#yes yes i know this is miniscule as far as matters go but it touches on enough wider currents to frustrate me

[meadowlarkx]

on this blog you'll never see me pitting f/f versus m/m, or any one of this weird discourse's numerous subtle or "joking" offshoots and variants. that's a promise

[fcwoso]

Personal tattoo artist · Mapi León

Summary: Mapi helps reader to overcome her fears but not without a cheeky proposal (fluffy)

MASTERLIST

María has always loved tattoos. It didn't matter if she was the one getting them or someone else, it was something she felt passionate about. She saw the body as a canvas, one that would tell it's own story as time passed by. The drawings and words each represented something, a thought or a feeling. Even if it referred to a miniscule moment. It wasn't a surprise when she announced that, that would be the career path she'd follow when her time as a soccer play would come to an end. On one side it was a scary thought, football is all she has been doing for most of her life.

"Amor (love), come on. You trust me, right?" María pouted as she put her sketchbook down. The book was filled with her creative ideas, she even dedicated a few pages to you. Sketches that reminded her of you, ones that she'd love you to get tatted. The Spanish woman pulled you closer and nuzzled her face in your neck. You could feel her sighing for the umpteenth time this evening, but not before she left a trail of kisses on your warm skin. She wasn't really frustrated, she just loved being a bit dramatic.

The evening started out relaxed. María had training in the morning which meant you two had the rest of the day to spent together. After Googling for a nice place to eat, you decided to go to a restaurant not far from your appartment. Unfortunately once arrived at the place, you stumbled upon a poster that said the place was under reconstruction.

The mood was pretty much killed after that but María came up with the brilliant idea to cook something at home. The muscles in her legs were still aching and all she wanted was to have a nice meal and watch a good show, was what she said. In reality she prefered cuddling on the couch with you. Her muscles were completely fine, she felt great even.

The now empty plates were placed on the glass table in front of the lovers while the tv was still on in the background. "Yes, cariño (honey). Ofcourse i do. It's just that i'm scared i'll regret it." You admitted. A few weeks ago you two went to visit an old friend of hers. That friend is a tattoo artist and offered you to get a tattoo of your choice. You actually had something in mind but backed out last minute. It was this intense fear of regret that kept your mind wondering if it was a good idea to continue, so you didn't.

María's hands found yours as she noticed you were actually worried. It really wasn't that big of a deal, but she didn't want to downplay your emotions. Your thumb grazed over the rose that was displayed on her palm. The rose was her own work, it was a piece she was proud of. And so were you, you were so proud of her courage. The exact courage you were currently missing.

"You know, it's okay to feel that way." María engulfed one hand of yours in hers while the other one travelled to your chin. "I just don't want you to regret not getting it". She softly placed a kiss on your lips and smoothed out the frown between your eyebrows. It's true, it's been a couple of months since you've started talking about this tattoo. Your lips found hers again right after she pulled away, missing her reassuring touch. Her eyes twinkled as she stared at your face, a child-like smile growing on hers.

"Just a reminder, i can do the job as well." María said with raised eyebrows. She wrapped her arms around your waist, you could feel her getting excited at the idea because of the way she was almost restricting your blood flow. "I mean..." You wondered. It's María. Mapi. Your partner in crime. How would you ever be able to regret this tattoo?

She did have the equipment for it, she had the skills as well. "Princesa." María stood up firmly and placed her hands on her sides. "I believe in you." You started giggling, not being able to take her seriously because of the look on her face. "You're lucky you're cute." You said. Eyes following her frame when she made her way out of the living room. She came back with another book, a smaller book than the one she was drawing in earlier.

"What's that?" You asked, curiosity growing bigger by the second. "Oh, this old thing?" Maria huffed and laughed nervously. A few strands of hair were covering her face, she started to scan the pages of the mysterious book. "Escúchame (listen), i have this theory." You couldn't help but laugh at her behaviour, your fingers stroking her short hair back behind her pierced ears. "You should go for something totally different, you don't want to get a tattoo you've had major doubts about."

"Okay, but what does this book have to do with it?" You asked, still not fully understanding the purpose of it. The book was quickly placed in your hands by your lover. The woman next to you started to grow shy under your stare, which is unusual for her, feeling as if she had just exposed one of her biggest secrets. "These are sketches i've never shared with anyone. I'm sure you'll find one that perfectly suits you." María admitted with a soft smile on her face. You couldn't help but pull her closer in your arms, leaving a couple of kisses to the side of her face and on her now slightly red cheeks.

"Thank you." The sincere words were very much appreciated by the footballer. "I'd love to share some other ideas, though." The Spanish woman gained her confidence back in a matter of time. You suddenly found yourself sitting on her lap, legs on each side of her strong body. Her hands wandered around your waist and eventually rested on your thighs that were covered by one of her joggers. "There's this really cool name, something along the lines of Mani, Mapi?" She began. One of her hands moved and rested on your lower back, you quickly understood what she was proposing. "Yeah, there's no way i'm getting a tramp stamp."

[dirtytransmasc]

Hi yes, I would desperately like to see your *insert original media type* please

I have so many at this point for 80 different fandoms, all in different levels of being wips, I couldn't even pick one to show you lol, this is just a very very common feeling I have.

but I might as well give you something, so have some sad, gay, religious trauma ridden "poetry" I wrote after playing Sally face (it's for Travis and his sad little crush on sal), but it could be read as any old queer angst cause there's very little character description.

I doubt this piece a lot, I feel like it's too much and not enough at the same time. there's most likely half a million typos, but my lack of confidence in this piece got so bad I don't even want to look at it anymore.

tw for extreme internalized homophobia.

~~~

Some romances are sweet and gentle; the girl gets the guy. She bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair, he hides his blush with his bravado and sweeps her off her feet. they are joined in holy matrimony, the lord looking down on them with pleasure.

This isn’t one of those romances. For I am the boy who will never get the other boy. I will rub my wet eyes raw and pull at my hair till theres is nothing left to pull at. I may have him, but only ever in sin. I will never have him in your eyes, Lord.

This isn’t sweet nor gentle. This is treacherous and painful and all-consuming.

He’s my destruction, my end, my point of no return. He is my salvation, my respite, my beginning, my place of origin.

I would know him in insanity, as that is where I have come to know him. I know nothing of him. I would know him in death, as that is how far I will go for him. he knows nothing of me. I will know him in pain and sorrow, as that is all he brings me. He’s never uttered a word in my direction, not knowingly. To think he’s spared me a glance would be a mercy on my aching heart.

I couldn’t tell you his favorite color or what he does to fill his free time. I don’t know anything about him. He is part of me. We have never been one. He doesn’t even know how I stare, how I long and pine, how I would snatch my soul from the lord, how I would sell it to the devil himself for just a single kiss, a touch of the fingers, to snatch gently at a single wisp of his hair. Anything. Even the most miniscule of affections would be everything. For him to simply know my name, for him to look at me as I look at him would be enough.

though, in the end, I would never dare do such a thing, I would never curse him to share my fate, because I love him. I would never pray for him to be a sinner like me. He deserves the greatest of heavens, not to be licked at by flames, cursed for all of eternity to never know rest.

Yet, when I lie in bed longing that he is, that he nurtures this beautiful curse like a poisonous flower that grows in our chests. That we could be sinner’s together. Its shameful, horrific, cruel, but a feeling that I cannot shake.

It doesn’t help that his voice, the parables that fall from his lips, sound as though they are the words of God Himself. His laugh could cure sickness, the sound of his smile lilting his voice ever so slightly, could bring about the greatest of peace. it is etched into my memory, it plays in the softest of dreams and darkest of nightmares. I could pull it from a crowd, it is the only voice that matters. I believe that when I die, when I sink into hell, it will be his voice there, as it will be my greatest torture, it will be my greatest respite.

I see all that is horrid about him, the scars that mar his skin and burdens he carries on his shoulders, shattering his clavicles and crushing his vertebrates. I see all of the things that make him ugly and unwantable, and want him more. I see everything that is beautiful, that mark him an angel, and seek to honor him. Where some see a monster, I see something godsent. What some seek to lust, I seek to honor. I see his grace, his holy divinity. It is something untouchable.

He is divine, he is my greatest sin. He is an angel, a demon, the Christ reborn once more, an eldritch horror. In my heart he is mine.

Lord forgive me for I have sinned, I wish to fall flesh to flesh with another man, no, boy. We are boys. We are boys in love. I am a boy in love, he has the mercy of not knowing me. Forgive me lord for I lust, not to touch with any lude manner, but to hold his hand in mine, to feel the gentle roughness of his palm against my own. I wish to kiss his brow and wake to his sleep filled eyes, to see his bed head first hand, to feel how sleep warms his skin, how he would wrap his arms around me when he turns back over from hitting snooze. I wish to kiss him ever so gently. Forgive me lord for being in love, for wanting the simple pleasures, for doing it all wrong. I am wrong.

Am I wrong? If I am wrong, why would you create me like this?

I would surely die if I were to admit these thoughts to anyone but you, Lord, and even you will one day claim your revenge against me, you will come to smite my soul, but that is ok. Until then, I will simply thank you, for making me wrong, for creating such a beautiful sin, so that I may lust after your creation, one so heavenly, with the tainted innocence of a boy who was robbed of it with bible verses and the screams of preachers so long ago, but still clings to the idea of it. Of being pure and holy. Of loving innocently like the child I still feel myself to be.

Until the day my soul is consumed by the flames, I will tell you all about him. Until that day I will drag my chains, shackles, and cinder blocks so I can just bask in his light a little longer. Maybe one day I will hold his hand and pretend I do not feel your shame and humiliation. Maybe one day I will kiss him ever so softly, like two children on the playground, and I will act as though I am not damning myself, like we together are not damned to the flames. Maybe I was always meant to be sinner, maybe its worth it.

Yes, yes it’s worth it. I will commit a million sins, with prayers still on my tongue, with a love so deeply rooted in my chest that I still praise your name despite the disgust you surely hold for me, just to be with him. You can damn me, you can shame me, your holy messengers can attempt to change me, to beat me, to kill me, to snuff me out and take my love. But I will never not love my perfect sin. I will chose it every time.

I will be the boy, who loves another boy. I will sing hymns, wear my rosary, go to church, kneel in the pews with pride. I will hold his hand and love him for as long as he allows. I will feel the burn of hell under each strike of my feet upon your earth and be comforted by his hand in mine, and mine in his, the gentle roughness of his palms, the heavenly essence of his voice, the love of two sinners binding us together.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Okay, imagine Tobirama just constantly bullying you cause he of course will never want to admit to his feelings. But one day he goes too far and his darling just bursts into tears and the regret he feels hits when he sees the tears. But somewhere deep down inside I feel like he might have a thing for that-

Yes. Yes to all of this.

Tobirama Senju is a no nonsense man, he doesn't have time for silly games or love, so go make yourself useful and do something productive.... But you can't stray away too far, he still needs to keep an eye on you after all. You're so incompetent, he really needs to just spell everything out for you doesn't he? He manages to find flaws in everything you do, no matter how miniscule and when I tell you that he is so merciless when it comes to this. He always pesters you about your posture, how slow you are and that your reflexes need to be sharper, how else are you going to defend yourself in case you get attacked?! He always makes sure to isolate you from the crowd specifically, to point out all of your flaws and shortcomings... You know what the sad thing is about this?

He cares. He cares so much that he's lost on what to do, he worries so much that it actually makes him feel sick. He can't eat, sleep, think without worrying about you. His mean words are all hollow in the end - he wants you to survive. He's seen so much death and despair that he should be desensitized to all of it by now but he just isn't, especially when it comes to you. You, oh God you, his favorite stupid, little thing. He doesn't even know what to call you, honestly. Tobirama isn't good with words and whenever he feels the urge to touch you he pulls away at the last second, his own paranoia eating him from the inside out.

Now that I think about it, I'm actually torn about it this. On one hand I do think that Tobirama would enjoy seeing your tears but only when you are alone with him. No one else should see your sensitive side, your tears are meant for him and him only.

On the other hand though I can't stop thinking about soft! Tobirama and just how much he hates seeing you all teary eyed and sad ... The world has enough pain and suffering, but you are his world and he wants to keep you safe no matter the cost. The desire to hold you, to protect you, to treasure you and lock you away and keep you safe stirs deep inside of him. At the end of the day Tobirama is still just a man and every man has his weakness and he has plenty. He just doesn't want you to see them.

[darling-i-read-it]

Ghost

Karl Heisenberg x reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: angst, death, execution, blugering heads in, smut (not to detailed)

Author’s Note: I really ended up liking this one! I hope you enjoy it as well love. I too would simply haunt the hell out of this village.

Requested: by anon, hiii!!! could u possibly do a 2 part karl heisenberg x fem!reader where Y/N used to be the young bride to be yet soon had made the rounds of having an illicit affair with the older and sarcastic bastard that was heisenberg. after being caught, she was executed and now haunts the village and heisenberg is the only one that manages to truly see her when she's haunting and there could be an explicit part but yea! thanks

Summary: the request

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Many Years Before 2021

You didn’t really want to get married. You had been raised to believe that it was something you did so that you could live and if you didn’t you would be poor and die soon. It wasn’t the best philosophy but hey, it was what you had.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, touching your collarbones lightly as your gaze followed the dress.

“You look wonderful,” Celeste, your best friend whispered. She had been married a couple of years before you. She didn’t enjoy it. She didn’t like her husband. You imagined you wouldn’t like yours. You had met the groom to be a couple of times and he was decent enough to be a husband but you didn’t love him, that was for sure. There were so few options in the village.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you asked, brushing your dress down.

“No, no. You look amazing.”

You nodded a bit and had to look away from yourself. You couldn’t see yourself as a bride. You didn’t want to be a bride. Well maybe one day. But not to him.

David walked into the room and looked at you. He didn’t have a reaction. He just smiled a bit, kind of annoyingly, and moved to grab a book from behind you.

“Doesn’t she look amazing David?” Celeste asked, gesturing to you. You felt kind of awkward standing there as he looked you up and down. You didn’t know what to do with your hands.

“She looks nice,” he said. You deflated a little bit but tried not to show it on your face. Celeste made it very obvious though that that was not what you tell your future wife to be. “I’ll be back for dinner at 5.” He turned and left.

You sat down on the bed, putting your head in your hands.

“I need to go for a walk,” you muttered. “Get me out of this dress Celeste.” ====

You had to make dinner but for the moment you were ignoring your responsibilities. The village, though small, still always had something new to find. You walked on the outskirts, ignoring the people as they went past and just looking around.

You walked past the castle, trying not to look up at it. For some reason you were convinced that someone would come and snatch you away if you looked too hard. You walked past it and ended up at the outer edges of town, on one of the trails.

It started to rain and you hadn’t brought a jacket. Yet you didn’t turn back. You stayed on the path that you were on, never having gone this far before. Maybe part of you was hoping it would lead you out of town completely.

“What are you doing all the way out here kitten?” A voice spoke, making you jump. You looked around, searching for the alluring playful male voice. From behind a tree a man emerged. He was wearing a long coat and hat, his hair stringy. He took off the glasses he was wearing to see you better.

“Who are you? I don’t recognize you,” you said, not sure what else to say at first. You knew everyone in town. Everyone knew everyone.

He put his hand out.

“Karl Heisenberg. Who are you? A local yeah?”

“Yes.” You shook his hand. “Y/N.” He let go of your hand and his touch trailed up to your ear, where he felt the pearl earrings you had tried on for the wedding earlier. He looked down at the ring on your finger.

“Where's your husband?” he questioned.

“I don’t have a husband,” you said, much too harshly. You shook your head a bit. “Not yet anyway.” He nodded, leaning against the tree he had just emerged from.

“It’s dangerous out here, don’t they tell you?”

“Who knows anymore? No one ever leaves,” you said. He nodded, surprised at your candor. “Except you. Or are you not from the village?”

“You have a lot of questions don’t you?” “Can you blame me? You’re the first new person I’ve met in years.” He chuckled a bit and nodded.

“I guess I can understand that.” He gestured to the ring.

“What’s the fiance like?”

“You have a lot of questions about my love life Karl.” You crossed your arms annoyed. Karl nodded a bit again.

“I like you.” The way he said it, drawled out a bit and honestly, made your stomach flutter. You panicked for a second. What was that?

“I don’t like my fiance much. But he has a lot of livestock,” you admitted. “It will help my family.” Your voice sounded ashamed as you said that.

“A girl like you can’t marry for love?”

“There’s no one that I love,” you admitted.

Karl thought about it for a second, looking at you up and down. He had met a couple of people from the village but they were usually too scared of him to stay long, or he killed them for an experiment type thing. But he liked you right off the bat.

“Would you like to see somewhere other than the village?” You thought about it for a moment. He was a strange man who you just met outside of your home. He could hurt you. Or he could help you live your life.

“I would.”

====

Karl took you to his factory. He showed you around, told you a bit about the other Lords but not much. You knew Mother Miranda obviously and he expressed his hatred for her. He was interesting and he made you laugh and feel things.

You snuck away why David went to work and went and saw Karl. He showed you more of his inventions. And he liked to hang out with you. He got lonely, not that he would ever admit it.

You sat with him one afternoon, looking at the village from the factory. It was very very faint but it was there.

“I stole this from my sister,” he said quietly, handing you a lipstick. You took it from him, holding it and twisting it to see the colors.

“For me?”

“No, it’s for me. Yes it’s for you,” he said laughing. You chuckled. You put it on your lips, rubbing it together.

“What do you think?”

“You look great.” He was leaning on the ground, holding himself up with his elbow. You were both looking out a window to nature and the village.

“Thank you very much.” You smiled sheepishly and looked down. Your eyes flashed back to him and he had moved closer to you. You hadn’t even noticed. You leaned down and kissed him.

That.

That was what it was supposed to feel like when you kissed someone.

He sat up, putting his hand on the back of your head and pushing your lips further onto his. You breathed him, you felt him as he put you on his lap.

He liked that the village was in view while he held you to him, as each layer of clothing was shredded. As he felt himself move inside of you, he knew that your fiance was in view no matter how strong. Karl felt your body shake in his hands and knew that he loved you. You loved him, you whispered to him when you were both finished.

He took off your wedding ring with his own fingers. He would make you his own one day, he swore it.

====

“What are you looking at?” Celeste asked. You snapped out of it. Your eyes had wandered in the direction of Karl’s factory, though you couldn’t really see it from there. You looked back at her.

“Lost in thought I suppose.”

“What’s that smile?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“That smile?” You shook your head.

“This is my regular smile, don’t worry about it.” Celeste looked at you for a moment longer, puzzled.

“Are you and David getting along better?” she asked. She glanced down at your bare ring finger. It had been bothering her all day.

“I suppose.”

“Where’s your ring?” The two of you were walking to the market to get some things for the week. You looked down at your finger like you hadn’t noticed it was gone.

“Must have dropped it.”

“You say that like it’s not a big deal!” she whispered, grabbing your arm. “What is going on with you? You’re gone all measures of the afternoon, you lose your ring, you have this dazed look on your face all the time-”

“Nothing is wrong with me Celeste.” You yanked your arm away. “Drop it.” She composed herself, shaking her head.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it. It’s going to get you killed.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

=====

“Look at this one,” Karl said, shoving a fun new invention in your face. You took it from him and laughed a bit.

“What does this one do?” you asked him.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. You laughed, tossing it back to him. Sometimes he just put things together and then found out what they did. It worked for him, that was for sure but someday he was bound to get hurt, you were convinced.

“I have to go back to the village. It’s almost dinner time.” You stood up, brushing your clothes off from the grime of the factory.

“You know you don’t have to go back.”

“Yes I do. Otherwise they’ll think I’ve died.”

“Is that so bad?” he weigned. He grabbed your hand but you didn’t let him hold it. You gestured to the door.

“I will see you tomorrow.”

“Your weddings tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night. I’ll still see you.” You turned and opened the door. He wanted to call for you to come back but he was too prideful for that. He let you go down the hill with the promise that he would see you tomorrow.

The walk back was as swift as it always was. You were practically bouncing. Your mind wasn’t on your wedding, it seemed so miniscule to you now. When you stepped back into your house the ghost of a smile was still on your face.

At the sight of David at the table, the smile faded very quickly.

“David?”

“Where have you been?” Celeste was standing behind him, her arms crossed, face hard. You looked between the two of them.

“I just went for a walk,” you said but it sounded weak.

“Where have you been?” David asked again.

“You go out up to that factory every single day. You come back...with this,” Celeste said, gesturing to the mark on your neck you hadn't even noticed was there.

“I didn’t give it to you.” David said.

“Hey now,” you said, shaking your head. “I burnt myself, that’s all.”

“Do you know what happens to women who have affairs?” David asked, standing up. He grabbed your arm and held it tightly. “They don’t get married.” He threw your arm down and your eyes went wide.

“No. No no, you can’t....”

====

When you didn’t come back the next day, Karl went down to the village. He just narrowly caught the end of the execution. He didn't even think they did that anymore, let alone to you.

He found your fiance and smashed him with his hammer until David was nothing but dust.

You managed to catch the end of that death.

“Karl! Karl what are you-” You rushed up to him and grabbed his arm, only for it to go straight through him. You gasped, eyes wide. Karl turned around but he was the only one who did.

“Y/N?” He went to grab your cheek and went right through you. He shivered.

“What are you looking at, old man?!” Celeste screamed, kneeling beside David's dead body. Karl turned around and realized quickly that no one else could see you. He wasn’t sure how or why or what had happened but you were dead and he could still see you.

He smashed David's head in once more.

====

2021

“There’s someone in the village,” you said. Karl looked over at you, confused.

“Yeah, there’s always people in the village kitten.” You shook your head, eyebrows furrowed and confused.

“No, everyones been killed or hiding in their houses. There's an outsider out there,” you told him. He took a step to his window and looked down at the village, now torn and broken. You were standing beside him but he hadn’t been able to actually touch you since you had died. You floated around the village, haunting people here and there when they caught a glimpse of you, staying around Karl when he went from place to place. He was the only person to talk to you.

“Ethan Winters?”

“I think so. Granted, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him before. Should you tell Mother Miranda?”

“You’ve known me long enough to know I don’t tell Mother Miranda anything I don’t have to.” You crossed your arm.

“I guess you’re right about that. Want me to go back down and check to see where he is?” you asked. Karl nodded.

“There’s a meeting soon. I imagine it will be about him. Be back soon.”

You nodded and started to go back to the village.

“Don’t go too far,” he called. You waved him away.

“You either.”

[cacoetheswriting]

hell or high water

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings: angst, possible tfatws spoilers, swearing, dealing with emotions / comforting, mutual pining, a lil fluff, & mentions of john walker [yes, i’m adding that as a warning] word count: 1.5k summary: unexpected, and rather devastating news, bring you and bucky together.

-

The calm before the storm - a period of unusual tranquillity and stability that often foreshadowed grave and difficult times.

The calm before the storm. That’s how you would describe what was happening during this moment, as you propped yourself up on the chair, silently observing Bucky for any sort of reaction to the breaking headline currently being shared on every single news channel.

John Walker. The new Captain America.

Bucky’s face was blank, although by now you’ve gotten to know him well enough to understand what the expression, or lack thereof, meant. He was irritated - no - he was fucking pissed. And truthfully, he had every right to be.

“I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe. Steve Rogers was the kind of guy who could do that, he gave me hope. Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.” John Walker’s voice sounded through the shitty speakers.

Bucky’s heart sank at the words. He smacked his lips together and exhaled.

“Hey, uhm… are you okay?” You asked in a hushed tone, eyes glued to the side of his face, nervously chewing down on your bottom lip. It was a really stupid question since you already knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t okay. Far from it, actually. In your eyes however, it was always better to check anyway. 

Especially since the man sitting on the cool ground only an arms length away from you wasn’t one to open up freely.

Bucky grunted in response, followed by a deep sigh.

“Just… peachy.” He huffed, before switching the tv off and sliding a hand down his face, wiping away any lone tears that may have escaped.

His response caused your heart to clench inside of your chest. You wanted to ease any pain the unexpected news caused him, but you weren’t exactly sure how. You felt extremely helpless, and from where you sat you could tell he was feeling the exact same - however, for different reasons.

His powerlessness was primarily fueled by anger.

And Bucky was aware the dangerous emotions circulating through his veins was undoubtedly stemming from heartbreak. Sorrow for everything he lost. Grief for the only family he had left.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person that accepted him for who he was. Cherished him despite the many flaws and mistakes he’s made over the years. The only person in this whole damn universe who could easily separate him from his dark and troubled past. The only person who didn’t just see him as The Winter Soldier, a ruthless killing machine.

No.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person who truly and earnestly believed Bucky was a good person.

And now Bucky had to witness Captain America being formally replaced. As if Steve Rogers was nothing. As if he meant nothing.

Which is why, as the dark-haired man stared at his own hollow reflection in the blank television screen, he was glad you entered his life when you did.

His gaze trailed to the outline of your silhouette and a small smile circled his lips. Knowing that you were here for him. Knowing that it was no longer only Steve who wholeheartedly believed he was genuine and kind… He felt better.

You could see him looking at you through the black display. You could see the miniscule smile present on his features, and you couldn’t help but return the expression.

Soon enough you were up on your feet, gracefully moving from the rather uncomfortable chair to the even more uncomfortable floor next to Bucky. You placed your head on his shoulder and his whole body instantly relaxed at your proximity, at your gentle and soothing touch. His eyes locked with yours through the monitor and you could clearly make out the gratitude, the adoration.

Yes. For a brief moment, a split second, Bucky felt better.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, bringing your knees closer to your chest and wrapping one arm tightly around to hold them in place. “I’m sorry this is happening. I know it’s not what you wanted, and… I know it’s now what Steve wanted.”

“Don’t apologise.” Bucky was quick to contravene.

You just shrugged, your head still resting against him. “Well, the people that made this decision, the people that should apologise most definitely won’t, and it seems like something you need to hear. A simple apology.”

He huffed lightly, once again feeling grateful he had someone like you to ground him. God, if you weren’t here… No. No. He stopped himself and shook the disturbing thoughts away. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

He swallowed.

But he was. He had no other choice.

“I- uh… I need to go, y/n. I need to find Sam. I need to talk to him and get some answers.”

“I know.” You stated simply, however there was a detectable hint of sadness in the tone of your voice. Bucky picked up on it immediately and he shifted in his position, so that he was now looking down at you.

His gaze burned into the side of your skull, lip quivering as he searched his mind for what to say next because he hated this. Hated it came to this. And you hated it too.

You began to feel guilty. If you weren’t in his life, he wouldn’t have this problem. He wouldn’t have you to worry about. He wouldn’t need to explain himself. There would be nothing holding him back.

Fuck, you thought, life was just starting to get easier.

Swallowing the growing lump at the back of your throat, you mustered up enough courage to face him. The amiable look in his eyes caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter momentarily.

“But you’ll come back.” It wasn’t a request. It was a fact. Corners of your lips twirled into a timid smile, yet all Bucky could focus on were the tears you were trying really hard to fight back.

Slowly, he nodded his head. How could he not come back? All you did these last few months was make him a little bit happier. He could only dream to one day return the favour, because as smart as Bucky Barnes was, he had no idea he already made you the happiest you’d ever been.

“I’ll come back.” He reassured.

“Alive.”

He chuckled softly before repeating, “Alive.”

Lifting your hand, you tenderly brushed your fingers down his cheek and across his jawline. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he leaned into your touch. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because as you held his face in the palm of your hand while he studied every inch of yours, the uncertainty of when you would see each other again gradually settling in, you realised you’ve never been this close to one another.

You thought perhaps you should pull back, that this was a little too close for comfort, but you found yourself unable to move. Frozen. Completely captivated by the handsome man situated in front of you.

It should have felt weird, the intimacy of the moment. It should have felt weird. Why, why didn’t it feel weird? Bucky was your neighbour. He was your friend. There was nothing else to your relationship. Nothing… more.

But as you stared deeply into his eyes, taking note of the warm expression he was presenting as he continued to scan your face, the air hitched in your throat. 

It felt natural.

Bucky sensed it too. He sensed the change in the atmosphere around the two of you. Unfamiliar, yet not unwelcoming. Quite the opposite actually. It drew him in. He found himself slowly leaning in, and like a magnet, you followed suit.

When his mouth eventually slanted over yours, your heart skipped a beat.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Bucky was indicating you could stop him at any given time, if you wanted too. It wouldn’t take much to push him away and end this now. But you didn’t want to stop him. Instead, you closed your eyes at the desirable sensation igniting every single cell in your body.

Any boundary the two of you had previously unspokenly set was crossed, broken. However, it didn’t seem to matter to either of you.

The hand previously cupping Bucky’s cheek, was now gripping at his hair. Both of his hands were now holding your waist - not applying too much pressure, but making it known that they were there.

You wanted to comment how he very rarely touched you with his metal arm, always weary that he may somehow hurt you, and now he was latched onto you in a way that suggested he would never let you go, but his tongue wound its way between your parted lips, breaking you away from your thoughts.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, you pulled away simultaneously. Equally flushed and equally breathless. Smiling at one another like a couple of love-struck idiots.

“Hmm.. We can continue this when you’re back.” You whispered against his puffed lips, before pecking them softly.

Bucky smirked. He lifted his right arm and gently brushed loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t you worry, y/n.” He began, “Come hell or high water, I’ll definitely be back.”

-

masterlist

[blueprint-han]

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay​ skznta event, written for @stayndays​ !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it!  ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started  is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”. 

 “Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them. 

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock. 

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.” 

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose. 

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date. 

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too. 

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter. 

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it. 

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion? 

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own? 

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it. 

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous. 

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long. 

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now. 

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch. 

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was  neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across. 

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all. 

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.” 

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.” 

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned. 

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon.  You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have  the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door. 

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod. 

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

 It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up. 

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days. 

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly. 

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it. 

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately. 

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly. 

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.” 

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?” 

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.” 

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course. 

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

taglist: @inkidz​ @stayverse​ @districtninewriters​ @kpopscape​ @skzwritersclub​ + @sunoo-luvs​ @sleepylixie​ @rae-blogging​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @guerillrah​ @p2q3r4​ @baby-innie​ (Please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!) *oh holy lord pls let this show up in the tags*

[cappsikle]

it’s time for sleep // fred weasley

Pairing: fred weasley x reader

Summary: you really just wanted some sleep... and some cuddles

Warnings: tiny bit of a makeout? Not really proofread 

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hey guys!! This is just fluff with no plot. I decided to write this to help me get out of a depressive episode and it did make me feel just a tad better. I hope this helps anyone who reads it <3

I am taking requests so if you guys have any please feel free to send them in!!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

---

You walked into the common room with hunched shoulders, thanking whatever god was out there that you had a free period. Now you could just sit down and relax. Today had been one of those days that just seemed to drag on for eternity, exhausting you to the point where you almost fell asleep in potions, but Snape’s ever so attentive beady eyes made sure that wouldn’t happen. So instead you slaved away in front of a cauldron, only just concocting something worth deeming ‘passable’. Dropping your bag besides the couch you rubbed your tired eyes and sat down, releasing a deep sigh that you appeared to have been holding on to all day. You relished in the peace and quiet that you had, but you knew it wouldn’t last long so you had to make the most of it.  

Kicking your shoes off your sore feet, you lifted your legs to stretch on the couch, adjusting your body until you were finally in a comfortable enough position. You yawned loudly and covered your eyes with your arm, hoping to maybe get a few minutes of sleep. Eventually the lack of energy and the warm flames of the fire had led your mind to drift into a state of unconsciousness.

---

The last thing Fred expected to see when walking into the common room was your curled-up figure on the couch, a throw pillow trapped in your arms. There was only one way he could describe you right now, and that was that you were absolutely adorable. Your chin was tucked into your chest and your mouth was slightly parted enough that if he was quiet enough, Fred was able to hear the cute little snores you made when you were in a deep sleep. Fred smiled to himself, reaching over the back of the couch to gently move a lock of hair that fell in your eyes. He could watch you sleep all day if he could... but that probably sounded creepy. His heart nearly soared right out of his chest as you stirred in response to his touches, snuggling into the pillow you practically had a death grip on. Oh how he would love to be that pillow.

“Oi! Fred!”

“Shhh! Can you be any louder?!” Fred whisper shouted at his twin’s overly obnoxious entrance, George stopping in his tracks with his hands up in surrender at his brother’s attack.

“Alright mate, geez. What's got your wand in a knot?” Fred rolled his eyes and nodded his head towards the couch before George walked over to see what exactly he was gesturing to. “Aww, isn’t that cute. Freddie’s become a stalker!”

“George, will you shut up before you wake-”

“would you both shut it? ‘M tryna sleep here” your aggravated and very sleepy voice grabbed both the redheads’ attention.

“See, George? Now you’ve done it.”

“Me? What did I do?!”

“You’re a right prat you know,”

“oh, for the love of all that is above both of you knock it off before I knock you out!”

Both the twins paused their ruckus as their eyes landed on you, now sitting up more awake and looking rather pissed off. Oops. They both looked down sheepishly and spoke at the same time, “we’re sorry”

“Good. Now, Fred get your arse on this couch so I can cuddle you. And George?”

“Yes...?” you stared him down with a hard glare.

“piss off.”

And George did just that, scurrying through the portrait hole to hopefully find Lee, not wanting to upset you any further. Who knew what you would do to him if he didn’t?

Fred watched his brother leave the common room, trying but failing to hide his smirk. Once the portrait closed, Fred vaulted himself over the couch and sat with a jolt, kicking his shoes off and resting them next to yours.

“finally,” you breathed out, taking Fred’s arm and wrapping it around your sholders and slotting both your fingers together once you had gotten comfortable. “I thought he’d never leave.”

Fred chuckled to himself before saying, “how is it that you can be so utterly adorable and sleep like a baby but be terrifying all the same?”

You smirked to yourself and played with his fingers. “Fred,”

“Yes?”

“I’m always adorable.”

Wouldn't it be completely wrong to disagree?  

“I know you are, dearest.”

You looked up as Fred and he looked down at you and then you both broke out into laughter. Once your laughs died down you both looked into each other’s eyes, seeing nothing but complete and utter love. With the remnants of your laughs, you both leaned towards each other until your lips finally met in the middle. The kiss soft but passionate at the same time, your lips slotting together like puzzle pieces. You don’t think you could ever get tired of kissing him, the feeling you get in your heart being unmatched by anything. The hand holding his let go to hold his cheek whilst the other trailed up to run your fingers through his bright ginger hair, it being so incredibly soft. Another thing you could never get sick of.

Fred's arm moved to wrap around your waist, bringing you as close to him as he could. The love he held for you was sometimes too much to bear. From your sometimes-fiery witty personality mixed with your soft and (always) adorable side, what wasn’t there to love? The kiss began to get heated as Fred gently nibbled on your bottom lip causing you to open your mouth slightly, allowing him to sneak his tongue in yours. Cheeky bugger. However, before the kiss got any further, you quickly pulled away and hid your face in your elbow as you let out a yawn. Way to kill the mood, right?

Fred chuckled warmly at you. You were so random at times, always full of surprises, even if they’re as miniscule as yawning in the middle of a make out session. To be quite fair, he did wake you up in the middle of a nap, and usually it doesn’t end well for others who do. You lift your head from your elbow and look at Fred with an embarrassed smile, “heh, sorry about that. I’m still really tired”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Fred grabs a lock of your hair, twirling it with his fingers causing you giggle slightly as you lent your head on the back of the couch, your smile big enough you thought your face was going to split in half. Fred’s breath got caught in his throat at the sight of your smile. He swore that it was bright enough to outshine the sun, and the twinkle in your eyes were brighter than all the stars. God, he loved you. Fred adjusted himself so he was laying against the arm rest and (gently)  yanked at your arm so you were laying on top of him “c’mere you.”

Fred’s arms encased your head, smushing your face into his chest as you continued to giggle but they were muffled “Freeed what are you doing? I can’t breathe!”

“You’re staying here forever, and you can’t escape.”

“Alright, alright I’ll stay, just move your arms so I can bloody breathe!”

Fred finally moved his arms, but they didn’t move very far as he rested his hands on the expanse of your back, rubbing up and down. All the while you scooch up his lanky body so your face could rest in that nice little spot between his shoulder and neck. This was one of your favourite ways to cuddle. He just felt so warm, it was like having your own personal furnace. You let out another yawn, hiding your face in his shoulder before returning your head where it was. Your breath tickled his neck as your breathing began to even out.

Neither of you know how long you stay like that for, the roaring of the fire and listening to Fred’s breathing almost like a lullaby to you. Your eyes start to feel droopy as you snuggle your face against Fred’s neck, leaving a quick kiss as he continues to draw patterns on your back. Fred can feel himself getting sleepy too, but he tries to stay awake, just to be able to feel you with him for as long as he possibly can. He's drifted in his thoughts, but were broken by the sound of your small, incredibly tired voice.  

“Hey Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Fred smiled to himself, his heart almost jumping out of his chest. No matter how many times you say it, he can never ever get tired of hearing it. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the both of you drifted off to sleep, surrounded by nothing more than warmth and love.

That is, until George came back.

-----

I hope you guys enjoyed that! Please don’t forget to reblog/like or comment. I hope you all have a lovely day/night wherever you are!

- Mills <3

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Every Drop of Grace

Endverse destiel

Rating: on the border between M and E (I’m over cautious, probably most people would say M)

About 3k

“Do you ever wish we could have something...normal?” Dean’s voice falls into the quiet night, a stone falling into a once-still pond.

Cas can’t hold back his snort. “Dean. You grew up hunting monsters. I’m a fallen angel. There was never going to be anything ‘normal’ about either of us.” Dean huffs in response, burying his face deeper into the hollow of Cas’s neck. “It also doesn’t help that our relationship–if that’s what you want to call it–began after the end of the world.”

“The world didn’t end,” Dean protests weakly. “It’s still here. It’s just…”

“Right,” Cas says, giving in to the urge to roll his eyes–it helps that Dean is behind him and can’t actually see his eyes. “The world is still here. We even have this tiny bit that’s almost safe.”

Dean doesn’t argue, though Cas can feel how much he wants to. Cas idly wonders if Dean ever argued a monster to death, but he doesn’t voice the thought. He doesn’t want Dean to leave. He smirks into the darkness, though. He can absolutely imagine a cocky, 13 year old version of Dean facing down a werewolf. “You’re doing it wrong!” shouts the smaller, higher-voiced Dean. “You need to lull me into complacency, then strike. No wonder you’ve been caught by a kid.

Cas chuckles softly at the made up–but completely plausible–memory. At Dean’s questioning hum, Cas skips his imaginings and brings the conversation back to where they started. “Considering the chaos all around us, I’d say what we have is amazing, Dean.” Having you at all is amazing, he does not say.

Dean smiles against Cas’s skin.

There is much Cas misses about being an angel–healing, flying, super-strength, not being so damned fragile–but on the opposite side, there are so many things that make the Fall worthwhile. He’d touched Dean when he was still an angel, and it had been nice enough. Better than nice even; there’d been something special about touching Dean from the first time he’d held the hunter’s broken soul in hell. But in this his human senses are far superior. The touch of Dean’s lips on the soft skin between Cas’s shoulder blades makes his heart race, his breathing quicken. Dean laughs, not more than a soft breath, and Cas’s stomach flips at the heat across his skin. He’s getting hard, just from a few small sensations.

Yes, the Fall was worthwhile. Even if they’re doomed, he wouldn’t trade this for all the Grace ever created.

Dean goes on, most likely unaware of Cas’s growing arousal. Cas focuses on Dean’s voice and on keeping his own breathing as even as possible, and soon he’s nearly as lost in Dean’s memories as Dean himself.

“I always tried to find fun stuff for Sammy, growing up.” Dean’s voice catches a little on his brother’s name, but he pushes through. “Most of the things I did pissed Dad off, but I didn’t let him stop me. The kid had to have something good in his horror of a childhood. Little things: a bag of marshmallows to roast over a campfire, a Monopoly game we could play in motel rooms, a baseball cap I knew he wanted. I found a pair of roller skates in his size once; I think he was about eleven. Man, that was a mess. Dumb kid took off like he knew just what he was doing and two yards later fell flat on his face. Dad put four stitches over his left eye and lectured him the whole time about what if that rock hit your eye instead of your forehead, blah blah blah. Sammy took it like a champ, didn’t flinch once, and as soon as Dad was gone Sammy put the skates right back on and took off again. And that time he didn’t fall. Well, he did, but not right away, and not so he needed stitches.”

Cas can tell Dean is working up to something, even if it all just seems like rambling. Dean is a roadmap, and sometimes Cas can follow. “A few months before I turned 16 I stole Dad’s car for a couple hours and took Sammy to a drive-in. You ever…?” Dean answers his own question before Cas has the chance to even shake his head. “Nah, you weren’t much of a movie-goer back in your halo days. At a drive-in you sit in your car to watch a movie–outside, at night. You park by a little speaker that pipes the sound right to you, and the screen is gigantic, big as...well, I don’t even know, it’s been too long, but trust me, it’s big. You look out the front of the car and all you see is the movie. You’ve got the sound filling up the car and the movie filling up your eyes and it’s like you and whoever you’re sitting with are in your own little world, whatever make-believe world the actors and all the rest made for you to live in. For a few hours, anyway.”

Dean’s voice is rough, almost raw. “That’s what we have, Cas. A few hours in a bubble full of make-believe, until the bubble pops and it’s the end of the world again.”

Cas wants to scream, to deny every word, to tell Dean it isn’t make-believe, it isn’t, and he wants to spend every minute from now until they fall to dust proving it, but instead he hears his traitorous mouth whisper, “I know.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says, and Cas isn’t sure which of them Dean is trying to comfort. “It’s okay. The pretending, the bubble–it’s enough.”

It isn’t. Cas wants it all, wants every bit of Dean. His smiles and his glares, his laughs and his curses, his happy chatter and his incoherent tears. He wants to be fucked into the mattress and then hold Dean in his arms until the sun comes up, to have Dean stay all night instead of slinking away in the darkness.

It isn’t enough. The coffee’s been gone for awhile, but he wants to make Dean tea in the mornings, good strong tea to bring a little of the sparkle back to his green eyes. He wants to go with him on foraging runs, venturing out of their little corner of the world to find supplies to last them just a little bit longer. He wants to have Dean’s back, to protect him, to keep him safe. He doesn’t have his mojo anymore, but he still has his blade, and he’s had millenia of practice to hone his skills.

Cas doesn’t want only darkness, grasping and clutching at each other when the rest of the world sleeps. He wants to give Dean every kind of pleasure, and maybe a little bit of peace. As a fallen angel, Cas doesn’t think he gets to go to heaven, but he doesn’t mind. He has here, he has now.

So this little bubble of half-truths and fairy tales…

It’s not enough.

Cas’s eyes begin to sting. “Fuck.” The word is mostly air, barely a sound at all, but of course Dean hears. Because Dean can see through Cas’s pretences too. That’s how these things work.

“Cas?”

“It’s nothing,” Cas says, but Dean sees through that too, maneuvering them both so they’re face to face on the narrow bed. Cas closes his eyes, willing the tears to stop before they can properly begin. He hates to cry, hates to have his feelings fly so far out of his control that they stream down his face in the form of wet, salty tears.

“It’s nothing,” he says again, when he trusts that his voice won’t give him away. Then, grasping at the first thought that passes through his head, he says, “I just don’t like when the bubble pops.”

The lines around Dean’s eyes soften. He presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead and says, “We’ve still got a few hours. I’m not going anywhere.” His yet is unspoken but Cas hears it anyway.

Dean’s got one hand holding the side of Cas’s face, fingers threaded into his hair, the other resting lightly on his hip. Their legs are tangled together, and when Dean moves in to kiss Cas again their hips move together and Cas can’t take it anymore. There is so much skin, it feels like skin for miles, but also like he can feel every individual cell, every molecule of Dean’s breath, every miniscule drop of sweat…

“Dean,” Cas groans, because it’s too much, his brain is going to overload. It doesn’t matter that they had sex not long ago–Cas needs more, needs to be closer. “Dean.” It’s almost a prayer. “Please.”

And Dean is there, even before he calls, pushing him onto his back. Dean kisses Cas, hungry, and Cas is happy–eager–to be devoured. He’s got his arms wrapped around Dean, clawing at his back, trying to pull them closer together. There’s a part of his brain screaming that Dean thinks this is all pretend, so maybe if Cas can get them close enough together, if he can somehow press the truth into Dean’s skin, then maybe Dean will understand.

But then Dean thrusts his cock (hard, so hard, and all for him) against Cas’s, and he stops thinking and just feels.

Cas throws his head back and Dean nips at his throat; Cas hisses and claws at Dean’s back again. There’s a growl coming from deep in Dean’s chest, but Cas can feel the smile against his skin. They both like the small shocks of pain–reminders of life.

Holding himself up on one forearm, Dean reaches between them, wrapping his strong, calloused fingers around both their cocks. A moan escapes Cas’s lips, and Dean chuckles softly. “Do you remember the first time we did this?” He’s looking deep into Cas’s eyes, and not for the first time Cas suspects he sees a bit of faerie in the emerald depths; enchanting, beautiful, tricksome, and dangerous. He knows there’s nothing to the thought; he knit Dean back together molecule by molecule, saw every strand of his DNA.

Dean twists his hand in a particularly skillful way and Cas is pulled back to the present. Their first time. Yes, Cas remembers. How could he forget?

“Summer sun,” Cas manages, in between gasping breaths. “Your freckles…”

“My freckles?” Dean laughs. “That’s what you remember?”

“I might be only human now, Dean Winchester, but I remember–” He gasps as Dean’s palm brushes against a particularly sensitive spot– “I remember every second of that afternoon with perfect–” Another shuddering gasp– “Perfect clarity.”

Dean’s hand stutters to a stop, and when Cas sees the look in Dean’s eyes something in his stomach twists. Don’t be too real don’t be too real shouts a voice inside his head, clearly battling with the part of him that wants Dean to know everything.

I’m a mess, he thinks.

To Dean he says in a low, broken voice, “I was leaning against the trunk of a tree, looking up at the sun shining through the leaves. It occurred to me that I’d never spent any time looking at trees, or leaves, or much of anything at all while I was an angel. I did what I was told. Didn’t even take time to look around and enjoy the view.”

Dean’s hand starts to move again. For a moment Cas’s eyelids flutter closed, his eyes rolling upwards in pure pleasure, but then he continues, concentrating on speaking slowly and carefully and without breaking. He almost succeeds.

“I hadn’t been human long. A month? Five weeks? Not long enough to get used to human senses. So when you walked up and the sun shone down on your face, your freckles standing out against your pale skin… And then you put your hand–” The memory of Dean’s hand reaching out is too much and he has to stop to breathe, to gain control, because he doesn’t want to come yet. The story isn’t over. “You put your hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Hey Cas.’”

That had been it. Just a touch, some freckles, and his name on Dean’s lips.

“There was something in your eyes,” Dean says, taking over the narrative. “I hadn’t meant to kiss you. But you looked...kissable. Blue eyes wide and…” He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t know what it was. But as soon as our lips touched I knew it was the right thing to do. Knew I shouldn’t have waited so long to do it.” At this Cas raises his head up just enough to slot their lips together. It’s an electric current, sharp and warm, just like it always is.

It’s home.

“And then you pushed me up against my cabin wall.”

They’re both breathing heavy now, each of them close to their release but trying to hold on.

“It was the closest wall I could find,” Dean says, a little defensive, a little embarrassed. “And it was a little more hidden than the tree we started out against.”

If Cas had the breath to spare he’d laugh. He lets out a puff of air instead, and Dean’s eyes light up in response. “Yeah,” Cas says, teasing. “Sun shining down on us, completely visible from three sides, only blocked by the cabin. Couldn’t be bothered to–”

Dean stops him with a kiss. Cas doesn’t mind. Cas’s mind is full of lips and skin and hands and sparks and pleasure that is building and building and threatening to heave him overboard–

Cas is on the edge, barely hanging on, when Dean stops.

The stillness is both total and false. Neither of them moves, almost as if they are frozen in time, and there is no breath of wind coming through the open window, no branches scratching at the roof. But there are two hearts pounding, two men gasping for breath, and the whispers of a thousand words not being said.

Cas refuses to be the first one to speak. He knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll never stop.

It feels like an eternity has passed–though it’s probably only been ten or fifteen seconds, Cas’s sense of time has been skewed since his Fall–when Dean breaks the silence.

“What do you want, Cas?”

“Everything.”

Cas tells the truth, the real truth, before he can think, and for a moment he wishes he could somehow call the word back, erase it from history, go back to their bubble of make-believe. Dean would probably let him brush it off. He could call it sex induced lunacy. It’s probably even true.

But no. No. He’s fucking tired of pretend, of half-truths, of bedtime stories. This isn’t enough. He means it, he wants everything.

Dean is looking into his eyes, searching for something. Cas can’t read his expression, he’s guarding his thoughts too closely.

It hurts, having Dean hide from him. They’re naked and in each other’s arms, and Dean’s…

Well, really they’re both hiding. They’ve been hiding from the beginning.

Shit.

There’s a burning behind Cas’s eyes again, but this time he can’t blink the tears away. When the first tear rolls down Cas’s face Dean pulls back, a fraction of an inch, in surprise. His thumb wipes away the tear.

“Cas?”

“It’s not enough,” Cas says. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean. I meant what I said, I want everything. All of it. I want to spend the night with you and wake up with you in the morning. I want to kiss you in the daytime, with the sun on your freckles. Are you ashamed of me? The camp screwup, the broken angel? Because people talk, Dean. Everyone knows you come here, and they know what we do, and they don’t care. The world is falling apart. There are bigger things to worry about. There are bigger things for us, too, but right now all that matters is I can’t hide anymore. I love you, Dean. I think...no. I know I always have. And I don’t want to waste another second hiding in the dark.”

And Dean just looks at him. Once upon a time Cas put Dean together, molecule by molecule. Saw every bit of him. That’s how Cas feels now. Examined. Seen.

Known.

It should be horrifying, but it’s Dean, so Cas just looks back, waiting. He doesn’t even wipe away the tears that keep falling despite his best efforts to blink the damned things back.

The silence goes on so long Cas is sure Dean is going to get up and walk away. It’s okay, he tells himself. I want more, I want everything, but to love...that will never end. It will hurt, but I’ll still love him. No matter–

And then Dean is kissing him. It’s not heated, or frantic; it’s a soft, gentle kiss and makes Cas feel wrapped in love. They both smile, their foreheads pressed together. “Wish you’d said something sooner, Cas.”

“Didn’t want to push you away.”

Dean pulls back a little. “That’s...well, yeah, that’s…”

Smile widening, Cas says, “We’ll work it out.”

In what Cas supposes is an answer, Dean kisses him. A bit more playful this time, he even bites at Cas’s lower lip. Cas can’t hold back his moan. The feel of teeth rasping against his skin…it’s almost too much.

And then Dean’s hand starts moving again, tugging and twisting at their dicks. Cas is almost startled, he’d been so caught up in his confession of– but now isn’t the time, he’s groaning into Dean’s mouth and he thinks there might be words but his brain isn’t quite connected to the rest of his body at the moment. All he knows is good and Dean and so much love and skin and when Dean murmurs Cas’s name it’s too much for him and he spills his seed between them. Dean chases after, a punched out sound falling from his lips.

They lie together, still, their come sticky and drying between them. Somewhere far off in the camp a door clatters shut.

“I wish–” Dean starts.

“I know,” Cas interrupts. But it’s not the time to dwell on what might have been.

Dean shifts them into a more comfortable position. “Okay.”

“We should–”

“No.” This time it’s Dean interrupting. “Not yet. We can clean up in a few minutes. Right now I just want to hold you.”

Tucking his face against Dean’s chest, Cas murmurs, “I can’t say no to that.”

Dean somehow pulls Cas closer, and Cas’s skin sings. Worth every feather, he thinks. Every drop of Grace.

**

For @bend-me-shape-me ‘s Dean/Cas summer prompts!

Week 2 (drive-in cinema) and week 3 (I can still recall our last summer)

I hit week 3 kinda sideways…but it works!

[owillofthewisps]

beckoning light - part four

notes: in a classic writer move, i knew exactly what i wanted to do in this chapter and just couldn’t get it out of my head. in some ways this is the fic that takes the most out of me, because i can see it so well and i want to get it down as i see it. life, of course, rarely works that way. hopefully the next chapter will be faster!

anyway this is my thousandth post on this blog. it feels right that it’s beckoning light. and yes i may have stopped posting just so that could happen, i’m just like that.

rating: light mature? (just some dirty thoughts, really. some brief descriptions of wounds.)

pairing: geralt of rivia/fem reader

word count: 3.5k

part one ∙ part two ∙ part three

the wisps have never led you astray, but you hadn’t expected them to lead you to him. 

The sun pools over you, a warm pond of golden light.

It warms the house despite the breeze stirring through your open shutters, a cool lick of wind that plays over your skin like a soft kiss. The forest breathes, the leaves fluttering with each exhale, sending the dappled sunlight dancing over the ground. You can hear the pulse of it, the forest song fading into a heartbeat as familiar as your own.

You hum to yourself. The gaps between the trees are still shaded, dark maws of space, the little saplings rising like teeth, sharp with growth. The forest will swallow you whole one day, you know.

There is the faintest hint of movement in that velvet night space between the trees, and your hands slow, the knife heavy in your grasp. Asha nudges you, calls you back, her blocky head solid against your hip. “Nuisance,” you tell her, but you trail your fingertips over the velvet slip of her ears. The grumble that leaves her resonates like a summer storm thick with thunder. She nudges you again, her nose smudging cold through the thin fabric of your shift.

“Nuisance,” you say again, but you are betrayed by the honeyed warmth of affection that lines your voice. She huffs and you relent. You slice off a small hunk of sausage, smeared greasy with slick fat, and give it to her. “Satisfied?”

Her tail thumps against the floor, a whip crack of noise, and she licks at your fingers before nosing at you once more.

“I suppose not,” you say. You bump her with your hip. “But that’s quite enough. Go on then.”

Asha grouses, a rumble of a sound, but she obeys. She pauses just long enough for you to lean down and press a kiss against the crown of her head.

You dip your fingers into a nearby bowl of water to rinse them before returning to your task. The breeze trickles in through the window, tugs at your sleeves with playful fingers, but your knife is steady as it slides through the rest of the sausage. You pluck a bundle of fresh thyme from your shelves and crush the delicate leaves beneath the flat of the knife. The woody, earthen smell of it wafts up, a forest all its own. You breathe it in, this hint of the wild, and feel Geralt’s eyes upon you.

You don’t think you have words for it, for the sunscorch of his amber eyes and how they’ve burned themselves into the marrow of your bones.

“Tell me, Witcher,” you say, “is breakfast so fascinating that you can’t look away? I know that food on the road leaves much to be desired, but this seems excessive.”

“It’s not breakfast that I’m looking at.”

You glance over your shoulder.

In the daylight, even ensconced in the cradle of your bed and your worn, rumpled blankets, Geralt brings to mind the statues that stood proud in the summer-scented courtyards of the marquess’s estate. The breadth of him is mesmerizing, the slope of his shoulders a mountain range of muscle.

Your gazes meet. Geralt’s eyes are tinder sparks, a flare of heat catching against the kindling of your desire, and the air thickens, goes syrupy at the edges. It’s the breath before a storm, the sultry promise of something on the horizon drawing near. You swallow. His golden eyes dip to the play of your throat, drag a trail of phantom touch across your skin.

He stops cleaning his sword, his grip tightening around his broadsword’s hilt - your piece of the bargain struck, a trade for him remaining abed until Hadrian arrives - and you shift. You think of how his fingers would press indents into the plump of your thigh as he pulls you to him, as he settles the heat of your slick cunt against the thick line of his cock. The kindling catches alight low in your belly.

Geralt inhales, his jaw sharpening as he grits his teeth. 

The sun glistens against him, catches on the thin sheen of sweat on his chest, and you focus on the swath of bandages across his chest. Miniscule blossoms of dark crimson have sprouted in the cotton, tiny clusters of ruby flowers.There are not many of them, but they are there. It dampens the edges of the heat.

“Funny,” you say lightly, turning back to the cutting board, “because you look hungry.”

“I’ve no doubt you can sate my appetite.”

“Then I’d best finish making breakfast.”

Geralt grunts.

His eyes linger as you work. The pan nestled into the hearthfire spits as you drop the sausage into it, the thyme going crisp, the small leaves furling back onto themselves in a last bid of protection. Asha moves closer to the hearth, ever hopeful. You crack the dove eggs into the pan. She snuffles at the shells when you discard them, heaving a mournful sigh that has a smile flirting at your lips.

“Here,” you tell Geralt, handing him a plate piled high, “eat.”

You wave off his thanks. As is your habit, you clean while you eat, stepping around Asha’s massive frame as she trails after you forlornly.

“I feed you,” you tell her, ignoring the way her velvet ears perk up at the sound of your voice. “Stop acting as if I don’t.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the faintest flicker of a smile on Geralt’s lips.

It is not long until you are taking back an empty plate from Geralt. The sun has risen higher, the shadows shifting as it treks across the deep blue of the late morning sky. It glints off of Geralt’s broadsword, and you take a moment to appreciate the way his forearm bunches as he glides the cleaning rag against the flat of his sword, his thick fingers deft.

You eye him meditatively. “I don’t suppose you’ll stay abed if I go tend the garden?”

He grunts.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him, scooping up a basket. You should change, likely, but your chemise covers enough, and hearth has already spit soot-streaks onto it.

He keeps at his sword, keeps those long, rhythmic strokes.

You sigh. “Keep to the bed,” you tell him. “It will help with the pain, as I understand it.”

“Witchers are used to pain.”

“That doesn’t mean you should suffer it needlessly,” you say mildly. It is an assumption and overstep in the same breath, but you are not always kind enough nor wise enough to curb yourself. “Used to pain’ differs from ‘deserves pain’, and you do not deserve it, no matter what they tell you.”

His hands go still for a breath, his knuckles curving into hard peaks, whitening like snow-capped mountains.

“I do not know if you are punishing yourself,” you say, “but if you are, consider who you are doing it for.”

Before he can respond, you dart out the door with Asha romping wild at your heels.

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

“Careful,” you say absently, tugging up another ruby red radish and shaking the thick loam off of it. The soil is still laden with the morning dew’s touch, sweetly damp and cool. You let your fingers sink home, curl them into the soil like roots to anchor you in the earth. You pinch the radish stem between your fingers and tug. “There’s cow parsnip nearby, it’ll give you an awful rash.”

“I suppose I should be used to that.”

You raise a brow. “To having an awful rash?”

Jaskier makes a deeply offended noise. “That seems uncalled for!”

You laugh, sitting back on your heels. You wipe at the sweat on the side of your neck. The dirt smears there, but you leave it for now. “What else was I supposed to think?”

The bard sputters. “Not that!”

You pull up another few radishes, twisting their leafy greens through your fingers. “What should you be used to, then, Jaskier?”

He peers down at you, his cerulean eyes gleaming like the sea waves beneath the afternoon sun. “The way you knew I was coming. Geralt’s impossible to sneak up on, what with his Witcher nonsense, the enhanced senses and all. Doesn’t stop him from pretending he can’t hear me when I’m talking to him, though.”

“Oh,” you say, “I hadn’t realized you were trying to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t,” Jaskier says, “but you seemed far away.”

You smooth the dirt back into place, covering the small divots that used to house the radishes. There are more radishes nearby, but it won’t hurt to harvest them another day. “I was, but the trees told me you were coming.”

Jaskier eyes you, rolling a brass button between his deft fingers. He seems to be honoring the burgeoning season, his fine doublet the faded burnt orange of fallen autumn leaves. “Right,” he huffs, settling his hands on his hips. “Has anyone told you that you’re hard to read, woodwife? Your face, though pretty, is a mystery to me, and I cannot quite tell if you are serious.”

You bite down on your smile. “Oh, didn’t the villagers tell you about that, the trees and their gossip?”

“Well yes,” he says, pulling you to your feet when you hold out a hand. He braces you as you stumble. He’s broader than you thought, the cut of his clothes cloaking his apparent strength. “But they also told me that you feed the forest - wouldn’t say what, which is a bit unnerving, I’d be concerned about Geralt but he’s so thorny anything that eats him tends to spit him back out again - and that you’re part tree yourself, so you can see how it might get a little difficult to sort out.”

You scoop up your basket and tuck it into the crook of your hip. “Even if I could talk to trees, they wouldn’t have needed to tell me. You’re not quiet,” you say with a smile. “I think most would hear you coming. Is Hadrian inside?”

“Yes, he said something about how I should wait because of your hellbeast.”

“He exaggerates. She’s likely running through the woods anyway.”

“Having seen the size of your hound, I thought I should defer to his knowledge.”

You nudge the door open with your foot. “Understandable, I suppose,” you say. You duck inside the house and Jaskier follows.

You pay your three visitors little mind as you put away the garden’s harvest. It’s a meager one, but that’s not uncommon at this time, too early for most fall crops to be fully grown. And meager does not mean poor; the radishes are rotund little things, gleaming under the layer of dirt, and the carrots are full bodied and the color of a setting sun. You wipe the dirt from them as best you can and then tuck some away. You glance at the bed.

Hadrian is examining Geralt with careful fingers.

The Witcher is stoic, but there’s a hint of pain tucked into the corner of his lips. You are sure he can feel your eyes, but he keeps his amber gaze trained on the foot of the bed.

Hadrian moves with quick delicacy, checking at the whitening edges of the wound, where the skin is pulling tight with the promise of a thick scar. The very center of the gash is still wine red, deeply claret, the type of color that has teeth. You think again that none but a Witcher could have survived it. You know little of wounds, but you had known it was a terrible one as soon as you’d set eyes on it, and you have never seen something so perilous lose its relentless bite so quickly.

There’s a fragile intimacy to Hadrian’s probing fingers, and you glance away. You pull Jaskier - propped up on a small stool near the bed, plucking at his lute, his wide eyes darting between the strings and the river of stark stitches winding their way across Geralt’s torso - into some of your daily chores. He protests, but it’s half-hearted.

You’ve just bundled the linens into the laundry tub when Hadrian comes outside. You’ve left Jaskier chattering at Roach as he brushes her, the horse clearly delighted by his presence.

Hadrian kneels beside you, helps you push the fabric down into the water, the cloth fading into something ethereal as it dampens, diaphanous and eerie. He hisses at the heat of it, pulling back with a curse. You laugh quietly and knead at the linens, the steaming water lapping at your wrists like waves against a shoreline. You blot your hands dry against your shift once the linens are sodden and sit back on your heels.

“What’s this?” you ask, leaning over and tugging at the ribbon wound around Hadrian’s ponytail. It slips like silk through his hair. It’s a pretty little thing, carefully embroidered, little clusters of sunshine bright calendula blossoms and bundles of sage stitched into the smooth fabric. “Are you being courted, healer?”

He brushes you away with his long, delicate fingers. “Stop that, gnat,” he says.

“I’ll consider that a yes. What’s their name?”

Hadrian ignores you, reaching past you for the washing bat. He wipes away the thin layer of dust that’s accumulated from beating out the linens before slipping it into the tub, spinning the washing around in a slow, wide circle.

“The Witcher could ride,” he says after a moment, the click of the bat against the sides of the tub a steady beat that cuts through the forest’s song. “Not far, and the wound would likely open again, but if you wish it, he does not need to stay here.”

You hum quietly, watching the wisps of steam curl into the air to fade like smoke. “All of these years and yet you know me so little, it seems.”

He sighs. “I do not mean it as a slight,” he says. “I am only offering a choice that was not there before.”

“It is no choice.”

“I suspected as much.”

He hands you the laundry bat and pushes to his feet, his lanky frame unfolding like a fan, a graceful flick of lean muscle. “I’ve left a few tins of salve inside. The way he heals is far beyond my understanding, but it is still a terrible wound, and they cannot hurt.”

“Alright.”

Hadrian studies you for a moment, pierces through you with his slate gaze, the color of the winter sea, when the whitecaps have teeth. “The forest may betray you one day,” he says.

You watch the laundry water, the swirl of fabric spectral. “Perhaps,” you say. “But not yet.”

Hadrian sighs. The sound is a forlorn winter breeze ghosting through bare branches. “Try to wait until he’s healed to fuck him.”

You laugh, the sound swelling up from somewhere deep inside. “I’ll try.”

“Where’s Jaskier?” Hadrian asks.

“Talking to the horse last I saw him,” you say, getting to your feet. “Help me with this.”

Between the two of you, it’s easy to carry the washtub to the forest’s edge. It’s the briefest taste of the wild, moss creeping high on slim tree trunks, mushrooms opening like flowers where they are nestled into the curve of roots. The last of the summer wildflowers are struggling, going crisp at the edges. The forest has little mercy.

You switch the washing to your other tub, tuck the tallow soap and washboard in with the sodden fabric.

“Do you want me to stay until you’re back?” Hadrian asks.

“No,” you say, hefting the second washtub up onto your hip as Hadrian tilts the other on its side, the water rushing out like a river, sluicing through the undergrowth and winding along networks of roots. “You can if you’d like, though. Take that back to the house.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hadrian lilts, “right away.”

You swat at him. “Please.”

“Better,” he says, hoisting the tub up. “Be safe, gnat.”

He trots back towards your house, the ribbon in his hair fluttering behind him like a ship’s sail. You watch him for a moment more, watch the way the sun catches on his charcoal hair.

The forest sings as you step into the treeline. You weave your way across the cobwebs of roots that puncture through the thick loam, moss gleaming wet on their outstretched limbs. Sleek saplings whisper in the wind, swaying like dancers. Something chitters in the undergrowth, the sound spiraling high in agitation, a warning in a language far beyond your tongue.

Sunlight cascades through gaps in the canopy, anoints the forest floor with a golden kiss. Small flowers are speckled through the undergrowth, their blossoms turned up in worship, little faces raised to the sun. You venture deeper into the forest, the ancient trees swelling above you. They creak and groan in the wind, sleeping giants tossing in their beds.

The hair at the nape of your neck is damp with sweat. You heft the washtub higher, ignoring the moan of your muscles. You can hear the stream now, the quiet burble of it, and know it will not be long.

The glen is a sumptuous one, teeming with greenery even as autumn sets in, the ferns fat with fronds, fed by the stream’s sweet water. You kneel at the stream’s edge and get to work.

You sing to yourself as you scrub at the washing, the stream a steadfast companion. The forest murmurs around you.

You slip into the stream once the washing is done, leaving your dirty shift on the bank. The water enfolds you with icy fingers. It’s a chill bite of sensation against your sweat-slick skin, something that edges on gnawing, but it fades into something kinder. You turn your face towards the canopy and let the water flow over you like a blessing.

Something crashes in the underbrush.

You duck low in the water, scanning the edges of the glen as the rustling grows louder. Your dagger is tucked beneath your shift on the shore.

The ferns whisper in the wind, and then there is something hurtling from the undergrowth, massive and lightning quick, and as it plummets into the stream, you spit out scream that’s half curse. Just as the water surges around it, you catch sight of a familiar brindled pattern, and then the hound is on you.

“You’re the worst,” you tell Asha, shoving water at her.

She snuffles happily, ducking her muzzle beneath the water.

“Fine,” you say, “we’re going home.” You wade to the shore and put on a damp chemise, shoving your dirty one under the washboard before piling the rest of the washing in. “C’mon,” you call.

Asha trots next to you as you wind your way back through the labyrinth of the woods, through the drape of moss and the scratch of the pricker bushes.

“Should we visit?” you ask her. She pants, nudging at you to get you around a sapling. “I saw it, thank you.”

The forest opens into the cozy meadow your home is tucked into. You can see the smoke wisping out from your chimney steadily, fading into the afternoon sky. The shutters are flung wide; one of them sways in the breeze, the hinges creaking. You consider your home for a moment, and then you put down the washtub and walk back into the forest.

It is a familiar path. You think you could walk it blindfolded, twisted roots and eroding soil and sprouting trees bedamned. The ferns thicken, their fronds trailing over you like fingers, catching at your hair. You push your way through them, duck beneath their overgrown greenery, and then - they fall away.

You step into the small meadow, a little ring of wildflowers and swaying tall grass with a small copse of trees in the center. The forest prowls along the edge of it with wild roots, waiting for an opening.

The trees are humming.

It’s a slow, soft sound, rippling through you like a lullaby. It draws you near, lures you close to the copse, to the twisted trees with their wrinkled, worn bark, their branches arcing high. The soil at their roots shifts, rises and falls as if they’re breathing.

You breathe with them.

They whisper to you, their leaves tracing across your cheek, across the back of your hand, fluttering over you like fingertips. The sunlight glistens against the silver sheen of their leaves, the light draping warm over you. Things go soft at the edges, like morning mist swathing the meadow when you first rise. You murmur to the trees.

The sun begins to dip in the sky, a steady downhill march. You rise from your bed of roots, skim your fingers against a hint of moss cushioning the rough scrape of bark.

You press a farewell kiss against the trunk, against the cheekbone curve of it, and the tree croons.

It is a long, lonely walk home.

taglist: @fairytale07 @whitewolfandthefox @inber @tutuwho @ambivertomnivore @raspberrydreamclouds @waitingtobeimpressed @imsoft-barnes @msgeorgiarae @ayamenimthiriel @rabenherz-blog @writingstudent @hina-chans-stuff @beautifuluniversityhoagieslime @bumblingandblooming @sageandberries-png @bucksgoat @alwayshave-faith @nonamejustshame @1950schick @riviawitch3r @yespolkadotkitty @restingnurseface @consultingdetextive @theunwantedomega

[imthecaretaker]

More G/t? More G/t!

Yes friends, acquaintances, and assorted cryptids, I bring you another piece of G/t fiction for your enjoyment!  Sit back and relax!

Prologue

The Fae creature snapped their fingers, causing a scroll to appear in midair next to them.  "I believe we had an agreement, human," they said, adjusting reading glasses that had been conjured from thin air.

"Yes, but-"

"And you broke it," they said flatly as they looked over the contract.

"There was no other way!" The human pleaded.

The Fae tsked as they hovered a foot off the ground, still perusing the scroll.  "Did you even read the terms?  Consider the consequences?"

Another attempt to defend their actions was silenced as the Fae continued.  "You know what is going to happen, don't you?"

A sigh, and a silent nod was the only response.

The Fae gave a disapproving shake of their antlered head and snapped their fingers. They and the scroll vanished.

"You'll do well not to violate our contract further," the Fae's disembodied voice warned.  "Steeper penalties await if you do."

An unspecified number of years later...

Sam panted as he ducked and dodged through the trees, his ears filled with the sounds of his fast-approaching pursuer.  He'd been on a hike in the woods when he happened across a rather cantankerous bear, feeding on a bushful of berries.  But now, it seemed it wanted a taste of meat.

In his panic, Sam had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and was now sprinting deeper into the forest.

His body screaming for oxygen, he paused for a moment, his head snapping back and forth looking for a place to hide.  Suddenly he noticed through a bit of brush, the yawning mouth of a cave.  With the bear quickly closing, Sam dashed toward the cave.  Maybe he could find some rocks to make a last stand with.

He ran inside for about twenty yards, before skidding to a stop.  Before him was a crevice in the rock floor, at least thirty feet deep and maybe fifteen feet wide, too wide to jump without a running start.  Which he wasn't going to get.

Turning around, he saw the bear slowly closing, huffing and growling.  It got within ten feet and raised up on its hind paws.  At nearly eight feet tall, it towered over Sam, eyeing him hungrily before roaring in his face.  Flinching, Sam's nose was filled with the hot stink of the bear's breath.  He tried to pray as he awaited his demise.  Our Father, who art in Heaven…

"WHO DISTURBS MY REST?!"  An angry male voice boomed from the darkness of the cave.

The bear, its attention drawn, stared past Sam, into the cave.

"I SAID WHO DISTURBS ME?!" The voice demanded again, along with the sounds of fabric rustling and something big changing position.

Now thoroughly spooked, the bear dropped back to all fours and made a hasty retreat.

Momentarily relieved he wasn't going to be bear chow, Sam realized he now had a much more pressing matter to attend to.  The sounds of heavy steps reached his ears and he slowly turned around.  His eyes widened at what he saw and he could only whisper, "No…"

A hoof, cloven and the size of a Volkswagen, appeared from the darkness and thundered to a stop on the other side of the rock crevice.  Then, to its right, a fur-covered knee touched down before being covered by some rough white cloth.  Two massive hands, with fingers at least as long as Sam was tall and ending in some sort of dark-colored bony material, crashed down on both sides of the human.

Sam gulped.  He didn't want to look up. He really didn't.  But his eyes slowly went up and up, to stare into the face of the biggest, and angriest, bull that he'd ever seen.  

The bull, a minotaur, Sam realized, glared down at the miniscule intruder, its- his- cold blue eyes watching, studying.  The nostrils of his bovine nose, sporting a gold ring, flared as his breath washed over the tiny human.

"Why are you here?" The minotaur demanded in his deep gruff voice.

Sam gulped and tried to speak, but couldn't.

"I asked you a question, human," the giant bull snorted.

"I… I was chased.  By a, a bear." Sam managed to squeak.

"Bear," the bull huffed as he continued to glare at the intruder.

"Y-yes sir.  Chased me here."

The two were quiet for a few moments, just trying to take each other in.

"Gonna run?" the minotaur asked finally, still wearing a stern expression.

"Should I?"

"Everyone runs, so I'd say yes."

Sam took a half-step closer.  "How come?"

The bull's eyes narrowed.  "Are you dense? Everyone runs from monsters!"

Another half-step.  "Well, I'm not."

The bull leaned closer.  "You may be stupid, then."

"Or I don't think you're a monster," Sam replied with a hint of a smile.

Squinting at the strange human, the minotaur adjusted his position so he was sitting.  "You're the strangest human I've encountered for quite some time."  He adjusted the shoulder of what Sam now recognized as a toga.  The bull calmly reached down and carefully grabbed the human around the waist with two bony-ended fingers and lifted him up to his face.  "Well, since you refuse to leave the presence of a monster, I suppose introductions are in order," the bull sighed as he deposited the human into his palm.  "My name is Rheneas, and this cave is my home."

Once he'd steadied himself in the middle of a giant hand, Sam looked up at Rheneas and smiled.  "Neat name.  What's it mean?"

"It's an old word that means 'waterfall'.  I was born near a falls many years ago," Rheneas answered, before carefully nudging the human with a finger.  "Now, what sort of neat name does my little intruder have?"

"Well, my name's Sam.  Short for Samson," the human replied with a smile.  "Mom wanted a good strong name."

The giant minotaur nodded.  " 'And Samson said, With the jawbone of a donkey, heaps upon heaps, With the jawbone of a donkey, I have slain a thousand men.' "  He gave Sam another gentle poke.  "You don't have the appearance of someone who can perform such a feat, though.  A thousand men might even be a bit much for a monster like me."

Sam leaned on Rheneas' hard-ended finger.  "You're not a monster.  A little bigger than most folks, but not a monster."

Rheneas snorted.  "Perhaps you are blind as well," he mused.  "Do you not see the great beast before you?"

"Yeah, I see you in front of me," Sam replied nonchalantly.  "But I don't see a beast, or a monster.  I see… Rheneas, a large and so far very interesting minotaur.  Honestly, if you were a monster, you would've thrown me in a birdcage, or crushed me in your hand.  Maybe eaten me as a snack."

"I have no birdcage, I don't want blood on my hand, and my teeth are not ideal for eating meat," Rheneas responded flatly.

"See?" Sam pressed.  "More proof!  If you were actually a monster, you wouldn't care!"  He smiled victoriously.  "You're gonna have to face facts, Rheneas.  I don't think you're a monster, and I want to talk and get to know you better."

The giant opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't think of a good counter.  He tried again, only to fail.  He huffed, defeated.  "Very well.  It seems there is no ridding myself of you."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a crash of thunder.  He turned around in Rheneas' palm to look outside.  A storm had moved in as the pair talked, and rain was now coming down in sheets.

Sighing, Rheneas put his free hand on the floor.  "Hold on, Samson.  I'm going to stand up."  With the human hanging on to his thumb, the giant slowly pushed himself to his hooves, before turning and making his way deeper into the cave.

@

"How long have you had this thing?"  Sam asked as he tried to get both hands on the splinter buried near Rheneas' thumb.

"About three days.  I've tried to dig it out but I can't get close enough, especially with my fingertips the way they are."

Sam nodded.  "Yeah, wanted to ask about that.  Okay, that's it, making some headway," he muttered as he got one hand under the wood fragment.  "What are your fingertips made of?"

Rheneas drew a hissing breath as he felt the splinter move.  "They're keratin, like my hooves.  Can you hurry up? That kinda hurts."

Both hands now grasping the splinter, Sam nodded.  "Here goes nothing to nowhere," he muttered as he pulled.

The splinter didn't move, but Rheneas flinched a bit.

Sam braced one foot against Rheneas' hand and squared his shoulders.  "I said come outta there!" he growled as he pulled hard.  He felt the giant flinch beneath his foot, but he kept pulling.  Slowly, the sliver began to move, and Sam pulled harder.  Grunting, he quickly adjusted his grip and gave another herculean yank.  The splinter came out and Sam fell, landing on his back, looking up toward Rheneas.

The giant sighed with relief and looked down at Sam, smiling.  "Thank you very much!" He grinned, his ears wiggling happily as he carefully slid a hand under Sam, helping the human to his feet.  "That splinter has been bothering me, interrupting nearly every task I've had to perform with that hand."  Rheneas sighed again and flexed his hand.  "Ah, relief."

Sam tossed the stick aside.  "Hey, no problem.  Happy to help, big guy."

Rheneas sighed.  "Well, since you have performed a kindness for me, I suppose I owe you something in return.  Name it, and I'll do whatever I can to help."

Sam looked up at Rheneas, then at the ground, thinking.  "Are there limits to this thing?" he asked, looking back up at the minotaur.

The bull rubbed the back of his neck.  "Noo… well… not many," he finally conceded.  "I may have to draw a line if you were to ask me to, say, attack your town and enslave its citizens, or raze a fortress.  But no, there's not really a limit."

Turning back toward the mouth of the cave, Sam took a few steps across the stone platform that served as Rheneas' table.  He stood quietly for a few moments.  "Could you help me get back home?" he inquired finally.  "After this storm passes, of course.  Don't want you getting wet and sick."

Rheneas' cool blue eyes dropped.  "I don't know about getting you all the way home, human.  I've never left this forest since I was a boy- er, a calf-... a youngling."  His ears drooped and he slumped down till his chin rested on his arms.

Sam turned back to the giant bull.  "Never?"

"Never," Rheneas mumbled.

The human walked back to Rheneas.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  How long has it been?"

A shrug was his only response.

Hesitantly, Sam reached out with one hand toward the giant's face.  Rheneas watched as the human's hand slowly moved closer, finally coming to rest on his forehead.

"You've been alone the whole time?" Sam asked quietly as he began to gently stroke Rheneas' face, from forehead to nose.  

The giant nodded.

"I'm sorry, Rheneas," Sam softly said.  "I'm sorry you've been alone for so long.  This must be the longest conversation you've had in a long time, huh?"  He continued gently petting the bull's face.

"Mm-hm," Rheneas rumbled.  The human's soft tone and gentle touch were hypnotic, and something that the giant didn't realize he'd needed so desperately.  Tears began to well up in his cool blue eyes, and he sniffled.

Sam looked into Rheneas' eye, before bringing up his other hand.  He began to run circles in the giant's thick fur.  How does that feel, Rheneas?  That okay?"

The giant nodded.  "It feels, *hic*, feels really g-good," he whimpered, tears threatening to fall.

"It's okay, buddy.  Let it out, I won't think less of you," Sam soothed as he continued to massage.

Rheneas sniffled and whimpered, trying to maintain composure, until the dam finally broke.  Being thought of as an equal, receiving help out of the kindness of another, the soft words and gentle touch… it was all too much for the giant, who couldn't remember the last time any of these things had happened.

Sam continued to massage, as well as whisper soothing words to the sobbing giant.  "It's okay, I'm here for you.  Go ahead, let it out, you're safe here…"

Finally, Rheneas' sobs subsided til they were reduced to heavy breaths.  Slowly, he lifted his head.  His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and tear tracks streaked his fur.

Sam, with one hand on the giant's fur, slowly climbed over the chiseled-muscle arms and made his way to Rheneas' right eye.  "Here, let's get that taken care of," he said softly, before removing his jacket and using it as a handkerchief, dabbing the giant's eye dry.

Rheneas sniffled and, with a growing smile, brought both hands up and gently held the human to his cheek in a nuzzle.  "Thank you hum- er, Samson.  Thank you Samson.  This means so much, I could never tell you," he whispered.

Leaning into the nuzzle, Sam stroked the side of the giant's tear-stained face.  "You deserve kindness, just like everyone else.  Don't ever forget that, friend."

Friend.  A happy tear rolled down Rheneas' cheek, and he laughed.

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Part Two of A Self-Study on Abnormal Reactions Influenced by Patton

First chapter can be found here. This chapter is 1k words, angst with a little fluff. There will be much more fluff to come in future chapters, I promise! Prinxiety and Logicality. TW: Emotional angst, feelings of low self-esteem, and swearing.

Chapter 2: The Aftermath After the… ordeal? Experience? Logan was a little unsure which word was more accurate, which was rare. In any case, after the events that occurred yesterday, Logan decided that the best course of action was to straighten his tie and then straighten out the other sides’ emotional state. (This was, of course, the only way he could make anything straight about those three.) This task would be tedious, naturally, since the other three had emotional states while Logan, obviously, did not. However, it was his job to keep things in order and if anyone was feeling irrational, that was his job to sort out. Although he would like to think of himself as impeccable, he was too realistic to believe in such absurdity -- he had his flaws and his shortcomings. For instance, he was not very knowledgeable about feelings and if this case required experience with emotions, then he would seek out help. So, here he was. “Patton, could you check in with Roman, please? I will check on Virgil. I believe this would be ideal in order to… restore peace and quiet,” Logan said. Roman often needed to be understood emotionally and dealt with in fanciful matters, whereas Virgil was sometimes grounded by logic and reason. “Oh,” Patton replied, perking up in his cat onesie. “Yeah, Lo, of course! You can count on me, so I guess I’ll calc-you-later.” He smiled widely as the other side sighed in what was probably slight exasperation. “Thank you.” With that, Logan headed to Virgil’s room. He knocked on the door and awaited a response. “Virgil, can I come in?” he asked. “Whatever.” It was almost growled in a way that concerned the logical side. That boded poorly. Nevertheless, Logan entered the room and was taken aback slightly by what he saw. The room was dark, even more so than usual. Virgil was sitting on his bed wearing his old black striped hoodie and a black shirt, running one of his hands over the other nervously -- maybe even scratching at his skin. He seemed a bit paler than usual, which was honestly somewhat impressive. His eyeshadow was streaked and smudged from tears. There was an even stronger uneasy atmosphere than Logan had noticed in prior visits. “Virgil?” Logan prompted, albeit his voice came out with just a miniscule shakiness, which was more than he had expected because he didn’t experience emotions of any kind, including fear. “What do you want?” Virgil’s voice was quiet and laced with venom and a hint of Tempest Tongue. He didn’t even look towards the other side. “I want to check in on you and do what I can to help after yesterday’s… unpleasantries.” “Sure,” Virgil dismissed skeptically, narrowing his eyes. “Do you not believe that those are my intentions?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly in concern. “Does it matter?” Virgil retorted, frowning. “Yes. It matters to me, Virgil. I care about you. We all do,” the logical side reassured, growing increasingly worried and ignoring that it was partially the effect of the room. “Do you? Princey certainly doesn’t,” Virgil practically hissed. “I assure you, he does. He gets… passionate at times. He becomes frustrated and sensitive if he feels like his ideas are not being taken seriously and he can lash out, as he has always done. But that does not change the fact that he cares about you,” Logan explained. More than you know, he thought, but kept that sentiment hidden since he was forbidden to do otherwise. “He doesn’t think of me like you and Patton. He never has,” Virgil muttered. You’re right, Logan thought, but not in that manner. “He’s always thought of me as just… a dark side. As just Anxiety. He could never care about me like he does for you two,” the anxious side lamented, pulling his sleeves over his hands and lowering his gaze to the floor. “Virgil, I am aware of how Roman feels about you and he considers you as much more than that. He’s related to me on several occasions that you are his closest friend,” Logan insisted, attempting to keep his prior promise to Roman while still providing enough information to be helpful. “Well, then, he’s an asshole who should know better or a liar. Either way, I don’t want him around,” Virgil decided, biting his lip and blinking a little faster from silent tears. “Forgive my bluntness, but I believe that you are lying about that,” Logan pointed out with a quick gesture towards him. “Maybe so,” Virgil growled, “but that’s just me being an idiot who can’t let go or be realistic about things.” “Your feelings are entirely valid. He was acting extremely unacceptably and trust me, I will have a strong word with him about yesterday because he was far out of line. However, his behavior yesterday is not indicative of his care for you. Please, Virgil,” Logan persisted passionately. Finally, Virgil met his eyes. “I… guess so,” he admitted. The room began to lighten back to its normal brightness and he regained a little bit of color to his face. “I… thank you, L,” he murmured, smiling slightly only for that grin to fall when he noticed that Logan was developing eyeshadow under his eyes. “Oh, shit.” “It is fine. I am fine, please do not worry about me,” Logan advised, though his voice and breathing were unsteady and he scratched at his arm nervously. “Lo,” Virgil said, sounding the most concerned and touched that Logan had probably ever heard him. In one swift motion, he stepped off his bed and leapt towards Logan, hugging him with enough momentum to push him out of the doorway. As the eyeshadow cleared, Logan stood up straighter and put his arms around Virgil. “Thanks, though that wasn’t necessary,” he remarked. “Shut up, it totally was,” Virgil denied, clearly not serious, “This was totally the only way to help you and there was no other reason.” Logan smiled. “Of course.” 

[hotchscotchh]

Reimagined; Chapter 4 - Benjamin Cyrus

Hey y’all! This got a little out of hand lmao

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Angst, smut hehe

Word count: 2.1k oops

Summary: The aftermath of Benjamin Cyrus

Read on AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

Based on 4x3 Minimal Loss

Spencer couldn’t make himself feel anything but self-loathing in that moment. He knew that Emily didn’t blame him, she had made sure he knew that. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It was her decision. But still, can’t help but think “it should’ve been me. Why didn’t I step up first? I’m nothing but a goddamn cowa-” “Reid,” someone said, pulling Spencer from his thoughts. He looked up to find Hotch suddenly in the seat across from him. Spencer hadn’t noticed the tears rolling down his face until that moment. He hastily reached up to wipe them roughly from his warm, red cheeks. “Oh, Spence,” Hotch said, his eyes softening, stoic mask slipping away, “it’s okay. You’re here, you made it out.” Aaron was obviously oblivious to the guilt rolling off of Spencer, which was unusual. He was a profiler after all, a good one at that. Spencer just looked away, and it was then that Aaron realized. “Oh, that’s not it, is it? You can’t feel guilty, you know. It wasn’t your fault-” “Yes it was, Hotch. I could’ve- no, I should’ve- stepped up first,” Spencer interrupted, his voice weak and shaking, his hands trembling. Aaron reached across the space between their seats and grabbed Spencer’s hand before saying, “Reid, you know there’s nothing you can do now. Look, Emily is fine, maybe a little beaten up, but she’s alive. That’s what matters. And so are you. You’re both here, sitting in front of us, perfectly alive. Yeah, it would’ve been nice if we had caught the unsub without the two of you being kidnapped, held hostage, and beaten, but look at all the lives you saved. You got all of those innocent people out of that building without a scratch.”

Spencer just looked away again, a petulant expression on his face, making him look like a pouting toddler, but Hotch wouldn’t tell him that. Aaron let out a small laugh that he tried to disguise as a cough before taking a deep breath and beginning again, “this was definitely one of those cases, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not feeling up to going out to a restaurant tonight. I’ll order something and bring it by your place.” Spencer began to protest, but Hotch cut him off saying, “that’s an order,” a teasing smile playing across his face. Aaron stopped rubbing his thumb across the young genius’ knuckles and let go of his hand. Spencer blushed and relaxed back into his seat, beginning to drift off.

----

Three hours later, Aaron Hotchner was sitting in front of Spencer’s apartment building, Chinese food in the seat next to him. Aaron was terrified of what he was planning to do tonight. He knew that Spencer would be at least interested in his plan, he hoped the man would even like it. But Aaron was terrified, anyway. Terrified that Spencer would be angry with him, terrified of how it would affect their professional relationship if it went awry. He was going to do it. That’s what he told himself as he slowly walked up the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He made his way there on autopilot, not realizing he had made it to the door until it was opening to one grinning Spencer Reid, standing there is his Doctor Who themed pajama pants and way-too-big t-shirt. “Hey,” Spencer greeted, opening the rest of the way.

Aaron walked in, taking in his surroundings and trying his hardest not to them. Spencer’s apartment was painted an olive green. There was a leather couch, a wooden glider, a coffee table, a small table with two chairs and a chess board, a TV with an expansive DVD collection under it (Aaron wondered how many of them were actually in English), and a wall of floor to ceiling bookshelves. “Wow, this is… exactly what I expected,” Aaron said, letting out a laugh and feeling himself relax a miniscule amount. Spencer smiled, and Aaron knew then that he wouldn’t regret what he was about to do.

Aaron placed the bag of food down on the coffee table and moved to stand in front of Spencer. “Aaron?” Spencer breathed, confused by his superior’s sudden close proximity. Aaron took another step forward, leaving just a few inches of space between them. Aaron lifted his hand and placed it on Spencer’s cheek which had been marred by tears just hours earlier. He was happy to see that it wasn’t anymore, and unrealistically wished that it never would be again. Spencer leaned into the touch, their eye contact becoming intense. Spencer saw Aaron’s eyes flick down to his lips before coming back to meet his eyes. Spencer took that as a cue that Aaron was ready. Ready for what he had been ready for a few dinners ago. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Aaron wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move, so Spencer leaned in, slowly, giving Aaron time to pull away if he decided this wasn’t really what he wanted, but Aaron was sure. When their lips finally connected for the first time with both fully wanting what was happening, they lost sight of everything that was going on. Spencer forgot about his guilt. In fact, Spencer couldn’t form a coherent thought. And that was saying something. Aaron forgot all of his worries about this ruining his relationship with Spencer, he knew this was right.

They broke apart after a few moments, both out of breath and half hard. “Let’s eat before this gets so far we forget about it,” Spencer said, giving Aaron a light peck on the lips and moving away from him. “I definitely would like to continue this when we’re done though,” he finishes with a seductive smile. Aaron follows Spencer to the couch, looking not unlike a lost puppy. They both eat quickly, without speaking, wanting to get this seemingly menial task out of the way so they could continue what they had been doing. Spencer finished first, and as soon as Aaron finished, he pushed him back into the couch, swinging his leg to straddle Aaron’s lap. Aaron was the one to lean in this time, capturing Spencer’s lips in his own his hands landing on Spencer’s hips, and Spencer’s around Aaron’s neck. He licked his way into Spencer’s mouth, thoroughly enjoying the small sounds the man on top of him was letting out. Aaron could feel Spencer’s hard length against his thigh, and it made his realize his own. “Spencer, wait,” Aaron said breathlessly, regretfully pulling away from him. “I’ve never been with a man before.” “It’s ok,” Spencer replied, smirking. “I’ve got enough experience for the both of us.” Spencer leaned back in and began grinding down into Aaron’s lap. Spencer pulled away again, panting, “let’s take this to the bedroom.”

Spencer had been putting of an aura of confidence that Aaron hadn’t expected, but he wasn’t aware of the insecurities running through the younger man’s head. Spencer had been with his fair share of men before, so he was confident in that area. It was his body he was worried about. Spencer had a small cock. He knew the statistics, and he had estimated it to be around three inches. He didn’t want the real measurement; the estimation was good enough for him. He knew a small cock was a turn on for many dominant men, but it had also been an immediate turn off for some of them, and Spencer was unsure how Aaron would react.

They resumed their kissing, this time on Spencer’s bed with Aaron on top. Aaron slid his hand up Spencer’s shirt, indicating that he wanted it off. They parted and Aaron stripped off both his and Spencer’s shirts. He took a moment to gaze at the torso of Spencer Reid, and felt his cock give a twitch. Aaron knew he was attracted to men, he’d experimented before, but never like this. Never with someone who looked as amazing as Spencer. Aaron moved his mouth from Spencer’s mouth to his neck, sucking a mark on the pulse point, his hand reaching down and tweaking a nipple. Spencer gasped, his back arching off the bed. “You like that, baby?” Aaron asked, his voice deep and husky. Spencer moaned in lieu of a spoken answer. His hands were roaming Aaron’s torso, getting lower and lower before they reached his waistband. Spencer began working the button and zipper open, tugging, telling Aaron he wanted them off. Aaron got the message and took them and his socks off, leaving him in just his boxers. Aaron reached for Spencer’s button too, but before he could get too far, Spencer stopped him.

“Spence? Did I do something wrong?” “No, no, no, it’s just,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I’m small Aaron, like, well under average small, and I know it’s a turn off for some men. I just wanted you to know.” Spencer watched Aaron’s eyes darken and felt his cock twitch against his thigh. “Okay, maybe not.” Aaron moved his mouth to Spencer’s nipple, Spencer’s hand landing on the back of his neck, Aaron’s hand returning to its earlier ministrations. Aaron had thought that Spencer would be loud in bed, but he never though it would be like this. So pretty, so… submissive. Aaron stopped to pull Spencer’s pants and boxers off, and his own boxers. “So pretty, Spencer,” Aaron whispered in Spencer’s ear, earning a loud moan from the man.

“Hmm, does someone have a kink?” “That’s a conversation for another time, Aaron,” Spencer replied, gasping and moaning as Aaron worked his way down his chest. When Aaron got to Spencer’s cock he stopped, made eye contact with Spencer and grinned before taking the whole thing in his mouth and sucking, causing Spencer to let out an obscenely loud moan, his eyes rolling back in his head, back arching. Spencer let him continue for a few moments before saying, “Aaron, you better stop. I want to come- ungh- while you’re in me.” That got a loud reaction from Aaron, which pushed Spencer even closer to the edge. He reached down and grabbed the base of his cock, trying to delay his orgasm as far as possible. With his other hand, he reached over to his nightstand, grabbing lube and a condom from the drawer. Aaron came back up to kiss him. Tasting himself in his lover’s mouth was ridiculously erotic to Spencer.

“You ready baby?” Aaron asked, taking the lube from Spencer and applying a generous amount to his fingers. Just because Aaron was inexperienced didn’t mean he had no idea what he was doing. “Have been for years, Aaron. Get in me.” Aaron let out a grunt before slipping a finger into Spencer’s tight ass. He thrust in and out for a few moments until he felt that Spencer was loose enough and added another, this time curling them up to find his prostate. Spencer let out another obscene moan, telling Aaron that he had found it. “Are you ready for me, Spence?” Spencer couldn’t vocalize coherent thoughts at this point, just obscenities (fuck, Aaron, just like that, shit), so he just nodded.

Aaron pulled his fingers away from the younger man, opening the condom with his teeth and rolling it onto his cock before lining himself up with Spencer’s entrance and pushing the head in. “Fuck, Spence.” “Mmmh, keep going,” Spencer moaned. Aaron slowly pushed himself the rest of the way in, “Shit, Spencer. So tight- mmfh- so pretty for me- ah.” “Fuck, Aaron, move, please.” So, he did. Aaron pulled all the way out before pushing back in. “I’m not going to last long, Spence,” he warned. “Me either,” Spencer panted. “Ah! Harder!” Aaron picked up the speed of his thrusts, lifting up Spencer’s hips to get a better angle. This only lasted a few minutes (though neither would ever admit it), Spencer coming in thick strands across his chest, Aaron coming into the condom, wishing it wasn’t there. They stayed in their position for a few moments, coming down from their highs. Spencer let out a small sigh when Aaron pulled out. “That was amazing baby, you’re amazing,” Aaron said. “I’m going to go get a washcloth to clean you up.”

----

Aaron had ended up staying the night, both unwilling to leave the other. The next morning, Spencer woke up to the feeling of a hickey being sucked on his neck. When he asked Aaron what he was doing, he simply said, “just letting everyone know you’re mine.” Spencer told Aaron that they would need to talk about this, about what would change, what this relationship would be, but they both decided it could wait until later that night. When Spencer walked into the BAU, he was greeted with wolf whistles and shouts of, “Pretty boy got some!”

[harolinastyles]

The Honeymoon

So finally, a little late, this is my piece for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge that the lovely @oh-honey-styles, @andwhenshesays and @for-fucks-sake-h organised. For those of you who read my writing on Wattpad it's basically a peek at Harry and Jessi's honeymoon. Thank you to everyone who reads this. I hope you enjoy! x

Breathe me in, breathe me out, they don't think that they could ever go without.

Rated M for Mature. 4.5K words.

I stumble out from inside our private honeymoon villa and the bright sunlight stings my eyes. I flip down the sunglasses I’m using as a makeshift hairband - a habit I’ve picked up from my husband - so they shield my gaze. Our two weeks here are quickly coming to an end and if it wasn’t for our daughter waiting back home, I don’t think you could drag me away from here. We’ve barely left the confines of the villa but every detail has been perfect, from lazy breakfasts in bed, to curling up with Harry while he reads me poetry, some from books and some that he’s written himself, those are my favourites.

“Ah, there he is,” I whisper. Zeroing in on my target lounging on a giant heart-shaped pool float. He looks so still and peaceful that I wonder if he’s asleep but he flips the page in his book softly and my insides do a little somersault, I’d missed him during my nap - a consequence of the teeny tiny little one growing inside me. My feet tiptoe down the steps as I make my way closer. 

He looks every inch like a tempting meal and I’m dying to taste him - another consequence of my pregnancy. Maybe not. He always looks like a snack. His hair is wet, indicating he’s recently been for a swim and his skin seems to shimmer under the sun's rays. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm and my gaze moves lower. The muscles in his abdomen are taught and defined and the tips of my fingers tingle as I imagine brushing them over his warm skin. 

Something between a gasp and a moan leaves my throat as I spot the white, wet boxers, almost see through as they cling to every glorious inch of him. 

“Mmm… you’re alive then?” The low rumble of his voice has me attempting to discretely rub my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building there. “Thought I would have to spend the entire day by myself.” The accompanying pout on his face would usually be adorable but combined with the facial hair he’s so proud of growing all I can think about is how much I want his mouth. Hell, I want all of him. Immediately. 

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ve only been gone a couple of hours.” I grin as I sit myself down on the edge of the pool, beside his glass of tequila. 

“Feels like a lifetime!” The cheeky glint in his gorgeous green eyes make me shuffle on my bum. He quirks his eyebrows at me when I pick up the amber liquid and inhale deeply before sitting it back down. “I could make you a virgin mojito if you’re thirsty.” He offers. 

“Just like the smell of it. Reminds me of you, of stolen little kisses, moments just for us while you work a room.” I have learned how to share my new husband with his many fans and admirers and the fact that he always makes sure I’m having a good time definitely helps. 

“C’mere,” he growls. He curls his pointer finger in a beckoning motion but I shake my head. 

“You come here!” I tease my fingers up my thighs and open them wide so he can see that I have no underwear on before quickly closing them again. 

“Fuck!” His Adam's Apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard and a loud giggle escapes my mouth as he paddles toward me, looking like a man who can definitely give me everything I desire right now. 

I move my head from side to side as he tries to make his way to the edge of the pool; I reach over and wrap my fingers around the pointy end of the heart and pull him over so he’s floating in front of me. 

“Now what?” He smirks, sitting up on the float while his hands grab for my knees. 

I giggle as I wag my finger at him, “Lie down!” 

He blows out a huge puff of air as he sinks back onto the red heart, folding his arms across his chest and letting a pout rest on his pink lips. 

“What’s the matter, H? Don’t you want to play with me?” 

“That’s what I was trying to do…” his voice trails off as his green eyes fix on my fingers, slowly tracing up my thighs. 

“You know, you’re pretty adorable when you get all huffy,” I smirk. I lean forward, making sure he gets a good look down his shirt to see that I’m not wearing a bra either. He lets out a moan as I softly scratch his thighs and I feel like throwing myself on him instantly. 

“I’m not adorable. I’m rugged, handsome, sexy as hell.” He chuckles gently as I hook my hands under his knees and pull him closer. I drop his legs down on either side of my body and hope that’s enough traction, so he won’t float away. 

“You look really shiny.” I place my hands gently against his swallow tattoos.

“Mmm… I might have put on a little too much sun cream.” His bashful smirk makes my heart race. “That’s what happens when you leave me to my own devices.” 

I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up from my chest. He’s such a dork. “Sort of reminds me of the lights up music video.”

“Ha. You hate that video.” He scoffs. 

“Hate watching other people with their hands on what is mine,” I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I slowly run my fingers down his toned body before stopping just below his butterfly.

“Yours huh?” he teases. 

“Mine!” I reply while confidently pointing towards my wedding ring. “Legally binding.”

“I like it when you get all possessive, Mrs Styles. Officially making you mine was the best day of my life so far, apart from the day Robi was born.” 

“I’m still not used to hearing you call me that.” My hands inch a little lower. 

“I love saying it. Mrs Styles. Mrs Styles. Mrs Styles.” His fingers wrap around my wrists before I can react, and he effortlessly holds me in place. “Now, Mrs Styles, are you gonna let me fuck you or are you planning to tease me all fucking day?” 

“You know, our three-year-old displays more patience than you!” I snap, well aware of the fact that between his hands on my wrists and his legs either side of mine, he has me trapped. No getting out unless I can make him slip up, lose his focus. 

“Patience? Is that what you expected me to have when you came out here and gave me a perfect view of your panty-less pussy?” His words hurtle at me in a low growl and I no longer care who is in control, I just want him to take me. “You’re very lucky I haven’t bent you over that sun lounger yet…” he trails off as a whimper leaves my throat, “is that what you want from me? Does my pretty little wife want me to pound into her so hard she can’t walk straight? Claim her as mine? Mark her skin? Would you like that, baby?” His green eyes have darkened considerably and I can tell from the strain in his white boxers that he’s just as needy as I am. 

“Yes. Please, Harry?” I beg. Before I can process that he’s let me go, he’s climbed out of the pool and places a hand on my shoulder. He holds his other hand out in front of me and when I grab on he practically hauls me up off the ground. Despite his urgency his hand holds mine carefully as he pulls me toward the sun lounger which is more like an outdoor four poster bed. He stops at the bottom of the piece of furniture and pulls me towards him. His hands trail up my thighs as he presses his hardened length against me. He drags my clothing with him as his hands slide over my bum, giving a hard squeeze which sends shivers all over my body. “I love this arse,” he teases while giving it a playful tap.

I reluctantly take a step back from him and hold my hands above my head so he can easily remove the t-shirt. 

“Now, who’s impatient?” He chuckles while effortlessly pulling the fabric over my head and tossing it away with a careless flick of his wrist. “Beautiful,” he whispers. His eyes drink me in like fine wine and I moan needily as his fingers trail from my collarbone, over the swell of my breast and down my stomach, pausing imperceptibly where the beginnings of my baby bump has started to show. His fingers dawdle where the edge of my panties would be and I try to wriggle higher. 

“Harry…” I murmur as his hands move to grip my hips. 

“Shh. I got you,” he says as he presses a kiss to the scar on my collarbone, sucking hard until he’s left his mark. His tongue pokes out to wet the spot, and he continues to trail wet, ravenous kisses down my chest until he reaches my breasts. He cups the left one in his hand while his mouth makes light work of sucking and flicking the nipple on the other. 

“Please?” I beg as he switches. I need him to touch me or I will explode. 

“Shh…” he coos and my hips buck into his hand as he slides a finger through my folds with a featherlight touch. 

“Please Harry? I need more.” I whine as he presses his finger to me with a miniscule amount more pressure. 

“Adore it when you beg for me, baby.” 

We’ll see who is begging in a second I think to myself as I drag my nails up his muscular thighs. 

“Fuck!” He yells as I trace the outline of his dick before sliding my palm over him. 

“So… you gonna give me this? Or just tease me all fucking day?” I steal his words from earlier and a high-pitched giggle bursts from my mouth as he picks me up before quickly putting me back down again. 

“Don’t want you on the bed,” he mutters out loud before grabbing my hands and pressing them against one of the posts, “lower.” He presses his hand to my head and carefully pushes my upper body downwards until I’m bent over with my arse in the air. 

He hums as he drags his fingers along my spine and my entire body shudders with anticipation. “Look at you,” he coos while he caresses bum, “proper little work of art, can see how wet you are for me, gonna hold on tight?” I moan as his fingers slide between my thighs, circling where I ache for him before pressing firmly on my clit. 

“Mhmm.” It’s the only sound I can manage as he continues to tease me, the exact way I like. I shuffle forward so I can hug my upper body to the post, the wood resting against my shoulder. A whimper leaves my lips as he slips a finger inside me and my cheeks flush as I can hear my wetness in the quiet of the secluded grounds. 

“Shit! I need you, baby,” My husband’s voice is laced with hunger and I press myself further into his hand.

“I’m yours, Harry. All yours,” my voice is breathy and just as starved as his. His fingers slick with my arousal rest on my bum as he shuffles down his boxers and my skin tingles when I feel his tip pressing at my entrance. His right hand digs into my flesh as he stands perfectly still and my mouth falls open to tell him to get a move on but before I can make a sound, he slides inside in one smooth motion causing all the air to exit my lungs.

“Feel so good,” he moans and I agree whole-heartedly as my body accommodates him. I squeeze around him to let him know it’s okay for him to move and move he most certainly does. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into me with a force that almost knocks me off my feet. I grip the post tighter as Harry’s hands grip my hips, his second thrust more restrained than the first.

He shifts his stance ever so slightly and I let out a loud “OOHHH!” as his movements are now hitting exactly where I want them to. 

“Know exactly how to take care of you, baby” he groans. I feel his fingers in my hair and a jolt of electricity shoots through me as he winds his hands in it and pulls, it’s gentle at first but as I moan louder he pulls harder. The pain mixed with the pleasure he’s providing feels so good that my orgasm is almost upon me before I realise it. 

“Fuck me harder, H! I’m - god, I’m so close!” 

“Jesus! Fuck! Me too!” He grunts. “Squee-zing me so - tight! Fingers…” the last word comes out as a sharp intake of breath and my fingers have moved to my clit before I even fully understand his instruction. 

“Shit! I love you Love you! Love you!” I repeat the mantra over and over again until Harry’s loud moan drowns me out. Both hands now have a death grip on my hips as he holds me perfectly still. The wetness I can feel between my legs means we’re both going to need a shower but right now I don’t think I can move. The term fucked out is an accurate description and I’m sure if Harry lets me go then I’ll just fall to the floor in one satisfied little heap. I wish honeymoons lasted longer than a few weeks.

-----

“Is it time to call our favourite girl?” Harry calls from the kitchen as he gets us both something to drink. After our escapades by the pool, we’d moved to a relaxing bath which quickly turned heated as did drying off afterwards. We’ve just finished dinner and now is our usual time to call the little missing piece of our puzzle. 

“Mhmm!” I yell back. 

“You sure all you want is water?” His voice grows closer and I reach for my laptop which is open on the coffee table. 

“Yeah, and you better put some clothes on,” I smile as my eyes roam his butt-naked body before taking the bottle of water he’s holding out towards me. 

“What for? She can’t see me through a phone call,” he grins as he flops down onto the sofa beside me, the ice cubes in his Tequila rattle against the glass. 

“Not calling. Your Mum asked us to Facetime tonight.” I straighten out the sundress and run my fingers through my hair as if my mother-in-law isn’t well aware that I probably spent all day in bed with her son. Lord knows she’d caught us together enough times. I press my hands to my cheeks as I feel the warmth spreading there.

“Facetime? I thought that was a no go after Robi had a meltdown on day one?” He places his glass on my thigh as he reaches for a pair of discarded boxers that lie on the floor. 

“Apparently our girl misses us and is giving Grandma Twist a hard time so she’s hoping seeing our faces will help.” I explain while I watch Harry wriggle into his underwear. He reaches for a black hoodie that has sat on the arm of the sofa since we arrived here and pulls it over his head, he looks so soft and cuddly that I yank him back down beside me as soon as he slips his arms into the sleeves. 

“I know seeing your pretty face would make me feel better,” he says as he presses a soft kiss to my lips and clicks to start the call. 

“Such a charmer.” I grin and snuggle myself into his side as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. The connection stutters for a while before settling down and Anne grins as she says hello. 

“Mummy!” Robin yells excitedly before she shakes her head and then buries her head in the crook of her Grandma’s neck. “Daddy, all hairy!” she wails. 

“Am not!” He protests before running his hand over his facial hair, “oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mumbles as he pushes himself up from the seat. 

“Where are you going?” I grip his arm tight. “She’ll settle down in a bit.” I didn’t want him to miss out on talking to her, I know he’s missed her. The two of them go almost everywhere together back home, I’ve even found her waiting impatiently outside the bathroom for him before. 

“Just talk to her. I’ll be back.” He bends over and places a kiss to my forehead. My heart hurts as I watch him walk away. 

I turn back to the screen as I hear Robin’s hissy fit get louder. 

“Shut up!” she snaps at Anne and my anger fizzles over. 

“Excuse me?” I exclaim. 

“Grandma said I no have a cookie!” Her lips purse together in an angry little pout as she throws her arms across her chest. 

“I don’t care what Grandma said, you don’t speak to her like that, it’s not nice and you hurt Daddy’s feelings.” 

“Daddy sad? Where he go?” She says, her eyes focus on the empty space beside me while she leans in closer. “I WANT DADDY!” I can see her Grandma flinch at the volume of her voice and I feel bad that so far this call is doing nothing to calm my daughter, Anne must be at her wits' end. 

“Robin, calm down. Daddy’s here.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes!” Harry’s yell is barely audible over our daughter. 

“Robin Ann Styles if you don’t quit screaming I’m going to turn this off and you can go straight to bed, are you listening?” Anne says firmly, and she quietens down. Her sniffling breaks my heart, maybe it was selfish of me and Harry to come on this honeymoon for two weeks, she’s never been away from either of us for more than a few days before.

“We’ll be home soon, just two more sleeps, sweetheart. We miss you.” My fingers stretch out towards the screen, wishing they could take the place of Anne’s which are gently wiping away her tears. 

“Miss you, Mummy” She breathes, her tongue pokes out to lick away her snot, making me shudder. 

“Hey, Daddy found you some pink shells yesterday!” I smile. It was the one thing she’d begged Harry for when he’d asked her what she wanted him to bring home. Every day, he’d disappear for an hour while he combed the beach for pink shells. He had found plenty of purple ones, orange ones, even golden coloured ones but none in the colour his little sweet pea desired. His dazzling grin as he arrived back victorious yesterday was enough to warm my heart for an entire lifetime. 

“He did? I see?” Her mouth slowly turning up into a small smile. 

I glance over my shoulder and still find no sign of my husband. “H? Where are you? Bring the shells for Robin, she wants to see them!” 

“BE THERE IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES!” His voice booms through the house causing me to flinch. 

“O-kay!” She yells back quietly and I watch as she lumbers back onto Anne’s lap. A smile settles on my face as I watch my daughter snuggle into her Grandma’s embrace, she cups her head softly against her chest, her thumb stroking softly over her granddaughter's cheek. It makes me feel warm because her Daddy holds her the exact same way. 

“Judging by your tan, you guys have at least made it outside then?” Anne chuckles as Robin quietens down, so much so that I think she might fall asleep. “Wait, what the hell have you done to your shoulder?” 

“Oh!” I can feel the blush creep over my cheeks as I glance at my right shoulder, the angry purple bruise had started to appear a few hours after Harry had fucked me against the bedpost. “I - uhm…” 

“Did somebody want to see some shells?” His body bumps mine as he falls into the space beside me and honestly I want to smother him in a grateful hug for saving me from answering that question. 

“Me!” Robin suddenly springs from her sleepy state, her wide dimply grin a mirror image of her Dad’s. “Oooh… they twisty like ice cream,” she coos. Her body leans in for a closer look and I rest my head against Harry as he throws his arm around me. 

“Do you like them?” I snuggle closer when I hear the nervous wobble in his voice. Performing in front of 60,000 people. Easy. Waiting to hear if his daughter likes her shells. Bag of nerves. I let out a giggle before placing a kiss to his hoodie clad chest. 

“Yay, you cut the whiskeys!” My head immediately snaps up towards Harry’s as my daughter's words ring in my ears. I cup my left hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing over his smooth upper lip. 

“Hey, I liked that.” I blow out a slight puff of air. 

“Uh oh, Robi! I think you got me in trouble with Mummy!” He smirks, quirking an eyebrow at me. 

“No be mad, Mummy! He bootiful!” 

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” I’m unable to stop myself smiling as my eyes continue to drink him in. My body tingles with desire as he leans towards me.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers against my ear. He presses a teasing kiss there before straightening up and turning his attention back to the screen. 

“So… you like your shells then?” 

“I wuv ’em, Daddy.” She’s cuddled herself back into Anne and her eyes are so heavy she can barely keep them open. 

“I love you.” The tinge of sadness in his voice is obvious and as his fingers grip me tighter I know he is missing Robin just as much as she is missing him. 

“Wuv you and Mummy.” She yawns loudly before falling quiet again. 

“Okay, I’m going to let you guys go. Put this little madam to bed.” Anne smiles. 

“Has she been that bad?” Harry asks. 

“Oh, the past few days I’d swear somebody switched her with the devil. She stayed with Danny and Pam yesterday and decided Severus would be her new dress up buddy. Well, he didn’t take kindly to that, so he gave her a nasty scratch on her leg and that set off the tantrums. Didn’t want anyone to look at it that wasn’t you guys. Then she had a nightmare last night. She just misses you. She’ll feel better now she’s getting some rest. So will Grandma.” She chuckles. “Now go, have fun! Enjoy your time together before you have another little handful, they’ll be here before you know it.” 

My fingers automatically press against my tiny bump. I honestly can’t wait to meet him. I have a feeling it’s a boy this time but maybe that’s just my heart ruling my head. 

“Love you, Mum.”

“Me too.” I quickly add. “Thank you for taking care of our baby.” 

“Are you kidding? Despite her moodiness I love having her here. She’s Grandma’s little sunshine.” She beams. “Now go before you wake her and she causes a minor thunder storm again!”

Harry closes the laptop once we’ve exchanged a last set of goodbyes. 

“Baby?” he questions. His arms wrap around me and he turns me to face him. 

“I know. I miss her too. You ready to go home, Mr Styles?” I press a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“I love you!” He exclaims, pushing me backwards so I fall down onto the sofa. “Do you know that?” 

“I do.” I answer honestly as his body straddles mine. 

“Make me so fucking happy -” he slides his hands up the side of my body, stopping on my ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of my boobs, “-and horny.” His smirk makes his green eyes twinkle with mischief. “I can’t wait to watch this little bump grow.” He bends to press a soft kiss to the fabric of my dress, exactly where our little one is busy growing. “You know, I don’t think I told you this… no nevermind it’s silly.” he shakes his head before turning away from me and burying it in my side. 

“Hey, no. Tell me, H,” My hand moves to rest on his head, fingers automatically combing through his messy curls. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” His right hand fists the material covering my bump as he presses needy kisses to my side. 

“Course I won’t” My fingers scrape gently along his scalp and he presses into my touch. 

“I was really nervous about this,” he breathes as he continues his trail up my side. 

“About kissing me? Pull the other one, Styles!” I scoff as he nips his teeth against the side of my boob. 

“No, well, kind of. I was nervous about the honeymoon,” his words tickle my skin as he slips the strap of my dress off my shoulder, “felt like everyone expected me to get you pregnant. I mean it’s not a secret we want more kids, and Robi is three now. I felt like everyone thought it was time and then when you told me you were pregnant at the wedding this giant pressure lifted off my shoulders. It’s been so good just to enjoy this time together, to enjoy you…” his words trail off as he presses a kiss to the sensitive spot below my ear. 

“Sweetie, why didn’t you say something?” I turn my head to capture his pink lips in a kiss. 

“You were already stressed about wedding stuff. Made everything perfect for us. Was beautiful. You were beautiful. Then you told me about this little one so it turned out all right in the end, didn’t it?” His hand presses to my stomach as his lips ghost mine. 

“I guess it did. I love you.”

“Love you too. Now come on, there’s still one more place in this villa I want to have you before we leave. That outdoor bath has our names on it.” His deep chuckle makes my skin tingle. I will miss this place but I can’t wait to go home and begin my forever with Harry.

[halfway-happyyy]

An Invisible String - Part 2

AN: This is something I’ve been working on for quite a while now, and it is a little different than my usual pieces. It will probably be about three or four installments. If you enjoy it (or even if you don’t) (I don’t do too many chaptered pieces... like, ever) please feel free to send feedback. Warnings include: mentions of suicidal tendencies, depression, anxiety, past mentions of domestic physical and mental abuse. Loosely inspired by the music video for ‘High Hopes’ by Kodaline.

Synopsis: Depressed, suicidal and recently single Alexander Skarsgård is at the end of his rope. But he is about to find out that no matter where you come from, what your pain looks like, or what your truth is... The universe will always fight for souls to be together.

part 1, part 3

“You will never escape this, Thea. Ever. This life was never meant to be abandoned. I will find you every single time my darling.”

The shadowed figure lunged towards her; his hands outstretched as if to wring them around her neck…

She had awoken with a jolt, her eyes snapped open to the white ceiling above her head and for a moment she had forgotten where she was. To steady her erratic breathing, she watched as the sequins from her wedding dress cast rainbows along her arm as the sun rose to greet the gauzy material. Thea strained for any sounds in the distance but could only make out the muffled whirring of the coffee machine in the kitchen. She had started to lose track of time now. Had she been here a day? Three? Was it possible that she had been back in the presence of the impossibly handsome, Swedish man currently brewing coffee down the hall, for almost a week already? She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reveling in the feeling of the cool hardwood floor against her sleep-warm feet. As she stretched her arms high above her head to limber up, a small yawn escaped her open mouth. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a t shirt that she had purchased the other day and stepped out into the hallway outside her door. Immediately the scent of fresh coffee and croissants filled the air and she padded her way to the kitchen to investigate further. She stopped cold in the entranceway to watch the scene unfolding in front of her, in complete awe. Alexander, though immensely tall, was reaching for something at the back of the cupboard on his tiptoes, the edge of an old t-shirt rode up just enough to reveal the toned patch of skin beneath it. Thea swallowed hard and cleared her throat to announce her presence. Alexander immediately fell back onto the balls of his feet and swiveled around to greet her with a small smile.

“Good morning Thea.”

She dropped into the kitchen chair before her, trying in vain to ignore the way the elder Swede’s exposed lower body had made her feel. “Good morning,” She replied as nonchalantly as she could muster.

Alexander closed the distance between them to pass her a filled coffee mug. She took a tentative sip and smiled softly to herself when she discovered that he had made it just the way she liked. “How did you sleep?” He asked.

Thea marveled at the way silence settled between the pair of them, like dust settling into the nooks of a warm house. Where once the absence of noise had made her uncomfortable beyond words, with Alexander it felt painfully familiar. Normal even. She peered over at him; he was leant against the stove, one long leg crossed easily over the other one at the ankle. He was seconds away from bringing the edge of a steaming coffee mug to his lips, his blonde eyebrow quirked in question. “Apart from a few bizarre dreams, I think I slept just fine thank you.” She eyed the plate of warmed croissants next to him, and her mouth watered as she watched the way the steam rose from the pastry and dissipated into the air above them. She smiled wryly at him. “I’ll have one of those if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course.” Alexander reached for the plate next to him and handed it to her.

“How did you sleep?” She asked as she bit into a crunchy end piece.

Alexander watched her chew the flaky pastry, a small smirk in place on his features. “Slept fine, thanks. You uh… You’ve got a little something on the edge of your bottom lip there,” Within seconds he had bridged the gap between them, reaching toward her with the pad of his thumb. Instinctively, she recoiled from him as the warmth of his thumb contacted the sensitive skin of her upper lip, causing goosebumps to rise in uneven patterns along her arms. Had she been crazy, or had he felt it too? That split second where the most miniscule touch of his had left a searing trail of fire in its very wake.  

Alexander cleared his throat and gestured to the hip-waders hanging haphazardly from a hook in the front hallway. “I figured that I’d like to go fishing today, maybe take truck out and spend some time on the water.” He glanced down at his feet, as if embarrassed by what he was about to say next. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

Fishing?

Thea could count on one hand the amount of times she had been fishing in her lifetime. Her grandfather (bless his heart) had taken her out on two occasions previous; one had been on a dock in her hometown, and the closest she had come to a fish that day was a glimpse through murky water at the unlucky amphibian who had perished at the hands of some other cruel soul. The second time was when he had taken her to the banks of the river not far from her home and tried to help her catch something there. To her immense relief, both times had proven to be wildly unsuccessful and she had been able to return home, conscience untarnished.

“Of course, you don’t have to, I just thought that if you hadn’t wanted to spend the day alone…”

Alexander’s apprehensive tone had shaken her from her reverie, and she found herself protesting. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to… I’d like to go; I just can’t promise that I’ll have any idea what I’m doing.” Thea felt her cheeks grow warm as she watched the slow, familiar smile spread across his features. She decided right then and there that she would not mind spending the rest of her life trying to make him smile like that again.  

The drive out to the lake near his house had been mostly silent save for the crackle of the FM radio in the background. There was something about the Swede’s side profile that set her pulse racing from the moment the drive began. Maybe it was the way he let one arm rest out of the edge of the open window, the other calloused hand turned the steering wheel with ease. Or perhaps it was the way that when he frowned at the driver in front of him, the twinkle in his blue orbs dwindled the slightest bit, the delicate creases next to his eyes deepening in annoyance. Thea had caught herself wondering multiple times how it would feel to have that hand wrapped around her own again, the comfort that it might bring her, the sheer warmth of it. Alas, she resisted the urge for fear of never wanting to part with it. Instead, she focused on the beauty of her surroundings. A late May sun hung high in the azure sky, the warm wind floating in on his open window brought with it the promise of long days and even longer nights and not for the first time since reuniting with him, did she settle into the unfamiliar embrace of hope.

“We're here,” Alexander murmured as he pulled into a gravel parking lot and parked the car a few hundred yards away from where a weathered dock stood. He exited the vehicle wordlessly and reached into the backseat for his tacklebox, rod, and hip waders. “Forgive me, but it's been a while and I seem to have forgotten,” He squinted up into the beaming sun above him. “Have you ever been fishing before?” He asked when he had gotten around to her side of the door, which he opened without thought.

Thea stepped out onto the uneven gravel, suddenly wishing she had been wearing anything other than a pair of strappy sandals. She folded a hand above her eyes to shield herself from the bright afternoon sunlight and nodded her head yes. “Sort of… my grandfather had tried long ago to make a fisherman out of me.”

Alexander elicited a quiet chuckle and stepped into his hip waders, pulling the straps up over his shoulders with a muted snap. “I take it that he wasn’t so successful?”

“Not in the slightest bit,” She smiled. “But looking back on it now, it was less about the actual fishing than it was the quality time with him, you know?”

Alexander’s smile faltered the tiniest bit and he nodded his head in agreeance. “Absolutely. Catching a fish is the cherry on top of an already good time; when I’m out here… there is a peace that I get, that can’t really be attained anywhere else in my life.”

Thea followed him to the shoreline and bent over to roll up the bottoms of her jeans so that she could wade out into the frigid water before her. It had stolen her breath away at first, but a few more tentative steps forward allowed her body to adjust to the chilled temperature. She watched idly, as Alexander attached a piece of bait to the end of his rod and venture out into deeper depths before him. It had been remarkably difficult not to stare blatantly at the bare skin of his toned, golden shoulders; at the way that his muscles rippled each time he cast his line out before him. It was not long before Thea arrived at the conclusion that she could be content doing just this very thing, from here on out, for the remainder of her days. “Do you come to this spot often?” Her voice had startled her; the sheer volume of it sounded wrong amongst the silence and birdsong, and she regretted it immediately, but if it bothered Alexander at all, he made no show of it.

“I try to come out as often as I can. My brother’s and I discovered this spot a few years ago, and it’s been a staple ever since.”

“Gosh, it’s been a while since I’ve let myself think about you guys…” She murmured, wistfully.

Alexander swung an arm back and cast his line out into the abyss before him. “Yeah, I could say the same thing about you.”

“How are they?” Thea asked, in an attempt to set the conversation on another course.

Alexander turned to her, smiling. “They’re great, Thea. Mum’s recovered now- her and Sam are physicians up in Stockholm.” He was reflective as he shared this information with her; but there was an air of pride he exuded that she could not miss. “Gustaf and Bill are trying the whole acting thing up in California- it’s going pretty well. Valter thinks he can get it on it too, so all the power to him. And Eija,” He could not suppress the wide-mouth grin at the mention of his only sister. “Well, she just got married.”

Thea let a puff of air escape her mouth in surprise. “Married, hey? Wow.” She hugged her arms tighter around her frame, the chill of the water caused her to shiver involuntarily. “That all sounds so wonderful, Alex. I can’t imagine how proud of them you must be.”

Alexander turned to face her again and his expression told her that there was something more that he wanted to ask her but was hindered from doing so. “Do you see your family often?”

Thea swallowed hard; she could feel the inexplicable prickle of looming tears in the depths of her eyes and she shook her head. “Not often, no.” She had no desire for this conversation to continue further and was grateful that Alexander had sensed that almost immediately. She cleared her throat and offered up a small smile, that the man before her was slow to return. “Do you see your family often?”

“I try to head up to Stockholm every few weeks to see them…” He reeled in his line and cast out once again. “And I suspect that they think I get lonely up here by myself, but I’ve come to embrace the solitude.” She could not miss the way his voice hollowed out at the end of that statement. “Oh god… our family get togethers are something else, though, aren't they?” He grinned. “It’s easy to miss those.”

“Yeah, they sure are.” She agreed.

He nodded emphatically. “They’re loud, and utterly chaotic, and sometimes politically charged, but the love is always palpable. And the laughter flows almost as freely as the wine does, all night long.”

Thea could not help but smile at the memory of it. “It all makes me so nostalgic.”

Alexander glanced back at her- he had been about to ask her something, but his eyes clouded over the slightest bit and he veered off course at the last minute. “Want to come and try?” He lifted the fishing pole in gesture.

Thea was skeptical for a few reasons, but the hopeful look on his face helped to change her mind. She waded a little further out so that she stood next to the man beside her. She was so close to him that she could smell the afterthought of cologne on his skin- a scent so familiar that it made her almost dizzy. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve done this,” She warned.

Alexander smiled and pulled her in front of him, the all-encompassing warmth of his hands a welcome reprieve to her chilled frame. “So, the aim is to have your hands as far apart as feels comfortable for you… may I?”

“Absolutely.” She consented.

Alexander helped to move her hands to the proper position on the pole. “And once you've got that down, you're going to swing the pole back behind you for a moment…” Thea allowed him to move her arm back behind her. “And the key when casting the line back out, is to release it when it's in front of you." She did as she was told and watched the line sail out into the water before her. “See?” Alexander murmured. “You're a natural.”

Thea turned to tell him something, but her bare foot slipped on the muddy silt bottom beneath her, and before she could comprehend what was happening, she was fully submerged in the frigid lake water. In seconds, Alexander had managed to link a large hand around her bicep and haul her out of the water, the laughter bubbling up out of her throat like a beautiful song. She stood hunched over the mirrored surface, hands on her knees, and dripping from head to toe as the waves of laughter took hold of her body. Though she was now near-freezing, she could not recall the last time she had let herself laugh like this, and she missed the smile that had been blooming steadily on the older man’s face as he watched her. “A natural, hey?” She managed to breath out, once she was able to take a proper breath.

Alexander shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sure we’ll get you there in time. Come on. There’s a seat in front of the fireplace back home with your name on it.” Thea followed him back to the truck wordlessly and he had managed to find an old and tattered blanket in the bed which he secured tightly around her shoulders before he started the journey. Though the time on the radio only read 2:57 P, and the late-May sun still hung high in the sky, Alexander made sure the heat was turned to full blast on the ride home. “You alright?” He frequently asked her. “We're almost there.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” It seemed pointless to try to hide the chatter of her teeth and she was utterly grateful when the car rolled to halt in front of the stone structure a few moments later.

He exited the vehicle and stocked around to her side of the door, opening it so that she could head directly to the house. “Thea?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Here.” He tossed the ring of keys to her so that he could finish grabbing the rest of his gear. “You go on in, get into some dryer clothes and meet me at the fireplace in ten, okay?”

“Sounds good, Alex.” She murmured and let herself into the darkened front foyer. It struck her just now, how strange it was at how quickly this house had begun to feel like a home to her. Maybe it was that she had already known its owner in a past life. Almost as if the secrets she had shared with him ages ago lent themselves to these very walls and they just accepted her now. She padded down the hallway to the guest room and slipped into a pair of worn, denim jeans and an oversize knit sweater- and as she held her arms tighter to her frame in an attempt to warm up, she was in awe of the woman's touch that still lingered in the very fabric of the room. She had caught herself wondering multiple times in the past week about the woman Alexander had shared his life with up until a year ago. Who was she? What had she been like? What was the reason behind their untimely parting? A metal axe splitting through the center of a wooden log sounded in the distance and Thea wandered off in the direction of the commotion. She found herself rooted to the spot in front of the living room window in unconcealed awe, the site in front of her almost too much to bear. Alexander had changed into a pair of worn, navy blue coveralls, and was hulking through a pile of wood in the front yard. She could not be sure how long she stayed to watch his figure cut through the wood, but she came to when he entered the house laden with enough logs to fill the bottom of the ashy fireplace.

“This'll get you warmed up in no time, kid.” Alexander faltered for a moment as the weight of what just exited his mouth pressed on him. Thea had been too stunned at the sound of her old nickname to say anything in return. “I'm uh… I'm sorry.” He scratched uncomfortably at the back of his head. “It just sort of slipped out.”

Thea combed a hand back through her hair. “Just took me back a few years, is all.” She watched him kneel down on the hearth and toss the freshly split logs into the pit. With his hands now free, he reached for the box of red bird matches next to him, lit one, and threw it down onto the dry wood before him. The flames were quick to catch the wood, the sheer warmth of them instantly comforting. “That's already much better…” Thea held the palms of her hands up to the crackling flames and breathed a small sigh of relief.

“I’m glad.” Alexander murmured and dropped into his chair opposite the fireplace. It was silent between the pair of them for a long while. She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck like a warm ray of sun, and though it was a long time ago, she knew that questions usually resided in his silence. “What were you running from, Thea?”

She swallowed hard and let her hands drop to the stone hearth beneath her, her mouth suddenly void of all moisture. She knew this conversation had been in the cards for a while now; there was no conceivable way that he was going to let her to continue staying here- with him- without some answers first. “Lots of things.” She finally said.

“Did you marry him?” Alexander asked, hollowly.

Thea found the flames- wonderful shades of orange and red, mesmerizing. She watched them lick at the wood and at the stone chimney above them. “No.”

Alexander cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

Thea wrung her hands together- a nervous habit that she had yet to outgrow. “I was at a point in my life where I needed to make a decision, and I needed to make it quick.” She took a deep breath to steel herself for the rest. “I knew that if I had gone through with those vows- if that god forsaken gold band got put on my finger, I’d be stuck forever.” She had expected to have to tell him more than she was ready for, but she still had so many questions for him. “And you…” She finally whispered. “What were you running from, Alex?”

“Ghosts.” The finite way that the word fell from his lips, allowed no room for elaboration.

Thea was silent as she contemplated this. Her heart nearly shattered at the thought of Alexander being so done with everything around him that the only option was to take his own life. She wondered briefly if the thought was still as adamant as it was a week ago. “Your family would have been devastated.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat again. “For what its worth, I’m glad that you’re here now.”

She nodded resolutely. “I am too, Alex.”

Their conversation had taken up more time than she had thought, and the fire had started to dwindle to glowing embers. The clock above the walnut bookshelf read 6:09, and the thought of having to prepare anything for dinner made her weary.

“Shall we head to the pub for dinner tonight?” Alexander asked, as if reading her thoughts.

She rose from her spot on the hearth, her body now entirely dry, and pleasantly warm. “Show me the way.”

They arrived fifteen minutes later to an unusually quiet pub. Where normally on Thursday evening’s locals would be starting their weekends early, she and Alexander had managed to find a quiet booth tucked away at the back of the bar. They ate their dinner of soup and bread in peace- bits and pieces of their previous conversation played on a loop in her brain. She knew that there would be further discussions on the matter- how could there not be? There was still so much that needed to be said. Still so much healing that needed to be done.

“God, it’s been years since I’ve seen you.” Alexander shook his head in mild disbelief and lifted the near-empty pint glass to his lips. “I don’t think I ever considered the idea that our paths might cross again.”

Thea smiled softly to herself. If she was honest with anyone, Alexander had always resided tucked away in the back of her mind. A secret that she only let herself think about on special occasions. Maybe it was the way that things had ended for them- so abruptly and so finitely that she believed that one day, if she played her cards right, she might have a second chance. Thea’s ears perked up when the previous rock song had turned to a Swedish folk tune, and she tipped the rest of the amber liquid into her mouth, setting the glass down against the wooden tabletop with a resounding clank. She rose from the leather booth, slightly lightheaded and dizzy with hope, and before she could talk herself out of it, she extended her hand out to Alexander’s. “Will you dance with me?”

She half expected him to decline and leave, but instead, his lips turned up into a small smile and he cocked his head to the side. “Right here?”

Glancing down at the scuffed hardwood flooring, she shrugged her shoulders and nodded. “Right here.”

Alexander slid out of the booth and closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and taking her small hand in his much larger one. They swayed together on the spot for what felt like hours- and it took every ounce of self-control that Thea possessed not to just simply melt into his touch like she used to so many years before. She took note of the way in which Alexander still held her; like she was the most precious thing in the universe. Like if he let her go, she might shatter into a thousand different beautiful pieces. Thea had not realized that the song had finished until Alexander broke away from her to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He was close now; so close that she could smell the scent of body wash on his skin; could smell the subtle scent of perspiration from chopping wood earlier. For a moment she expected him to kiss her- she very badly wanted it to happen. But the moment passed, and something sorrowful glittered in the depths of Alexander’s blue orbs that hindered him from touching her how she wanted him to. “There’s just something about you Thea. Something I doubt I’ll ever be able to move on from.” He swilled back the rest of the beer in his glass and smiled sadly. “Like some sort of invisible string has been tied to our fingers since the very beginning of time.”

As Thea viewed him under the dank light from the pub lamp, she had never ached more in her life, for the second chance to get things right.

[grim-faux]

16_The Art of Necessity 

First

  The dreams are unfamiliar scraps of places he never knew, never saw. No, he did know these places. A building full of false children, and a strict teacher. Unpleasant creatures, clacking and springing, snatching at his mask.

 He gripped a bar in his hands and brought it down hard. Fake! Not real!

 They chased him in droves. He climbed onto the lockers, like they did. Before one or more could get a good grip, he’d already shoved the locker out from the wall and smashed three beneath. He took apart the last two with ease. He hated them so much. The pranks. Their snickering. All their traps. The stupid, copied smile they wore.

Fake! FAKE! F̸͝A̵̡K̕҉̨̛E̸̶̛!̵̢͜͞͏ !̡̮̣͔̗̭̩̩͉ͨ͒͑̄͆͒͜͝

 The silence and dark become constricting. It’s no longer a school full of terrible things with horrid ideas. There’s nothing in place of that broiled rage, but the reflections of it humming in his bones. They left that place so long ago, it wasn’t even the worst place. It wasn’t that bad. He just hated it, because they mocked him. Those fakes. He hated them!

 And then what happened?

 Ran away. Kept moving. The cold, the storm. Buildings, and places to visit but deserted. Nothing enduring, always moving. Exhausted, hungry, soaked through, and always never stopping. Should have stopped more, should have done sleep. It was hard, it was scary. No excuse. Not good. They drove onward, relentless. No, he pushed onward, searching for something. Refused to give in, more afraid of the dreams than the thought of collapsing.

 He was stopped now. Wasn’t moving. Where? No idea, not the foggiest. Something happened. Oh… there was a place, he did revisit. He shouldn’t have, he didn’t mean to. The television. Treacherous thing. What happened then?

 Cage. Kids. Yes, that did happen. He left them. Left him. Just like She left him. He ran away, like a coward. Even when he could… did something. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. Or, it was too much. Bad. Mistake. Should have left. Shouldn’t have bothered. Cursed.

 He took a deep breath and sighed. Through the air rustled the static, and in his ears, through his bones. He didn’t even care. He shouldn’t. Why should he fight so hard, if he was doomed to fail anyway? The world was against him and not an ounce of what he did mattered.

 His arms were numb from being so tightly wound against his sides. Shifting them, he struggled to feign off the pins and needles buzzing through his wrists. It felt uncannily like the static bristling his nerves, a sensation he normally hated. He accepted it for now, and nestled a little more into the coarse coat against his side. The white noise was a dull hum, yet he was too spent to care. Though resigned to his uncertain fate, it didn’t stop the miniscule twinge when a hand settled over his body and a thumb brushed against his back. The hand stalled.

 “You’re awake.”

 The closeness of the resonance alarmed him. Mono thought about pretending sleep, he was already tipping into that somber spiral of utter fatigue he couldn’t withstand. He didn’t want to resist. But, that wasn’t a question.

 “Mmm.” He did have a question. “Am caught?” The hand moved away, and he almost missed the gentle touch. He didn’t think adults could be anything but cruel or harsh.

 “No,” the reply came, soft. “You seem in poor shape. Hurt?”

 Hurt. That question again. Always asking, like it mattered if he was or not. It did though, didn’t it? For someone else, not for him. He saw someone hurt, and tugged at the side of his coat. “Dunno.” Calm and silence invaded, deceptive with its illusion. Was safe? Where?

 Tentatively, he uncoiled his body enough to raise his head and checked, seeing first dark. For once he wasn’t searching for his escape, but examined the walls and judged the surface. Enough definition to the gloom afforded obvious features, such as the panel texturing, eroded wallpaper, some furniture; a desk and some small bookshelf. It was dry, aside from his dampish coat – he must’ve been sleep for some time. This room….

 For a moment there, he was afraid they were someplace… more familiar. He didn’t know where precisely, but it was a shroud that lingered in the back of his mind, an unknown dread and uncertain paranoia. Like when the Thin Man appeared at the alley end, and he had no more strength for flee. Dread. A dread he didn’t want to face, didn’t want to invite, and wanted nothing to do with. More fearsome, terrifying, than being crushed to death.

 He didn’t know what could possibly be worse than dying. Then, with a little hiccup, he had a thought. He recalled what could be worse than death. Worse than pain.

 He adjusted his posture and looked up at the Thin Man. His hat was down, and he appeared to have his head resting on his hand. It was hard to decipher if he was fully awake or focused. The man in the hat sometimes pretended rest, but really watched. The disquiet scrutiny of someone, trying to figure out a puzzle with a missing piece.

 “You hurt?”

 The hat tipped up and a little bit of light glinted under the bill. “No. Worried? About me?”

 Mono tucked his head down. He only just realized he’d lost the racoon cap. Forget it, pick another hat later. “Make sure. You… not n’hurt.” It felt good to stop. Stop worrying, stop running, stop thinking. Just stop. Stay still. “S’nice t’worry.” He nuzzled into the dense fiber of the coat and just tried… to let his body soothe out. It would be nice to be anywhere else, but he preferred the warmth. It felt good on his bruised side.

 “Rest. When you are able to manage yourself, I’ll leave you to your own goings.”

 Oh. Of course. That’s right. This was rest, and later… he didn’t know what. Find foods. Don’t be seen. Scout. Sleep. So sleepy. Sleep forever seemed like a bliss. He could do just that.

 “How do know name?” he mumbled

 The static rustled. “That is a story for another day.”

 “Can tell?”

 “No.”

 “Tell?”

 The Thin Man shifted, and Mono snapped his head up to check the action, and glare. He was fixing the hat, or rubbing his face. Annoyed? Good. “No. If you are quiet and sleep, then I will consider to tell. Not before.”

 A story would have been nice, Mono reflected. Words would have distracted him from the whir of static, though, it was not painful. Or that distracting. At least that insatiable panic of impending danger and looming threat was absent. He hadn’t decided if that was really good or not. If his sense of self-preservation was shattered entirely, and he was unfeeling. A void, incapable of recognizing when running was still the better option. It horrified him, the ideal of turning into that one child who had lost all resolve. He didn’t want that to happen to him. He wanted to wake up tomorrow, or the next day. After a sleep.

 With a meek exhale, he let the tension melt from his muscles. He was frightened by how effortless it was, to forfeit.

 The Thin Man settled a hand over his side, and this time he barely winced. He was on high alert for the next few minutes, hardwired instincts screaming at him: How easy it would be for that hand to snap your neck.

 The fingers deftly brushed the back of his head; slow, gentle and steady. It felt… very nice. Somehow, it made the aches in his body feel less important, and made the horrible events seem so far-far away. He didn’t understand why the Thin Man was doing that. Too much of the strange man in the hat, he did not understand. For now, he couldn’t dwell on it. He uncoiled the tight fists his hands hand formed and focused on breathing, slow and even. The scent of smoke saturating him wasn’t so terrible anymore.

 __

 The first five steps they took from the window, they decided… awful, wretched, terrible place. From the smell in the corridors, of chemicals and decay – too familiar to the Hunters cabin – to how dim and poorly lit everywhere was. Hated it.

 Loathsome place.

 She actually gave a very soft, near imperceivably growl. It almost made Mono laugh. But they didn’t know these areas, the darkness contained. There was anything deadly and vicious, searching now as they trespassed. She, in her cunning yellow jacket. Him, in his faithful coat.

 Once, in one of the murky corridors, she tugged his shoulder. And when he faced her fully, she put her hands in a rectangle, over her head. How do you see?

 In response, he tugged up the paper bag and gave a grin. Not very well!

 And then promptly tripped on a chunk of wire.

 The flashlight was a great contribution. They passed it back and forth for a short while, trying the button. Six wasn’t too partial to the harsh light, and still felt more comfortable in the vague black. At times when Mono – guardian of the electric torch – flashed it around the walls, it wasn’t that great of a contributor. Sometimes the slicing beam made shadows, and looming-stretching, ambiguous shapes, all the more terrifying. But they needed some sort of radiance to navigate these areas, which became as impenetrable as a wall of chiseled midnight.

 The scouting eventually led to this one area in all this icky place, and without a glance shared they chose unanimously to stay there for a bit. It was calm, the air still and no strange smells made them wary. Light sprouted abundant, and despite it being a dead end, it felt safest. They needed to stop anyway, especially since he had… another incident with one of the televisions.

 The room received an astute search over. Six poked at the shelves and dark spaces, while he scrutinized the wall and the speek there. It was… transfixing. Something happened, he didn’t know what. It felt so familiar, he couldn’t place what from. Something about a room, and a—

 He’s startled by the inaudible breath of paper creeping across the table. She found the box of paper along with bits of crayons and set them on the table edge. She hoisted up onto the stool and began scratching down some lines.

 Mono took the chair. He climbed onto the table to shove the bear off. Now he could see her. She passed him a page, and briefly checked beyond his shoulder.

 Just in case, Mono looked as well. It marveled him how haunting an empty yet well-lit room could be, but beyond it was nothing but black and empty wastes. They currently sat in a dead end, where only paranoia would deliver them from certain doom. 

 He took a clump of crayons, and practically sat crouched on the table to draw. “Tweet-tweet,” he whispered. It was bird. They made tweet sounds. “Birb.”

 She mouthed the sound. It was hard to get her to speek with her voice, but he didn’t mind. Next, she showed him a picture of one Bully, with its head cracked in two. Rather violently. He judged the picture accordingly. She made a low growl.

 Mono tried to imitate the sound. “That s’hard,” he spoke, carefully. “Pick ‘nother.”

 Six stuck her tongue out. “Lern’t.”

 “All your speek hard.” He leaned over his current drawing. “And I’m stupid.” He pulled his bag up enough to pout, but only for a moment.

 This got a grimace from her. The Six. It was the closest he’d get of a smile.

 The time was devoted to the very serious business of speek-share and storytelling. Six had seen many interesting things, and done very frightening things. On the other hand, Mono wasn’t as invested in sharing where he had been or who he had seen. He focused on coloring a dark hole, with a long step ladder extending upward.

 Six snagged it away and gave it a look, turning the page this and that way. He crawled across the table and set the picture right, gesturing with his hand from the bottom of the pit to the edge. She gave him a speek. In return, he mimicked the noise. She became invested with scratching down bars, against a wall.

 “Climb?” Without looking up, Six nodded. He leaned closer, on the same page she worked at, he drew a figure on the climb steps. “Fall.” Then a figure detached from the climb steps.

 Before he finished bolding in the middle section of the person, she pried the page away and swept it off the table. In silence, Mono took another page and settled back to his chair.

 She remained very secretive, sharing so little of her speek. He didn’t know if she interacted much with other children, it seemed like she had in the past. He’d known children that just didn’t have the capacity, while others resorted to clicks or whistles. Six had some of that speek. Much of it did consist of sniffles, hisses, clicks. Her name was a fluty warble. Six. He wished he was that clever. Who gave her the name, where she got it, she couldn’t convey. Maybe she didn’t remember, either.

 A picture of a child in white clothing and red smears on the lips, was passed to him. So, she did know other children before him. He was looking at it, right before she snatched it back and began etching it in with thick, black bars – going sinister and quiet as she worked.

 Mono knew that mood. The angry, brooding girl. Then, she shows him a picture of a figure in a yellow raincoat. He tried to enunciate her name. He was so bad at it.

 Six shook her head. Then, gave him a new speek. Once more, he tried to enunciate it, though clumsy and rough. “Rain? Coat?” He snatched the picture away and lay on the table, studying it closely. “Girl? Friend?”

 She swiped the page back and gazed down intently. Then, hiked one shoulder up.

 Mono’s mind wandered to dark places, of bad things, and uncertain questions. He took a new page, and began sketching in. “Foods?” Immediately, she perked up. “Mmm.” He’d never met someone so excited to eat anything. He liked her speek for foods. “Meat.”

 She hummed, “Bread.” And began a fury of drawing.

 “Meat n’bread.”

 “Bread m’meat. Mmm. Fresh meat.”

 “Soft, fresh.”  Mono clicked his jaw.

 A sudden, muffled thump, sent both children scrambling from around the table. Six lunged into the furthest corner of the room, crouching behind a basket full of knickknack junk. While Mono crawled beneath the table and huddled up; both stare at the ceiling. Frozen and quiet, wide eyes unblinking. Sound up there. uP TheRE. Would move? Should leave? Go where?

 They remained latched down to their respective locations, alert, listening for the threat and its direction. But there was no further utterance or hint of what the sound was, and the atmosphere retained that deceptive stillness. All a lie. Something was hiding here. Something awaited their exploration, the curiosity.

 Mono inched around to face her, and pressed a finger to the front of his paper mask. Six shook her head vigorously, and slunk back behind a large stuffed animal. No place to run. A dead end.

 But he crept out from beneath the table, and snuck toward the gaping entry. She moved, only slightly, but he didn’t check. His whole focus and concentration went beyond, to the darkness. In the first room, lit by blaring lights, there is nothing. He knows this. Just the large machine, and its window that shows inside things. He slipped closer to the portal and leaned on the doorframe, checking the shroud in the large chamber. He sees the chair and wheels, the mannequins – as Six called them. How does she make those sounds?

 Nothing is evident in the space above, just more shadows and strange shapes that are not moving. False people, but they are pleasant and still. Not moving. Not annoying or sinister. They are quiet, contemplative, polite. The only semi-horrible but pleasant thing about this place.

 With a deep sigh, he returned to the brightly lit toy room. Hmm? Where is her?

 The stuffed bear quivered. Odd, he thought he left it—

 It rushed at him, colliding with his face and chest, nearly bowling him over. It was the Six! Ooh, he made her mad. Oh dear. This wasn’t good.

 She crawled under the table and sat, cross legged and arms folded against her chest. Mad, brooding, girl. He didn’t mean for her to get upset. She was fuming. This was the absolute worst.

 Mono dragged the stuffed bear with him and nudged the chair away. He flipped the swollen plush upright and shoved its arms around Six, bundling her up in the horrible gawking thing. She’s so mad, she won’t look at him, and swung away – within the embrace of the crazed toy.

 He laid down on his tummy and crawled closer, his paper bag rumpled, but it’d be okay. Reaching over the bear’s knee, he tentatively touched her elbow. She slapped his hand and wrenched away, her shoulders bunched up around the hood of her jacket.

 Well, he could just let her simmer for a bit. There was nothing wrong with that… except he was hungry, and he wanted to explore around. But he didn’t want to do that alone, and he wouldn’t leave her alone. Even if there was a chance he could bring back a peace offering.

 With a sigh, he folded his arms under his chin, and kicked his legs up to sway above his back. After a while, he started plucking at the loose thread in the plush toys feet.

 Then, Six reached over and took his hand, she shook it off the thread. Holding him by the wrist, she pulled his arm over the bear leg and mashed at his palm. Mono let his arm go limp, and let one leg bop against the bears head. She fumbled with his fingers, each in turn, traced the lines in his palm.

 Mono’s mask rustled as he leaned up enough, to glance back at the door. He didn’t hear anything, which in itself was sometimes frightening. There was an eeriness under the hush, of an unaccounted predator coiled up and waiting to spring. A trap set, waiting, knowing that a path was regularly used by clueless trespassers.

 Assured the deceit was not present (for now), he rested his chin back on his arm and shut one eye. Six pressed her palm to his, and he splayed their fingers out. Once more, he tried to pronounce her name right. Softly. She giggled, and let go of his arm. It dangled over the bear’s leg.

 Suddenly the mammoth stuffed thing was smushed against his back. ACk! He squirmed out from under the lumpy behemoth, and hauled his coat away as well. The nerve. He checked on her, and proceeded to fix the crinkles in his paper bag. Six was curled up against the bear, knees tucked into her chest, and her holding a furry paw around her side.

 “Slep?” he posed, while straightening a crease in the edge of his mask. In the hood, Six nodded vigorously. He hummed and scooted around to face the door. He hugged his legs to his chest and dipped his face behind his knees. It was cold, his pants were stiff with mud and grease, but it was his turn to watch and wait, listen. The doorway retained the disarming aura of neglect, nothing living or otherwise stirred.

 After a few minutes, a faint scuffling-twitch spilled from her. Sleep was hard. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up, but sometimes, it was the biggest trial to just be still and sleep. Dreams reminded them that there was no safety or escape, but he could wait and listen for threats, and be the one to say if it was time to run. He hoped though this time, he’d be able to get rest himself.

 He hated his dreams, likely as much as Six hated hers. The door, the corridor – the thrumming reverberations. Sometimes, he hated the sound of his own heartbeat, so familiar and intense in the dreams of him rushing to some… unknown. Actually, he was surprised she volunteered to sleep first. Nobody liked a nap, but they couldn’t get by without rest. Eventually, they crashed. Hard. It was dangerous, merciless, and more often frightening. More frightening, than tackling the lurking shades of their nightmares.

Next