrides my good sense.”

“No one comes to this lagoon, Killian. No one,” she asserted, vehemently. Her green eyes were filled her own desire and her hands were busy opening his shirt and then pushing his trousers over his hips. “Please make love to me, Killian. Make me yours.”

A groan worked its way out of his throat as he acquiesced to her demand and crashed his lips to hers. With nothing but the light of the sun touching her skin, he drew back and drank in her beauty. Her pupils were blown wide in desire, the green only a thin ring around them. Her golden tresses shone in the light of the rising sun. If he was struck blind in that moment, he’d never forget the sight of the sun in her hair as his hands roamed her succulent body, memorizing her contours and all the places he touched that made her gasp, moan, and sigh.

She was not idle as he set about worshipping his love, his mate. Her fingers trailed through his chest hair, sending shivers throughout his body, before following the trail down to where he was hard and aching for her. He thrust his hips into her hands as they began stroking him from root to tip.

He nuzzled into her neck, placing open mouth kisses before sucking hard at her pulse point, drawing heat to the surface of her skin, and causing her to cry out in pleasure. One hand caressed the fullness of her breasts as the other sought out her most intimate place. When he found his treasure, he found her folds drenched in her want of him.

Pulling back from her, he looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me, my darling?”

“Yes, Killian,” she cried, “Yes, please!”

He lined himself up and slowly pushed into her heat. Twin sighs of relief escaped them both as they were now joined in every way possible. He rolled his hips into her until her gasp told him that he had found that spot inside her. He determined to hit that spot every time until he watched her fall apart. He began measured thrusts into her, seeking the place inside her that would bring her the most pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust until he was helpless in her embrace. He drove himself into her, staving off the tingling in his spine as he felt her walls begin to flutter along his length. He reached between them and caressed the swollen nub just above where they were joined until she shattered in his arms.

Murmuring praise into her ear as she shuddered with the strength of her climax, he began to chase his own release. Moments later, his climax rolled through him, joining his mate in the ultimate bliss of their union.

The drift back to earth seemed to take forever. He slipped out of her and rolled to the side, not wanting to crush her with his weight. He drew her back into his arms and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Still with me, Emma?” he murmured.

“Mmmmmmm,” she hummed, still blissed out from their lovemaking.

Killian chuckled and drew her closer until they were flush from shoulders to feet. “So what now?” she asked, “What do I do now?”

“Anything you want, my love,” he replied. “We can go anywhere you like or we can stay here. The blacksmith is getting on in years and doesn’t have children to take over when he is gone. I think that’s why he was so eager to hire me. He seems to be about ready to hand over his hammer. We could make a life here. Raise children here.” He blushed, scratching behind his ear in an adorably nervous gesture. “If you’d rather leave, I do hope that you realize that I’m coming too. I can’t live without you, darling. Please don’t ask me to.”

She closed the distance between them and found his lips with her own. “Of course, I wouldn’t. I can’t live without you, either. Don’t you know that? You saved me.”

“You are the one who did the saving, darling.” The sincerity in his eyes had her pulling him to her again in a kiss that threatened to spin out of control before she broke it.

“I’d be happy to stay here, if you are,” she asserted.

Killian let out a whoop of pure happiness as he hugged her to him. “Then let's go, Emma. We have time to get to the village and get you settled in my lodgings before I have to be at work.”

They rose and made it back to their copse where they dressed quickly and departed for the village. Killian was correct in his speculations about the blacksmith. When they got into town, Killian introduced Emma as his betrothed to his boss, Marco, who was absolutely delighted to hear the news. As soon as they celebrated their nuptials, just before the full moon the very next month, Marco indeed handed the hammer over to Killian in order to adequately provide for his bride and any little ones that God would see fit to grant them.

And so, Killian and Emma Jones built a life in the small village, enjoying their children, and eventually grandchildren in their own happily ever after.

The End

Thanks for reading and sharing!

[lisinfleur]

Lullaby

Author’s Notes | It’s an honor to be a part of this sweet moment! Thank you, @hecohansen31​​ for inviting me to write for our sweet @maggiescarborough​​ and participate in such a sweet gift! And you, babe, may the gods be with you in this day and all the days that follow this first in the new cycle life is offering us with your lovely presence! Thank you for being this sweet and supportive person that makes us writers around you feel fueled to continue our work just for one more smile of yours! I hope you like this humble gift and may your life be full of the sweet and kind energy you spread wherever you go! Happy b-day!

Universe | Vikings, Saxon Team

Pairing | Alfred x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, a gift to sweet @maggiescarborough​. 

Words | 2044

⁑ Warnings: Historical inaccuracy¹.

"Y / N!"

Your bedroom door broke open and you lifted your eyes from the music sheets to look at the worried servant looking at you.

"The king..."

You placed your papers aside and got up. Whenever they were worried like that you knew it was again his disease.

Whenever his disease was hurting his body, then... You would be his relief.

"Is he in his bed?" you asked.

Foolishly.

You knew where he would be - your steps passed his bedroom.

"No. King Alfred refuses to leave the music room's divan," she answered, ignoring your knowledge of his habits.

You were the one who asked the servants to install that divan there. It would be too visual to have a bed in the castle's music room or a piano inside the king's bedroom, but that way, Alfred could be comfortable whenever his personal calvary would decide to torture him again enough for his compromises being lesser than his need for your healing fingers.

You nodded. You knew what he needed.

His eyes looked straight at you from that divan when the servant opened the door and your steps entered the room trying to make the lower sounds possible.

"My king," you bent yourself respectfully.

But Alfred sighed.

"I told you already... Forget these formalities, wife."

Wife.

In your whole life, you never thought you would become the Queen of England by his side. In fact, you never ever thought you could be a princess by his side when he was not the next in the line of the throne. But there were the two of you: the crown in his head, a ring in your hand.

Some people in his court would say he married you out of options after Elsewith died in childbirth. Poor Alfred... God wasn't merciful to him and some cruel people would say it was because he ceded lands to the pagans and invited heathens to dinner in his table, but you knew very well what was behind the curtains. They declared that child a stillborn, but you knew Alfred accepted delivering the baby into Ubbe's hands after Elsewith's last words confessed her treason and the fact that the son King Alfred had waited for so long wasn't his, but Björn's, such as many children around the kingdom were blond and blue-eyed like Ragnar's firstborn - May God have his soul, despite his heathen faith.

After his brother's mysterious death, his mother - blessed queen Judith! - who followed her son into the grave. And now his wife and the dreams of an heir she never brought to him. Poor Alfred.

Poor of your beloved and sweet King.

As his cousin from foreign lands, you thought you would end up married to an Earl of his trust. For a moment you even though he could negotiate your hand with one of the Norsemen new leaders that came, once his friend Ubbe was already married to his older brother's ex-wife - something you begged the heavens wouldn't happen in a thousand years.

But it was the crown of a queen beside his throne that landed over your head. An unexpected - but surely desired - place.

You loved your cousin since the first time the two of you could see each other. He was a sweet boy, grew up in a peaceful and wise man. The only decision of his you've ever reproved was to cut his hair so short trying to get Elsewith's attention from the bald Norseman towards himself. A failed intention, but something you were already getting used to - after all, it made him more manly, with less of the boyish sweetness you loved so much in your prince.

Yet, you loved him purely. Enough to have the best wishes when his bride finally came, to mourn in God the treason that brought so much sadness into your King's eyes; to vigil, on your knees in prayer, fasting for days begging for his health whenever that evil disease would take his joviality and throw him on his bed.

The council thought you were chaste enough for the place by his side.

You knew that ring didn't come to your finger for love. But Alfred never ever treated you with less tenderness or sweetness just because you weren't the love of his life...

Yet.

Words of his, not yours.

"I'll grow to love you, my sweet wife. I've learned it with the time that love that comes from the first sigh is flame. And flames are easily extinguished by everyday rain... Or the waves of the sea... This is not love. Love is something else I long to learn with my years by your side. A life... A whole life seems to be enough to discover what love is. May God bless me with life enough to find it in your eyes."

His marriage vows you never forget. Promises of a beautiful future you had dreamed through your whole life. But that, in times like that, would seem impossible for someone who was so close to God, so blessed by him, that seemed to make the angels eager for his presence in his rightful place in Heaven.

You came closer to his divan, sitting by his side in a small bench for servants, ignoring the fact that you were a queen and exchanging the warm cloth in his forehead, wetting it in the bowl of fresh herbal water to replace the cloth and try to lower his fever. Alfred's face frowned for a second with the difference between his body temperature and the cloth you placed on his skin, but soon it relaxed in relief as the refreshing sensation of the herbs was starting to be effective.

"You should be in your bed, my king."

You never stopped being sweet that way to him. Even thou he would always complain about the titles, you knew he liked the way you were gentle and respectful - and the court and council liked it as well so, fewer headaches for him, who had already so many to solve in his head.

"You know what I need," he mumbled, so weak, so pale that you could almost see his veins marking on his skin. "It makes me sleep peacefully. It brings me peace. Please, my sweet wife. Play for me."

The usual ask.

You caressed his face gently and got up to sit at the piano he ordered for you as a marriage gift - your favorite gift in your whole life. Your fingers touched the ivory keys, gently caressing what was your favorite thing in life after Alfred's smile. And slowly, you started one of your compositions - a calming one. One you knew he liked.

Some between the healers of the court once spoke to the small mouth that you were a witch, spreading rumors that your music was a spell that could make the king fall asleep. But Alfred ordered the church's pianist to cede his place for you on a Sunday and under his orders, you played the most beautiful songs in honor of your Lord, causing the priest to say your hands were blessed by God and your music was healing the King's soul.

From that day on, nobody questioned the way Alfred would always ask for your healing songs when he was sick. And you were free to compose more of them for him, sliding your fingers through the keys as if they were dance with grace and love.

So much love...

Alfred's body relaxed a little more. A servant came to replace the cloth some minutes later and the worry in her eyes became a tender smile.

"He fell asleep. The King is asleep, oh, thank God for the Queen's blessed hands, hallelujah!" she exclaimed in a low tone, tracing the sign of the cross on her chest.

You smiled. Yet, your fingers kept playing with a lower tone.

From time to time the servants were alternating to check on his temperature and rest, always blessing his visible relaxation or the fact that his temperature was lowering slowly.

Maybe it was the real rest he was able to reach with your notes. Maybe it was the love in your songs reaching his heart, making him stronger. Maybe the servants and peasants were right and God had blessed your hands with the gift of healing songs to your beloved King. You were never able to explain how you were able to play for hours just for his rest. Or how he was always recovered when he would wake up still hearing one of your beautiful compositions.

But when his eyes were open once again, still under your fingers' dance at the keys, there was more color in his skin, his face was less touched by the disease, and his expression more serene.

You kept playing for a while for his enjoyment before finally conducting the composition to its end, lowering the coverage of the piano keys and resting your tired hands over your skirt. Your fingers were hurting you. Your hands were in pain. But it was worth the price.

"Are you feeling better, my king?" you asked, looking at him with the same sweetness you always had in your eyes when looking into his.

Alfred smiled.

One of those beautiful smiles that got your heart for him years ago.

"Yes... The pain isn't here anymore. But I know it is yours now," his voice mumbled.

Of course, he had noticed how you would dive your hands into warm water at night, washing it in cold herbal water and alternating the temperatures several times before sleeping after that much of time playing the piano for his rest. But you would do it silently, sometimes with a smile on your face when your eyes would catch his serenity, pretending he was sleeping by your side when the truth was that he was awake, thanking God for bringing you into his life.

"Come closer, wife," he asked, and you got up, sitting beside him once again.

But this time he caught your hands into his, warming them in between his now warmed palms.

"Is this it?"

Alfred's question got you confused before he could continue, bringing all the blood of your body to blush your cheeks into crimson red.

"Is this love, my dear queen?" his eyes dove into yours and your voice failed.

But his words were so sure, so intense, straight into your heart.

"Is this love that you offer me when you cause your own pain just to relieve mine? Is this love what you put on your songs that heals my body and brings relief to my tormented soul?"

You didn't know how to answer that question. You didn't know if it was love what you felt for him - too little was taught about love to women like you. But you knew it was the purest desire of your heart to see his smiles. The beautiful smiles you couldn't live without.

"I don't know," you mumbled, "But it is yours," you confessed, smiling at him as your fingers gently caressed his hand.

GIF

His lips curled once again.

"Then blessed be God for my disease is his hand over me, putting me down so I can feel His love through your hands, your notes, your songs. Blessed be God for what the people call suffering, I call His grace, showing me how rich I am of his blessings in my life. Because everything I ever suffered conducted me towards you. And I couldn't be more grateful to have you by my side, sweet Y/N."

Your heart filled with his words, warming your chest and opening your smile when Alfred leaned himself to gently kiss your forehead, caressing your face with that tenderness you would always find in his eyes for you.

None of you could really say what was this love he wanted so badly to know. But you didn't need to name that feeling. You were grateful in your heart for the blessed home you were gifted with and the pain in your fingers was nothing - if that was the price you would pay for Alfred's smiles, then it was a cheap price to pay for what was priceless into your heart.

¹ The piano was an artistic mention to our sweet @maggiescarborough's art. Sad for him, Alfred the Great didn't have the chance to enjoy such a magnificent way to produce music since he lived in the 800 (849 to 899 a.C.) and the piano was invented around 1698 to 1699 by Bartolomeo Cristofori and introduced to the public in 1709. Nevertheless, I discovered the information after the production of this piece and I decided then to bend the time and allow our beloved king to know this art through our sweet reader's hands and to take the chance to share this piece of the pianoforte's history for you guys to learn with me!

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[natebuzzlover344]

First of all, i’m sorry for my english and grammar. And this is a chapter of one of my wattpad stories named “Cliché”

It’s a Mitch Rapp fanfiction, if you like it i will continue to translate it in english.

I don’t own this gif (take it from pinterest)

I stand in front of the mirror looking at my sad reflex. My skin is whiter than milk, and the dark circles around my eyes look awful to me, the redness of the bruise around my eyes has been pierced by small thin veins.

I'm in a tough, tough time. I do not feel well. It was as if all evil had come upon me. I take a foundation with two shades darker from the cherry blush on the table. I need to have a little color, I look like a corpse.

I pour a few drops into my palms and start stretching in front of me. My blue eyes, like the sea, watched as my face began to come to life.

At just twenty-three, my embers-black hair begins to turn white at the roots. The stress is too great. I'm surrounded by people, but I feel lonely. Empty inside.

After applying a layer of mascara on my long lashes, I get up from my chair and take my red dress off the bed.

The bitter taste of sadness is the only aroma I have been feeling for more than three years. The judgment of the people around me depresses me, as if cutting me in the flesh.

My name is Jenna Lockwood and I'm probably the most fake person you've ever met.

After I put on the dress, I look in the mirror and struggle to smile. The red dress fit perfectly on my waist, and the square neckline highlighted my golden necklace, received as a gift from a good friend. I untie my hair and let it fall, reaching close to my hips.

Now that I'm ready, it's time to leave for a new white night in which I will hide my sadness and insecurities behind a mask. White Nights for black days.

I walk in the door of the club excited by the colorful strobe lights and the catchy music that sings so loud it seems to shake the club. The smell of liquor and expensive perfume was all that pleased my nasal senses. People dancing perfectly to the music, lovers making obscene signs without inhibitions, drunks and drunks falling on the stairs in the bathroom, that's my world. The world without prejudices.

I make room using my elbows through the crowd to reach the bar on the side of the club. It seems that the handsome blonde with long hair up to his ears was working hard flaming a few glasses.

“Ohoo, my man!” I yell at him to hear the music and I lean over the bar to clap with him.

He has been my friend since childhood, somehow our friendship lasted despite the years. Although he does not agree with my lifestyle, he understands my pain and respects my decisions.

"Lanna, I thought you'd miss the party!" Michael replies with a wide smile on his face.

The blonde returns to take the bottle of bacardi, already knowing what I usually order, but tonight I thought of drinking something new.

"Why don't you make me a margarita?" I ask, raising both my eyebrows.

Michael smiles at me and takes a glass of daisy from his stand, then greases the top of the glass with water, then dips it in salt and then pours tequila and triple dry.

I could already feel salivating seeing the beautiful pale green liquid poured into the glass. To make matters worse, Michael squeezes another lemon and hands me my glass.

I take the money out of the black envelope but Michael stops me.

“You know the start is from me!” he says friendly.

“ I always forget, some interesting people?” I ask, sipping my glass.

"About that, I understand that friends of the owner will be coming tonight, some dubious ones, be careful ..." Michael informed me, looking around.

I nod and offer a kiss on the cheek. I wink at them, then walk away to the bar and join the crowd of people dancing as if there were no more tomorrow.

I begin to move to the rhythms of the song Feel so close, occasionally sipping from my glass. The taste of tequilla caresses my taste buds.

A tall man with an enviable athletic body had appeared in front of me. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans of the same color, torn, accessorized with a chain. His beard was a little overgrown, and his hair was quite long with a gorgeous brown.

I approached the charming man in the rhythm of the dance, putting the glass of daisies around his neck, then leaving it on a nearby table.

The mysterious brunette moved in decline with me, giving me a small smile. He wasn't the kind of boy you'd see everywhere, he had a unique face that stood out from the rest of the males around here. The rhythm of the music pushed me closer and closer to him.

I took the opportunity to look at him closely and feel my amber-colored eyes soften in his eyes, not to mention the small drops of honey that were hiding in his iris.

“I've never seen you here and believe me I come very often!” I whisper in his ear to hear the music.

“It’s the first time, this pleace is awesome!” He replied very excited.

The guy grabs my hand and spins me around, and with a strong pull I get to stick my chest tightly to his. I notice a few strands of hair settling over his eye so I reach for his hand and place his hair on his back.

It had been a while since we had been dancing, the songs seemed to change from second to second.

The rest of the evening I felt like in a story. I danced until I felt my sandals tighten and the kamikaze shots flowed incessantly around our necks. I was at the entrance of the club, the cool summer breeze drying the drops of water that flowed on my body. The handsome brunette takes a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket, then carries a cigarette with an orange filter in his mouth.

"My name is Lanna, I think you should know that we've been dancing for more than five hours," I say sarcastically.

“I’m Mitch, very glad to meed you, ma’ lady” he say very charming.

I watched him curiously as he drew so pathetically from the cigarette that it was almost over. It seemed to me that he was stressed, I had never seen anyone smoke a cigarette so quickly.

As soon as he throws the cigarette in the ashtray, he lights another cigarette. The silence of the night put me back in my bitter thoughts, I didn't want peace anymore. The silence depresses me. I stared blankly under the starry sky, searching for a lifeline in my own thoughts.

"Look up!" he tells me with a smile.

His voice instantly woke me from my thoughts, as if it were a crack that pulled me out of my trance.

I conform quickly and feel him wipe the underside of my eye with his fingertips.

"Your mascara had spread," he announced, smiling.

"Oh, thank you," I say through gritted teeth.

I look back at a fixed point and am blocked again by thoughts. I have become addicted to noise, the silence is stifling.

Two young people in love leave the club. A couple who have been visiting the area for more than half a year. I always tried them with admiration, in their case it seems that love and fun are on the same waterline.

This time they didn't come out with a smile up to their ears and holding hands. They seemed to be arguing.

"I'll put my hand in the fire in a few seconds because the guy will slap him," Mitch says, laughing as he looks at the two of them.

I see the skinny blonde slap him hard on the face, turning her head completely.

"She's going to leave now," Mitch continued, as if anticipating the couple's every move.

Indeed, the girl walks away, but the man grabs her arm and turns her away. The variety continues to quarrel, vaguely hearing the girl's tickled voice screaming at him. Probably fed up with the conversation, the man hurried back and entered the club nervously, leaving the girl with his eyes "in the sun".

"Sad show," He commented, lighting a third cigarette.

I take a pack of slim cigarettes out of my envelope and light one. I watched the blonde sit on the curb and cry with her head in her hands.

I never felt the taste of love, I had a few relationships, but I didn't bother. I didn't think anyone would ever love me, after all, if I don't love myself, what can I expect from people?

"I didn't think love hurt," I say, looking at the girl as she wipes her makeup off her face.

"It hurts harder than anything," He says seriously.

“Love shouldn't hurt ... Loneliness hurts, rejection hurts, losing a person hurts, envy hurts”

“Did you list some examples, or did you say what hurts you?” he asks, looking me straight in the eye.

His question had hit me in the head, keeping my mouth wide open looking at him confused. His question was like a slap in the face.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.You've changed since I went out, what's the matter with you, Lanna?”

Mitch kept in touch, emphasizing everything with his hand over mine. I look at him confused, trying to convey a state of frustration, then I start laughing amused. Confusion had appeared instantly on his face.

“Sorry, but I remembered those cliché scenes when the guy asks the girl if she's fine-“

"She's lying to him, telling him she's fine," he continued.

“Exactly!”

"Then let's do something else, what would you tell me Maybe we won't meet again, maybe the roads will bring us back again. Maybe we will become the memory of a pleasant night. We don't know what life has in store for us. You have nothing to lose.

His realism intrigued me. It implied to me that he was open-minded. I sigh, as if without that sigh I wouldn't have had the strength to speak.

“Have you ever felt depressed?" Instead of reassuring you, does it feel like eating live? I ask, sitting down on the metal bench next to me.

“ Yes, I have moments, but all these worries have a cause.”

“ I feel like I want to break up, like me. Sadness, suffering, hot tears and annoying looks.” I say sad

"Have you ever thought we'll drive too much?" he asks in a melancholy tone.

“We think too much about everything, every look, every text.”

“Maybe we should blame ourselves, maybe we will break our hearts, but personal mistakes that are just the basis of suffering. We build the walls ourselves.”

His words seemed to caress my soul, opening my eyes to new perspectives. Is it my fault for these cruel states? For years I threw the arrows of blame on my mother.

Stubborn by nature, I did not want to attest to the fact that I could be the creator of my own agony.

I watch the sky light up, helping the sun to reveal its hot rays, indicating to me that I should go home.

"And another night has passed," he sats, looking at the beautiful sunrise painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red.

"I think I should go home," I say, taking my phone out of the envelope and ordering an uber.

"Let's smoke one more cigarette," he says, as if he doesn't want tonight to end.

His words form a smile on my face. I take out a new cigarette and hold it to my lips, and he lights it with a lighter. Our eyes meet, and for a few seconds I forgot I had to smoke.

Looking at him more closely, I noticed small scarred cuts running down his rough face. I was so curious about him. What he does, what his passions are, what brings a smile to his face. On second thought, I didn't want this night to end either.

"I know it may sound cliché, and you may already know that, but you're very beautiful," he says, lost in my eyes.

I thank him and see a blue bay parked right in front of us. Looks like my uber has arrived and will break me from this desired moment.

"Looks like my car has arrived," I say through gritted teeth.

“I really liked this night, Lanna, I hope we meet again, maybe life will last with us” he blushed sincerely kissing my hand.

"I hope so."

I say goodbye to the man who gave me the most beautiful night and I get in the car, looking nostalgically as I walk away from him.

[imaginesandideas]

That dress

requested by my dear @youthbitch 🖤 and inspired by Freakum Dress by Beyoncé and That Dress by Pale White (guess where the title came from).

summary: You’re going out to have some fun and forget about Warren. But can Warren forget you? Especially in THAT dress?

WARNINGS: some swearing, drinking, bunch of innuendos, but generally FLUFF

word count: 2337

~~~~~

“Oh miss! That jealous fool better show up then.” Jean delivered with her hands raised in a gesture of unexpected awe as she entered your dorm. You only shot her a knowing smirk and continued admiring yourself in the mirror. And it was a sight to behold.

The dress was perfect. You know that feeling when suddenly that specific dress catches your eye at the store, and then you asses it and you’re almost completely convinced until you actually try it on and then you don’t want to take it off, like, ever?

Yes. That’s the dress.

It fitted you - perfectly. As if it was tailor-made with your gorgeous self in mind. Not too short, not too tight, not too loose. You know, enough to catch some eyes but not quite as to make people gouge them out. Though you wouldn’t mind blinding some individuals with your glowing appearance.

Cause you did glow.

World seemed to come to a stop as you and Jean entered the club hand in hand, dressed to the nines. Normally you’d say it’s your redheaded friend that catches everyone’s attention. But this time it felt like your night in every sense of the word. It was your time to shine.

After all the tears you’ve shed, all the downs and less frequent ups, you’ve decided it’s high time to get over your ex and finally have some fucking fun.

Because as much as you loved Warren, his impetuous nature and excessive jealousy was slowly driving you insane. Around a week after the breakup you’ve gotten to the point where you’ve realised it was never your fault, and in fact, you’ve missed the sweet freedom of single life.

So there you were, looking drop dead gorgeous, throwing enchanting smiles in every direction.

You approached the booth you spotted your friends in, swaying your hips to the beat along the way.

“____ ! I can’t remember you being so radiant before!” Jubilee teased and you flashed your friends a smile at the compliment.

The evening was about to go better than you’d previously thought. And each praise only fuelled your confidence.

Like everyone else you’ve had better and worse days. Worse? Seemed unbearable, you couldn’t look at yourself without constantly criticising every detail, even the tiniest mistake or minor failure. It took you a long way to become the person you are. Warren - while he was still by your side, was your biggest supporter. After all he’s been through, he knew more than well how hard it is to accept yourself.

And there you were, single, bold and proud in your dream dress. And you were about to have fun. So much fun...

The club was slowly filling up with mutants, many of them unfamiliar to you. You did recognise some faces from the mansion, some of them were your friends, but others were complete strangers with their unique mutations and boldness you had yet to achieve. They had that pride emanating from them, the one that you first noticed in Raven. She has always been a role model for you in a way. And now, surrounded by people much like her you felt a rush of courage in your veins.

No more hiding. No more staying in the darkness.

After few drinks and much needed catching up with your friends in the comfort and relative privacy provided by the booth, you entered the dance floor. Dragging Jean with you.

“_____ is it necessary? I don’t think I’ve drunk enough.” She yelled over the buzzing music. You only sniggered.

“Oh please! We both know you don’t need alcohol to have some fun every once in a while. And besides - you’ve promised to have a great time with me tonight!”

“Oh fine!”

The dance floor was cramped, the bodies around you exuded heat and the energy you couldn’t describe even if you tried. Yet you felt so at home. Like you belonged there.

You made enough space for the two of you to dance in your own rhythm, occasionally twirling and pulling each other closer. Just in case if someone was close to crushing one of you.

Sometimes you’d feel unfamiliar hands on your back, or sweaty limbs grazing you. From time to time you’d feel like someone was observing you. But you didn’t really care. Not while newfound energy was pumping in your veins. You let yourself get lost in the beat, eyes closing, only music leading you.

Until you realised you’ve lost Jean in the crowd somewhere. Panic washed over you and you decided to get out of the dance floor to find a better spot to look for her. Bar could do, so you forcefully pushed your way through the gathered crowd.

Some eyes that locked with your own were distant, zoned out, as if they were somewhere else in their ecstatic state. Not to mention some wasted individuals trying to pull you to them for a dance. Their hands were mindlessly grabbing your hips and arms. But you needed to get out. It was all too much, you needed to breathe, free yourself. And find Jean.

You pushed another slow-dancing couple out of your way and sent them one more apologetic look before finally reaching the bar. You turned around to have a look around the room, but you couldn’t spot Jean. And your booth in the far back of the room was empty.

You were ready to leave at that point, just grab your purse and go. But then you heard Jean’s voice in your head telling you that she’s in another booth, sharing drinks with Scott. Screw your girls night.

And then you saw him.

Out of all people you’ve actually expected to see, he decided to show up too. For what? To spy on you? To check if you’d planned on leaving hand in hand with someone else?

And he was staring at you. Wide-eyed, paralysed like a deer in headlights just few meters away from you. And he didn’t even say a word before you were being forcefully pulled out of the room. You weren’t able to say anything either. His grip was both harsh yet careful not to cause you any pain. You kept staring at his back until he opened the door to the bathroom. Luckily for you it was empty.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

He sneered spinning around after he’s locked the door and it threw you back to the moment.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t know what I fucking mean!”

You were frowning as you leaned back on the cold counter. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything.” You exclaimed confidently to which he responded with exaggerated huff and threw his arms up in the air. “We’re not together Warren. I can do whatever I want and I don’t need no judgment from you or anyone else for that matter. Hell, I never even asked for it!”

“Then stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?!”

He kept pacing around the room, tiles echoed his steps ominously. It was clear that he was struggling to comment on that without coming off as bitter. He was bitter, but he couldn’t give you that satisfaction. Not yet.

Someone abruptly pulled by the doorknob. Unsuccessfully so the next thing you heard was loud banging at the door.

“It’s occupied dickhead!” Warren barked at the door. It worked and soon you dived back into uncomfortable silence.

It must have been minutes without a word from him, and it was becoming unbearable. You waved your hand at him.

“Hm? You’re thinking or-?”

He sighed, almost embarrassed.

“Your dress, okay?! I meant your dress! I meant the way you look, the way people look at you, the way it makes me feel.”

You were, without a doubt, completely stunned. The dress you were wearing? Well, you meant to look good but... was it really that easy to light him up?

You felt a rush of confidence in your spine. The words left your mouth much quicker than idea for his response crossed your mind. But it was too late. And really - what could you lose?

“And how exactly does it make you feel?” You teased batting your eyelashes. You could sense him tense even more, heat radiating off his body even though you were the one who’s been dancing your soul off for the past hour. He couldn’t force himself to look at you directly, though you could notice him gazing at your legs and cleavage from the corner of his eye.

Surprisingly you felt great with it. Knowing that he’s so desperate, that he’s probably watched you twirl in that dress surrounded by strangers. Strangers who were much closer to you than he was in that moment, strangers who could reach to you, who could touch you.

And where was that school-famous rebel, that local playboy you used to long for so badly? He was gone, barely standing straight in your breathtaking glow. Almost on his knees, and you were pretty sure that soon enough you could make him bow.

“I don’t like you like this.”

“Why?” You asked straightening your posture. You’d break him, you just needed him to admit it.

“Makes me jealous. Makes me want to push all those morons out of my way and take you home. Makes me want to rip it off you and you’re not even mine anymore.”

The thought itself made you bite your lip. You’ve missed that sweet mix of his protective nature and raw lust. You’ve missed that possessiveness of his. Cause no matter how often you two would fight because of it, he could always persuade you with his pretty eyes and sweet promises of change.

Now you had him in your pocket. And it felt glorious.

“Rip it off? Why?” You quietly spoked as you walked up to him. He looked up at an instant sensing the change in your attitude. Soon he was grinning, only a thin of coyness left between you and him.

“Cause I know what’s underneath and I miss it.” Very smooth, you thought.

“Is that so? You think you still deserve it?”

“I can work for it!” He spoke straightening his whole posture. “I’ll earn it. I’ll earn YOU back. Just give me a chance _____. Please!”

He was pretty much begging now. So close to dropping to his knees and kissing his way up to your forgiveness. And then he actually did, his wings spreading behind his back like a blockade for you to stay.

“Please _____. I’m sorry, I’ve been a fucking moron but please let me prove you that I’ve changed.” He was kneeling down at your feet and as much as it surprised you, it felt absolutely terrific. His hands delicately skimmed up and down your legs, his eyes shining with hope as he admired you. A goddess.

You’ve missed those hands, and eyes... and him.

And as much as it was empowering to watch him collapse at your feet begging, you’ve felt like it was enough.

“So? Please?”

“First of all, stand up. I don’t like to feel like a tower.” You sighed defeated and he stood up as if on command. “Second, you I’m not going to promise you anything, at least for now. But I can give you that one more chance.”

His smile grew impossibly wide, emphasising the adorable blush on his cheeks.

“Shit, can I kiss you now? I can’t wait any longer.”

“Well, I’d like that.” You answered with a click of your tongue and he responded immediately closing the gap between you, making you gasp.

“My tigress.” He growled before grabbing you by the hips and kissing you ferociously. It felt so needy, so raw you could barely stand on your feet as he firmly pulled you to him. He kept sucking the air out of your lungs, grasping at your curves as you wrapped your hands tightly around his neck. Suddenly he picked you up and spun you around which made you detach from his lips and squeal.

“Put me down! Warren!”

“Alright, alright! Everything for the princess.” He joked which earned him a small punch in the arm. As much as you enjoyed all different kinds of fun with Warren, wet bathroom tiles weren’t exactly a good spot for it. Though you kept your hands where you liked them the most. Around that gorgeous neck of his.

“Where did the tigress go now, huh?” You continued your frisky game, only a bit softened by the princess nickname.

“Oh she’s still there. I could see her claws and fangs from afar. Swaying her hips like a goddess on that dance floor.” You leaned away from him enough to take his entire face in and eyed him suspiciously.

“Is that why you showed up?”

“Well...” His cheeks flushed as his neck slowly started turning red, accentuating the veins on his neck. He tried looking away but he knew it was pointless with you pretty much still in his arms. “I wanted to get you back. So, that, and umm... You wearing that dress really makes me, uhh, sensitive.”

“Oh! Okay. So I guess I’ll need to stop wearing it, I don’t want you walking around-“

“No no!”

He reacted so quickly you didn’t even get a chance to put the pieces together. But lucky for you, for once he did not leave you hanging.

“I mean, you can wear it. But... maybe not when we go to more official events together? Or you can just wear it inside my dorm maybe?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Could be. Only if you promise not to hate me if the dress gets wrinkled on the floor.” He said winking at you with lust beaming from his azure eyes. He held his arm out for you before he opened the door. The booming music of the club entered your ears momentarily. There was also a long queue of people complaining outside the restroom. But you did not mind, not when your plans for the night and the future were clearing up.

~~~~~

Comments, ideas and words of notice are always appreciated 💜

Warren taglist: @thesecondlastjedi @fourmisfitz @shae-is-not-ok @simplyvictoria-93 @rockyroadthepastryarchy @hisatumb @samantha-is-fandom-trash @ziamhathrisen @silvver-rose @whatthefluffrichard @mcrmarvelloki

LMK if you want to be on/off the taglist 🙌

[adanfourty]

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

..

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Mr. Grinch

A/N: On the 4th day of Christmas there is no true love. Oops. 

Warning: this is not a happy tale. 

Word Count: 1,890 (at least its short.) 

Prompt from: Anon 

“When did you become such a grinch?”

“White Christmas, white lie...same thing, right?” 

Billy tapped his trigger finger on his desk impatiently. This is all bullshit. His secretary stood in front of him listing off all of the appointments and meetings that she scheduled for him that week. Most of the things that she handled for him were, in fact, bullshit. Things like haircuts and suit fittings, RSVPs to all sorts of events, sending flowers and other garbage when the occasion called for it. He still made all of the appointments that mattered to the business, trusting no one but himself with the most important things. The tapping steadily increased as she mentioned internship interviews. Billy cringed, recalling the last round of all too eager students that had interned in the offices at ANVIL. ‘Nother buncha ass kissers. “Move that to after the holidays,” he made a dismissive gesture with the hand he’d been tapping, sending an obscenely overpriced fountain pen tumbling from its holder. 

 His secretary nodded, unfazed by the way he’d cut her off mid list. “No problem Mr. Russo, does January 10th work?” 

 Billy fixed the pen and leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Yeah, sure. Listen, Amy, there anything on that list that I actually need to know about?” He pointed to the sheet of paper in her hands, lifting one eyebrow. 

 Amy scanned the rest of the items. “Just the fundraiser. I need to know if you’re going this year.” 

 Billy swallowed, a chill flooding his veins, crashing through him like an angry ocean wave. “I can’t make it.” The sound of ecstatic, youthful laughter and cheerful holiday tunes crept in from the corners of his memory.  

 “But I haven’t even told you when it is,” Amy pushed. 

 “Look, I’m not goin’, Amy, no matter when it is.” I can’t. Not that one. He blinked, a banner and wreaths, bright reds and holly greens flashing through his mind. 

 Amy clicked her tongue, crossing the Toys for Tots fundraiser off her list. “Just send a check, then?” She asked in a curt tone that she wouldn’t get away with if her ass didn’t look so good in that skirt. Billy nodded silently. “When did you become such a grinch?” She looked up from her list and was taken aback by the shadows in his eyes. 

 “Just the way I am, sweetheart. Now,” he pointed to the paper she held. “That all?” 

 Amy straightened up, narrowing her stance and drawing herself up to her full height. “Yes, sir, that’s all.” 

 “Great,” Billy responded, hitting the hard T sound with added emphasis. “You can go.” 

 She scoffed under her breath as she turned and left his office. Gotta find a new secretary. Put that on your fuckin’ list, Amy. Billy stood abruptly from behind his desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. In three long, quick strides, he reached the door and closed it with a little more force than necessary, locking it before returning to his desk.

 He smoothed one palm slowly over his hair as he sat back down in the black leather chair, opening the bottom drawer. Pushing the hanging files forward, he opened the hidden compartment in the drawer and reached in for the small stack of items that not a soul in the world knew existed. I wasn’t always this way… He rifled through the notes and photos until he found the one that he was looking for, dropping the rest back into the compartment. Slumping against the backrest, he held the photo, falling back into the memory, the sounds and images that he’d chased away before slicing their way back in. He swiped his thumb over the glossy surface, his own face grinning back at him with Lisa on his shoulders. Frank had Jr. upside-down, the boy’s surprised glee frozen in time while Maria stood between the men, her arms wrapped around their waists and her mouth open in a hearty laugh. I’m so sorry, Frankie…

 Billy sighed, letting the photo flutter down to his desk before hanging his head in his hands and letting the barrage run its course. 

                                         “Thanks again for doin’ this, Bill. I know it’s not really your thing but the kids are gonna lose their shit when they see you here.” Frank clapped Billy on the shoulder as the two men entered the school gymnasium. Wreaths and lights had been hung around the room, and long tables with red tablecloths had been set up, transforming the basketball courts into a holiday bonanza. A large banner emblazoned with the Toys for Tots logo, a cheerful train full of gifts, took up most of one wall, and festive music filled the air. A few volunteers from the school were setting up a snack table with cookies and beverages, candy canes and chocolates.  

 Billy tugged at the bottom of his jacket. The starchy dress blues always felt too formal for his liking. “Ah, it’s no problem Frankie, I can suck it up for one afternoon.” He sniffed, looking over the room as more volunteers brought in big empty boxes covered in patterned wrapping paper. Guess they’re expectin’ a big turn out… lots’a donations...that’s good. “‘Sides,” he turned to Frank, using the back of one white gloved hand to smack his brother in the chest. “We’ll just add it to the list of things you owe me for.” He winked and grinned, knowing that neither of them kept track of what was owed or promised. 

 Frank’s booming laugh drowned out the chorus of Silver Bells as the two of them took their place by the table under the banner. “Oh I owe you, huh? Okay.” He passed Billy a red velvet bundle. “Put your hat on, Santa, I’ll buy you a beer after this.” 

 “Oh c’mon,” Billy complained as he unfurled the pointed red hat, complete with a puffy white ball on the end. “Really?” He held it up between his pointer finger and thumb, letting it dangle in disgust. 

 “Yeah, really,” Frank laughed. “It’s part of the whole thing. Don’t be a grinch.” 

 “Fine.” Billy pulled the hat over his head, hair shifting out of place as he did. “But this ain’t for you. It’s for those kids’a yours that can’t actually be yours cause’a how smart they are.”

 “Alright, Saint Bill. You’re a real martyr.” 

 But before Billy could come back with a crude or witty remark, the doors from the school hallway opened and a stream of kids of all ages poured in, their eyes going wide at the sweets and decorations. One voice rang out, clear as day, and Frank and Billy both turned toward it at the same time.

 “That’s my dad, and that’s my uncle Billy,” Lisa proudly pointed out Frank and Billy to her friends through a smile full of metal wires and red and green rubber bands. Maria and two other moms who had volunteered to help run the event followed closely behind their excited children, trying to herd them to the tables they’d been assigned to to help collect and sort the toys that would be donated before the party portion of the event got underway. Billy caught Maria blowing a kiss over to Frank before a flash of green under a mop of dark hair came hurtling at the two men. 

 “Dad! Uncle Billy!” Jr. launched himself at his father before doing the same to Billy. “Uncle Billy! I didn’t know you were coming too!” He turned to his classmates. “Guys, this is my uncle!” 

 Frank chuckled. “See, told you. I’m invisible when Uncle Bill’s around.” 

 Lisa made her way over to them with more restraint than her younger brother, but the excitement to see both of them was clear as day. “Hi Dad,” she hugged Frank and didn’t squirm when he kissed the top of her head in front of her friends. “Hi Uncle Billy,” she wrapped her skinny little arms around Billy’s waist, hugging tightly. “I gotta go help at the tables,” she said, pulling away and setting her immature features into an all too mature expression. “But will you stay for the party?” 

 “Yeah, Uncle Billy,” Maria had finally made her way over, leaning in to kiss her husband on the cheek. “Will you stay for the party?”           She reached over and squeezed Billy’s shoulder with a smile. 

 That had been the first year that he signed up to represent their unit for the Toys for Tots drive at the Castle kids’ school. At first he’d been hesitant, having only ever been on the receiving end of those coat and toy drives, and not quite sure that he really wanted to be part of it at all. But the way that Lisa and Frank Jr. had lit up like Christmas lights just to know that he was there changed everything. Billy didn’t like kids, and he had no desire to have his own. But Frank’s kids were different. They were his family, and he found that he was just as much a sucker for them as Frank was. That was the first, but he’d gone to two more of those events during the years that he and Frank were home around the holidays, and he actually found himself looking forward to the event. 

 Until everything changed. Until I fucking destroyed everything. 

 Billy had generally made peace with the fact that he’d sold his soul on the cheap. For most of the year, he could tuck his guilt away, hide it under expensive suits, distract from it with flashy cars and government contracts. But Christmas brought it back to light. I can never go to one of those things again. Wouldn’t be right… But ANVIL was a company owned and largely operated by former members of the US Marine Corp- a highly successful company- and as such, he needed to support Toys for Tots. “Anything for good publicity”, his people had told him.

 He opened his top drawer and pulled out a black monogrammed note card, a large W.R. embossed in gold. Reaching for the pen he’d knocked askew earlier, he began to write. 

 Please know that while I would love to be there in person to support this year’s toy drive, my business is taking me out of the city until after the new year. As always, ANVIL is happy to support your wonderful work. I hope that this donation makes a lot of kids happy. 

 He signed it, his signature digging into the paper, before standing back up, fixing the knot in his tie and re-buttoning his jacket. Opening his office door, he leaned around the frame and called for his secretary, tapping the note card twice on the hinges. She appeared seconds later, wordlessly. 

 Handing her the note, he told her to send that with the check for Toys for Tots, adding that she should double the normal donation this year. She read his neatly written words and looked back up at him. “Out of the city?” 

 Billy gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “White Christmas, white lie...same thing, right?” 

 Amy barely controlled her distaste for her employer. “Sure, sir. Same thing.” She turned on her heel and headed for the finance office to have the check cut. 

Billy returned to his desk and sat down with the photo. “It’s not the same thing,” he sighed, feeling no extra warmth from his charitable giving. “Not even close.”  

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @gollyderek​ @thesumofmychoices​ @obscurilicious​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​ @jigsawlover10​ @getlostinyourparadise​ @breanime​ @nananananananananananabatman​ @lexxierave​ @songforhema​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​ @lysawayne​  @ymariejp​ @belladonnarey​ @audreychaz​ @songtoyou​ @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3​ @ificouldhelpyouforget​

[lnhumanity]

an agents of shield playlist in chronological order from pre-series, up until the end of season 6 / beginning of season 7.

listen to it here!

song explanations under the cut. warning that its very long, i have a lot of thoughts

01. Two Birds - Regina Spektor

Two birds on a wire / One tries to fly away / And the other watches him close from that wire / He says he wants to as well / But he is a liar

Relating both to May & Coulson after Bahrain, with Coulson trying to help May return to the field, but May refusing, and FitzSimmons immediately pre-season, with Simmons excitement about going into the field contrasted to Fitz’s hesitance, but over-all desire to stay with her.

02. Small - Chloe Moriondo

And I'm suddenly not interested in / whatever the rest of the world has to offer so / I drown facedown in my head and feel my state start to alter cause / You / Because you

After FZZT, Fitz realising that he has romantic feelings towards Simmons.

03. Saturn - Sleeping At Last

With shortness of breath, I'll explain the infinite / How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

FitzSimmons in the med pod under the ocean, with Simmons talking about the first law of thermodynamics.

04. Evaporate - Gabrielle Aplin

Flesh and bone wrapped up in skin / Kept alive by oxygen / But right now breathing is so tough

During the S1/2 hiatus, Fitz starting his recovery and relying on Simmons, while Simmons suffers from PTSD and decides to leave due to her guilt.

05. Waves - Chloe Moriondo

Sometimes I feel like I wanna go back / To a time before my mind turned black / I miss the way it was / When instead of just my gooey brains / All that melted was popsicles and the rain just pelted down / Down on me

Fitz coping with his brain injury after Simmons left.

06. Anybody Out There - Gabrielle Aplin

You never told me why you had to leave / I always thought that you'd come back for me / I'm tired of getting people's sympathy / I know I'd make it back eventually

Fitz coping with Simmons leaving.

07. Hiding In Your Hands - Dear Evan Hansen

Look at her, a total trainwreck / Let her off this ride / Lift her out from all the pain / She tells herself she needs to hide

Simmons after the med pod, hiding her trauma in her music box and convincing others that she’s fine.

08. Just Add Water - Cavetown

Please don't invite me, please don't invite me / I wanna be alone, I wanna be alone / And don't remind me, please don't remind me / I don't wanna know, I don't wanna know

Fitz isolating himself from the rest of the team at the beginning of S2.

09. King and Lionheart - Of Monsters And Men

And in the sea that's painted black / Creatures lurk below the deck / But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart

Coulson leading SHIELD as the new director, while May supports him in the field.

10. New River - The Oh Hellos

Well, it'll rain for forty days and nights, / and nothing you do can slow the rising tides / But the river takes her shape from every tempest she abides / And like her, you'll be made new again

Raina and Daisy undergoing terrigenesis, and later being accepted into Afterlife.

11. Earth - Sleeping At Last

Fault lines tremble underneath our glass house / But I put it out of my mind / Long enough to call it courage / To live without a lifeline

Daisy becoming an Inhuman, contrasted with May during and after Bahrain. (So, basically, the episode ‘Melinda’).

12. Wolf - First Aid Kit

Wolf-father, at the door / You don't smile anymore / You're a drifter, shape-shifter / Let me see you run, hey-ya hey-ya

May & Coulson dealing with Gonzalez’s SHIELD while Daisy is hiding from SHIELD at Afterlife.

13. Storm Song - PHILDEL

I'll send a storm / to capture your heart / and bring you home.

FitzSimmons during their countless separations, but specifically put this early in the playlist for Maveth, and Fitz searching for Simmons during the S2/3 hiatus.

14. Spaceland - Chloe Moriondo

Sometimes overthinking can feel like more than overthinking / It's like I'm trapped in spaceland and I'm not coming back

Simmons trapped on Maveth, reflecting on everything that’s happened.

15. Neptune - Sleeping At Last

I'm only honest when it rains / If I time it right, the thunder breaks / When I open my mouth / I wanna tell you but I don't know how

Simmons after returning from Maveth, before she tells Fitz about Will.

16. Yellow Light - Of Monsters And Men

Somewhere deep in the dark / A howling beast hears us talk

Simmons on Maveth with Will.

17. The Currents - Bastille

We're living in the currents you create / We're sinking in the pool of your mistakes / So stub it out, your podium awaits

The team with regards to Ward about all of the tragedies that he’s caused, the impact he’s had on them, and their impending doom with him bringing Hive to Earth.

18. Bad Bad Things - AJJ

And I got to thinking / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / Might go to Heaven, but probably not

Ward killing Roz, torturing Simmons, and dying on Maveth.

19. Blame - Bastille

Fall upon your knees saying / "This is my body and soul here" / Fall and begging, pleading / "You've got the power and control"

Hive and his control over Inhumans.

20. The Last Time - The Script

Why's it so hard to look me in the eye? / Playing with that cross that's on your chain / I know you only ever bite your lip / When it's something you're afraid to say

Lincoln’s sacrifice.

21. Meet Me In The Woods - Lord Huron

I took a little journey to the unknown / And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones / I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see / Now the darkness got a hold on me / Holy darkness got a hold on me

Daisy after being released from Hive’s sway, and dealing with the fallout of Lincoln’s sacrifice.

22. ¿Viva La Gloria? (Little Girl) - Green Day

Little girl, little girl, why are you crying? / Inside your restless soul your heart is dying

Daisy during the S3/4 hiatus, running away from SHIELD.

23. Pluto - Sleeping At Last

Until one day I had enough / Of this exercise of trust. / I leaned in and let it hurt, / And let my body feel the dirt.

Daisy returning to SHIELD.

24. The Steven Bradley - Ghost Bear

My, oh my / you look as good as the day you died! / Oh, who am I kidding? / You look even more alive!

Radcliffe stealing the Darkhold and putting the dying Agnes into the Framework.

25. We Forgot We Were Human - Dirt Poor Robins

So tell me, what do we need with the sun? / Now we have an electric one / To melt every shadow away / Turn the night into day

AIDA and the other LMDs concluding that physical bodies don’t matter when someone’s consciousness has been uploaded into the Framework.

26. Squares - Stepdad

Thinking happy thoughts will fix it oh-no no-no oh-oh uh-oh / Where did I go wrong I guess I don't know whoa-oh uh-oh oh-oh / I'll just go on kidding myself and everything will work itself out

Radcliffe in the Framework, realising the mistakes that he’s made but being unable to do anything about it.

27. Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control - Tame Impala

Nothing that has happened so far / Has been anything we could control

Daisy and Simmons fighting back against the LMDs and entering the Framework.

28. Turn The Lights Off - Tally Hall

Everybody likes to get taken for turns / To see how bright the fire inside of us burns / And everybody wants to get evil tonight / But all good devils masquerade under the light

Daisy and Simmons finding out that HYDRA are in control inside the Framework, and seeing what May and Fitz had turned into.

29. Willow Tree March - The Paper Kites

And we all still die / Yeah we all still die / What will you leave behind? / Oh we all still die

Agnes, Mace, Hope and Radcliffe’s deaths, and their impacts on the team.

30. Cabinet Man - Lemon Demon

You can't win me, I can't be beat / I won't hurt you unless you cheat / You can't see me behind the screen / I'm half human and half machine

AIDA becoming a human, and fighting back using her new Inhuman powers, ending with her being killed by the Spirit of Vengeance.

31. Lethargy - Bastille

There's an English man up in space these days / Floating in awe and wonder / As he broke away from the atmosphere / And all of us non-believers

The team arriving at the future Lighthouse, and meeting Deke.

32. Warmth Outro - Bastille

Never good, still the bad and the ugly / Laid in front of us / Clearly we've learned nothing at all / From the TV's window

The remainder of the team during the loop, where they failed to save the Earth.

33. Cutie Boots - Stepdad

I wanna hold you til' it feels like it's been long enough to stop saying I miss you, stop saying I miss you

FitzSimmons reunion in the future Lighthouse.

34. Venus - Sleeping At Last

After a while, I thought I'd never find you. / I convinced myself that I would never find you, / When suddenly I saw you.

FitzSimmons wedding.

35. Stagnant - Chloe Moriondo

I don't know why I'm mean to everyone I love / It's hard to try to communicate / With darkness inside my head / Filling my lungs

Fitz, leading up to his breakdown.

36. The Driver - Bastille

There was a time when a moment like this / Wouldn't ever cross my mind / The sun will rise with my name on your lips / 'Cause everything will change tonight

The Devil Complex.

37. A Dark Design - Among Savages

Oh, there is not a God in heaven that wants to see us fighting this way / Oh, He spoke more about loving than people trying to make people change

The team fighting during S5.

38. Shame - Bastille

I can see a change / I can see a change in you / I see it coursing through your veins / And it is a shame / It is a shame on you / I barely recognize your face

The team continuing to fight - especially Daisy towards Fitz, and Daisy and Yo-Yo after Yo-Yo kills Ruby.

39. Terrified - Among Savages

Cause I'm terrified and I'm ruined by this mess / Cause I needed you more than I needed what was best

FitzSimmons refusing to let each other die & fixing the Gravitonium machine.

40. Icarus - Bastille

Icarus is flying too close to the sun / And Icarus's life, it has only just begun / This is how it feels to take a fall / Icarus is flying towards an early grave

Fitz during S5.

41. Bad Moon Rising - Credence Clearwater Revival

I see a bad moon a-rising / I see trouble on the way / I see earthquakes and lightnin' / I see bad times today

The final battle between Daisy and Graviton.

42. A Sadness Runs Through Him - The Hoosiers

Turn back the time that drew him / But he couldn't be saved / No he couldn't be saved / A sadness runs through him

Fitz’s death.

43. Carry On - fun.

Woah, my head is on fire but my legs are fine / After all, they are mine

The aftermath of the battle.

44. Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from you / And we'll live a long life

Coulson’s retirement party.

45. Good Grief - Bastille

Every minute and every hour / I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more / Every stumble and each misfire / I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more

Daisy and May’s reaction to Coulson’s death, and Simmons’s reaction to Fitz’s death.

46. Tic Toc - Mother Mother

Big hand, little hand, no hand, slow hand / Sitting in my hand is the sand of a shattered hour glass / And I throw these grains of sand into the wind and laugh / And I do not care just what they'll have to say about that

Simmons realising that there’s another Fitz out there, and her determination to bring him home.

47. Happier - Marshmello

Then only for a minute / I want to change my mind / 'Cause this just don't feel right to me / I want to raise your spirits / I want to see you smile but / Know that means I'll have to leave

Yo-Yo and Mack’s break up during the S5/6 hiatus.

48. Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men

Some hid scars and some hid scratches / It made me wonder about their past / And as I looked around, I began to notice / That we were nothing like the rest

The Zephyr team searching for Fitz, while Fitz and Enoch try to get to Naro-Atzia, during the S5/6 hiatus.

49. The World Ender - Lord Huron

I had a life and a place in the world / I had a sweet talkin' wife and a beautiful girl / I know I'm never gonna see 'em again / Gonna tear the world up until I have my revenge

Sarge hunting for Izel.

50. Spaceman - The Killers

The star maker says, it ain't so bad / The dream maker's going make you mad / The spaceman says, everybody look down / It's all in your mind

S6 as a whole, starting with Fitz in space, and ending with Simmons taking the team to the future, including Izel’s body hopping and Davis’s death.

51. Smile - Mikky Ekko

Smile, the worst is yet to come / We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun / Got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while / But the future is forgiven so smile

The team heading off to stop the Chronicom and save their future.

[mysteli]

someone you loved (chris x mc)

A/N: ok so I’m not really sure how to label this fic but it’s angsty most of the time so let’s go with that. just had a really emotional idea and needed to get it out there

Warning: Angst

Recommended music: someone you loved by lewis capaldi

Words: 3675

PERMA TAG LIST: @brightpinkpeppercorn​@cocomaxley​@hopefulmoonobject@alesana45 @jellybean-marshmellow@mymandrake@regrettingnathan@dobie2112@princessstellaris@mechaspirit@skyila @mind-reader1  @xo-endlessmayhem-xo@sakaily@justboredtrash@regina-and-happiness@annekebbphotography. @endlessly-searching-for-you@reginasayeed@abbiebishops@zigortega4life@eileendannie@diamondoasis@speedyoperarascalparty@emomoustache@lostlightningbug@endlesstaylormckenzie @alekai-sayeed@akrenich@vickypoo91@nitta-jaeguet@femmeshep @hayden-park@mkatschoicesblog

This fic: @flowerpowell @eadanga @choicesfan44 @chris-powells-girl @am-i-invisible777 @the-soot-sprite @maxattack-powell

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! 💗and let me know if the tags work because Tumblr is acting up.

Summary: When Chris receives some dreaded news, distant regrets finally come to haunt him and not even Aria is sure she can help him recover

Masterlist

THE COLLEGE YEARS FAN FICTION SOMEONE YOU LOVED

Bombarded by the weight of the shopping bags in her grasp, Aria stumbles into the apartment, sweat greasing her forehead as she releases a sigh of relief, happy to finally be back home. She enters the apartment, shutting the door and dropping the bags on the nearest counter. She’s been out of college for about two years now, her and Chris have been having an enjoyable life so far and they expect good things in their future. In fact, they do have much to look forward to, with their wedding date finally in tact and they’re set to wed in six months time. Of course, Aria is thrilled she can finally unite officially with the love of her life. It’s truly a dream come true for her and Chris and she suspects their life together can only get more amazing from here.

Scanning the apartment carefully, Aria searches for her boyfriend of over six years. Well, fiancé really and for some reason, she still finds that overwhelming to say. Brushing off her sudden nerves, her face lights up for a second when she spots Chris on the couch but then the excitement dies immediately at his damaged demeanour. He’s positioned on the couch, his hands clenched into fists and his expression as blank as they come. A conflict is clearly playing out on his features, almost as if he’s trying fill the empty spaces in his mind. However, his sapphire eyes drop the idea that he’s also about to over-flood with tears. In his current state, not even Aria can tell what he’s thinking. 

With comforting intentions, Aria tries to make her presence known to Chris by tapping her feet more loudly against the floor as she approaches him. Problem is, he doesn’t look up, his eyes burning into the floorboards but it’s obvious he still knows she’s there. A deep sigh practically falls out of his mouth like it’s nothing and Aria runs a hand through her dark brown hair, unsure what to do for a moment.

In the end, she decides to play this out like she usually would when Chris is down. Warily, she takes a seat beside him on the couch and wraps her arms around his shoulders. This usually gives him a wake up call and his body reacts to her touch the way it usually would. Chris’ breath hitches a little but his body only seems to tense up even more, his gaze never daring to tear away from its position on the floor.

It’s almost like Chris is in a whole other world. Upon that, Aria leans in so her mouth is hovering near his ear, her heavier breathing grazing the skin. Only now does she realise how much he’s shaking. Who knows how long he’s been this paralysed and irresponsive? Hell, the more important wonder is what made him this way? Aria has never seen Chris in an emotional state as severe as this before. For once, she doesn’t exactly know how to help him.

Aria plays out her first words in her head a few times, planning them out as carefully as she can. She knows how delicate Chris’ feelings can be when he’s in a similar state like this but Aria can actually sense more risk to what she could say than normal.

With that, she takes a shot in the dark and speaks. “Chris...” is all she manages to say, her voice a mere whisper and so quiet that the rest of her words she planned to say aren’t even able to leave her mouth. 

Chris remains still, causing Aria to drift her arm over his shoulder and around his neck, stroking the skin of his collarbone but he barely reacts, tilting his head ever so lightly that she manages to catch a glimpse of the pain hidden in his sapphire eyes. 

“Chris.” Aria tries again, more firmly this time and Chris just so happens to look up on this attempt, now staring forward now and it’s becoming more obvious that he’s trying to avoid his girlfriend’s gaze, knowing his vulnerability will immediately fall out of him if he does.

Annoyance edges towards Aria’s veins and she moves her hand further up Chris’ neck until its gripping his chin. She tilts his face to look directly in her hazel eyes and she’s almost shocked by the amount of depression trapped inside his pupils. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to sustain his composure and keep all the tears of his negative emotions locked away. But Aria knows how to break that defence system. It’s one of the reasons why she’s so necessary too him. 

“Baby... what’s wrong?” Aria transitions her tone into something more soft, loosening the firmness of her grasp of his chin and trailing one finger of his jaw, changing directions a few times but entwining both hands behind his neck. 

Chris refuses to respond, showing his denial by shaking his head at her as idly as possible. “I... I don’t wanna talk about it.” Despite his dismissive response, Aria is still relieved to hear him speak for the first time after this unbearable silence. 

“Chris... you’re shaking. What happened?” Aria asks in her usual gentle tone that comes so easy to her now and she knows when and how to use it. Every time it proves affective. She knows her care by massaging the skin at the back of Chris’ neck and leaning in to plant a soft kiss to his cheek. He’s slightly soothed by her touch and he bites her lower lip nervously.

“...It’s just some news I got today but... you don’t need to worry about it. It probably shouldn’t matter anyway.” Chris points out but it’s almost like he’s trying to reason with himself rather than Aria, who can easily argue that he’s stretching the truth, especially as his eyes water with clear depression. Perhaps even... grief. 

“Babe, if it’s hurting you, then it fucking matters.” Aria counters, cupping his cheek comfortingly and running a hand through his hair. Her fingertips graze the skin of his face and she knocks their foreheads together tenderly and looks Chris dead in the eyes, forming a solemness she rarely ever uses. “Tell me what’s going on, Chris. Please... you’re starting to scare me.”

With that, Chris senses his denial slowly slipping away, as does his collectiveness. The walls he built start to crumble and he grips onto the hand Aria has moved to rest on his shoulder so desperately that it’s like he needs a sudden source of extra support for what he’s about to reveal. Courage is what he doesn’t have much of at this time but he’s got no more energy to push away the love of his life.

“...It’s my dad.” Chris hints, startling Aria at the mention of such a distant memory. She leans away from him and eyes him with an understandable confusion, not sure why such a man would become a conversation topic after all this time trying to forget him.

“Your... dad?” A lightbulb suddenly goes off in Aria’s head. “Wait... he’s not back again, is he? Not after four goddamn years? Chris, it shouldn’t even be a question if he’s asked for your forgiveness again. You owe that man nothing.”

Chris shakes his head at her assumption, more tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “See, the thing is... I don’t think he’ll ever have a chance to come back now because he’s...” He trails off, not enough strength built up to want to finally admit it out loud, especially to himself. With that, Chris reaches his breaking point and a river explodes down his features, causing Aria to grasp him as quickly as she can and let him pour out his heart and soul into her shoulder. She’s not even affected by the fact that he’s soaking her shirt right now. In a situation like this, who would have the courtesy to care about such a meaningless thing when someone else is put under such emotional torture like this?

Aria hasn’t even had a moment to process the news, even as she cradles her fiancé in her arms and buries her face in his hair, stroking his back and easing his heavy breaths as a rare vulnerability sparks within him. Can this really be true? Is it possible that after all this time... Chris’ father is really... gone? It’s guaranteed that this would kill Chris the most inside because it’s his father and he’s the one who tried so hard to see the good in who was obviously a lost cause to begin with? Chris never wanted to see his own father as a bad man and if he did, he’d never forgive himself.

Chris barely remembers the last time he saw his dad. During sophomore year, when he turned him away and told him to never come back, completely distancing himself from the past pain and focusing on the present. If he could go back in time and make a different decision, he’d honestly do the same thing but maybe not shut his dad out as quickly as he did.

None of that matters anyway because all his mind holds is regrets. Regrets that could easily have been hiding out until this day finally came and they are prepared to ruin Chris’ state of mind and being his guilt levels to the peak. 

After a tense silence, with only the sound of Chris’ pained sobs being heard, he finally lifts his head but doesn’t remove his gaze from the floor. His hand roams back and forth along Aria’s arm and she can’t help but let out a breathy sigh at the impact on his touch. He’s almost comforted by the sound and he grazes his hand from her wrist all the way to her fingertips, his touch light and gentle. Tears begin to dry on his cheeks and Aria can tell he’s trying to distract himself from the agony exploding inside of him. He’s looking for a way to escape it, not willing to accept there isn’t a way out.

With that, Aria cups his face and forces him to look at her, her hands carefully outlining his fallen features and sympathising with him in every way possible. “Baby... I’m so sorry.” She finally whispers, joining their foreheads and her reassuring intentions instantly shine through and Chris knows he should be grateful. He shudders when she entwines their fingers and tugs his lower lip between his teeth. He falls into a state of contemplation and Aria can practically see the debate playing out in her fiancé’s mind. “...How did it happen?” 

Chris sucks in a sharp breath before he dares to ask, seeming as though he’s looking through Aria rather than at her. “...Car crash. He died on the way to the hospital. The hospital are the ones who called me.” He struggles and stutters as he speaks but he’s relieved when he finally gets the right words out. So many emotions are swirling around his mind and he can’t even really choose one to label what he’s feeling right now. It isn’t describable. When a significant part enters his mind, Chris hangs his head and tears swell in his eyes again. “The worst part is... they told me that... my dad was asking for me in the ambulance... and he wanted them to tell me that... he was on his way back to Hartfeld to... make things right.” With that, Chris almost breaks down again, barely able to maintain his composure and Aria swiftly wraps him in a hug, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Chris... you know this isn’t your fault, right? Your dad made the mistakes he did and maybe he just had his wake up call too late.” Aria tries to be honest with Chris, even if the truth can be brutal at times. He always appreciates honesty.

Chris glances up and nods with determination. “Yeah. You’re probably right but... he did still try to make things right. And that... cost him his life.” It’s painfully clear that Chris is trying to avoid placing the blame of his deceased father and torturing himself with the guilt himself. But Aria won’t let him think for a second that any of this is his fault. Because it’s impossible for it to be.

“Baby, no.” Aria tells him firmly, leaning away from the hug and eyeing him dead in the eyes once more, making sure he processes every single word she says. “This isn’t your fault. You had no control over this. No one did. It was just an accident that shouldn’t have happened... but it did. And we have to focus on the reality, ok? I’m sorry if I’m pressuring you but... you’ve just gotta admit it to yourself.” 

Chris exhales sharply, understanding what she’s saying but doubting his own ability to complete it. “What if I can’t do that? What if my father wants me to just live in denial?”

“Why would your father want you to pause your entire life only to hold off remembering him? I’m sure he’d want you to honour his memory by being the successful man your dad always dreamed you’d become.” Aria assures, moving off the couch and positioning herself on the floor, on her knees, facing Chris and forcing him to look her in the eyes again. She notices how her words are affecting him but she can’t tell if it’s a positive or negative reaction. It’s like he understands but he still refuses to let it sink in.

“Maybe but... what if I can’t honour his memory? I mean... maybe I shouldn’t be too worried about what my dad would think of me if he actually got to me and never... crashed.” 

“I’m sure he’d be so proud of you seeing the man you’re becoming.” Aria whispers, planting a slow, sweet kiss on his lips and letting it linger but he barely returns it, as much as he wants to show more agreement. 

“But... I feel like my dad always expected the most of me, even if he wasn’t around for half my life. I always had a voice telling me to make him proud, no matter how angry I was at him. That voice started getting louder when he left in Sophomore year. For the second time, I felt like the burden of having his approval came back and I... I haven’t been able to get rid of it.” Chris pours out his heart and soul as he speaks, as Aria rests her hands on his thighs and scoots closer to him, studying the pain in his muffled expression intently. Strands of his light brown is falling over his sapphire eyes and the glow that once lied within them is almost completely gone, taken over by an unavoidable amount of grief that could be seen from a mile away. 

No matter how much his words deny it, his expression says it all.

“I love you. Your mother loves you. Your siblings love you. Your friends love you. And I know, your father loved you, more than anything. That’s why he kept coming back because he wanted you to be the man that he never had the chance to be because of the mistakes he made and he doesn’t want you making the same ones. So listen to me...” Aria cups Chris’ face and leans in so their foreheads knock together. “The first step is getting through this process, ok? You just lost a parent. That’s a huge deal and I want you to take it in, process it... and accept it. Please... I don’t want this denial hanging over your shoulders. I get that it’s hard but... it’ll help you take a step closer to closure. I promise.” 

Chris remains still for a moment, running a hand through his hair out of stress and entwining his hands at the back of his neck. He really wants to believe Aria when she says time will heal the wounds of grief but at the same time, Chris has never been the type to live with pain so easily. He’s a dismissive type of person and he would never want to admit the loss he’s experienced today. It’s just too huge.

Aria hangs her head sheepishly when Chris stays silent for a long time. After a long moment of contemplation, she lifts her head and releases a soft exhale, slight hesitancy filling her tone the next time she speaks. “Chris... I just want you to know that if this is too hard for you... we can postpone the wedding until you...” Aria trails off, uncertain what else to say as her own eyes overwhelm with tears. She’s willing to do anything to make Chris’ life the best it can possibly be and she’s not happy when he’s not happy. So if he’s guaranteed to still feel grief on their wedding day, Aria will wait until that grief has cleared, as long as it takes. 

Chris is a little taken aback by her suggestion and he grips her chin with his first two fingers, scanning her face with a puzzled look crossing his features. “I... I don’t wanna postpone it.” He replies, sounding more sure than he has in this entire conversation. He takes Aria’s hand and plants a soft kiss on her knuckle.

“But Chris... your dad...”

“I know and I’ll be honest... this is gonna take me a fucking while to get over but... nothing is gonna stop me from marrying you, Aria.” Chris assures, kissing the top of Aria’s forehead but she still doesn’t appear convinced of his sudden certainty.

“But babe, I don’t the reminder of your dad being gone haunting you when it’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life.” 

“I get what you’re saying but that feeling’s gonna be there either way. And I know I’ll feel a million times better on our wedding day because I’ll finally know that it’s the day I get to spend the rest of my life with you.” Chris whispers, bringing Aria in for a reassuring kiss. She forms a shy smile that doesn’t completely reach her lips and when he pulls away, he notices how unsure she remains. “Whats wrong?”

“I’m just worried about you. Your dad made so many mistakes yet this is the most hurt I’ve ever seen you. He really meant more to you than you ever really thought and it’s... a shame you didn’t get the chance to tell him that.” Aria admits, noticing how Chris nods timidly in reaction, seeming to know exactly what she’s talking about. 

“I know. I should’ve done better. Guess that may be one of the reasons why the news hit me so hard.” Chris appears to be talking more idly now and his composure is returning to him. Maybe now he’s finally resisting control and accepting what’s happened.

“...How do you feel? Really?” Aria dares to ask, stroking his face with the back of her hand and only now noticing how much sweat from the nerves have creased his skin.

Chris keeps a firm grip of Aria’s hand, needing her support for how he might respond. He rubs circles over her knuckles with his thumb, contemplating intently. “Honestly... I’m not sure how i feel. It’s all just... really overwhelming. I guess, somewhere down the line, I figured... everything would work out. He’d suddenly show up and be a better man, with a job and a steady income. The brightest smile on his face and the pride that he finally got his life together. Relieved that he finally admit that he fixed it. He fixed it all. But I guess now... that day’s never gonna come. You were right, he realised too late.” He mutters under his breath, clinging onto Aria’s hand like his life depends on it and his emotional state certainly does. His breathing struggles to stay steady and he eases himself by taking in the sight of his stunning fiancé. “At least I’ve still got you, beautiful.” Chris adds out of the blue, startling Aria slightly and she can see the hidden desperation in his sky blue eyes. Giving in, he grasps both of her shoulders and joins their foreheads together, his tense breathing grazing her lower lip and she can’t help but shiver at the affect it has on her. “All I’m ever gonna ask of you, baby, is that... you don’t ever leave me. Please... you’re the one person I wouldn’t be able to handle losing. Sure, losing others painful but you... it’d be fucking unbearable. So please stay... stay.” 

Aria melts at the need and desperation behind Chris’ tone. There’s a genuine fear bouncing off of him right now and she can tell the honest side of him dominating more than ever. He’s never spoken this desperately to her before and she had no idea he felt like this. Like she would ever leave but still... this is overwhelming.

Aria clings onto Chris’ arms and sinks further on her knees, planting a few lingering kisses on his lips before tears starting running down her cheeks. “Chris... I promise to never leave you. Ever. I’m gonna live my life with you and I’m gonna cherish every single goddamn moment we get to share together. This is it. You and me. But I just need you to promise me one thing, babe.”

Chris nods harshly. “Anything.”

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened to your dad. It’s never gonna be your fault. So stop torturing yourself by containing the guilt because you don’t have to do that. Promise me.” Aria requests, her tone commanding with a hint of desperation and Chris drags her in for a passionate kiss and the words he whispers against her lips as they barely pull away is like music to her ears. 

“I promise.” 

[feel199x]

cupid/eros!hwang hyunjin, greek mythlogy!au

🏹 summary: loosely based on the greek myth eros/cupid and psyche, in which Hyunjin falls for your dancing in a meadow, but you can’t look at him both because he needs to be sure you fell for him and not his face, and if the risk is worth the wrath of the gods

🏹 author’s note: so this is written differently, a lot more poetic (i write poetry, fun fact!) n im really proud of this one! im also trying something differently for the posts, let me know if you like it! masterlist

🏹 warnings: none, i believe, please let me know if you find any!

💌 song rec: movement  and moment’s silence AND NFWMB by hozier (you can definitely see the influence)

It was something you did every night, how could you not? The breeze, the willow trees, the whispering of the grass, the smell and brush of flowers against your skin. It was escapist, you knew, but there was no better dreamscape to run to than here. The night was young, and so were you. Something about the night was like a little rip in time, a pocket in reality. The smell of summer and youth lingered on you as you moved. The moonlight shed a warm glow on your face, illuminating your features as the stars circled in the sky, watching intently. Your sorrows were buried here, rotting with the gentle sins of self-proclaimed saints. There was nothing more magical than this, the warm soil beneath your feet- the heat of the summer day residing in the earth. The oak trees were as green as they ever could be, green like envy. It didn’t matter once the brightness faded because you knew that they would be back. The leaves would fall and rot, but no matter what, like nature, they would be back. You would die here, one day, but not today. The stars had yet to burst, the earth had yet to decompose with you lying in it- so you were here. It gave you peace, let your soul emerge anew once you left the sheltered greenery.

It was rare to find places like this, no technology could give you the feeling you had right now. The cicadas began to sing, soon joined by the gentle hum of ominity. It was like thunder against the earth when your feet hit the floor, hands reached, fingers grasping for something not quite there. Who else would give you this feeling? No man, no woman, no person, no god. This was self-satisfaction, you and you alone. Maybe it was ridiculous, but you moved like water, flowed like river. This a ritual, breeding peace and self-love. Life was winter, cold and unloving- but you? Right now you were the burn of rum and passion, tasting like cherries and dribbled honey. It didn’t matter if you didn’t feel beautiful then, outside of here. Because out here you were all that and more, angel dressed in silk, lust and innocence. No one could tell you anything, how could they? You moved like you had nothing to lose, heart content as it started to pour lightly.

The earth beneath you became wet, but you danced still. Clothes becoming damp, clinging to your body- but still, you moved. Arms up, fingers traveling up and down your skin as the sky’s tears still poured. What blasphemy could enter this grave, what god was her but you? The stars could watch, but they couldn’t dance, not like you could. Noah could part the seas, but you could not disrupt the flow, the course that your body took. This was as natural as nature herself, she too was watching, admiring among others. The witching hour was yours and yours alone, whoever you were didn’t matter. What mattered was who you were when you left, soul anew. Power, you cried. And power awoke in your veins. What did you have to lose? Anything that could be lost will be gained again someday, even for a breath.

Your sins were not yours here, they were the earth’s. She was the only one you could trust, her only lover the sun, her only persuasor the moon. She has seen what is yet to see, what is yet to come. The earth was your altar and you were the patron saint, even if only as the night slept. It was okay though, the moon and the ignition of your passion was enough- it was going to burn you to ash, your soul from bottom up. Pomegranate blood and persephone piety, this was heaven. Moss covered, flower based temple. Your rosary was made of rose and root, your sin abandonment. The only love you needed was yours, no foreign god’s name to scream in vain because you were the only divine.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I know.”

You weren’t scared if he was here to take- then your end was eden. You moved still, the presence inching closer to you. The rain slid down your back, your eyes still closed as you twirled. “Are you here to dance?” You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and patient. “Yes. But you can’t look at me.”

“Sure, but leave your masks outside. We are sinners and saints in the silence, away from god’s eye.”

You turned, fingers traveling across his chest when he caught your hand. “Please, tell me your name. Could you?” You brought the both of your hands to your chest, pulling him closer and moved close to what you assumed to be his face. “I could.” His breath hitched as you teased him, feeling the heat of his skin. “But not yet, the night is still young.” He twirled you, becoming more confident in his steps. “My name is Hyunjin,” he murmured in your ear, “I’ve never seen someone dance like you do.” You smiled, unsure if he could see it in the empty darkness. “Of course, there’s only one me.” He danced with you, though there was no music. The only melody your hearts beating in sync, beating because no one could be sure when it would stop. “You’re divine,” he murmured again, “Never in all my years...seraphic, that’s what you are. Never has there been anyone like you in all of creation.” He was holding your hand up, moving when you did, following your pace as erratic as it could be.

“Immortals feel mortal love, a pain unimaginable to me,” you whispered, “But your pain escapes this realm. We are flesh and blood here, Hyunjin. Raw, human and nothing more.” He hummed, pulling you closer to him so your head could rest against your chest so your head could rest. “How did you know?” he continued to sway, “How could’ve you already figured it out?” You let go of his hands to move by yourself, for yourself. “The embarrassment of a mortal escapes them within their death, an immortal’s doesn’t. What other reason could you have for me to close my eyes?” You moved towards the forest’s opening, feeling him trail behind you.

“Can I ask something of you?” he grabbed both your hands, planting a kiss on them, and you nodded. “Your name,” he paused, “and a kiss?”

You laughed, the kind that made your shoulders shake a smile as bright as the moonlight above you. “My name? ___, and you may have a kiss…” you felt him lean, nose and forehead touching, “If you come back.” He laughed, and his breath smelled like cream, “I thought you were going to ask me if you could open your eyes.” You shook your head. “Your mask is not mine to take off.” He pressed his lips against yours, your hands in his hair, and his in yours, the ends of his palms on your jaw. He tasted like cream too, his hair like silk, he smelled like wisdom. Your lips parted and you disappeared into the yawning sun, spewing apricot light up into the sky. Water dripped from your clothes, damp and trailing water but you were content rubbing your cherry lips as responsibility submerged you into the day.

The next night the stars seemed to shed light just to prove themselves. Summer was still in full bloom, green and ripe like it would never get the chance to be. It was still dewy from the night before, drop of water swimming in the folds of grass. The night was lively, the dryads peering from the trees, the animals cautious and curious. Maybe it was awe, maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but they watched you nonetheless. You didn’t mind that you had an audience, this wasn’t exactly a normal feat and it only came once a night. The melody of forest life quieted, you could feel the earth move under him. “You’re back,” you closed your eyes, “I was expecting you.” He moved your hair to the side, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck. “I could never pass up the chance to see you dance,” you could feel his hot breath on the side of your neck, “or another kiss for that matter.” You swayed against his chest, his hand wrapped around your waist, hands hanging on your stomach and laughed. “Who said you were going to get another kiss?” His finger tapped against your waist before you turned around. The wind around you held its breath, everyone was watching, expectantly. “You are heaven incarnate, when we kiss, heaven sighs,” you felt yourself dip, back against his knee as he brought you back up again, “Time is of no consequence, I will wait like a fool for your love.”

“Love begins and ends wars, Hyunjin,” you warned, “Flora will grow over the fool of our graves.” He cupped your face, and you wished you could open your eyes. It had only been two days, but he had already seen a repressed part of you- and because of that, you had a naive sense of trust. Surely, it would be the end of you. But with no fallen eden, there would be no earth. “Then let it be, I will crawl my way back to you so the stems can sprout from our hearts.” You smiled against his lips, soft and plush. “You’re reckless.”

 He rested his arms around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat thumping against his chest. “Only for love, only for you.” But it was time sooner than later, you could feel the sun pulling the night’s sheets to uncover the day. He held your hand as you tugged until the last forest opening to the dirt road home. You stopped, holding both of his hands as you stepped on the tips of your toes to give a peck. “Is that all I get?” You gave a smile, “What do you mean?” Hyunjin moved your hair out of your face, pressing his forehead against your, noses pressed against one another. “Can I show you?” You nodded, feeling his hands hold your face softly. His lips were soft as always, traces of a sweet fruit lingering on his taste. You gasped as he pulled away, and he pecked you again. He watched you disappear in the light of the growing sun.

Maybe it was something about that day that made you angry, the soil exploded as you jumped back down, spilling over the grass. You could feel the terra stick slightly to your heel, your movements were fluid but sharper than usual. This fire in you, it burned the edges of your soul until it became hardened and the ash fell to the earth. You relaxed, feeling the weight of your body while you danced. Man or god, you feared no monster, no, not here. The air was cooler, no humidity to make the heat in you rise. You could feel the cutting of the wind as your lips reached up and back down. Your eyes were open for now, looking up into the velvet sky as the violet clouds blocked some of the moon’s illumination. There was something unadulterated with sight, seeing things as they were in their natural sight. Nature didn’t exist for you, she lived for herself. We are all guests that inhabit her. And you admired that, you wanted to be just like her- uncaring and self-loving, and for the night you were. Your mind soon reached Hyunjin as you saw a deer approach you, circle around you as you danced. You knew there must be a reason, some insecurity, but again- a butterfly could not leave it’s cocoon prematurely. You didn’t need to see his face to realize that you liked him, it was something beyond visuals. He could dance, he could keep up with you- and he kissed like no one could, that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter what he looked like, the earth’s flowers didn’t care how beautiful they thought they were, why should anyone else? The deer ran off as someone paced towards you, and you instinctively closed your eyes. “Tonight is about you,” he said, “I’ll just watch.” He knew you somehow, and you figured it’s because he’s watched you for a while. He knew how your body moved with every emotion like the back of his hand. You wanted his company, but he restricted some of your movement, not that you necessarily minded. But tonight was different, the soil was caving under your feet and the air moving with you instead of around you. You couldn’t see his eyes on you, but instead feel them watching you intently. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, “It’s magical, how do you do it? I could watch you like a broken record.”

You didn’t respond, you knew that’s not what he wanted. He wanted to watch you dance, so that’s what you did- because it’s what you did best, most naturally. You collapsed into his lap finally, and he stroked your hair. “___?” You hummed in response, a small smile hanging from your lips. “Why haven't you asked to open your eyes yet?” You took his hand, intertwining your finger with his, lacing them like ribbons. “Because it doesn’t matter. You dance with me, and that tells me everything I need to know.” He kissed the back of your hand, “Don’t you feel vulnerable?”

“You’ve already seen me dance.”

 It was autumn now, your time for dancing in loose clothing coming to an end soon. You had barely started when you heard the owl’s hoots stop echoing. “You’re early.” He held your hand, kissing it had become a regular greeting. “It gets harder and harder to wait, my love.” he placed something in your hand, water falling off the stems, “Turn around, I got you something.” You obliged, holding the bouquet up to your nose. The smell lingered even as you pulled it away, hauntingly, sickeningly sweet. He brushed your hair away, fingers accidentally brushing across the nape of your neck, making you shiver. The metal was cold against your skin, and you traced the pendant with the pad of your finger. The two of you danced like you always did, chest against chest, heartbeats in sync. “My love,” Hyunjin paused, whispering lowly in your ear, “what will we do when winter solstice comes around?” You pulled back, using one hand to hold his face and he leaned into your touch. You pecked his lips, “We will make do like plants growing through the cracks of cement.” His hand touched yours, “If it’s not too much, could we,” his voice trailed off nervously, “Could I go back with you?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly and you bit your lip, “Won’t you get in trouble?” He laughed, and you could feel his face smile. “Love and affection is a nature they can not deny me of.” And you nodded, “Okay,” you murmured, “but you need to follow behind me.”

The keys jangled in the lock, and before the door was completely open you heard Hyunjin ask for you to close your eyes. It was difficult to navigate since you weren’t used to walking around your home without your sight. You knew he would be gone by sunrise, but you asleep in each other's arms. His heartbeat lulled you to sleep as he told you how he admired you, and you him. It was as honest as your ritual dancing, and though you tried to keep yourself awake as long as possible but Hyunjin kept planting soft kisses along your face and neck, and in no time, you were asleep.

 It was like clockwork when he came, you could hear the cicadas quiet and the breeze became hushed, the grass just barely touched you. It was the next autumn now,  the breezed louder as it’s fleeting kiss lingered on the crisp autumn leaves. “I missed you,” he kissed you, “I just want to watch you.” The soil was harder beneath you, it didn’t jump like it was startled when your feet pressed into it. This summer you had fallen for Hyunjin, it was unmistakable- his presence loomed like a haunted piece of artwork. It was painful to fall for someone that felt like a dream, for a love that would never see the sun’s rays.

He was like angel dust, beautiful and pure and gave you the illusion of no consequence. Just once- but it never was really. “I want,” his breath quickened, “I want to see you illuminated by the sunlight.” You smiled, bright like a new star, and paused to give him a quick kiss. “I do too,” you said into the forest, “but we both know what will happen.” He pulled you from your dance, something you would never allow anyone but him to do.

He planted kisses like seeds all over your face, you could feel the sun’s head peeking into the sky. “I don’t care,” he said breathily, “I want you to, you have to see me.” You smiled letting your fingers trail lightly along his face. “I know things about you that no one else does,” he murmured, “No man, no kings. You and I are no strangers, just strange in love.” You let your hands sit on either side of his neck, forehead pressed against his chin. “God or man, we know no mercy,” you murmured, “love and lust a deathless death.” His hands sat on your hips, bringing down his head to press his lips against your forehead. “You are heaven’s last mouthpiece,” he whispered, “eden will only fall when flowers grow within your wake.”

The both of you swayed with the melody of the breeze, only to be broken by another whisper of nothing, “Open your eyes. Mercy not of man or god, but angels like you.” You knew it was wrong, to have fates intertwine like this. But he was the tide of the night, washing you up ashore all renewed. Nothing more human than eden’s forbidden apple, and that was this love. The sun was rising, the sand in your hourglass slipping fast. You could feel the peach light growing on your skin, suddenly warming up. “You look more angelic in the golden hour of the sun,” he said. It was getting late, you knew would never pass this up anyway, but the doubt lingered. “And you love me?”

“Even after heaven’s last star falls.”

He was beautiful, had the face of piano music. You understood now, why he asked you to envelop yourself into the void of no light. His wings brushed against the floor, white like buttermilk cream, like innocence, like naivety. A birthmark decorated his face, just below his eyes and his hair like nightlock. He brought you into his arms, running his fingers through your hair. “The golden rays suit you,” he looked up, whispering into the empty air, “Like running honey, so sunkissed.” This wasn’t allowed, but even buried in his grave, Hyunjin would find his way back to you. You fell for him, like lucifer from heaven. He was lust embodied, but never had this feeling sprouted in the pits of your heart and mistook it for love- and it never would. He kissed you again, and he smiled, giggling between the small gasps of the kiss. He was sweet, tasted like ripe strawberries. “I adore you,” you said breathlessly and he tangled his hand into your hair. “I’m infatuated with you, my love,” he said back, “Dance for me, even if just one more time.”

So you did.

[shadowsof-thenight]

Had a voice: Chapter twenty five ( final chapter)

Story summary: For two years you had let him dictate your every move. Dictate your time, your friends, your work. Everything, literally. And for the life of you, you could not understand why you’d done so.

Now, here you were. In a beautiful but still strange city that had never become your own. And you were all alone. It was time to take back your life.

Ship: BuckyXreader

Words: 2982

Warnings: some insecurities and angst that comes with that.

A/N: First I want to apologise about the delay. I was away for a few days last week with my dad and thought I’d have enough time to write the chapter when I got back. I didn’t. And then I got sick and while that meant I was home...concentration was hard to find. so I wrote this in bits and pieces. Not exactly how I envisioned it but it does seem to fit with the rest of this story. Which in itself is nothing like I orginally planned.

Anyway I hope you like it.

A night had never seemed quite so long to you as it did that night. After Bucky had walked away, sleep would not come to you. Tossing and turning, you kept mulling over the nights events. All of it played like a movie in your mind. Walking in to see him with her. Distracting yourself with Steve and drinking. Then Bucky asking you to dance. The feel of your heart rate immediately rising as he did. His voice rolling over you, smooth as silk. If silk had an edge that is. The dancing repeated itself in your mind the most. It had felt so good, and perhaps somewhat intimate. Followed by the easy conversations and him walking you to your room. Ending with that wonderful kiss. The feelings bursting through you. Overwhelming your heart and soul. Searing hot as those feelings moved through your body. And than the sudden heartbreaking realisation that he had been at the party with someone else. This was not what you wanted at all. To be the other woman. Or to come between two people. If he loved her, you would simply have to walk away. No matter how hard that would be. Bucky deserved to be happy. And while you wished for him to be happy with you, you knew very well that he might not wish for that. How you wished you knew how he felt about you.

When morning came, the sunlight pulling you from your thoughts, you got up out of bed and took a quick shower. Time to take action. You could not wait around for your life to unfold. You would have to create your circumstances. Which would began with a conversation. And an apology.

That was why, once you had gotten dressed, you went out to look for the one person you needed to speak too the most. Bucky.

Like a woman on a mission you walked out of your room and towards the elevator. There you pressed the number for his floor and waited for the doors to reopen, impatiently shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Nerves were coursing through your veins as you wondered just how he would react to you after last night. Would he slam the door? Or take you in his arms? Would he want to re-evaluate your relationship? Cut all ties? Or reinforce them? You knew you were driving yourself crazy thinking up scenarios, but you could not seem to stop it.

The elevator doors dinged as they opened and you walked through them, moving quickly towards Bucky's room. For a brief moment you wondered if you were making a mistake. If you should turn around. Then you shook your head and knocked on his door. It was time to stop hiding yourself. You needed to confront this. Quietly you waited for him to open up. No sounds could be heard from the other side of the door. And you waited. Waited some more. And you realised that he wasn't opening that door. And judging by the completely silence on the other side of it, he wasn't even in.

Sighing deeply, you turned around and made your way to the kitchen the floor held. There you put on the kettle, making yourself some tea, before scanning the fridge for some breakfast.

“Hey, Milaya” Natasha spoke softly as she entered the kitchen. You turned around to watch the deadly spy shield her eyes from the light and practically crawling towards the coffee-pot. You chuckled as she quickly gulped down a cup. How she did not burn her mouth off was a mystery to you. And by the look on her face, not one you needed to find out today.

“Hey hun. How are you feeling this morning?” you asked as you observed her.

“Lovely” she groaned and you just laughed, earning yourself a glare.

“How are you not feeling this?” Natasha wondered and you weren’t sure, as you did drink nearly as much as her. However, unlike her, you didn't sleep. You also drank plenty of water in between the tossing and turning.

“Perhaps because I never went to sleep. The hangover is probably still coming” you shrugged.

“Had fun?” Natasha winked, a smirk on her face for a brief second. Then the light hurt her eyes again and she groaned once more.

“Not exactly” you said, hanging your head low. You weren't sure if you were ready to tell her. You weren't proud of your actions. Not at all. You also really wanted to talk to Bucky first. Then again, hearing her side of things might help you.

“Not exactly is right” Wanda said as she too walked into the kitchen, “How about we grab some food and move this to my room?” she said and slightly confused you nodded. Following her, you figured she had read your mind and wanted to give you some privacy while telling them.

“She kissed him” Wanda said with a smirk as soon as she had closed the door behind you.

“What?!” Natasha exclaimed, before turning a glaring look your way, “You told her before me?”

“She didn't. He did” Wanda said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She had something and she was obviously dying to tell you.

“He did?” you were confused. He usually didn't share his thoughts and emotions with too many people. It as usually Steve, Sam and on occasion you. Wanda shrugged, not looking you in the eyes. She looked down at the ground while she danced on the heels of her feet and softly popped her lips.

“You read his mind” Natasha said outraged. Natasha had always been protective of Bucky and his guarded behaviour. She understood better than anyone why he was so cautious.

“I couldn't help it,” she quickly defended herself, “we share a hallway. And his thoughts were screaming at me the the entire night” Wanda voiced. Everyone knew that Wanda tried to stay out of everyone's head as much as she could. However, as she slept she could not always control it. Add to that inebriation and his loud thoughts, she really could not help it sometimes. Natasha stood up from her seat next to you on the bed and wandered the room a bit.

“I went to see him this morning, but he's not in” you confessed. Natasha glanced your way with a sympathetic smile. She knew it would have taken a lot of courage to decide to confront the issue immediately. You didn't even talk to them first.

“No, he went out really early” Wanda was quick to explain.

“Do you know where he went?” you wanted to know. Perhaps you could meet up with him somewhere else.

“Yes” she simply said, obviously not willing to elaborate. Which was enough to tell you all the things she was mum on.

“Oh” it came out a whisper as realisation dawned on you and the weight of it seemed to take your breath. He went to see her. You didn't even remember her name, which seemed unnecessarily mean. There was very little you knew of her overall. But you knew she was beautiful. And she was most likely very nice. And right now, she made you feel rather insignificant.

“Please don't do that” Natasha said as all but dove towards you and grabbed your hand. You raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled compassionately at you. She knew just how your mind worked sometimes.

“She isn't better than you. Or worse for that matter.” Natasha continued, “She's just a girl.”

“I know. It's not her fault that he's not with me,” you muttered and Wanda huffed.

“Come on, we don't know what he'll do after that kiss.” she said as she squatted before you. Natasha straightened up again.

“Well you'd know” you chuckled and she just laughed winking at you.

“You can know too, he just got home” Natasha said from her spot at the window. You looked back at her and wrung your hands. Time to face the music after all. You sighed and stood up. Without saying another word you walked out of the room, while both Natasha and Wanda wished you luck. It was nice to have these two always in your corner.

You stood in front of his room for a good 15 minutes when he finally walked out of the elevator. As he stepped out he looked slightly irritated, however as soon as he saw you his demeanour changed. The tension in his shoulders was released slightly as he lowered them and he put on a small smile as he came closer.

“I was looking for you” he said, standing before you. His smile soft, and his blue eyes bright as he looked into yours.

“Really? Because I have been looking for you.” you confessed, with a small smile of your own.  

“Yeah, I needed to do something first” he explained. You raised your eyebrows at him. Could he be more vague?  

“Right....”, you drawled out the word, “So, can we talk?”

“Yes, please” he said and opened the door to his room. Following him in, you caught a glimpse of a redhead quickly scurrying back into the room next to his. You chuckled as you thought of Natasha holding up a glass to the wall, hoping to hear the conversation. While you knew on some level she would not invade your privacy like that, you also knew the curiosity was killing her. Especially now that she knew just how much Wanda could gather through the walls.

“I needed to tell her, face to face, that we weren't going to work out” Bucky said as soon as you were inside his room. Confused you looked up at him. Tell her that you and him weren't happening? Tell her that they weren't happening? That statement was too vague to assume.

“Wait who?”

“Sorry, Kim and I. “ he added and in your mind a light bulb went on upon hearing her name again, “She and I weren't going to work out in the long run”  

“Why not? I thought you liked her” you weren't even sure why you asked him that question. You really didn't want to hear him talk about her wonderful features. Selfishly you wanted him to tell you she was horrible. Even if you knew she wasn't.

“I did, but not like that. She's really funny and kind, but I....wasn't in love with her,I guess” he said. You sat down on his bed and he took a seat next to you.

“You guess?” he was never uncertain about his feelings. He was just careful to voice them.

“No, I...I know.” he chuckled.

“Because you're not ready?” you really wished he would just say he was in love with you. But how could you expect him to do such a confession if you never dared to say the same to him? You never told him. Telling yourself it was for him. Helping him move on. Because he could not possibly still want you. However, it dawned on you that perhaps you had been hiding away from telling him. Once you did, he could reject you. And it was better to wonder, than to face his rejection. Or so you thought anyway.

“I am” he confessed, “Just not with her” Bucky looked into your eyes and your heart was beating out of your chest. Did he mean that you were still in his heart? He wouldn't be so cruel as to lead you on. He would not intentionally say these things.

“I love you” you blurted out, immediately feeling embarrassed as your cheeks flushed a deep red. Bucky remained silent and you quickly began telling him just how much you loved him. When you realised it and why you had not told him before. You told him about the therapy. And the realisation that you loved him, that night while watching a movie. Even if that love scared the crap out of you, it didn't falter. You told him about the pain you felt when Sam told you about him dating. How you had wanted to be happy for him. How you wished him the best. And for the longest time you just didn't think you would be that for him. Then Kim stuck around and you tried to be his friend. You wanted him in your life. Even if it meant watching him be happy with someone else. And then last night, you forgot about her and kissed him. You apologised, for disrespecting what they had. For not talking to him first. You were rambling and you knew it. Still you did not stop until he interrupted you.

“I thought you wanted me to move on” he said. You didn’t know what to say to that and the silence hung thick between the two of you. Yes you had told him to move one. Not to wait on you. Part of you had just wished he wouldn't. Even though you knew that would not have been fair to anyone.

“Wait?!” his voice was loud, the sound sudden as it tore through the silence, “loving me scares you?” you stayed quiet for a little bit, thinking back to the things you had just blurted in out during your verbal diarrhoea. Realising you had been more honest than you had intended, you knew the only way to go was to own up to it. And also explaining it.

“Yes it does” you replied earnestly, a small smile playing on your lips. You could tell that he was hurt and you were quick to continue your explanation, “and you wanna know the best part of that?”  you added, keeping an eye on his expressions. Confusion took over his features, making you chuckle.

“What?” he finally asked after a long silence, confusion taking over his features and most likely his thoughts as well.

“It doesn't make me want to run” you explained, pausing for a minute to let those words sink in, “For the first time in a long time, it does not make me want to run and hide from those feelings”

“Why?” he now asked as his expression softened, while he met your gaze. You heart was hammering in your chest, knowing you would have to tell him. You wanted too, you truly did. But again, it scared you. When you had let him go, you knew full well that there was a chance you had lost him forever. Telling him how you felt was, hard, difficult. And you weren't sure he felt the same way any more. But you had already told him you loved him, you could not stop now.

“I trust you not to hurt me” you mumbled the words fast. So fast that you weren't sure he even understood you.

“You do?” he whispered, seemingly unable to see why you would. After all not too long ago he had confessed that he hardly trusted himself.  

“Yeah” you replied, placing a finger under his chin and pulling it up so he would meet your eyes.  

“I...” Bucky seemed unable to form any sentences as he opened and closed his mouth several times. Your eyes looking intensely into his.

“I love you” you whispered. The words were still scary to say. Especially since you did not know how he would respond, but you knew you had to say them. He needed to know.

For a moment he did not react much. He simply looked you in the eyes, scanning them and your face. As if he was trying to see if you were lying. You could only hope to convey the truth as you stared back at him.

His hand took a hold of yours, pulling it away from his face. And you wondered if this was the moment that he was going to push you away. Tell you to forget about him. To stop loving him. Or worse, telling you he did not believe you. You glanced down at your hand, still held in his. Your heart beating fast and your mouth running dry as the silence seemed to last forever.

“I love you too” he said and you looked back up to his eyes. A smile on his face and it brought out a smile on yours.

“You do?” your voice was small as you uttered those words and he chuckled as he pulled you closer to him. He placed a hand on your cheek, while the other was placed on your hip. Slowly he brought his face closer, until his forehead was leaning against yours. His nose touched your nose and you could feel his breath on your lips as he looked into your eyes. His lips were now ghosting over yours, merely a breath away. With a smile, he closed the distance, placing his soft lips on yours.

Too soon he pulled away, looking at your face and scanning it for your reaction. After a few seconds his eyes looked back into yours and you smiled at him breathlessly. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him back to you, smashing your lips to his. Genrly licking his bottom lip, asking for entrance. Which he granted. You could feel the smirk forming on his face and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you unimaginably close to him.

Sighing into the kiss, your hands released his shirt and began to wander. One found his cheek, while the other landed on his lower back.

You were never letting him go again.

Before I spoke of a epilogue. However I have no plans for one right now. Still, who knows I might get inspired to write one at some point.

[scarletwritingwolf]

The Art of Healing

Previously

Chapter 12: A Most Murtagh Evening

Memories are a most remarkable thing, but rarely are they perfect. The one thing I could be certain about; was that my memory was categorically flawed when it came to Jamie Fraser. I knew this to be true because each time I saw him; it was as though I was seeing him for the first time. Red hair gleaming, his wickedly beautiful smile displaying his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, the expression on his face; friendly and trusting. For lack of better words, he took my breath away, and I relished in the thought that there would always be something new to learn about him, because my memories never allowed me to remember.

He was coming towards me, looking cool and casual, dressed immaculately in a navy blue suit that was clearly designer. He smiled when he caught sight of me, and took faster and greater strides to reach me sooner.

“Good evening Jamie” I said cheekily. “You, sir, are a little late.” I tapped my watch jokingly.

“I’m sorry, I feel terrible. My meeting ran late, and I couldna shake Murtagh and his questions about what I was doing tonight. I really am verra sorry.”

“It’s ok Jamie, really.” I stroked his cheek with my hand, my eyes lingering on his only for a moment. “Come on, lets go in, I’m starving.” Taking his hand I led him into the pub where he had suggested we meet.

I really wasn’t sure why I led him in, because it was quite clear from the moment we entered that he was very familiar with this particular place. Every staff member greeted him, and even some of the patrons.

I quizzed him, “Is there a reason why everyone seems to know you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is, I own this place. I thought perhaps ye’d like to see it. The food here is verra good.”

“You are full of surprises. I love that you brought me here. I only have one question; is there at least a juke box?”

“Ye willna be disappointed my lady, the juke box is over in that corner there.” He pointed to a modern little box obscured by a group of rowdy Scottish men who appeared to be having some sort of a bucks night.

We ventured towards the bar, where Jamie ordered us two glasses of whiskey.

“What do ye want to eat? I can have them make anything ye like.”

I shrugged. “I’m happy to choose off the menu Jamie, I don’t need special treatment.” He promptly gave me a menu to peruse.

Jamie looked to the bartender. “Whichever drink the lady wants she gets, ok Duncan? Claire I just need to go and speak to the manager, while I’m gone choose a table we can sit at if that’s what ye’d like.”

I waved him away. The menu was quite extensive for a pub, and I was pleasantly surprised to find my favourite dish; pork medallions with mashed potato and a creamy mushroom sauce.

I ordered an espresso martini, and I watched Duncan make extravagant movements as he created it.

“Here ye are marm, enjoy. Will there be anything else?” Duncan asked.

“I’m not sure.” I admitted, I had no idea what Jamie would want, another whiskey?

“Do you know what Mr Fraser’s favourite drink is Duncan? A whiskey?”

“Mr Fraser is partial to his whiskey marm, but he enjoys his beer just as much, he is most fond of Fyne Ales Jarl.”

“Excellent, I’ll have one of those as well please.”

Jamie returned a short time later, his face alight.

“Well what is it then Mr Fraser?”

He looked at me with raised eyebrows and an innocent expression, waiting for me to elaborate.

“Nothing at all Miss Beauchamp, can a man not have secret men’s business.”

I laughed, and I felt myself getting more comfortable in my surroundings with each exchange we had. I removed my jacket as we began to discuss the different types of alcohol he had in the pub, and how he had come to own the pub itself. After twenty minutes I realised that the patrons of the pub had gone silent, and all were watching one of the male staff members wave his arms about.

He began to speak in a half yell. “Sorry ladies and gents, we’re closing early tonight, our kitchen is already closed, we are just havin’ some staffing issues. We’ll be shuttin’ shop in half an hour.”

I glared at Jamie, he returned a wide eyed look and shrugged. I suspected he had something to do with this sudden closure, surprisingly none of the people in the pub seemed irritated with this announcement. There were two other members of staff making individual apologies to each guest of the pub, and they appeared to be handing them something with each apology.

“So what do ye want to eat?” He asked me coolly.

“Didn’t that gentleman just say that the kitchen was closed?” I tested him.

“He did didn’t he? I suppose it’s good that I own this place then. Ye’ll have time to order and get your meal Sassenach.”

My heart was pounding out of my chest, he’d just called me Sassenach. I’d heard him start to call me the peculiar nickname multiple times since we’d been reunited, but he’d been good at catching himself before actually saying it.

“I’m sorry Claire, I didna mean to call ye that. I’ve been trying to forget it was ever something I called ye. Please dinna be mad.” His eyes were pleading.

“I’m not mad at all, it’s just strange to hear the name again after all this time. Please don’t apologise.” I kissed his cheek, trying to ease his tension. I wanted to change the subject quickly. “Any chance of some decent music?”

“Anything for my beautiful guest, but we may have to wait for a while before we hear our choices, the juke box has been banked up with this dance music garbage since those men from the stag party were over there.”

“I don’t mind, I’m perfectly fine with a little waiting, as long as it’s for something good.” I winked at him.

He strode over to the juke box, I watched him the entire time, admiring him. I knew I wasn’t the only one who had eyes on him, but I was content with knowing that each time he looked up his eyes connected only with mine.

“I feel like I’ve made some good solid music choices on yer behalf. Perhaps another drink?”

I had another two espresso martini’s, Jamie seemed to drink his beers as though they were water. I was beginning to feel light headed, I knew I needed food before the effects of the alcohol got worse. I looked about to realise that the pub had emptied at last.

“So lassie, would you like to dance?” Jamie stood above me holding out a hand for me to accept.

As I took his hand and he led me to the dance floor I heard the voice of Kenny Rogers on the juke box, his song ‘Islands in the Stream’ was playing. I stifled a laugh. “A favourite song of yours Mr Fraser?”

“Weel sort of.” He took me in his arms, he was warm, and the buzz of the alcohol seemed to draw me closer to him; I rested my cheek on his chest. I felt the steady movements of his breathing as he swayed gently. “Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton sang this song together at a show they put together to play for us lads in the army. I ken it’s an old song, but I heard it for the first time that day, and it always stayed with me.” I wondered how much else of his time in the army had stayed with him, I vowed to spend my life finding out.

‘Islands in the stream, that is what we are,

No one in between, how can we be wrong.’

“What do ye think Claire? Can ye live with my taste in music?” His question seemed to be silently asking more than it’s words. I was sure he wanted to ask if I had a desire to be around him long term.

“I am a big fan of Dolly Parton, so I think we’ll get along just fine Jamie.” I hoped that the reassuring smile I paired with my words would help to answer his veiled question. It had never been a question for me, there wasn’t any way for me to live my life without him. We hadn’t discussed our time apart much, it was too painful for us both to talk about just yet, but I wanted to.

‘We start and end as one, in love forever,

We can ride it together, ah-ah,

Makin’ love with each other, ah-ah.’

We danced our way through Frank Sinatra, U2 and a little Coldplay. He had most definitely chosen music to ensure that I stayed in his arms, but I had absolutely no problem with this.

I noticed when the music on the juke box came to an end, but I wasn’t sure that Jamie had, he continued swaying, holding me to him as though he was afraid to let go. I gently nudged him.

“Come Jamie, let’s get something to eat, I’m famished.”

He seemed to come out of a trance, and looked at me with such adoration it almost tore me in two. This gentle, giant soul wanted me, and I knew I could never let him down again.

We sat at the nearest table, Duncan came bustling over with more drinks, while Jamie disappeared into the kitchen with our food orders. As Duncan fussed over pouring drinks, I wondered what Jamie had in mind for the rest of the evening, and for that matter where we stood going forward. The fact that I was even asking myself the latter was a testament to how much had changed in me since I met him, after Frank I had become a strong, educated woman, and at times with Jamie I felt vulnerable, concerned that I would allow myself to go back to a place where I was so undermined by my own feelings. My feelings for Jamie were so intense they terrified me.

I heard him approaching first, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, worried that he would read my expression.

“Are you ok Claire? You look...” He trailed off, clearing trying to decide how I looked.

“I’m fine Jamie, just hungry, that’s all.” I took his hand, drawing lines over his prominent veins with my thumb. I had been about to ask him what his plans were for the remainder of the evening, when his head suddenly snapped up to look at the door. It hadn’t been locked, the closed sign was most definitely visible, but the man walking in didn’t seem to care much.

“Ah there ye are lad.” The man in question clearly knew Jamie.

“Here I am, Murtagh. What can I do for ye?” His tone sounded playful, but his stance gave him away, he was concerned about this Murtagh being here with us, or more so, with me.

“I just wanted te see this lassie for myshelf.” He slurred the last words, obviously intoxicated.

Jamie not letting his good manners slip said “Claire this is my Godfather Murtagh, sometimes I just call him Uncle. Murtagh this is Claire.”

“A pleashure to meet ye Claire. Are ye havin’ a good time with young Jamie here?” As he asked, his eyes pierced mine. His purpose was quite evident; that was to interrogate me.

“I am, thank you.” I responded politely, being very careful to keep my tone light.

Jamie kept our fingers interlocked, wanting to keep a protective hold, but he was feigning a casual demeanour as he sat back in his chair. He was waiting, I just wasn’t sure what for.

Murtagh continued. “I’ve known Jamie since he was a small lad ye ken, and I would do anythin’ for him. I want him te be happy, I willna ever begrudge him tha’, but I want ye te understand that if ye hurt him again ye will be sorry.”

“That’s enough Murtagh. Ye’ve had too much to drink man, go home. I dinna need yer protecting.” Jamie was doing his very best to conceal the snarl in his voice. “ “Claire isna out to hurt me.”

“Aye sometimes I think ye do lad.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, I could feel tears welling, but I forced them to abate. Jamie’s grip on my fingers tightened.

“Ye’ve talked about what she did te ye have ye then Jamie? What it did te ye?” Murtagh was plainly on some sort of crusade.

“We’ve settled it Murtagh, now that’s enough.” He got up, taking his Godfather by the arm, and dragged him towards the door. “Ye need to leave, we will talk in the mornin’.”

Jamie closed the door, pacing next to it, running his fingers through his hair. I got up to go towards him.

“I’m so sorry Sassenach, I didna mean for that to happen. He’s drunk, and too focussed on my life. He willna disturb us again.” He looked truly remorseful.

“It’s ok Jamie, but I think I’m just going to go home, I’m exhausted and it might be best that you see your Godfather home safely.” I wanted time to be alone for a little while, so I could get over the sting of Murtagh’s words. I ran my hand across Jamie’s cheek reassuring him. “We should meet tomorrow Jamie, I thought perhaps we might talk properly about our time apart, so we might put it to bed so to speak.”

Jamie hesitated, I knew he wasn’t sure what to do. “Ye are a good woman Claire, I dinna want ye to be worried about what he’s said, he’s just a silly old coot.” He bent to kiss me. “I’ll come to get you tomorrow, we can talk when you feel like it. But I want ye to understand that I’ve put it to bed already, there isn’t a need for ye to feel guilt.”

As usual it was as though he could understand what I felt without my saying so.

“I’ve been thinking that I’d like ye to meet my sister and her family, if ye want to.”

“I’d like that Jamie, but warn me if I have more scorn to look forward to won’t you? Just so I know to pack my armour.” I grabbed his tie and kissed him back.

[artificialqueens]

In Sickness and In Health Ch5 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - this has been a long time coming, im sorry!! not sure when i’ll update next as i have exams in july (aaaaaaah) but i’ll do my best!! i hope u enjoy <3

Going in the sea had not been a good idea.

Even in her sleep, Sharon shivered, despite being curled up to Alaska with a tenderness that they had both been too afraid to broach before the confession. No amount of blankets or robes could lift the chill that had settled deep into her bones after her skin had dried. Alaska, as always, feared the worst, and told the driver to continue on through the night.

Sharon’s honesty was scaring Alaska in more than one way. The first being her fear of death - it seemed that both her obstinance and her life force were fading at the same voracious rate. The second, naturally, being the earnest, passionate way she leaned in to their shared kiss.

This was a princess - a member of the royal family that governed Alaska’s entire life. There were laws against this, but Sharon didn’t seem to care. Alaska, again, feared it was because she believed she had no reason to. She didn’t want to die, but she was certain that she was going to.

That night, Alaska was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink. She sat up straight, methodically rubbing Sharon’s arms to try and warm the princess as she slept, weakened and exhausted. The only sign that she was even still alive was the shallow rising and falling of her chest. Alaska closed her eyes and prayed that she would never have to watch the gentle movement slow to a stop, wishing she could keep Sharon’s heart beating through sheer force of will.

At some point she must’ve dropped off, as she found herself jolting awake and finding that the night had slipped out from beneath her. The land around them looked much the same - plain and green and empty, with a distinct lack of shrubbery or trees. Knowing the tricks of the trade, Alaska was glad - any kind of nature meant a hiding place for looters and robbers. She’d been the victim of highwaymen a few times, but she remembered Willam benefitting from befriending one once. The three friends had eaten well that night, but she had never trusted any of them.

Sharon had clearly woken before her, and was sitting on the opposite bench, wrapped in her robe, a book in her lap. She hadn’t noticed Alaska stirring.

“Hey, morning. How are you feeling?”

At Alaska’s words, she smiled and closed her book. “I’m… alive. Weak, but alive.”

“Good.” Alaska said. “Alive is how we want it to stay. What are you reading?”

Sharon shrugged. “It’s nothing important. I picked up this for you, though.” She lifted a book from beside her. “A compilation of fairy tales.” She told her, blushing slightly. “I read them as a child, before bed. I thought you might like them.”

Alaska bit her lip. “I appreciate it, I do, but I can’t…”

Sharon cut her off. “I know. We could… we could read them together. If you want, that is. It’s okay if - if you don’t.”

“We could try.”

The book was leatherbound, the worn brown cover giving off the impression that it had clearly been read many times before. Atop the leather was a shining gold inscription of a castle, surrounding by swirling cursive letters that Alaska didn’t even attempt to decipher. The pages inside were yellowed with age, but Sharon nevertheless handled them with care as she turned them over, smoothing each one flat as she went. She stopped turning the pages somewhere near the middle, where another story begin. There was a large ink drawing in the centre of the page, depicting a fair haired princess, asleep in an intricate bed. Her hands were clasped over her chest, a picture of serenity. Alaska couldn’t help thinking that the fictional princess looked just like Sharon.

“This is my favourite from when I was a kid…” Sharon said. “I’ll follow the words with my finger as I read it, so you can get a feel for what the words look like. I hope you like it.”

Alaska nodded, resting her head on Sharon’s shoulder as she started to read.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a king and a queen, and the happiest kingdom that there ever was. The kingdom was happy for a special reason, as they would soon be home to a new princess, and peace finally reigned across the land. Everything was perfect.

However, trouble was heading their way. Nearby, two sister witches had moved into the area. One of them was good, kind-hearted and honest. The other was foul and cruel, with a black soul.

When the princess arrived, the kingdom was overjoyed. The king and queen threw a ball, and all of the creatures of the land were invited to celebrate. Every man, every woman, every child; every fairy and elf; every pixie and spirit. Everybody was invited - except for the black-hearted witch.

She was enraged by the kingdom’s betrayal when she learned of the king and queen’s ball. In an instant, she appeared at the palace, darkening the hallways and hushing all of the delighted chatter as soon as she entered. The king stood protectively in front of his wife, as the queen clutched the baby princess in her arms.

“Let’s have a look at her, then.” The witch demanded, forcibly pulling back the baby’s blankets. “Just as I suspected. Pink and rosy and wrong.”

The king scowled at the witch. “Begone, you beast!”

The witch shrugged. “I must say, I’m rather offended I was not invited to this little… soiree of yours. In the future, you will learn from this grave mistake.”

Alaska felt as though she was slipping in and out of her own body as Sharon read. When she wasn’t coughing, straining for breaths after every sentence, she had a pleasant, accented voice, and it was comforting to listen to. In her mind, the story of the princess unfurled, her brain formulating images of beautiful fair-haired princesses in long gowns and scraggly, ragged creatures with hooked noses and warts placing curses on them. She could see the palace, hear the music and the revelry, experience the horror and shock of the vile creature turning up at the palace door. It was the kind of story that she knew, somehow, would have a happy ending, but remained utterly gripped as she waited for the resolution.

Her heart ached as she watched Sharon. Years ago, she was sure, the princess would’ve been sat with her two sisters, perhaps with Adore in her lap, reading fairy tales to them. She would’ve stroked her baby sister’s soft hair, pressed kisses to an unwilling Laila’s forehead, reading the story with exaggerated voices and silly facial expressions. Of course, she would’ve been in good health at the time, with bright eyes and round cheeks and a fuller figure.

Nothing like the skeletal, albeit beautiful, girl who sat beside her.

Alaska tuned back in, hoping to hear the end of the story. She had been listening, drinking in the sound of Sharon’s voice, but she’d been in her head a lot too. Wanting to be fully alert and awake for the ending, she perked up, but Sharon wasn’t talking anymore.

Her skin had gone positively translucent; she was so pale that Alaska could see the great blue veins snaking from under her eyes and stretching across her forehead. Her eyes were much darker than usual, and glassy.

“Sharon?”

One pale, shaky hand was resting at the base of her throat. Alaska felt a surge of dread, like icy water running down her neck.

“Sharon?” She tried again.

The princess gagged, her eyes streaming and bulging as she tried and failed to produce something. Alaska watched, horrified and helpless, as she retched harshly again and again, bringing nothing up and causing the veins in her face to become more and more opaque.

Then, all at once, she gagged and lurched forwards. Her blood, almost black, splattered all against the wall, covering the seats, the curtains and Sharon herself. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop - she was choking and vomiting pure blood uncontrollably. Alaska panicked.

“Shit! SHIT! DRIVE, FUCKING DRIVE! COME ON!” She screamed, petrified that she would be unable to make herself useful in any other way.

The carriage sped up. Alaska could hear the horses neighing as the driver whipped them, but it wasn’t loud enough to take away from the violent regurgitation. The whole carriage was sprayed with painfully dark blood, including Alaska. When she looked into Sharon’s eyes, they were red and terrified.

A minute passed, and she finally stopped, coughing twice before slumping down. There was blood on her face, in her hair, on her clothes. Her eyes rolled backwards.

“FASTER! PLEASE!” Alaska begged, only just noticing the volume of tears that were pouring down her cheeks. “GO FASTER!”

Despite the blood, Alaska clung to Sharon as tightly as she could. This was so much worse than anything she’d seen so far. This - This was Sharon knocking at death’s door. It was all Alaska could do to hold onto her, trying her hardest to keep her anchored to the world of the living. She could feel her slipping away.

“You can’t leave me now,” She sobbed. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Almost as soon as the carriage had sped up, it was screeching to a halt. Alaska clutched Sharon as the driver dismounted, appearing in the window. He didn’t seem perturbed, or surprised, by the grisly scene.

“What are you doing?! Get back out there!” Alaska ordered, her voice shrill.

The driver shook his head. “This is as far as I go.”

“We paid you! Continue!”

“No.” He said adamantly. “No carriage goes here. It’s dodgy, they say. Witches and heathens and the like. Spooks the horses.”

Alaska could see very quickly that arguing would be of no use to her. What she needed right now was time, something that she didn’t have an abundance of. In fact, time was rushing away from her far faster than she needed it to. Before long, she knew Sharon would be dead.

“Fine. Go.”

The moment that Alaska had managed to drag Sharon’s lifeless body out of the carriage, it sped away in the opposite direction. The blood-soaked books had been left behind, and Alaska held only their money and the princess herself. Admittedly, she was strong from years of skilled labour, but it was disconcerting how easy Sharon was to hold. Alaska had spent a lifetime starving, and yet Sharon weighed less than half of her body weight.

She was desperate.

“Is there anyone out here?” She cried out. “Anyone? Someone help!”

A gust of wind swept past. Alaska was sure she heard a voice whispering “This way!” but no one appeared. There was nothing in sight, other than a rusty signpost pointing towards the nearest village. Whatever was there would have to do, for now. Although she had known and acknowledged it before, it hadn’t properly sunken in until now - Sharon was dying. And fast.

She trudged along the path, trying her best not to look at Sharon. The princess was warm and wet with blood, her throat raw from the repulsive outburst. Many times, Alaska had looked at her and sworn she looked dead, but it was nothing in comparison to what she could see now. This was a face that she could see being laid to rest, not that of somebody who would make a swift recovery.

“Please.” She begged, unsure of whether she was asking the heavens or the earth or Sharon herself. “Please, keep fighting. Keep holding on.”

“This way…” The wind replied.

-0-

Alaska’s arms were giving out. Despite Sharon being light, there was only so many hours that Alaska could walk and bear her full weight at the same time. Hours later, in the rapidly darkening world of night, they still hadn’t reached the village. It was likely - and horrifying - that Sharon wouldn’t make it through the night.

Collapsing onto the ground, Alaska laid Sharon down and began to cry, her back pressed against a large oak tree. The whole quest, the search for glory and riches in the hopes of surviving another few years had been utterly futile. She would be left with a broken heart and a broken home at the end of it all. Sharon was going to die, and that was it.

She felt selfish for thinking it, but knowing that her journey had been for nothing really stung. There would be no prize at the end, nothing good to come out of it. Only the memories of a forbidden love that almost was, but wasn’t quite.

Alaska sobbed bitterly. It wasn’t fair that she had been used, it wasn’t fair that she had fallen in love, and it wasn’t fair that she was blaming Sharon for the bleak future that awaited her. She was being awful and cruel, all because things had gone wrong. Deep down, somewhere, she had believed that Sharon just might make it. Now she knew better. Now she knew there was no hope.

It was pitch black, the empty night sky merging with the shade provided by the tree to create a comforting disguise of darkness. Alaska knew she was vulnerable - there was a large amount of money strapped to her, and she was armed with just a sword and a dagger to fight off any skilled thieves. One or two, she could maybe take on, but any more than that would have her seized, robbed and likely killed.

Oh, well. At least she could stay with Sharon that way.

Stop it! She berated herself. Sharon was going to live. She had to. Their kingdom needed a queen, and Alaska… Alaska needed her too.

“Oh, my. What a precarious and peculiar situation? Are you quite alright?”

Alaska turned, the voice jolting her from her misery. She didn’t bother to wipe away her tears, knowing that whoever spoke could barely see her.

“No. She’s dying and everything I’ve done has been for nothing. If you’ve come to rob me, just take it.”

There was a pause. “There won’t be any thieving tonight, I can assure you. Your friend here is sick, yes? She’s quite bloody.”

Alaska frowned, instantly distrustful of the figure. There was no way they could see Sharon, or know that she was covered in blood - Alaska couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Had they been watching?

“Who are you? What are you doing?” She demanded.

“All in good time.” The voice replied simply. “It seems that you require assistance. I would be happy to offer it, should you accept.”

There was no other option. “Okay. If you think you can.”

“Yes…” The voice said, though it sounded as though she wasn’t talking to Alaska. There was another pause, then she heard a quiet neighing. “No, no. That won’t do at all.”

Crack.

A bird tweeted.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Crack.

An ungodly keening broke through the night.

“A banshee? Really? No!”

Crack.

“Ah. Much better.”

A greenish glow had suddenly lit up the area. Standing above Alaska was the figure of a woman, outstretching her long bony fingers. She took them and stood up, trying to take in the person before her.

She was tall and waifish, seeming almost too long to be human. Her skin was white, with deep blue eyes and sunken cheeks. Unusually, her hair was short and grey, yet she appeared to be ageless, floating between looking like an adult and an adolescent. She wore black leather from head to foot, in trousers rather than a dress, and was draped in a brown cloak. There was a tattoo on the inside of her wrist, visible from when she helped Alaska to her feet.

“Who are you? W-What are you?” Alaska managed. An odd mixture of fear and reassurance had washed over her. She didn’t feel threatened, but she was certain that this wasn’t any ordinary human.

She merely smiled. “If you can manage, lift your friend. I will have you to safety in no time.”

Alaska did as she was told. Sharon was still unconscious, and Alaska cursed herself for being so selfish and thinking of herself when the princess had still not woken up. All the time she’d wasted thinking about herself was time that Sharon was losing.

The source of the green light turned out to be what Alaska first thought was a pile of sticks. The woman picked it up, revealing it to be a broomstick, but that didn’t seem to be much of a revelation either. What was she planning - enslaving them? She couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had heard her when she said that Sharon was dying. Neither of them would be any use to her.

“Hold on tightly to this and to her. You won’t fall, but I find it often soothes the nerves of first time flyers. Quickly mount.”

First time flyers?

Before she even had a chance to ask, the broom seemed to have lifted itself. Alaska clutched Sharon, riding side-saddle on the broomstick as it rose into the air and shot away into the night. In front, the figure seemed perfectly calm and composed, as though she was used to her broomsticks randomly floating. If anything, she seemed to be controlling the direction it was going in.

Alaska was flying. On a broomstick.

It didn’t get much stranger. If she hadn’t been sick with worry over Sharon, she would’ve been utterly enthralled with such a novelty.

She tried to ask again who the woman was, but her voice wouldn’t carry over the rushing wind. They were travelling fast, the landscape racing behind them as they flew just below the clouds. It was a speech unreachable by carriages, that Alaska knew - and it was exactly what she needed. Wherever they were going, she was sure they’d get there in plenty of time.

A few short minutes passed of Alaska murmuring prayers for Sharon before the broom touched down in front of a small woodland cottage, just away from a series of lights that Alaska identified as the nearby village. The figure dismounted, clicking once to make the broom stow itself away somewhere inside her home.

“Come, now. There is a space on the table for your friend to lie. Hurry and place her there.”

Again, Alaska obeyed immediately, still somewhat afraid to challenge her unspoken authority. Her voice was soft, accented; it was nothing like she’d ever heard, and yet oddly comforting at the same time.

The cottage was rustic yet homely, made almost entirely of wood and wrought iron. Red and purple candles gave the place a warm glow and a heady, aromatic scent, making Alaska feel unequivocally calmer and safer than she ever had before. In the centre of the room, where Sharon was now lying, there was a large table, surrounded by cabinets and cupboards and strange devices that Alaska couldn’t identify. The grey-haired woman hurried to remove her cloak, taking Alaska’s robe from her and hanging them up before rushing to Sharon’s side. Alaska didn’t bother trying to make sense of her odd, yet comforting surroundings.

“Well?” She demanded. “Who are you? Where are we? Can you help, or not?”

The grey-haired woman placed a hand on Sharon’s ribcage.

“You can call me Max, dearest.” She spoke gently. “Tell me, how did you come across this young woman?”

Alaska found that her tongue had suddenly loosened considerably. As quickly and concisely as she could, she told Max everything - how Sharon was the princess, how she had fallen ill and was in desperate need of help before it was too late, and how along the way - along the way, feelings had gotten complicated. She found herself telling Max things that she swore she could never tell anyone, for her own safety.

“Of course, the darling princess…” Max murmured fondly. “Yes, I remember her birth. Your kingdom was delighted. She was a beautiful baby.”

“She- You know her? She knows you?”

Max smiled. “No, dearest, she doesn’t know me. I attended the ball that her parents held, to celebrate her arrival. She will become Queen soon, will she not?”

Alaska sniffed, suddenly remembering the problem at hand. “Not if she doesn’t get help, and fast. She’s - she’s dying, and even the royal physicist didn’t know what to do. Who-Whatever you are, you’re our only hope.”

Removing her hand from Sharon’s ribcage, Max frowned. “Peculiar. Very peculiar.”

“What’s peculiar?” Alaska asked instantly. “Is she okay?”

“It appears to be so.” Max said clearly. “That is unusual. This, perhaps, is no regular sickness.”

Alaska was on alert. “So there’s nothing you can do?!”

“Not necessarily.” Max said distractedly. “Dear, I need you to step over that glowing line, do you see it?”

Across the floor, although it hadn’t been there to begin with, a glowing white line had appeared, cutting off what appeared to be the living area from a kitchen of sorts. Feeling slightly shunted, Alaska perched on the end of the leather sofa, feeling much colder now that she wasn’t engulfed in the strange thick magic that hung in the air.

By now, she knew Max had to be a witch, which only meant one thing - she had to be the person they had been searching for. A witch who could heal Sharon was her exact instruction, and it seemed that she had found one.

Max was busying around the kitchen, pulling tiny vials of coloured liquids out of cupboards and plucking herbs and powders from their jars. Everything seemed to be in disarray, but she knew how to find it all in an instant. Ingredient after ingredient was carefully added to another small, crystal vial, each one producing some sort of reaction - a puff of smoke, a change of colour, a strong odour. Alaska watched in awe as she worked, all the while remaining inside her magically designated area. As she worked, she murmured an unintelligible incantation.

When the concoction was finished, it was pure gold, swirling like she had taken the shine from the stars and captured it in a bottle. Very carefully, she poured the mixture past Sharon’s lips, and the princess shuddered violently. She lurched upright, wheezing, but her eyes were closed. Her head lolled backwards.

“Quickly.” Max intoned. “State your full name and step across the line, now. You must hurry.”

Leaping to her feet, Alaska muttered her name and dashed towards Sharon, taking her hand and stroking her frighteningly cold skin.

“This is no ordinary sickness.” Max said gravely. “We must look deeper. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Hold on tight, dearest. Hold on tight and don’t let go.”

-0-

They were in palace.

It was a bright, warm evening in the palace - sunlight was streaming through the large windows, onto the dining table. The royal family were gathered in the middle, looking younger than Alaska knew them to be. Max was watching intently.

“Happy Birthday dear Shaaaron, Happy Birthday to you!” They sang, cheering.

Alaska was taken aback. Sharon’s hair was thick and full, her eyes bright, her skin clear and fresh. She was youthful, happy, and not remotely sick. Her trademark red lips were pulled into a smile, and she clutched a tiny, seven year old Adore in her lap.

“Happy twentieth, darling.” The Queen kissed Sharon’s cheek.

“Go on!” Adore grinned, bouncing.

Sharon smoothed down her dress, tickling her sister’s sides as she did. When Adore screamed and wriggled, she leant forwards and blew out the candles.

Alaska smiled warmly. It was true, Sharon had been beautiful; she was every suitor’s dream, in perfect health and the epitome of gorgeous. Her dress, a stunning olive-green number with lace sleeves and a full skirt, fitted her properly, rather than hanging loosely from her figure. She wasn’t emaciated and gaunt like Alaska knew her to be. She was full of life.

As the smoke curled upwards from the candles, Sharon coughed - just once.

The sound put Alaska on edge instantly. The Queen, too, it seemed, had been worried by the innocuous sound.

“Are you alright, darling?” She asked.

Sharon nodded, her cheeks rosy. “Of course, mother! I think it was just the smoke getting to me. Let’s all have some cake, yes? Miss Michaels!”

Alaska blinked, and she was back in Max’s kitchen. Sharon was lying down once again, positively corpse-like. It was a stark and painful difference from the lively princess they’d seen from just a few years ago.

Max’s expression was grim. “It appears to be just as I feared.” She sighed. “She’s cursed.”

“Cursed?!” Alaska screeched. “Wh- How?!”

Things seemed to just be going from bad to worse. Right when Alaska got her hopes up, they were knocked down again by some unforeseen consequence that loomed in the shadows. She wondered briefly if there was any point in continuing to fight - it seemed that the universe was against saving Sharon’s life. No matter the endeavours to try and keep her alive, the world was fighting to let her die.

“Y-You can help her, right?” Alaska’s voice trembled, betraying the hopelessness that had started to build up in the pit of her stomach. “You can still save her, can’t you?”

Max pursed her lips. “Perhaps…”

She placed her hand on Sharon’s forehead, chanting under her breath. The princess choked, a harsh, guttural sound, and a wisp of pure black smoke curled from her lips, instantly darkening the room. Once warm, the kitchen suddenly seemed frigid. A sinister chill had wrapped itself around the place.

“Of course.” Max whispered. “I suspected, but I hoped it wasn’t that…”

Alaska swallowed. “Wha-What do you mean? Is she okay? What’s going on?”

The witch turned her back on Alaska, hanging her head as though in shame or regret. She gently placed the used crystal vial back into its place and sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”