#sometimes i have to go above and beyond to fit the vision. this felt right being pretty understated.

[stil-lindigo]

warmth.

a comic about not being alone.

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creative notes:

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[westmoor]

the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

--

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

--

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

--

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar​ @elliestormfound​ @justjess94​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @honeysuckletook​ @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

[juniorgman187]

Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected. 

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere. 

See, I stand corrected. 

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve. 

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us. 

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form. 

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?” 

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be. 

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature. 

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. 

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.” 

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured. 

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.” 

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood. 

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. 

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride. 

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth. 

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.” 

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily. 

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?” 

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair. 

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course). 

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others. 

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy. 

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms. 

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos. 

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment. 

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously. 

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled. 

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times. 

“Penny?” 

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?” 

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together. 

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom. 

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal. 

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this? 

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof. 

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat. 

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance. 

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me. 

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way. 

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore. 

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.” 

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival. 

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him. 

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug. 

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer. 

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?” 

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish. 

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another. 

That is if he’d let me. 

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room. 

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted. 

That was the last time I would see Spencer. 

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this. 

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day. 

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about. 

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion. 

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile. 

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers. 

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.” 

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. ��He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.” 

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.” 

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense. 

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.” 

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.” 

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it. 

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically. 

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position. 

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet. 

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could. 

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out. 

. . .

Icarus. 

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen. 

I flew too close. 

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name. 

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried. 

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.” 

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant. 

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!” 

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -” 

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.” 

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated. 

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU. 

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid. 

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it. 

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.” 

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade. 

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted. 

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it. 

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me. 

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart. 

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year. 

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it. 

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back. 

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.” 

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself. 

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).” 

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me. 

Not by Spencer. 

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him. 

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was. 

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out. 

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.” 

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind. 

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

“Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him. 

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!” 

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.” 

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me. 

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement. 

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards. 

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.” 

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine. 

“(Y/n), wait!” 

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave. 

I was free. 

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head. 

Spencer’s desk is completely empty. 

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more. 

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos. 

What I read when I turned it over was as follows. 

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how. 

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you. 

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now. 

He was still here. 

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation. 

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car. 

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him. 

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone. 

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else. 

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph. 

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised. 

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[danishmiilk]

when thunder splits the sky - na jaemin

au || royalty!au, soulmates!au

genre || angst, fluff, slight crack

warnings || swearing, death mentioned, almost deathly sickness, a lot of stress on jaemin and y/n’s part, throwing up.

summary || soulmates. the source of happiness, the source of sickness. you’re shocked that your best friend (and the second prince) is your soulmate, but it shouldn’t be too bad. after all, you’re best friends, right? you know each other better than anyone else in the world. but when jaemin refuses to realise his love, shit hits the fan.

word count || ~10k

note || this is a collaboration piece with @astroboy-lele​ for @k-dinernet​‘s dance off event!

you and jaemin were close, closer than a commoner and a prince should be. but since you were the main cook’s daughter, it wasn’t too uncommon to see the two of you running around with bright smiles lighting up your faces. then studies took over for jaemin. he was constantly studying to become a better king than his dad, which was slightly unfair since he wasn’t even the crown prince. but accidents could happen, so jaemin had to be prepared. so you were left to your own devices most of the time, fiddling with things in the kitchen, or helping clean the monstrous castle jaemin called home. 

“jaem!” you giggled happily when jaemin emerged from the library’s study. he looked tired. more tired than a 17 year old should be. dark circles contrasted his pale skin, and your hand automatically came up to rub at his slim cheeks. “you should get more rest.” you chided him.

“can’t.” jaemin responded curtly, removing your hands from his face. “i need to study.” 

"but you're always studying," you sighed. it shouldn't be this hard to spend time with your best friend, but you supposed it was one of the cons of befriending the second prince of your kingdom. 

"you don't understand, y/n! how could you? it's my duty to my family and my country to keep studying in case, heaven forbid, anything happens to doyoung hyung!" he snapped sharply at you, and though you knew he was clearly overstretched and stressed beyond anything you'd ever seen him (or didn't see him, he was always in the library nowadays anyway), you still took a step back and flinched away, hurt. jaemin stepped forward, mouth trying to form apologies. you shook your head, eyes glassy.

“don’t.” your voice was softer than expected. “i’ll.. i’ll leave you to it.” you ran off before jaemin could even react, wiping at your eyes. 

jaemin watched you go. he watched you leave, back retreating into the dark hallways. he felt bad, of course he did - jaemin would never snap at you for no good reason. the last time he actually wanted to hurt someone was when you came to him sobbing, one year ago. the memory was still fresh in jaemin’s mind. 

you supposed it could be you being too sensitive, but it was the toll the absence of jaemin took on you. sure, absence made the heart grow fonder, but it also did make cracks emerge in a friendship. you couldn’t see your cracks yet, but they’d emerge soon enough - it was the first time in so long you’d managed to talk to jaemin, and he’d just brushed you away brusquely. your hand raised to your eyes to wipe away the stray tears that had fallen. 

without looking where you were running, you’d bumped into something very solid. something very human. roughly, you placed your hands on said solid thing and pushed yourself away, speeding around the obstacle to the forest, tears still filling up your eyes. you didn’t blink them back - if you’d blinked, they were sure to have fallen out.

“y/n?” the very confused crown prince shouted out from somewhere behind you, “what’s going on?” and unbeknownst to you, his brother was soon to follow, brushing past him like he was invisible (last he checked, he wasn’t.) “jaemin?” the pair of you had left long before there was a chance to provide the prince with any of his requested answers, leaving a very confused doyoung standing in the middle of the hallway. sighing, doyoung brushed off his clothes. sometimes he didn’t know what he put up with you for. 

once you set foot into the forest, immediate regret almost washed over you. it started raining. not gently either, it came down in harsh droplets, hammering into your clothes, thoroughly soaking you to the bone. you shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, trying to bring warmth to yourself. it didn’t work, so you settled with standing under a tree in an attempt to stay out of the storm. you gazed up at the sky, wincing as thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding you of your fears. you wished with all your might that the storm would stop. it didn’t. of course it didn’t. why would it, it was nature, and nature didn’t listen to common people, only the gods above. “y/n? y/n! oh my god, y/n!” you heard a shout echo through the forest, and you shivered again. “there you are, do you know how long i’ve been looking for you?” jaemin accused, hands grabbing at your shoulders. you glared back, though it wasn’t threatening as you were shaking and shivering, teeth chattering. “you know it’s the rainy season and almost winter! what the fuck were you thinking?” jaemin huffed, but shrugged off his coat and draped it around your shoulders gently, concern making his eyebrows knit together.

“it was sunny before.” you protested, and jaemin exhaled, shaking his head with disappointment at your naive actions. 

“you should know the weather changes quickly,” jaemin retorted, and that shut you up. you knew the weather changed fast, but emotions took over you, just wanting to escape the castle jaemin called home. “we should find some shelter. i know there’s an old cottage somewhere, i just don’t know where.” jaemin sighed. 

you raised your eyebrows at him, “what, it wouldn’t be some strange warped hansel and gretel remix going on, would it? because we’re not smart enough to push witches into ovens.” jaemin smiled widely, chuckling at your small jab at yourself and him.

“no, it’s completely safe.” he assured you, grabbing your hand. jaemin nervously cleared his throat. “uh… i, i should apologize for earlier. it wasn’t right for me to snap at you.” you squeezed his hand gently.

“i know you’re stressed, it’s okay. i really should be more lenient.” you sighed, slightly disappointed in yourself for not understanding your best friend’s struggles. his hair was sticking to his forehead, yours similarly sticking you your arms and neck. 

“it’s just the expectations, you know. of my parents, of the people… of the country.” jaemin’s eyes widened in horror and fear, an expression that would be almost comical under different circumstances and whispered, “what if i have to rule the country one day?”

your friend blanched and you sighed, tightening your hold around him to anchor him to reality, “look, i’m not saying you’re incapable of doing it, but it’s really quite impossible that something were to happen to doyoung, so i don’t think you really have to worry about that too much. still, being royalty is probably way harder than i could imagine.”

his voice wistful, jaemin’s eyes shined with tears - or perhaps it was just the rain creating illusions. “sometimes i wish i were never born into royalty. but you know what, there’s pros and cons to everything, that’s just how life is. we get privileges, but we can’t have the best of both worlds. still,” he looked down at the wet ground, “every time i see children running about or playing with their friends in courtyards or in the streets, it makes me wish i had a childhood. makes me wish i had friends, and was allowed to play with them, to live a normal life. normal. what a beautiful word, really, and how ironic that millions of people would give anything to be a member of the royal family, while the second prince would do anything to get out of being one.”

there wasn’t very much to say, you thought, considering jaemin very rarely went into long, emotional speeches like this one. you’d never be able to understand, and you weren’t about to try. softly, so very softly, you whispered, “but you have me.” jaemin smiled softly, and slightly proudly at you. 

“yeah. yeah, i do.” and he did. he’s always had you, from the first day he sneaked into the kitchen for a taste of his birthday cake before he was supposed to, until- well, there isn’t an until if you’ll have his back forever, is there?

a cottage was beginning to come into view in the distance, a quaint little thing fit for no more than one person (or perhaps seven dwarves, no reference to snow white intended). the rain blurred your vision and wind whipped through your hair, but it was shelter, and so hand in hand, you ran towards it.

“to what honour do i owe the presence of the second prince at my humble abode?” a boy’s voice, sweet and melodic, came from behind you.

you jumped. “jaemin! i thought you said it was safe.” you hissed, clutching at jaemins arms. jaemin just shrugged. you sighed, keeping an eye on the strange boy. jaemin gripped your hand tighter, however.  

jaemin gestured vaguely around, staring at the auburn-haired boy with no small amount of skepticism, “i thought you’d be… older. like, an old lady.”

the boy scoffed. “who’s to say i’m not? witches don’t always have to be middle aged ladies with no fashion sense and even less hair. i’m donghyuck, by the way. come on in.” jaemin was still looking the boy up and down in curiosity, finally blurting out, “witches use umbrellas?”

“no, we’re waterproof,” donghyuck deadpanned, sarcasm filling his words.

“jaemin,” you frowned, “do you know him?” a quick shake of his head confirmed your suspicions. “then why,” you half-screeched into his ear, “do you assume he’s safe?”

“i’m not. i could turn you into a frog, if you want.” the boy suggested, waving a hand, making you flinch and jaemin move your smaller frame behind him. donghyuck moved a shoulder evenly up and down, “joking.” 

“that wasn’t funny!” you gasped. donghyuck moved his other shoulder up and down, doing a strange half-shrug again, “nobody gets my humour.” 

you followed him into the house, dripping water all over his doormat and the wooden planks of his floor, but not daring to move any further than that. donghyuck waved his hand, slamming the wooden door shut behind you and lighting the fire, “will the two of you stop looking so shocked? it’s not like i’m going to cook you for dinner, so why are you acting like you’ve never seen a witch before?”

“because we haven’t,” the note of childlike curiosity reappeared in jaemin’s voice, and you were glad his mind was taken off of his royal duties, “they were outlawed a long time ago.” “right,” donghyuck levitated a couple mugs of cocoa over to you, “i forgot, sorry.”

“so your existence is basically illegal, and yet you’re serving the prince of your kingdom hot chocolate in the middle of the thunderstorm like nothing’s wrong?” you sputtered in disbelief, though you didn’t actually splutter, of course; that was rather an expression authors liked using. “all in a day’s work,” donghyuck glanced at you again, “come in and stop dripping water on the mat. would you believe it, magically drying the mat is harder than magically drying the wood.” very honestly, you didn’t know what to make of that boy. 

you stood awkwardly, pressing yourself into jaemin’s side as you watched donghyuck bustle around his house, ironically not unlike an old lady. “so, ummm, could you show us some magic or something?”

“like drying our clothes,” jaemin added, motioning to the soaked fabric draped over his body.

“they’ll dry, just sit by the fireplace. in the meantime, i can show you a soulmate spell if you’d like to see it. it’s one of the easier and prettier spells, so i think you’d enjoy it, even if it’s highly unlikely it would work. soulmates are rare things, and even rarer are soulmates who discover each other and the fact that they are soulmates. so i’ll do it, but if you two don’t turn out to be soulmates, don’t be disappointed. if you do, there isn’t going to be a flash of golden light and a shower of sequins either, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“you’re saying like what would happen is one of us would die and suddenly come back to life.” you sarcastically commented, but eyes growing wide as the moon above when donghyuck looked around nervously. 

“well…” he started, but you held up a hand. 

“excuse me, what. come again?”

“let me just show you.” donghyuck sighed, and got up, grabbing a book from the large shelf pushed against the wall. he flipped through a few pages carefully, and let out a satisfied “ah,” when he found the correct page in the yellowing book. “the concept of soulmates hath been the strongest bond known to man since the beginnings of time. for the true blossoming of true love takes place when the eyes of soulmates transform into colours of the fall. time and time again, history older than anything thou or i could ever imagine hast proven that soulmates are rare, ones who know about them even more so. for thee, the pair who is reading this, thou art soulmates. it would be an insult to fate and everyone who cannot experience such a connection to not realise your feelings. thou hath one month to realize feelings or one half of the pair will be fated to a cruel ending. as mere mortals, we do not make the rules. nobody can help thee except the other, but fear not. you are soulmates. you have a bond. said bond shalt be enough, if thou realises it.” haechan read, rubbing the thin, old pages of the book between careful fingers. you glanced over at jaemin who was shifting his weight back and forth, not knowing where to put his feet. “so, basically,” donghyuck started, ignoring jaemin’s nervous state. “if your soulmate doesn’t acknowledge their feelings for you, or you don’t, one of you would basically die.” he shrugged. your mouth dropped open. how in the world was he so calm about it? “what the fuck? they could die?” jaemin seemed to share your sentiment.

“what is a fuck?” donghyuck furrowed his eyebrows together, evidently confused as to what this strange new word meant. jaemin faltered, taken aback, “wait, dude, you look like you’re, what, seventeen, and you have no idea what fuck means?” donghyuck looked at jaemin like he was an idiot, “never gotten the chance to interact with a lot of other seventeen year olds.” jaemin nodded solemnly, “can relate. only got this loser for a friend.” jaemin hooked a thumb in your direction. you rolled your eyes. 

“let us begin the spell! i feel like i’m conducting a child gender reveal party,” he exclaimed happily, rubbing his hands together with glee. you held up your hand.

“hold the fuck up, you’re not performing this spell! one of us could DIE!” you exclaimed.

“there’s the word fuck again. kinda catchy.” donghyuck tested it out under his breath. “any other new words?” he asked. jaemin opened his mouth, no doubt to actually teach donghyuck how to swear, and well, you weren’t exactly opposed to letting him, but not dying came higher than teaching people you just met how to swear on your priority list.

“don’t worry. there’s only a slight chance that you’re soulmates anyway, and it’s better to know than to remain in oblivion. i’m not kidding.” “ignorance is bliss?” you suggested, desperate to stop donghyuck. “no, y/n. i think… if we indeed are soulmates, we deserve to know. i want to at least know why i died if i do suddenly die.”

“i have heard of that saying, y/n, was it? say, can fuck be used as a noun, a verb or an adjective?” “any way you want,” jaemin grinned, “reality can be anything you wish it to be!” “sweet,” donghyuck plonked a cauldron of unknown origin onto the table, “i like that word already.”

pulling a ladle out of seemingly nowhere, donghyuck pointed said ladle at you, “what’s your favourite flower?” you stared at him blankly, “you need that for the spell? i don’t really have a preference.” donghyuck rolled his eyes, “no, i was just curious. if you’re interested, your aura says daisy and jaemin’s absolutely screams carnations. for the record, i have zero idea what those flowers mean, but who cares?” he waved an arm over the cauldron which then proceeded to bubble, pushing dandelions and carnations to the surface. white. all white. “pretty enough, i suppose. i don’t usually give my services discounted, so you can just teach me some new words and it’s a deal.”

as you thought back, you did have a small memory of making flower crowns with jaemin. you often made daisy crowns, while jaemin’s were, as far as you knew, carnations. they were always given to you, all his carnation-based flower accessories: crowns, necklaces, bracelets. 

you were jerked back to the present and away from distant memories as jaemin helpfully, or not so helpfully, instructed donghyuck on how to swear, “so, motherfucker is a noun. the verb equivalent is motherfucking, but that’s usually used as an adjective anyway. can also be shortened to mf. bitch is a more female-specific curse word since its original meaning was something along the lines of female dog.”

“i thought dogs were nice,” donghyuck pointed a finger aggressively at the bubbling liquid inside the cauldron, flowers obscuring most of its contents, “this always takes way too fucking long to boil so i can’t do anything. how perfectly bitchy of it.” jaemin’s face lit up with that mischievous smile you were so used to, “you’re a natural!” “why, thank you.” you had to be imagining things. either that, or your ears were waterlogged. shaking your head wildly, all you got was a headache, so no, your ears weren’t waterlogged. and so the two boys before you were complimenting each other casually on their ability to swear, even as one’s existence was against the law and the other was the prince of your kingdom. because that was not… strange. not strange at all.

“why don’t you teach him things like crap, hell and damn? why… fuck and bitch?” donghyuck had settled into an armchair by the fire, snapping his fingers every minute or so to keep the cauldron’s contents boiling, “you want to learn the interesting shit. like, you know, if i can learn shit and motherfucker then why am i learning crap and hell and damn? they sound lame compared to bitch, fuck and shit.” donghyuck shrugged, you sighed, and jaemin nodded like he’d birthed and raised donghyuck for seventeen years just for this moment. 

“i mean, my parents don’t let me curse, but it’s fun to see them mad sometimes.” jaemin shrugged. you shook your head at the boy next to you (we shall omit the fact that he learnt half his curse words from you, and the other half from the legendary crown prince’s speech in which he accidentally swore half a dozen times in front of the whole nation. doyoung got grounded, but it made jaemin, and by extension you, developed a heck of a lot more respect for him.) you watched quietly as the two boys exchanged details about their lives and excitedly swore together. unconsciously, you started shivering again, your clothes still not quite dry. jaemin noticed, and picked up the blanket laid across his lap, wrapping it around your shoulders, making sure the blanket was secure around you before turning back to donghyuck. you learnt he also liked to be called haechan or hyuck, lived out here all his life, and didn’t know much about the kingdom from having to stay hidden from the world. jaemin’s expression held a hint of guilt, knowing that he was a member of the family that had caused huyck's plight.

“ooh! the spell is done!” hyuck clapped, and scrambled to his feet, once again doing the weird shrug thing, skipping over to the cauldron. his hair bounced and jaemin snickered while you quieted him. you shrank back into the couch as the sounds from the caldron became louder and donghyuck’s eyes started to sparkle. jaemin grabbed your hand, palms slightly sweaty. donghyuck peered into the large metal bowl, and smiled. his smile made you a bit uneasy. 

“ready?” he asked the two of you, and jaemin nodded while you hesitated. 

“yes.” 

nothing happened for a moment and haechan waved his hands over the flower-filled water, mumbling some ancient words. you watched, eyes wide, as the water came out in a stream, winding around the circumference of the small cottage, and then around you and jaemin’s hands. you gasped, as the water was ice cold though it was boiling just moments ago. a daisy settled on jaemins wrist, wrapping around it tightly. a carnation wrapped around your finger, like it’s own special promise to you. jaemin frowned.

“is that supposed to mean something?” he asked, tugging at the flower. it didn’t move or tear. haechan eyes doubled in size as his eyes zeroed in on the flowers. 

“you’re… you’re soulmates.” 

jaemin stood there in shock, and shook his head. “no way. we’re best friends.” he protested. your heart was slightly crushed, as you liked him for a few months now. who wouldn’t? “we can’t be soulmates. no way.” he shook his head again, as if to clear away the water clogging his ears. you let go of jaemin’s hand. your heart was hammering, matching the raindrops that pelted to the ground.

“are.. are you sure?” you asked, voice wavering. haechan nodded. your hands were shaking now, and jaemin was ignoring you. “can i… may i lie down?” you asked, twirling a finger around your long strands of hair. donghyuck nodded, pointing you to what you assumed to be his room. as you slipped off, you heard jaemin and donghyuck whisper something together.

the next few days you didn’t see much of jaemin, only when he came out of the library to get food. even those days were rare, as he often ate in there, or brought his lunch in during the morning. and each day, jaemins face looked more and more pale. the flowers had vanished, though they left marks on where they rested just a week ago. you cast a glance down the empty hallway to the library, feet hesitating. you made up your mind, pushing open the large oak doors and… found jaemin passed out on the ground. 

you gasped, rushing over and checking his temperature. it was abnormally normal, though he was sweating. you called a maid over, and soon you found yourself in the hospital wing. how were you going to break it to his parents that their younger son was sick because you two were soulmates. the thought itself was ridiculous.

“is jaemin okay?” well, fuck you, he’s obviously not. an undertone of worry was detected from the trained calmness of doyoung’s voice. the king and queen had yet to arrive, and doyoung stood behind you, hand resting on your shoulder in a slightly failed attempt to calm you. quick breaths left you, panic filling your mind and cluttering your lungs. the crown prince patted at your shoulder awkwardly, turning to leave as he couldn’t really do much. besides, it was fairly obvious the two of you needed to be alone.

as the day faded into night, jaemin was still, not moving as you watched him, hands grasping at your hair. this was all your fault. no, it was that bitch of a witch named donghyuck. he cast the spell. you wanted to blame jaemin for not accepting that you were soulmates, and now he was going to die because of it. 

obviously, you hadn’t had a soulmate before. but you could sense it, you knew that no matter what jaemin had done, you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him. to love so hard you’re falling, but you know you’re flying. you’re not there yet, definitely not. there was an inkling of the possibility of that happening, though. you barely blamed jaemin for everything (which was mostly his fault anyway), and staring at the pale complexion of the boy in front of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay angry. you slipped your hand into his (see? can’t help it. this was all because you were soulmates, and totally not because you just wanted to.), and as storybook-esque as it was, it felt so right. a maid brought you dinner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scoop the rice and noodles into your mouth. your stomach was protesting, but you didn’t care, resting your head on your arm, you clutched jaemin’s hand tightly. tears pricked at your eyes, and this time, you didn’t stop them. 

doyoung came by again in the morning and found you awake, dark blue and purple eyebags obnoxiously present. “have you been here the whole night?” you stretched, not letting go of jaemins limp hand, back aching from the uncomfortable position you were in for the whole night.

“is there a wrong answer?” you asked, yawning as you spoke. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples. 

“he’ll survive, y/n. it’s just sickness. we have the best doctor-”

“it’s not just a sickness!” you snapped, fire igniting in your stomach, the need to protect haechan slowly shrinking. you found yourself telling the oldest prince everything from getting caught in the rain, jaemin having a breakdown, the walk in the woods, to finding the cottage, and even the witch you encountered, though his existence was very much illegal. doyoung listened. he listened to every word, and nodded along, though his eyes were slowly going from panicked to angry.

“so, you found a witch, donghyuck, was it?” you nodded in confirmation, death gripping jaemin’'s hand. if he ever woke up he would for sure scold you for making his dominant hand ache. “he cast a soulmate spell, and jaemin didn’t accept. so now the gods are punishing him?” you nodded again. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples again. you watched anxiously, worried for donghyuck’s safety.

“could you get donghyuck to come here?” doyoung asked. that is not what you were expecting. blinking nervously, you nodded. you remembered the path jaemin took, right? if not, you could just shout. 

“do you promise not to kill him? or like, arrest him? he’s an annoying motherfucker, but i think jaemin would be sad if you did,” you inhaled. doyoung nodded with a perfectly straight face. “he could turn you into a frog.” you added, deciding to trust him. doyoung looked a bit shocked, but you reluctantly stood up. “i’ll be back.” you whispered to jaemin, leaving doyoung to look after his brother. 

setting off in the woods alone was scarier than you thought. shivering, you really wished you had jaemin in that moment. really wished. the sooner you got to donghyuck, the sooner he would be better, right? wrong.

“what do you mean you can’t remove the spell?” you shrieked, panic filling you once again. donghyuck looked sorrowful, and doyoung was standing with his arms crossed off in the corner. 

“i can’t, i’m sorry, y/n. jaemin has to realize he loves you for the sickness to go away. and either way, all my spell did was prove that the two of you were soulmates. the sickness stems from the heavens” 

“i have to what?” jaemin’s voice cracked slightly from not using it for the past few days. “jaemin!” you practically sobbed, hand clenching around his fingers from where you’d reached for them unknowingly. he squeezed back weakly, coughing. “what do i have to do?” 

“realize you love y/n.” haechan said simply. 

“i don’t think it works like that!” your voice came out slightly higher than usual, laughing nervously to stop jaemin from feeling uncomfortable. he had to, love didn’t work as such. you just didn’t decide to go, ‘okay today i have decided i love y/n!’ jaemin looked at donghyuck with visible confusion. all haechan offered was a half shrug in return. 

“what happens if i don’t?” jaemin whispered. haechan glanced at doyoung, nervous that someone so high and regal was standing in the same room as him - jaemin didn’t count, seeing as he’d spent the first hour of knowing hyuck teaching him to swear, and he wasn’t the crown prince anyway - if he did or said the wrong thing, he would definitely get executed. 

“we’ll get there when we get there. how long does he have?” doyoung asked. you gripped jaemin’s hand tighter, nervous of the answer. “it… depends?” donghyuck offered. doyoung scowled. “very helpful.” “i’m sorry, i’ve never had to deal with this kind of fuckery before,” donghyuck waved his hands around, “okay, swear i’m not doing magic, but i really didn’t cause any of this. okay. maybe a bit. but it would have happened anyways.” your eyebrow lifted. 

“what do you mean, anyways?” jaemin asked, frowning.

“the soulmate spell only helps the soulmates find each other. and gets the show on quicker, but a year from now, the same thing would’ve happened.” haechan explained, still waving a hand. doyoung’s eyebrows knitted together. “so, jaemin and y/n should spend as much time together as they can.” hyuck concluded. 

“and die faster?” jaemin snarled. haechan shook his head quickly, eyes straying to the other royal member in the room.

“no, if you spend more time together, then it’ll slow down until you realise you’re in love. usually, you get only a week, but if you spend every day together, it’s up to… a month?” haechan shrugged, letting the slightest hint of resentment slip into his voice, “maybe i’d know better if i actually could come out of hiding to be taught by more experienced witches. my work here seems to be done anyway, adios!” it was like donghyuck was born to be a showman. he ripped the curtains off and disappeared under them with a flash, letting the rich fabric settle slowly to the ground. doyoung sighed. 

“well, you guys heard what he said. spend as much time together as you can.” doyoung shrugged. “and jaemin, try not to die.” doyoung added, a small smile playing at his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. jaemin nodded, head thrown back onto the plush pillows. you frowned, jaemin usually loved to hang out with you. something definitely changed over the last few weeks.

try not to die, he said. well, you were definitely dying inside. and jaemin wasn’t getting any better, coughing, occasional throwing up, and sneezing. he barely could keep his food down, let alone sit up without any help. it worried you. it worried you a lot more than you let on. to say things were awkward was putting it lightly. everyone avoided the two of you, seeing the tension held over your and jaemin’s heads. you started to get fed up after a few days. 

“what happened? aren’t you supposed to be with jaemin?” doyoung asked as you stormed downstairs. 

“he’s not talking to me. what’s the harm in taking a small break?” you exhaled, running a hand through your now messy hair. doyoung frowned, the worry lines creasing his forehead. “don’t worry, i’m going back to the ward in half an hour. it’s just so… infuriating.” you ranted to the crown prince, resting your head on the stairwell railing. doyoung had stopped you half way down the stairs. “we’re soulmates for god's sake! can’t he just… talk to me? when did he start to see me as a bother? when did he… start to hate me? it’s like we never were friends. i miss him, doyoung. i miss my best friend. i miss his smile, his laugh, his weird antics, i miss my jaemin.” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes for the third time today. jaemin being sick and ignoring you while, quite literally, on his deathbed did not help. especially since you two were soulmates. 

“when did you start to fall in love with him?” doyoung questioned softly. you thought for a moment. when did you truely start to love jaemin? not in the rain. not when you had your first fight when you saw him. no, it started a while ago. when jaemin started to grow up. when you stopped making flower jewelry and when he started to give you real gems. when? you weren’t exactly sure. maybe you always loved him. maybe he always loved you. but when would he figure that out? doyoung just nodded, understanding your confused gaze, unfocused and misty-eyed. he stood up, brushing his black slacks and deep red shirt. “give him a bit. jaemin is a bit slow with these kinds of things.” you only nodded in response, mindlessly walking back to the ward jaemin was residing in. 

jaemin still was not getting any better the next few days. he still refused to talk to you, only nodding or rolling his eyes as a response to you trying to start to converse. you were starting to lose hope. 

you were surprised to see him lying on the cold tiled ground. 

“jaemin, why are you on the ground? you should be in bed. it’s cold out.” you scolded, moving towards him. jaemin held up a hand, draping his hands over his stomach.

“the floor is nice and cold,” he uttered, sighing with relief as the tile cooled his sweaty body down. you frowned, huffing. jaemin, once again, did not listen.

“the ground is dirty. i can turn down the heat-” jaemin cut you off. 

“shut up! i’m dying, i don’t care if the ground is dirty!” jaemin hissed, and you backed up, saddened by his tone. jaemin didn’t notice, too busy coughing into his elbow to notice your state.

“you’re not going to die,” you whispered, and jaemin moved his elbow away. “you’re not. i refuse to let you. i don’t care if you don’t love me right now, but you’re my soulmate, jaemin. soulmate. do you know how many people wish to have soulmates? jaemin, i’ve been by your side since we were in diapers. we played in the mud together. we got in trouble together. we did everything together,  jaemin. i watched you grow up. i watched you become more responsible. i watched, and i waited for you to confess. but you never did, so now you’re sick, and it’s all your fault. don’t push the blame on me, on donghyuck, or on anyone. this is on you. if you want to sit here and wallow in your self-pity, go ahead. i’m tired, jaemin. i tried to give you time, but you only have three weeks left. i don’t…” you choked on your words. “i don’t know what i’ll do if you ever die suddenly.” you whispered, backing out of the door. jaemin struggled to his feet, but you were already gone, ends of your hair and dress flowing behind you. 

he stared at the empty spot where you’d been just moments before, feeling the same emptiness in his heart. bitterness welled up from within him. he wasn’t that dumb either, but love just didn’t work that way. just because some spell told you that you were soulmates didn’t necessarily mean that with a magical click of your fingers you’d stare into each others eyes and sappily declare your everlasting love.

doyoung stepped out from nowhere, looking around with a confused expression, “where’s y/n? i swear i saw her here just a few minutes ago.”

“hey, hyung.” doyoung hummed in response. jaemin sat up with some difficulty, holding a hand up to stop doyoung from trying to help him, “what if this sickness has got nothing to do with the soulmate fuckery? what if i just, uh, have the plague or something?”

“have the plague or something,” doyoung drawled sarcastically, “the last time the plague was going around was, like, a hundred years ago.” jaemin winced.

“or maybe i have cancer.”

“or maybe,” doyoung narrowed his eyes at his brother, “you’re just being a fatheaded dick who can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re soulmates with your best friend, and have to realise your love for each other so you don’t suddenly stop breathing!” doyoung stalked out of the room without a single word, pausing to seemingly contemplate whether slamming the (very heavy) oak door would help prove his point. he very intelligently settled on just stamping his foot. it made him look like a child, but jaemin hadn’t seen doyoung this upset in a while. and frankly, it got him thinking a bit. 

you walked into the hospital wing as usual without greeting jaemin. it wasn’t like you got a reply anyway. “hey,” the prince offered as you took up your usual spot by his bed with a book, a clear indication that you didn’t want conversation. 

your eyebrows twitched a little. granted, you weren’t expecting him to say anything, but it must be a testament to your friendship if your little blow up had at least gotten jaemin to think a little. you stared pointedly down at the book you didn’t even know the title of.

“y/n.” still no response. “you’re holding the book upside down,” jaemin sighed.

furious with yourself, you flipped the book the right side up again, “you don’t want to talk to me. stop forcing yourself to.”

“i do want to talk to you, okay? i don’t particularly want to die either, the soulmates idea is just hard to stomach.”

“what, does loving me sound so bad? am i so unlovable?” you slammed your book closed, trying not to choke on the shower of dust that came with it. logically, you shouldn’t be getting mad. jaemin was just trying to make things better, but he sounded so forced. “you sound so forced to do this, jaemin.”

“oh, are you getting mad at me now? you were sad because i wasn’t talking to you, and now you’re mad because i am! what the fuck am i supposed to do?” jaemin glared at you from underneath the covers, “i’m trying, okay? i thought you said you didn’t want me to die!”

“i don’t want you to die!” you hissed back at him, tears springing to your eyes again.

“are you crying again? if every time we talk you get that sad, then maybe you should just let me die!”

you dusted yourself off and ran out of the room, not even bothering to give jaemin an answer. why didn’t he get it? it’s not that hard to understand! (when else but) on your way out, you bumped into (who else but) doyoung, crying (what else but) angry tears. again. you really had to stop doing that.

to nobody in particular, doyoung whispered, “why are they so angsty?”

“we need to talk,” doyoung declared the moment he walked into the room in one of the pockets of time that you weren’t in it. jaemin looked up from the extremely interesting loose thread on his blanket and nodded, “what about?”

“y/n.”

jaemin’s expression darkened in a nanosecond. “no,” he practically growled, “not her again. i can figure this out myself, doyoung hyung! you don’t have to help me.”

“if you can figure this out yourself, the two of you wouldn’t be the embodiment of every sad angsty book ever written.”

“it’s our way of coping with things.” the words sounded fake even to jaemin’s own ears.

“no,” doyoung deadpanned, “don’t fuck around with me.” he hissed, “you know she cries every time you give her unwanted insults. let’s count how many times i ran into her, sometimes quite literally, in the hallway with her crying. one, the day you two got lost in the woods. two, when you were passed out and unresponsive, three, a few days after you woke up and weren’t talking to her, four, literally yesterday after you basically told her she was unlovable.” doyoung held up his fingers mockingly and it felt like jaemin had just been slapped in the face. “four times, na jaemin. four times you fucked up, four times y/n felt worthless, four times more than needed. four times. thats more than anything that happened in the last 16 years of your friendship. four times in less than a month. get your shit together, jaemin.” doyoung snapped, and spun around on his heel. jaemin felt like everyone was against him at this point. 

a week passes and hey, what did you know? some improvement was showing. you and jaemin could hold, an (albeit very awkward, but still) a conversation. it was a relief to you, but you were slightly suspicious of him. jaemin still couldn’t look you in the eyes, glancing away or inspecting his nails. but you couldn’t ask anymore of him, he went from straight out ignoring you, to asking how your day went. jaemin sent you a small smile, fiddling in his seat. 

“how… how are you?” jaemin asked, glancing at your features shyly. you smiled, though it felt more forced than genuine. 

“i’m good. have you been getting better?”

“well, you know. not really,” jaemin shrugged, not looking at you, “it hasn’t been getting worse either, though.”

you ignored the way jaemin was pointedly avoiding your gaze and offered a half smile you didn't really mean, “the weather isn’t very good today, is it?” the weather hadn’t been really good for the past week or so. even if you weren’t spending every waking (and sleeping) moment by jaemin’s side, you wouldn’t have been able to go out of the castle. the relentless rain pouring down on the windows made sure of that.

“y/n, i still think we have to talk.” jaemin’s expression turned serious, “i know i’ve been a dick these few weeks, and i’m not even going to try excusing myself for that. but i want you to know that no matter what, i still treasure you a lot as my best friend. i think i just need time - okay, admittedly we haven’t got very much of that left, about a week and a half or so, but i struggle with feelings. i really struggle a lot and it’s overwhelming and i miss you so much, i miss talking to you not-awkwardly and i want our old relationship back.”

you promised yourself you weren’t going to cry again, because god knows you’ve cried too much. “okay then,” you laughed lightly, “if you’re going to make this a deep sentimental talk, just know that i’m willing to wait for you for as long as you need. sadly this isn’t up to me.”

jaemin remained silent for a bit, taking in what you just said. when he spoke again, you were shocked. “do you think i love you?”

you cocked your head, “what i think doesn’t matter. the question is what do you think?”

“i want to know what you think.”

knowing he wasn’t going to let you go until you told him so, you sighed, “i think you do.”

“platonically or romantically?”

“my father wants my help in the kitchens, your highness. i’ll see you later.”

it was raining again, and you didn’t show up in his room like normal. jaemin was worried, and he got out of his bed clumsily, grabbing a cane, which he winced at. he looked like an old man with it. drawing back the heavy velvet curtains, the glass of his widow was covered in water droplets, all racing to the window sill. jaemin spotted you running around the courtyard, mouth open with a muted laugh and eyes sparkling even though you were soaked to the skin. jaemin found himself smiling, watching you with fond eyes. his senses kicked in, and he realized. he was truly, and utterly, with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body, in love with you. with his best friend. with the person who stuck by him all these years. who loved all his flaws and imperfections. he, na jaemin, second prince in line, never to sit on the throne (he didn’t mind that part), was in love with you. a cook's daughter, a commoner, but most importantly, his soulmate. 

when you came inside, your teeth were chattering and you were shivering all over, but it was the happiest you’d felt in a while. nothing was better than dancing in the rain, really, except dancing in the rain with jaemin. that now… that was a hundred times better, but na jaemin was sick, so you’d have to forgo that. practically waltzing into jaemin’s room, you grinned at him, your good mood making you forget all the awkwardness. he was just your best friend, your best friend of so many years. awkwardness who?

“jaems!” it might have been the prior realization of love making jaemin completely disregard any tension that might have been between the two of you earlier, but he grinned back at you just as happily as you’d greeted him, “y/n!” he frowned, pretending he hadn’t been watching you from his window just a few minutes prior because that was borderline creepy, “why are you all wet?”

“i danced in the rain. oh god, jaemin, do you remember that time when we were dancing together in the rain and then decided to use a banana leaf as an umbrella but we got wet anyway? and then-” 

“and then,” jaemin picked up seamlessly from where you left off, the grin not disappearing, “doyoung hyung came to check on us because he was scared we’d catch colds from running around in the rain all day. then we slipped and fell into the mud, splashing him all over.”

you laughed, a light tinkling sound that reminded jaemin again of why he loved you, “i swear the mud mask made his skin better.”

jaemin practically screeched with laughter, “you mean you’ve been looking at my brother’s skin?”

the overwhelming love and affection you felt for your best friend in that moment, both platonically and romantically, made you throw your arms around him, instantly soaking him through with your wet clothes. somehow, the two of you ended up sprawled on his bed. 

“you know what? i love you.” jaemin sighed, snuggling into your embrace. your ears burned red. 

“you.. you what?” you asked timidly. you really hoped jaemin said what you thought he said. jaemin smiled, leaning back more, adjusting the position the two of you were in. you now were snuggled into his chest, sighing as you felt your eyelids droop. jaemin chuckled lowly, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“i’ll be here when you wake up.” he whispered softly. you fell asleep, mind calm for once. 

“jaemin- okay, you can explain why y/n’s soaking your bedsheets through and the both of you are completely drenched in rainwater first,” doyoung arched an eyebrow, “have y’all finally gotten your shit together?”

“i think i love her, hyung,” jaemin’s arm curled protectively around you, “really.”

doyoung clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval, “you think? be sure of it, jaems. i’ve practically raised the two of you and watched you grow up, and now you say you only think you love her?”

“i love her.” jaemin struggled to hold back the laugh that was threatening to spill out of his chest. “i love her!” he repeated again, louder this time. seeing the finger doyoung had to his lips, he quietened down to prevent waking you up, “thank you, hyung. for knocking some sense into me.”

doyoung smiled, “anytime. it’s my job, after all. now, i think you two need some alone time. see you at dinner, i truly doubt you’ll still be sick.”

you were awakened by the sound of the door closing. rubbing your eyes tiredly, you looked around, disoriented, “did someone come in?”

“it’s nothing, y/n. just a servant. sleep, i love you.”

you yawned, “i love you too.” and you snuggled back under the covers with him, acting like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

“hey,” jaemin whispered in your ear, waking you up gently, “i hate to have to wake you up, but dinner’s in a few. my parents want to see you too, apparently.”

you blinked the sleep away from your eyes, looking at his smiling face. waking up to jaemin’s smile was something you could get used to, you thought. “what?”

“i said, we have to go get ready for dinner. you too, yes, main banquet hall, my parents want to see you.”

your mouth dropped open, all thoughts of sleep gone, “i don’t have clothes suitable for a fancy dinner!”

“oh yes you do. wear that yellow dress with the sunflowers.”

“is that formal enough?”

“y/n, like, you’ve literally talked to my parents so many times. they watched you grow up. they’re not so different from doyoung and i.”

“but this is the first time meeting them as your girlfriend!” oh god, did you really just say that? you cringed inwardly. you hadn’t even put a label on the relationship yet. rushing to make amends, you stuttered out, “soulmate. i mean soulmate.”

“you’ve always been my soulmate. as for girlfriend, well, you can be if you want to, but we have explaining to do. now move! the entire bed is wet!”

with strength a sick person shouldn’t possess, jaemin threw you out of his bed playfully. you looked up in shock and happiness, “you’re well again! you’re not sick anymore!”

jaemin grinned down at you from his bed, “we realised our love. see you in twenty, adios, au revoir, zaijian, sayonara!” yelling at the top of his lungs, he pushed you out of his room and slammed the door, and you honestly couldn’t care less. you were flying (figuratively, of course), drunk on the sentiments of finally realising your feelings for your best friend and soulmate.

growing up in the castle had taught you some things about manners, especially when the queen insisted you attend some etiquette lessons together with jaemin (to keep him in check, she’d said). dropping into a deep curtsey in front of the royal family, you rose again when the king placed a warm hand on your shoulder, “get up, y/n. we’re all family here, there’s not need for such formalities. you never really did those before either.”

“i was eight and didn’t know much about manners,” you protested lightly as he steered you into your seat beside jaemin, then taking his own at the head of the table - the king’s seat.

you ate in silence and as fast as you could without being rude. nobody made a move to break the silence, so you sat and waited until the last of the plates had been cleared away by the servants, then leaned forward, “if it isn’t rude to ask, may i know why i’ve suddenly been called here for dinner?”

the queen smiled kindly at you, “of course not, dear. well, today we have two announcements to make, one of which concerns you.” she glanced at the king, who inclined his head at her with a smile as if to say “the floor is all yours, dear.” the queen turned back to you, and seeing the dying rays of last light hit her face, you were again reminded of how beautiful the queen was. “firstly, about doyoung. now, we all know that my dear son here is turning twenty one in a month’s time and has finished his education. and so, doyoung, my son, your father has decided to pass on the kingdom to you. the announcement to the people will happen in a few days’ time, if you agree, and the coronation shall be held on your birthday. you are a much beloved crown prince, and i am sure the news of your coronation will delight the kingdom. i do hope you accept. so,” she practically glowed with pride, staring at the shell-shocked prince, “do you?”

“it would be an honor, mother. but didn’t father say he enjoyed being king?” doyoung, the rightful heir to the throne and the one who’d been trained for this his entire life, looked shocked, to say the least. you couldn’t blame him; it must’ve felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“your mother and i have long been dreaming of a proper honeymoon in the carribean. away from the eyes of the public,” his father’s voice boomed encouragingly.

“then yes, i accept,” doyoung’s eyes were shining with tears and you really hoped he wasn’t about to cry. knowing him, once he started crying, he wouldn’t stop and that would really… kill the mood. 

“cheers to king doyoung,” jaemin raised his glass of juice (seventeen is not of a legal age to consume alcohol) to the sky, looking elated for his brother, “and for heaven’s sake, king doyoung, don’t cry!”

doyoung sniffled a little, holding his own goblet of wine to his brother’s, “i won’t cry! thank you so much!”

“congratulations,” you grinned at doyoung, who’d been just as much your elder brother all these years as he’d been jaemin’s. just in the past month, he’d slapped the two of you so hard to get your shit together, and he should honestly be crowned fairy godmother of the year. except that he wasn’t old, didn’t have white hair pulled up into a bun, and (sadly) didn’t own wings.

“now for our second announcement. doyoung’s explained everything to us already, i hope you don’t mind.” doyoung grinned guiltily at you over the table - honestly! like he’d done anything wrong! “you’re obviously too young for marriage, but y/n, your parents, whom i’ve just talked to, and us - we give you all our blessings. let this relationship prosper!”

jaemin squeezed your hand in his assuringly with a victorious smile like he’d known all along that this would’ve happened. you choked back a sob of your own, “thank you! thank you so much.”

“we’ve never known that soulmates existed, but now that we do know, there isn’t a truer pair than you and y/n,” she addressed jaemin, “treat her well.”

“i swear, mother, you love her more than you love me,” jaemin half-groaned, ignoring his mother’s angelic smile and reply (“i do not! i merely prefer to be around her.”)

“to the new king and couple!” jaemin’s father raised his goblet for another cheer, and you downed your drink in one gulp. tilting your head to grin at jaemin, you thought there really couldn’t be any happier moment in the world.

©danishmiilk, 2020. ©astroboy-lele, 2020.

[extasiswings]

Hopping on this train of writing to cope with promo image-induced feelings.  No thoughts, just vibes.  Also on ao3. 

The air inside the warehouse is thick with smoke and blisteringly hot.  A snapping sound splits through the crackle of flame and Eddie is abruptly yanked off balance as Buck grabs his arm and pulls hard just as a beam from above comes crashing down. It doesn’t miss him completely—catches the side of his helmet and knocks it off, making his ears ring with the impact. 

He sees Buck’s mouth moving and shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” Buck repeats, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the fire. 

A light fixture groans above them before dropping down as well and it’s Eddie’s turn to push Buck out of the way, even if it means a bit of flying glass catches him in the face. 

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, and it quickly turns into a coughing fit as he chokes on smoke, his throat and lungs burning. 

Buck nods. “Go! I’m right behind!”

Eddie turns and manages to work out a path to the closest exit with a single-minded focus. His head is aching and he’s dizzy, can feel blood dripping down his cheek as well, and when he stumbles out into somewhat fresher air he nearly collapses into Bobby before he’s passed off to the paramedics. 

Hen had been one of the first ones in and out and has since stripped off her turnout coat and is helping the other medics. Eddie doesn’t argue when she checks his throat and pupil responses before pressing an oxygen mask into his hand. 

“Where’s Buck?” Hen asks as she swipes an alcohol pad over the cut on his cheek and secures it with two butterfly strips. 

Eddie lowers the mask and coughs. “He was right—“

Behind me. 

The words fade on his tongue as he scans the area only to come up empty. And then his eyes light on the door he’d come out of, nothing clear beyond the frame but black smoke and the red and orange glare of flickering flames. 

His world tips on its axis.  His vision swims.   And the feeling—

It reminds him a little of the tsunami, when he’d noticed Christopher’s glasses around Buck’s neck and had felt himself fracturing at such a rapid pace that even now he’s sure he wouldn’t have remained standing if he hadn’t caught sight of his son over Buck’s shoulder. He can feel the same sort of cracks spidering up the foundation of his walls—the ones that he throws up when he needs to be Eddie Diaz, firefighter, medic, soldier, competent professional, any version of himself that has to play at having his life together—and he scrambles internally to shut down the panic, to plaster over the cracks before they can spread too far, because if he lets himself think—

“I need to talk to Bobby,” he says, trying to push himself up to standing. Hen shoves him back down with hands firmly on his shoulders. 

“You need to sit and keep breathing into that mask,” she says, her voice sharp with authority before it gentles. “I’ll get him, but only if you stay here.”

Eddie’s jaw tics, but he lifts the mask back up to his face and takes a few pointed breaths while she watches. Finally, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. 

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades that desperately wants an outlet. Something to do, something to control so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s on the edge of a cliff. So that he can work on a solution instead of his mind unhelpfully focusing on Buck’s still in there.  He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s in no shape to go back in himself, but he needs something. 

“We were in the southwest quadrant,” Eddie reports when Hen returns with Bobby, keeping his words short and clipped.  “It wasn’t overrun but there were a lot of things falling from the upper levels. He said he was coming right after me, but he could have gotten stuck.”

This is easier. Staying mechanical. Sticking to facts. There’s no room for getting overly emotional, no allowance for breaking down.  He has a commanding officer in front of him who needs information, and that is something Eddie can handle. 

“We tried him on the radio but there was no answer,” Bobby says. 

“He may have dropped it.”  When he pulled me to safety. Eddie shuts that thought down. 

“There are windows on that side,” he adds. “If the exits are blocked—“

“We’ll look at all possible options,” Bobby replies.  His face is drawn and tired, face streaked with sweat and soot. 

For some reason it’s the flicker of doubt Eddie catches in his eyes that makes him say—

“He wasn’t being reckless. I know—we all know he can be sometimes, but he wasn’t. If he’s not out, it’s because he needs help, not because he’s trying to be a hero.”

Bobby looks at Eddie for a moment, something passing across his eyes like recognition before it fades and he’s left looking more tired than before. 

“We’ll look at all the options,” he repeats finally. He doesn’t make promises. Eddie’s not sure whether or not he appreciates that. 

It takes another several minutes for anything to happen, and Eddie’s shoulders get tighter, his mood blacker. His head aches and he snaps at another paramedic, some clearly new young kid, when he notices him dressing a burn improperly. 

It doesn’t make him feel better. 

Finally though, finally, after a heart-stopping moment when the warehouse windows blow out on the side where they’d last been, Eddie hears shouts. And a figure comes stumbling around from the back of the building, knees giving out just in time for someone to catch him. 

“What happened to I’m right behind?” Eddie asks roughly when Buck is helped over, looking worse for wear but alive. 

Buck coughs and closes his eyes. “Part of the catwalk came down,” he says. “Blocked me in. Couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see anything hardly through all the...everything.”

“I didn’t know.”

Buck shakes his head and dutifully brings his own oxygen mask to his face when one is pressed into his hand. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to stay even if you had,” he replies. “At least I had all my gear.” 

Eddie wants to keep talking, keep asking questions, keep reminding himself that Buck is sitting next to him and going to be fine, but that irrational impulse wars with the rational thought that Buck needs oxygen not an interrogation. So he drops it.  And they both withdraw into their own heads. 

Eddie watches though. As Buck flickers between present and vacant, numb. The haunted, hunted look that passes over his face every so often a clear indication that whatever ghosts are whispering in his mind, they’re saying nothing good. When the shift ends and they’re cleaned up, Buck still looks half-dead, so Eddie snatches his keys. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, tone booking no argument. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

Buck sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

The drive is silent, but there’s a tension in the air, the weight of things unspoken. Eddie’s not entirely sure what exactly would roll off his own tongue if he opened his mouth, his head a mess, but when he parks his truck in front of Buck’s apartment, Buck finally speaks. 

“You know what I was thinking while I stuck in that building? Besides that I was going to die.”  He swallows hard. “That if it had to be someone it was good it was me.”

Eddie’s heart stops, his stomach rebelling violently at sheer wrongness of the thought. 

“That’s not true.”

Buck nods and lets out a small, bitter laugh. 

“See, I do know that actually,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy. Except then my parents rolled into town and it was like none of that work mattered, I was right back to square one assuming I’m not wanted, that no one would miss me—and I hate, I hate that they have that kind of power, that they can make me feel so fucking worthless.”

“You’re not though.” Eddie reaches over before he can stop himself, his hand curling around the side of Buck’s neck, thumb settling over his pulse to feel that steady thrum of alive alive alive. “God, when I thought—you’re worth everything. You have to know—“

You have to know how much you mean to me. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know I can’t lose you.

You have to know. 

Buck makes a small sound of disbelief, his gaze turning searching as Eddie bites his tongue to keep from saying too much he can’t take back. He feels somehow even more precariously positioned on the edge of a cliff than he had in the field, but that cliff was positioned above an ocean of grief. He doesn’t know what’s at the bottom of this one should he fall. 

Somehow that’s almost more terrifying. 

Eddie sways forward unconsciously and Buck presses his forehead to his. Neither of them are breathing steadily. And they stay like that for a long moment until Buck shivers and pulls back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Eddie can’t quite help the frisson of want that sparks through him, the whisper of yes, please, do it then that threads through his mind. 

“But,” Buck continues, his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips as Eddie watches. “But it’s been a long and really fucking difficult day and I’m not—I don’t want to fuck this up before it even starts. If—if there’s anything to start at all, I don’t want to assume—“

“There is,” Eddie assures. I love you. I’m in love with you. 

That gets him the faintest smile as Buck reaches up to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“Of course. Anytime.”  

When Eddie gets home, he pauses long enough to check on Christopher before falling into bed. And only then does he think back over the day and finally, finally let himself shatter. 

[abbyilr1967]

Small World After All - Keigo Takami x Reader

Summary: You’re the Rescue Hero Aceso, you’d been called onto the scene of a villain attack on a local News station, tasked with rescuing a hero and civilian who had been trapped inside, and this chance encounter with the number two hero wouldn’t prove itself to be the last either. 

A/n: This was requested by the lovely @levis-odm-gear . As per usual, if you’re new to my work here is a link to my Masterlist. Also just in case, you don’t know, Y/l/n stands for Your last name.

Warnings: Little bit of swearing (like the tiniest bit).

Word Count: 3.6k

Your motorcycle came to a screeching stop as the hoards of people blocked off by police and heroes blocked you from getting to the accident. Your agency had called you through your earpiece to tell you that there had been an accident at the local news station, and that a group of villains had trapped the employees on the third floor, and set the building on fire before escaping. Something about the media spreading false information about the heroes, honestly it had the League of Villains written all over it, but you had bigger things to worry about right now.

You quickly park your bike and rip your helmet off before sprinting through the crowd of concerned citizens. 

“Aceso!” an officer waves you over. “We need you to head up to the third floor, a pro is down, and he needs your help if we are gonna get all the civilians out alive.”

“I’m on it.” You run past the officer towards the entrance to the building while fastening the ventilator your hero suit is equipped with over your mouth and nose. You might not fall high on the Hero Billboard Charts, but you were very useful in situations like this, and the material of your suit covers your full body head to toe, fire retardant, and comes equipped with a full face ventilator. 

Your skin starts to feel the blistering heat as you enter the building, making sure to dodge any falling debris. You find the stairway and make the quick ascent to the next floor. You hear the ceiling of the second-floor creak, and you rush to make it to the stairwell before you’re crushed underneath the burning rubble. Your foot catches on some debris and you nose dive to the floor. 

“Shit.” You roll over and see the ceiling being to crumble above you. You cross your arms over your eyes in an attempt to save the ventilator from being destroyed and your head crushed, as you feel something pinch in the back of your neck. Suddenly you are being dragged across the floor, out of the way as the plaster on the ceiling falls to the floor. With no time to look for the source of your mysterious rescue, you lunge towards the third-floor stairwell and make your way up. 

 You enter the third floor and quickly begin to look for any civilians and the hero you are here to heal. So far the fair had yet to make it fully to the third floor, but there was enough fire and smoke to incapacitate a person. You look around until your eyes land on a ball of red and yellow hunched over on the floor. As you get closer you realize that the bundle of red was actually wings, and you knew exactly who it was. 

���Hawks!”  you shout. “I’m here to help you.” You roll him over and find that he has severe burns on his face and neck, as well as a couple of spots where the embers had burned through his suit and touched the skin. His wings had also taken some severe damage as he kept the last civilian safe underneath him. He nods his head, ‘Still responsive’ you note. 

You start to make quick work of your gloves, placing your hands on both sides of his face, your palms start to warm as you release your energy. You see the burns on his face start to heal as he starts to regain a little of his strength. In an attempt to save your energy and stamina you remove your hands from his face. 

“We need to get them out of here,” Hawks grunts as he pulls himself and the civilian to their feet. 

“Right.” You respond as you wrap the civilian’s arm over your shoulder and help Hawks maneuver them towards the stairs. 

“We need to get this person in an ambulance quick!” You shout as you and Hawks exit the building. Several first responders run to you and take the civilian to the nearest ambulance. You and Hawks stand there for a moment, as the fire department continues to put out the fire, the adrenalin high you both were running on finally coming down. Hawks tries his best to hold in a cough beside you, but you can tell he’s been breathing in too much smoke. 

“Here,” you say, ushering him away from the building. “I’ll fix you up.” You guide him over to a bench on the other side of the street, sitting him down with a groan. 

You start by examining his wings, you notice that they aren’t as full as they once were. A lot of his feathers have singed, and are covered in ash. Your face is notably concerned, as you look down at the exhausted hero before you. 

“They’ll grow back.” He reassures, and you nod. You leave his wings alone and redirect your attention to the half-healed burns on his face and neck. His eyes are watching as you work, which is unusual considering you tend to work on people who are too in shock to pay any attention to you, or nearly unconscious. 

“I’m going to place my hand on both sides of your face, ok?” He gives you a nod and you gently place both hands on his cheeks. Your hands begin to warm as your energy is released into Hawks. His stiff facial features start to relax as your energy heals his wounds. He closes his eyes and allows the warm feeling of your energy to flow through him. You take this time to examine the features of his face because, although you knew what he looked like, you’d never gotten to see the man up close. His lips are thin, and a little chapped, ‘Probably due to the amount of time he spends in the air’ you think to yourself. He has a strong jawline, with some stubble on his chin to accent his hard features. And his eyes, his eyes have these beautiful markings that seem almost bird-like, which is fitting for a hero like him. 

As your hands continue to work their magic on Hawks wounds you feel him start to really lean into your touch, as if he’s never experienced this. You reach your limit on the amount of energy you can spare to heal the man, so you move your hands, but Hawks is quick to grab your wrist and stop you. 

“Can you just hold them there for a little longer,” you can hear a slight crack in his voice. “Please.” 

“Yea,” you whisper, pressing your hands back to his face. He leans in again, you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of holding the face of the number two hero so lovingly and gentle. 

“Thank you.” He sighs. 

You finally pull your hands back, and Hawks comes to his feet. 

“Sorry if that was weird, I just…” 

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” you interject. The expression on his face tells you that that’s not the reaction he was expecting from you. 

“Sometimes we just need a little pick me up, you know?” you lightly punch him in the shoulder, which elicits a chuckle from him. 

“I do, Thank you again, for helping me in there. I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“It’s what heroes do.” 

He gives you a quick nod before leaping into the air and taking to the skies. Taking that as your queue to go, you make your way back over to your bike. You throw your leg over and instead of taking off immediately, you sit there for a minute. Thinking out how your hands hadn’t stopped tingling since you let go of the blonde’s face. This was a strange feeling you’d never felt after healing someone. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of holding him like that, something you hadn’t done with someone in so long, even if it was such a trivial act. 

But it had meant something to him, and it made your heartache for him. 

Your apartment was just around the corner, so you kept the visor of your bike helmet up, allowing the cool breeze to touch the skin that became so quickly heated at the thought of what had occurred between you and the number two hero. You watch the city fly by you as the parking garage to your apartment complex comes into view. 

~ 

You push the keys to your apartment into the door and fling open the door. Electing to drop all your things at the door, and worry about the paperwork you needed to fill out about the incident tomorrow. You slowly start to strip yourself of your suit as you walk towards the bathroom of your small apartment. The tiled floor feels cool against your aching feet as you turn the shower on, giving it time to heat up before you get it. 

Once the water is warm enough you step under the spray, allowing the warmth to ease your aching muscles.  You sigh heavily, leaning your head further under the showerhead so the water trickles down your face. You close your eyes, and the minute you do you are face-to-face with the relaxed face of the pro hero you just saw moments earlier. The vision in your head shifts from that of a relaxed Hawks, to the exhausted Hawks who had asked you to keep holding him after you’d finished your healing. Your hands come up to rub your face, trying to get rid of the image, but it was no use. There was something about him that you found yourself engrossed with, beyond his appearance. 

You finish up in the shower, brush your teeth and hair, and pop a couple melatonin gummies to help you sleep. You’d found that sleeping was the fastest and most effective way of regaining your energy after using most of it. You step out of the steam-filled bathroom into the slightly chilly hallway and head towards your room. You dig around in your dresser for a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized hoodie to fall asleep in. The warm fabric of your hoodie provides sweet relief from the chill of your apartment, and you quickly slide under your overs so your legs can escape the cold too. 

As you lay in bed, you stare out the window at the moon and watch how the light casts itself against the things in your room, Thinking about how he’s out there, thinking about what he’s doing, and wondering if he’s thinking about you the same way you were thinking about him. 

And he was…

The wind was frigid compared to the still warm and tingly feeling left by your hands. He spent the whole flight back to his agency thinking about your hands on his face and feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d asked you to hold him even after you were done healing him. He lands on the roof of his agency and begins his descent down to his office, along the way being bombarded by receptionist after receptionist with all the paperwork he needs to fill out. 

“Here’s your incident report Hawks!” 

“Here’s your casualties report Hawks!” 

“Here’s your injuries report Hawks!”  They were crowding around him like a hoard of fangirls, which they most likely were, he wasn’t in charge of the hiring process for receptionists so he didn’t screen any of them beforehand. They continue to flock behind him as he walks towards his office, opting to pick up the pace to escape them faster. 

The door to his office is growing closer and closer. 

“Thank you for the papers ladies, but if you’ll excuse me I have a lot of work to get through if I want to make it home.” He brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck, watching as the women all sigh and disperse back to their work stations. He sighs with relief as he turns the doorknob and finally enters his office. ‘Maybe I look extra tired tonight.’ he thought to himself. ‘Usually, they pester me more.’ He drops the papers on his desk and cracks open his laptop. His paperwork can wait, he couldn’t get you out of his head so he thought he’d conduct a little research on you, see what information is known to the public about you. 

“Aceso, I like that.” Your hero name rolled off his tongue like honey. He’d gotten distracted while researching you when he’d found some old interviews you’d done in your early years as a pro. You were top of your class at U.A. and all of Japan was excited to see what’d you do as a hero. So why hadn’t he heard about you, he thinks. He watched the interviews until his eyes hurt, and he was forced to realize that his late-night endeavours had gone on longer than anticipated. 

“Damn Aceso, can’t get you outta my head.” He stretches in his chair before getting up and making his way home. Where he definitely didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, not with the images of you running rampant in his head all night. 

~

Several months had passed and you’d gone about your life as normal, everything was normal, and you hadn’t seen Hawks again. Sure you saw him regularly all over the news, but you hadn’t seen him in person since the accident. You thought about him every day, so much so that you’d hoped that one day you’d run into him, even if it was just for a moment. 

You’d been at home getting ready to make dinner, when you realized that you needed to head to the store to get some last-minute ingredients. This is exactly how you found yourself wandering the isles of the closest grocery store to your house. You lean your arms on the handle of your cart, as you lazily check the shelves for the ingredients you were missing. 

You feel your cart bump into someone, and immediately you’re brought out of your dazed state. 

“I’m so sorry, I-” you turn to see the person you’d hit and are met with the brilliant golden eyes of the number two hero. You chuckle under your breath, as your silent prayer had been answered by the universe. His gaze meets yours and the corners of his lips turn up into a slight grin. “Oh, hi.” You say, trying to best not to sound flustered. 

“Hey.” You both stare at each other for a second unsure of how this interaction should continue before the realization dawns on your that you’d walked into him with your shopping cart like the most graceful person. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to shove my cart into you, I wasn’t looking where-” 

You were cut off by the sound of Hawks chuckling at your obvious awkwardness towards the situation. 

“It’s alright kid, I’ve been through worse.” You slap your palm on your forehead. 

“Of course,” you laugh. The awkward tension lifted as you and Hawks laugh. 

When the laughing seems to die down, you clear your throat and gain his attention. 

“I have a proposal,” you start. 

“Well, now I’m intrigued.” He placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin and looks down at you in anticipation. 

“Let me cook you dinner,” you fold your hands over your chest and look at him with the biggest doe eyes you can make. “As a way to apologize for nearly running you over with my cart and no offence but...” You tip the edge of the basket he was holding, noting that there were several packs of ramen amongst the other processed and pre-made foods he’d selected. “I think you could use a home-cooked meal.” He looks down at his basket, and then back up to you, glaring at you in a sarcastic way. 

You rock back and forth on your heels, eagerly awaiting his response to your proposition. 

“You really don’t need to-” 

“I want to.” You say, grabbing onto his arm shaking it slightly.  

“Alright,” he finally agrees. 

“Great, I just need to get a few more things and we can head back to my place, ok?” 

He stretches his arm out and gestures down the aisle, “After you.” He steps out of the way of your cart, and you push past him with your head held confidently. 

“hey, uh, I never actually got your name,” he says, still trailing behind you. 

“It’s Y/l/n, Y/n,” you throw over your shoulder as your looking for olive oil. 

“That’s very lovely,” he’s right beside your ear now, starting you enough to almost drop the bottle of oil you were holding. 

“Th-thank you,” you say, hoping that your blushing wasn’t evident enough to be noticeable on your face. He chuckles at your awkwardness, as he continues down the aisle with you.

“So, do I get to know the name of the number two hero, I did give you mine, so I think it’s only fair Hawks.” You emphasize his hero name, trying to push his buttons a little bit. 

“Touché,” he nods. “You can call me Keigo, Takami Keigo.”

“Keigo” you whisper under your breath. 

~ 

The walk back to your apartment was short, and spent cracking jokes and making small talk with the winged hero. 

Finally back at your apartment, Keigo helped you bring up the groceries and unpack what you needed to finish the dinner you started before you had left. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” 

“No, you’re my guest, so go sit down,” you shoo him away from the stove and to the other side of the counter, were he plopped himself down on one of the bar stools you had. 

“I was gonna have this wine with dinner, would you like some?” you offer, pointing the tip of the bottle in his direction. 

“No thanks, could I just have some water I don’t drink really, you know with work and all.” 

“Yes, right, sorry. I guess your always on call, being so high up in the hero ranks I mean.” 

“You don’t need to apologie, each day I work gets me closer to creating a world were heroes have more free time then they know what to do with,” he smiles and you set a glass of water down in front of him, along with his plate of food. You set your plate down beside his, and taken you seat. 

“This looks great,” he remarks. “Better than anything I could make.” the corners of his lips kick up into a smirk as you both chuckles at his lack of skill in the kitchen.

The laughter dies down into a comfortable silence as you both enjoy the meal you’ve made, continuing to make small talk in between bites. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, seemingly out of the blue. 

“Go for it,” you shoot back. You turn to face him, and his golden eyes lock on yours. 

“Why did you help me? After the attack on the new station.” 

“You were burned, it would have been-” 

“Not that kind of helping. Why did you continue to hold me even after I’d been healed?” 

You cast your gaze down to the empty plate in from of you, taking a moment to word together your answer. 

“Because I saw how exhausted you were.” You say, brining your gaze back to his. “And I don’t mean just physically exhausted, I could see the mental exhaustion as well.” 

His eyes soften, and his features being to look somber. “You help so many people that, in that moment I could tell you had been neglecting your own needs, and had finally reached your limit.” 

He looks at you stunned, in awe of the observational skills so had because everything you said, made sense to him. You had been the only person to indulge him in what he needed, instead of the reverse. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean of over step if I did-” 

“There you go again, apologizing for something so trivial, even after I asked you about that night. You have yet to cease to amaze me with how determined, kind, caring and observant you are.” The blush rises to your cheeks. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night, and I never thought I’d see you again.” 

“Takami I-” 

“Keigo,” he interjects. “You can call me Keigo.” 

“Keigo, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night either.” 

In your lust filled state you hadn’t realized that his face was just inches from yours. His breath fans over you as your noses brush together. 

“No one has ever made me feel the way you did, in such a short amount of time,” he whispers. You pull you bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation of what is to come next. 

“Can I kiss you?” Your lips ghost each other. “Yes.”

 His lips mash to your with both passion and tenderness. His hands come up to cradle your jaw, as your hands card through the thick strands of his hair that fall around the base of his neck. Your tongues dance across each other as he deepens the kiss. The burning sensation in your lungs causes you to pull away reluctantly, not wanting to give up the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on yours. 

“You are so much more different then any other person I’ve ever met Y/n.” He says in between slightly laboured breaths. “I would like to keep seeing you, if that’s alright.” He leans his forehead against yours, as you both come down from your lust filled highs. 

“I’d like that.” The corners of his lips kick up into a grin, and he places a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I’d like that very much, Keigo.”

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

"Tell who?"- Part 2

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 2 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 3

Enjoy! :)

“Moony! Get up, mate!” Like it was that easy. He couldn’t even get himself to pry his eyes open. It was James that woke him. “Come on, mate. We gotta show up at breakfast, so nobody gets suspicious.” Remus groaned and turned onto his back. A dreadful headache split his forehead.

“Ugh, fuck me.”

“Not right now, Moony. We gotta dash.” He could practically feel James’ stupid grin.

“Fine, fine. I’m getting up.” He blinked his eyes open, pushing onto his elbows, then slowly sat up. The throb in his temples was menacing. He got up gingerly. No nausea. Good. Picking out clean clothes from his neatly organised wardrobe, he headed for the bathroom. “Pete and I should probably go as soon as possible. Will you be alright to bring him down to the Great Hall,” he heard James question as he shut the door.

The shower did wonders to Remus’ hangover. It diminished his headache and helped clear his vision. It also felt nice to be in clean clothes, even though it was devastating having to take Sirius’ shirt off. But letting himself feel his emotions was no more, so he pushed down that thought. Remus walked back into the dorm, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Lifting his gaze, he noticed Sirius leaning against his bedpost with one ankle crossed over the other. His lips were pulled in a small smile. Their eyes connected.

“Tell who?”

Remus’ stare fell on the yellow paper in Sirius’ hand and the realisation hit him momentarily. His heart dropped all the way to the floor. Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no... His mouth was utterly dry. Fear and panic washed over him like a thousand giant ocean waves coming down at once. ‘I wanna tell him I love him,’ he had written. Holy fucking fuck, he thought, Sirius knows I like a boy. There was a deafening, high pitched ringing in his ears.

“M-my dad... I never tell him that.” He was grasping at straws.

“Remus, come on,” Sirius huffed out a short laugh as he pushed himself off the board. He was shooting Remus this terribly meaningful look, and Remus begged the ground to crack open and claim him.

“I...“ Then before much further thinking, Remus turned on his heel and darted out the room and down the stairs as Sirius called out his name.

Fucked. He was so fucked. Idiot. Imbecile. How could he have written that and then just left it lying around?! Idiot. He smacked his forehead as he rounded a corner, then scuttled down the hallway. He was headed for his favourite hiding spot- a cosy alcove in the wall behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. Settling on the stone ground, Remus went through his breathing exercises. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an anxiety attack, except it was usually something associated with his lycanthropy. Shit, thank Merlin I didn’t write his name. He exhaled a shaky breath. It could have been worse, at least. He’s never drinking again, he concluded. Well, Sirius knew Remus liked boys. A boy. That was that. He rested his head on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, just breathing.

“Moony,” a voice called behind the tapestry. It was Sirius. Remus’ heart rate spiked again. “Stop freaking out, mate.”

“I can’t,” Remus replied.

“Can I come in?”

“Okay.”

Sirius pulled back the tapestry and gracefully climbed inside. He was clutching the map. He sat opposite Remus and drew his knees to his chest so they could both fit in the alcove. Remus was looking at the ground.

“Here, I brought you a sandwich. You skipped breakfast. Can’t imagine it helped your hangover.”

Remus took it without looking up. “Thanks.”

After a moment, Sirius started: “This is because it’s a him, right?”

“Well...” Remus cleared his throat. It’s also kinda because it’s you. “Yeah.”

“And what? You think I wouldn’t be okay with that?” Silence. “I don’t care about stuff like that, you idiot.” Sirius’ voice was incredibly soft and comforting. Remus finally looked at him. He shook his head and buried his face in his knees.

“Christ. Of course you don’t. It’s just... It’s a big deal for me. Nobody knows.”

“That’s alright, Moony, I get it. It’s all good with me." He paused. "So, are you... if you don’t mind me asking...” Remus drew his head back up. Sirius was asking if he was gay.

“I have no idea what I am, honestly. This has never happened before. Then again, it hasn’t happened with a girl, either.”

“Well, that’s fine. You have your whole life to figure it out.” Sirius flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.” Remus’ lips curved as well.

After a few beats of silence, Sirius continued: “Moony in love... Blimey, this bloke must be something else, eh?” Yup.

“Well, I don’t know about love... I was pretty pissed last night when I wrote that.”

Sirius chuckled, throwing his head back. “Right. So... Does he fancy you back, d’you reckon?”

Remus couldn’t suppress the panicked short laugh that escaped his mouth. “No.” Sirius liking him back? What a joke.

“Well, how do you know? He doesn’t even know you fancy him, it seems.”

“Nope, and I hope it stays that way until the end of time.”

“Merlin, who is this lad anyway?”

“I’m not telling you!” Remus’ cheeks were flaming. There wasn’t a force in the world that could have made him look Sirius in the eye. This was a little too close for comfort.

“Hah, fine. One step at a time.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Their ankles were touching. Remus pushed down his feelings of affection with all the mental strength he could gather.

“Um, could you not tell Wormtail and Prongs, please? I’m just not ready for people to know.”

“Of course, mate. You know you can talk to me about it, though?” His expression was soft and understanding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Brilliant. Okay then.” Sirius pushed himself up and dusted off his trousers. “Should we get out of here? This is definitely a secret snogging spot.” He offered a hand to Remus and pulled him to stand as well.

“Please don’t taint the aura of my favourite hideout, Padfoot.”

This is why Remus liked Sirius so much. Of course, he was strikingly good-looking and cool as hell, but Remus liked his personality more. Sirius was a troublemaker and joked around with everyone, but when it came to moments like this, he was an incredible and supportive friend. Never short on advice (even if it was questionable a lot of the time). He never hesitated to go above and beyond for the people he loved. These were also the reasons why Remus reckoned he’d had a crush on his best friend for much longer than 4 months. Sirius’ looks just made it crystal clear, but Remus had been falling for him for years. Maybe love wasn’t such a strong word after all...

On the way back to their dormitory, Sirius asked: “Is it that Ravenclaw guy you study with at the library? What’s his face? Oliver?”

An obvious choice, but wrong. “Shut up,” Remus said, looking straight ahead, but the corners of his mouth lifted.

“Okay.” Sirius put his hands up, smiling. “Not Oliver, then.”

Sirius kept prodding him like that every once in a while for the following two weeks. Sometimes he would point at a random bloke in the hall and ask if that was Remus’ mystery crush. It made Remus laugh. Generally, it didn’t bother him at all and even became rather amusing. It grew into a sort of an inside joke between them.

They were sitting side by side at dinner one evening after all the students had returned from the holidays. Sirius was in his curious, mischievous mood.

“Oh! The- the muggle kid we hung out with last Christmas? When we were at James’,” he tried.

“Hah, no,” Remus answered, “I saw him like twice.” Sirius huffed.

“Is it somebody from home, then? Somebody I don’t know?”

Remus could’ve lied. He could’ve lied so easily. Still, he decided against it, given how dreadful he was at keeping life-changing secrets. He shook his head, looking at his plate. Sirius leaned so close to him, their shoulders touched. He all but started bouncing in his seat.

“So it is someone from Hogwarts!” Remus didn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he shoved a particularly packed fork into his mouth. They were silent for a few moments, then: “Is it Snivellus?”

“Yuck, Sirius!” Remus shoved his shoulder as they both laughed.

“So, why don’t you just tell this bloke of yours, then?”

“Ha. Because he’s straight.”

“Oh, bummer. Sorry, Moony.”

Remus wanted to bang his head on the table. If only Sirius knew he was apologising for himself being straight. “It is how it is.”

Back in their dorm, a parcel was sitting on Sirius’ bed. “Padfoot, something arrived for you earlier. I paid the owl,” James explained.

“Oh, yes! They arrived! Cheers, mate.” Sirius leapt onto his bed and started tearing the paper. “What is it,” James asked, leaning closer to Sirius’ bed and peering at the package. Remus and Peter were doing the same. “My rings,” he exclaimed, sliding a silver loop onto his finger. He placed one on his ring finger, one on his thumb and two on his index finger, then stretched out his arm to examine his hand. They were all different shapes.

“Wicked,” James blurted out.

“Yeah, wicked,” Peter repeated. Remus could just sit and gawk like his mouth was sewn shut. What the fuck, Remus thought. He’s trying to kill me. It was hot. It was hot. Like his hands could get any sexier.

“Don’t worry, Moony, it’s not real silver,” Sirius said with the biggest grin on his face. Remus could just nod, swallowing thickly. Yeah, that was a good excuse for why he was baffled.

Sirius wore his rings everywhere. To class, to every meal, sneaking around the castle at night to arrange their next prank. And Remus loved it. After the initial bewilderment subsided, he adored looking at them. However, it didn’t help reduce his massive fucking crush on Sirius. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Girls would come up to Sirius at lunch to tell him ‘his rings look amazing’, and Remus would almost start growling. It was a bit of a problem. He needed to repeatedly tell his brain to shut up in these moments.

***

Sirius was running out of ideas for who Remus' infamous crush could be. Remus was a bit concerned he would actually figure it out. However, Sirius just started bringing it up less and less. It seemed like the entire thing was blowing over and Remus was getting away with it.

They were sitting on James’ bed, leaned over the map. There was nobody else in the dorm. Their bodies were close together, Remus’ right shoulder behind Sirius’ left.

“Good old Prongsy,” Sirius said. James’ dot on the map was in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Lilly’s dot was right next to it. “He’s probably making an idiot of himself again. Poor lad’s gonna get himself hexed.” Remus laughed.

“I admire him,” Remus said, “I would have died from embarrassment by now.”

“Oh, have you seen it?!” Sirius suddenly turned to look at him, their noses almost brushed. Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

“Seen what?”

“The abomination James made for Evans for Valentine’s day!”

“For Valentine’s? But it’s January,” Remus said as Sirius opened the drawer of James’ bedside table and reached inside. He pulled out a wooden cube that fit in the palm of his hand.

“It opens on my voice for now. Later he’ll change it to activate when Evans says ‘James’.” In that moment the top of the box popped open and the sides fell to reveal a petit yellow bird figurine. Just as Remus thought: Oh, this is cute, a blearing sound spread through the room. “Evans,” the bird boomed in James’ voice, “go on a date with me this Hogsmeade weekend!” Remus grimaced at the volume of the noise.

“My idea to make it loud,” Sirius said with a proud grin.

“Oh, why did you help him with it?!” Remus started laughing.

“He’s gonna transfigure it into a real bird and make it sit oh her shoulder giving her compliments the whole day. I haven’t decided whether I’m gonna let him go through with it. Reckon it might be worth it to see the look on Evans’ face.”

“This is bad.” Remus couldn’t stop sniggering. “This is so bad.”

“The lad has no shame. Maybe you could make one for your mystery man. I bet it would change his views,” Sirius joked. He was being incredibly charming. Remus couldn’t help it. When you’re not supposed to look at something, it’s all your eyes want to do. He dropped his gaze to Sirius’ flawless lips. It wasn’t discreet at all. Remus realised he was leaning towards him, smiling stupidly. Sirius’ eyes flickered between Remus’ as realisation flashed across his expression. He drew back a little. “Oh,” was all he said. Remus’ smile dropped suddenly as he pulled back as well.

“Me?”

Remus’ heart was thumping in his ears. It kind of felt like his soul was leaving his body. No, actually, he was sure his soul was leaving his body. Suddenly, he scrambled off the bed frantically, saying: “Fuck, sorry,” then crossed the room in three large, quick steps and bolted out the door. “Moony,” he heard the dim and distant shout. Deja vu. Only this time he’d had enough sense to grab the map.

Part 1 Part 3

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: Height Difference

Day 1 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Height Difference!

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 1: Height Difference. It’s his 14th birthday and Aang is feeling frustrated. Katara wants to help and Aang confides in her about some of his insecurities.

Word Count: 2.2K

After a long day of festivities, night had finally fallen across the Fire Nation palace, and Aang and Katara were ready to head to bed and get some well-earned rest.

The couple had just finished up at the banquet and silently walked through the dimly lit halls to Aang’s room so as to not alert Katara’s overprotective brother. Though they had merely been cuddling the last few nights before sleeping, Sokka would surely throw a fit if he knew that they were sharing a room at all, hence a bit of secrecy was needed.

At last, they arrived- the third door on the right in the central wing of the palace had been designated the Avatar’s quarters since as early as Kyoshi’s time. It was a fair distance away from the rest of the bedrooms in the west wing, and it also had far more extravagant commodities with its own mini-courtyard and balcony, giving the pair plenty of space to get away from the rest of the world and simply enjoy being with each other.

“Today was fun,” Katara sighed as they finally entered the room, taking off her shoes at the entrance and immediately going towards the inviting bed.

She let herself fall onto the soft mattress, groaning softly as her limbs were finally able to relax after a long day of dancing, cooking, and celebrating for the airbender’s 14th birthday, while Aang gently closed the door with a soft thump.

“Yeah,” Aang chuckled as he joined her on the bed. He pulled some of the thin cotton sheets over them and then curled up next to her on his side.“It sure was... something.”

The waterbender shifted slightly to allow her boyfriend to rest his head in the crook of her neck and absentmindedly traced the outline of the blue arrow on his head while he closed his eyes in contentment.

“Something?” she questioned. Katara furrowed her eyebrows, her movements faltering. “Did you not have fun, Aang?”

The airbender winced when he heard the twinge of hurt in Katara’s voice. She hadn’t been trying to make it sound that way, but she had been planning the event for weeks and naturally was a little offended by the implication of his words.

“Oh. No, sweetie, I didn’t mean it that way. The party was amazing! The food, the drinks, the music, everything was spectacular. You did an amazing job, and it means a lot to me that you care so much.”

Katara let out a quiet breath of relief, resuming her gentle touches to his tattoos.

“Of course I care, sweetie. You’re my boyfriend, and I love you. That’s why if you didn’t like it, I won’t be mad, really.”

Aang tilted his head up and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “That wasn’t it, I promise. I just… I had  a bit on my mind today.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him tenderly.

He sighed and buried his face in her neck. “I guess... it would be nice to get it off my chest. It’s not like anyone else would get it anyways.”

The waterbender gave him a curious look, silently encouraging him to continue.

“It’s so stupid, but I heard some nobles talking when I stepped away to get us some water. They just kept going on and on about how much of a child I was and how I’m too young and too scrawny and too short for you, and, well, they’re right!”

He turned his body away from her now frowning face and pulled the blankets snug around his body like a protective cocoon.

“You’re almost 16, Tara,” Aang murmured. “A young woman in every sense of the word. Spirits, you’re of marrying age in a month! Me? I’m just a loser kid you found washed up in an iceberg. How could I ever be deserving of you?”

“Oh, Aang…”

She shifted onto her side as well and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his back and listening to the rhythm of his breathing.

“Those nobles are utterly ridiculous. First of all, it’s only two years! What difference does two years make in the long run? It doesn’t, that’s what. My parents were four years apart and were the happiest two people in the world! A gap of two years is insignificant,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Second of all, sure we’re young, but considering that we saved the world even younger, I think it’s safe to say we’ve matured beyond our years. We’re certainly old enough to know we love each other, and that’s all that matters.”

“Doesn’t change the other part though,” Aang muttered in response. “Spirits, I’m 14 and barely the same height as you. A little shorter if we’re being honest. It’s so annoying! Why can’t I just grow up already?”

“Sweetie?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean for this to come off the wrong way, but why do you care about that? What difference does it make?”

The airbender remained silent for a few moments and pondered her question, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“The monks had always taught me to judge people based on the content of their character, not their exterior, and to draw satisfaction from being self-assured, rather than care about what other people thought. And in most cases I feel like I do that pretty well, but…”

“But?”

A subtle pink tinted Aang’s cheeks and he took her hands in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“You’re different, Katara. You’re the one I love more than anything, the one I would do anything for, the one whose opinions, thoughts, and feelings mean the world to me. You’re the most amazing person on the planet, and you deserve someone worthy of you. Look at Haru and Jet! They were both older and taller and so even something as small as noticing the height difference when we’re dancing kinda hurts. It just feels like I’m the odd one out. I know that’s silly but-”

The waterbender cut him off and shook her head.

“It’s not silly, Aang. Believe me, I’ve felt the same way more times than I’d care to admit. But, in the end, none of that matters. I love you. I chose you . You’re not just my boyfriend, you’re my best friend."

He turned back around to face her and swept her up in an embrace, mind immediately put at ease by her words.

“Plus,” she continued, “So what if you’re a little shorter than me now? You’ll grow in no time. Quite frankly, I’ll miss being taller than you when you do.”

The airbender quirked an eyebrow. “You’ll miss it?”

Katara chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, right at the tip of his arrow.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I will. Being able to do that, not having to look up or go on my toes trying to kiss you, I won’t be able to do all that forever. Things like kisses, hugs, they’re a lot more… accessible with our current heights.”

“Hmm,” Aang hummed. “I guess I never really thought of it like that. I still want to grow taller of course, but when you put it like that, I might miss this a little bit too.”

“Let’s not get too carried away with the future, okay?” Katara laughed. “We have our whole lives ahead of us, let’s just stay in the present- the present where I love you, and you love me, and nothing else matters.”

The airbender grinned with her, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I like the sound of that. Thank you, sweetie. For listening, for the reassurance, just everything. It means a lot.”

“Of course, sweetie. I’m always here.”

Katara pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck as Aang returned it, pulling her closer to him. They broke apart after a few seconds and grinned like idiots at one another. There was silence, but it was comfortable. The two didn’t need words, they were just enjoying being with each other.

“It’s getting late,” the waterbender murmured after some time. “We should probably go to bed.”

“Probably,” Aang whispered back, unable to take his eyes off the angel in front of him. With a flick of his wrist, he put out the candles that had been lighting up the room and settled into his pillow as Katara drew closer to him and interlocked their fingers.

“Good night, Aang. Love you,” she said, beginning to drift off to the dream realm.

“Love you too, Tara,” the airbender yawned. “Sweet dreams.”

One year later…

“Happy birthday!” the room chorused as Aang blew out all his 15 candles.

The airbender grinned and began to cut the apple cake- an ancient recipe of the Air Nomads recreated by some of the top chefs in the Fire Nation as a gift from Zuko.

“Thanks guys!” Aang laughed. “Man, it’s crazy to think that the war has been over for a little more than two years now.”

Katara smiled and leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“We’ve all done a lot of growing up. We’re older, more mature-” she gave Aang a quick look from head to toe. “ Taller .”

He chuckled, pulling her close to him and peppering kisses all over the top of her head. She was right, of course- as if triggered by their conversation that night, Aang had grown rapidly over the next year. A month later he was the same height as her, two months following he was comfortably able to rest his arm on her shoulder, and now, a year later, he towered above her with her eyebrows barely at his chin.

“Ugh,” Sokka groaned. “Give it a rest you two. The oogies are out of control! Spirits, you act like a newly wedded couple still in the honeymoon stage half the time.”

“Oh, leave them alone, Sokka,” Suki chided. “It’s his birthday! Let’s give the lovebirds some alone time. They’re just kids, they’re nowhere near that yet.”

“Yeah, haha, absolutely not,” Aang nervously laughed as the other couple exited the room. The stone pendant in his pocket began to feel like poisonous lead weighing down his vision for the hopefully not-so-distant future.

“You never know,”  the airbender heard Katara mumble, so quiet he wasn’t even sure she had actually said it. “Sometimes things will come when you least expect it.”

He stood there blankly for a moment, brain struggling to process her words and had just opened his mouth to ask her what she meant (she couldn’t possibly be talking about what he thought she was… right?) when she decided to speak up instead.

“I can’t believe you were ever nervous about staying short, sweetie,” Katara quipped, her eyebrows raised teasingly.

Aang merely blinked at the subject change, promptly concluding that the last thirty seconds were simply a figment of his imagination, and sheepishly scratched the back of his head in response to her comment.

“I guess it was kinda silly, huh,” he laughed. “Look at us now.”

The waterbender pouted, going up on the balls of her feet and craning her neck to gaze up at him. “You’re too tall for your own good. I miss when you were shorter and I didn’t have to tilt my head every time just to look at you.”

“Oh c’mon, it has its benefits.”

He gave her a quick look to warn her for what he was about to do, and with one swift motion, Katara was suddenly off the ground and in Aang’s arms bridal-style, her arms around his neck and their gazes interlocked.

The airbender touched their foreheads together and gave her a cheesy grin.

“I couldn’t do this before, now could I?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow up at her.

“No,” Katara smiled, her head tilted as she looked at him endearingly, “I suppose you couldn’t. And I certainly won’t be one to complain about you holding me more often.”

Aang laughed and carefully set her back down, hearing the growing volume of the room next to them. He quickly grabbed the two full glasses on the table and handed one to the waterbender.

“Here’s to hoping you’re the one who grows by next year so my neck isn’t always sore from looking down at you,” he said as he held his drink up.

Katara gave him a dry stare before rolling her eyes and smiling.

“Cheers.”

The two clinked their glasses and turned to face the door behind which the rest of their friends had already begun to celebrate.

“Shall we?” Aang asked as he held out his arm to her.

“We shall,” Katara responded, accepting it. “Happy birthday, Aang.”

[wixelt]

Sand (Hermitverse AU)

The first thing False Symmetry really noticed, beyond the splitting headache pounding unrelentingly at her skull, was the heat.

It bore down on her with an unrelenting fury that little else save for fire and lava could match. Before she'd even opened her eyes, she knew she had to be in a desert.

As if the sand shifting beneath her hands and the blazing sunlight piercing her eyelids wouldn't have told her that already.

Prone on her back, False groaned, doing her best to push through the painful miasma clouding her thoughts. She cracked one eye open slowly, then the other, wincing only slightly as the sun’s glare brightened in her gaze.

“Owww...” she shook her head weakly, staring up at the cloudless sky above. Steeling herself, she gritted her teeth. “O-Okay, let's try...”

Then, with another groan of aching effort, she drew her legs inward, pivoting upward and forward into a sitting position as best she could. Joints still protesting, she slumped, catching her breath as her body decided exactly how messed up it was.

False would normally have said she'd been through worse and would be fine, but as much as that might have been true for the pain itself, she really had no precedent for, well, any of this, really.

“What was it...?” she muttered wearily to herself, still a small part delirious as she glanced about, searching for any notable landmarks as she sought to get her bearings on exactly how she’d wound up in this situation. But…

Nope. Just sand, sand, more sand and— oh look, even more sand over there, too. Joy.

It probably didn't help that she was surrounded on all sides by tall, imposing dunes and sand cliffs. That kind of thing really limited how far someone could see.

Which meant there was probably some climbing in her near future.

False’s headache – though slowly fading – pulsed again, reminding her that she was in no fit state to even stand properly, let alone make that sort of ascent.

Normally, she’d listen to common sense. In the face of… whatever was going on, though...

False managed to begin only barely standing before she visibly winced, immediately dropping and clutching her head with a barely restrained cry of pain, sand displacing slightly beneath her as she abruptly fell, feet sliding out from beneath her.

Okay, so… Maybe not just yet.

“Damn.” The blonde warrior sighed to herself, running her hands down her face in an effort to centre herself, wiping the perspiration from her eyes. She really wasn’t liking being a sitting duck like this. It didn’t suit her at all.

Especially given what was happening.

…

…come to think of it, what was happening?

False’s brow furrowed, doing her best to draw together scattered fragments of recent memory floating about amidst her disarray. They were… less than cooperative, but slowly a picture she could recognize began to form, to her slight relief.

She remembered… panic. That, at least, had been pretty consistent.

In fact, she was fairly sure that once the shock of suddenly waking up in a blisteringly hot desert wore off and she was able to overcome her mild concussion to get her whereabouts, some manner of nervous breakdown would be due.

That wasn’t going to be very constructive at the moment, though, so as for now…

There’d been a light, of some kind, False recalled. This unnatural, all-consuming glow that had descended from the heavens above, washing over the island and all its surroundings in twisted, impossible waves. The land itself had almost felt as if it were unravelling beneath her feet, the air permeated by this inescapable sense of… wrongness.

Though she was wary to admit it, it recalled the unease she sometimes felt around one of Impulse’s void holes, cracked in the bedrock to appease whatever new manner of joking pseudo deity a ‘Boatem’ was meant to be. This time, however, the feeling had been multiplied a thousand-fold, instincts screaming at her to run in the other direction.

The pieces beginning to slot back into place, she remembered that as the broken light had subsumed all before them, she and Jevin had stepped between it and the other two in the group, Stress and Gem both caught in the moment, neither a pushover but both frozen in the suddenness of the situation, unsure what to do.

Against such a large wave of force, however, such an act – though one False hoped would be seen as courageous rather than stupid in hindsight – had been pointless, and she had whited out, only to wake amidst burning sands with – unless her senses were deceiving her – a completely drained internal inventory.

Alone.

In a creepy desert that was – the longer she paid attention it – seeming more and more unsettlingly quiet, even lacking much wind in its stillness.

Which meant… Wait.

“Oh no…” Eyes bulging in alarm, False shot to her feet to with practised but haphazardly frantic speed, “Oh no, no, no… No!” Her skull pulsed again, but it was weak enough now that she could ignore it. With nothing more than a brief, dizzied stumble, she was moving.

Suddenly, the glaring and alarmingly absolute absence of three others was the only thing on her mind.

“JEVIN!” False’s booted feet scrabbled wildly against the unhelpfully loose sand, the soft and uneven ground easily giving way with every step as she desperately scrambled up the side of one of the dunes, seeking higher ground. Her voice echoed for a moment amidst the dunes and cliffs with a call for the friend within the trio that she’d known the longest, but it was quickly swallowed up by the desert’s oppressive emptiness.

No answer.

“GEM?!” Her tone was more fear-tinged, now, sights darting back and forth searchingly as she rose faster, now, finally finding some more solid footing beneath the top layer. Quickly, she surged forward, one foot in front of the other as she called out for a more recent friendship a second time, “GEM!”

Still no answer.

Please, come on…

“…STRESS…?” False tried, a little weaker but no less vocal, for the ray of unyielding positivity she hoped would uncloud this mess, trailing off a little as hopelessness clawed at her, no response once again leading to an eerie, uncomfortable silence. She did her best to brush it aside, however. She was stronger than that. She had to be, for them.

They’d… They’d probably just been scattered. That had to be it. They were almost certainly around here somewhere. All she needed to do was find them, and they could make their way back to the island – though only the gods knew just how they’d ended up in such a distant and unfamiliar desert biome, far beyond the limits of their new world’s current resource gathering borders – and Xisuma could clear up this whole mess.

It’d just be another weird happening that the Hermits could all look back on years from now and laugh about… right?

Even as the thought crossed her mind, something in the pit of False’s stomach – some long-refined warrior’s instinct – told her that wasn’t going to happen.

The others were all resourceful when push came to shove, though. They… They’d be fine until they could group up.

“Ungh…” False grunted, staggering slightly and almost losing her footing on the unstable ground. She scowled to herself, pressing ever onward to the potential vantage point up above, only steps away from her, now. To a place where she could work out where the others were, and equally as much where she was. “Come on…” With one final push, accompanied by a grunt of effort, she finally crested the top of the vast dune.

“Good… Right!” she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Now where… am… I…?”

False slowed to a stop atop the dune, trailing off into the overbearing silence. She fell slack jawed, struck dumb as the gravity of her situation set in from the sight before her alone.

In the days and weeks to come – and even beyond that – this feeling of being completely and dangerously out of her depth would be propagated by how this terrible, lonely eldritch desert seemed to span infinitely in every direction, no trace or slightest notation of healthy green visible on the horizon no matter which way she looked. The true sign of a dying world.

The lack of any doorways, hidden as they were, out of this realm and into others – the kind that usually appeared in every world, be they natural or admin placed – would only further exacerbate that feeling once the initial wave of helplessness passed.

Right now, however, there was one thing and one thing alone that drew her attention. That caused her skin to crawl at its very sight, though she did not yet entirely know why.

And it filled her entire vision like a looming titan, still a good distance away but a vast and unignorable dark, mechanical blotch on the hellish sands around, nonetheless.

False stared at the giant, rusting mechanical hand, half-submerged in the yellow surface, reaching for the heavens, fingers outstretched in an unmoving, statue-like impression of life. A moment frozen in time and yet telling of a long spanning, lost history that was best left unknown.

And though it lacked eyes with which to stare out at her, False knew it saw her too.

“Oh… Crap.”

----

Ages ago, I had an idea. An idea that featured the MCYTverse suffering a massive metaphysical event that severs/destabilizes connections between most worlds, energetic events befalling the worlds closest to the epicenter.

In this AU, the Hermits’ world would be one of the closest, causing it to be scrambled and the Hermits to be scattered to the winds, thrown to the great beyond and spat out elsewhere, washing up across the multiverse, alone where they don’t belong. Some would arrive in worlds with friends, some in worlds with faces familiar to you or me but lesser known to them, and some in worlds long forgotten.

The ways between worlds would be unstable, making hopping through a portal to reunite with friends near-impossible.This would be a challenge to be tackled alone. And with such diverse situations - and crossover potential - each Hermit would have their own difficulties.

At the time, I didn’t go ahead with the AU because I was told someone else was already planning an near-identical AU, but I've seen little signs of it since, and have concluded that there’s also no reason two AUs with similar premises can’t coexist anyway.

So while I don’t know if i’ll carry on from this, I had a fic snippet idea I wanted to get out for this Hermitverse AU, so feel free to let me know what you think, and if I got False’s “voice” right. Also, I haven’t stated the world she’s ended up in, but I feel like it’s a relatively easy guess contextually, and I may add it to the tags once someone picks up on it. :P

Enjoy!

[jjaeong]

The Heiress, & The Twelve. Act I.

Episode I: For I Am, Who I Think I Am Not.

Series: KPOP Girl Group: 이달의 소녀 (LOONA).

Pairing: OT12 & Mafia Heiress Female Reader.

Summary: Twelve girls are bound by a string of fate, with the priority of keeping a completely clueless girl alive who was unaware of the responsibility that would soon fall upon her shoulders. In which Y/L/N Y/N was the Heiress to a first ranking Mafia Family, and had to live in complete secrecy until the day of her return.

Heels clicked against the marbled tiles, a short haired woman adorned a simple white blouse with a plain black tie and a shining green gemstone pin, fitted dress pants, and a matching pair of boots made her way through the silence of the halls. Soon reaching the large mahogany doors that almost reached the ceiling, the woman didn't hesitate to push the doors open and pause in the middle of the spacious room. She bowed before announcing her arrival to the gray haired man that stood by the tall windows, back facing her as his eyes scanned the garden beyond the glass of his quarters.

"I've arrived, boss." the man inhaled deeply, raising a hand to signal the woman to be at ease and so she straightened back to her height, side-eyeing the machinery that surrounded the king sized bed, and dressers that were once filled with family portraits—now occupied by numerous paraphernalia for various medication. The sharp-eyed woman clenched her jaw, studying the man who kept his back turned to her yet she could almost hear his contemplation out loud.

It's gotten worse.

"Do you need me to call for the doctor, sir? I can ask Vivi to take charge until I've finished the task."

"No, I specifically called you for a reason, Haseul." the man turned his head slightly, just enough to make sure that he could see the young woman through his peripheral vision who was patiently awaiting for orders. His heart clenched as only for a moment, the sight of her reminded him of a younger version of herself, one that he had once found in the streets doing errands for another Family to make sure that she comes home with enough coins to feed a child that could barely even formulate a word—stating that she had found the child the abandoned, wandering the streets alone—to which the young girl then decided to claim as her own sister.

The old man then asked if they wanted to work for him instead, and with Haseul's dim eyes shining brightly at the offer—a wary expression quickly cast on her small, rugged features, stating that they'll be chased by those whom gave her orders. Soon enough, the old man took care of it himself, and the two scrawny children that sat in the dining hall with the boss were shoving their meals down their throats as if their lives depended on it—but the old man didn't mind, lips pulled up into a small smile as he sipped on his wine.

"How is your sister? She's doing well, I hope." Haseul's eyes stayed glued on the back of the boss' head, feeling slightly distressed at how it seemed as if the usual dismissive and busy man had time to even ask for such easily answered questions.

"She is, sir. She's attending classes at this very moment."

"I've been reminiscing the times where she'd barge in the meeting room with the loudest greeting.." the man chuckled to himself, sighing without noticing the pained expression that had now set on Haseul's face as she swallowed thickly.

"She's living well with the other five, but I'll make sure to ask her to drop by sometime.."

"And.. Yves?" Haseul's eyes snapped back to the boss, watching as he finally turned to face her with a distant look in his eyes.

"Sir—"

"I need to know if she's taking care of her." as he moved to take a seat, the old man slightly staggered—making Haseul reflexively take a step towards him but he quickly placed a hand on his desk, regaining his balance with a frustrated look on his face.

"Is she being taken care of?" Haseul could only nod in reply when he looked back at her, she could see the internal struggle that had been building up in his aged features as he slowly lowered himself on his chair. Inhaling deeply as he finally sat in peace, leaned back, staring across the room blankly.

"It won't be long until she comes home," the old man's eyes set on a picture frame that stood tall on his desk where the image of the familiar face of his eldest son, his wife and a baby girl smiling happily back at him, "will I ever be able to meet her? My own granddaughter.."

"Is that why you called for me?" Haseul dared to ask just when the boss started to look solemn, but though the boss was as strict as any boss can be—he was never unkind to those of which he raised as his own.

He did however, looked at Haseul displeasingly as if he's wasn't dying and this was just another day where the old man slightly questions if the girl really did grow up under his supervision.

"No, I have an order only I can give you—and I alone." and so the old man started speaking, pulling out a document from a drawer under his desk and laying it out on the surface for Haseul to read. As she read what had been written on the parchment, she felt her heart drop as she stared down at the contents—her own body practically refusing to listen her boss speak any further, vision blurring while the old man continued to tell her exactly what would be her final order from him. Haseul was numb the second she had left her boss' quarters, stiffly making her way down the hall with nothing but agony and dread washing over her as everything slowly sank in. If it wasn't for Vivi's arms that had quickly caught her once she'd rounded the corner, the short-haired woman would've broke down alone on the empty hall—but there they sat on the ground, Haseul's heartbreaking sobs echoing through the silence, Vivi's hushed whispers and protective arms wrapped around the girl, Haseul could almost feel the emptiness that was once her reality and had been completed because of the boss' compassion return.

"How long do we have until we come for her?" her eyes continued to stare down blankly at the name engraved on the tombstone, tearing her eyes away from the marble to look at the taller, dark haired woman with distinct sharp features—particularly, the slope of her jawline—that stood behind her. With her arms crossed and craned neck as she eyed Haseul with a focused gaze, the leader could only glance at the tombstone before taking a deep breath and tiredly walking past her to start leading them towards the cars.

"A year."

"A year!? What—she'll be our boss when she's barely through her junior year? What's the difference with just going right now!?" Haseul pinched the bridge of her nose as the other woman leaned over to express her dismay, making her stop on her tracks to look at the taller girl pleadingly.

"It's in the paper, Jinsol. You've all read it, please don't make me repeat the order that I've been assigned to do—if you want to press on this further, take it up with Kahei, please." Jinsol eyed the drained girl infront of her, shaking her head before reaching over to place a comforting hand on her shoulder in attempt to console the older girl.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh it's just.. We're defenseless, it doesn't sit right—not having a real boss," Haseul nodded solemnly, failing to meet Jinsol's worried gaze, "it's not fair that he left you with it, even if everyone would catch a bullet for you if you commanded it. Haseul, it's.. Just not right." Jinsol tried her best to empathize with the girl, though lacking the ability of wording it out. However, Haseul felt the sincerity in her tone and just gave her a small smile in reply—already mentally preparing herself for a year of temporary boss until they're finally ready to get you.

"Everything will go as smoothly as it always has, Jinsol. We'll have our boss back before we know it."

"Yo!" you squinted your eyes at the sudden figure blocking you from the view of the sun, the familiar wide smile and crinkled eyes directed at you as she beamed—dare you'd say that though she was blocking the sun from behind her, it was as if she shined even brighter than the source itself.

"Yo.." she let out a hitch-pitched excited squeal before occupying the space next to you on the bleachers, popping open her water bottle as her eyes aimlessly scanned the open field, lingering on the blonde that ran at ease—leading everyone else behind her.

"What 'cha doing?" the girl next to you asked with a melody, leaning over to invade your personal space even further—her nose practically pressing up against your left cheek while you watched the students at the field. Maybe if you were still a freshmen and the older girl smothered you with affection like this as she usually did, you would've been all flustered and stumbling with your words. But it's been years since the school's precious Student Council Vice President—the "Sunshine Goddess" as they've repeatedly called her since she transferred—and "Just-who-even-is-that-girl?" Y/N's dating rumors had died down, the infatuation had subsided and now you were left with the most lovable and affectionate puppy that never missed a day on telling you that she loved you.

Oh what people would give to have Student Council Vice President Kim Jiwoo's love and affection.

"Skipping class." you answered monotonously, hearing a loud gasp coming from Jiwoo who quickly clasped her water bottle shut, rising from her spot to look down at you—completely horrified at your reply. She grabbed you by your hand that was subconsciously picking on the hem of your uniform's coat, making you look back up at her as the girl pouted at you.

"Yah! Ha Y/N, Take your classes more seriously! Do you have any idea what you could be missing in your class right now? What would you do if someone told you to solve calculus or you'll die!?"

"I'll ask if I can call a friend, and I'll see if my Jiwoo-unnie can solve it for me. If she can't—then I guess I'll just die. So much for having an Unnie that's a year level above mine.."

"Y/N!" Jiwoo really did look bothered by your joke, but she looked adorable even in her worried state which made you pull your hands up in surrender.

"I'm not skipping class, we have a substitute teacher for today and he asked us to finish the homework that was given yesterday—I already finished it so I asked if I could leave early and now I'm here."

"Hey! You two! What do you think you're doing up there!?" both your eyes snapped over to a flustered, slightly ragged breathing Kim Jungeun standing by the bottom of the steps, a hands on her hips with her sharp eyes squinted to look at you and Jiwoo through the sunlight. Jiwoo tugged on your hand that she'd been holding onto, shaking it as if to mimic a wave towards the Student Council President who only looked even more irritated than when she squinted her eyes at you two.

"Jungie! Y/N left class early to watch us do PE!"

"And you actually believe her!?" Jungeun shouted from her spot, her volume loud enough for a few of their classmates who were doing laps to glance at the three of you nosily. One student who glanced at you briefly made eye contact with Jiwoo, and you swear the girl was smiling the last time you saw her—but the paling of the students face made you think otherwise. Though when you looked back at Jiwoo, she was smiling warmly at you.

"I said I was sorry, Jungeun-unnie! Will you ever let that go?" you asked the older girl by the bottom of the steps, but she only raised a brow at you before shooting you a disapproving look and letting out a 'tsk', pointing at Jiwoo.

"Enabler! Back in the field, now!"

"But the teacher's not even back yet!"

"If she says twenty laps, then it's twenty! You've only done ten! Maybe if you even tried to stop yourself from being too excited talk to Y/N—you would've already doubled that!" Jungeun pointed at the field behind her, making Jiwoo groan and start mumbling under her breath as she glanced at you before making her way down the bleachers. The blonde president raised her chin as Jiwoo lowered her eyes right back at her, handing her the water bottle before reaching the field and breaking into a full sprint. You watched in awe how she had already reached a few remaining students across the field whom were all tired out of their minds, Jiwoo zoomed past them—eyes practically overflowing with irate.

"You should head home early, I heard it's going to rain heavily today." Jungeun said as she settled on Jiwoo's previous spot next to you, the girl scanning the side of your face—your eyes following Jiwoo around the field. You turned to look at Jungeun just as she popped the bottle open, taking a few mouthfuls of water before screwing it shut to place on the space between the two of you.

"I'm pretty sure that wherever you got that forecast from—is inaccurate," Jungeun reached behind her to pull the band off her ponytail, letting her blonde locks fall loosely on her shoulders as she looked at you with intrigue, "The skies answer to one person, and one person only. And that person's name is Ha Sooyoung."

"Ha Sooyoung? Sooyoung-unnie? Your older sister?" you almost felt offended when Jungeun cackled at the mention of your older sister, until you remembered that the year your sister was just about to graduate—she apparently got close enough with Jungeun and Jiwoo through her final stretch as Student Council President at the time, enough for her to ask the two girls to watch over you as she always had until you could only see each other at home with the older girl being in college.

"She never fails at that, always giving me an umbrella when it actually rains. Ever since we were kids! But today, she didn't give me an umbrella so.. Your forecast is wrong, Unnie."

"That Unnie.. Teaching you all the wrong things in life.." you snorted at the the teasing tone before looking up at the clear blue sky, to which Jungeun did the same.

"But maybe I should, actually. Sooyoung-unnie took a day off from her internship for some reason, maybe we could grab a bite to eat or spend some time together." Jungeun leaned over to bump her shoulder against yours, grinning at you when you gave her a look.

"You're going to be like this with us when we graduate too, aren't you Y/N? You're going to miss our affection~"

"What is this? Unnie! Please not you too!"

"Hey! How dare you two be cute without me!? I'm not taking no for an answer when I come over there and kiss you both!" Jiwoo, who had finally finished running her laps hurriedly ran up the bleachers at the sight of Jungeun's arms wrapped around you as she attempted to land a kiss your cheek. The three of you ended up tangled on the ground, laughing loudly just as the school bell in the background, signalling the dismissal of all classes. Jiwoo and Jungeun headed to the showers as you waited patiently by the entrance of the field, you fiddled with the strap of your backpack that hung on one of your shoulders, eyes stuck on the view of students rustling through the parking lot, watching a few cars start pulling out of the driveway and conversations pass by.

There was one group however, four girls—one of them with striking mint colored hair whom you swore was from the same year level as you, but in another class—stood in the middle of the busy lot, the shortest of the four whom you'd assume was a freshmen, oddly hanging out with a junior and two sophomores, seemed to be in a serious conversation with them. The dark haired girl with the fiercest eyes you've probably laid eyes on in your entire life furrowed her brows at the girl as the mint-haired girl looked just about ready to walk out of the conversation—but the one girl with wavy brown hair seemed to be trying to ease the tension by slowly repeating the same words that the shorter girl had, a wary smile set on her lips as her eyes moved from one girl to another.

And then her eyes landed on you.

You quickly tore your eyes away from the four, acting as if you haven't been watching them the entire time their conversation was slowly getting heated. Just as you were about ready to turn and just wait in front of the shower room, you felt a quick tug on your arm—finding the familiar blinding smile of Jiwoo directed at you as she wrapped her arms around one of your own. But when her eyes seemed to have followed where Jungeun seemed to have went, her smile slowly fell into a thin line which made you look over to Jungeun too, staring at her back as she conversed with the four girls from earlier that you had been caught looking at.

"It's finally time, huh?" Jiwoo mumbled to herself, not noticing that though she practically whispered it—you heard her loud and clear. Whatever it was that Jiwoo was talking about, your inner voice clashed against the feeling in your gut that does not want to know what the older girl meant. Your eyes scanned the four girls that crowded around Jungeun—who's composure looked as collected as ever—when your eyes caught the mint-haired girl's oddly concerned ones and the fury that seemed to radiate from the short-haired girl..

What was going on?

"Who are they?" you asked, the question coming out as a whisper which didn't easily slide by Jiwoo, who's grip slightly loosen around your arm—yet you felt the older girl rest a cheek on your shoulder, squishing them lightly as she eyed the five.

"Good kids, you'll know soon." the way Jiwoo suddenly switched moods made you turn to look at her, the girl just looked up at you from her position just when Jungeun made her way back to you. You and Jiwoo barely even got a reaction from the blonde when she started to head over to her red Tesla on the reserved parking space which was a perk when you were a Student Council President—Jiwoo's parking space as the Student Council Vice President next to hers remained just as empty as the first year she'd been appointed in the position.

Jungeun basically drove for the both of them anyways, and when you suggested to Jiwoo to just rent her spot to profit off of it she refused—stating that she already had someone in mind that could occupy the space. You thought she meant that person to be you, but when you teaser her about it—she had quickly declared that you were never getting a driver's license.

"You'll always have us to drive you around."

It was cute how she said 'us' as if she had a license herself, so you let it slide.

"What did those kids want with you?" Jungeun brought the car to life, glancing at you from the rearview mirror just as you locked your seatbelt on. She quickly followed suit, looking over to Jiwoo who seemed to still struggle with hers no matter how many times a day she had to put it on—but Jungeun wordlessly leaned over to do it herself like always, and gone were Jiwoo's knitted brows of concentration to be replaced by a big beaming smile, ready to embark on a journey of a lifetime.

"We're crashing at yours tonight." you raised a brow at Jungeun's dismissive tone, opening your mouth to ask her what she even meant but Jiwoo turned the music on to squeal loudly when “Colors” by some girl group named “Girl of the Month” boomed through the speakers. The whole ride to your house was just spent with Jiwoo belting out whatever played on the radio, and the combined silence between you and Jungeun—but hers was different, you knew that deep, contemplative look on Jungeun's face only appears every once in a while when you were all hanging out. Usually, the girl wouldn't dare mix her school life with the fun energy she had always seemed to be in whenever it was you three but..

This one felt different.

Even the way Jiwoo suddenly stopped singing when she realized how close you were to the view of your home—hell, even Jiwoo started to fidget on her seat.

"Do you think she remembers me?" Jiwoo looked down at her peach colored backpack in between her matching peach colored chucks, wiggling her feet in a jittery manner until she felt a hand rest on her knee. Jungeun shot her a knowing look, making sure Jiwoo saw her before she faced the road again, nodding firmly.

"I'm sure she does, but that's the last thing on everyone's minds right now."

"Right, yeah—of course! How weird of me." Jiwoo breathed out an awkward laugh before clearing her throat, glancing at your odd look directed towards her before she looked back intently at Jungeun. Jungeun side-eyed the girl, quickly getting flustered by how serious Jiwoo looked.

"I swear to whoever is up there that created this world, if she doesn't get down on one knee with a ring in her hand the moment we step foot in that house when you lock eyes—she's on my hit list."

"Kim Jiwoo! What are you even—"

"She's pretty, you're pretty. She's totally in love with you, you are in love with her even if you act like you're not but it's just because you're a Tsundere and we all love you for that—but I swear, Kim Jungeun I will combust—"

"Who's cars are parked outside my house?" your eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the sight of three expensive looking cars that was parked perfectly aligned just outside your garage. The second Jungeun pulls the car to a halt, you scrambled on your seat to unclasp your seat belt before grabbing your bag and pushing the door open. You could hear Jungeun calling for you in the background as you rushed to get inside your house—but not before eyeing the blue, yellow, and green cars that continued to intimidate you—you needed make sure that Sooyoung was okay. You pushed the front door open, racing over to the staircase and completely managing to miss a tall, dark haired woman by the entrance of the living room who lightly tapped on the fish tank—giggling to herself until she heard your heavy footsteps after the front door were rashly pushed open.

You were just about to walk past your room and barge into Sooyoung's when you collided against a figure that emerged from the open door of your own room, making you fall back on the ground with a thud as you stared at what seemed to be a pair of jean-clad knees. A large, yet soft looking hand was quickly outstretched in front of you, the impact had apparently managed to rattle you into silence helped you in taking the strangers hand with no hesitation for them to pull you up from the ground—eyes finally locking into yours.

"Y/N." was the only word she muttered, blinking at you as if she was nothing but a mere husk of the human she was supposed to be. The girl looked just about your age but you couldn't deny that she was way beyond just a simple girl, though the she looked almost robotic—it didn't stop her from scanning your face before eyeing you from head to toe in your shocked state, her mouth formed into an 'o' shape.

Her eyes were very pretty.

"You're very much prettier than the images Jiwoo-unnie sends us." and with that, the girl with the cat-like eyes' gaze softened as her lips pulled into a full smile. You didn't exactly know how to react at her statement, or even at the softest smile you've ever seen in your life—what is this girl even doing here?

And she just mentioned Jiwoo-unnie—what does she have to do with this?

"Kim Hyunjin! Jiwoo-unnie said the boss is—" a lower toned voice called from behind you, only to stop dead on her tracks with her eyes widened in shock.

"Here." the girl named Kim Hyunjin finished, peeking from behind you to grin at the light haired girl. You were almost certain that you had lost all your sense of comprehension, it was as if suddenly these strangers that stood in your halls that drove the expensive looking cars parked outside—looking exactly like those models in magazine covers that a child would want to grow up as, while those of the same age could only feel their innermost insecurities come crashing down on them at the sight—had completely shattered the peace that had once been in your home.

But if these were even Sooyoung's friends—would you even be shocked at the thought of a pretty girl being friends with other pretty girls?

"B-boss." the girl whom you've finally came to the conclusion that had distinctive European features bowed in greeting, you merely blinked at the sudden title that the girl had given you as an airy laugh was released behind you. Hyunjin's laugh then died down, with the girl that stayed in her position in front of you peeking as if awaiting for a signal of some sort.

"I.. No?"

"..No?" she asked in confusion at your attempt in trying to grasp the situation, her light brown hair swayed as she tilted her head at your words—to which you could only flush at before Hyunjin moved past you, grabbing her friend's shoulders with a teasing smile on her lips as she pulled her back to her height.

"She doesn't know yet," Hyunjin told the girl, an embarrassed look settling on her soft features to which she quickly waved her hands around as if to dismiss whatever that encounter was. Hyunjin giggled to then pat the girl's head, looking back at you with a knowing look on her face, "this is Jeon Heejin, my friend—my soul friend! She looks like a puppy doesn't she? I had the same thought the first time i met her—"

"Stop that!" the duo easily slipped into lighthearted bickering, to which you just stood there, watching as bewildered as ever with Hyunjin shaking her head and Heejin's small fists clenched—attempting to look even the slightest bit intimidating—only to look like an adorable child throwing a tantrum. The two quickly wrapped it up when you heard Sooyoung call you from downstairs, which then reminded you of why you rushed into the house in the first place so you slid past the two—making your way back down on the first floor with the duo following behind you, their bickering continues but now hushed as you almost had a heart attack when rounding the corner to find a tall, dark haired woman whom you'd assume was just about as old as Sooyoung, standing by the entrance of the living room.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" the woman merely spared you a glance, looking over to the two whom both nodded in confirmation. The woman looked back at you, almost in pity before she turned to enter the living room herself, not even saying a word to you.

But really, why are these girls in your house resembling every single campus crushes that every student had once seemed to fall for during their academic years?

"Unnie.. What the hell is going on?" you asked just as Sooyoung finally came into view, standing at the other end of the livingroom by one of the tall windows that she always made a point to keep the blinds drawn—but this time, she had them all shut, peeking through them as if to check the surroundings before locking eyes with you, sharp gaze quickly turning soft and her lips easing into what resembled a frown.

"Y/N—"

"Ha Y/N, please, have a seat." a woman your eyes barely passed by once you entered the room had called for your attention, she sat by one of the singular couches that had were supposed to face the television but instead, were all positioned as if in some kind of meeting room. It looked almost exactly like the position was in one of those films where there was a person of strength sitting on one end of the room, a few unoccupied chairs aligned by both sides to reach a specific chair that was meant to be for the person being questioned.

Your eyes watched Sooyoung take the seat between the sharp-eyed woman whom had a pondering look casted on her features as she started at you and the dark haired girl with the sharp jawline who now looked blank, making you break eye contact with the woman at the end of the room to acknowledge the orange-haired other woman that sat by her other side, looking almost serene as she sipped on her tea.

"Where are Kim Lip and Chuu?"

"Waiting for Gowon's team to arrive." the dark haired girl answered the now humming short-haired girl's question, watching as Hyunjin took the seat by your right, followed by Heejin sitting next to the dark haired girl on your left—eyeing everyone in the room before flashing you a small smile.

"Y/N?" the woman called for you attention yet again, an almost hesitant smile on her lips as she motioned for you to the seat in front of you, a few feet away from entirely facing her.

"Please." you swallowed sharply before settling down on the spot she hand kept insisting for you to occupy. Just before she could begin, approaching footsteps made you look up from the faces that were already present in the room, to feel the blood drain from your head down to your toes at the familiar sight of Kim Jungeun—now seated between Hyunjin and the orange-haired woman, adorning a luxurious looking velvet black suit with a blinding red pin contrasting her black tie. The pin had been intricately designed with nothing but red gemstones and a crescent-like symbol in on it's top with a golden silhouette of what resembled an owl in the middle of it.

"..Jungeun?" your friend turned to look up at you, a hint of apology in her eyes before she looked across from her to find the once blank looking member of the group—the woman with the sharp jawline—staring softly at Jungeun before she turned to look back at what you finally decided to point as..

Their Leader.

"Let's begin."

Hello~

I've decided to start my initial plan for this account on this fic. This was a series that had come to mind when I watched a rerun of Hitman Reborn and thought that yeah, mafia au's are pretty chill but the most I've read for the ones with this group was.. Are there even any? If so, I'd love to read them.

But initially, this had always been a reader included idea—almost shifted into a 2jin one (would probably write about as well when I can) but that would be a different universe compared to this one. And that plot would be fixed along with a handful of different groups but as I've said—I hope I can write it when I can.

This is only act one, probably.. made up of three acts? Twelve episodes each? When I finish the series, I'd probably make one shots of this universe—so many plans with such a short amount of time~

The plot would progress as it goes, minor ideas would make its way into major plots—nothing is of certain, who you would end up with is indefinite, the lore will be laid.. But the uncertainty that comes with this, when it will actually finish or just disappear into the drafts after five episodes or so..

I cannot guarantee even my own attachment to the plot, but it played well in my mind when I thought about it and so here I am. Though Congratulations on stumbling upon this fic, and I apologize if you ever become as immersed as I am with this.

Laters,

JJ.

> ovc: MUPLY (191108)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-42rI4-gkA

[janekfan]

OH another prompt... saw this one post about jon probably not doing well with waking up in unfamiliar places what with having been kidnapped so many times and having so much trauma with that and like what if he forgets where he is when he wakes up in the safe house and/or at upton house? bc that would be. disorienting and upsetting and scary huh!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517015

Staring wide-eyed up at an unfamiliar ceiling, Jon felt a kind of fear for he’d not experienced in a while having gotten sadistically used to being the most powerful being in a hellscape of his own making. He forced himself to hold still, unconsciously reaching out for abilities he no longer possessed in an effort to create a sense of safety.

Upton House.

Blindspot.

Right.

Right.

Martin was beside him, deeply asleep, and with considerable effort, Jon matched his slow, even breathing, the fingers of his scarred hand twisted into the filthy shirt he’d been traveling in above where his heart was doing its level best to painfully beat straight through his breastbone. Ever since his various kidnappings, waking up in strange places with no memory of how he came to be there inspired absolute panic until he could parse out the information. But he was here. In this realm buried in another realm where he couldn’t See. And Martin was here. Exhaustion rolled over him, a heavy, turbulent surf dragging him back out into the deep, and Jon turned onto his side to press against Martin’s soft warmth.

“Jon, Jon! What’s wrong?” This time it took solid minutes, scrabbling both for and against Martin, remembering that he was here, somewhere and that meant he was safe, desperate for his solid comfort and reassurance, terrified of the same hands keeping him in the bed. Keeping him from clawing at his own skin in his attempt to get out, out, out, away, away, away. Keeping him from escape! “Jon!” Back arching off the mattress, Jon attempted to twist out of grasping fingers trying to hold him down.

Wrists caught, held together in one hand, another brushing back sweaty curls. Soft words, soft touch, soft noise, soft. All soft.

All Martin.

Filling up his vision. Filling every sense up with him. With Martin. Only Martin.

“I, I...where. Where are we...?” He went lax, exhausted. Confused. Concerned when a crease appeared between Martin’s brows.

“You don’t remember?” A thumb traced his cheek, almost absently.

“N’n’no? Have. Are.”

“Hush, take a breath.”

Upton House.

Blindspot.

“I can’t See here.” Concrete thought was slippery, like trying to hold a handful of the fog that spread over the heath in the early mornings at the safe house.

Jon didn’t recognize this place. A strange light filtering through the windows illuminated Martin’s unconscious form next to him and his throat closed in panic and fear. How did they get here? Who had them? With more effort than it should have taken (had they been drugged? Is that why everything was so loose?) Jon forced himself up on trembling arms, trying not to wake Martin until he was certain of what was going on. Quietly, he slid from beneath clean silk sheets, reaching for the information needed to fill in all the empty spaces as he made his way across the lavish room.

None of this made any sense. But when he tried to dig deeper, to reach for the threads drifting further and further out of his reach, pain lanced through his head. It didn’t stop him from reaching again, probing, worrying at the blank like one would tongue at a loose tooth. It hurt. He had to. He needed to get Martin out of here before--

“Jon-love?”

“Martin...I, I.”

“What’s wrong?” Nothing? Was there nothing wrong? Martin didn’t seem worried but maybe he didn’t know how insidious the entities could be. Had they been tricked?

“Wh’where are we?” An emotion he couldn’t identify flickered over Martin’s face and distantly Jon wondered if they’d had this conversation before. It felt familiar? Like a faded dream or nightmare or memory. “Are we safe?”

“We’re safe.” Placating. So something was wrong. Was this even Martin? Was this a trick? Again, Jon reached for the bank of knowledge just out of his reach, dropping to his knees with the effort and the agony boring into his very self. Not?Martin stepped forward and Jon threw out a palm.

“No! NO! Stay back!”

“Jon?”

“I don’t. I can’t remember. I can’t See.” Shaking, wrapping himself up in cold, bony arms, he wanted Martin. “I. How do I know it’s you?” Voice quivering, tears dripped hot and fast from his chin.

“Oh, oh darling.”

“Who took me? Us. Us?” Martin? made no attempt to move forward or convince him, just lowered himself to the floor, patient. “Are we. Am I?”

“We’re safe.” And how could he believe that when he couldn’t Know? How could he trust his eyes when he knew the Stranger could take people and make them theirs. Take like it took Sasha.

“Who took me, u’us?? Who?”

“No one, love.”

“But I. I.” Jon crept forward, almost subconsciously zeroing in on what he needed more than anything, small and slight in his oversized clothes, Martin’s clothes. “Why don’t I remember?” His voice broke around a sob.

“I don’t know. Come here, darling, come here.” Jon let himself fall into a familiar embrace. This had to be Martin. It had to be. He wouldn’t be able to handle anything else.

“Love, you’re human here, or at least have human needs. Please, have a lie down with me.” Shaking his head, Jon let his entire aching self lean against Martin. They were in the garden, a peaceful spot that quelled the claustrophobia, and he hadn’t slept in days preferring to wander the corridors the whole night long wondering if the glimpses of Annabelle were real or imagined and not really sure it mattered. Anything to escape that sliver of time between waking and awake where he forgot how they came to be here and why.

“I. I don’t...I forget. It’s. Martin.” With a helpless whine, Jon rubbed his face against the clean wool of his well-worn jumper, eyes burning with the lack of proper rest. “Don’feel well.”

“I know,” Martin pressed a short series of lingering kisses among his curls “Come on, let’s have a bit of a kip, hm?”

“No. Stay here.” Pulling up his legs, Jon tucked his bare feet beneath him, pushing his way under Martin’s arm, dragging it around him and hoping to pin them both there. “Stay.”

“Okay, okay.”

Jon woke alone.

With lashes heavy and lined with lead, stomach churning, head pounding, pounding, pounding in his temples to the cadence of his hammering pulse. Swallowing, it was through force of will that he kept quiet when he stood, stumbling over uneven, quicksand tile to press an ear to the door, closing his eyes to listen over the rush of blood sighing through his veins. Despite hearing nothing beyond the room, Jon was too much a coward to try the ornate handle, deciding instead to sequester himself in the bathroom. The porcelain of the tub was cold through the thin fabric of the clothes he found himself in, where it pressed against his bare skin as he curled up close and covered his face with both hands.

It was then he let the tears come, shaking fit to fly apart and relying on that age old belief that if he couldn’t see the monsters then they couldn’t see him either. He would hide here, safe and small and no one would find him. No one could hurt him or touch him or take his skin or burn or cut or hit or slice or yell or blame him if he was here alone with only his muffled and keening cries for company.

“Jon?” He froze, naked toes curling, biting down hard on his thumb and ignoring the sharp hot pain in his hip where he was forcing the joint far past what it wanted. “Jon?” It was a trick. It had to be. They, they wanted him to let down his guard so he’d offer himself up like he’d offered himself to Magnus but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of beguiling him again. The knob turned and he held his breath. Waiting. Martin’s voice louder now for its proximity. “You don’t have to be afraid, love.” The gilded shower curtain was drawn. Jon tasted blood, like old flatware, metallic and bitter and flooding his tongue. With care, Martin climbed into the tub to sit across from him, leaning forward to cup his face in his palms before lowering Jon’s hands with his own, thumbs tracing little circles over the backs of each. It wasn’t long before his cheek was pillowed on Martin’s soft stomach, sore fingers tucked up under his chin.

“I didn’t r’remember.” Murmuring in response to Martin burying kisses in his curls.

“That’s alright.”

Inconsolable, Jon let Martin hold him, so off balance he couldn’t help but let the tears slip in silence over his skin. He didn’t understand why he was so afraid, even with Martin right here. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being kept here even though there was little evidence other than his poor muddled memory.

“It’s alright, love. It’s alright. I’m here. We’re safe. Remember?” Maybe he would. He did sometimes after a while and would flush with embarrassment and shame at his ridiculous behavior.

“No, no, I, where are we, Martin?” He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to be like this.

“Together, darling.” He tugged him closer until the whole room narrowed to only him. “We’re together.”

[forever-lynx]

as long as he had eiji

pairing: asheiji

word count: 1754

angst with mild hurt/comfort

A/N: shoutout to the big motivator @emi-joanna 😌this one’s for you bestie

this was also meant for mother’s day yesterday but i had an essay to finish so i couldn’t complete it on time... well, it’s here now! i hope you enjoy

–––––––

The smell of pancakes flew through the air. Eiji wanted to make something simple this morning. He was exhausted from work; he was called in for extra hours in the past week to cover for his sick co-worker. Eiji was smiling to himself as he made the pancakes. Today was Mother’s Day and it reminded him of how much he missed his mom. He’d have to call his mom after breakfast.

Eiji inhaled the smell of his pancakes. He was an excellent cook, he knew; he had to cook for his younger sister back when he lived in Izumo because his mom would often be at the hospital beside his dad. Eiji grew melancholic at the thought of his dad. He missed his family more than anything, though he did not regret living in New York. He never would. It gave him the opportunity to meet his soulmate, the man he valued above all else. Speaking of which, he turned his head toward the couch his lover was asleep on. Ash was awake until late hours of the night in order to complete his business report. Ash was working incredibly hard in his new job. He truly valued it, and Eiji was forever proud of him for his hard work.

The two had not yet moved from New York. Ash had unfinished business to take care of with his gang which caused them to postpone their travels. It was unfortunate – Ash was really looking forward to seeing the place Eiji was born in, and above all he was looking forward to finally escaping the suffocating atmosphere of New York – but they had their aspirations, and it would not escape their grasp so easily. 

Eiji piled up the last bit of the pancakes on top of each other and placed them in the middle of the table. He walked over to Ash to wake him up. Ash’s nightmares still continued, unfortunately; though it was to be expected, two months was not enough time to heal from an incredibly traumatic event. And in Ash’s case, he was still dealing with the devils of his past. It pained Eiji; he wanted to be the barrier that protected Ash from all the hurt in the universe. Though as unrealistic as that may be, he was happy to be beside Ash, from now to forever. 

Eiji knelt beside Ash and kissed his cheek. 

“Aslan,” he murmured. “Breakfast is ready.” 

Ash grumbled, turning positions.

Eiji giggled, “Wake up you sleepyhead.”

“Fuck no.” Ash groaned.

“Aslan. You have five seconds to wake up or else I am flipping this couch.”

“I’d like to see your twink ass try.” 

“You are impossible,” Eiji said, grabbing a pillow from the other couch and hitting Ash with it.

“What the fuck– Eiji!”

“I spent ten minutes making pancakes, you are not going to let them grow cold and have all my hard work go to waste. Stupid American.” Eiji hit him with a pillow again.

Ash grabbed his pillow and threw it at Eiji. Luckily, the Japanese boy was able to ditch it. Eiji laughed and stuck his tongue out.

“Too slow.”

“Slow?! Oh, you’ll pay for this,” Ash threatened, lunging at Eiji and tickling him. Eiji erupted in a fit of laughter. The pillow fell from his hand as Ash continued to attack him with tickles. 

“Fine! Ah- you win!” Ash smiled in triumph. He got up and made his way to the table.

“Pancakes. Wonderful. Yours are to die for.”

“I am not taking compliments from a man who almost killed me with tickles.” Eiji said, sitting down. “Death by tickles, huh? Never tried that method before. Sounds lame.”

Eiji rolled his eyes. The lovers dived in, gulfing down their breakfast. They talked about their work and their plans for Izumo. Eiji was beyond ecstatic to have Ash see his home city. He wanted to introduce him to his neighbours and his friends. He couldn’t wait to take Ash to his old school grounds and the park where he learned how to ride a bike. He wanted Ash to see every little detail of Izumo and he hoped more than anything that his boyfriend would finally find peace. 

Once breakfast was over and Eiji had cleaned the table, he announced that he’d be calling his mom.

“It is Mother’s Day. It will only take a minute.” Eiji said. Though that wasn’t entirely the truth. His mother tended to stretch one minute long phone calls to an hour. “Take as much time as you need,” Ash assured him. Eiji smiled and went in their room for the phone call. He did not want to bother Ash when he had mountains of work to do.

Ash settled on his desk chair and stared at his laptop screen. Mother’s Day, he thought, how odd to dedicate an entire day for a parent. Who even came up with this shit?

Ash sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t worth questioning something as minor as this. He tried to focus on his work; he stared at the numbers before him. Unfortunately for him, he was unable to make out what they meant. He knew the formulas – he knew this job like the back of his hand – but his brain refused to cooperate. Weird, he thought.

Ash got up from his chair and made himself coffee. Perhaps he was too tired from the night before to even focus on his work. Of course, that was it. He simply needed to wake up and consume as much coffee and Monster Energy drinks as he could.

Ash sat on the couch with the coffee cup in his hand. He was staring at the blank TV screen, looking at his reflection. The more he stared, the more it felt like the person staring back at him was a stranger. Sometimes he would do this, staring at his reflection until he could not recognize the face. People would find this an abnormal activity, but not to Ash. He was used to questioning the person he saw in his reflection.

Eiji’s laughter erupted from the other room. Ash grinned slightly. Eiji loved his mom, Ash knew. They loved each other. Like a normal family. Like what he always wanted.

The thought hit Ash. He violently shook his head – why was he thinking about this? Yes, it was Mother’s Day, but it meant nothing to him. He never knew his mom, anyway. Why would he want to celebrate a day dedicated to someone who had abandoned him? He thought it was some sick humor. Mother’s Day was just for people to rub their healthy relationship with their mom on those who didn’t.

Eiji had once told him that his mom cared for him, which was why he was named Aslan Jade Callanreese. The thought of his mom caring for him made him laugh. If she truly cared, why had she left Ash with that bastard of a dad? 

Ash’s vision suddenly got blurry. He scoffed and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He didn’t understand why he was wasting his energy dwelling on this. His mom had left him. Full stop. He had gotten over it.

Right?

Ash inhaled shakily. He hated to admit it but he always yearned for a mom who cared. He wanted to know what it was like to come home from school to the smell of freshly baked cookies and the happy humming of a mom. On nights when he could not sleep, he found himself yearning for the touch of his mom, a woman he never got the privilege of knowing. More than anything, he wanted proof that his mom had loved him. The feeling of despair that came with this thought was overwhelming. Ash was suffocating in the loss of someone he had never known. 

Ash’s head dropped in his hands. He allowed his tears to flood on the carpet below. His body was shaking with gloom, his world turning black. All these years he hoped it would get easier and it never did. It never would.

Ash heard Eiji’s footsteps getting closer. He immediately stood up and wiped his tears away. He didn’t want to ruin Eiji’s day just because he got sad over his mom. Eiji deserved to enjoy this day – he deserve to enjoy every day.

“My sister wanted to talk to me in the end… I had to tell my mom I had somewhere urgent to go to just so I could avoid talking to her,” Eiji said.

Ash let out a light chuckle; he was doing his best to act normal.

“Ah, I see you made some coffee for yourself. Good to know you did not burn the kitchen.”

Ash chuckled again, looking away from Eiji. As much as he tried to hide his hurt, Eiji always noticed. He always knew when something was off.

Eiji walked towards Ash and sat next to him.

“You do not have to tell me what is wrong, but is there anything I can do to help? We can go get hot dogs if that is what you want.” Eiji softly said.

Ash smiled, “No it’s- it’s okay. It’s just…” Ash hesitated. “It’s Mother’s Day…” Ash could not get the words out of his mouth. The tears seemed to be spilling back immediately. Stupid emotions, he thought.

Luckily, Eiji immediately understood what Ash meant. He always did. “Oh,” Eiji said softly. “I am sorry, Aslan. I should have checked in on you today before I did anything else.”

“No, it’s really okay,” Ash assured him. “It’s not a joyful day for me but you do not have to go through any trouble. Just wishing I had a mom to celebrate this day with, I guess.”

Eiji rubbed Ash’s back. “I am here for you, Aslan. We can take it easy today, if that is what you want.” There were no amount of words that would heal Ash’s hurt but he wasn’t going to leave his lover alone – he never would.

Ash stayed silent for a moment until he opened his mouth to say, “Can… can you hold me?” 

Eiji nodded, “Of course.” He hugged Ash; Ash buried his face in the crook of Eiji’s neck, letting the tears roll. 

The lovers stayed in silence. All Ash needed was Eiji to let him know it would be okay.  

This is okay, Ash thought. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay… he kept repeating to himself, because as long as he had Eiji with him, everything was okay.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 7

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FIVE DAYS LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE TEMPLE

Eivor cradled the basket in his hand, meticulously examining its contents to ensure that everything was in order.

At the moment, he was preparing to make an offering to Thor as thanks for their good fortune on the day of the ambush, and had arranged a humble collection of different gifts for the mighty god.

Inside the basket, he had placed a variety of meat, beer, mead, sweets, and a dagger from his own personal armory. Normally, Eivor wasn’t the type to depend entirely on the gods for safety, but considering recent events, he wanted to secure a strong relationship with them in case a tempest were to strike the village. He had no idea if Kjotve was planning any other attacks in addition to the ambush, and he could think of no one better to appeal to other than the Defender of Midgard. 

He just worried that his offering might not have been sufficient. It was a well-known fact that the thunder god enjoyed things in great quantity, and Eivor didn’t have that much to give at the moment. Ingrida always said that no offering was too small, but even then, the man prayed that his gift wouldn’t be considered measly. Things were precarious enough in Bjornheimr as it was; Eivor did not wish to vex the gods as well.

Working his way up the hill, the Wolf-Kissed spread a layer of cloth over the basket’s opening and held it tightly underneath his arm, careful not to disturb its contents.

He could hear the drinks sloshing inside their bottles to the rhythm of his footsteps, and a handful of scattered clinks reached his ears as they softly bumped into each other. Meanwhile, tiny snowflakes began to gather on the fabric lying above, and sunk into the cloth’s neatly-knit threads. They dotted the surface with jeweled specks of ice and clung onto Eivor’s skin, giving him a slight chill. 

The weather wasn’t exactly ideal for spending any time outside -- the snow seemed to be piling up higher than usual today -- but the young man carried on with his plan nonetheless. 

Reaching the top of the hill, Eivor strolled past the charms decorating the sides of the path, only to stop in his tracks when a nearby pair of voices caught his attention.

Up ahead, Eivor saw Ingrida and Sigurd talking with each other underneath the roof of the temple, just barely avoiding the snow that came blowing their way. The prince wore a wary expression on his face and spoke to the seeress about a matter of deep concern, causing a sense of anxiety to swell in Eivor’s chest.

It was fairly clear to the Wolf-Kissed that his friend spent a lot of energy concealing the many troubles in his life, but the fact that he felt the need to reach out to their völva worried him to a significant degree.

He hadn’t seen Sigurd ever since their conversation in the tavern after all, and he was oblivious to any new issues that may have risen during their time apart. It was unusual to see the prince in such a state, and Eivor had to admit that his curiosity was beginning to get the best of him.

He only hoped that Ulfar wasn’t the source of his perturbed nature. The man made his feelings about Sigurd quite plain back in the tavern, and Eivor had never known him as a person to shy away from confrontation. It was a blessing of a trait in most situations, but a hinderance in this one.

“...You’re certain there’s no other explanation?” Sigurd asked, clearly unhappy with the response he got.

Ingrida crossed her arms, reiterating her point. “I will tell you the same thing I told Eivor. I cannot speak in absolutes, for I do not know the gods’ intentions. I can attempt to decipher the messages they convey, but ultimately, it is impossible to offer anything unambiguous.”

The prince let out a troubled sigh. “I... I see.”

“I realize this must be disturbing news, but look at it this way. At least you are prepared now. You have an inkling of what to expect, and sometimes, a mere suspicion can be enough to save one’s life. Obviously, I do not mean to stoke any paranoia within you, but a little caution would be wise.”

Sigurd nodded, taking the woman’s words to heart. “Of course, but you understand if I say this is difficult for me to accept. I don’t doubt your prediction, seeress, but... I just can’t fathom why anyone would--”

The man came to an abrupt pause, stopping mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Eivor in the distance.

“--Oh,” he said, his voice still laden with unease, “Eivor. I didn’t see you there.”

Ingrida followed Sigurd’s line of sight, smiling in the Wolf-Kissed’s direction. “Ah, hello, little cub.” She eyed the basket in his hands. “Come to make an offering?”

Eivor hugged the object close to his chest, admittedly growing somewhat weary of bearing its weight.

“Yes, seeress. I hoped to thank Thor for our survival in the forest.”

The woman appeared pleased. “An excellent idea. Go on and present your gift to the gods. I will ensure that nothing disturbs it.” Ingrida brought her eyes back to the prince. “As for you, Sigurd, try not to let this revelation suppress you. You are a man of many responsibilities. Your clan needs you to stay focused.”

“...Of course. You’re right.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ingrida began making her way back inside the temple, strolling through the arch. “This war is nearly over, but the battle has not ceased. Do not surrender just yet. Either of you.”

Shutting the door behind her, the seeress disappeared behind the temple’s walls and returned to her duties, leaving Eivor and Sigurd alone. Meanwhile, the younger man approached his friend and glanced at him in an inquisitive manner, hoping to calm his nerves somewhat.

“Sigurd?” He asked. “Are you alright? A cloud of unrest hangs over you.”

The prince took a moment to gather his thoughts, not wanting to alarm his companion too much. “I’m... I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” He glanced at the basket in his grasp. “What’ve you got there?”

Eivor lifted the cloth. “Just some food and drink for Thor, and a blade as well. I figured I should bring something of great quantity considering our luck that day. What about you? What brings you to the temple? You looked... frightened when I arrived.”

Sigurd sauntered towards the other man, speaking as he walked. “Nothing of immediate urgency. I’ve just been having these strange dreams lately. Visions.”

“Visions? Really? Of what?”

“A wolf.” He answered. “At first, I merely dismissed the dream as a simple nightmare, but it’s been occurring over and over again. In the same way, and in the same order. So, I came to Ingrida for answers.”

Eivor’s interest was hooked. “Tell me about this wolf. What did it do? What did it look like?”

“The wolf was as white as snow,” Sigurd described. “Its eyes split the darkness with a predatory glare, and its stature challenged that of a fully grown man. Its snout and teeth were stained red with the pigment of fresh blood, and hiding behind its features, I... I could almost... recognize someone.”

“Recognize?” Eivor repeated. “What do you mean? This was a wolf, was it not? How could it resemble a human?”

The prince shrugged. “I have no idea, but... I felt it. There was something familiar about the wolf’s face. It was a sensation that I have no proper words to describe.”

The young man tilted his head towards the temple. “And? What did Ingrida have to say about these visions?”

Sigurd was quiet for a second, hesitant to tell the truth.

“...She believes this vision foretells a betrayal.”

Eivor’s eyes widened in surprise. “A betrayal? At whose hands?”

“She doesn’t know, and neither do I. I have no reason to suspect anyone just yet, but somehow, that almost makes it even worse.”

“How did the seeress come to this conclusion?” Eivor questioned. “What makes her believe betrayal is the only answer?”

“Because she had a similar vision,” Sigurd explained. “Ingrida tells me the gods sent her a dream the night before I arrived. Apparently, she saw a man who looked just like me. He bore the same mark upon his neck, and his eyes glowed with a raging fire. The ground beneath him was soaked in blood dripping from the stump of his own arm, and standing behind him was another white wolf, prowling in the shadows.”

A thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “...I suppose that explains why she called you ‘the one who walks with Tyr.’ It also explains why she was skeptical of you when you first met.”

“I suppose it does,” the prince agreed. “But what connection could I possibly have with Tyr? And why me? What makes me so special?”

Eivor shrugged. “I don’t know. You mentioned you used to have dreams about a kingdom constructed of iron when you were a child. Do you think that could be related?”

“...Perhaps? But I don’t see how it would fit into all this. The kingdom I saw looked nothing like any of the places I’ve ever heard about. Not Helheim, and certainly not Valhalla. It likely originates from a place beyond this realm, but the purpose of its existence continues to elude me.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, resting his hands on his hips. “...Forgive me. I don’t mean to dump all of this onto you. You probably have enough on your shoulders.” He switched to a lighter subject, deciding to put his fears to rest for the time-being. 

“How have you been, Eivor? Is your wound feeling any better? I planned to check on you multiple times, but I fear that my duties always got in the way.”

“No worries. It’s just started to heal. Ingrida says it’s going to leave quite a prominent scar in its absence, but well, it’s better than dying.”

A smirk twinkled on Sigurd’s face. “...I like it.”

“Really?”

“Why not? It gives you character. It makes you look like a warrior.”

Eivor chuckled. “That, or a fool who wasn’t able to handle himself in a fight.”

Sigurd’s smile only brightened. “Nonsense. Each scar you bear is a battle that you survived. Wear it with pride.” He patted his friend on the arm. “But enough about that. I was actually planning to visit you after speaking with the seeress.”

The Wolf-Kissed quirked a brow. “What for?”

“I wanted to take you up on your offer. For fishing. I was down at the docks earlier today, and saw some decent-looking fish roaming in the water. Still in the mood for it?”

Eivor nodded, grinning joyously at the man. “Without a doubt. We can find a boat and take it into the fjord. There are plenty of spots I can show you. Just let me finish my offering for Thor first.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there when you’re ready. In the meantime, I’ll gather some supplies. See you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE DOCKS

Pacing eagerly towards the pier, Eivor strolled excitedly through the village with an unusual spring in his step, smiling to himself as he briskly made his way past all the other buildings.

It had been a while since he last got the chance to spend any time with Sigurd, and he imagined that the two of them would have plenty of catching up to do. Even though they hadn’t bumped into each other for the past few days, Eivor always spotted the prince zipping back and forth around Bjornheimr, tending to his never-ending list of duties.

The man always looked so busy. Eivor was well-aware that a prince’s life wasn’t nearly as laid-back as other people expected, but even Sigurd’s schedule seemed to be overflowing with a ludicrous amount of responsibilities. He hardly had any time to even sit down, and the sockets around his eyes had darkened slightly due to a lack of sleep.

Eivor just hoped Sigurd was okay.

Finally arriving at the docks, the Wolf-Kissed came to a halt and gazed at this surroundings, trying to single out the prince’s head of red hair from the crowd. He eventually located the tall man standing at the edge of the pier with a basket and a pair of fishing rods, but to Eivor’s surprise, he wasn’t alone.

Dag seemed to have also joined the party, in spite of the sour expression plastered on his face. He was conversing with Sigurd in an agitated tone, and his brow had crinkled in a manner that displayed obvious annoyance. Strangely enough though, the prince didn’t appear to mirror his temperament. 

Just what was going on?

“Sigurd!” Eivor called out, causing both of them to turn their heads.

“Ah,” Sigurd replied radiantly, “Eivor. There you are. I was just asking Dag if he wanted to join us. I hope that’s not a problem?”

The younger man would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat disappointed, but he didn’t have the heard to tell him “no.” He knew Dag was a close friend of Sigurd’s after all, and he didn’t want to interfere. But still... part of him had been looking forward to spending the day with the prince alone.

“No,” Eivor lied, “not at all. He can come if he likes.”

“Great.” Sigurd brought his gaze to Dag. “So, what do you say? Care to go fishing with us?”

To Eivor’s relief, the man refused.

“I appreciate the offer,” Dag said flatly, “but I can’t accept. I have other things to do. You two go on without me.”

“Are you sure?” Sigurd asked, somewhat put off by his friend’s dour mood. “The weather has calmed down since this morning. Now’s the perfect opportunity to take a break. We’ll only be gone for a short while.”

Dag nodded in a dismissive fashion. “Yes, I’m sure. I have many things to take care of, and I’m afraid they cannot wait. Like I said, you two can go without me.”

Sigurd’s eyes dimmed at his friend’s response. “...Well, alright. If you’re certain.”

“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” 

Storming off like a pouty toddler, Dag practically stomped away from the scene and swiftly made himself scarce, leaving Sigurd and Eivor with an uncomfortable silence. The two of them watched in confusion as the man disappeared in the distance, and not too longer after he vanished, they exchanged glances with each other, bewildered by what just happened.

“What was that about?” Eivor asked. “Is something wrong with Dag?”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, reaching down to grab the basket. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Dag’s been acting this way ever since the feast, and I don’t know why. This kind of behavior is unusual for him.”

“Have you talked to him?”

The older man lifted the basket onto his shoulder, walking towards the end of the pier as Eivor followed him from behind.

“Not yet, no. And even if I did, I’m not sure he would give me a straight answer. Dag’s never been the type to open up so easily. I’m just wondering if it’s because of something I did.”

His friend was quiet for a moment. “Does Dag always behave like this?”

Sigurd shook his head. “No, actually. He’s still the same man I know most of the time, but... recently, he’s been going through these random bouts of anger. And they’re always directed at me.”

The prince placed the basket down on a boat waiting beside the pier, carefully stepping onto it as it gently bobbed up and down with the water’s movement.

“I just wish he would talk to me. Dag is a dear friend of mine, and I don’t want anything to be wedged between us. Especially not after hearing Ingrida’s prediction.”

Eivor gave him a sympathetic look. “Try not to let it worry you. I’m sure Dag’s just stressed out from the constant battling with Kjotve. I know we all are. He’ll open up to you when he’s ready.”

Sigurd let out a breath. “...I hope so. I have enough on my plate at the moment. I don’t have time to be running around in circles with Dag. The sooner he opens up, the better.” 

He suddenly glanced up at his companion, deciding to leave the subject alone. “But push that aside. You came here to fish, not to listen to my life problems. Are you ready to go?”

The younger man stepped off the dock and took a seat across from Sigurd, excited for the ride ahead.

“Ready when you are.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for coming with me, by the way, Eivor. I apologize if I seem more stern than usual. I fear that this past week taken a toll on me.”

Eivor took no offense. “There’s no need to apologize. We’re all going through a lot. It’s only normal. Just try to forget about it for now.”

“I’m glad you understand. You seem to be the only one these days. But... you’re right. Today is a day meant for relaxing. Let us not spoil it. Come on, why don’t you show me those fishing spots you mentioned? I’m eager to see them.”

The Wolf-Kissed grabbed the oar and smirked at Sigurd, pushing their boat away from the pier. “As you command, my prince.”

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE FJORD

Venturing deep into the fjord’s divine embrace, Sigurd and Eivor traversed across the water’s glassy surface, steadily gliding along with its rippled waves. They made sure not to put too much distance between them and the village as they did with the waterfall, but even then, the sheer size of the fjord was enough to make them feel as if they had stepped into another world.

All around them, mountains extended into the sky for what seemed like miles, and appeared to kiss the base of the clouds. Their peaks were frosted with fresh snow that floated down from the heavens, and their base remained concealed beneath the ocean, forming a basin fit for the gods themselves.

Meanwhile, a thin curtain of fog draped itself over the mountains’ rugged forms and obscured the landscape waiting ahead, encompassing the world in a layer of mist that stood as a barrier between the two men and the secular village they left behind.

It was the perfect place to clear one’s thoughts, and Eivor could see that Sigurd was already beginning to unwind. The disquieted expression that once hung on his face had vanished, and at the moment, he was currently sitting peacefully on the boat, watching contently as fish poked their fins out from the water’s surface. 

They were completely alone out here, and Eivor wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“So,” the younger man said, “what’ve you been doing these past few days? I haven’t had the chance to talk with you in a while.”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Sigurd answered, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve joined your father and Ulfar at the war table quite a few times now, and I’ve also been getting to know Randvi more. It’s difficult to juggle between the two, but things have been going according to plan so far.”

Eivor threw a puzzled look at him. “What about your father? Does he not take part in your conversations in the war room?”

The other man hesitated for a second. “Oh, h-he does, but... well, he’s been occupied lately. Sometimes I take his place.”

Eivor couldn’t deny that he found the response a bit odd, but he decided not to pry any further. “I see. And what about Ulfar? I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble.”

It was Sigurd’s turn to be confused now. “Ulfar? No, none at all. Why would he?”

The Wolf-Kissed sighed sheepishly, unsure of how to explain. He assumed Ulfar would have already expressed his concerns to the prince about his ability to be a leader, but evidently, he was wrong. 

“I, well... I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know. The day you and I went to the tavern, Ulfar stayed for a drink after you left. Initially, he was in a rather foul mood, and it was directed at you. He said you almost got me killed in the forest.”

A look of guilt spread across Sigurd’s face. “...Ah, I see.”

“I spoke with him, though,” Eivor reassured. “I convinced Ulfar it wasn’t your fault, and he told me he’d withhold any further judgement for now. That’s why I asked if he had given you any trouble. I was curious to know if he still harbored these doubts. But don’t let it bother you. Whatever Ulfar does, it’s only to keep me and my siblings safe.”

Sigurd shook his head in disagreement. “No, he’s right. I should’ve been more careful that day. I made a foolish decision, and you nearly paid the price. It’s a good thing you’re a skilled warrior. Otherwise, I’d probably be responsible for your death by now.”

Eivor’s expression sank with pity. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault what happened in the woods that day. You could’ve run off at the first sign of danger, but instead, you risked your life to save me. And everyone knows it. Even Ingrida.”

“Well, I may not be at fault,” the man conceded, “but I was ill-prepared for such an ordeal. If I’m going to be king someday, I need to be able to protect people. That includes you.” Sigurd shifted his position slightly, sitting more upright. “I promise, Eivor, I won’t endanger you like that again.”

The young man grinned. “I appreciate it, but we’re in the midst of a war. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice. Anything can happen at any time.”

“True, but I’ll still do everything I can to keep you and your people safe.” Sigurd displayed a small smile. “Death may be inevitable, but that’s no reason to let it take us so willingly. That’s why we have shields.”

Eivor chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

The two of them trailed off into silence briefly, only for the prince to bring up another topic.

“Hey, speaking of Ulfar, did you hear his report?”

“No.” Eivor said.

“Well, apparently, he and his men found two camps in the woods not too far from where we were attacked. They both belonged to Kjotve.”

“Really? How many men were there?”

Sigurd conjured a rough estimation. “About ten each.”

“Ten?” The Wolf-Kissed repeated in alarm. “That’s nearly two dozen in total. That’s enough men to carry out a small raid.”

“Indeed. We’re lucky Ulfar was able to drive them out before their numbers grew anymore. Thankfully though, he didn’t uncover any plans to attack Bjornheimr. He believes these particular men were just scouts sent here to keep an eye on the village and send information back to Kjotve. Our encounter with them wasn’t coordinated. A few of his people simply decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Eivor found some comfort in that. “Well, that’s a relief, at least. Still, I wonder how Kjotve will respond to this.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If these men were sending regular reports to Kjotve, he’s going to realize something’s wrong when they come to a sudden stop. He might even send reinforcements.”

The older man couldn’t help but admit he had a point. “Hmm. That does sound likely. I’ll have to warn your father and Ulfar about the possibility of retaliation. We may be preparing for a wedding, but Freya knows that won’t stop Kjotve from spilling blood.”

A shiver traveled down Eivor’s spine. “What if... what if he comes to Bjornheimr? What do you think we’ll do?”

The answer seemed fairly clear to Sigurd. “We’ll fight, of course. What else?”

“No, no,” his friend corrected, “I didn’t quite mean it like that. I just...” Eivor gazed down at his father’s axe, tracing a hand down its grip, “...I’ve spent so many years thinking about how I would take my revenge on Kjotve; for what he did to my parents. I’ve convinced myself that I’d slit his throat without a second thought, but... if he actually shows up, I don’t know if it’ll be that easy. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

A sense of empathy softened Sigurd’s eyes. “It won’t be easy. But whatever happens, make sure you fight for what matters. Ideally, Kjotve will never set foot on your shores, but if he does, fight not for revenge. Fight for the honor your father lost. Only then can you know true peace.”

Eivor stared aimlessly at the water surrounding them, trying to block out the memories of that horrible night. “...I’ll try. Even if it kills me.”

The younger man watched the soothing rhythm of the waves dancing around them and fell into a deep train of thought, only to be pulled out again when Sigurd’s voice reached his ears.

“Hey,” he said gently, leaning closer to his companion, “are you alright, Eivor?”

The Wolf-Kissed blinked a few times, still somewhat lost in his own past. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just... difficult to think about, you know. My parents were killed over a decade ago, and yet, their words from that night remain fresh in my head. It’s hard to ignore them sometimes.”

“Of course,” Sigurd replied. “I understand.”

“Anyway,” Eivor said, not wishing to dwell on the grim subject any longer, “you mentioned you’ve been seeing Randvi more earlier. How are things going between the two of you?”

“We still don’t know each other that well,” Sigurd confessed, “but she strikes me as a kind woman; an honorable one. I think we can make this marriage work. Although, I must admit... it’s bizarre to think about how she’ll be my wife in only a week from now. The future felt so far away when I first got here, and yet, these past seven days have fleeted by within a heartbeat. It just makes me wonder how fast the wedding will arrive.”

Eivor caught onto his tone. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, and so is Randvi. But I think we’re both slowly coming to terms with it.” A glint of curiosity formed in the prince’s gaze. “What about you, Eivor? Have you ever considered marriage?”

The man laughed. “Me? No, not really. I’ve had partners in the past, but... nothing serious. It’s difficult to imagine someone marrying me, if I’m being honest.”

Sigurd scoffed. “Psh. Nonsense. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their spouse.”

“You think?”

The older man shrugged. “Why not? You’re compassionate, humorous, handsome, and--” Sigurd suddenly froze in shock, utterly embarrassed by his own words.

Meanwhile, Eivor simply gave him an appreciative smirk, undeniably amused by his slip-up.

“You consider me handsome, do you?” He teased.

Sigurd stammered bashfully and brought a hand to the back of his neck, barely able to hold eye contact with the Wolf-Kissed anymore. “Gods above... erm, f-forgive me, Eivor. I... I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” He interrupted. “The truth is, I think you’re handsome too.”

The prince paused at Eivor’s remark, calming down somewhat. “You... do?”

Eivor chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, you fool. Who wouldn’t? You’re strong, kind, caring, and you...” the young man caught himself before he could say anything else and stopped mid-sentence, abruptly retreating from his comments as Sigurd watched him quietly.

“...No,” Eivor said, his tone much more sullen now. “I can’t do this.”

Sigurd found himself growing concerned. “What’s wrong?”

The other man sighed in despondency, looking shamefully away from his friend. Eivor assured Ingrida that he wouldn’t allow his emotions to interfere with the upcoming wedding, and yet, he had barely been able to stop himself just now.

His thoughts slipped free from his lips as if they carried a mind of their own, and if it weren’t for the fact that everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance, Eivor had no idea how far he truly would’ve gotten. 

His ability to restrain his desires was already being crippled just after a week of knowing Sigurd, and the looming reality of his feelings was enough to send Eivor into a state of panic and loneliness. 

These next few days were going to be nothing but absolute turmoil for him, and sooner or later, he’d have to accept it. He just didn’t know how.

“Sigurd...” Eivor whispered sorrowfully, “...can I be honest with you?”

The older man nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed looked him directly in the eye, taking a deep breath. “...The truth is, ever since we met at that feast, I’ve been infatuated with you.”

Sigurd’s brow furrowed in shock. “...You have?”

“Yes. Whenever we’re apart, I’m always thinking about when I’ll see you next, or how you’re doing. I care about you, and I worry about your well-being despite being no more than an acquaintance.”

The prince knotted his hands together in thought. “And what about when you’re with me?”

Eivor showed a faint smile to him, but its facade was quickly betrayed by the pain in his gaze. “I feel at peace. I feel like nothing in the world can touch us. I feel a certain way that I’ve never felt before with anyone else, and it... it frightens me sometimes.”

The young man continued. “But I can’t allow these feelings to develop any further. No matter how persistent they may be. We’re both bound by our duties, and yours is to secure an alliance with my clan. The only thing I can provide for you is a distraction that you can’t afford.” Eivor slunk back to his end of the boat, hiding inside the shell that he constantly wore. “...I’m sorry, Sigurd. But our relationship can’t go beyond this.”

Sigurd offered nothing other than silence in return and simply delved into his own thoughts, gazing downwards in a desolate manner. It was clear that he mirrored the same affections that Eivor expressed, but he felt even more reluctant to share them now that he knew about the other man’s views.

It was the burden of being a prince, he supposed. Everyone always told Sigurd that his choices were his own, and yet, he was being forced to repress something that others would’ve been more than happy to admit. His life had been nothing more than one big preparation to rule the kingdom someday, but he felt as if he hardly had any control over his own life.

Still, Sigurd knew Eivor was right, and he knew he couldn’t afford to deviate from the path set out in front of him. The war with Kjotve was much bigger than either of them, and everyone’s safety was depending on this alliance.

“I... understand, Eivor.” He said quietly.

The younger man hung his head low, unable to ignore the guilt settling into his mind. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Sigurd.”

“Don’t be. What you’re doing is noble. Not everyone would have your restraint.”

Eivor’s mood barely lightened at that. “It doesn’t feel noble. But I know it’s necessary.”

Sigurd nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say anymore. “...Indeed.”

Having had enough of this place, the older man took hold of the oar and stuck it into the water, eager to return to solid land.

“We should starting heading back.” He said abruptly, earning a tilt of the head from Eivor.

“Already? Are you sure? We haven’t even been out for that long.”

“I know, but I fear that my free time is rather limited today. An abundance of tasks awaits me in Bjornheimr, and I’m almost certain that my father will require my presence as well.”

Eivor peered at Sigurd with concern, clearly able to see that he had been affected by their conversation.

“Okay.” He agreed tentatively. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Come on, I’ll row you back to the village. Just sit back and relax.”

Guiding their boat away from the fjord, Sigurd steadily drove them back to the shoreline without uttering another word as Eivor sat quietly on his side, admittedly feeling somewhat remorseful for having dimmed the mood.

Initially, he had been excited to spend more time with the forlorn prince, but now, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was no question that a special type of bond connected the two of them, and Eivor mentally scolded himself for allowing it to strengthen even further.

At this point, part of him was considering the idea of severing their relationship. It was difficult enough battling the constant temptation that he felt whenever he was with Sigurd, so Eivor thought that, perhaps, it might’ve been best if he simply eliminated the chance for it to show up again.

There would be no need to practice restraint if the prince avoided him altogether. They would be complete strangers just like before, and Eivor wouldn’t have to worry about clashing with his desires on a daily basis.

But... he knew he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing. He cared about Sigurd too much, despite only having known him for a week. That man housed something special within his heart, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to cast it aside.

Still, he didn’t know how he would proceed from here. Sigurd was aware of his admiration now, and any interactions between them would’ve bred nothing but awkwardness.

They both needed some time to get their thoughts in order, and frankly, Eivor was starting to feel grateful that the other man decided to make such a swift exit. He needed to be alone for a while, and it was evident that Sigurd also had plenty to think about himself.

It was one of those moments where Eivor felt the urge to seek out guidance, and he knew exactly who to get it from. 

He just worried that they would tell him precisely what he didn’t want to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

“Here we are.” Sigurd announced, letting the boat drift towards the pier as he gazed into the distance. “...And it looks like Dag is waiting for me. Just like I expected.”

Eivor stood up from his seat. “What does he want from you?”

His friend put down the oar and climbed back onto the docks, taking their supplies with him. “Nothing. It’s my father who probably wants something. Dag is merely the messenger. I just hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Walking briskly ahead of the other man, Sigurd strode down the wooden pier and made a beeline straight for Dag as Eivor hurried to his side, abandoning the boat. 

A newfound irritation had worked its way into the prince’s usually serene demeanor, and the Wolf-Kissed wondered if he’d finally learn the reason behind Styrbjorn’s aforementioned absence at the war table.

“Dag,” the redhead called out in a firm tone. “What are you doing here?”

The bulky warrior removed himself from the tree he had been leaning on and approached Sigurd, appearing no more pleased than before.

“The king requests your presence at the longhouse.” He informed. “There’s a problem he needs your help with.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, plopping the basket down in frustration. “Of course he does. Is it the same ‘problem’ as yesterday?”

Dag nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

The prince shook his head angrily. “That drink-addled fool...! He promised me this wouldn’t be an issue. What is he doing now?”

“He’s waiting for you in his chambers. Same as always. I suggest you hurry. He’s in a worse state than usual.”

Sigurd’s face stiffened with ire. “And it’s no one else’s fault but his. What is that man thinking?” He paused for a second, recomposing himself. “...Thank you for letting me know, Dag. Hopefully, we’ll never have to have this conversation again.”

The raider began strolling away from them, pessimistic about the idea. “Hopefully, but not likely.”

Removing himself from the scene, Dag disappeared once again while Eivor took his place, confused as to what just happened. It was quite obvious to him that Styrbjorn seemed to be at the core of this issue, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what the issue was exactly.

“What’s going on?” Eivor asked. “Is your father safe? Do you need any help?”

Sigurd quickly rejected the offer. “No, no. He’ll be fine. He’s just being an idiot. It’s best if I deal with this alone. Believe me.”

The younger man’s curiosity remained fervent, but he decided not to press anymore. The prince was evidently in a state of heightened exasperation at the moment, and Eivor suspected that any further questions would’ve only earned him more animosity.

“...Alright. If you say so. But don’t hesitate to ask for my aid if you need it.”

“Thank you, Eivor. I appreciate it.”

Forcing himself to relax, Sigurd rubbed his temple out of stress and turned to face Eivor, softening the jagged edge of his voice.

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to be so irate, but things are chaotic enough as it is, and my father is only making things worse. He’s ignoring all of his responsibilities, and piling them on my shoulders instead. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me.”

Something clicked in Eivor’s head. “So that’s why you’ve been so busy.”

“Yes. That, and a few other things. But those matters are irrelevant right now. The only important thing I have to say is... thank you. For taking the time to come with me today.”

“Of course, Sigurd. You need only ask.”

The older man beamed warmly. “...You truly are a blessing. You know that, Eivor? I genuinely believe you’re the only person I can fully rely on. You’re a man worthy of trust.” He placed his hands on his hips, returning to his usual temperament. “But I’ve idled for long enough. My father’s probably wondering where I am. Feel free to take all the fish we caught. You deserve it for putting up with me today.”

Eivor took the basket in hand, waving goodbye to Sigurd. “Farewell for now, my friend. Take care of yourself. And remember, I’m here if you need me.”

The prince started heading in the direction of the longhouse, returning the wave with one of his own. 

“The same goes to you. I may be busy, but my door’s always open, Wolf-Kissed. I only pray that our next meeting will be under better circumstances. Until then, stay safe. We all need you.”

[justapoet]

31 + Buddie ¡!

Thank you for the prompt! I really hope you like it :)

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I adjust the spring for you to follow me with your eyes.

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Some poets say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, while others say that the darkest secrets can fit dark pupils. A few writers would agree that there is more intimacy on looking someone eye-to-eye than doing any other thing, and a few more would say that that's the biggest mistake someone can dare to make.

If being honest, the first thing Buck notices about someone is not their clothes, neither their smile nor the lack of it ― there's something about their eyes that attracts him a whole lot more than anything else. Although he would never say that out loud because he is sure no one would really believe him.

Yet, it's something he has ever done since he was a kid. It was something curious, even profound, to see how people look at things and life around them. Some would stare with a frowned face, narrowed eyes, clenched teeth. Kids would always have wide, shiny, happy faces while discovering the very same things every day. Some people would always look down, with tired eyes, ghost smiles on their faces.

With the absence of his parents in his life, Buck learned to be quiet when trying to understand things that were out of reach ― and out of touch when it comes to someone caring about him. As a boy, he learned to observe how people look at the world and how this vision makes them take steps forward or backward.

His mother looked at him with a cloud over her eyes, and it always made her take steps to get farther from the boy. His father looked at him with frowned face, as if there was something he could never say, and yet he wanted to. It took Buck almost thirty years to realize that none of them ever looked him in the eyes.

The teachers looked at him with narrowed eyes as if he was a challenge given to them; they all lived and talked around Buck but never tried to get close, to make questions, or to see him as something more than a problem, a lost cause, and a hopeless child. There was never a teacher that looked him in the eyes.

As the years passed by, Buck was happy that no one ever dared to look him in the eyes, though. He would agree with Shakespeare and his words about eyes being the windows to someone's soul, and that was the last thing he wanted anyone to have: a panoramic view of the pieces, the chaos, the loneliness. At some point, he would be the one to avoid eye contact ― but never the one not to look at the eyes first.

Sometimes, he would think that maybe it affected the relationships he had had in his life. There was never enough trust, intimacy, even love from both parts for him to trust this broken shiny part of himself ― his eyes, his observations, a free ride to his deepest despairs and conclusions.

Sometimes he would think that keeping it a secret was why he had had any relationship so far.

There were times he would simply not know anything. That night was one of those unknown times.

Buck was lying down in the grass on Eddie's backyard, arms crossed behind his head as a support while he occupied himself looking at the sky. He wasn't able to see too many stars ― it was almost impossible to happen in LA ― but something about the darkness above them could always make Bucks soul a little bit lighter to carry around. Eddie was by his side, quiet, and Christopher was fast asleep in his room after the Buckley-Diaz movie night.

"Anyone ever tells you that you've got the prettiest eyes in the world?" Eddie asked suddenly. They've been in silence for the most part of the time they've been there, even if none of them know why they ended up lying on the grass.

Buck turned his head to the side, seeing that Eddie wasn't looking at the sky ― but at him. Eddie had one of his hands over his stomach, the other stretched on the side of his body, and the softest expression on his face while staring at his boyfriend by his side. The moonlit night made sure to cover Eddie's face with a silver glow, and Buck couldn't help but feeling his stomach twist inside of his body.

He knew they were pretty much in love, they've discussed it, but just the fact that Eddie would look that way at Buck only was enough for the blonde's heart to stop racing.

Oh, God; he loved that man.

The question had gotten him off-guard, though. It wasn't something he had ever expected to hear, much less with someone staring at him the way Eddie was doing ― a so pure kind of admiration that left him speechless.

Buck moved, laying on his side and putting one of his hands under his head for support. He was face-to-face with Eddie, but his gaze was on a random spot on the grass under his nose. His answer was quiet.

"No, actually," he said, and there was an inch of sadness that, of course, Eddie couldn't avoid noticing. The man frowned a little and then copied Buck's position before analyzing his face.

"Never?" Eddie asked again as if trying to prove something to his gut. Buck kind of shrugged, then, an almost unnoticeable movement.

"No one ever looks me in the eyes," was Buck's answer, barely a whisper. "I don't think they want to know more about me than my job or my body."

Eddie frowned, and then his face was a mix of pain and disbelief. He knew what Buck was talking about ― Buck 1.0 times ―, and he knew that Buck was also thinking about Abby and Ali.

"Idiots," Eddie said instead of making questions, and Buck frowned, still not looking at him. "But I think I'm lucky, then," the wrinkle between Buck's eyebrows grew, and Eddie chuckled a little. "If they've ever looked into your eyes, I doubt they would ever dare to let you go."

"Why do you say that?" Buck asked, his voice in complete confusion. Eddie reached Buck's hand with his, tangling their fingers together since his boyfriend didn't wash him off.

"Because there's no way," he brought Buck's hand to his lips, knowing that the pair of blue eyes would follow the movement. "Someone could look into your eyes and ever want to breathe out of the blue again."

Buck didn't answer, a little bit confused, half amazed with what he'd just heard. Eddie was never good with words ― God knows that ―, and saying something like that, beyond poetic, was an upgrade. Definitely an upgrade.

He felt his heart racing, and he knew Eddie knew he'd caused something like that. Buck also knew Eddie had a soft smile on his face, and he couldn't help but smile a little bit. With an impulse of curiosity, he looked up, just to find Eddie's eyes glued to his in the next second.

Something about that was weird, and something more was barely divine. Buck's heart raced, and his stomach twisted as a warning to step back, to stop staring, but his lungs inflated, and his lips curved as in an incentive to stay as they were.

Eddie's eyes were dark, dark amber with fossilized secrets he never shared with anyone, but almost as soft as honey under the moonlight. His pupils were wide while staring at Buck, and he wasn't sure if the darkness of the night was the only reason behind it.

The silver glimmer of the moon that surrounded both men suddenly wasn't the only shiny thing over Eddie's pupils and neither over Buck's. There was something soft, barely touchable, and quite palpable that Buck couldn't reach, but Eddie could hand him easily. In Buck's eyes, there were unshed tears.

"I love you," Eddie said, smiling and letting his fingers wander over Buck's cheeks to stop the tears he knew the blonde man would let fall. "And your eyes are the prettiest ones in the world. It's almost ridiculous how blue they are, and even more how, still, you see the world with such joy."

Buck couldn't help but throwing his body forward to capture Eddie's lips in his. Eddie chuckled, holding his boyfriend's waist and bringing him closer, letting Buck say what he couldn't find the words to. His eyes, so blue and pure, were closed, but Eddie could tell that they had the same glow they always had when Buck found something new about the world.

When they parted the kiss, Buck reached Eddie's lips again, not wanting to get any farther than he could get closer to the man. Eddie only laughed again, knowing that it was something new to Buck to see himself through somebody else's eyes ― he'd been there before, and Buck was the one to show Eddie his interpretation of him.

They stood there for a while more ― only the stars they couldn't see would know how long ― with Eddie whispering how much he loved Buck and Buck curling himself against Eddie and showering kissed over the skin he could reach. There was a future amid all of that that both pair of eyes could see.

Shakespeare was right when he said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

Buck was even more when he thought they were the doors to reach a broken heart ― and mend it back to whole.

[kinktae]

bitchin’ || pt. 4 (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao

A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness!

OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

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PART FOUR

“Ouch! Watch it, Yara! You’re stabbing me!”

Yara released her grip from the striped material of your sweater, letting it fall back down against your torso.

“I’m sorry… Is your personal tailoring experience not luxurious enough? Did you want some sparkling water? Some Crystal Light, perhaps?” The petite girl quipped, eyes narrowing.

You pressed your lips together, holding back the snarky remark that was wanting to come out from between them. You really weren’t in any position to complain. Yara had gone to the trouble of coming up with both your and Jungkook’s costumes, not to mention the fact that she was missing her scheduled viewing of Saved By The Bell just to help you get ready — truly honorable act on her part.

Shutting the pair of scissors with a sharp snip, your best friend placed them down onto the bathroom sink decisively, clearly satisfied with the holes she had carved into your oversized red and green sweater.

“What do you think? I can smear some more brown eyeshadow on the sweater if you want.”

Turning towards the mirror, you let your eyes fall over Yara’s handwork.

When Yara said you were going to be Freddie Krueger you should have expected that there would be no half-assing on her part. Jungkook was right in his assessment that the two of you were similar. Yara, although sometimes indolent, was absolutely unstoppable when she set her mind to something.

“It looks great. You went above and beyond as always.” You flashed her reflection a smile.

Reaching for the hat that sat on the counter, Yara plopped it onto your head, a satisfied grin finding her as she took in the completed look.

“So are you ready?” She inquired. “Tonight’s the big night. You nervous?”

“A little…” You confessed, shrugging. At your words, Yara adjusted your hat slightly.

“Don’t be. We went over the game plan last night, remember?”

Keeping still until your best friend’s creative vision for your hat was completed, you let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

It should be easy; smile, hang onto Jungkook’s arm as if he was your life support, and be sure to kiss him somewhere everyone could see. Piece of cake. Totally.

Sensing a weight behind your tone, Yara offered you an encouraging smile, her hands finding yours.

“You’re gonna have a totally kick-ass time, I’m sure.” She enthused.

“As long as Jungkook doesn’t sneak off to go bang his ex and leave me alone. I don’t know anyone who is gonna be there.” You sulked, before tapping a finger against your chin in contemplation. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. If he and Kiri get back together, I can finally stop pretending to date him.”

At your words, Yara’s eyebrows furrowed as if to tell you something you had said hadn’t sat well with her. Before she got the chance to express what that was, however, a loud series of knocks rang out.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You mused dryly causing Yara to laugh.

“I’ll go let him in, you stay here and try on the socks.” She ordered as she walked out, slamming the bathroom door behind her, leaving you without a choice.

You were curious however, ears tuned into the greeting that was just outside the door as Jungkook came in. Slipping on one of the socks, you brought it up to your knee, tugging at the fabric until it was no longer bunching around your ankle.

“What the hell? You cropped the shirt yourself, didn’t you? I told you I was gonna cut it for you.”

“Chill out. What’s your damage? I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to cut my own shirt.”

“Yeah, nice going, dipshit. It’s fucking crooked!”

You let out a sigh.

Your best friend and fake boyfriend could not be left unattended for even a minute without needing you to play referee, it seemed.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you poked your head out, “Children, children, let’s play nice–”

Jungkook’s head turned to you, expression softening from the irritated glare he was offering Yara just moments ago. You hardly noticed, however, too captivated by what he was wearing to pay the gentle way he looked at you any mind.

He was in a cropped white jersey, the number 10 plastered across his chest in blue just above the ragged seam of where the shirt ended, exposing inches of the lower half of his firm stomach, causing your face to flame.

Low on his hips was a pair of blue sweatpants, the ends of them tucked into his high top Chuck Taylor’s that were similar, if not the same, to the pair you had been planning on wearing.

Johnny Depp would surely be proud of Jungkook’s rendition of Glen Lantz, you decided. He even wore the same pair of silver headphones around his neck.

You cleared your throat, finally pulling your eyes away from your pretend lover’s torso.

“Wow… that’s crooked.”

“Hah! Told you.” Yara pressed, pleased at your assessment.

“Remind me why I put up with the two of you again?” Jungkook frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, unaware of the way it caused his already short shirt to ride up further.

Pulling yourself from the bathroom altogether, you walked over to the couch, plopping down onto it as you began to put on your other sock.

“Sick costume, nerd.” Jungkook praised, eyes fixated on you as you moved. “You’d make a hot serial killer.”

“Yeah, well, don’t cream your pants.” You teased, flashing him a grin.

“I can’t promise anything tonight. I’m a frisky drunk.” He winked back, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, barf me out. You’re the first on my list when I finally crack and go full homicidal.” You informed him, causing him to chuckle.

“Pleasure and pain. You really know how to get me going, Y/N.”

Yara was leaning up against the kitchen counter, quietly watching the two of you with increasing intrigue. Taking in the way the sides of your eyes creased in amusement as you continued your banter with your so-called fake boyfriend, she suppressed a smirk.

“Well…” Yara finally spoke up, a sly look on her face, “as endearing as I find your warped, semi-abusive way of flirting with one another... I have a show to catch so if you both could just hurry it up—”

“Woah, woah, woah, we’re not flirting.”

“Get real, as if I’d be flirting with him.”

Yara could only laugh at the way you both denied her accusation immediately, words overlapping with one another in unison.

“Whatever. I’ve got fake blood in the bathroom. Jungkook follow me.” She brushed the two of you off.

The costumed boy flashed you a funny look before ultimately trailing after your best friend.

Chewing on your bottom lip in silent contemplation, you let yourself ponder on your best friend’s words.

That wasn’t flirting, was it? No, that was just you and Jungkook’s usual playful banter. Sure, maybe the two of you had gotten more comfortable with one another as the days have ticked by, but it wasn’t as if it was anything more than that, right?

Lately, you had been catching yourself growing somewhat excited about seeing Jungkook, even though you saw him nearly every day. Somehow having the messy-haired boy in your life had become routine.

Having Jungkook by your side felt normal as if you wouldn’t mind it if things were always this way. And that scared you.

Shaking your head, you began to put on your shoes, tying up your laces solemnly.

The moment you held your event and Jungkook and Kiri were back together, things would go back to the way they were before. You didn’t want Jungkook to be someone you were going to miss, but it seemed like with every lopsided grin he threw at you he was cementing himself into your life more and more.

This business venture of yours was looking out to be more costly than you initially anticipated.

But as Jungkook and Yara walked out of the bathroom chatting excitedly, Yara’s hands stained and Jungkook’s jersey now smeared with fake blood, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d be willing to pay the price if it meant that this warm feeling in your chest would last just a little while longer.

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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asked you, hand gripping yours tighter.

You tried your best to meet his eyes. It was difficult considering how dimly lit the room was. Fitting though, considering this party was Halloween themed.

“Yes. You’ve asked me that four times now.” You told him loudly, trying to be heard over the loud sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing throughout the house.

“I dunno, you’re not saying anything. It’s, like, freaking me out.” He admitted.

“I’m just… observing.”

“Observing what?”

He watched as your stare fixated itself on the beer pong tournament that was occurring across the room, excited shouts coming from several people as one of Jungkook’s brothers scored a point.

“Gorillas.” You said, finally. “In their natural habitat.”

Jungkook laughed, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up at them.

“Hey now, did we say before we got here?” He tutted disapprovingly, waging a finger at you. You followed the digit with the frown.

“Yeah, yeah, I promised no judging the common folk. This is how the intellectually lesser entertain themselves, I remember.” You sighed out, gaze flicking up to catch the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes.

The costumed boy nudged his shoulder into yours; he liked it when you joked around with him like this. It made him feel like you were comfortable around him and that you might even enjoy his company.

“Do you know what you need?” He began happily.

“I do not but my answer is already no.”

“A drink.” He continued, ignoring you.

Suddenly, you were yanked forward, Jungkook leading you by the hand towards where you assumed the drinks were.

You hadn’t been at the party for very long, but already the social interaction had exhausted you. Jungkook was far more popular than you had previously concluded; the two of you could hardly take two steps before running into someone who wanted to say hello to the frat boy attached to you.

It was daunting in a sense – the concept that every person that came up to him was going to leave the interaction with the impression that you were Jungkook’s girlfriend. Perhaps guilt wasn’t the right word, but something about the way the party’s attendees glanced down at yours and Jungkook’s intertwined hands caused your stomach to flip and neck to grow hot.

So you kept to yourself mainly, letting your socially confident boyfriend do all the talking. You didn’t mind, really; it was somewhat remarkable the way Jungkook could handle himself in a social situation. He had a way of acting like every person that stopped to chat was important.

As Jungkook and you made your way into the large fraternity house’s kitchen, you wondered if it wasn’t acting at all and if he was just that nice of a person.

“Righteous costume, JK!” A disembodied voice called out from somewhere, clearly directed at Jungkook.

You hardly had time to decipher where the voice had come from before an outrageously good looking boy draped in a white toga came forward, pulling Jungkook into a hug.

“You finally cut your hair. Looking good, Tae.” Jungkook laughed back, patting the handsome man’s back affectionately.

You watched their interaction with interest. This wasn’t acting, as far as you knew. Judging by the way Jungkook’s laugh has grown higher in pitch, something you had noticed occurred when he was genuinely happy, you knew you were witnessing genuine friendship, not just polite socializing.

“And who is this lovely lady who, might I add, looks killer? Pun totally intended.” The model man mused, eyes flashing your way.

You felt heat prickle at your cheeks.

“Taehyung, this is my girlfriend Y/N, Y/N this is Kim Taehyung. He’s head of our finance committee.” Jungkook introduced the two of you, causing your eyes to grow wide.

So this was the guy Jungkook had told you about. The guy who could help you throw your event.

Taehyung let out a scoff, “Seriously? That’s how you introduce me? The finance guy? I’m also your favorite brother, could’ve opened up with that one.”

“Taehyung’s my Big. He’s taken me under his wing or whatever.” Jungkook explained, running a hand through his dark hair.

A nervous giggle escaped you, taking Taehyung’s extended hand into yours to greet.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The mulleted man grinned, causing one of your eyebrows to quirk up in surprise.

“You have?”

Taehyung put his hands up defensively, not noticing the way Jungkook’s expression had fallen beside him, “All good things, don’t worry. The kid talks about you nonstop—”

“Hey! So Y/N has been thinking about throwing an event here on campus, isn’t that right, babe?” Jungkook interrupted suddenly.

The arrival of the new pet name caught you off guard for a moment, before remembering that you and Jungkook were meant to be a couple after all.

“Oh yeah, Jungkook mentioned something like that to me. Tell me about it.” Taehyung said.

You stood silent for a moment, realizing that this moment was the one you had been anticipating all week long.

Relaxing your shoulders, you grinned at him.

It was now or never.

“Yeah! So the event is called STEM for FEM. I’ve got all kinds of games and pamphlets prepared. It’s basically meant to show girls that no matter what people think, there are in fact opportunities for us in the more traditionally male-dominated fields. It may be a steep road, but it’s one worth taking. And they’re not alone. There are programs out there that girls can reach out to. They offer all kinds of support; emotional, educational, financial—“

Jungkook reached for a cooler that sat by his feet, pulling out a beer. You didn’t need him for this. This was precisely what he had watched you practice into the mirror over and over; you were ready.

Popping open the can, he took a small sip, a small smile creeping on his face as he watched the way the fire in your eyes spread, your pretty lips wrapping around the words that you carried in your heart wherever you went.

“That’s radical, girl. It sounds like you’re really passionate about this stuff, huh?”

Jungkook caught Taehyung’s reply once he walked back over to you guys. He had gone off to make you a drink, figuring that cranberry juice and vodka would ease any sales pitch nerves you might have.

“Yeah, I am.” You smiled. “I’m a biology major myself.”

You tore your eyes away from the blond boy to take the red solo cup he was offering. Bringing the cup up to your nose, you sniffed it experimentally.

“Do you have a sponsor?”

You were grateful that you hadn’t taken a sip of your drink yet as had any liquid been inside your mouth you surely would have choked on it.

“Oh, uh! Not yet!” You squeaked out, causing Jungkook to fight down a chuckle.

“Because Beta Tau Sigma happens to be under our campus philanthropy quota and we’d love to support a cause like yours.” Taehyung offered, causing your heart to soar.

“Really?” You gaped.

“Sure! Just swing by anytime this week and I’m sure we can work out the details.”

This was happening. The event you had poured your absolute heart and soul into planning was actually going to happen… holy shit.

“Wow, that’s just… wow!” You replied, breathlessly. “Thank you! Thank you so much, seriously. I can’t even begin to thank you enough…”

Taehyung shook his head, clearly amused, “No need to thank me, it’s a worthy cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? For what?”

“For dating my brother. You’re the reason he comes home every night grinning like an idiot after all.” He grinned cheesily.

A smile broke out onto your face despite yourself, but the good atmosphere didn’t last for long, as a hand finding yours caught your attention.

“Alright, alright, enough sappy shit.” Jungkook urged, cheeks tinted ever so slightly pink.

Much to the blushing boy’s chagrin, Taehyung reached over to rustle Jungkook’s long looks.

“I’m just teasing.” The blond laughed. “By the way, any chance you’ve seen Hobi?”

“No, why?”

“Dude is totally wasted. Heard someone say he was gonna jump off the roof into the pool.”

“The house doesn’t have a pool?” Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung flashed him a look as if to say ‘exactly.’

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Y/N. We’ll talk soon, yeah?” Taehyung asked.

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

“See ya later, man!” Taehyung called out through a crooked smile before slipping back into the crowd of people that lay just beyond the kitchen.

An excited squeal erupted from you, your hands reaching out towards Jungkook as he reciprocated your enthusiasm and embraced you in an elevated hug.

You let out a laugh, carefully holding onto the cup in your hand so as not to spill it before he set you back down.

“You did it!” He cheered.

“We did it.” You corrected.

“I didn’t do anything?” Jungkook looked at you in bewilderment.

You shook your head, “Not true. I would have never met Taehyung if it weren’t for you. Thank you, meathead.”

Jungkook looked at you warmly for a moment, knowing that despite the cruel nickname, your sincerity was genuine.

“Cheers, nerd. To a deal well done.” Jungkook said decidedly, holding out his beer.

Bumping your cup into his can, you took a swig of your drink, grimacing as the overwhelming taste of vodka made its way down your throat.

“Taehyung was awesome.” You began once you had downed a few more sips of the liquid poison. “I don’t know why I was expecting some ape-like barbarian.”

“Probably because of those gorillas you just saw over at the beer pong table.” Jungkook joked. “Yeah, Tae’s great. He’s a Legacy too, so everybody here loves him.”

You stared at him blankly, clearly not understanding the term.

Jungkook sighed, “I mean he comes from a long family of Beta Tau Sigma alumnae. His older brother Seokjin graduated last year—”

“Wait, Seokjin? You don’t mean… Kim Seokjin… our lab professor?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Yep.”

“No way! But he’s so…” Your eyebrows furrowed, struggling for the right word.

“Smart?” Jungkook assumed flatly.

You fought back a smile, “I was not gonna say that.”

“Mhm, I’m so sure.”

“Anyway,” You smiled, poking a finger into Jungkook’s chest, “I had no clue you liked me so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk about me? I’m the reason you come home grinning every night?” You recalled Taehyung’s words.

You watched in amusement as Jungkook visibly tensed.

“W-Well, duh. You’re my fake girlfriend, I mean, it would be weird if I didn’t do any of those things...” Jungkook defended, eyes narrowing at you suddenly. “Quit gloating.”

“I’m not gloating.” You smirked.

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your face. You’re a gloater.” He said decidedly, moving to make himself a drink.

“How very dare you! I am nothing of the sort.”

“Admit it, Y/N. You relish in my misfortune.” He poured some cranberry juice into a cup, clearly moving to recreate your drink.

“The fact that I relish in your misfortune has nothing to do with this.” You waved off quickly, sending the two of you into giggles.

You somehow managed to down your cup, flashing Jungkook a grateful smile as he began to make you a new one.

You were admiring the way Jungkook’s shoulders filled out his jersey when another voice made itself known, pushing its way into the kitchen.

“Kookie, is that you?”

It was Kiri. The way Jungkook jerked around immediately, eyes as wide as saucers, told you that much.

Turning to where Jungkook’s eyes were fixated, you came to find a tall and leather-clad girl, her curled hair unmoving as she strutted forward. You couldn’t hear anything over the hum of the music playing throughout the house but you’d imagined you would hear the sound of her bright red heels rapping against the tile floor if it were quiet.

Her top was black and off the shoulder, and it dawned on you that she was dressed as Sandy from Grease.

You watched in silence as Jungkook nodded at her, a grin on his face.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you were avoiding me.” Kiri smirked, teeth on full display.

“Avoid you? Never.” Jungkook teased.

Suddenly, a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach as you watched the two interact.

Strange. Must be the vodka.

“I’ve just been busy, I guess.” He shrugged, clearly trying to play it coy.

At his words, Kiri’s eyes flickered to you, causing you to freeze.

“So I’ve heard.” She said simply. You smiled at her awkwardly.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook jumped into action, “Y/N meet Kiri. Kiri meet Y/N, my girlfriend.”

“Y/N L/N, right? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Kiri admitted, eyes shaded with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You, uh, have?”

“Of course!” She smiled, although it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I like to keep tabs on all the girls in Greek life… or I guess in your case, have had Greek life in them.

You blinked.

Jungkook eyes quickly moved to you. Crap. He knew Kiri well enough to detect a catty comment from her no matter how innocently she presented it. You were smart; he was sure you had caught exactly what she was implying.

For a moment, no one said anything. Jungkook gripped his cup tighter, wondering if he should say something to ease the nearly palpable tension.

However, before he got the chance, you smiled, cocking your head to the side.

“No worries, I get it. You wanted to scope out your ex’s new girlfriend, right?”

Jungkook let out a breath, realizing that you weren’t looking for any kind of conflict.

You could tell you words pleased Kiri with the way the side of her painted lips turned upward.

“So, Jungkook told you about me. How flattering.”

“Actually, he hasn’t said a word.” You smiled.

You took a step forward; it wasn’t anything aggressive or confrontational, but it was enough to capture Jungkook’s attention.

“Let’s just say I also like to keep tabs on things involving those that go inside of me.” You lowered your voice, sending Kiri a small wink.

Jungkook must know you pretty well too because he also knew that your comment wasn’t nearly as lighthearted as you made it out to be. He fought back a grin.

Kiri straighten up suddenly, “So what are you two dressed up as? A dumb jock and dirty Waldo?”

‘Well, she’s certainly not being subtle anymore.’ Jungkook thought dryly.

“Freddie Krueger and Glen Lantz. Like from Nightmare at Elm’s Street.” Jungkook answered, no longer bothering to uphold a pleasant tone.

“Is that so? I don’t watch horror movies.” Kiri shrugged.

“I know you don’t.” He reminded her.

“So did you come alone? Or is there a Danny Zuko somewhere that you’re matching with?” You asked casually, not liking the way your insides churned every time Jungkook and Kiri spoke to one another.

“He’s over there by the booth. He’s in charge of the music.” She replied, polished finger directing you where to look.

Sure enough, across the room on an elevated platform was a DJ booth, the man who was operating the device sporting a leather jacket and greased hair.

A gasp fell through your lips as you took him in, recognizing him immediately.

“That’s—” You cut yourself off immediately, turning away from him. “...so cool! Him being a DJ and whatnot.”

Kiri nodded cautiously, clearly catching on to the way you had changed your tune suddenly.

“You know what, I think Jungkook and I are gonna head over to the dance floor. But it was really great meeting you, Kiri.” You told her, reaching for Jungkook’s hand.

Your fake boyfriend sensed your urgency and took your hand comfortably.

“Nice seeing you.” Jungkook called out to her breezily as the two of you began to walk away, not bothering to give Kiri another glance.

Your heart was pounding but you tried your best to look nonchalant, knowing Kiri was probably watching the two of you leave.

As you reached the dance floor, you allowed yourself a sparing glance around to make sure that Kiri was out of ear’s reach before you wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s neck and began to sway your hips.

Bringing your mouth to his ear, you spoke, “Kiri is dating Eunwoo.”

Jungkook sent you a look, “Yeah. I know.”

You shook your head as Jungkook’s hands found your waist, keeping up with your pace.

“You don’t understand. Eunwoo is Yara’s ex.”

“Wait– Really?”

You nodded.

“Great. So he’s banged two of my girlfriends then. I swear to god, Y/N, if he tries to get into your pants next I’m gonna kick his ass into the next decade.” Jungkook grunted. You laughed.

“I just don’t understand. I swear he was in love with Yara just last week. He used to slip love notes under our door for her, you know. I even didn’t know he was in a frat?” You frowned.

“He’s a new member. He was just initiated a little while back. Fucking prick.”

That made sense. From what you had gathered tonight, everyone within Jungkook’s fraternity seemed quite friendly with one another— it didn’t make sense that an active member would betray Jungkook like that.

“You handled that very well, by the way.” Your pretend lover spoke suddenly.

“What? Kiri? Whatever, I’ve dealt with worse girls in high school.” You shrugged easily, hand finding itself running in Jungkook’s hair.

He had mentioned once that he needed a haircut but it seems as if you had successfully managed to talk him out of it. You like his hair like this.

“She was trying to use an intimidation technique that Gamma Alpha Tau uses on possible pledges.” He explained. “I promise you she’s not always that…”

“Snarky? Judgmental? Standoffish?” You offered, quirking up a brow.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I just mean she’s usually better behaved than that.”

“Right. Well, either way, this is a good sign.”

“What is?”

“Her hating me. Just means she’s jealous and then we’re one step closer to closing your half of the deal.” You enthused.

“Speaking of the deal, I believe you owe me a kiss, Freddie.”

Jungkook’s words took you by surprise and as much as you wanted to wipe that slick grin off his face, you knew he was right.

Humming, you let go of his hair, moving closer so that his nose was brushed up against yours.

“Your move, meathead.” You urged, letting your bottom lip brush against his teasingly.

Pressed up against him like this, you could feel a low rumble erupt in his chest.

“You teasing me?” He mused lazily.

“Didn’t you say you liked your pleasure with some pain?”

If Jungkook had a reply, you didn’t catch it in time as his mouth found yours, distracting you from any trivial thoughts weighing you down.

Something was intoxicating about the way Jungkook kissed you; he wasn’t rushed or in any hurry, but the way his mouth moved against yours made your chest pound as you brought your fingers up to pull at his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the sound of Rick James in the air, but when his hand found your jaw and his tongue ran itself along your bottom lip you happily obligated, whimpering as his tongue moved against yours with the same fervor as the kiss you shared on your bed.

Jungkook was trying his hardest to hold back, he really was, but with the way your fingers pulled against his scalp, he felt himself start to grow greedily, grinding his hips against yours.

A whimper left your mouth and before you could make left from right, Jungkook broke the kiss and turned you around, pressing his chest into your back.

Heat rocketed to your face as you were suddenly reminded that you were in a room full of people, kissing Jungkook like this.

Your worries were soon eased as he began to press a trail of kisses down your neck, causing you to sigh.

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand? I’ve got a bottle of Malibu in my room with our name on it.” He murmured into your neck.

For a moment, you wondered if you should say no. If Jungkook kept touching you like this, especially with alcohol in your system, there was no guarantee what you’d do.

You let out a squeak as Jungkook’s tongue found your neck, the hot muscle dancing against your skin.

Letting your eyes roll over the room, you froze as they met a familiar pair.

Kiri was stood by the DJ Booth, eyes fixated on you two, her stare cold and unmoving.

Suddenly, a feeling came over you. It felt hot and not in the nice way Jungkook had been making you feel. You hardened your stare, holding her eyes. Was this why Jungkook kissed you? Did he know Kiri was watching?

Sensing the way you had tense against him, Jungkook pulled away from your neck.

“Something wrong?”

Fine. If Jungkook wanted to put on a show for her, then you were happy to assist.

Instead of replying, you turned your head and answered with your mouth, kissing him in a way you knew Kiri wouldn’t be able to ignore.

“Let’s get outta here.” You breathed as you broke the kiss.

Jungkook’s eyes were dark, eyelids low as a positively devilish smirk crept over him.

Following him as he lead you out of the room, you couldn’t help but glance behind you, the sides of your mouth curling up as you met Kiri’s glare once more.