#please as ever send your thoughts and prayers for my emotional state in the form of reblogs

[fizzyorange-v2]

on not being able to save those you love, even from themselves

“I've been inside his head. That guy's a piece of shit.”

“It doesn't matter. I-I don't want to be someone who leaves people behind. I want to be someone who saves his family. And for better or worse... he's family.”

Credits:

1 - Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body / Virgina Woolf, Final Letter to Her Husband // 2 - Nick Schager, The Boys Recap: Don’t Forget Your Second Wind // 3 - Adrienne Rich, For the Dead // 4 - Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care / The Boys, Assassination Run / Lena Oleanderson, Love in the Thoracic Cavity / Friedrich Nietzsche / @ell-hs, x / unknown // 5 - The Front Bottoms, Twelve Feet Deep / Dazai Osamu, No Longer Human / Walter Benjamin, One Way Street (tr. Edmund Jephcott), Selected Writings, Vol I: 1913-1926 / lillie, via Pinterest // 6 - John Le Carré, The Looking Glass War / Bring Me the Horizon, True Friends / starparkdesigns, via Instagram // 7 - Clive Barker, The Hellbound Heart / The Crane Wives, Tongues and Teeth / @neuxue, x // 8 - Susan Sontag, As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks (1964 - 1980) / Molly McAdams, Stealing Harper (Taking Chances, #1.5) / The Mountain Goats, Training Montage / Hael, Who Made You A Monster? // 9 - Bares, Montage // 10 - Aeschylus, Agamemnon / Garth Ennis, Preacher / D.N., excerpt from a book i'll never write #71 / @catradoraism, x / Poor Man’s Poison, Black Sheep // 11 - The Mountain Goats, Up the Wolves // 12 & 13 - Natalie Young, Notes on Earth Life // 14 - Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire / unknown / David Fincher, The Social Network // 15 - Margaret Atwood, "Hesitations outside the door", Power Politics / @theartistichuman, x / Jorge Rivera-Herrans, No Longer You // 16 - unknown

as always please let me know if any links break, any credit is incorrect, or if you’re aware of where a missing piece of media is from :]

[raggaraddy]

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

[summahsunlight]

Worth the Risk, Part 1

Rating: T

Word Count: 1350

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe.  After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

100 followers celebration is here! Taglist is open! Send an ask, comment, message to be added. I didn’t really get to proof read this like I normally would like, just excited to share it with you! Like reading this? Please feel free to leave a comment on the post, in an ask, or even a reblog. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU❤️

It was true what they said, when faced with imminent death, your life flashed before your eyes. He saw his mother hanging freshly cleaned linens on the clothes line in their back yard; he saw his father riding his favorite stallion while herding their cattle; he saw the first girl he kissed, the first plane he ever flew--he saw the California town he’d grown up in--all before his body crashed into the icy depths of the English Channel.

Poe Dameron was an exceptional pilot, one of the best the United States Army had, but not even the best was going to stop that plane from going down. The best he could do was give his crew a chance to parachute from their downed bomber. Of course, now they just had to survive the frigid water while they either waited for rescue or death. 

Waiting had never been easy for him. Poe was known for being incredibly impatient at times. So the irony of this situation was not lost on him that at the time of his death he was just waiting for it to happen. 

He wondered if his father would get his last letter before the uniformed officers showed up at his door, solemnly bearing the bad news that Kes Dameron’s only son--his only child--had sacrificed for his country. Would his last letter give his grieving father any comfort? Or would it only cause him more grief, knowing that he would never hear Poe’s voice ever again? His father had not begged him to re-enlist, his father had supported his decision to continue his service with the Army, especially with the looming war... but now, Poe could only imagine his father cursing the very military he had once proudly served himself. 

Papa, he thought as he felt his body start to succumb to the elements, his injuries, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have come home... I wish I didn’t cause you so much pain.

Cold wrapped around him and Poe felt the darkness coming.  He lost the will to fight it, it was just easier to close his eyes and sleep.  

His dreams were haunted with happier times--times with his mother before her death, times with his buddies at the pubs in England, laughing with them. But they were also haunted by the war.  He saw those same buddies, the ones he’d go out drinking with and joke with, dying.   Their planes torn apart by enemy fire, the empty flag draped caskets that were sent home to their families--the pain of watching the men he regarded as brothers have their life snatched away from them much too soon.

Ironically, now he was going to join them.  Poe wondered who would be the first person to greet him in heaven. Would it be his mother? Would it be one of his men that he had failed to protect? As he thought this, he became aware of the warmth enveloping his body and slowly he opened his eyes.

Sunshine spilled through open windows, curtains fluttering in the spring breeze.  Poe could smell fresh flowers, mixed in with the smell of antiseptic, and he found he was quite confused that heaven looked an awful lot like a field hospital. The scent of sweet perfume turned his head in the other direction and he saw a nurse standing near his bed, opening the window to let the fresh air in.  One hand was braced against his mattress, while the other worked the window open.  Poe cautiously reached out and touched her wrist.  

It startled her; she turned eyes wide looking down on him before before spinning about, and calling out, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant Y/L/N!” 

Poe tried to stop her, but the slightest little movement cause a great deal of pain.  He hissed and laid back against the soft pillows. This was definitely not heaven if he was in this much pain. 

“Captain, you shouldn’t move,” a soft, angelic voice chided him.  

“Where...where am I?” Poe asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“England.”

“H-how?”

“Fishermen saw your plane go down--they pulled you onto their boat.”

“My crew?”

It was then that your face came into his view; you had a face to match your angelic voice, your eyes softened, your perfect lips turned down into a frown as you gently regarded him.  “I’m sorry, Captain, your crew didn’t survive. By the time the fishermen pulled them from the water they had already died from hyperthermia.”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his features.  Poe felt like someone had reached inside of him and was squeezing his heart.  He had failed his crew.  He had not gotten his men home--and in a cruel twist of fate he had been the lone survivor. “I failed them,” Poe murmured, fresh tears forming in his eyes and falling.

Your soft fingers carefully caressed his hair before wiping the tears away. Poe was sure that was not standard procedure but he appreciated the comforting gesture. “I’m sure you did everything you could, Captain. It is not your fault they did not survive. You were pretty banged up from your crash, not to mention being exposed to the frigid water... quite frankly, it’s amazing you’re still alive.”

Poe managed a weak smile for you, noticing that you smiled in return, and it made his heart flutter. It was such a beautiful smile in such an ugly place that was filled with so much carnage.  “Well,” he said, still smiling, enthralled by you, “thanks for patching me up, Doc.”

“I’m a nurse, Captain; not your doctor.”

“Ah, should have known--you’re too pretty to be a doctor.”

“Do you always flirt with your nurses after just waking up in the hospital?”

“No, just the pretty ones, ma’am.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of here faster, Captain Dameron.”

Poe threw you a bashful smile, attempting to turn on the charm. “I had to try.  Hospitals really aren’t my thing, sweetheart.”

You titled your head, gazing at him incredulously. “I’d be nervous if hospitals were your thing.  Once you’re strong enough to return to duty--I’d hate to see you back here because you actually like being here.”

He suddenly thought of his crew, of the men that didn’t make it here to the hospital--Poe wished he would take their place, even if he’d woken up to your smiling, pretty face.  Sighing, Poe leaned back and gazed up at the drab ceiling of the field hospital.  Not much of a view. 

“Are you hungry, Captain?”you asked, sensing his mood shift.

“I guess...” Poe replied with a shrug.

“I’ll have the orderly bring you something.”

“Thanks.”

Turning to go, you fixed your eyes towards the door that would lead back to the mess, but Poe’s hand, strong yet gentle, gripped your wrist.  You turned once again to look down at his handsome face, his features distressed by physical and emotional pain. 

Poe took a deep breath. “Lieutenant Y/L/N... I don’t know your name.”

Smiling, you replied, “It’s Y/N.”

He closed his eyes, whispering your name, as if he was whispering a prayer to heaven.  You stood there for a moment, watching as he drifted back to sleep. You had a lot of soldiers underneath your care, but there was something about Poe... something that was different... 

Don’t! You told yourself, don’t do this.  We’re at war, it’s not the right time for romance... and it’s definitely not the right place to feel attracted to a man. But you were attracted to him--ever since he had arrived at the field hospital all the nurses had been talking about him and how handsome he was.  You did your best to ignore their gossip and kept them on track with their work.  If you didn’t, Doctor Hux would probably have a fit.

Quickly turning, you headed off to find Poe the meal he sort of requested. Even if you couldn’t fall in love with him you could at least ensure that he made a full recovery from his injuries.

[alj4890]

A Second Chance

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda)

A/N:  We are picking up directly after Thomas showed up at Amanda’s suite door and told Kathleen he was her father. The rest of this chapter shows what follows after such a revelation.

Tagging some of my fellow Mr. Hunt lovers. @lxaah11​ @alleksa16​ @penguininapinktuxedo​ @blackcoffee85​ @stopforamoment​  @hopefulmoonobject​   @krsnlove​   @annekebbphotography​ @hopelessromantic1352​ . @sunflowergirl05​  @desireepow-1986​ @greywitchyshots​ @lilyofchoices​ @moodyvalentinestories​ @emceesynonymroll​ @my-heart-beats-for-ya​ @aworldoffandoms​ @ab1901​  @flyawayboo​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker . @trappedinfandoms  @kate-mckenzie

Catch up here with Chapter 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Kathleen's eyes widened. "Mommy?"

Amanda seemed to snap out of her shock. She knelt beside her. "Kathleen, you remember when I showed you the pictures of the man, I said was your father?"

She nodded. "You said he was at work. That's why he couldn't be with us."

Amanda swallowed nervously. She had hated telling her daughter that lie. "That's right. Well, he's had a chance to come see you. This is your father." She stood up and silently pleaded he be kind and not hurt Kathleen's feelings.

The little girl hid somewhat behind her mother's skirt and peeked out shyly at him.

Thomas gentled his voice to try and put her at ease. "Kathleen, you have a very pretty name."

She mumbled. "Thank you."

Thomas stood upright and stepped forward. "Amanda, why didn't you tell me?"

Her hazel eyes clouded in confusion. "Tell you what?"

He gestured silently toward their daughter.

"But you knew. Kara Bennett said you did and didn't want either..." She trailed off when she saw both sadness and anger contort his handsome features.

"I never knew." He whispered harshly. "I came to Cordonia multiple times and was refused to be told where you were by your servants. No one bothered to mention that you had given birth to my child."

Kathleen eased out from behind Amanda. She reached out and touched his hand.

Thomas paused in his denial and looked down at her. He relaxed his fingers and watched as she slipped her little hand in his.

Amanda knew this meeting was inevitable and stepped back. "Please, come in."

He allowed Kathleen to lead him over to the couch.

"Daddy?" She whispered in a tone filled with nervousness and uncertainty.

He swallowed uneasily. He had no idea how to act around this little girl. "Yes?"

Her smile reminded him of Amanda's, down to the one dimple that formed on the left corner of her lips. "You'll stay?"

He nodded, thinking she meant for the moment. "Yes, of course."

She leaned closer toward him. It was unnerving to have his own intense eyes focused on him. "I'm like my friends? I have a daddy."

Amanda chewed on her bottom lip. She hadn't realized how much Kathleen had missed having a father. She should have. She should have tried harder to make Thomas be a part of their child's life. Her stubbornness in denying they needed him had done this.

"Yes, you do." Thomas glanced up at Amanda for guidance. Was he screwing this up?

Kathleen stepped closer. Her voice still held a great deal of uncertainty. "Can I, um, have a hug?"

His arms reached out and he grunted when she threw herself into his embrace. Her little arms were wrapped tight around his neck. He rested his head against hers and held her, wishing he had known this little creature from the beginning.

Amanda lifted her eyes up, trying not to cry. How many nights had she wished Thomas had been there, having a sweet relationship with the one perfect part of their time together?

"Excuse me." She mumbled when another knock was at the door.

"Room Service." The porter pushed in a cart loaded down with covered dishes. He greeted Thomas and Kathleen while waiting on Amanda to finish signing the receipt.

"Thank you." Amanda said after adding his tip.

Kathleen wiggled out of Thomas's arms and held his hand. "Can Daddy eat with us?"

"I'm not that hungry." He stated, not wanting to put them to any trouble. He didn’t know if he could swallow a sip of water with how stunned he was by this revelation holding his hand.

"We ordered a number of dishes since neither of us could decide what we really wanted." Amanda interrupted. "Feel free to eat whatever you like."

Kathleen sat down beside him and smiled. "Do you like grilled cheese?"

Thomas nodded. "I do."

"Mommy! Daddy likes grilled cheese like we do!" Kathleen yelled out when Amanda walked into the kitchen of their suite for some extra plates.

"Is that so?" Amanda smiled at her happiness. "I know you and your father share a number of characteristics."

"We do?" She sat on her knees and pulled on Thomas's arm. She began to question him on everything from favorite holidays to his favorite kind of chocolate.

When she asked him what animal with stripes was his favorite, Amanda laughed.

"Sweetheart, why don't you eat and give your father a break? I want that tummy of yours to feel good tomorrow. We don't want to cancel our plans."

"Can Daddy come with us to the zoo?" She asked. "You want to come with us, don't you?"

Thomas met Amanda's eyes. He searched for any sign that she didn't want him to. "I would like to."

Kathleen beamed at him as she settled more against his side. She split her grilled cheese sandwich and handed him half. "Here you go."

Thomas took it and smiled at her sweetness. If he had only known of her existence, he could have had moments like this with both his daughter and Amanda.

He quietly observed mother and daughter's behaviors and words toward one another. His lips had remained in a near permanent smile at the apparent love between them.

Once dessert had been shared among the three of them, Amanda announced it was bedtime.

Kathleen pouted slightly. "But Daddy's here."

Amanda laughed. "That doesn't mean time has stopped." She picked her up and leaned her forehead against Kathleen's. Their noses rubbed, causing the little girl to giggle.

Thomas thought it was one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

"Go brush your teeth and then I'll tuck you in." Amanda sat her back down and nudged her toward her room.

"Yes mam." She stopped and hugged Thomas. "You'll tuck me in too?"

"I will." He promised, smoothing her hair out of her little heart shaped face.

She hurried off leaving Amanda and Thomas alone for the first time.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. "She's amazing."

Amanda's smile turned tender. "Yes, she is." Her eyes lowered from his. "I knew you would think so if you ever met her."

Thomas stepped closer and gently caressed her cheek. "I know we have a lot to discuss." He tilted her chin up. "But there hasn't been a day that has gone by when I didn't think of you nor stopped missing you."

Amanda could feel herself drawn toward him as his lips lowered. She forced herself to step back. "I missed you for the longest time." She straightened her shoulders. "But we need to talk over everything...including that."

He dropped his hand and followed her into Kathleen's room. The little girl said her prayers and then hopped into bed. She had several stuffed animals on and under the covers.

"I can't wait to go to the zoo." Kathleen told them.

"Seems like you already have your own personal zoo right here." Thomas remarked.

She giggled again and started telling him the names of all her toys.

Amanda chuckled and shook her head. "You can introduce him to the rest tomorrow." She pressed a kiss to her cheek and covered her up. "Snug enough?"

Kathleen nodded and repeated their usual bedtime rhyme. "As a bug in a rug." She looked over at Thomas. "Goodnight Daddy."

He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. She hugged him again before settling down.

Amanda led him out and left the door cracked open.

"We need to keep our voices down while we talk." She excused herself for a moment, leaving him on the couch as she went into the other bedroom.

Thomas couldn't sit still and began to pace while waiting on her to return. His thoughts and nerves were on edge with all he had discovered this evening. He had hoped, since it was a Cordonian hosted charity event, to find out where Amanda had been all this time. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought she had given birth alone.

He had removed his jacket earlier and had loosened his tie. He went ahead and took it off. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dress shirt. He knew he would need air once they began to talk.

Amanda reappeared with a black binder. She hesitated a moment and then handed it to him. "I've made certain to carry this with me whenever I travel in case I ever bumped into you." She sat down in a chair near the couch. "I began filming Kathleen from her birth. I didn't want you to miss seeing her as the months and years passed."

He opened it and read the titles of the numerous discs. Each one had a date listed. The birthdays and holidays were all there. Her first time sitting up. First crawl. First step. First word. So many things he had missed.

"You made this for me?" His voice was raspy with emotion. "You did all this though you thought I didn't want anything to do with either of you?"

Amanda nodded. "I think a part of me couldn't believe the man I had known wouldn't want to know his own child."

He set the binder to the side and focused on her. "Why didn't you try to contact me?"

"I did the night she was born. I called a few times. You never answered and the mailbox was full." She explained.

"You could have called the studio. Called Addison or Holly. Anyone! You could have come back to California and demanded to see me." He argued. "Why did you give up?"

 Her eyes narrowed. "I returned to California when I found out we were having a girl, hoping you might be willing to hear me out this time. But then I ran into your Kara that you were sending flowers to. She told me at my most vulnerable point that you didn't want me or our child. Your lack of contact seemed to back up her claims that you were glad to be rid of us." 

She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "My reasons for not pursuing you after Kathleen’s birth were simple: I was caring for an infant. I was unsure with everything and centered my every thought on raising her. During the search for Cordonia's next queen, I was asked by Liam's father to reside at my estate in the Highlands. He didn't want to take a chance on the people possibly wanting a single mother as his son's wife. Then I was ordered to remain there by Liam when the attacks from the Sons of the Earth occurred. I remained in the Highlands while Liam and Riley dealt with some other problems that struck Cordonia. I haven’t been home since shortly after Kathleen was born."

"Those were the times I was in Cordonia." Thomas admitted. "I came hoping we could have a second chance. The months apart had been agony."

She rolled her eyes, feeling very little sympathy for his plight. "Imagine them pregnant with the belief that you were unwanted."

"I am sorry you went through all that. I promise I would have been with you during every step if I had known." He reached over and took her hand. "I never gave up on finding you. Each year I attended charity events that I knew you used to support, hoping to see you there."

Amanda slowly shook her head. "As sweet as that is, I'm afraid the version of me you searched for is no longer here." She held his unwavering gaze. "I've changed since having Kathleen."

He took her hand between both of his. "I would be surprised if that experience had not brought about change." He lifted her hand to his lips. "I would like the opportunity to know who you are now."

Her fingers trembled slightly in his grasp. "I'm not sure that is such a good idea. I at one time hoped you would want both me and Kathleen. Now, I am only concerned that she has a relationship with you."

"She deserves to have a family with both her parents." He countered. "I never stopped loving you. I believe if you give me a chance, you will see that we are meant to be together."

 She chuckled. "Meant to be? Like Fate has a hand in our destiny?" Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "After everything that happened, I don't believe in any of that anymore." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You, yourself, used to doubt such romantic nonsense."

"Once I lost you, I realized that there was some truth in it. There is such a thing as the perfect person for everyone." He gripped her hand. "I tried to date others after that first year without you and I tried again last year. No one could hope to compare to you."

Amanda had to harden her heart to the very words she had once dreamed of hearing. She didn't know if she wanted to fall in love with Thomas again. She had done quite well on her own. Did she really want to have all the excitement and uncertainty of romance again?

Thomas watched the conflicting emotions flicker on her face. "I don't need an answer right now. I only wanted to express what my hope is. I will begin any type of relationship you want for the time being."

Amanda's eyes cut to him. She thought of now knowing he was innocent in all she had held against him. She then remembered how much she missed having him in any form in her life. "Thank you." She laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand. With Kathleen growing up, she knew she would want his input in her upbringing. "I wouldn't mind us being friends again."

He forced a smile. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but hopefully he could change her mind as time went on. "How long are you planning on remaining in New York?"

"A week." She smiled at him. "Kathleen's birthday is Wednesday. She loves musicals and The Wizard of Oz. I am going to surprise her by taking her to see Wicked." She tugged his hand. "Why don't you come with us?"

 "I would love to." He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Where are you going after New York?"

"Back to Cordonia. I have so much to catch up on after years of absence." She explained.

"I don't suppose I could come with you." He offered. "I don't have any films or such planned. This could give me an opportunity to get to know Kathleen." And try and win you, he thought.

 "She would love that." Amanda's smile was the happiest he had seen all night. "You are more than welcome to stay with us." Her lips trembled with mirth. "Goodness knows, we have plenty of guest rooms."

"Thank you." He let go of her hand and stood up. He reached for the binder she had given him. "Perhaps you and Kathleen would like to come to my suite for breakfast in the morning."

"She loves to sleep late like me." Amanda admitted with a laugh. "Why don't we say ten thirty?"

"Perfect." He gave her his room number while she wrote her cell down.

Pausing at the door, Thomas pulled her close for a hug. He felt her stiffen before relaxing in his embrace.

"I can't express how happy I am that I finally found you." He whispered.

"I…I am too." She admitted a touch breathlessly. She closed her eyes at that feeling that had long laid dormant that she had only felt when in his arms. Safety, reassurance, and cherished mixed together in a warm, soothing feeling.

His lips brushed her cheek as he let her go. She stumbled back and nervously tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight, Amanda."

***********

He spent the rest of his evening watching disc after disc of Kathleen from birth to a ballet recital performed a little over a week ago.

He swallowed the last of the third glass of scotch he had poured. Seeing his daughter become the little girl she was now had been eye opening. His heart was practically bursting with pride over having a hand in her creation.

It also ached with even more love for Amanda. Each disc had a sentence or more of her talking as if the two of them were standing beside one another while watching their child in wonder. 

As a baby and toddler, the camera was dropped often while she rushed after a quick Kathleen. Amanda's laughter followed their little one as she tried to stop the tiny runaway.

Birthday's and Christmases had someone else filming while Amanda held their daughter. Seeing the wide-eyed wonder on Kathleen’s face drew him in, but it was Amanda's that captivated and held him. Her joy and love couldn't be contained with their child. It was something he had only glimpsed in her before. That was what had caused him to fall in love the first time.

Watching her, he realized the truth. Amanda believed herself changed. He knew that wasn't it at all. The only changes the camera revealed were that those qualities he had admired so much in the beginning of their relationship had only become enhanced with the birth of Kathleen. Amanda was still the same, only much more desirable in every way.

That was why no one else had managed to steal his heart. Thomas wanted that type of love and affection. He knew she was the only one capable of giving that depth and quality of the emotion to him.

After years of trying to capture these honest emotions behind the camera, he caught every simple touch, every heartfelt word. The camera didn't lie. It revealed everything he so desperately wanted.

For a man that had found himself not really caring what path he took after his last film, he was now seriously focused on and planning every strategy he could use. Thomas would be the father Kathleen needed. He was going to do all he could to make Amanda fall in love with him again. He would make the three of them a family.

[maruzzewrites]

״ It’s okay to love me. Please love me.” With Doppio? Or if you only do la squadra, “I want to tell you I love you until my throat bleeds.” for risotto? LOVE your writing!

sweet sweet doppio not being so sweet. as i said, i see him being incredibly moody when yandere and we all know he has nasty outbursts when angery.

also i did that prompt with risotto! here you go, anon.

46. “It’s okay to love me. Please love me.”

Content warnings: yandere content, obsessive content, stalking, violence, creep behavior, implied kidnapping.

Doppio, right under the Don in Passione’s hierarchy,was a simple man. He woke up in unknown rooms every morning, he found himself outsideisolated buildings every afternoon, he wore oversized outfits every evening;despite his frequent gaps and voids in his memory, Doppio was a simple man who wastoo polite, too nice to be considered the right-hand man of one of the most monstrousbosses of Italy’s criminal life. He was shy, he was clumsy, he would extend ahelping hand to all the people who needed it while risking being tricked atevery interaction.

It was because of his naivety that you met him, whilsthe was almost robbed by a tiny child in front of him, sliding his small hand intohis bag after asking him for some trivial information. You stopped the scoundrel,holding his wrist while lecturing him about legality and rules, missing thetwitch in Doppio’s golden eyes as they shifted from their previous color. Thechild almost started to cry, and you couldn’t bear to see the sadness,crunching down to offer a few bills to him and making him promise to be good.The kid grabbed the money, surprised, and run off while yelling his gratitude,disappearing in a shop somewhere down the street.

“Do you have everything?” Doppio jumped out of hisskin when you addressed him, looking at your face as your words registered inhis mind. Then, he showed you a face of realization and searched his bag, hispockets, he looked in places he wouldn’t be able to store anything; he gained ashort snicker from you, without any malice, by the eagerness to answer yourquestion, and the sound attracted his attention to your face again. He justconfirmed nothing was stolen.

“Be more careful.” That was all you said to himbefore walking away and leaving him behind, disappearing in the ever-changingsea of people that walked the streets of Naples. He was too astonished to runafter you, losing you in the crowd after he regained his mind and hisconsciousness. His steps were quick, panicked as he looked and looked, the tinyside streets mocking him as he thought about the path you could have taken. Hissearch was interrupted by a call, and he reluctantly answered his boss whilewalking the opposite direction from you.

However, Doppio wasn’t stupid. He was aware thatmost people, people not like him, were creatures of habit. Or bound to routinesthey had to keep, in order to maintain their lives. So, he waited, every day,at the same exact hour in the same exact spot. He scanned his surrounding withuncharacteristic attention to catch a glimpse of you – he committed to memoryyour face, making space in his faulty brain to remember you. His eyes woulddart from person to person, maniacally, flashing green in their golden wake.His boss knew what he was doing, and tried to persuade him to stop and go backto his duties.

“Just a thank you, just a thank you.” Doppiowould chant to himself, silencing the voice of the Don while he simply sighedand allowed him to seek you out. He knew nothing pressing was going to happen,he was aware Doppio would run to do anything for him if it was needed, so hesimply observed as he analyzed and hunted for your form in the mass of bodiesin front of him. The distraction of wanting to find you could prove dangerouson missions and tasks, so the Don would let him find you, guide him until hisfascination would wear out and he could continue with his plans withoutsetbacks.

The pursuit came to an end one day, when Doppio’sgaze rested on your back. He gasped loudly, fell as he tried to run towardsyou, letting out a loud scream of shock. You turned around to see what thenoise was, seeing him just before his face collided with the ground with apainful sound. You winced slightly, then moved to approach the man laying onthe floor, immobile. You rested your hands on his shoulders and watched him flinchat the contact, sighing with relief at the sight, before turning him around.His nose was bleeding and his cheek was bruising, but his eyes were still openand they moved to meet your gaze as soon as you entered his field of vision.

“Are you okay?” Doppio nodded at your questionand you took a minute to look over his face, ghosting your fingers over hisnose and cheek, without pressing down to prevent any type of pain. He blinked,looking up at your concerned face, a swirl of emotions taking over his body:apprehension, anxiety, caution, they would mix with a pleasant sensation offondness at your gentle eyes caressing his injuries. You sneaked an arm underhis head, making him sit up and then get back on his feet with a hand securedon his side, making the uncovered skin of his torso heat up at the contact. Youspoke again when you distanced yourself, his arms mechanically reaching out tostop you, “Let’s sit down somewhere, so I can clean you up.”

Doppio followed you, obedient, letting himself beingpushed on a chair of a cafe, you disappearing inside to order something afteryou got his preferences. You didn’t give him the possibility to pay, sittingdown at his side as the two of you waited for your drinks. You moved your ownchair closer, your knee brushing his thigh as you took his face in your hands, checkingto make sure nothing too bad happened. With a tissue, the blood was cleaned;the bruise over his soft skin was soothed with a cream you had with you, theexcuse of having a nurse as a parent on your lips even when he didn’t questionyour action. He was simple enchanted, speaking eagerly when you asked questions,averting his eyes with joyful embarrassment when you chucked at his attics.

You were strangely cheerful in his presence, hewas so used to hiding he forgot the pleasure of someone’s company. He was,after all, a simple man; as such, he craved the proximity of other people, andyour good heart was warming him up to the point his words came out rushed,awkward, but you simply giggled at his bashful behavior. His mind would growhazy at your displays of kindness, used as he was to criminals and ruffiansready to take advantage of his smaller size and innocent face.

When he asked what you bought as a pastry, youdidn’t think twice about offering him a piece, compensating with a mirthfultheft of a part of his own food. When he winced a bit as he touched his owncheek, you got up to ask for ice to the worker of the cafe, pressing it gentlyto his face while continuing to chat about nothing in particular. When youreyebrows twitched only a little in a frown before your forehead easing up afterhis boss called him, a duty he couldn’t avoid or ignore. He apologized,bringing his phone to his ear to listen, while his eyes were still on yourface.

There weren’t orders, just questions. The bosswas calm with him, but the impatience in his voice was evident; he could evensee your expression change, worry painted over your features as you probablyheard the tone through the speaker. The man on the other side of the phonedemanded to know why he was still around you, sending Doppio in a confusedstate of panic. The boss continued to order him to stand up, walk away, he didn’thave time for conversations; Doppio raised his voice to speak, begging for himto listen. The harsh voice of his boss was silenced, and Doppio swallowed atthe sight of your disturbed face just before asking the Don if it was okay to haveyou.

He saw you freeze in your seat, your arms shot upto grip the table right in front of you, as you glared at him with agitated eyes.A heavy silence fell over the two of you, the evening coming and leaving thestreets still, empty, lifeless. The few people who passed didn’t reassure you,not with the deranged look on the man in front of you. You were alreadycollecting your thoughts in order to find the easiest, quickest escape route ifthings got worse. Doppio, meanwhile, was waiting for an answer, his breathpicking up with each passing second with your eyes darting in all directionsand his fingers tapping nervously on the table.

“You can.” The definitive response sent a shockof delight through Doppio’s body, his face splitting into a grin. He watchedyou, even more worried now, as he reported the good news to you and he lingeredwith his gaze to gather your reaction. You were confused, but elected to simplystand up and say your goodbyes, reminding him he didn’t have to pay. Youstarted to walk away when you heard a chair move, his desperate pleading rightbehind you followed by quick, abrupt steps. Your legs felt heavy as you startedto walk faster and faster, until you began to job and ultimately run with youreyes fixed in front of you. His words behind you didn’t stop, his begging onlysound closer than ever, until the words started to change and mutate into severecommands to stop.

Your error was taking a turn, slowing down toprevent the possibility of slipping, but then you felt two arms around yourstomach. They felt too big to be of the man you were with before, and you werelifted without too much thought, your body trashing to get out of the hold hewas squeezing you in. As if your prayers were answered by the wrong divinity,you were thrown on the ground, your legs and hands aching as the crashed downand gave out under your weight. You felt a foot press down on your back, untilyou were flat on the floor and Doppio was towering over you with ragged breath andharsh words, “Didn’t you hear? He said it’s okay!”

Suddenly you were faced with the phone Doppio wasusing earlier, pressed on your ear while you listened to the silence on theother side. Doppio’s voice returned to his previous softness, now strained withnotes of desperation that made him shrill at certain points, making you wince, “It’sokay to love me,” you chocked as he pushed you down with his foot, your lungs startingto feel crushed under his weight and the pressure of the floor right under you.You let out a cry, wriggling until you could feel your ribs scrap at the fleshof your chest. The despair clinging to his throat contrasted with his violentoutburst, his voice ringing painfully in your ears, “Please love me. You weredoing good! He approves.”

When you started to cry, you felt the foot leaveyour back and you were moved to lay on your back, feeling the cold shadow ofthe man despite your closed eyes. You tried to sit up, your palms burning atevery movement with the ache of open injuries, but a hand went to your throatand you were pushed down with violent rush, the back of your head throbbing asit hit the ground. Your vision blurred, your mind floated before turning off,but you could swear Doppio’s eyes were a different color.  

[too-many-baes]

To Hell and Back

Pairing: fem!reader x Dean Winchester

Warning(s): Injury, death, going to hell, angsssst (but some fluff to make up for it), slight AU, S03-S06

Word Count: 5.2K

Request: Hi! Love your writing! Could you do a dean x fem!reader where she’s Bobby’s daughter, they’ve been dating forever and she went to hell to save the boys. It was a surprise to the boys but she saw it coming so she wrote a note to Dean that he should not try to get her back and go have a normal life with Lisa. Eventually she gets back (somehow - maybe Bobby or Sam or Cas figure something out) and Dean really is with Lisa. You can choose the end - I’d love some fluff. I hope it’s not too specific. - by Anon

A/N: So I played with the timelines here a bit so it may not be exactly what you had envisioned but I hope you enjoy it none-the-less! Thank you for sending in a request!! Masterlist in my bio and requests are open

gif is not mine, credit to [@ jamiedornaniseverything ]

                                                       *********

You sit at the tired old table in your house of Singer’s Auto, you and the Winchesters. None of you make a sound, your collective focus makes speaking unnecessary.

Words begin to bleed into an incoherent mess so you rub your tired eyes in an attempt to revive your vision. Bobby has long since retired for the night, you and the boys persisting.

This has been your position for several weeks. Day in and day out, you can feel your blood cells slowly turning into caffeine in your attempts to keep yourself alert, the rest of the household living in the same coffee induced delirium. None of you felt you could rest until you found the solution you were so desperately searching for, an answer to your prayers.

One single week is all that's left between Dean and hell hounds claiming his soul. You've seen it happen before, the tearing of flesh and anguished cries are not something you'd wish upon anyone, making you all the more desperate to save your boyfriend from that wretched fate. Here you are and here you'll stay until you figure out how to save him. You know if you don't fix this soon it will lead to Sam doing something drastic, and that's not something you can stand for either.

You've known the boys since you were young. Being Bobby Singer's daughter meant if someone was a hunter then your paths had definitely crossed, with the Winchesters your house had always been a revolving door. You were indifferent to the boys when you were young, it wasn't until you were a teenager that you took notice of Dean, much to your father’s initial disappointment. He loved the Winchesters as if they were his own sons but that didn't change the fact he didn't think anyone was good enough for you. Not even the charming, well-meaning Dean Winchester.

The shock of finding out you were dating the eldest of the boys passed eventually and after strict words from your dad you’ve been inseparable since. You've been through thick and thin together, you know everything there is to know about him. This means you know how much the brothers mean to each other and just how far they'll go to ensure the others safety.

You can't see them die for each other, you don't care how many sleepless nights it'll take.

You have successfully claimed Sam's usual role, being the first one to rise and the last to bed. You hadn't even noticed they'd gone to bed when a tapping on your shoulder pulled you out of your trance.

“It’s 2am babe, it'll still be there in the morning.” You look up at Dean's face. His usually bright eyes have lost their signature shine, the lines underneath mountainous, his hair mussed from the few hours of sleep he'd already managed to get.

“I'll be there in a minute.” You answer him with a quick dismissive smile. Dean has other ideas, reaching over and forcibly closing the book cover you couldn’t remove yourself from.

“You need your sleep.” You could have argued, but what would be the point? In a few minutes you would’ve ended up asleep on the pages anyway. You allow Dean to lead you by the hand down the hallway to your room, where you clumsily change before crawling in beside his almost already sleeping form. In his half there state he instinctually reaches out to circle his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Typically you and Dean weren't really cuddler's, but after finding out your days together could be numbered that changed. Now every night you sleep something like this, as close as possible, not wanting to waste your precious moments alone. He mumbles a barely audible ‘I love you’ before his faint snores rumble on your neck.

“I love you too.” You say it to yourself, knowing he was past hearing. You love him more than you thought you'd ever love a man, it was because of that the seed of an idea you'd read weeks ago had been sprouting ever since. You know what has to be done to save him and his brother, despite how much they won’t like it.

***

“They’re coming!” Sam’s frantic yells sound from the front door where he makes his best attempt at holding it closed from the ferocious hounds that claw and leap at its weakening wood.

“Everyone get in the living room!” The three of you run into the salt barricaded room, swiftly followed by Sam. No sooner had he left his post than the doors were flown off their hinges and angry growls could be heard by everyone in the room.

“Can you see ‘em?” Bobby's unusually tentative voice questions, a curt nod from Dean swiftly answers his question.

“There's two of them. There.” He raises his arm to point at the seemingly empty space before them, fear causing his arm to shake and his voice to lose volume.

You take in a grounding breath, assured within yourself you were making the right decision. You spin around to face your father, doing your best to not succumb to the overwhelming emotions pounding in your chest. “I love you dad.” It was rare for you and your father to exchange verbal ‘I love you's’, your love for one another going unspoken usually.

“What are you doing?” His question is gruff and urgent, immediately knowing something was wrong.

“Dean”, you ignore your father and grab the aforementioned by the shoulders, forcing his frantic eyes onto your face, “I love you. Never forget that.”

“Y/N what-" He had no time to finish his sentence, the salt guarding the door blowing away as the sound of growling creeps closer. You push your sleeve up revealing a series of symbols drawn on your skin.

Before the men in the room can process your actions you've unsheathed a knife and cut a long slash along your palm, pressing it against your forearm. The growling ceases momentarily, a false sense of hope for your companions.

“They're gone. I can't see them any more.” The hope that had crept into Dean's eyes vanished when once again snarling growls filled the room.

“What's happening, I thought you said you couldn't see them Dean?” Sam yells in dismay.

“I can”, you manage to croak out as you stare at two creatures more gnarled than anything your nightmares could conjure. If you weren't positive that you'd already earnt yourself a way one ticket downstairs then the black magic you'd found to redirect the hell hounds had solidified your fate.

The men were now frenzied, yelling and screaming for you to run as they scrambled for weapons they knew would do no good. For once you did as instructed. You turned away from the hounds and bolted out of the front door. As you'd planned the beasts were on your heels, they'd have you in their clutches within minutes. As the adrenaline courses through your veins you push yourself to go faster, to get far enough down the road that your demise would be away from the eyes of a room full of people you love.

A series of claws slash across you calf sending you crashing unceremoniously onto the dirt road beneath you. You turn to face your death head on, all teeth, drool, and crimson eyes.

“Y/N!” No. No, you don't want them to see this.

“Leave, please!” Your sentence ends with an agonising howl as claws and teeth set upon you. The pain is unbelievable, hot and searing, making the deafening chorus of cries and pleads from the witnesses to your chosen fate obsolete. Death didn't last as long as you had thought and the life in your eyes had faded as the three voices continue to call out for you.

Bobby is the first one to reach your now lifeless body. He shakes your shoulders, lightly at first, then harder with every time his saying your name goes unanswered. Dean falls to his knees on your unoccupied side, grabbing your limp hand and desperately clinging it in his own as tears fall down his face. Sam stays standing, but barely. None of the men speak, the cruel turn of fate that took you from them stealing away their words.

Dean opens his bedroom door, the emptiness without you there consuming his thoughts. As the usually terse man fights back yet more tears an envelope on his otherwise empty nightstand caught his eye. He hurriedly tears it open when he recognises his name in your handwriting.

Dean,

This is going to be short and sweet, just ‘cause I'm gone doesn't mean I'm about to get sappy.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my plan, you would've stopped me if I had. This was the only option, in time you'll come to see that.

I know you had no time to prepare yourself but I have to ask something of you, my dying wish if you will.

Be happy. That girl Lisa, from Indiana? Go to her. She needs someone, so do you. I reckon that makes you perfect for each other.

Don’t waste your second chance pining over me, I'm gone and I intend to stay that way. Don’t try to bring me back.

I died happy so you could live happy.

Don't let me down Cherry Pie.

Forever yours,

Y/N Singer

As soon as he saw his name on that first line the tears begun to stream down his face. By the end of the letter he was inconsolable, his hands shaking and drops from his eyes blurring some of the words on the page. He quickly dabs away the dots from the page, not wanting to permanently lose any letter from the last token you’d left behind for him.

You had written you’d wanted him to move on, he would do his best. Not tonight, hell not any of the coming nights. They would be reserved for you and only you. Dean was going to drink so much he cried whiskey. He was going to spend every waking hour thinking of you and nothing but. Then, when his eyes finally dried and he could muster the courage to step foot out of the house, that’s when he’d follow your wishes.

***

Flesh burning. Skin cutting. Teeth being removed and hair being torn from your scalp. It’s all you knew, all you thought you’d be resigned to know. Then all of a sudden it was gone, you were there one minute and it was black the next.

You lurch forward, clutching your chest and furiously sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle. You look around, seeing that you have no idea where you are other than in the middle of a wheat field. You know well enough to know that this isn’t some trick of the devil. No, something, somehow has put you back on earth. The thought crosses your mind Dean could have been the culprit, but you dread what something like this would have costed.

As you stand you feel something burning your side, lifting your shirt to find a raised hand print just below your ribs.

“Y/N.” The unfamiliar, gruff voice behind you causes you to jerk your body around, seeing a man in a trench coat with a blue tie.

“Who are you? What am I doing here?”

“My name is Castiel, I’m a friend of the Winchesters.” He needn’t bother answering your second question, hearing he knew Dean and Sam caused your wild thoughts to snap to his attention.

“Are they okay?” It was the only thing you could think to ask, your frazzled head still processing being above ground.

“They’re okay, here” he holds out his hand to you, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “I’ll take you to them.” You can’t see a car anywhere near you and you’re completely unsure how he intends to get you to the men as you, for some inexplicable reason, reach out and grab his hand.

For the second time in your very short time on solid ground you’re left dizzy and breathless as you find you are once again not where you were before. This time though your surroundings are familiar, causing a happy gasp to leave your mouth and your hands to shoot up and cover it.

You’re back at the only place you’ve ever called home, Singer’s Auto.

“Y/N?” Sam’s all too familiar voice sounds from the kitchen, a smile stretching infinitely across your face as the taller Winchester rushes to wrap his arms around you while desperately calling for Bobby to join you in the living room. You exchange happy, disbelieving words as Bobby makes his entrance.

“What are you yelling about idjit, I was busy-Y/N.” His sentence falls short when he sees his presumed dead daughter. Sam has only ever seen Bobby cry once before, that awful night they’d lost you, but now as he races to hold his daughter he thought he’d never see again his tears glisten under the yellow light of the cheap bulb.

“Hey dad.” You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, overjoyed and overwhelmed by this strange turn of events.

“Castiel”, Sam questions as you finally release your father from your grip, “what did you do?”

“Actually just while we’re asking questions, what exactly are you?” No human man could have pulled you from hell and taken you to the auto shop and since you were fairly certain this man was no demon you were stumped.

“I’m an angel of the lord and I got you out of hell.” You look around the room trying to pick whether it was Sam or your father who had made some kind of deal but the lack of guilt and knowing on their faces tells that neither one had plotted to raise you from the fiery pits.

“Neither of you did this?” The shaking of their heads confirms your deductions. “Goddamn it, Dean”, you mutter.

“He played no part, it was just me.” Castiel’s statement shocks you.

“Why? I don’t know you, why would you do that?”

“Dean hasn’t been hunting for years and somethings come up we need his help with. We need Dean’s help and they refused to do anything about it. I knew my presence wouldn’t be enough to get him back and I recalled him speaking of you fondly and thought you would be able to help.”

“How could you Cas?” Sam speaks in irritation with the angel. “Dean got out, he deserves to stay out.”

“He did?” The bickering stops when you speak your hopeful question. “Dean got out?” Sam nods, an almost nostalgic look on his face.

“Yea Y/N, Dean got out.” You smile along with him, your chest lightening at the knowledge that the stubborn man had paid attention to the letter you left. As you think your smile wavers when you register something is Cas’ prior sentence. “Hang on Castiel, did you say he hasn’t hunted in years?” You let out a small humourless laugh, “How long have I been in hell?” The men previously in your life struggle to find words to say, so the angel who you’re learning is rather bad with social cues speaks.

“Three and a half years I believe.” Three and a half years. Time feels endless down in the pit, never-ending but entirely still at the same time. Five minutes or fifty years could have passed and you’d have been none the wiser, but being back now after three years? Dean was out and happy, you didn’t want to jeopardise that.

“How selfish can you be?” You bite at your angel acquaintance.

“Y/N, he was only trying to help.”

“No dad, I don’t care what he was trying to do!” You yell at your well-meaning father, “He doesn’t even know me and he brought me back to get Dean back into the hunting life? You may as well put me back in the ground ‘cause I’m not doing it.”

“That’s enough!” Bobby’s raised voice makes every pair of eyes land on him, his looking directly at you. “He may not have done it for the right reasons but you’re back, and that can only be a good thing, do not argue with me”, he adds as you open your mouth to object, letting it fall back shut at his request. “I never thought I’d see you again, so quit whining.” You can’t help but laugh seeing that the years have done nothing to change your dad’s temperament.

“It’s good to see you too”, you tease, lightening the mood of the room.

***

It’s been a fortnight, a whole two weeks above ground and you’re still getting used to it. You made everyone swear that they would not mention to Dean you were back and instructed Castiel he’d have to find another ploy to get him to help.

You were happy Dean was happy, yet despite the fact you’d made everyone swear to keep your existence a secret you couldn’t help putting that all at risk. You had to see him, to see for yourself the Dean that wasn’t a hunter. You wanted to see that cheeky grin and those entrancing green eyes that used to make your heart skip a beat. You wanted to see him out and happy.

So here you are, inconspicuously parked outside his house for the third morning in a row in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. So far you had seen Lisa and her son Ben previous mornings, but no sign of Dean.

The front door opens and your mouth dries up with what walks out. It’s Dean in the flesh, still flannel clad and handsome as ever. He walks hand in hand with Lisa as Ben trudges behind them. He pecks her lightly on the lips before she and the kid get in the car, Dean giving them a small wave. No amount of happiness for him could have stopped the pang of jealousy you felt at seeing Dean in his apple pie life that you weren’t fortunate enough to be in.

Yes, he’s living the exact life you’d told him to live, but when you’d written that letter you planned on not being around to see it. You shake your head at your stupidity and selfishness in coming here and you turn the key in the ignition ready to drive off. You’ve indulged yourself more than enough, watching any longer would just cause you unnecessary pain.

You allow yourself one last lingering look at what used to be your man before you pull away to find his eyes surveying your parked car from across the street, your heart leaping into your throat at the danger of getting caught. You tug your baseball cap further down your face before pulling out and speeding away, all notion of stealth lost.

“Shit, shit, shit”, you curse to yourself for your idiocy. Any longer and he may have recognised you, then what? You’d cry, you’d hug, and you’d get back together? You’d ask him to leave the family you asked him to start in the first place? No. You couldn’t put him through that.

Back at the motel you pack your bags, resolute to go back home. You had no idea what you’d do once you were there, you figured you’d start hunting again, help Sammy. After today though you’d leave Dean behind you, once and for all.

A rapping on the door halts your footsteps, freezing your hands from closing your bag.

“Hello?” Shit. That’s Dean, what is he doing outside your room? He repeats himself once more before you hear the distinct sound of him trying to pick your lock. You move fast, thankful for the fact that you’d kept the room’s curtain shut as you desperately search for a way out on the other side. He’s quicker than you though, the door flying open and a gun cocking sounding behind you.

“Hands up, don’t move.” You follow his orders, hands raising above your head. “Turn around.” You don’t want him to see your face, opting to shake your head instead of reveal yourself to him. “I’m the one with a gun pointing at you so if you wanna stay alive I’d turn around.” You know he’s not lying, having seen people call his bluff too many times before. You comply but as slowly as possible, shuffling your feet until you finally face him, keeping your head down in the vain attempt the small action would keep his recollection at bay.

“Y/N?” His question sounds unsure but you know the inevitable has happened, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“Surprise?” You say, turning your hands upwards to gesture shrugging your shoulders. He holsters his gun immediately, never taking his eyes off of your form. You don’t know what to do next as marked by your silence, and his next move you cannot fathom.

“How did you get here?”

“You have your winged pal to thank for that.”

“Castiel?” The stunned tone of his voice shows you he’s as confused as you were by the whole thing.

“How’d you find me here Dean?” You question after a long pause.

“You weren’t exactly subtle at my house this morning.” The normalcy of the conversation you’re having sets you on edge, not wanting to sink into familiar habits of jokes and jabs, afraid of what that could lead to.

“I better go, it was good to see you.” You state abruptly as you awkwardly grab your bag and make to walk past him and out the front door. His strong hand around your forearm prevents you from leaving.

“What just like that you’re going to walk out the door?” You answer his incredulous question with a nod of your head and a perplexed look in your eyes. He shakes his head reaching and grabbing your other forearm so you are locked in front of his frame. “So what, I don’t get to say goodbye and now you won’t let me again?” There’s no malice to be heard, his voice soft and fragile. This does nothing to stop the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

“Dean it wasn’t like that-”

“No Y/N it’s exactly like that.” He lets the silence speak for itself before continuing. “I lost you with no notice, now you’re back with no notice. You can’t just up and leave again.” You were trying to be fair to him and stay unnoticed, now that you’ve been caught you know he’s right, you can’t just simply leave him again with no warning. He suggests you get a bite to eat, to which you instead offer going to a bar which he gladly accepts.

He insists you drive together, you suspect he was afraid if you went separately you may have driven off. You get a table at the closest bar which happens to be nearly completely empty, as to be expected midday in the middle of the week. Dean gets you a beer each, placing yours in front of you as he sits on the other side of the table.

What you thought would be a brief awkward catch up was anything but. Beer after beer is consumed as he regales stories of being a father figure, making your sides split when he recounts a particular story of trying to get in the good books of the PTA. You gave a very brief explanation of your time downstairs, leaving out pretty much every significant detail to save Dean from the guilt you know he’d project on himself. The whole time it feels like you never left. Every time your eyes catch it gets harder to look away and the light brushes of his fingers as he passes you another bottle sends shivers running up your spine.

After a particularly boisterous fit of laughter dies down you offer to get another round. Just as you go to stand Dean’s phone ringing on the table with the name ‘Lisa’ on the screen stops you.

“Hey. No sorry ran into an old friend, I won’t be too much longer. Mhmm, you too.” He speaks with large pauses in between and although you couldn’t hear the whole conversation you heard enough to bring reality back into your view.

“I should let you get back Dean.”

“What? C’mon you were just about to get another round”, he light-heartedly argues to which you shake your head.

“I should hit the road now anyway, otherwise it’ll be too dark.” Your numerous late nights on the road together makes your excuse a weak one. He complies with a dejected nod regardless, pulling out his keys. The drive is quiet, the low hum of classic rock filling the car. He reaches your motel and you thank him for the day as you unbuckle your safety belt, your other hand already reaching for the door. He reaches out and grabs your closest hand, bringing your eyes down to the small gesture.

“Don’t go.” He voice is small, weak. Words you would usually never associate with your Dean. You let out a breathy scoff at his request.

“Why not Dean, what would I do? You’re happy here with your family-”

“Hey you told me to do that.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly with the raising of his voice in defence of himself.

“I know”, you say gently to acknowledge his rebuttal, “I know I did and I meant. I’m not going to take that away from you now.” You meet his juniper eyes but do not linger in worry of them weakening your resolve. You click the handle open, lightly pushing the door and letting the now cool breeze drift past your face.

“If you hadn’t been taken from me I wouldn’t have chosen this life.” His tone is imploring, almost pleading with you.

“So enjoy it now you have it.” You release the handle so you can lean in enough to cup his cheek and look into those magnificent eyes. “You’re out. Stay out.” His hand moves to rest upon the one on his cheek, his eyes glassy as they look at you. As one last little goodbye you lean in and delicately place a lingering kiss on his free cheek. “Goodbye Cherry Pie.” With your whispered words you pull away, exiting the car and shutting the door without looking back, for one more glance and you’d have never left.

***

A quiet week has gone by at Singer’s, you’ve spent as much time with your father and Sam as possible, still in dubiety at the fact you get to be around them again rather than meat hooks and flames. You’ve convinced Sam to take you on at Scrabble, telling him not to take it easy on you just because you’re out of practise.

“Quaky? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh and what’s that, is it on a double word tile, I think it is.” You say in mock doubt as you laugh along with your incredulous opponent.

“Three years and you can still kick my ass.” He says in jest as he reluctantly adds to your tally. As the two of you jokingly bicker the sound of an unfamiliar car pulling into the gravel driveway makes your giggles cease and your eyes to peer sceptically out the kitchen window. A door opens and closes followed by rapid footsteps to the door and then Dean is before you once more.

“Dean?” Sam questions, as confused as you at his brothers sudden appearance.

“Heya Sammy.” He greets briefly before his eyes snap to you, “Y/N we need to talk.” His urgency leaves no room for debate. You shoot Sam a look before you rise and follow Dean as he leads the way to what used to be your shared room, now occupied solely by you.

“Is everything okay?” You tentatively ask as he shuts the door behind him.

“I left Lisa”, he blurts out.

“You- what? No, why would you do that?” You can hardly keep the disappointment from your voice despite how much your heart is now bouncing excitedly in your ribcage.

“I couldn’t stay there, not after seeing you.” Your excited heart quells, replaced by the overpowering guilt that your selfishness has caused Dean to leave everything you wished for him behind. You shake your head, not allowing yourself to believe you could be the cause of Dean abandoning all you ever wanted for him.

“You’ve got to back. Beg her to take you back, say you hit your head and you had a concussion, anything.” You walk to him as you speak to show your intent.

“Do you know why I can’t go back?” He answers his own question by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, from whence he pulls a folded up, dirty looking piece of paper that he places in your hand. Your suspicions at the content are confirmed when you unfold it to see your own handwriting staring back at you.

“I kept that on me every day. Every time I doubted myself I would pull it out and read it, you wanna know why? Your words were the reason I stayed. I care for Lisa, but you’re back. I don’t want that life if you’re here.” Tears spring into your eyes, some falling down and blurring some words you noticed are already muddied. He abruptly pulls the piece of paper from your grasp, crumpling it up and throwing it aside without a care where it lands.

He removes the insignificant space between you, encircling his steadfast arms around your waist and pulling you into the embrace he could tell you desperately needed. Out of instinct your arms join behind his neck, gripping like if you let go he’d disappear.

“What about Lisa? It’s not fair for her.” You chide regretfully in his ear.

“What about what’s fair for you?” He asserts. “You spent three years in hell so I didn’t have to, you don’t have to think about what’s fair for anyone but yourself right now.”

You pull your face out of the crook of his neck and collide your lips on his, melting into the long lost but not forgotten feeling of his tender lips gliding against yours. You pull away, breathless at obtaining the sensation you’d been craving since setting eyes upon him again. You smile up at him, a smile eager and happy like a child in a candy shop.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You respond to his poking question by latching your lips to his once more as you jump and encircle your legs around his waist.

You head down and help Dean unpack his car, every time you pass him his hand would pinch at your side or cheekily tap your ass. You could barely contain your excitement at putting his belongings back into their respective places, completely eradicating the empty feeling that was in the room before. The blame you feel about Lisa still niggled at the back of your mind but Dean’s words from earlier assure your guilty conscience.

You’ve paid your dues, and the Winchester with the jade eyes and wicked grin was your reward.

                                                     *************

Taglist:

@hobby27 @musiclovinchic93​

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Downey and Vetinari for: Starlings in Winter: I want to think again of dangerous and noble things :'D

Ah! Thank you! Here we go. 

For what it’s worth, takes place within Thus, Always timeline. But you know, there’s no need to be familiar with it at all. Very much a standalone. 

(Mary Oliver Prompt Ask)

(this is also up on AO3)

* * *

‘It’s terribly dull,’ Downey declares. He sits then he’s up then he’s sitting again then he’s walking around the room in circles then he’s standing by the hearth perfectly still then he’s looking out a window then he’s petting Mr. Fusspot and Alsace - and so on. 

‘Please stop,’ Vetinari asks. ‘You’re making the dogs nervous.’ 

The dogs are not nervous. 

But Downey does stop. He sits, drinks a small glass of sherry then pours himself another. He is in a state of mild undress - shirtsleeves rolled up, neck-cloth loose, hair disheveled. 

Grief, as Vetinari understands, has an emptying effect. It pours everything out then keeps pouring. You’re dousing the fire of life with water from an empty vessel. 

Sometimes, it leaves you gasping. Other times, it leaves you as a pendulum swinging between tender and numb, full and empty of thoughts and self. 

Vetinari isn’t entirely sure how to best approach this situation. He wishes Madam were present to advise. She’s walked enough people through death to have insight into what is needed and what isn’t. 

What he does know: Provide no advice. 

(Downey said this on arrival: I don’t want you to fix things. No fixing things. Vetinari replied: I don’t fix things, Downey. And Downey said: You proffer advice because you find it easier to try and fix than to let things mend themselves while you watch and do nothing. Vetinari thought this unfair, Downey pointed at him: Not the time.) 

Listen. Try and offer comfort. But words are awkward and he doesn’t know how to put them in the right order. Especially in this case for the usual phrases do not apply. He is not sorry for Downey’s loss. He doesn’t think Downey is very sorry either. 

‘I didn’t think the old man would actually die. I assumed he wouldn’t find the afterlife up to his standards. Gods know, nothing was ever up to his standards.’ 

‘I suspect he didn’t have a choice in the matter.’ 

Downey’s humourless smile. ‘It is surprising, what my father viewed as within his purview. I believe he thought he had a say in his own death.’ 

Vetinari repeats what he has said already, ‘I believe it is expected, in these circumstances, to not be fine.’ 

But Downey is fine. Downey has informed Vetinari of this already. Downey is a bottle of wine and two sherries fine. He is pouring water from an empty cup fine. He is pack of cigarettes from a corner news stand fine. He is making jokes about the dead fine. 

Downey has generally been a predictable person. Until he isn’t. But those occasions are rare, spontaneous, and usually comprehensible in hind-sight. Vetinari appreciates that Downey is regular in his habits. He reacts as one would expect. He is stalwart and, usually, simple in his wants and needs. 

And, he’s seen Downey grieve in the past. He knows Downey visits Ludo twice a year to leave a new stone on grave top. Give everything a little tidy. Talk to him. Provide updates on guild gossip and pass on Vetinari’s general well-wishes to the memory of Ludo. 

(‘Downey, I’m not sure I have anything to say to Ludo. He is dead.’ ‘I’ll tell him you send your love and say hello, shall I?’ ‘If that will best please you.’) 

Ludo has no ghost. He doesn’t haunt Downey. Downey, in his classically stubborn and perverse fashion, haunts Ludo. 

Vetinari watches Downey pour himself another glass of sherry, considers his plans for the evening then holds out his for a top-up. 

‘It’s on Wednesday though I’ve yet to decide if I’m to attend.’ 

‘The funeral?’ Vetinari asks. 

‘Yes. I know it’s two days after he died and so not strictly to form. That would annoy my father which is a fact I take some small pleasure in.’ 

‘And who is sitting with him until then?’ 

‘My mother and Magda. I believe a few family friends have offered. The coffin arrived today. My father is one for tradition so it’s unbelievably plain.’ 

Vetinari watches Downey who alternates between sitting back and leaning forward, resting elbows on knees. Downey continues, ‘Magda says our mother intends to do the full seven days of mourning though it’s rather old fashioned. I informed her that four is common. Indeed, three days is not unheard of.’ 

‘Will you sit with her for any of it?’ Vetinari suspects he will, if only because it is the proper thing to do. He notes the grimace at the suggestion.

‘For the first day or two, perhaps. I’m still working, for Guild matters do not rest and I’m certain the one upstairs understands. Though, I have received a good many rude looks from my mother’s friends when they discovered this. That said, quite a few of them didn’t know I existed until he died. Or, rather, that Lord Downey and Amos Downey were related.’ 

Vetinari hates that Downey does this. Drops these lead-brick statements then carries on as if they mean nothing. Oh yes, my father has spent the last thirty years telling everyone he has no son, or his son is dead, or some iteration of the above. That is entirely normal and hardly worth a comment. 

Deciding it needs to be said, Vetinari puts this out into the night air: ‘It may not be my place to comment, but I don’t think your father is necessarily worth the effort of a full mourning period, let alone rending of clothes, thrice-daily prayers, forgoing the purchase of new clothes and so on.’  

Downey smiles, a full and real one. Face softens, there is something like affection on it. ‘It’s not that simple.’ 

‘I fail to how.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment though. You and Ludo may unite in your everlasting dislike of him.’ 

Vetinari owns that perhaps he is being unkind. ‘I have not had the experience of being disowned at twenty-one and then my existence denied by my parents for the next thirty years.’ 

‘He tried his best,’ Downey shrugs. ‘He wasn’t made of the stuff for fatherhood.’ 

Vetinari stares at him. Downey stares back. Vetinari wonders how, exactly, he can say this in a way that Downey will hear and understand. Indeed, how does one tell their - he falters on the word, bypasses the descriptor - that their grief over a person, no matter how deep or shallow, complex or simple, is not deserved? That the person is not worthy of the effort? 

The fire makes fire noises, crackles and hums, a log breaks so a few sparks skitter out onto stone and fade into charred remains of tree.

But, perhaps Downey is right, and it isn’t that simple. He has relatively little lived experience in this department to base his analysis on. 

As Downey is making thorough work of the sherry, and acquiring the blur-eyed expression he wears when drunk, Vetinari decides to forgo that particular conversation.

‘Mostly, it’s boring,’ Downey says suddenly. Without prompting he fills up Vetinari’s glass. ‘I am going to be a bad influence tonight.’ 

Vetinari looks at the glass and thinks about tomorrow’s council meeting which, currently, is scheduled for half-nine in the morning. He assumes Downey will develop a sudden and convenient cold between now and then. 

‘Pray tell, what is boring?’ 

A gesture that is meant to convey: all that. ‘Grief. It’s terribly dull. Such a pedestrian emotion, when all is said and done.’ 

‘Did you just describe grief as pedestrian?’ Vetinari adds that sentence to his growing collection of Moments of Surprise with William A. Downey, Assassin. 

‘Yes,’ Downey points at him. ‘It t’is. There was a poem one of my mistakes sent to me years ago.’ He taps his lip then sits back and takes a few sips of sherry. ‘It was about birds. The poem. Starlings. Have you seen a starling up close? They’re remarkably beautiful birds. Iridescent plumage, glossy, glamorous,’ he waves on and on. 

‘I see.’ Vetinari says, not seeing. He mimics Downey in making short work of the sherry. 

‘The poem, the line, something something I am now thinking of grief, and of getting past it; something something - many variations of green and purple words - then, I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. See, that is part of why it’s rather uninteresting. Grief makes it so you cannot ponder dangerous and noble things. Which, coincidentally, are golden colours which are my favourite colours.’ 

Vetinari blinks through this. One day, he makes a mental note, he will ask about colours.

‘If it gives you any comfort,’ Vetinari says. ‘You are, technically speaking, a dangerous and noble thing.’ 

Downey smiles. ‘I am, that is correct. Thank you.’ Abruptly, he becomes somber. Face falling into itself, part shadowed, part illuminated in dancing firelight. 

Vetinari thinks that either they should finish the sherry or Downey should be distracted or both. He decides it should be both and, leaning forward, plucks up the decanter from where it rests by Downey’s feet. He pours himself a glass then Downey. There is, perhaps, one left. The contents are swirled, catching in firelight. 

‘You know,’ Downey says, slouching down in his chair, legs extended out towards fire and crossed at the ankles. ‘I am beginning to suspect that I’m not fine.’ 

Eyebrows lift, only now? He’s only now suspecting this? Gods preserve this man from himself. Changing his plans, Vetinari sets his sherry aside, leans forward and takes Downey’s glass and sets it on the small table between chairs. Taking cane Vetinari leverages himself up, leg complaining at the movement, the sitting all day, the lack of stretching. 

‘Come,’ Vetinari says. Downey looks up at him with his very dark eyes that are pools of night. ‘I think it’s long past time to retire for the evening.’ 

Downey gives a sloppy grin, ‘I’m terribly drunk.’ 

‘I am aware.’ 

‘Absolutely in the cups, old boy.’ 

‘You have graduated to referring to me as old boy, consider me well appraised of your lack of sobriety.’ 

Downey pulls his legs in and pushes himself upward. He rubs his eyes, murmurs that perhaps he didn’t need that much sherry. Vetinari shrugs, reasoning aloud that there are times when such things are necessary. Downey readily agrees. Oh yes, absolutely. Sometimes this is precisely what is needed. 

Ducking into a passage connecting office to bedroom Vetinari leads the way as Downey makes a gentle weaving pattern behind him then further weaving as he partially undresses and face-plants onto the bed. Vetinari waits for Mr. Fusspot and Alsace to follow them in then slides the wall panel closed.

Seating himself at the edge of the bed Vetinari pries off boots then trousers. Massages leg, leans forward to stretch muscles, ponders the benefits of moving the council meeting to the early afternoon considering he did his own share of damage to the office sherry supply. 

Something muffled from Downey. Vetinari partially twists to see him, ‘You will have to repeat that.’ 

Downey rolls over, winces, ‘I said that I’m glad you’re here.’ 

Vetinari presses lips into thin line. This relationship of theirs, if one may call it that, is a delicate balancing act. Vetinari has plans for how it is to play out and this sort of confession isn’t necessarily part of said plans. 

Downey, being Downey, of course, appears to be flinging himself head first off the cliff without much thought. 

‘I am glad I could be of help.’ 

‘Nonono,’ hand flapping before it lands on the bed with soft thump. ‘I am glad you’re here in general. You’re inconvenient sixty-seven percent of the time and your face is stupid–’ 

‘A fact you spent much of our youth informing me about.’ 

‘I stand by it. It is stupid and that is why I should kiss it right now except I don’t think sitting up is happening anytime soon. All of this is to say, you are a good thing.’ 

‘Dangerous and noble?’ Vetinari ventures with half-smile. 

‘Yes,’ Downey nods sagely. ‘Very dangerous, terribly noble. I like thinking about dangerous and noble things–’ 

‘I hear they are your favourite colour.’  

‘Indeed, they are. So I like thinking about you. Now, excuse me, I am going to pass out and will haul my desiccated carcass out of your rooms in four hours from now.’ 

Vetinari watches as Downey does as he says, rolling onto side and falling asleep in minutes. The palace is quiet. A warm August night and the sky is velvet with dim stars, obscured by clouds and smoke of city life. Vetinari finishes changing for bed, budges Downey over to make room, and slides beneath covers. He listens to the dogs snuffling in their sleep, the slow, steady breathing of Downey, the nighttime noises of city as they float up. 

He decides he doesn’t mind if Downey thinks of him in terms of words he associates with the colour gold and incandescent birds. Despite innate desire to keep everything contained and controlled and cautious, there is a part of him that is immeasurably pleased to be considered something worth thinking about. To be considered someone’s favourite colour.  

[aiimaginesbts]

Of Two Hearts: Chapter 1

Seokjin x Reader x Taehyung (ft. Jimin and Namjoon)

Genres: Royalty AU, angst

Word count: 3,290 words

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Read the First Part: What You Never Had

A/N: Sorry for the really long delay! Work has been at the forefront for many months now, up to the point my health deteriorated. Hopefully I can write more frequently until the end of this series, at least! Please enjoy the double chapter release :D Also, thanks Ann @godsavemefrombts for beta-ing this!

Disclaimer/Copyright

_________________________________

“You are to marry Crown Prince Taehyung.”

What?

Involuntarily, you stopped breathing. It didn’t help that part of you had known this would happen eventually, deep, deep down inside. You couldn’t believe your ears, yet there was no denying what you’d heard the King said. It didn’t mean you could believe it though. You didn’t want to, not in your heart. Even your brain couldn’t process the information, and it was impossible for your mouth to form words or show any reaction whatsoever.

“When did the declaration of war arrive?”

“Barely a...” You didn’t hear the rest of the answer to Jimin’s question. It was as if the whole world had fallen away, leaving you in the darkness of your doomed love. Why? Why was this happening? Why didn’t you see it coming? You had no idea how long you stood there like a mute idiot staring off into space, trying to make this dangerously tilting world upright. Before you knew it, you’d been snapped out of your trance by your father calling your name. You snapped up to look at him, startled and hoping that he hadn’t been calling for your attention for too long. Dizzy from lack of air, you barely managed to keep yourself on your feet. “Do you oppose of this arrangement?” Even though he asked with concern, you imagined an underlying warning against threatening his command in his tone. Without thinking, you shook your head. Out of habit. Yes, you were stubborn and always fought to get your way, but no one disagreed with the King when he used that tone. Even if you wanted to disagree, your throat wouldn’t cooperate. The air in the room had grown more stifling than the carriage you’d been trapped in for weeks on your journey to and from Zinnis. You could hardly breathe, much less utter a word in defiance.

Besides, what could you say, really? The truth, that you couldn’t marry Prince Taehyung because you were in love with a commoner? That the alliance your country needed to defend itself against Zinnis couldn’t be forged to feed your selfish desire? You couldn’t. All you could do was agree to what the King was saying, and accept the proposal. As a princess, you had to do what was best for your country, for your people. What you wanted was of no consequence in comparison. Your grimace must have been adequate to pass off as a smile, because your father was satisfied with your response. “I did think that you and the Crown Prince got on swimmingly.”

That was the truth. You liked Prince Taehyung very much, but it was more of admiration and respect. He took you seriously, listened to you, and supported you. He was your tutor. A friend, at most. But never did you imagine that you would be married to him. Obvious as it should have been, in retrospect. Jimin’s voice cut through your jumbled thoughts. “Given the circumstances, perhaps we can wait a few more weeks in case they changed their mind after our help in catching the criminals on their shores.”

From Jimin’s suggestion, it was clear that you’d missed something in your shock at the King’s earlier announcement. You mentally shook yourself; this wasn’t the time to get lost in your emotions. The shake of your own father’s head was one of disagreement with Jimin’s suggestion. “They have been causing unrest at our border for over a year. It would be foolish to assume that they would suspend hostilities simply because you snuck into their country to settle a threat they were hosting in their own territory.” From the conversation, you gathered that Jimin had suggested that your engagement be put off in case Zinnis retracted their declaration of war in light of your assistance with their criminals. A quick mental calculation told you that the declaration of war might have been sent just before the night of the attack against the pirates. You’d feel more touched about him standing up for you, while wondering why he did, if you weren’t so busy trying to keep up with the discussion. Already you feel dwarfed by all the power in the humongous room; it was just your family, but the authority they wielded was humbling. Even if you’d been educated and exposed to this all your life, even if you’d given your opinions when you talked to Namjoon about the country’s state of affairs, you still found it difficult to give any contribution when you were gathered with the King and Princes like this. You still had a long way to go. And this time, they were talking about a matter that concerned you and Jin, while you were still floundering around to find your place among such powerful figures.

If there was any time that you needed to step up and say your piece, it was now. Yet you couldn’t interject all the way until the end. You couldn’t even think of anything. Everything was moving at a pace of a whirlwind that left you out of breath and confused. Being the Crown Prince, Namjoon was to represent the King with his acceptance of Prince Taehyung’s proposal. Your brother was to ride north-west towards Delphina to accept his proposal of marriage to you after a short rest. Even with Prince Taehyung’s support as good as guaranteed, the King was adamant on preparing for the coming war.

It was devastating, and even more so because you were powerless to do anything. You were too much of a coward to protest and tell them the truth. Shame enveloped you — you were serious about Jin. This wasn’t just a passing fancy. It was love. As much as you like Prince Taehyung, he wasn’t the one you wanted to be with. The thought of being with anyone else but Jin was unthinkable, but so was the idea of abandoning your duties. For the next few days, you could hardly bring yourself to venture outside your chambers. Despite her best efforts to cheer you up, Ji Eun was as powerless as you were, and you remained depressed. All she could do for you was make excuses for your absence when Namjoon left for Delphina. It was convenient; the fever you were supposed to have doubled as an excuse as to why you remained cooped up in your room. There was a mildly accusatory tone in Ji Eun’s voice when she informed you that she’d given Jin the same excuse when he inquired after you, but you simply thanked her. It didn’t make you feel any better about yourself, but you couldn’t face Jin knowing your inevitable marriage to Prince Taehyung.

“His Majesty might start thinking that the Royal Physician is useless if you don’t start getting out of bed soon,” Ji Eun warned you as she set down the tray of food that had been prepared for you that evening. It had been eight days since you’d received the news of your impending betrothal and you hadn’t seen anyone other than your maids. The time to put a stop to your selfishness and face the reality was drawing near; you were well aware of that. It didn’t motivate you to get out of your room though. Hard truths were waiting on the other side of the door and you didn’t know if you’d ever have the courage to face it all. But of course, unpleasant things had a way of pushing their way into your life whether you were ready for them or not.

However, when Ji Eun burst into your chambers a few days after that, she didn’t bring news of Namjoon accepting the marriage proposal on your behalf, as you’d been dreading. In a more breathless wheeze than you’d expected, with wide eyes, she clasped your hands and told you, “A message from Zinnis just arrived!”

You could hardly believe it, but you jumped up all the same, knowing that it was foolish to wish for an armistice, yet unable to stop yourself from hoping for it all the same. “What did it say?” Grasping her hands in return, you conveyed to her just how desperate you were for some good news. Anything to stop your marriage to Prince Taehyung. To keep you in your delusional bubble with Jin, even though you knew deep in your heart your love was not going to lead anywhere. However, Ji Eun didn’t have the answer to your prayer, be it good or disappointing.

“I don’t know,” she replied, seeming a little flustered at your enthusiastic reception, and sorry that she couldn’t tell you more. “Prince Jimin told me only that when I bumped into him just now.”

You loosened your hold on her as the gears in your head turned to process the information. Had he really just told Ji Eun in passing, or was it intentional? Even though you suspected it was the latter, you took the bait and headed out of your chambers for the first time in over a week. A query to one of the guards quickly told you that Jimin was in the King’s study, sending you rushing towards the room immediately. Another guard announced your arrival, but you were made to wait. The thick wooden door kept the conversation on the other side a secret, making you even more anxious as you impatiently waited outside.

The tension in the air was immediately noticeable when you were finally permitted entry into the room. Jimin’s frown wasn’t something that you saw very often, and the anger emanating from the King put you on your toes in an instant. Since your father barely acknowledged your arrival with a nod, you had no choice but to start the conversation. “I heard there is news from Zinnis,” you said cautiously, hoping that the conversation would flow from there.

“Yes,” the King confirmed Ji Eun’s news, but didn’t bother asking for your source of information, to your relief. You didn’t want to risk getting your brother or lady-in-waiting in trouble. After a pause, he concluded that you didn’t know anything else, and continued, “in light of your assistance with their piracy and corruption matter, it seems that they have suggested a discussion for the terms of an armistice.”

Your burdened heart lightened at the news. Perhaps the arrangement for your marriage could be cancelled after all! Then you sobered. This was supposed to be good news, yet the mood of the room didn’t match. “Is something amiss?” Something surely was, but it didn’t seem like either men was going to be forthcoming with the answer if you hadn’t asked. It must be the reason behind their argument.

“We were told that the King of Zinnis will be present, and they requested that I attend as well,” the King revealed the conundrum of the seemingly too good to be true situation. “If this is true, of course, I am obliged to be there as well.” But if it isn’t, it sounds an awful lot like a trap, you thought of the unspoken words to yourself.

“So, what are you planning to do?”

“There is no question. I have to go,” he answered you resolutely, visibly incensing Jimin at the same time.

“You cannot put yourself at risk!” Jimin protested, the outburst rekindling the fire in his burning ear tips.

“Are you saying that I should continue sacrificing the lives of my people instead?” The King’s fist banged the table, startling you. Obviously this had been the reason these two were at each others’ throats.

Frowning, you tried to sort out the pros and cons of both decisions. They each had a point. It was beyond reckless for the King to venture to the border to meet the leader of a hostile country. Especially since there was no guarantee that this wasn’t a trap in the first place. However, if it was true, it could end the unrest and skirmishes that had plagued the bordering villages for years. So many lives had been lost. So many villages and fields razed to the ground. If this truly was a chance at a truce, your country would greatly benefit from it. The thought of your brothers no longer having to endanger themselves fighting at the border would offer you endless relief as well. To risk your father, or to confirm the continued death and destruction of your people’s livelihood. It was hard to choose a side to agree on. You were inclined to agree with Jimin, which made you feel selfish. Yet again. Choosing the people close to you over your people — were you really fit to be a princess?

“At least let me go with you,” Jimin suggested after a long silence. He seemed to have calmed down a little. Enough to put forth an idea that might actually be helpful. In this case, you had no suggestions to give, and too afraid to voice out your desire for your father to remain here, so you remained quiet. Watching as your father considered Jimin’s proposal. The way his brows furrowed as he thought about it wasn’t very promising.

“He can help protect you,” you added meekly. It would be more reassuring to have Jimin, who was a seasoned fighter, to be with the King. Although he would be put at risk as well, you convinced yourself that the more, the better. “I will help Minister Kim any way I can while you are gone.”

After some consideration, the King sighed. “Very well.”

“I will order the finest knights to accompany us,” Jimin added. He didn’t agree immediately, but eventually your father nodded. You were sure that he’d argue the sense of sending the best men with him, but with his own son in the company, he easily agreed to the best protection they could get. Unfortunately, this meant that Jin was highly likely to be joining them in this possibly dangerous trip as well. With the weight returned on your heart, you nodded in agreement of the plan.

Barely a week later, you saw them off with a smile on your face and unease in your heart. The royalty rode in an undecorated carriage, with most of their escort to be spread a certain distance from it. It was your idea; for the knights to be far enough from the carriage to be seen or associated with it, but close enough to come to its rescue should anything happen. There was no livery that would normally accompany the King, in the hopes that the carriage could pass as one belonging to a wealthy merchant. They might encounter some bandits looking for loot, but those could be taken care of easily. If all went well, this disguise would throw the scent of any ambush from Zinnis.

At the same time, Namjoon should be returning to the castle anytime soon, so at the very least, you had that to look forward to. You felt restless the next few days though. All thoughts about the marriage and your precarious relationship with Jin had all been pushed out of your mind by your worry for Jimin and your father. A small respite arrived in the form of Namjoon merely nine days after your other family members had started in the opposite direction. Not that he brought good news for you — as expected, the King’s agreement to the marriage proposal on your behalf was happily met. However, Namjoon went on to inform you that Prince Taehyung had continued north to his own country. Being the center of the government of Delphina, his long absence has surely been felt. After he’d sorted out his affairs, he’d promised to return to Amaryll to properly announce the engagement.

While you weren’t thrilled about this in the least, your engagement to a man you didn’t love had become less concerning in the light of the dangerous risk your father was taking. You weren’t even sure where Jin was in the formation they had arranged, and you suspected that Jimin was behind the secrecy. Whether it was to prevent you from worrying about Jin or to stop you from thinking about him, you weren’t sure. But if Jimin’s intention was the latter, he failed miserably. Your agitation was made worse by speculating if Jin was in a position of higher risk of attack, when you weren’t even completely sure what the formation was. You just hoped and prayed that everyone would return safely.

Talking to Namjoon about it didn’t alleviate your worries as much as you’d expected. The weeks continued with no word from the south, and you couldn’t stop imagining one horrible possibility after another, each one becoming progressively worse. You could tell that your eldest brother was worried as well, although he tried his best not to show it, perhaps to lessen your own worries. It wasn’t working very well. In the middle of the night, you woke up gasping, precariously close to tears. Your heavy breaths drew Ji Eun in moments later; the lady-in-waiting being a light sleeper and having taken to sleeping in the room next to yours with the door open out of concern for you. This wasn’t the first night that the nightmares had come to visit. As always, it was much of the same — this time it was your father that met with a gruesome end in your dreams. Sometimes it was Jimin. Other times it would be Jin. Or perhaps more than one of them being killed in one of your nightmares. Even as Ji Eun hugged you, drowsily mumbling reassuring words as her hand stroked you soothingly, you couldn’t shake the unease within you. Something horrendous was going to happen. You could just feel it. And being able to do nothing other than wait for it was more than you could bear.

Waiting wasn’t forever, and soon a distressed messenger arrived at the castle. One look at him and your heart sank to the ground. He obviously did not bring good tidings. The question was; just how bad was the message? It was obvious that the messenger had ridden hard. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his appearance wasn’t all that encouraging either. It wasn’t just the travelling that had taken a toll on his dishevelled look. You could see scratches all over his body, and a dirty bandage wrapped haphazardly around his arm that told you that he needed tending to immediately afterwards.

With a pang, you belatedly realised that you weren’t likely to be hearing news about Jin. Not unless the whole group was massacred, which you fervently prayed was not the case. It could only be about the King or Jimin, which was not in any way better. You were eager to hear what he had to say and consequently dispel or confirm your fears, but at the same time you dreaded the news. Once again you wished to postpone the inevitable, just like you avoided seeing Jin so you could put off confronting your conflicting feelings and sense of duty. It must have become a bad habit. However, this wasn’t going to go anywhere, so you braced yourself for the news.

The exhausted man visibly gulped once you and Namjoon’s attention was fully on him. Namjoon’s study was nowhere as large or as grand as the King’s, and with only the three of you there, the messenger must have felt the intensity focusing on him. He struggled to find the words, but he eventually said, quite frankly, “We were ambushed close to the border. It was by a sizeable force, more than double our men.” He blinked furiously, as if to will the tears away, then continued in a strangled voice, “the King was killed.”

[dirthenera]

Truths From Dreams

So I’m really, really proud of this chapter. Technically, it’s Chapter 59, but it works fine as a standalone.

Pairing: Thenera Lavellan X Solas

Rating: M

Elvhen- Emmeara (My dream) and Galanor (magnificent)

His mind was a haze as her lips whispered against his skin. Whispered love in every word, every caress, every gentle touch that skimmed across fabric and skin alike, setting his nerves to singing, such a contrast to the langor of his muscles. He shivered and shuddered, and she purred. He could feel her smile against him, feel her happiness, her contentment, a balm to his very soul. 

Something new. Love he had known, but this? This was new, achingly sweet, something he had never experienced, had never expected before. Something he had not even known existed. His form felt too small for all the love contained, he felt it spilling out, filling the tent, mingling with hers, and he could have wept for how much it felt like home.

And then her lips were on his hands, pressing gently and murmuring praises he had never known he would want, and then her lips parted, drawing one of his fingers into her mouth, and he meant to protest but the only sound was that of pleasure as her wet heat surrounded him, tongue swirling and sucking and suddenly he was on fire, the tent was certain to burn around them.

“Emmeara…” He managed, attempting a warning that came out more like a plea. He opened his eyes and pulled his unfocused gaze to meet hers, playful and wicked and soft, so much softer than she usually seemed, and far too much. His eyes unfocused again as she kissed his wrist.

“Vhenan, if you would like, you can let me take over for a little while. You can let go of your control and simply enjoy.” She offered, a perfect smile on her perfect lips, a visceral reminder of what lay behind them. He swallowed, attempting to place some sort of wall back between them, find some sort of answer that was not a plea for her to have him in any way she would like. 

“That is most certainly not a good idea.” He managed, raising his eyes to hers again. Her smile was still so soft… If his limbs worked, he would most certainly be running one of his thumbs over those beautiful lips, memorizing the feel of this smile by touch.

“Tell me where the boundary is for tonight and let me show you it’s ok. A little at a time.” She reassured, her voice low and metered and purring. Galanor. Would she truly? A bottomless pit of desire between them, and she offered this. Much further, and he would not even remember why he should not be inside her, should not be filling her, crying her name and giving her everything she could ask for and more things that could not be named.

“It is not much further than that, I am afraid. At least for tonight.” His eyes drifted shut against the disappointment of his own control.

“Thank you for telling me Vhenan.” She cooed, breathing a whisper of cool air across the wetness on his finger before her lips met his fingertip again, a gentle kiss that would be nearly chaste were it not for the heat of the room and the desire that beat like a pulse between them.

“May I please remove your tunic? Or is that too much?” She asked cautiously. He shuddered against his control, testing the breaking point, every inch given the chance for the dam to break, to surrender, to give in. 

He nodded against better judgement, and her hands flew to his belt. A brief moment of panic surged, certain this would be the moment she pushed, the moment his defenses were too low to stop her, and a thrill ran through him at the thought despite himself. She offered a reassuring smile, slowing herself as she carefully lay his belt down.

She turned back then, a gentle smile on her face that eclipsed all rational thought, and she brought both hands to his face, holding him as though he was precious. She brought her lips to his, a gentle brushing of rose petals against his skin.

How was this possible? This gentleness, this precious feeling that filled their tent to bursting. 

She was ruthless and assertive and sometimes crass. How? 

Her fingers skimmed the rough knit of his tunic, running down the length of his chest, his stomach, slipping beneath the hem and then up, tugging the material up as he felt her fingers through the soft leather undershirt he always wore.

They were cold, he could feel the cool touch even through the leather, sudden and shocking and already oh so much. He hissed in a breath, a fleeting glance rising to see her, candlelight flickering off her hair and dancing in her eyes, smouldering. He closed his eyes as the garment came over his head, immobilizing and blinding him for a moment before the sleeves pulled free, and she guided the collar carefully around his chin and ears.

Her deft hands moved to the toggles that held his leathers in place, slowly, deliberately working them as he sat, helpless in her clutches. 

She peeled the leather away, and he shuddered as air hit skin that was so rarely uncovered, oversensitive with her touches and kisses that had not carried to this skin. 

And then it did. 

A questing touch, mapping the exposed areas with strong hands that chose to be gentle, fingertips dipping and curling and fluttering. Much too much. Not enough. He quivered, taut as a bowstring beneath her expert fingers as she plucked at every nerve that set him singing. Sounds fell from his mouth but he could not be sure what they were, whether wordless pleas or a litany of poetry, a ceaseless prayer for her to never stop.

And then her nails scraped across the skin, across the indents of seams pressed into flesh, scratching with the ease of a practiced hand, and he could not hold back the groan that escaped. She purred, a pleased sound that sent a shiver down his spine, another sensation adding, building to the tower of emotion, sensation, and pleasure that filled him, threatening to topple everything.

She pulled back.

“Stay right there, my heart.” She murmured, and he nodded slowly, despite the absence of touch that now felt like torture. He opened his eyes, needing a tether to her with the sudden withdrawl of her hands, and he found her turned from him, slowly raising the green tunic she had worn, tantalizing skin revealed inch by inch. 

He watched her back muscles ripple deliciously, his fingers twitching with need to touch her, to feel her pale candlelit skin, feel the corded muscles work as she pressed against him. She worked slowly, throwing a sultry glance over her shoulder that made him both grateful and rueful at his body’s current state of overwhelmed incapacity. Isalahima, it was called. To drown in desire. And drowning he was.

He swallowed as she unwound the dark fabric breast band with the same care as her tunic, silver hair brushing her shoulder blades as she moved, fabric falling away and leaving the curve of her spine uninterrupted, leading his gaze along its path, to the dimples that rested just above her breeches. 

She reached forward, accentuating the curve of her waist, and his fingers twitched again with longing to rest his hands there, to grip just at the top of her hips, pull her against him. She unfurled her nightgown and let the soft material envelop her, covering skin that was far too tempting before pulling her breeches out from beneath it in a deft movement that left her calves bare in the light. She turned back to him, still impossibly soft, collarbones and long neck gleaming. 

She murmured a soft noise, an assurance.

“It’s alright Vhenan. Everything is just fine.” She hummed, raising slender hands to cup his face. Link reestablished, he melted into her touch, tension evaporating from his body, threatening to leave him sinking to the floor of the tent. 

It was only her hands, holding his face so reverently, which kept him sitting upright.

“How is it you continue to surprise me so? I have always pictured our roles reversed from this, and yet... “ He paused as his mind sought words, releasing a sigh to allow his lips and tongue to form them. “This is... Words seem somewhat inadequate.”

A gentle laugh like silver bells met his ears, and when her voice replied, it was deeper and richer than he had heard it before, cast low, an intimate caress that none outside their tent would be able to hear, even if it was not for the barrier that enveloped them, granting privacy.

“You’ve thought about this? How many fantasies have you had about me?” Her hand found his heart, a reassuring weight against the playfulness of her voice.

“More than I should admit to, perhaps. Though it seems you do not mind?” He raised his gaze to meet hers, questioning, finding only warmth and love, with just a hint of wickedness. 

“Not at all. I’ve been having my own from the moment we met. And if you’d like to try this the other direction next time, I’m game. Sometimes releasing control is exactly what’s needed.”

“Yes.” He breathed. 

“And we’re both very used to being in control.” Her voice thrilled through him, desire pulsing through his body with each pounding beat of his heart, captive under her fingertips.

“That is true.”

“And I can think of far worse things than being at your mercy, Vhenan.” She offered. He raised his gaze to hers, liquid pools of desperate need, held carefully in check. He swallowed at the thought of her control snapping, as his had so many times, and his eyes drifted shut again as his breath came faster.

Her lips met his collarbones, soft and dewy as she traced a path of love across his sternum and up his neck. Her fingers, ever moving, grazed down his exposed skin, up his ribcage, sending an unfamiliar sensation jolting through his body, and he yelped against the suddenness, the sheer amount of shattering feedback, twitching away from her despite everything.

She answered with a delighted laugh that reverberated through the tent, bouncing off the barrier and back again.

“You're ticklish!” She exclaimed. 

“I am no such thing.” He returned immediately. Or was he? Had it truly been so long since he had been touched that he could not even remember the sensation of being tickled?

He was not given time to ruminate before her hands found the spot again, coaxing another twitch, another thrill of sensation before he batted them away, stifling the laugh that threatened to overcome him. 

Her gleeful response caught him off guard as she pressed, moving with the dexterity she usually reserved for battle as she worked her hands back to the spot, pressing an offensive and forcing his foggy reflexes to respond, batting and twisting from her as their laughs reverberated together through the tent. 

Each time he caught her hands in his, she twisted, slipping from his grasp, like water, like elusive moonlight, again and again until he wrapped a band of magic around each wrist as he grasped them, binding her, pushing her wrists to the ground beneath them.

He took in a hard breath, laughter still rumbling between them until he caught her gaze, brilliant green nearly eaten by the well of black, and he was falling, drowning, and he was certain that she would catch him.

He lowered his lips to hers, tasting the salt of his skin on her lips, her laughter as it dissolved into need. She arched her back against him, pushing herself closer, tilting her head so their lips could meet more fully, or had that been him? He drifted closer and closer to her, falling in slow motion into her, and she rose to meet him, to catch him, to drown with him.

He would drown with her.

He pressed against her, pushing her into the ground as she wrapped her legs around his, urging him closer, tighter, not drowning but flying, flying with her, rising to new heights.

She was a raging furnace against him, and he could feel the heat from her sex through her nightgown, through his breeches and oh how he wanted.

Wanted to taste her, to feel her, to find perfection, harmony, home, inside her. His tongue delved into her mouth, never enough and too much, gone and at her mercy even as her hands were trapped in his. She pushed against him, sucking his lip between hers and biting, a playful nip that sent a jolt of electricity through his body, and he bucked against her, repaying her in kind with a bite that made her gasp, a delicious sound against his lips. He transferred possession of both of her hands to one of his, freeing one of his and wrapping it around her thigh and sliding up, up to her hip, gripping her in place as he pressed his aching cock against the heat of her core, desperate for more. 

Between each beat, each pulse of their bodies meeting, he set his teeth and lips and tongue to her neck, drawing sounds he wished he could bottle from her lips, her throat vibrating beneath his tongue. He began murmuring promises as each surge pulled them away and back again, waves of the ocean pulled by the moon, wishes and lurid praise and grand gestures spilling from his lips as they were pulled away from her skin, only to meet again and pluck more moans, more cries, more desperate noises from hers. 

He moved his hand up, desperate to feel more of her silken soft skin under his fingers, finding the dips of her ribs and crest of one breast, breath catching as he recalled the soft pink that matched her lips, and he surged again, pinching her nipple as he bit down, still not enough. He could feel even more of her heat, nearly feeling the wetness of her through his breeches, and he groaned against her, certain he would give in, certain he would fall over the edge before he could, spilling against her, for her, everything for her. 

“Stop.” Her voice rang, raspy and rough, but true. 

He froze.

What had he done?

It was never supposed to go this far, he was never supposed to abandon control like that. And now….

A cold pit of dread filled his belly and he pulled back, removing his hand from under her nightdress. 

Reluctantly, he met her gaze, ready to face her look of betrayal, ready to face these consequences, at least. 

Instead, she was flushed and gasping, pupils still blown wide as she carefully unclenched fists that had dug small crescents into the flesh of her palms.

“Are you alright, Emmeara?” He asked, forcing his tongue back to Common with some difficulty. “I was not overstepping, was I?”

“Not for me.” She said quickly, with another hard breath to steady herself. “But you trusted me enough to let go of your control and I don’t want to you to wake up with regrets. I don’t want you to regret anything that happens between us.”

Realization was slow through the fog of need that still pulsed through him. She had stopped him, not for herself, who clearly wanted more, but for him, who had already specified his boundaries for the evening. He sat up and offered his hand to her, and she took it gratefully, looking as though she wished to pull him back down to her despite what she had just said. The gray material of her bedclothes slid back over her, and he realized he must have pushed it up, must have been pushing against her bare sex, and a tremor ran through him at the thought of being so close to her bare skin against his, so close to her sensitive skin against his, so close to giving in, so close to having her.

So close to betraying her in one more way.

“Thank you.” He answered. “I… Do not want to regret any moment with you. And I never want you to feel as though I have taken advantage of you, someday in the future.”

“Please don’t tell me that your boundaries are for my sake.” She answered, an obvious chastisement in her voice, still rough with need.

“I cannot take advantage of you with so much between us.” 

“We both have secrets, Solas. Are you worried about mine?” She challenged. He considered a moment. It was true she had obvious secrets, but it was certain they could not be worse than his. And no matter what they were, Thenera was still his dream, still his moonlight given form, still his heart. 

“No. You are my heart, and despite how much I know you keep from me, it would not change my view of you.” 

“Then why won’t you trust me enough to make that same decision about you for myself?” She pressed.

“There are things you don’t know…”

“There are things you don’t know.” She returned. He tipped his head to her slightly in acknowledgement. 

“You may have a point, my heart. I will consider it. But I believe it is quite late now, and we should get some rest.” He offered her a smile, leaning forward to cup her precious face in his hands. “Thank you for tonight. I cannot remember the last time I felt so light. So happy. You are magnificent, Vhenan.”

[sancti-luminis]

From the air, the Temple of the Scions looked unassuming, even stark, uninviting.

It was plain stone and metal, without the grandeur of the Temples of Iacon or Tyger Pax.  The buildings were naturally shaped, following the cubical or hexagonal pattern of their native metal crystals, rather than the swooping, curving style favored by most Temples.  If the buildings had been true crystal, it would have looked much like a garden, ordered and repeating, pleasing to the optic.  Instead, they were the dull silver, green, and red of oxidized metal, the bones of Cybertron itself.

To the senses of one of Primus’ chosen, it shone.  The Temple was imbued with holy power, from the walls to the very ground.  There was nothing natural about it, save the base metals themselves.  Paladin, one of the oldest and greatest of Scions, dwelled here.  He was a geomancer--not the charlatan variety that practiced divination, but one that could call on the very earth and metal of their world and raise it to his will.  He had made this Temple, a home to all who had transcended mortality to serve Primus, out of the very bedrock of the planet.  As long as he lived, the Temple would stand.

As Galeforce landed in the courtyard, a sense of peace washed over him.  Here, all the mechs and femmes were like him.  There were no ephemerals with their endless questions, no concerns about hiding what they were.  Wisps, holy sprites, little blue-white puffballs with gently floating tendrils drifted through the gardens, congregating around an appealing formation of crystal.  Others floated around mechs and femmes they liked, often the ones that raised them into being, though not always.  One drifted around the tassel on his glaive, drawn by the prayers engraved on each strand.  It was not the High Temple in Iacon, the one he had lived in for much of his life, but it was nearly home.

His spark felt heavy as he sought out the Wild Garden.  He felt too much grief, and guilt, too.  Had he led the Scions to their death by not sharing the location of Grindor’s den, and returning with an army?  Had he been weak in letting Grindor live when he fled the blasphemed church in Kaon?  His thoughts whirled, tainting the very air around him with their miasma of misery and guilt.  Galeforce sunk to his knees in the gritty dust of the garden, staring blankly, unseeing, at a weedy formation of crystal.  The allure he felt when he was near Grindor, that was wrong.  It was deeply wrong.  He should have brought the information to Paladin right away.  He barely noticed another mech sinking down next to him, so lost in his own thoughts and inner conflict.

The other mech’s field lapped around Galeforce, gradually spreading over him.  Even rapids calmed when they met a deep, still pool.  Paladin said nothing, just vented slowly, in, hold, release.  Slowly, Galeforce began to respond to the aura of serenity Paladin exuded, his venting slowing to match the elder Scion’s, field calming.  His armor loosened, slowly relaxing from its tense state against his protoform, and he raised his optics to look at the Temple Master.

“Two Scions are dead at the hands of a Herald,” he said softly.  “I do not know their names, but I have an image of a blade.”  Galeforce offered it in a small databurst.  They were so close, side by side, even a comm would have been like shouting.  

“Sundust and Penitente,” Paladin answered, keeping his voice low.  “They told me they were hunting.  I did not know they were hunting a Herald.”  Optics still closed, he let the grief wash through his field.  He had known the pair, hotheaded and bold, though not as powerful as others.  They had dwelled in his home for a time, before they chose to make their lives in another place, together.  The two had not been poor Scions or bad mechs, but their rashness had led to this.  He wondered if they had known there was a Herald at the end of the monster hunt, or if they were seeking glory by keeping their hunt from some of the other known Herald-killers.  “May Primus grant them rest.”

Galeforce echoed the sentiment quietly, still vacantly staring at the weed.  He had grown calmer, more still, but Paladin sensed that the turmoil was lurking under ice.  “What troubles you?”

It was a long, long moment before Galeforce answered.  Paladin wondered if the other Scion would speak at all, or if he would bottle up everything again.  Damned ascetics.  They allowed themselves no outlets, and often burned out in spectacularly destructive fashions.  “I knew the Herald was there.  I have spoken with him, met him, eaten with him.”  He bowed his head, field closing in around his frame tightly.  “I did not know Sundust and Penitente knew of him.  I did not know they would come so close.”

That was something of a bombshell.  Paladin took time to gather his thoughts, process the emotions he felt.  Galeforce, spending time with a Herald?  Galeforce, who had fought a Herald, and triumphed?  Surely he would know better.  Or… if he was doing such a thing, there was a reason.  What that reason was, Paladin could not yet fathom.  He kept his field calm, radiating peace.  He would not impulsively leap to accusations and upset the younger mech, driving him to hide what he had been doing.  “You have been meeting a Herald?  Tell me about him.”

The bright curiosity in Paladin’s field was the only reason Galeforce did not get up and leave the Garden, and likely the Temple.  The Master genuinely wanted to know, he sensed.  “He is… he is like us,” he managed, at last.  “He is not an ephemeral.  He knows what it is to have the hand of a god on your shoulder.  What it is to see beyond the everyday, the creatures that walk between the worlds, to have abilities beyond mortal understanding.  He believes, but only because he must.  There is no faith.”  He gave a soft, dry laugh.  “There is no need for faith when the existence of the divine is responsible for your very being.”

“Do you know how Heralds are made?”  Paladin had not moved from his serene pose, sitting in the dirt of the garden.  Already, little crystals were sprouting around him, responding to the aura of his power.  “They are not made the way we are.  The Unmaker does not reach for a corrupted soul and exalt them.  He does not choose the most faithful, or even the most powerful.  I suppose He could, if He so chose, but He relies on shadows and trickery, preying on the weak.”  He smiled indulgently at Galeforce’s disbelieving snort.  “Yes, weak.  Not traditionally weak in body, of course, or even of will.  But their minds are vulnerable, open to manipulation.  There are whispers in their ears, hints of power to be obtained.”  Paladin glanced at Galeforce.  “It was my fear for many years Megatron would say the words.”  Paladin settled, armor and field smoothing out.  “Primus be thanked, he was too proud to utter them, if they were ever offered.”

“I never knew,” Galeforce murmured, field swirling in confusion.  It made so much more sense.  Grindor was not an obedient, willing servant to Unicron, as he was to Primus.  The Herald was a slave, a prisoner.  “It makes so much sense.”

“Some glory in it,” Paladin continued, nodding at the other Scion’s words.  “Some reject it, until the Unmaker grows too loud and forceful.  Those ones die, usually.  The Unmaker abandons them in a moment of crisis, leaving them to their fates.  It is why I do not advocate the wholesale slaughter of Heralds.”

The younger Scion started, hands tightening around the pole of his glaive.  He had to think back, and carefully analyze conversations.  Paladin had never sent Scions on a mission to hunt Heralds.  He had always sent them after the monsters.  Galeforce had thought at the time that one thing led to another--find the monsters, hunt them to the Herald that made them.  Or, as had happened to him, Primus had sent a Scion to face the Herald.  “You always sent us after the wraiths,” he murmured, low, astonished at the subtle misdirection Paladin had employed.

“I do not like sending you children to your deaths,” he said, shaking his head.  “The Unmaker’s arts are myriad, multifarious, constantly evolving, and undying. Each time they are beaten back, they will rise up again, stronger and more dangerous than before.  If one grows too deadly, Primus calls.  Until then, it is better the monsters I know and understand.  Our world, the intangible and the mundane, exist in a delicate balance.  It is so much more complex than good and evil alone.  We all exist as shades of gray, even the Heralds and Scions.  If we were to amass together, form an army, and annihilate every Herald, every pit bender, every voidwraith we came across, I believe, in the depth of my spark, we would create a vacuum that the Unmaker Himself could use to deadly advantage.”  The Master paused, considering, and continued.  “I believe he could use it to take corporeal form in the mundane world.”

Galeforce could not help himself.  He gasped, horrified and astonished.  It was a thought that chilled the soul, imagining Unicron in their world.  Paladin’s stance abruptly made more sense.  He was one of the oldest Scions, connected to their world to a depth many could not fathom, and none could replicate.  His armor rattled in a shudder, pricking up in fear, imagining such a thing.  It was a horror he prayed would never visit their reality, or any other.

Slowly, Paladin rose to his feet, brushing the little crystals that had grown around him away until he was able to move without crushing them.  “The loss of Sundust and Penitente is a grave one.  But I will not send more Scions after your… friend, Galeforce.  Not unless he hunts us first.”  Paladin placed his hand on Galeforce’s bowed head, a benediction.  “Who prays for the Fallen, Brother?  Perhaps it should be you.”

“Now,” he continued, grasping the other mech’s arm to hoist him to his feet.  “That is quite enough heaviness for one day.  Come join me for a drink.  Yes, yes, just tea, of course.  It is still quite cold, and we have been out of doors too long.”

The pair of Scions left the Garden, companionably side by side, returning to the Temple proper.  They did not notice a dark shape, lean and strong, climbing down from one of the ironwood trees, careful to not snag the bow at his back.  Their conversation had been overheard.  So the monster lives.

[mel-the-fangirl]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Sam Holland x Reader

Words: 2,210

Requested: Nope!

The picture that inspired me to write this. Merry Christmas guys! Definitely not my best but I hope you enjoy this one! xx

As always please tell me how I did! Comment, message me, send in an ask!

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“Why did you have to go on that stupid trip anyway?”

“Love, it’s not a stupid trip. This is important.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, fully aware that he wouldn’t see it.

“Right. Important.” the stress that you put on the word was oozing sarcasm

Sam sighed from the other line. Somehow you could sense the full extent of his frustration from that one sound he made. It didn’t matter though, you were still pissed as hell with him.

“Y/N,” he was trying his damnedest not to lose his patience with you. “This is an important trip for me.”

“Uh huh. I understand how skiing in the French Alps and drunk dancing to ‘Ignition’ is of the utmost importance.” you snapped at him

Sam inhaled sharply, you heard it. You could just about imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows scrunching together.

It might have been unfair to Sam for you to say things like that but to be fairly honest, you’d just about had it. At first, when he left, you could still grasp at reason, that his trip was truly important. But as the weeks dragged on and you saw more Instagram posts from him and his friends, it was starting to become clear that this was just a friends’ holiday.

There was nothing wrong with that though. It was just the fact that Sam kept pressing on and on that it was important, when clearly it wasn’t and that wasn’t the only issue.

“You know, Sam. You promised you’d been home for Christmas.”

In the middle of all that thinking, your voice had suddenly lost its edge, the anger was gone. All that was left was desperation, sadness even.

“We’ve never spent a Christmas apart since we got together.” you added gently, reminiscing warmer memories that were stained with the scent of cinnamon and the feel of warm wool against your skin

“I know.” Sam replied, suddenly feeling very tired

He knew how it looked, really, he did and he knew the promise he made. Perhaps he just didn’t realise that he wouldn’t be able to follow through when he made it, perhaps he wanted to believe that he could have.

But now, things seemed bleak for that. He just didn’t know how to break it to you. With only a day left until Christmas and so many more things he had to do, Sam was torn.

“Is that all you’re going to say? ‘I know’?” your voice was beginning to waver, a strain lacing itself around the workings of your throat

Please don’t cry right now, you pleaded with yourself

You wanted Sam to feel guilty but not through sobbing on the phone with him.

“I’ll be home in time. I promise.”

Before Sam even realised it, the words were out of his mouth. A heartbeat of silence later,

“I’ll be waiting.” was all you replied before hanging up

Sam put his head in his hands. He then clasped them together and brought them to his lips, as if deep in prayer.

Why did he say that? Why, why on earth did he say that?!

He slapped his hands against his thighs, feeling the slight burn.

A fucking idiot is what he is.

“Sam, mate. C'mon! The slopes are waiting!” one of his friends eagerly clapped him on the back, decked out in ski gear

Sam waved his hand dismissively, barely even registering what was said.

He sat there, thinking of any possible way he could make it home in time.

Meanwhile back home, you were putting the finishing touches on Sam’s Christmas present. He just promised you a few minutes ago that he’d be home in time and although it seemed like it would take a miracle, it was Christmas.

What better time for a miracle?

The next day was Christmas morning, you woke up, half expecting to see Sam cuddled up next to you in bed, but no such luck. That didn’t mean you were going to give up hope though, Sam promised that he’d be home to spend the holiday with you and that was what you were choosing to believe.

Even if that meant that you had to spend most of your day peering out of your windows, pathetically waiting for any sign of your boyfriend’s arrival.

Come nightfall, it was time for your family’s annual Christmas party, Sam never missed a single one since you two got together.

It looks like this would be the first time.

You milled about your living room, the sprinkled sound of laughter and conversation filling the air around you, the occasional annoying relative disrupting your pensive state, asking annoying questions like:

“When are you graduating, dear?”

“What job do you think you’re going to get?”

“What do you want to major in when you get to uni?”

You would answer all their questions as brief as you could and as polite as you could but there was just that one question you didn’t really have an answer to.

“Y/N, where’s that handsome fella of yours? He’s never missed this party before.” one of your older cousins asked

There wasn’t really anything you could say, nor was there anything you wanted to say. You were getting a little agitated and you wished they would just stop asking questions, you barely even knew these people for Christ’s sake!

“Sam’s in France.” your mother stepped in for you. “He’s working as a chalet host at a ski resort.”

You looked to your mother quizzically. It was safe to say that you didn’t know that. At all. Sam never told you.

What was he doing working over the holidays?

Among your relatives, there were several nods of approval and finally, the subject of basically every fucking aspect of your life was dropped. You eased into the background once more, swept up in your thoughts about Sam.

Hours dwindled by, drinks were had, songs were sung, and gifts were given, the only exception being Sam’s gift which was left sitting alone underneath your Christmas tree. The more you looked at it, the more it sunk in that he really wasn’t there.

There wasn’t anyone warding off your annoying relatives and their intrusive questions. No one wrapping their arms around you and whispering how beautiful you looked even though you were wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” you heard someone exclaim, wrenching you out of your thoughts

Everyone gathered around your front door as your mom held it open for you all to see who had just arrived, fashionably late.

Your heart began to pound uncontrollably, you had an inkling of who it could be.

Oh, you were so happy. You just couldn’t believe Sam had made it just in the nick of time.

The little crowd parted to reveal…

Another sodding relative you didn’t know the name of!

The stupid childish grin that had formed on your face was wiped off immediately. It was clear, Sam wasn’t coming. Promise broken.

With the party winding down, you thought it best to just head back into your room to get some sleep. The minute your head hit the pillow, you were out.

Disappointment was exhausting, most especially on Christmas day.

Sweater-clad arms held you tightly, securely as you lay in bed. The scent of body wash and the outdoors filled your nose. Warmth was filling your body at a steadfast pace. You felt a step closer to heaven.

“I love you, Y/N.” an all too familiar voice whispered in your ear, breath tickling the side of your neck

You squirmed, twisting around until you were chest-to-chest with your dream boy. Eyes still shut, not quite awake, your lips spread into a gentle smile.

“I love you too, Sam.” you whispered affectionately

Everything felt like it was right in place, you had this swelling emotion nestled in your heart and you could only describe it as sheer happiness, the disappointment that you felt last night was long forgotten due to your dream-like trance.

You weren’t entirely sure if what was happening was real or if it was just your imagination. Suffice to say, you didn’t give a damn.

Next thing you knew, soft lips were on your own, you drank in every emotion these lips were trying to convey. Happiness, love, sadness, guilt. The longer the kiss went on, the more bitter it began to taste.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Sam was there, he was really there. You gently pushed him away and gazed into his green eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” he greeted you with a half-smile

“You’re here.” you rasped in reply, sleep still heavily coated in your voice

Sitting up, he nodded at you before hanging his head low.

“I travelled all night.”

It was noticeable. His sweater, although it smelled just like him and he smelled so good, was crumpled. His hair was ruffled and the bags in his eyes were darker than you’ve ever seen them before.

You sat up as well, studying his face carefully before quietly asking,

“Why didn’t you tell me you got a job at the ski resort?”

He looked up at you eyes wide, before wrapping an arm around you. His touch felt almost holistic, you’d missed him so much. That feeling he gave you, just him in general. You inched closer to him, placing your legs in his lap.

The corners of his lips turned upward. He placed his free hand on your knee, thumb ghosting along your skin.

“It wasn’t my plan really. A couple of my mates came up with it,” Sam begun to explain, snaking the arm that was previously around your shoulders down to your waist, pulling you even closer to him

“They all thought it’d be fun to work at a ski resort over the holidays and initially, I didn’t want to go because.. Well, you know I love spending Christmas with you and your mum and you folks.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Sam leaned in to peck your nose before carefully sliding your legs off his lap. You watched him curiously as he grabbed his rucksack from off your floor and proceeded to rummage through it. He had his back to you so you couldn’t really see what he was looking for.

Finally, he turned to you with a long rectangular box in his hands.

“I know I’m a day late, but is there a chance you’ll accept this?”

He flashed you a cheeky smile and you really hated how handsome he was. You nodded wordlessly and extended your hand out to receive it.

“What does this have to do with my question?”

“Open it.”

You lifted the cover to reveal a delicate golden locket. A gasp left your lips as you traced your finger on the ornate filigree adorning it.

“God, Sam.. This-This is beautiful, how on earth could you have afforded-”

You cut yourself off and threw your arms around him, nearly in tears.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” you whispered to him as he squeezed you tight

“Turn it over.”

He lifted the necklace out of its box for you and you turned the locket over, revealing an inscription:

“À toi, pour toujours” 

(A/N: I don’t know any French I literally copy pasted this from a website. I’m sorry if it isn’t right.)

“Yours, forever.” Sam filled in for you, gesturing for you to stand up so he could clasp it around your neck

You were at a loss for words. What did you do in your past life to deserve someone like Sam Holland?

Sam secured the lock and placed both hands on top of your shoulders. He kissed the back of your neck and turned you around to face him.

“Just in case you hadn’t guessed, a picture of me is inside.” he chuckled

“All I got you was a Billy Joel vinyl record.” you mumbled, burying your face in your hands

“Hey,” he pried your hands off your face and cupped your cheek tenderly

“Anything you get me is perfect, okay? And you know I fucking love Billy Joel.”

“I fucking love you, Sam. You’re unbelievable.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”

You leaned in for a kiss but he stepped back and you almost toppled over! Thankfully, you regained your footing.

“Oi, what was that?!”

Sam looked at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Sorry, gorgeous. There isn’t any mistletoe around.” he shrugged

“Seriously!” you yelled, taking huge strides towards him but he continued to pace around your bedroom

“I don’t make the rules!”

You groaned at his silly antics. “Sam, give me a kiss!”

He walked towards you with a huge shit-eating grin that you really, really wanted to kiss off of his freckled face.

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.”

Sam laced his fingers through your hair, closing the gap between you. His scent was beginning to make the room spin, you could feel his lips brushing against yours.

Until, of course, he left you hanging again. He deftly opened your bedroom door and walked right out.

“Too slow, Y/N!” he yelled from down the hall

You stood there, blinking in confusion.

“SAM!” you yelled after him, breaking into a run

It was still Christmas as far as you were concerned and you were sure as hell going to get another kiss from your boyfriend.

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permanent taglist: @theholyholland, @optimisticbee, @johnxstilinski, @lyssamorgan, @osterfield-holland, @planet-holland-writing, @draqcnheartstrinq, @leahhensonx, @nativeofsouthwestlondon-darling, @twong2001, @cubedtriangle, @sebenagomez, @aussie-mantle, @the-crime-fighting-spider, @writerunhuman, @monicaagraz​, @bxsunshine​

(please message me if you’d like to be added!)

[dfroza]

we have to conserve the True nature of the Scriptures

that lead us into the Light of eternal life in the Son, but also correct us as well.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 13th and closing chapter of the Letter of 2nd Corinthians:

This is my third trip to your city and community. As the Scripture says, “Every charge must be confirmed by two or three witnesses.” As I said before on my second visit, I say now again while absent. Consider this an advance warning, if you wish, to those of you still caught up in your old sins and to all the rest as well: when I come the next time, I will not spare anyone who is out of order. You asked to see evidence that the power of the Anointed One, the Liberating King, is at work in me. Well, you will see it because He won’t be weak in dealing with you. Instead, He will do great things in you. Now it’s true that He was crucified in weakness, but it’s also true that He lives by God’s power. For we who belong to Him are weak in Him, but we will live with Him by God’s power for you.

Examine yourselves. Check your faith! Are you really in the faith? Do you still not know that Jesus the Anointed is in you?—unless, of course, you have failed the test. Surely you will realize we have not failed the test, but we pray to God that you will stay away from evil. What’s important is not whether we appear to have passed the test, but that you do what is right and act honorably, even if it appears that we have failed. For there’s nothing we can do to oppose the truth; all we can do is align ourselves with it. You see, we celebrate when we are weak but you are strong. Our prayer is simple: that you may be whole and complete. How I hope I am saving you by writing this to you in advance; this letter will spare me from using the Lord’s authority to come down on you when I arrive. His intention in giving me this authority is to build you up, not tear you down.

Finally, brothers and sisters, keep rejoicing and repair whatever is broken. Encourage each other, think as one, and live at peace; and God, the Author of love and peace, will remain with you. Greet each other with a holy kiss, as brothers and sisters. All the saints here with me send you their greeting.

May the grace of the Lord Jesus the Anointed, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit remain with you all. [Amen.]

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 13 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 64th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah as a repentant prayer:

If only You would rip open the heavens

and come down to earth—

Its heights and depths would quake the moment You appear,

Like kindling when it just begins to catch fire, or like water that’s about to boil.

If only You would come like that so that all who deny or hate You

Would know who You are and be terrified of Your grandeur.

We remember that long ago You did amazing things for us

that we had never dreamed You’d do.

You came down, and the mountains shook at Your presence.

Nothing like that had ever happened before���no eye had ever seen,

and no ear had ever heard such wonders,

But You did them then for the sake of Your people, for those who trusted in You.

You meet whoever tries with sincerity of purpose to do what You want—

to do justice and follow in Your ways.

But You became so angry when we rebelled and committed all sorts of wrongs;

we have continued in our sins for a long time. So how can we be saved?

We are all messed up like a person compromised with impurity;

even all our right efforts are like soiled rags.

We’re drying up like a leaf in autumn and are blown away by wrongdoing.

And it’s so sad because no one calls out to You

or even bothers to approach You anymore.

You’ve been absent from us too long;

You left us to dissolve away in the acrid power of our sins.

Still, Eternal One, You are our Father.

We are just clay, and You are the potter.

We are the product of Your creative action, shaped and formed into something of worth.

Don’t be so angry anymore, O Eternal;

don’t always remember our wrongs.

Please, look around and see that we are all Your people.

The places that You sanctified are reduced to nothing.

Zion is a wasteland; Jerusalem sits in eerie desolation.

Our holy and glorious temple, where our ancestors worshiped You,

has been burned to the ground;

Everything we loved is ruined by our enemies,

a smoking pile of ash and debris.

Now with all this, Eternal, will You just stand by and watch?

will You keep silent and let us continue to suffer?

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 64 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, August 11 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that points to Light:

The goal of the devil, the “prince of the power of the air,” has always been to enslave people in dark places of fear, anger, bitterness, and pain. His primary weapon is deception, that is, various lies by which he captivates people and makes them tools for his evil purposes. We are able to resist the power of the lie by submitting to the truth about Reality (James 4:7). God's Name YHVH (יהוה) means "Presence" and "Love," and there is no power in heaven or earth that can overrule His hand. Therefore even if the prophesied "End of Days" were to begin this very hour, our responsibility is to focus on the Divine Presence and to walk in His truth and love. As King David said, "I have set the LORD always before me; because He is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken" (Psalm 16:8).

Encourage yourself by remembering that there is a future of healing and deliverance coming to us, though we must abide in the shadow of its substance for a bit longer: "For behold, the Day is coming (הַיּוֹם בָּא), burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble. The Day that is coming shall set them ablaze, says the LORD of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch. But for you who fear my Name, the Sun of Righteousness (שֶׁמֶשׁ צְדָקָה) shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out skipping like calves released from the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the LORD of hosts" (Mal. 4:1-3).

This awesome passage from the Book of Malachi primarily applies to the Second Coming of Yeshua and the great "Day of the LORD" (יוֹם יהוה). The "Sun of Righteousness," shemesh tzaddik (שֶׁמֶשׁ צְדָקָה), refers to Messiah son of David, the risen life-giving Healer of God. Of Him it is said, "The LORD God is a sun and a shield" (Psalm 84:11) and "the LORD shall be to thee an everlasting Light (אוֹר עוֹלָם), and thy God thy glory; thy sun shall no more go down, for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light" (Isa. 60:19-20). The Divine Light will shine on those who receive God's righteousness, that is, on those who put their trust in the One who said, 'I am the Light of the world' (John 8:12). Amen, the righteous will forever testify: “For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light” (Psalm 36:9). Amen. Despite the present hour, it is not all darkness... seek the Light and you will find it (Isa. 50:10). [Hebrew for Christians]

and another about True identity:

It is vital to affirm your identity as a beloved child of God... You may not always feel the connection, but you must choose it regardless of your present emotional state, because your place in God's heart is a matter of truth, not sentimentality. Who you really are is grounded in the Reality and power of the LORD God of Israel.

God loved you *before* you were born (Jer. 1:5; 31:3); he loved you from eternity itself, and there never was a time when God did not love you (Jer. 1:5; 31:3). The LORD "wove you together" in your mother’s womb (תְּסֻכֵּנִי בְּבֶטֶן אִמִּי) and brought you into being from nonexistence (Psalm 139:13-16). This is the gift of life itself (מַתַּת הַחַיִּים מִן הַשָּׁמַיִם). In Him you “live and move and have your being” (Acts 17:28). Moreover, the LORD gives you life from above and adopts you as his own (John 1:12; Rom. 8:15); he knows the number of the hairs on your head and every thought and word of your heart (Matt. 10:30; 12:26; Psalm 139:4); he directs every step of your journey throughout this life (Psalm 37:23; 139:3; 23; Prov. 16:9); he foresaw you when he offered up his life in redemption for your healing (1 Cor. 15:3; 2 Cor. 5:21; Gal. 1:4; 1 Pet. 2:24; 2 Cor. 5:18); you are "briah chadashah," a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17; Gal. 6:15); you are always welcome in his presence (Eph. 1:6; Heb. 4:16); he will never leave you nor forsake you (Heb. 13:5); he prepares a place for you in the world to come (Jer. 29:11; John 14:1-3); and one day he will wipe away every tear from your eyes (Rev. 7:17; 21:4).

In short, you belong to God from eternity: you were loved of God before you were born, and you will be loved by God after you die. From eternity unto eternity you are part of God’s heart and plans...

When you are tempted to feel badly about yourself, then, take a moment to reaffirm who God says you are. Know yourself as accepted and beloved. Don’t allow your past to hold you in exile; don’t give place to shame; know yourself only in relation to God’s eternal love for your soul. Whenever you feel hurt, angry, fearful, or rejected, turn inwardly to God and center yourself in his presence; realize that such negative feelings do not define what is most real about you. "Bacharta ba’chayim": “Choose life!” Turn now to God; reaffirm that you are his beloved child, and thank him for the blessing of your redeemed life. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

8.10.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 11, 2021

God Loves the Wicked

“And he prayed unto the LORD, and said, I pray thee, O LORD, was not this my saying, when I was yet in my country? Therefore I fled before unto Tarshish: for I knew that thou art a gracious God, and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repentest thee of the evil.” (Jonah 4:2)

Jonah understood that God loves wicked people. Indeed, our text verse tells us that this was the very reason he ran away from God! Jonah wanted God to destroy the sinful people of Nineveh and feared that God might forgive them if they repented. Ironically, Jonah acted wickedly by disobeying God’s command to preach to the inhabitants because of his lack of compassion for wicked people (Jonah 1:1-3).

Even after Jonah was swallowed by the “great fish” (1:17) and agreed to preach in Nineveh, he still had no love for the city’s cruel inhabitants. As a prophet, Jonah undoubtedly wished to see God’s sinful people of Israel repent and be spared from God’s judgment, but he did not want God’s mercy extended to their enemies. He was furious when God forgave these repentant sinners (4:1). Jonah apparently failed to realize that he needed God’s mercy as much as the people of Nineveh. Praise God that He “is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).

The world is full of wicked people who hate God and His people. God created these sinners in His image (Genesis 1:27). Even though they reject Him and His commands, Jesus loves them and wants them to come to Him for salvation. May every Christian be loving enough to tell people the truth: that they have sinned against their holy Creator and incurred His righteous wrath, “but God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). WP

[amidalogicdive]

The Misadventures of a Prince and His Glaive

CHAPTER 11: ALONE (PART2)

Ao3 LINK READ THE CHAPTER HERE

Rating: Mature Relationship: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Nyx Ulric, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia Additional Tags: Microfic, Prompt Fic, NyxNoct Monthly Challenge, Stupidity, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Lovers, Established Relationship, Misadventures, Bad Luck, Betrayal, Halloween, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hung Over, Drinking, Hangover, Road Trips, Nightmares, Dreams and Nightmares, Devotion, Acceptance, Sex, Anal Sex, Sex in a Car, Angst, Injury, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, Memories, Feelings Realization, Past Memories

Summary: Nyx remains in the hospital as Noctis continues to examine his feelings for the glaive, and waits for him to awaken.

Excuse me while I interrupt your normal crack fluff for this angsty interlude!

Part 2 of 4

-

Six days.

It could have been six months for all that Noctis was concerned. He hadn’t left the hospital in that time, had barely left the room more than a handful of times when he’d literally had no choice. Most had been for examinations, the doctors running him out to conduct tests and check Nyx status. He’d stopped hoping to hear the words he’d been waiting for that Nyx could be woken up from the coma he’d been put in. For the good of his health, those were the words they had told him too many times as they’d exited the room.

For his health, Nyx must sleep. For his health, Nyx had to linger in this sterile room. For his health, Noctis had to suffer without his calming and reassuring presence…

...and Noctis had started losing hope.

He had been forced to wait, alone, in a precarious balance that messed with his head. Stuck in some odd, indescribable holding pattern, not knowing if Nyx would live or die. A man that was a Hero among glaives and admired by many. Someone that Noctis had been pulled too without thought, never considering where their relationship was heading. It had been fun, an escape… something that he’d made for himself. Now that it was gone? Noctis recognized his emotions for Nyx went far deeper than he’d ever intended for them to go.

Noctis had found himself asking the same question time and time again as he sat in the small, quiet room where Nyx laid. Curled up in the stiff and uncomfortable chair that was provided to guests, he’d decided it was time to analyze his own feelings. Why did his loss hurt so much? Where did his feelings for the glaive end? How could he keep going if Nyx wasn’t there at his side with his sarcastic remarks and tender touches? The deeper he dug, analyzed, and prodded at his thoughts like an open wound; the more he knew there was only one cause. It played on repeat inside his head as he observed the gentle rise and fall of Nyx chest.

I love him. I love him. I love him. 

But, it wasn’t a love of a brother. A friend. Not even a companion. It was an all-consuming, deep and traitorous love that could strengthen or utterly destroy him. At that moment, as Noctis stood there observing the shadows that played across the pulled curtain; he knew if Nyx died it would inevitably shatter him into a million pieces. Knew he would never be able to put himself back together again. So he stood there, his hands clasped together as he chewed on his bottom lip. Noctis waited for those doors to open, sending a silent prayer to Etro. Asking only one thing of her as those words continued over and over in his head, and weary eyes fell closed.

I love him. I love him. I love him. Please, just keep him at my side… because I love him.

“Noct? Highness?”

“Iggy?” Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he glanced at his advisor. Noctis knew how he looked, pale and harried from too many sleepless nights. Too much stress, and too little fresh air. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Ignis acknowledged his words, motioning towards the doctor that stood before them. “The medical staff have completed the examination. It will take a few hours for the effects of the medication to wear off, but they have concluded he can be awakened at this time.”

Noctis was quick to look from Ignis to the doctor, a questioning in his eyes. Needing to hear this man say those same words, and it seemed he understood this. “As your advisor has said, Your Highness. His vitals has remained stable for the last forty-eight hours, and all injuries that we felt were life-threatening, seem to be healing sufficiently.” There was a paused, glancing at the watch around his wrist, before speaking again. “His waking will take time.”

“Hours?” He asked.

“Possibly days, Your Highness. With the injuries that he sustained, I’ve seen patients take up to seventy-two hours, or more to finally come too.” Bowing deeply, their eyes met as he righted himself. “We must be contented he will wake, Your Highness.”

Giving a curt nod, he thanked him and then Noctis walked back into the room and to Nyx side. Many of the machines had been removed, and it was easier to pretend that he was simply sleeping like this. “Dusha,” Being careful of the bandages, Noctis ran thin fingers through ashen hair. The words that the doctors had told him days before ran through his head. It was a miracle that he was even alive. Under normal circumstances, anyone who’d sustained such damage would have normally succumbed to their injuries.

Ignis reentered, contemplating the scene for a moment. “Noct, if I may?” Noctis let out a hum, his focus solely on Nyx. “While his ongoing recovering is pleasing to hear, what will Sir Ulric think when he observes you in such a state?” That made the prince look up. “If I may be blunt, you haven't taken proper care over the last week. Knowing that he will not waken within the next forty-eight hours. I must insist you return to your apartment, have a wholesome meal and sleep in a proper bed.”

While Noctis was against the idea, he had done as asked, returning to his home. But only after Gladio and Ignis promised that one of them would remain with Nyx at all times. He would be contacted the moment the glaive demonstrated the slightest indication that he might be waking, and Gladio had taken the first watch. This left Ignis free to take the prince home. Thus assuring that he'd taken a long hot shower, had a proper meal, and slept in his own bed. Noctis had slept most of the day away by the time Gladio had roused him with yet another meal.

He'd also come with news.

Both men had decided Noctis would be banned from the hospital for the rest of the day unless called for. Most of it was spent playing video games and trying to distract himself. Ignis returned that evening, cooking dinner for the prince, before sending him off to bed once again. A few days of proper rest and food had made Noctis feel human again, and still, he waited for any information in regards to Nyx. By the third day, he couldn’t just sit around in his apartment any longer and talked Gladio into taking him back to the hospital. While Ignis wasn’t pleased to see him return, he could appreciate why Noctis felt he should be there.

The two had left, promising to return by morning and once again Noctis was left in the quiet of that tiny room. Nyx sleeping form was his only company as the prince played with his phone, dark eyes straying to the glaves still form. Except he wasn’t still, his eyes fluttered and Noctis jumped up from his seat to cover the insignificant space that stood between them. He reached down to caress Nyx jaw, his thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Dusha, ty menya slyshish'?” There was a sigh, his eyes opening slowly as he blinked a few times. “Nyx?”

It was evident the glaive was still affected by the drugs that ran through his system, along with the lengthy period of sleep. Nyx looked confused for a moment as if he were trying to focus on the face before him. Soon his confusion turned to recognition as he smiled up at Noctis. “Moya lyubov', moya dusha… is it you?”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that left him, a rush of joy and relief flowing through him as tears filled his eyes. “Yes, Nyx. It’s me.” His thumb continued brushing his cheek, and Nyx smiled when Noctis placed a brief kiss on his forehead.

“Hey there, pretty boy. How'd you get here?” At this point drug-hazed eyes had started to wander around, taking in his surroundings. Noctis could see the moment that it clicked, he wasn’t where he thought he should be. “Noct?”

“Stay calm and I'll explain. You have been wounded. Injured during the last attack and Drautos had you rushed back to Insomnia. We are at the hospital near the Citadel, and you’ve been here for about a week and a half.” Needing to know he was actually awake, Noctis leaned over and kissed him. When he felt it returned, he let out a sigh of relief. Pulling apart, he laid his forehead against Nyx' carefully and closed his eyes, despite the fact that tears continued to gather. “I was so frightened. I believed I’d lost you.”

“No, Noct. No. I wouldn't leave you alone.” Raising his arm, Nyx let out a hiss of pain that caused Noctis to pull away. “Oh... fuck, that hurt.”

“Careful!” Noctis laughed, brushing away the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “You haven't even been awake five minutes and you’re already pushing yourself too far.” Kissing him again, the prince placed little pecks to his lips until Nyx was smiling again. “Just relax. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by a behemoth?”

“Well, you were…” One brow arched, giving his young lover a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he should continue. “I wasn’t there, all I know is what I heard. Luche was the one who saw it.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the glaives hand with the utmost care and held it. “He told me a few behemoths were causing trouble, and your group had broken off to take them down.”

“I remember that much. There were three near the wall where Crowe and the mages were.”

“Do you remember what happened next?” He shook his head, and Noctis couldn't hold back a frown. “Luche said you came out of a warp, at the same time a behemoth turned to attack. It knocked you away, and you hit the ground at the same time Pelna had attacked. They said you wound up pinned, and then the creature struggled and ended up rolling over you before attacking again.” He watched Nyx closely, hoping to see some form of recognition in his eyes, but there was nothing.

“I don’t know. It's all a blank, but I trust Luche." He noted the mirid of bandages and smirked. "So, how bad am I hurt so I can figure out how much trouble I'm in with you?”

“Glad you're finding humor in this, ass." He huffed, "When I arrived the doctor had already rushed you into an emergency surgery.” Noct's eyes fell, rubbing the hand that held his. “I was so scared, Nyx. They had to keep you in a coma, because of some contusion or damage to your head. The left shoulder was dislocated and your wrist on that arm broke. Your leg was… damn it Nyx, you could have died!”

“I didn’t, I’m still here. I'm lucky.”

"This time."

"You can't think that way." Nyx entwined in fingers with Noct's, squeezing lightly. "You know what I am, what I do."

“I know,” Leaning closer, Noctis kissed him once again. Raising his free hand to Nyx jawline, pale fingers ran through the coarse beard that had grown out a bit since he’d been in the hospital. “I just, I need you to stay alive.” He murmured, meeting the glaives tired gaze. “When it comes to you, permit me to be a little selfish? I can’t lose you, Nyx.”

He could see the joy mixed with pain in the prince's eyes, and it hurt to know he was the reason for that. “All right.” Brushing his lips against Noct's own, he smiled. “I’m yours; you won’t lose me. Not today.”

"Not ever, if I have any say in the matter."

"Brat." But Noct had stood by him through a lot, and that was a hell of a lot more than he'd expected. Feelings he'd long tried to bury flowed to the surface. "My brat."

[saeyounggi]

RFA and V + The First Time They Say I Love You

requested by anon and @josmottt - sorry it took so long! orz it’s ya boy, back with another (overdue) headcanon / scenario post! i mean to post this for the longest time now, but i never got the chance to. i’ve got notes on this piece that i might post; who knows? also, this is really, really long, but i hope you enjoy it! yoosung’s continued scenario (as well as the scenario of the other members) is found under the cut. this is essentially a sequel to RFA + When They Realize They’re in Love, but i did my best to make this a stand-alone scenario post! though i do recommend giving that a read just to build it up better :D a reblog/like would be greatly appreciated, and if you have any headcanon requests, feel free to send them my way! <3 enjoy!

RFA AND V + THE FIRST TIME THEY SAY “I LOVE YOU”

YOOSUNG

Yoosung feels like his heart is going to burst.

Normally, he wouldn’t be so nervous with playing video games. They were his food at this point, and he was so attuned to playing them that they became part of his daily life. Hell, he could probably live out his entire life with only video games to get him going. However, he had promised his mom that he was going to try to be healthier. Though, with the warmth of his object of affection right beside him, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to last long with the state his heart was in.

The blond tries to focus on the wide screen and blaring speakers set up in front of him, but the way she nearly leaned against him, brushing his shoulder ever-so slightly with her own, was enough to make him chant all the prayers he knew under his breath. He told her he was doing a chant of victory, part of the game and all that. Yeah right, he thinks, taking a deep breath from all the praying he had subtly done. He dodged an incoming attack, letting the high-pitched squeak of [Name] bring him back to his senses.

“Damn, that was a close one!” he heard himself say, subtly taking a glance at the woman beside him. Yoosung had invited the woman to his home to play a co-op campaign of LOLOL, seeing as the other RFA members had turned down his offers. Stupid, he thinks to himself. What made him think his heart was ready for this? He plasters on a wide smile as she shoots him with one of her own. He hurriedly turns his attention to the bright screen, hoping the heated blush on his pale face wasn’t obvious.

Yoosung was pretty sure [Name] was fully aware of her feelings for him, which terrified him as he had never felt this way about anyone. What if he looked stupid in her eyes? He was certainly the most naïve one in RFA; he accepted that, but what if that was a huge turn off for her? She was practically the definition of perfection in his eyes, even if she reminded him over and over that she was far from it. All of her flaws, her insecurities, her everything- she was absolutely divine, and he was anything but.

((continued under cut))

“Okay, I take back what I said earlier. LOLOL is absolutely addicting, and I, too, would waste hours of my short life to grind and level my character,” she comments, eyes never straying from the screen that the game was being played on. He hummed in response, pleased that his first love actually enjoyed the hobbies he took part in. Most people would just say that LOLOL was overrated and a waste of time, but she was the first to break that cycle.

“Those are hours I can never get back, but it’s worth iiit,” he jokes along, letting his character execute an aggressive action towards their rival players. He watches [Name]’s character follow it up with a defensive action to block the enemies’ counter-attack, inciting a bellowed “Yeeees” from the both of them.

“Hey, hey I want to try something out! Cover for me, Yoosung,” [Name] suddenly says, pushing her character to sprint forward. Yoosung just watched in shock for a moment, before following pursuit with his own character, blasting any enemies that got close to his partner. He hears the quick bashing of [Name]’s fingers on her controller, and he watches her character launch a killer combo move on the final wave of enemies behind the barricade.

Before Yoosung could do anything else, the screen faded into black, and both players could feel their breaths hitch in their throats. Suddenly, the word ‘Winner’ was plastered across the screen, with both of their characters doing celebratory dance moves beside each other.

“All right!” [Name] shouts, pulling a grinning Yoosung in for a spontaneous hug. Yoosung feels his body respond, wrapping his arms tightly around her while his heart pounds quickly in his chest. Honestly, he thinks, if I die like this then I die a happy man. However, his joyous state is put to a stop as their tight embrace is ended by [Name] pulling away.

The two lock eyes and Yoosung actually starts to sweat anxiously. The air is definitely, definitely thick with some sort of tension. The blond debates with himself, wondering if this was the right time to pour out his feelings for her. It seemed so much easier in movies. I love you, he thinks. For the first time in my life, I might just have fallen for someone. I have never tried to be a better person, but because of you- I want to change.

But that’s all in his head, and in the end he’s just a coward to his core. So, he decides against it. He decides it’s better to get swallowed up in his unsaid feelings forever than to scare her off with the intensity of his feelings for her- because a lifetime as merely her friend would hurt him less than even a day without her.

“Yoosung, I- I love you.”

The said man is pulled out from his own thoughts and ends up too shocked to respond. Did he- did he hear her right? She loved him? He feels [Name]’s hand on him start to quiver and loosen, and for a brief moment he sees her eyes water. So instead of responding to her abrupt confession, he decides to do it how the movies go.

He pulls on her arm, bringing her closer to him. He watches her head tilt up towards him in surprise, and he closes his eyes (because damn it, this is too much for his heart) and hopes that he doesn’t miss this one shot. The soft warmth of [Name]’s lips that press against his own tell him that he definitely did not miss it.

This, he thinks, was simultaneously the best and the worst way to answer that confession. However, the wrapping of her arms around his neck, and the harder press of her lips against his told him that this response in action was worth more than a response in words. Still, it didn’t feel right for him to not reassure her verbally. His lips gently move away from hers, and he places his forehead onto hers. With a quiet mumble, he says the three words he’s been practicing in front of his mirror since the day he saw her.

“I love- I love you.”

ZEN

Zen takes a deep and nervous breath.

The albino had to admit- this may be the first time he had ever felt nervous about a performance. He usually felt calm on-stage, with the gazes of his adoring crowd focused solely on him. There was nothing quite like being able to control the emotions of the people by merely your words and your actions. Theatre acting was acting in its purest form, and he was a canvas ready to be gifted with that art. The stage was his home, his zone, and he felt absolutely unstoppable on it, but remembering just what he was about to do was enough to make him dread every second on it.

It wasn’t the crowd that bothered him; hell, he definitely wanted a wider audience with what he was about to perform. It wasn’t the fact that the entire RFA was seated in the front row, eagerly waiting for his performance. It wasn’t even the fact that [Name], the woman he had fallen for, was with them- just as eager to see him work his magic. It was the fact that for the first time in his life he was going to be emotionally vulnerable in public.

He was an actor, yes, and he had done numerous roles with him acting emotional to make the crowd empathize with his character. But that was just it- those were merely fictional characters, and what he is about to show are his own true feelings- feelings he’d usually push away until he was alone in the dead of the night with nothing but his feelings.

Zen spent his time breaking down barriers as much as he did putting ones up for himself. He knows he flirts and teases people a lot, but the moment someone tries to see past that (and not a lot of people do, really) and actually get to know him, he is both overjoyed and absolutely terrified. He’s got scars from his past that he doesn’t like flashing around and a deep sense of self-doubt that people merely see him for his looks, and [Name] was the first one who was there for him in the dead of the night- the first one he’s allowed to ever get this close to him.

[Name]’s done so much more for him than that, and while he says Yoosung is the closest thing he has to a best friend, she’s secretly got that title and more in his heart. So, after the whole situation with Echo Girl and Unknown, he’s glad they could at least try to live normally together. Though, it had occurred to him that while she knew about his feelings, he never told her the way he wanted to- publicly, with his friends and his fans watching him admit it.

So there he was, decked in his signature white suit with his fingers nervously poised above the keys of the grand piano in front of him. The only thing he could do as well as acting was singing, and as much as he would’ve loved to re-enact the Romeo and Juliet confession for her, he knew a reenactment of a tragic love story was definitely not what he wanted for his own real-life confession.

“Thank you all for coming everyone,” he finally lets himself say into the microphone, smiling at the audience. He heard someone let out a shh, ushering the entire room into silence. “My beautiful [Name], I hope you like this song.” He slowly lets his fingers down onto the piano. He closes his eyes, imagining the inner workings of the piano striking each note that he plays. He took deep breaths, careful to hit each note at the right time.

The soft-sung lyrics of Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic rose into the air, and Zen hoped it was sweet enough to make [Name] melt in her seat. He heard a few people in the crowd hum and murmur the lyrics as well, giving him the kick of confidence he needed to finally open his eyes and look at his beloved.

“Every little thing she does is magic, everything she does just turns me on,” he crooned, sending her a quick wink before continuing. “Even though my life before was tragic, now I know my love for her goes on.” He let his fingers fly over the keys, finally getting into the spirit of this entire elaborate confession. He continues singing, each second making him more confident than he was before.

As the last notes drifted and faded into the air, he stood up and was greeted by a loudly sobbing Saeyoung. He blinked in surprise and watched as the red-headed hacker practically pushed [Name] onto the stage as he cried loudly, “Damn it Zen! Just kiss each other already!” The albino took one good look at his friend’s tear-stained face before bursting out laughing. He forgot about how ridiculous Saeyoung was when it came to relationships. Of course, with Saeyoung leading them all, it didn’t take long for Yoosung to push the crowd to chant with him.

“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” Yoosung screamed in mock angriness, and the rest of the crowd followed his example. Zen couldn’t hold back his chuckle at how this entire confession had escalated. Honestly, he just wanted a grand (and planned to a T) romantic serenade confession for [Name], but he got this instead.

Not that he was complaining really; it was a good excuse to kiss her- but that would come after his actual confession. Turning to her, he reached for one of her hands and slowly began interlacing her fingers with his. He cleared his throat into the mic, signaling Yoosung to stop his chanting for a moment.

“[Name], my sweet, I meant each word I sang to you. I want nothing more than to stay by your side, loving you for the rest of my life. I- I love you,” Zen says, tripping over the last few words. He’s shaking, but he feels her squeeze his hand tightly- giving him a sense of comfort. She nods, whispering the three words soft enough so only he hears it. The moment is absolutely intimate and personal, and he feels the microphone fall out of his grasp as she finishes.

Before he knows it, he’s pulled her towards him for a deep kiss, and he hears the crowd explode into a mix of girlish screams and loud sobbing. He could really care less, though; after all, he’s feeling absolutely magical with her lips pressed against his, and that’s honestly all that matters to him.

JAEHEE

Jaehee lets out a tired sigh.

The thought that [Name] was incredibly dense had never occurred to her, but at this point, that would be the best thing to describe her. The one she adored was hopelessly and completely dense about her intentions- even though Jaehee was pretty sure she had made her romantic intent very clear. After all, you don’t just ask someone to be your partner and open up a café with them! It takes years for those couples in movies to actually be ready to commit to something of that scale.

Jaehee was so sure [Name] had understood that she wanted a relationship with her when she asked her back during the RFA party, but ever since then they’ve done nothing remotely romantic other than make coffee for each other in the morning. They don’t even hold hands, and it’s driving Jaehee crazy. Although, she wasn’t really one to talk as she only realized her own feelings during the party itself.

It’s been a long time since the former secretary has ever felt this way about someone, and it’s the first time she’s ever fallen this hard for a girl. She never would have expected it in the beginning, but now that they’ve spent more time together in real life, she knew she was in pretty deep. She thought she could get by with just being friends with [Name], but woman’s unconditional support for the things Jaehee had only dreamed of having made her life feel like bliss. She was absolutely happy with her, and she was determined to show it.

So here she was, scattering rose petals across their café and towards the table she had set up for the both of them. It had been a month since they opened their café, and while [Name] wanted to invite the entire RFA to a celebratory party, Jaehee made it clear that she wanted to have their own solo celebration- just the two of them.

Jaehee took a glance at the wall clock hung up in their café, and she mentally cursed herself for dragging this preparation far too long. [Name] was going to arrive any minute now, and she didn’t even have time to get dressed! Tossing another petal onto the floor, she practically tore through the rest of the roses in a frantic. Her shaking feet led her up to the second floor, where the two were staying together, and she quickly got dressed into her recently bought white lace dress and tied her now-long hair into a loose side bun.

Jaehee did her basic night makeup routine; she didn’t want to overdo the whole celebration thing. She knew [Name] would prefer the whole natural look, and while she wanted to stay true to that, she did want to impress her girl with just a bit more touches to her eyes. Jaehee felt her heart leap at that thought- her girl. [Name] as her girl? Hopefully after this night, it would be official.

The clacking of her matching white heels echoed as she made her way back down to the café. She lets go of a sigh of both relief and worry, wondering just where her partner was. Jaehee pulled out her phone, quickly punching in the numbers of the woman she adored when a light tapping interrupted her. She looked up, expecting yet another customer to shoo away but was instead greeted with a breathtaking sight.

There [Name] was- dressed to the damn tens with her off-shoulder red dress that ended just below her knees, making Jaehee’s breath hitch in her throat. She nearly drops her phone as the other woman shoots her a smile through the glass door of their café. Jaehee immediately walks over to the entrance, fumbling slightly with the locks before finally opening the door to greet [Name]. The woman walks in, taking in the sight of rose petals littered all over the floor as she closes the door shut. Before Jaehee could open her mouth to compliment her, the other immediately produced a bouquet that she had been hiding from her back.

“Happy anniversary, Jaehee,” she says, smiling widely at her. Jaehee’s shaking hands reach out for the bouquet, and she feels this warmth just wrap around her. She closes her eyes, letting her guard down and just feeling the presence of [Name]’s arms around her. Before she can register her words, they tumble out of her mouth- slowly yet with just enough certainty to make it real.

“I love you, [Name].”

Jaehee feels the other stiffen in her embrace, and the sentence that she had said finally registers in her mind. She feels her chest tighten, both in fear and in shame, and she knows that this is the first time she’s ever messed things up with her feelings. She attempts to blurt out an apology, an explanation, anything to fix this, but words do not come out.

Jaehee’s eyes begin to water, but before the tears fall out, she feels the embrace tighten around her. Her neck tingles at the feeling of [Name]’s breath as the woman lets out a sigh against it. She pulls away, and cups Jaehee’s face perfectly with her soft hands. Her lips are trembling, Jaehee notes, and she watches her face grow closer. She expects them to kiss her, square on the lips, but the other woman places a soft kiss on her forehead instead, sending warm feelings to the pit of her stomach.

“I was so afraid that you did not feel the same,” [Name] whispers with a small smile. “I had taught myself not to hope, but I am glad I did. I love you too, Jaehee. Thank you.” Jaehee immediately wraps her slender arms around the other woman’s neck and brings her now lover in for a proper first kiss. Their anniversary dinner can definitely wait.

JUMIN

Jumin wants to just stop and give in.

Of course, being a perfectionist, he wasn’t going to do it, but God did he want to. He looks down at his bandaged fingertips, sighing as he turned his attention at the searing hot pan in front of him. This was the eleventh time he attempted to cook something even remotely resembling a taco. He probably shouldn’t have started cooking without consulting Jaehee. God, he had never cooked in his life; what made him think he could do this?

This is all for her, Jumin chided himself with a sigh. He had to admit, she made it look easier that it actually was. Getting the tortilla at just the right warmth and softness was the first problem he had tackled, and it took him an hour to get the pan at the proper temperature for heating soft tortillas. Now he was stuck with getting the actual filling right and to taste.

He flicks through his phone, searching for the best way to season the filling. He wouldn’t want [Name] having an upset stomach because of his cooking; the mere thought of her being in such a shape made his chest tighten. Any other woman and he’d probably just ask his personal chef to prepare whatever they wanted, but this was [Name] he was smitten for, and he wanted to make sure he did things based on his own skill and not just his money.

Jumin stares at the countertop, racking his brain and trying to recall how she had prepared the delectable dish she had made a little over a week ago- the very dish that pushed him to get off his leather office chair to do something nice for her. He got the correct ingredients that much he was sure of, but there was something off with the way his filling tasted. The man took a deep sigh, rubbing the bandaged fingers he had injured while he was getting the stove to work. He never would’ve guessed that a week later he’d be making, well, trying to make the very same tortilla dish as a profession of his love.

As he mixes in a dash of pepper, he hears the light tapping of shoes on his marbled floor. Shaken, he moves to cover as much of his preparations as possible. Before he could place the lid on the pan, [Name] ends up striding into the kitchen. Hips swaying a little bit more than usual, he notes, though that was probably part of his imagination. Recently he’d been getting more impure impulses than usual, and he knew damn well that it was because of her.

“Jumin? Are you actually cooking?” she says, and he hears the teasing tone in her voice. He would usually be tense around women, but the soft smile that graced her lips as he looked over at her allowed him to relax. With a nod, he responded, “First time in my life, to be exact. I do not usually bother with cooking as I am constantly busy with work.”

He takes his tasting spoon, places a few bits of meat and salsa onto it and raises it to his lips, checking for the taste. His eyes widen in surprise, and he can’t help but smile at the taste. It was perfect! It had nearly the same taste as the tacos she had done for him back then. The light skidding of a chair across the marbled floor tells him that she had taken a seat across from him. “Oh, there must be some sort of occasion, since there’s no way you’d be cooking otherwise,” she says.

Jumin turns around to greet her with a wide smile, a plate of freshly cooked tacos in hand. He watches her raise her eyebrows, but the slight quivering of her lips told him she was trying hard not to laugh. “No occasion really, I just-” he cuts himself off, placing the plate in front of her with a smile. The man takes a seat in front of her and, with slightly shaking hands, says, “I just wanted to surprise you. Last week, you, ah, made these tortilla dishes. It was quite an experience for me, eating commoner food and well, bonding with a woman- with you.”

Jumin watches her delicate fingers pick up one of the soft-shell tacos to bring it closer to her mouth. He watches her eyes widen as she chews thoughtfully. “I am well aware that it might not be as good as your dish, but I wanted to do something for you that would be utilizing my own skill,” he says slowly. “Because, my dearest [Name], that day when you made these tacos? I had realized something important that day.”

Jumin’s eyes look up to meet hers, and the image of her wide eyes and her mouth full of his cooking reminded him that she was absolutely breathtaking. With shaking hands and a shaking voice, the normally calm CEO felt his feelings swell from up his chest as he tried to find coherent words to match their intensity. He never really was one with words, but he wanted to try to be romantic at least- for her.

“[Name], I love you- truly and with all of my heart. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and if- if you will do me the honor of accepting my heart, I believe that I can die a happy man.”

Jumin had expected her to say something in response, but instead, he hears her choking on her taco. His hands tremble as he quickly reaches out to help her, but his hand meets hers in mid-air. She gives him a wide smile, clearing her throat and signaling him that she was good. Still frantic, he hands her the glass of water he had placed on the table a while ago. He watches her drink the liquid, and he curses himself for ever thinking this confession was a good idea. He had nearly killed her!

“You didn’t, Jumin. I was fine, just- just a little shocked,” she says, chuckling at his outburst. He feels himself blush, realizing he was venting aloud. “That being said,” she pauses to take his hand into hers, and he feels himself shiver as she presses kisses onto each bandaged finger. “Thank you, Jumin. For a first timer, your cooking was amazing. And you should know that meeting you was the best thing that has happened to me. I- I love you as well, Jumin Han. More than words can express.”

Jumin watches her face grow closer, and his lips are greeted with the warmth of her own. He closes his eyes, leaning into her and tasting the hint of pepper and salsa on her lips. Their first kiss is chaste, soft, and slow, but they both know that this was enough to get them breathless. He feels her pull back, interlacing her fingers with his. He watches her lips curve into a goofy smile, and that’s absolutely fine because he’s sure he has one plastered all over his face too. With all the money and material things he has, this might just be the first time Jumin Han has ever felt genuine happiness.

SAEYOUNG / 707

Saeyoung feels like launching himself to the sun.

He’s got a Stabilo-drawn moustache across his face, and the lighthearted laughter coming from the woman in front of him definitely made his mouth twitch into a goofy smile. Her eyebrows were shaded thicker with the same Stabilo marker used on him, and he couldn’t help but admire the look on her. Even with caveman eyebrows, she still managed to make his heart skip a beat- which sounds absolutely cheesy in his head, but it was the truth.

It took him a while to accept his feelings for the newest RFA member. He had given up on the notion of love a long, long time ago. He had believed the whole meeting a girl, falling in love and settling down business was nothing more than a pipe dream after joining up to become an agent. He had pushed away any sort of chance at a romantic relationship, believing that finding happiness with a significant other was something he would only have in another life.

Of course, he should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Nothing in his life ever was; even back during his childhood, he had to grit his teeth through his problems. Meeting the RFA was the first taste of actual happiness he had had in his life, and although he felt guilty for putting up a façade with them, he knew it was the right thing to do. The other members brushed him off as a hyperactive weirdo, which suited him just fine as long as he could keep them safe.

And then she shows up, and she sends everything in his life spinning out of control.

She immediately catches on to his act, but instead of being turned off by it, she joins him. She speaks to him as if she knows what he’s talking about, and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t, but he can’t help but be amused at her attempts on getting to his good side. She speaks to him as if it were normal for someone to use binary code in casual group conversations. She’s got her own quirks in talking to him, and all too quickly, it feels like they’ve made a language for themselves.

They’ve got their own inside jokes, and Saeyoung couldn’t help but feel this intimacy from the bond they’ve got. It’s the first time he’s ever let anyone get this close to cracking his wall, and it terrified him to think that he could be putting her in danger just by sending stupid emojis. His life didn’t allow him to have any personal relationships; it was too dangerous for anyone to get involved with him. Despite it all, he found that he had no regrets getting close to her, knowing her and actually falling for her. Dare he say, it was the best rule he’s ever broken.

It wasn’t easy for him- the whole accepting he was in love thing. He tried to push her away, countless of times, tried reminding her that he was a completely flawed person and that he had merely lied about who he really was. Saeyoung believed that should’ve been enough to push her away, but she refused to listen to him. She was as hardheaded as he was, and that really threw him into the loop.

He was used to being left alone and leaving people alone in return. He did what he thought was best, even if it meant possibly alienating the relationships he had. He figured that time would eventually heal any wounds he or the other party might have. It did hurt, though, the first time he tried pushing her away. It felt absolutely wrong, which was probably the universe telling him to man up and face his feelings.

So there they were, playing truth or dare like a bunch of drunk high schoolers. He wasn’t quite sure how they ended up sprawled across his apartment floor with packs of Honey Buddha Chips and PhD Peppers strewn around them, but he could really care less when she was just in front of him. They’d each done a couple of dares now, neither wanting to spill their secrets but Saeyoung was adamant on confessing his feelings tonight.

“Fucking hell [Name], it’s called Truth or Dare! You’re supposed to throw in a truth once in a while!” he says, faking an annoyed sigh. There wasn’t anything she could do to annoy him, really, but the least she could do was build up to his grand confession. The woman stands up and smiles at him cheekily, before toying with their speakers to blast out another silly chart-topping dance song. He hears her stifle a chuckle before turning to look at him with a wide smile.

“No matter what you say, I’m still picking dare!” she says, grabbing his wrist to pull him up to her level. “And I dare myself to dance with you!” He decides against arguing with her wish, pushing himself up to take her into his arms. The close proximity of their bodies makes the back of his neck start to sweat. They end up doing a weird mix of slow-dancing and hand flailing that’s only achievable when both partners can’t dance, and yet he finds himself enjoying the feeling of her body against his.

“Truth or dare, oh God Seven?” she says cheekily. He scrunches his eyebrows together. It’s now or never, he thinks. “Truth.” He watches her face turn into a surprised expression before quickly turning into an impish look. “Oho, that’s surprising! You must have something to confess.”

“… I love you, stupid,” he says, without thinking. He feels the air get heavy between them, and he looks down to see her wide eyes looking up at him. He swallows, berating himself for the horrible timing. Oh God, this is it. This is how he dies a lonely single man. He braces himself for the incoming rejection, but instead, he feels her jump up to hug him tightly. Hell, she practically launches herself towards him, which ends with her being held up by his scrawny arms.

Their weight shifts, and it’s too much for Saeyoung to hold up, so he ends up slipping and toppling over her. He’s got her pinned down, and he swears his face is flushed as red as his hair. She’s looking at him with eyes squinted upwards in laughter. Her hair is messily framing her face, making her look like she’s just gone out of bed. His face turns a shade darker as he realizes just what he’d have to do to see her like that once more.

Before he could move to get off her, he feels her soft skin against his neck. He’s pulled towards her, roughly and desperately. The feeling of her lips on his is absolutely electric, and the absolute desire that he feels between them makes the hair on his arms stand. He’s been deprived of actual romantic touch that he’s absolutely in need for more of her. Still, he decides there’s more time for that later in the night.

Saeyoung pulls away gently, leaving both of them heaving and blushing heavily. Her lustful eyes are looking up at him, but he scrambles off of her before he decides against it. He sits properly, and he pulls her off his apartment floor. He can’t help but smile at her as he brings her hand to his face. He places it onto his cheek, and he feels her cup his cheek into her palm.

“I love you, [Name]. Took me the longest time to accept it, but here I am now. I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy.” He leans into her touch, and he feels his eyes water at the sight of her soft smile. God, how’d he ever get so lucky with her? He takes a deep breath, trying to control the rush of emotions that swell up inside him. “I know I’ve made you, ah, cry before. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I just couldn’t risk losing you, y’know? It sounds stupid now, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if Saeran hurt you.”

“Shh, it’s alright, Saeyoung. It’s done. Besides,” she pauses to stick her tongue out, “if Saeran hadn’t let me break in to Rika’s apartment, we never would have met. So I guess it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

He laughs at this, nodding his head in agreement. “Of course it did! You had the Defender of Justice by your side after all!” She shakes her head, slapping his face lightly. His hands reach up to his cheek, mimicking the best betrayed expression he could muster. “Ow!”

“I love you too, Saeyoung. Thank you for keeping me by your side. Meeting you might’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened in my life,” she says, looking into his eyes to show him that she means it. He knows just how much pain he must’ve made her feel before he came to terms with his feelings. Silently, he brings her hand in for a gentle kiss.

“And you are the best thing that’s ever happened in mine. Thank you for this chance, [Name]. I’ll bring you to that space station one day.” He watches her face light up in pure joy, and he thinks the stars in her eyes are worth more than those a million miles above them. He silently thanks his God for finally, finally giving him something to call his.

JIHYUN / V

Jihyun is absolutely terrified.

Ever since Rika left him, he always thought he had become half the man he was with her. He never had much self-confidence in his work from the start, and he was convinced that he didn’t really have the talent for the area. So when a pretty blonde girl tells him how much she enjoys his work, it didn’t take long for him to fall for her. Rika pushed him to become who he was today, and he would always be thankful for that. Even if their relationship had become destructive, he convinced himself that it was real at some point. He knew it was real at some point; he wouldn’t be this devoted to her otherwise.

After their messy breakup, he believed he would never again find love.

Those ridiculous breakup posts that Jumin and he used to ignore were now beginning to make sense to him. It was hard- the whole “rediscover who you were before” process. He needed to get away from it all, and taking a trip to do photography seemed like the best thing to do. Of course, he had considered telling the RFA, but he wasn’t the type to pour out his feelings and burden others with them. No, all he needed was the feel of his camera in his hand, and it certainly was peaceful at first.

Naturally, life had to catch up to him at some point, and when Jumin updates him on the newest RFA member, he doesn’t think much about it. At least, until he manages to chat with her for a brief moment, on one of his late night check-ups on the group chat. It doesn’t take long for him to realize why the others are so enthusiastic about her presence. She has a way of connecting with others that he hasn’t seen since, well, since Rika.

Perhaps it’s her words- how easily she manages to get used to Saeyoung’s quirks and how quick she is to comfort and guide Yoosung. Perhaps it’s the way her voice sounds- calm, reassuring yet commanding. Jihyun thinks he might be able to sleep peacefully, for the first time in months, when he listens to her voice. Perhaps it’s how unabashedly honest she is with the rest of the members- something Jihyun can only dream of doing given the multitude of secrets he keeps.

For the first time in a long time, Kim Jihyun considers the very real possibility that he might be falling in love all over again.

It scares him to think of his feelings. It isn’t that he’s afraid to accept that he loves her. He knows he can’t run away from that. No, it’s because he’s terrified of the future he’d be giving her. Sure, he’s getting ahead of himself with all this fantasizing, but he can’t help but be frustrated at the situation he’s been put in. The “V” she knows isn’t who he really is, and if she gets involved with the Mint Eye, he’ll never forgive himself for bringing her into this mess.

So, Jihyun figures he can steal her away from that mess for a moment. Take her some place nice and maybe, just maybe, sort out his feelings in the process. It wasn’t anything special really, just a quite night out to his latest photography exhibit. It’s the least he can do for her, well, for the both of them really- seeing as how they’re both content with each other’s company.

“This was from your trip, right?” she asks, pointing at the third print in his collection. He squints, trying to make out the details of the picture through hazy eyes. He gives her a warm smile as he nods. “Yeah, it was. I was lucky enough not to scare the robin away from the window. Her colors really make the picture stand out.”

She hums in agreement, squeezing his hand for a brief moment before releasing it. “You’ve got a real talent, V. These pictures? I can only capture these moments in my dreams!” she says in amazement. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re able to see these moments in 20/20 vision. You’re one step closer to making your dreams come true,” he jokes, pointing at the frames placed atop his nose. She hits him lightly and scoffs. “See that’s the thing! Your disabilities don’t hinder you from making art- from breathing life into pictures. That’s talent- pure talent.”

“Aaand a lot of practice, [Name],” he adds, pointing to one of his prints. “I didn’t get to this point without practicing taking shots.” She nods at him, wholeheartedly agreeing. Just like that, they fall back into their comfortable pace. Jihyun certainly didn’t expect to be joking about his vision with her so quickly, but they’ve grown close enough to know that it’s all good-natured. Besides, she certainly makes their conversations fun.

“That’s what I admire about you, V,” she says, so matter-of-factly, just as he moves on to another showcase. His mind doesn’t register what she’s said at first, but when it sinks in, he immediately stops in his tracks. He turns to her, seeing her smile widely, and he guesses he must’ve had a surprised look on his face as she quickly adds, “I-I mean, you just keep on pushing yourself despite it all. I know you must be incredibly busy helping the RFA too, so it’s amazing how you still have time for the things you love.”

Jihyun nods all too quickly, causing his frames to fall off his nose. He feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. Of course she didn’t mean admire in a romantic sense, he berates himself internally. It was stupidly hopeful of him to follow that train of thought. God, he could just bang his head on the nearest pillar. He shakes his head, focusing on her extended hand, which held the fallen sunglasses.

His turquoise eyes meet hers briefly, and he’s suddenly enraptured by their color. It’s been a while since he’s seen anything without the lens of his sunglasses to obscure them. He finds himself wondering, for a moment, just how he had fallen for Rika when a girl like her existed. Instead of taking his sunglasses and resuming their tour, he decides that this would be the perfect time for him to confess. He takes a deep breath, feeling his impulsivity get a hold of him.

With shaking hands, Jihyun reaches out to her, wanting to feel her skin against his palms. His heart feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest as he feels the softness of her skin. He watches her surprised expression closely, trying his best to memorize her face- something he may never see again given his condition. He closes his eyes, wanting to savor the feeling. He’s terrified of losing her, truly, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to protect her with all that he has. Rika will never hurt her the way she hurt him; he won’t allow it.

“[Name], I’m sorry,” he starts, trying to silence the hammering in his chest and the ringing of his ears. “I can’t hold it back anymore. I just, I need to tell you how happy you make me. I think, no, I know I have fallen for you.” He finds himself releasing a sigh, feeling relief from the confession. He knows he’s taking such a huge risk admitting his feelings for her, but he’s got enough secrets to last him a lifetime, and he certainly doesn’t want to keep her in the dark forever. She deserves to know how much he thinks and worries about her.

He feels her tremble against his palms, and fearing the worst, he opens his eyes to see her beginning to cry. Her arms have fallen to her sides, and she’s still clutching his shades. He immediately panics, and instead of wiping them away, he brings her into a tight hug. “B-But what about Rika?” He hears her mumble against his shirt. He shakes his head and says, “Rika and I broke up, remember? I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“Besides,” he says, pulling her away so he can look into her eyes. He knows words can’t convey all that he’s feeling, but he hopes it’s enough. “She can barely hold a candle against you. You, you make me feel complete, [Name]. It feels like I’m whole again when I’m with you,” he finally finishes. For a moment, all they can do is stare, and then his blazer is pulled, roughly, and his lips meet hers for a kiss. He hears cheering explode around them, but all that registers is the feel of her lips against his. He hopes the feeling burns into his memory because this might just be the best kiss, the best moment in his life.